The Scots Worthies

by John Howie

Table of Contents

Life of John Howie

Introduction

Patrick Hamilton

George Wishart

Adam Wallace

Walter Mill

James Stuart, Earl of Moray

John Knox

George Buchanan

John Erskine of Dun

Robert Rollock

John Craig

David Black

John Davidson

Andrew Melville

William Row

Patrick Simpson

Andrew Duncan

John Scrimgeour

John Welch

Robert Boyd

Robert Bruce

Josias Welch

John Gordon, Viscount Kenmure

Robert Cunningham

James Mitchell

Alexander Henderson

George Gillespie

John M'Clelland

David Calderwood

Hugh Binning

Andrew Gray

James Durham

Samuel Rutherford

Archibald Campbell, Marquis of Argyle

James Guthrie

William Govan

John Campbell, Earl of Loudon

Robert Baillie

David Dickson

Sir Archibald Johnston, Lord Warriston

James Wood

William Guthrie

Robert Blair

Hugh M'Kail

John Nevay

John Livingstone

John Semple

James Mitchell

Colonel James Wallace

John Welwood

William Gordon of Earlstoun

John King and John Kid

John Brown

Henry Hall of Haugh-head

Richard Cameron

David Hackston of Rathillet

Robert Ker of Kersland

Donald Cargill

Walter Smith

Robert Garnock

Robert MacWard

Captain John Paton

Robert Baillie of Jerviswood

John Brown of Priesthill

John Nisbet of Hardhill

Alexander Peden

John Blackadder

James Renwick

Account of the Rising which ended in the defeat at Pentland. Anno 1666

Account of the Rising which originated the Battle of Drumclog, and ended in defeat at Bothwell Bridge. Anno 1679

Account of the Skirmish at Airsmoss, 1680

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN HOWIE

BEFORE entering upon the following brief Memoir of one who has contributed more to the biographical information of the Scottish peasantry than authors of greater celebrity, it may not be uninteresting to delineate the site of his humble dwelling-place, which was so often the rendezvous and retreat of the persecuted Covenanters, at the time when they were hunted like beasts of prey, from hill to hill, and when it often became necessary for them to take refuge in dens and caves of the earth.

Lochgoin, although only an humble cottage, and possessing perhaps more of the appearance of the "olden time" than many of the same grade at the present day, has yet attractions more omnipotent over the associations of every Scottish Presbyterian, than the turreted remains of the baronial castle, whose most strenuous defender had bled and died for his country's civil rights. This lonely, secluded spot is situated in the parish of Fenwick in the county of Ayr, about two miles from the King's-wells Inn, on the road from Glasgow to Kilmarnock; distant from the former fifteen miles, and about two from the latter. There is not in Scotland, perhaps, a situation more dreary and sequestered, with the exception of King's-house, near the mountains of Glencoe; yet, though in itself retired and uninviting, it looks out upon scenery as picturesque, sublime, and romantic, as is to be met with among the rugged mountains of Switzerland.

From an artificial eminence about a hundred yards from the cottage, which was raised for the purpose of watching the movements of the king's troops in the time of the persecution, and to give notice of their approach, the prospect is indescribably grand and extensive. Towards the north, the eye rests upon the lofty mountains in Argyleshire; and in the same direction, Benlomond is beautifully conspicuous. The Kilbirnie range, nearer and more lowly, limit the view towards the west. Goatfell, in the isle of Arran; the Pap of Jura; and Ailsa Craig, although removed to a much greater distance, are distinctly visible. On the south, the prospect is terminated by the blue hills of Carrick, and the far distant range in Galloway; and, upon ascending a heathy eminence about a mile distant, Tinto, the remote Pentlands, and even Arthur's Seat, meet the eye, as it moves along towards the east. Onward, the verdant Ochils beyond Stirling, and the less lofty, though not less beautiful, hills of Campsie complete the circumference.

Within this vast barrier, the whole seems but one misty waste of moor, where scarcely any human habitation is visible, save the shepherd's cot; and where no sound is to be heard but the voice of the shepherd himself directing his faithful dog; the bleating of the sheep and the cry of the feathered foreigners that have fled for a time from the regions of a more inclement sky, until winter once more compels them to seek the shelter of a milder climate. In winter, the scene is bleak beyond description; and terrible, when the uncontrolled winds sweep along the trackless expanse in fitful fury. The only exception to the general dreariness of the scene is a portion of the fertile lands of Ayrshire, contiguous to the firth of Clyde, apparently slumbering like a peaceful lake at the base of the lofty Arran.

Distant only a few miles is London-hill, near the battle-field of Drumclog; and almost at its base, a cairn of stones, commemorative of the spot where the Covenanters worshipped on the morning of the conflict. A few miles further off is Airsmoss, from whose bleak and lonely bosom rises Cameron's monumental stone; and a mile or rather more distant stands Priesthill, the hallowed house of John Brown, the Christian Carrier, and the scene of his infamous murder by the bloody Claverhouse. Not so remote stands London house, the residence of the Campbells, marked out by the tops of the many woods in which it is imbosomed; and just beyond the environs is Hardhill, where Nisbet lived. Meadowhead, the ancient residence of Captain Paton, and other farm-houses, occupy a more cultivated locality in the same parish. To this day the repetition of the troublous times in which those devoted martyrs lived, forms the subject of many a winter evening's conversation; and the church of Fenwick, where the pious Guthrie so successfully dispensed the word of life, is still pointed to as a relique dear to the descendants of the Covenanters. Such is an imperfect outline of Lochgoin, the residence of the HOWIES.

The Howies appear to have been originally of French extraction—such at least is the tradition of the family, and we have no reason to question its accuracy. The severities to which the Waldenses were subjected, during the twelfth century, compelled many of that body to leave their native country and seek refuge in distant lands. It was during that period that three brothers, surnamed Howie, took up their residence in the west of Scotland; one in the parish of Mearns; another in the parish of Craigie; while the third chose for his place of abode the sequestered Lochgoin, which, after the lapse of more than six hundred years, his descendants still occupy. And the tradition receives farther confirmation from the fact, that this is almost the only part of Scotland where persons bearing this name are to be met with.

About the period of the Reformation, we find their posterity adhering boldly to the cause of Protestantism, a circumstance which renders it highly probable that, notwithstanding the proselytizing spirit of the age in which they lived, the humble occupants of Lochgoin had never swerved from the faith of their fathers. It was not, however, till the period of the second Reformation, that the Howies were brought into prominent notice, by becoming sufferers for the truth. Nor were these sufferings of a trivial nature. Lochgoin, as the reader has already seen, being peculiarly favourable for concealment, had often afforded an asylum to the harassed Covenanters when flying from their ruthless persecutors; and thus the inmates themselves became also the objects of the most rigorous oppression. Not only were they twelve different times subjected to confiscation of property; but, upon one occasion, their cattle were driven to the market-cross of Kilmarnock and exposed for sale; the Howies themselves were declared rebels to the government; their names were inserted in the fugitives' roll; and they, with hundreds more, were compelled to betake themselves for concealment to the mountains and moors.

John Howie, the subject of this memoir, who has given so much additional celebrity to the family, was born at Lochgoin on the 14th November, 1735. His father, John Howie also, dying suddenly when our biographer was only about a year old, the child was removed to Blackhill, a farm in the parish of Kilmarnock, at that time the residence of his maternal grandparents, who took upon themselves the charge of his education. Being pious and intelligent, the advantages which the youth derived, both from their tuition and example, were invaluable. Indeed his future life bespoke the correctness of his early tuition; having been alike free from severity on the one hand, and from over indulgence on the other. In addition to the instructions he received from his grandfather, he was put to two country schools in the neighborhood; the one at Whirlhall, taught by an uncle of the family name; and the other at Horsehill, conducted by a person of the name of Adam Millar. If the reader—keeping in mind that John Howie possessed hardly an ordinary education, and that his youthful years were devoted chiefly to the customary sports and recreation of the neighbourhood where he had been brought up—contrast the advances in religious knowledge and information which, by his own unaided exertions, he made in his youth, and at a subsequent period of his life, with the usual amount of intelligence generally to be found among people of his station in life, he cannot fail to be regarded as a person of unwonted talent.

The first important event in the life of this remarkable man was his connubial union with a person of the name of Lindsay, who, however, did not long survive the nuptials; for, falling into consumption, she died soon after, leaving behind her an infant son. In 1766, about four years after that distressing event, he entered a second time into the matrimonial state; the object of his attachment at this time being a cousin of his own. She is represented as having been singularly eminent for piety, and in every respect a helpmate suited to his taste and habits. The fruits of this union were five sons and three daughters.

According to his own account, it was not till after the second marriage that his early religious impressions assumed the form of decided piety. About a year after his first marriage he entered to the farm of Lochgoin, which, from the nature of the soil not admitting of extensive manual cultivation, left him sufficient leisure to prosecute the studies to which he had habituated himself from his youth; viz. church history, and religious biography. No sooner, therefore, had he settled down to a systematic mode of study, than it seems to have occurred to him that he might turn to good account the information he had obtained of the life and sufferings of some of those eminent WORTHIES, whom he had been taught from his earliest years to revere and admire.

The account which he gives of the method he took to collect materials for the Work is at once so simple and graphic that we shall present it to the reader in his own words. The chief obstacle which he appears to have had to encounter arose from the opposition of his own pious wife.

"I took up a resolution to collect what materials I could obtain, and write a kind of Lives of a number of them, which I did at leisure hours, with small views that even anything I could do should merit the publishing of them. However my motives were ingenuous, out of love to them and their contendings, or cause they contended for, and the Lord determined that they both should be published, and happily they were much esteemed by men of all ranks and denominations. While I was writing the first draught of the SCOTS WORTHIES, sometimes in the morning, one morning my wife, who was not without an inclination to religion, being in bed in the little closet where I was writing, was going to give me a reproof for my folly in writing; what would I do but make people laugh at my folly! Immediately these words came into her mind, Mark 7:37; 'He hath done all things well; he maketh the deaf to hear and the dumb to speak;' after which she durst never again speak against it."

Though, however, no other person appears to have had the courage to undertake the subject, we believe that John Howie, while employed at his literary labours, was the subject of considerable animadversion among many of his neighbours, who were but ill able to appreciate the worth of his intellectual pursuits. As might have been expected, he was accused of indolence; inasmuch as, while engaged in what appeared to them a profitless concern, he was neglecting his worldly interests, by not attending more assiduously to the cultivation of his farm. It was particularly observed during the hay season, that though the good man would at intervals lay aside his books, step out to the field, and for a short time put on an air of extreme bustle and activity, yet it was soon over; so that among the more eident, (diligent,) of his professional brethren he never acquired a character for steady and enduring labour. To a certain extent these observations might be perhaps true; but when we consider the immense service he was at that very time rendering to the church, to the cause of presbytery, and to posterity, we cannot join in the cry of censure; but must repel their conclusions as short-sighted. Had the complainers but taken the trouble to inquire, they might have ascribed the somewhat irregular movements of the worthy biographer to a different cause. It was well known that Mr. Howie, who died at a comparatively early age, was never a man of robust constitution. Symptoms of physical debility began to show themselves in his boyhood; and that very disease which brought him prematurely to his grave, had even then marked him out as its easy victim! In perusing his diary we find frequent allusions to a variety of ailments with which he was often afflicted; and on examining the parlour or spence, with its damp floor and walls, we do not hesitate to say that the maladies of which he complained must have been greatly aggravated, by the atmosphere in which his studies were prosecuted. Another circumstance which must have contributed to prevent Mr. Howie from exhibiting the usual steady industry of moorland farmers was, the number of visitors who came to wait upon him at Lochgoin. These, attracted by the fame of his literary pursuits, were exceedingly numerous, and composed of all classes in the religious world.

Since we have gone thus far, however, in endeavouring to account for his general character as a farmer, it would be unfair not to state distinctly, that he evinced great anxiety for the temporal welfare of his numerous family. So far, indeed, was he from being indifferent to worldly matters, that, upon perusing his diary, we find him repeatedly accusing himself of carrying the principle of parental anxiety to a length bordering on criminality.

The life of a moorland farmer, even although combined with that of literary pursuits, cannot be supposed to furnish any great variety of adventure or incident; still such a life is not without its interest. The circumstance of Mr Howie rising soon after cock-crowing, for the purpose of engaging in severe and not very inviting study before commencing the labour of the day, is worthy of admiration; and then, with his mind full of his subject, after having added a few more pages to the Work which has stamped his name with renown; after having partaken of his homely meal, sallying forth, perhaps barefooted, into the wide and trackless moor, to ascertain if all was well with his flocks; or, it might be, to engage in the severer exercise of the spade, is what farmers of the present day are altogether strangers to. Nor were such labours merely occasional and temporary; for, if we consider the variety and extent of his writings, commencing about the time of his second marriage, we shall find that they must have continued, with but little intermission, until the day of his death. The "Scots Worthies" itself is a work of no inconsiderable labour; for though the biographical information he had procured, and with which his powerful memory was richly stored, must have greatly facilitated the task; yet, living remote from cities, and almost shut out from the abodes of civilized life, the difficulty of correspondence, and the want of books, must have tended not a little to render his task both painful and irksome. Under all these disadvantages, however, did Mr. Howie, in the seclusion of Lochgoin, bring the work to a successful termination. The first edition appeared in 1774; and a second, greatly enlarged, in 1785. Like the "Pilgrim's Progress," it has been long so extensively popular with all classes of the community, that it has secured for itself a position from which it will never be dislodged, so long as Presbyterianism, and a religious attachment to the covenanted work of Reformation, continue to engage the attention of the natives of Scotland. It has been long a family piece, both in town and country; but especially among our Scottish peasantry. In youth we are rivetted to it, as if by fascination; and in our riper years we look back upon the impressions then produced, and wonder whether they may have been created by the realities of truth.

Besides the "Scots Worthies," Mr. Howie produced a number of other works, which, though not so generally known, are still not without a tolerable share of merit. These were, first, a collection of "Lectures and Sermons" by some of the most eminent ministers, preached during the stormiest days of the Persecution—a work, the MSS. of which he had not only to transcribe for the Press, but which, at great labour and expense, he had even to collect from various quarters. This work is introduced by a preface of his own composition. His second work was "An Alarm to a Secure Generation;" a small tract characterized by good taste, and written in a bold and forcible style, though in a garb that would be considered too homely for the taste of the present day. The third production was "Faithful Contendings Displayed;" being an account of the suffering remnant of the Church of Scotland, from 1681 till 1691. This was neither more nor less than a transcription from a record kept by a person of the name of Michael Shields, clerk to the Societies, to which Mr. Howie prefixed a preface, and added an appendix with notes. His fourth Essay was "Faithful Witness-bearing Exemplified;" consisting of the following divisions:—1. Useful Cases of Conscience. 2. A Testimony against Toleration by the Commission of the General Assembly. 3. A History of the Indulgence. The fifth was "Patronage Anatomized," a work which, next to the Scots Worthies, must be regarded as superior to all his other writings. The sixth was "A Vindication of the mode of handling the Elements in the Lord's Supper before giving thanks," written at the time when the controversy took place on this subject among the Antiburgher Seceders. The seventh was "Clarkson's Plain Reasons for Dissenting," with a preface and notes, and an abstract of the Principles of the Reformed Presbytery, regarding Civil Government. His eighth—and the last production of his pen—was, "A Preface to Mr. Brown of Wamphray's Looking-glass of the Law and the Gospel."

But it was not through the medium of his writings alone that Mr. Howie sought to benefit his countrymen. He availed himself of the extensive circle which his writings had formed for him to instruct all who had a desire for religious knowledge. To young men, especially, he was particularly attentive. An individual, still alive, lately informed the writer, that in his youth he made one of a party who waited upon our biographer for instruction; and was deeply impressed with Mr. Howie's extremely judicious method of conveying religious information to the young. He usually commenced with some simple or even humorous subject, which had always the effect of banishing that restraint from the mind of his auditors which the eclat of his piety and talent naturally tended to produce. Having accomplished this, he immediately availed himself of the opportunity to communicate information of the most solid, pious, and edifying nature. From a choice library, too, of several hundred volumes, he gave them liberty to select whatever book they chose. "On such occasions," states our informant, "so eager was he to do good, that, not content with conversing freely within doors, he would accompany us miles across the moor, urging homo upon our minds, amidst all our other assiduities, the importance of attention to personal piety, the one thing needful." He was ever ready to comply with the request of such as wished for his religious advice or prayers for themselves or their sick friends. Although this was frequently attended with much inconvenience and fatigue—having to travel several miles before he could reach the abode of any of his neighbors, either in the parish of Eaglesham or that of Mearns—yet he never complained. One night of every week was regularly set apart for meeting with some of his pious neighbors, for the purpose of religious fellowship and social prayer; a practice which we feel happy to say, of late years has been greatly revived in all parts of Scotland.

Although Mr. Howie was thus devoted to books, and lived "far retired from men," the reader will form a very false idea, if he suppose him to have spent the life of a recluse. On the contrary, at all the surrounding fairs and markets, John Howie was to be found bustling and bargaining with the men of the world. He was indeed a marked character, whether at home, in the public market, or at church; and wherever he went, the fame of his piety and varied acquirements contributed greatly to facilitate his moral influence. Nor did his personal appearance belie the impression which his works produced; for, though but of low stature, his form was dignified and erect. Even his gait seemed to imply an inward consciousness of mental superiority over those of his less literary acquaintances; nevertheless, he was a paragon of humility; pride having no seat in his breast. He was remarkably attentive to neatness in dress, and seldom walked abroad without his silver-mounted staff. Wherever he went he was received with respect; and his approach to either kirk or market was made known by the circulating whisper—"There's Lochgoin!"

Were we to characterize Mr. Howie's personal piety in a single sentence, we would say, that it was distinguished at once by its humility and its fervor; the latter sometimes producing an excitement bordering on enthusiasm; the former, not unfrequently generating a feeling analogous to despondency. An attentive perusal of his diary evinces the extreme jealousy with which he was wont to scrutinize his heart after secret prayer, and the deep religious meditation in which he took great delight. Not only did he peruse the Word of God with fervent prayer for the teaching of the Holy Spirit, but marked with distinctive observation its influence upon his future life; and, when he could trace an increasing love to his God and Saviour, he never failed to ascribe the praise to whom alone it was due. We quote the following brief extract:

"When I look back upon my short and despicable life, I find it altogether made up of deficiencies, faults, and imperfections; my disposition was somewhat soft; my bodily constitution weak or tender which soon broke, so that no apparent probability yet occurs that I shall attain either to an advanced age, or even to the age of some of my immediate progenitors; but it is a question whether it is the greatest difficulty to live or die well; to be united to Christ; to live unto, and die in Him is the summary of all; a God reconciled in Christ, a complete Saviour. Here we are often in the dark, see and know but in part; but when once admitted into the higher house we shall see face to face, and know as we are known. Here the believer sees and lives by faith; but there by open vision, where all the graces must give place to love and wonder. The great volume of God's creation, word and providence, must be folded up, and the heavens depart as a scroll; and then the believer must read in the Book of God essential properties only. Here they are freed from the power of sin; but there is an eternal freedom from the very indwell of it. Here there is only a deliverance from Satan; but there shall be a freedom from all his temptations. It is only there that by grace we shall be raised to perfection. Here affliction is only sanctified to us; but there will be a deliverance from all trouble, with the sanctified fruits of it forever. And here He only supports us from the fears of death; but there He shall set us beyond the reach of death, and we shall die no more—'Because I live ye shall live also.' There we shall be admitted into the company of the First-born, that blessed assembly whose glory it has been to have their garments washed in the blood of the Lamb, and continually flourish before Him—one glance of whose glorious and beautiful face shall make all sighing and sorrow for ever to fly away."

We have already said that, from his earliest years Mr. Howie's constitution was physically weak and delicate. It was not, however, till the spring of 1791, that his infirmities began seriously to alarm his friends. About that time he had a severe attack of rheumatism, which, after traversing almost every part of his body, finally settled down in his left knee, and confined him entirely to his apartment, suffering frequently the most gnawing and excrutiating pains. During summer he removed to Saltcoats, for the double benefit of sea-bathing and a change of air, but without any good effect; for, although his bodily suffering from rheumatism somewhat abated, a complication of other disorders began to show themselves, to the renewed anxiety and grief of his friends, who now began to look upon his recovery as almost hopeless. During the whole of that trying period he exhibited all that Christian resignation and submission to the divine will, which the consistency of his conduct, during the whole of his previous life, might have led one to anticipate. His maladies, however, continuing to increase, as a last resource he was, in the month of July, conveyed back to Saltcoats, to try anew the efficacy of sea-bathing. But the second experiment had no more salutary effects than the first; and, after remaining two weeks, he returned to his cottage, about the beginning of August, with the impress of death visibly stamped upon his countenance.

In the month of September, a most affecting circumstance, and one greatly calculated to put his faith and resignation to the test, occurred in the family of the dying man. Smallpox had been committing ravages in the country round, and the loathsome disease at length invaded his own dwelling. Ill able to sustain his own infirmities, he was doomed to witness his children attacked one by one, until the whole were confined. A sound constitution, however, warded off the fatal consequences of the distemper in them all, except his eldest son, John, who fell a victim to the relentless destroyer, after fourteen days of severe suffering. On the morning of the young man's death, which was on a Tuesday, Mrs. Howie entered her husband's apartment, in tears, and requested his presence in the chamber of the dying youth, whose spirit was just about to take its flight to a holier region. The old man was now so weak, that he was for the most part confined to bed; but when he heard the unexpected tidings, he raised himself on his elbow, and for a little seemed to doubt its veracity. Being soon assured, however, that his wife's fears were too well founded, he was prevailed upon to dress himself; and, assisted by his wife, he tottered to the bed of his beloved son. With grief unutterable, as he gazed upon the young man's countenance, he saw that the seal of death had been surely impressed upon it; and, fearing that the "iron" might, sooner than expectation, "enter into his soul," he lost no time in engaging in deep and fervent prayer. It was a solemn and affecting sight, to behold the aged man, pale and emaciated, bending over the death-bed of a son in the bloom of youth, who had given promise of a vigorous manhood, cut down and taking his departure before him, that he might be ready to welcome him into the land of bliss. After prayer, he began to touch a tender string, and to inquire into the state of the young man's soul; if he had any valid hopes of his eternal well-being; and upon what these hopes were founded. The youth was too exhausted to articulate; but the significant motion of his hands, and the darting of an expressive ray from his fast dimming eye, gave pleasing indication that all was well.

Lochgoin was powerfully affected upon the occasion; for, turning to a friend who was present, he remarked, that this was an event of rare occurrence; a dying father addressing the language of consolation to an expiring son. After having again knelt by the bedside of the young man, and offered up a final prayer for the repose of his soul, he was reconducted to his own apartment; the young man having breathed his last. The last effort he made, as an inhabitant of this world, was on the day of his son's funeral. He not only dressed himself, and conversed with such friends as came to attend the funeral; but, supported by an individual belonging to the family, he accompanied the procession a short way from the house; when, with striking solemnity, he took leave of the company; adding, that it would not be long before they would be called to return, and perform for himself the same sad office. And it happened as he had said; for in a few days after, upon a Saturday morning about the end of Autumn, he bade adieu to all that was terrestrial, leaving behind him a name and fame that will be long revered by the religious peasantry of Scotland.

THE LIVES OF THE SCOTS WORTHIES

INTRODUCTION

CHRISTIANITY seems to have made its appearance in Scotland at a very early period: according to some writers, it was propagated in this kingdom by the apostles themselves. It is said by some, that Simon Zelotes, by others, that Paul preached the gospel in this part of the world; but as this opinion is not supported on proper authority, it merits only the regard due to conjecture, not the attention which an undoubted narrative demands. Another, and more probable account is, that during the persecution raised by Domitian, (the twelfth and last Cæsar, about A.D. 96,) some of the disciples of the apostle John fled into our island, and there taught the religion of Jesus.

It does not appear that Christianity made any very rapid progress for a considerable time. The first account of the success of the gospel that can be depended on, is, that about A.D. 203, king Donald I., with his queen and several courtiers, were baptized, and continued for a time to promote the interests of Christianity, in opposition to pagan idolatry. But the invasion of the emperor Severus disturbed this king's measures; so that for the space of more than seventy years after, religion declined and the idolatry of the Druids prevailed. They were an order of heathen priests, who performed their rites in groves of oak trees; a species of idolatry of great antiquity, being of the same kind to which the Jews so often revolted. These Druids likewise possessed a considerable share of civil power, which made it a difficult task to establish a religion so opposite to, and subversive of, their own: but the difficulties which Christianity has in every age and country had to encounter, have served its interest, and illustrated the power and grace of its divine Author. About the year 277, they were expelled by king Cratilinth, who took special care to obliterate every memorial of them; and from this period we may date the true era of Christianity in Scotland, because, from this time forward, until the persecution under the emperor Diocletian, in the beginning of the fourth century, there was a gradual increase of the true knowledge of God and religion. That persecution became so hot in the southern parts of Britain, as to drive many, both preachers and professors, into Scotland, where they were kindly received, and had the Isle of Man, then in possession of the Scots, given them for their residence, and a sufficient maintenance assigned them. King Cratilinth built a church for them, which was called the church of our SAVIOUR, in the Greek σωτηρ, and is now, by corruption, SODOR, in Icolmkill, one of the western isles. These men were not employed, like the Druidical priests in whose place they had come, in settling the worldly affairs of men, but gave themselves wholly to divine services, instructing the ignorant, comforting the weak, administering the sacraments, and training up disciples to the same services.

Whether these refugees were the ancient Culdees, or a different set of men, it is neither easy nor material to determine. Some profess to trace Culdeeism to the primitive ages of Christianity, while others ascribe its institutions to Columba about the middle of the sixth century. The Culdees (from cultores Dei, worshippers of God) flourished at this time: they were called μοναχοι, or monks, from the secluded religious lives which they led; and the cells into which they had retired, were, after their deaths, mostly converted into churches, which to this day retain their names, as Cell, or Kell, or church of Marnock; Kil-Patrick, Kil-Malcom, &c. Opposed to papal supremacy in unyielding resistance, they differed from the votaries of the Romish church, not only in their rigid adherence to the infallible standard of the word of God, but also differed from them in their habits as a body of Christian teachers: far from cloistering themselves in some retreat, wherein they could look forth with cold unconcern upon the doings of their fellowmen,—bearing not the trials and vicissitudes of life, or sharing its joys; confining that love which they owed to the human family within the limited circle of a monastic fraternity, or seeking the aggrandizement of the order to which they belonged, the Culdees, like Paul, laboured for their subsistence among their fellow-men; they performed all the duties of useful members of society, while they taught and preached the truths of the gospel.

Their manner of operation was to choose superintendents from among themselves, whose office obliged them to travel the country, in order to see that every one discharged his duty properly: but these men were utter strangers to the lordly power of the modern prelate, having no proper diocese, and only a temporary superintendency, with which they were invested by their brethren, and to whom they were accountable. It was an institution, in the spirit of it the same with the private censures of ministers among Presbyterians.

During the reigns of Cratilinth and Fincormac, his successor, the Culdees were in a flourishing state: but after the death of the latter, both the church and state of Scotland went into disorder. Maximus, the Roman præfect, stirred up the Picts to aid him against the Scots, who were totally defeated; their king, Ewing, with most part of the nobility being slain. This bloody battle was fought about the year 380, at the water of Doon, in Carrick. This overthrow was immediately succeeded by an edict commanding all the Scots, without exception, to depart the kingdom against a certain day, under pain of death. This drove them entirely into Ireland, and the western isles of Denmark and Norway, except a few ecclesiastics who wandered about from place to place.

After an exile of forty-four, or, according to Buchanan, twenty-seven years, which the Scots endured, the Picts became sensible of their error in assisting the Romans against them, and accordingly strengthened the hands of the few who remained, and invited the fugitives back into their own land. These were joined by some foreigners, and returned, with Fergus II., then in Denmark, at their head. Their enterprise was the more successful, that at this time many of the Roman forces were called home. Their king was crowned with the usual rights in his own country, and the news of his success drew great numbers to him; insomuch that he recovered all the country out of which the Scots had been expelled. Most of the foreign forces returned home, except the Irish, who received the country of Galloway for their reward. This successful undertaking happened about the year 404, or, as others will have it, 420.

The Culdees were now called from their lurking places, restored to their livings, and had their churches repaired. At this time they possessed the people's esteem to a higher degree than ever: but this tranquillity was again interrupted by a more formidable enemy than before. The Pelagian heresy had now gained considerable ground in Britain: it is so called from Pelagius, a monk at Rome. Its chief articles are, 1. That original sin is not inherent. 2. That faith is a thing natural. 3. That good works done by our own strength, of our own free-will, are agreeable to the law of God, and worthy of heaven. Whether all or only part of these errors then infected the Scottish church, is uncertain; but Celestine, then bishop of Rome, embraced this opportunity to send Palladius among them, who, joining with the orthodox of south Britain, restored peace to that part of the church, by suppressing the heresy. Eugenius the Second, being desirous that this church should likewise be purged of the impure leaven, invited Palladius hither, who, obtaining liberty from Celestine, and being enjoined to introduce the hierarchy as opportunity should offer, came into Scotland, and succeeded so effectually in his commission, as both to confute Pelagianism and new model the government of the church.

The church of Scotland as yet knew no officers vested with preeminence above their brethren, nor had anything to do with the Roman Pontiff, until the year 450. Bede says, that "Palladius was sent unto the Scots who believed in Christ, as their first bishop,"* Boetius likewise says, "that Palladius was the first of all who did bear holy magistracy among the Scots, being made bishop by the great pope. Fordun, in his Chronicle, tells us that, "before the coming of Palladius, the Scots had for teachers of the faith, and ministers of the sacraments, presbyters only, or monks, following the customs of the primitive church."† Tradition affirms that the shire of Kincardine was the scene of his residence and labours; the place where his ashes are said to repose being still marked by the ruins of a chapel bearing his name.

But while we may consider him as having opened that intercourse which gradually obtained more and more between Scotland and Rome, yet we are not to date from his time the era of diocesan bishops; for there were no such office-bearers in the church of Scotland, until the reign of Malcolm II., in the eleventh century. During the first 1000 years after Christ, there were no divided dioceses, nor superiorities over others, but they governed in the church in common with presbyters; so that they were no more than nominal bishops, possessing little or nothing of that lordly dignity, which they now, and for a long time past, have enjoyed. Spottiswood (History, p. 29,) himself testifies, that the Scottish bishops, before the eleventh century, exercised their functions indifferently in every place to which they came. Palladius may be said to have rather laid the foundation of the after degeneracy of the church of Scotland, than to have built that superstructure of corruption and idolatry which afterwards prevailed; because she continued for near two hundred years in a state comparatively pure and unspotted, when we cast our eyes on the following periods of her history.

Columba, too, a native of Ireland, and descended from royal blood, flourished about the middle of the sixth century. His education was intrusted to Irish ecclesiastics; but on account of some civil dissensions he left his native country, and travelled both in Europe and Asia, which might tend to give him that intrepedity which he afterwards so nobly displayed in propagating the gospel. While Ireland had been early blessed with Christianity, Scotland was wrapped up in the darkness of ignorance and superstition; hence it was that Columba, after his return to his native land, set out on that missionary tour which entitled him to be called the Apostle of the Highlands. In the year 563, he sailed in a small wicker boat with twelve associates, and landed on Hi, or Iona, now called Icolmkill, or Columkill, for Columba himself. Here he established his missionary college, which gave birth to those of Dunkeld, Abernethy, St. Andrew's, Abercorn, Govan on the Clyde, and many other religious establishments. Hence this remote and rugged isle may be viewed as the upper room in Jerusalem, a well-spring whence flowed a flood of gospel light throughout our land. It is affirmed that Columba was not only instrumental in propagating the gospel in Britain and Ireland, but also on the continent of Europe, particularly France and Italy.

About the end of the sixth and beginning of the seventh century, a number of pious and wise men flourished in the country, among whom was Kentigern, commonly called St. Mungo. Some of these men were employed by Oswald, a Northumbrian king, to instruct his people; they are represented by Bede, as eminent for their love to God, and knowledge of the holy scriptures. The light of the gospel by their means, broke into other parts of the Saxon dominions, which long maintained an opposition to the growing usurpation of the church of Rome, which, after the middle of this century, was strenuously supported by Austin's disciples. Besides these men, the church of Scotland at this time sent many other worthy and successful missionaries into foreign parts, particularly France and Germany.

Thus was Scotland early privileged, and thus were her privileges improved; but soon "the gold became dim, and the most fine gold was changed."

Popery came now by degrees to show her horrid head; the assiduity of Austin and his disciples in England was attended with melancholy consequences to Scotland: by fomenting divisions, corrupting her princes with Romish principles, and inattention to the lives of her clergy, the papal power soon came to be universally acknowledged. In the seventh century a hot contest arose between Austin and his disciples on the one part, and the Scots and the northern Saxons on the other, about the time of keeping Easter, the threefold immersion in baptism, shaving of priests, &c.; which the latter would not receive, nor submit to the authority that imposed them. Each party refused ministerial communion with the other party, until an arbitral decision was given by Osway, king of the Northumbrians, at Whitby in Yorkshire, in favour of the Romanists, when the opinions of the Scots were exploded, and the modish fooleries of papal hierarchy established. This decision, however, was far from putting an end to the confusion which this dissension had occasioned; the Romanists urged their rites with rigour, the others rather chose to yield their places than conform. Their discouragements daily increased, as the clerical power was augmented. In the year 886, they obtained the act exempting them from taxes, and all civil prosecutions before temporal judges, and ordaining that all matters concerning them should be tried by their bishops, who were at this time vested with those powers, which are now in the hands of commissioners, respecting matrimonial causes, testaments, &c. They were likewise by the same statute empowered to make canons, try heretics, &c.; and all future kings were ordained to take an oath at their coronation, for maintaining these privileges to the church. The Convention of Estates which passed this act was held at Forfar, in the reign of that too indulgent prince, Gregory.

In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, Malcolm III., Alexander, David, &c., successively supported this dignity, by erecting particular bishoprics, abbeys, and monasteries. The same superstitious zeal seized the nobility of both sexes, some giving a third, others more, and others their whole estates for the support of pontifical pride, and spiritual tyranny; which soon became insupportable, and opened the eyes of the nation, so that they discovered their mistake in raising clerical authority to such a height. Accordingly, we find the nobles complaining of it to Alexander III., who reigned after the middle of the thirteenth century; but he was so far from being able to afford them redress, that when they were excommunicated by the church on account of this complaint, to prevent greater evils, he was obliged to cause the nobility to satisfy both the avarice and arrogance of the clergy, who had now resolved upon retiring to Rome, with a view to raise as great commotions in Scotland, as Thomas-á-Becket had lately made in England.

The pope's power was now generally acknowledged over Christendom, particularly in our nation, for which, in return, the church of Scotland was declared free from all foreign spiritual jurisdiction, that of the "apostolic see only excepted." This bull was occasioned by an attempt of one Roger, bishop of York, in the year 1159, to raise himself to the dignity of metropolitan of Scotland, and who found means to become legate of this kingdom, but lost that office upon the remonstrance of the clergy. This remonstrance procured the above bull in their favour, with many other favours of a like nature at this time conferred upon them, by all of which they were exempted from any other jurisdictions than that of Rome; so that we find pope Boniface VIII., commanding Edward of England to cease hostilities against the Scots, alleging that "the sovereignty of Scotland belonged to the church;" a claim which seems to have been founded in the papal appointment for the unction of the Scots kings, which was first used on king Edgar, A.D. 1098, and at that time regarded by the people as a new mark of royalty; but which, as the appointment of the pope, was really the mark of the beast.

There were now in Scotland all the orders of monks and friars, Templars, or red monks, Trinity monks of Aberdeen, Cistertian monks, Carmelite, Black, and Grey friars, Carthusians, Dominicans, Franciscans, Jacobines, Benedictines, &c.; which show to what a height antichrist had raised his head in our land, and how readily all his oppressive measures were complied with by all ranks.

But the reader must not think, that during the period we have now reviewed, there were none to oppose this torrent of superstition and idolatry; for from the first appearance of the Roman antichrist in this kingdom, God wanted not witnesses for the truth, who boldly stood forth in defence of the blessed and pure gospel of Christ. Mention is first made of Clements and Samson, two famous Culdees, who in the seventh century supported the authority of Christ as the only king and head of his church, against the usurped power of Rome, and who rejected the superstitious rites of antichrist as contrary to the simplicity of gospel institutions. The succeeding age was no less remarkable for learned and pious men, to whom Scotland gave birth, and whose praise was in the churches abroad; particularly Joannes Scotus, who wrote a book upon the eucharist, condemned by Leo IX., in the year 1030, long after his death. In the ninth century, a convention of estates was held at Scoon for the reformation of the clergy, their lives and conversations at that time being a reproach to common decency and good manners, not to say piety and religion. The remedies provided at this convention discover the nature of the disease. It was ordained, that churchmen should reside upon their charges, that they should not intermeddle with secular affairs, but instruct the people, and be good examples in their conduct; that they should not keep hawks, hounds, or horses, for their pleasure, and that they should carry no weapons, nor be pleaders in civil causes. And if they failed in the observance of these injunctions, they were to be fined for the first, and deposed for the second transgression. These laws were made under king Constantine II.; but his successor, Gregory, rendered them abortive by his indulgence. The age following was not remarkable for witnesses to the truth; but historians are agreed that there were still some of the Culdees, who lived and ministered apart from the Romanists, and taught the people that Christ was the only propitiation for sin, and that his blood only could wash them from the guilt of it, in opposition to the indulgence and pardons of the pope. Mr. A. Shields, in his "Hind let Loose," says, that the Culdees transmitted their testimony to the Lollards;* and pope John XXII., in his bull for anointing king Robert Bruce, complains that there were many heretics in Scotland; so that we may safely affirm, there never was any very great period of time without witnesses for the truth, and against the gross corruptions of the church of Rome. Some of our kings themselves opposed the pope's supremacy, and prohibited his legates from entering their dominions: the most remarkable instance of this kind is that of Robert Bruce. After his having defeated the English at Bannockburn, they became suppliants to the pope for his mediation; who accordingly sent a legate into Scotland, proposing a cessation of arms till the pope should hear and decide the quarrel betwixt the crowns, and be informed of the right which Edward had to the crown of Scotland. To this king Robert replied, "that the pope could not be ignorant of that business, since it had been often explained to his predecessors, in the hearing of many cardinals then alive, who could tell him, if they pleased, what insolent answers pope Boniface received from the English, while they were desired to desist from oppressing the Scots, And now," said he, "when it hath pleased God to give us the better by some victories, by which we have not only recovered our own, but can make them live as good neighbours, they have recourse to such treaties, seeking to gain time in order to fall upon us again with greater force: but in this his holiness must excuse me, for I will not be so unwise as to let the advantage I have slip out of my hand." The legate regarding this answer as contemptuous, interdicted the kingdom, and departed; but king Robert paying little regard to such proceeding, followed hard after the legate, and entering England, wasted all the adjacent counties with fire and sword.

In the beginning of the fifteenth century, the reformation from popery began to dawn in Scotland; at this time there was pope against pope, nay, sometimes three of them at once, all excommunicating one another; which schism lasted for about thirty years, and, by an over-ruling providence, contributed much to the downfall of antichrist, and to the revival of real religion and learning in Scotland, and many parts in Europe; for many embracing the opportunity now afforded to them, began to speak openly against the heresy, tyranny, and immorality of the clergy. Among those who preached publicly against these evils, were John Huss and Jerome or Prague in Bohemia, John Wickliffe in England, and John Resby, an Englishman and scholar of Wickliffe's in Scotland, who came hither about the year 1407, and was called in question for some doctrines which he taught against the pope's supremacy; he was condemned to the fire, which he endured with great constancy. About ten years after, one Paul Craw, a Bohemian, and follower of Huss, was accused of heresy before such as were then called doctors of theology. The articles of charge were, that he followed Huss and Wickliffe in the opinion of the sacrament of the supper, denying that the substance of bread and wine were changed by virtue of any words, and that auricular confession to priests, or praying to departed saints, were proper. He was committed to the secular judge, condemned to the flames at St. Andrews, where he suffered, being gagged when led to the stake, that he might not have the opportunity of making his confession. Both the above-mentioned martyrs suffered under Henry Wardlaw, bishop of St. Andrew's, who founded that university, 1412; which might have done him honour, had he not imbrued his hands in innocent blood.

These returnings of the gospel light were not confined to St. Andrew's: Kyle, Carrick, Cunningham, and other places in the west of Scotland, were also favoured about the same time; for we find that Robert Blackatter, the first archbishop of Glasgow, anno 1494, caused summon before king James IV., and his council at Glasgow, George Campbell of Cessnock, Adam Reid of Barskimming, John Campbell of Newmills, Andrew Shaw of Polkemmet, lady Pokellie, and lady Stair. These were opprobriously called the Lollards of Kyle, from Lollard, an eminent preacher among the Waldenses, for maintaining that images ought not to be worshipped; that the relics of saints should not be adored, and other obnoxious tenets; but they answered their accusers with such constancy and boldness, that it was judged most prudent to dismiss them with an admonition, to content themselves with the faith of the church, and to beware of new doctrines.

Thus have we brought down this summary of church affairs in Scotland to the time of Patrick Hamilton, whose life stands first in this collection; which contains a somewhat minute history of the church in our land, during the period to which it refers.

PATRICK HAMILTON

THIS illustrious youth, destined to the high honour of being the first* to announce the truth to his fellow countrymen, and the first to seal it with his blood, was born in the year 1504. He was of royal lineage, being the son of Sir Patrick Hamilton of Kincavil, who was the son of lord Hamilton, by a sister of king James III. By maternal descent his birth was not less illustrious; his mother being a daughter of John duke of Albany, brother to the same monarch. He was early educated with a view to future high preferment, and had the abbacy of Ferne given him that he might prosecute his studies, which he did with great assiduity.

He was sent to the university of St. Andrew's,† and there he finished his studies in philosophy and belles lettres. His vigorous mind gave promise of future eminence, and when he was little more than twenty years of age, he had made himself master of all the learning then in repute. The university of St. Andrew's, although it had not been a century in existence, was at this time in considerable, reputation, and contained many learned men. The celebrated John Mair, or Major, the preceptor of our great reformer Knox, and of our unrivalled classical scholar Buchanan, flourished at this time, and was professor of philosophy and theology at St. Andrew's, where Hamilton received his education. Major was born at North Berwick, studied at Oxford and Paris, and became a professor of the Sorbonne, in 1509. In 1519, he was invited to his native country by James Beaton, archbishop of Glasgow, and inducted professor in the archiepiscopal university of St. Andrew's. His patron, Beaton, four years afterwards, followed him to that city, as archbishop and primate. He died about the year 1550. His commentary on the Third Book of the "Magister Sententiarum," and his "Exposition of Matthew's Gospel," had by this time been printed in Latin at Paris, the former in 1517, the latter in the following year. Objectionable as many of Major's writings undeniably are, yet he deserves applause for exposing several of the most glaring errors and abuses of his time. He was at that period reckoned the greatest master of the sciences which he taught. From the circumstances of his having acquired the chief part of his education in France, and his having held the professorial chair in the university of Paris, Major had acquired a nicer discrimination of things and more rational and liberal modes of thinking, than were to be met with in Scotland, or indeed in many other parts of Europe. He adopted the opinions on polity defended by John Gerson and Peter D'Ailly, who had nobly, and with so much applause, argued in favour of the council of Constance, against those who advocated the doctrine of the pope's unlimited power. Major, in fact, taught many things which must have been peculiarly obnoxious to the catholic clergy, and which must have had a peculiar influence on the minds of his pupils; such as, that a general council was superior to the pope, and might rebuke, restrain, and even depose him; he denied the temporal power of the Roman bishop, and loudly censured the ambition, avarice, and splendour of the Vatican. These, with a variety of other opinions which Major taught, must have excited some spirit of inquiry among his hearers, which would not likely end in increasing their devotion to the Romish church.

Under such a teacher, Hamilton's mind must have been preparing for the reception of the truth, although his preceptor still held several untenable and inconsistent doctrines, and could not, therefore, be a very safe guide to his noble pupil.

In this manner did Patrick Hamilton finish his studies at the university; and although he acquired great applause for his learning from his teachers, there is no definite notice taken by any historian of his appearance as a student. Knox must have been at the university during this period, but he is altogether silent on the subject, as he generally is, on the early lives of all the Reformers. There does not seem to have been a great intimacy subsisting between Hamilton and Knox, though the latter was only one year younger. Knox, indeed, never mentions that he knew him at all, though the supposition is not improbable, that there might have been an acquaintanceship. It must be recollected, however, that Knox was at this time a priest of the Romish church, having received orders before he arrived at the canonical age,—and that the absence of the future martyr from Scotland, for a season, might also tend to stop all communication. Another reason might also be alleged,—the high birth of Hamilton, and the comparative obscurity of Knox,—for the latter had not as yet given those indications of the important part he was to sustain in the future Reformation of his country, which more than counterbalanced the most splendid family renown, or illustrious alliance.

Hamilton was in the twenty-second year of his age when the knowledge of divine truth dawned upon his mind. His conduct had already drawn upon him the suspicions of the clergy. The freedom with which he recommended ancient learning instead of the dogmas of the schools, and the no less undisguised language which he used in declaiming against the corruptions of the church, made him an object of peculiar notice. His influence, however, was not yet of such consequence, as to warrant punishment; and as he still remained in the church, and in all probability would be one of her greatest dignitaries; his opinions were viewed as the ebullitions of a heated imagination. But to Hamilton they were not so, and, ere the canonical age for receiving his ordination, he resolved, in the year 1526, to leave Scotland, and to improve his mind by travelling in foreign parts. This was the prevalent custom in those days among men of rank, and especially among those who were designed for the church. The Continent was the great resort of all our learned men, and they returned to their native land, after having pursued a course of study there, to the discharge of those duties for which they were eventually destined.

Hamilton proceeded to Germany, being attracted thither by the great fame of Luther. He first repaired to Wittemberg, the residence of that reformer, by whom he was received with cordiality, and introduced to Melancthon, the most amiable and moderate of all the reformers. They retained Hamilton a short time with them, and then recommended him to the university of Marpurg. This university had been recently founded by Philip, the landgrave of Hesse, who was distinguished above all the princes of that age for his learning, and he had placed at its head the celebrated scholar, Francis Lambert of Avignon. This great man, who had resigned a most lucrative situation, and left his native country, in consequence of his attachment to the reformed doctrines, soon felt towards Hamilton the greatest attachment. The young Scotsman with fondness and ardour adopted the sentiments of his perceptor, and attended with the utmost regularity his daily prelections. His residence at Marpurg was to him of the utmost advantage; and here it was that he first felt an anxious desire to preach the gospel to his own countrymen, and to instruct them in true religion. He communicated his sentiments to Lambert, who freely warned him of the danger to which he would be exposed, and he tried to persuade him to remain at Marpurg; but his resolution was fixed, and, taking an affectionate leave of his learned preceptor, with one domestic he prepared to return to Scotland.

It does not appear whether Hamilton returned immediately to his native country, or prolonged his stay for a short time on the Continent, after leaving Marpurg. It is asserted by some historians that he was in Bohemia; and there is probably some truth in the assertion, especially considering Hamilton's ardent disposition, and his eager desire after knowledge.

Hamilton, however, found among the protestants of Germany certain principles congenial to his own, and, from his intimacy with Luther, who was now their greatest friend, he was received with great hospitality. He made himself master of all their tenets, though there is no ground for Mackenzie's assertion, "with a design of reforming our church according to their models." His residence was brief among them; for, earnest to commence the work of Reformation in his native land, he arrived in Scotland with a single attendant, in the year 1527.

Accordingly, being as yet a youth not much past 23 years of age, he began to sow the seed of God's word wherever he came, exposing the corruptions of the Romish church, and pointing out the errors which had crept into the Christian religion as professed in Scotland. He was favourably received and followed by many, unto whom he readily "showed the way of God more perfectly." His reputation as a scholar, and his courteous demeanour, contributed not a little to his usefulness in this good work.

The arrival of Hamilton was not long a secret, nor was he allowed much time by the clergy to disseminate his opinions. No sooner had this young reformer set foot on his native land, than he felt his bowels yearning with compassion towards his deluded countrymen; and, contrasting the moral aspect of his country with that of the countries where he had been, he longed for the time when the Reformation should be as publicly acknowledged in Scotland as in Germany. But he knew that this could be accomplished only by human means; and, nothing dismayed at the magnitude or the probable issue of the undertaking, he resolved himself to begin the noble work. James Beaton was at this time at the head of the Scottish catholic church, being archbishop of St. Andrew's, and lord chancellor of the kingdom. This primate soon made it appear, that he was determined to oppose, to the utmost, every advancement to knowledge. The conduct of Hamilton, in faithfully preaching wherever he went, exposing the corruptions, and pointing out the dreadful errors of the church, as well as his celebrity as a scholar, and his general courtesy to all, roused the fury of the archbishop, and made him determine on revenge. The high birth and honourable connections of Hamilton alone restrained him from proceeding openly; for though James V., then a minor, was on the throne, yet the primate well knew that the reformer's noble relatives would shield him from his rage, even though they might not be led away by his doctrines. At all events, the alarm of the clergy was apparent, and they resolved as soon as possible to rid themselves of this dangerous and formidable enemy.

The city of St. Andrew's—a place venerable for its antiquity, for its classical retreats, and for the many impressive associations connected with it, was at that time the great capital of the clergy. Here the Romish hierarchy reared its majestic and imposing form; and, surrounded by hundreds of priests, the primates were wont to sit enthroned in power, in the splendid and magnificent cathedral, which the over zeal of the reformers afterwards levelled with the ground. Beaton, as we have said, was archbishop, Hugh Spence provost of St. Salvador's college and dean of divinity, John Waddell, parson of Flisk, rector of the university, James Simson official of the abbey, John Gregson provincial of the Black Friars, Martin Balfor and John Spence lawyers, Sir John Annan canon of St. Andrew's, and Alexander Campbell prior of the Black Friars. Those, with a number of others of inferior note, consisting of canons, friars, rectors, deans, and prebendaries, completed the ecclesiastical chapter of this venerable city, which, in its contrast now, to the splendour of those days of superstition, in its almost deserted university, its silent streets, and mouldering ruins, exhibits a mournful picture of the wreck of ages, and of those mighty revolutions of time, in which cities, as well as kingdoms and empires, participate.

The archbishop now became Hamilton's inveterate enemy; but the chief difficulty with the primate was how to get him into his power, as he was every day more convinced that his friends were powerful and numerous. Through craftiness, however, he at last succeeded; for, concealing his intentions under the appearance of friendship, he invited Hamilton to St. Andrew's, under the pretense of holding a free conference with him, in which he lamented the errors of the church. The unsuspicious victim thrown off his guard by the primate's seeming candour, and rejoicing that he would have an opportunity of arguing with, and perhaps convincing, the greatest dignitary in the church, willingly consented. This was all the primate wished, and accordingly he proceeded against him without delay.

Thus, through the vilest artifice, cunning, and hypocrisy, did the archbishop of St. Andrew's succeed in apprehending a man, who while he was at large, made him tremble in his archiepiscopal seat.

Friar Alexander Campbell had several interviews with Hamilton, after his arrival in St. Andrew's. As Campbell was a man of learning and considerable talents, Hamilton openly engaged him in disputation on the comparative effects of the reformed and popish doctrines, and the friar, though not convinced, felt himself vanquished. He knew well that the martyr's positions were true, but he could not subdue his prejudices, and at once acquiesce in the evils of superstition.

Nevertheless he went cunningly to work. He pretended to acknowledge the force of Hamilton's objections against the clergy, and the general errors of the Romish church; but no persuasions of the friar could induce the Reformer to recant. All his arguments rather tended the more to confirm Hamilton in the truth. Campbell at last left him, and proceeded to the archbishop, to whom he related his ill success. The primate had previously resolved what to do. But he and the inferior clergy made concessions to Hamilton, for he was not as yet confined, owning that many things required reformation, which, they said, they earnestly wished; but those acknowledgments, there is every reason to believe, were made only the more effectually to conceal their intentions, and to make Hamilton the more secure.

Archbishop Beaton, however, soon threw off the mask of friendship and hospitality. Like his nephew and successor the celebrated cardinal, who seems most liberally to have imbibed his spirit, he was distinguished by the same want of principle, the same craftiness, desire for political intrigue, and hatred to sacred truth. He showed his ambition to the greatest degree, during the two months he acquired the ascendancy in the government, after John duke of Albany had resigned the regency, which was shortly after his promotion from the see of Glasgow to the primacy of St. Andrew's, having succeeded the avaricious Forman in the latter see, to the exclusion of Gawin Douglas, the warrior bishop of Dunkeld, and celebrated translator of Virgil's Æneid into Scottish verse; and since that time, till the present, though he had been hated by the faction of the Douglases, and often compelled by them, while they retained possession of the king's person, to lurk among his friends, he had insinuated himself into the government, and on his restitution to his archiepiscopal seat, after the memorable escape of the king from the hands of the Douglases, he had resided in splendour at St. Andrew's, equally powerful in church and state. As yet, till the time of Hamilton, no heretic had disturbed his security; he had reposed on the downy pillow of ease, and none dared to make him afraid; but now, though he regarded not the church, as far as religion was concerned, and was callous to everything unconnected with his own aggrandizement, he determined to arrest the progress of a man, who was able, from his rank, influence and talents to shake his archieopiscopal throne, and sow the seeds of dissension and turbulance in that church, of which he was the chief dignitary. Accordingly, in the middle of the night, an order was issued by the primate for Hamilton's apprehension, and he was committed a close prisoner to the castle of St. Andrew's.

Hamilton now saw the peculiar nature of his situation, but he was nothing discouraged at the dreary prospect. He was well instructed in the things of heaven, and those truths which he firmly believed now supported and animated his soul. He prepared himself for the issue, with all the calmness and resignation of a believer, committing his cause to Him who judgeth righteously.

The measures which Beaton and his clergy took after Hamilton's apprehension, fully prove their original designs. Knowing well that, from Hamilton's rank and relationship to the royal family, there would be powerful and not unlikely, effectual application for his life, the young king, James V., at the solicitation of the clergy, was persuaded to undertake a pilgrimage that same day to the shrine of St. Dothes, in Ross-shire, that he might be out of the reach of all intercession in behalf of the victim. And yet those churchmen pretended that they had Hamilton's salvation at heart! The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel; and the inveterate offences which Patrick Hamilton, a youth only twenty-four years of age, had committed against the Romish hierarchy, could be expiated only by his blood.

The day after Hamilton's imprisonment, a convention of the clergy was called by the archbishop, in which he presided in person. Hamilton was summoned to appear before them, and accordingly he was brought with all solemn parade into the abbey church. They charged him with preaching and maintaining heretical doctrines, and they exhibited a number of charges of great importance, though they finally restricted them to some of those fundamental dogmas of popery which he denied. The doctrines for which he was condemned, however, according to Mackenzie and Spottiswoode (afterwards the Protestant archbishop of that see,) were the following:

"1. That the corruption of sin remains in children after their baptism.

"2. That no man is without sin as long as he lives.

"3. That no man, by the mere power of his free will, can do any good.

"That every true Christian may know whether or not he is in a state of grace.

"5. That a man is not justified by works, but by faith only.

"6. That good works make not a man good, but that a good man doth good works, and that an ill man doth ill works; yet the same ill works truly repented of, do not make an ill man.

"7. That faith, hope, and charity are so linked together, that he who hath one, hath all, and he who lacketh one, lacketh all.

"That God is the cause of sin in this sense, that he withdraweth his grace from man, and when grace is withdrawn, he cannot but sin."

Other five charges were added, making them in all thirteen.

"1. That auricular confession is not necessary to salvation.

"2. That actual penance cannot purchase the remission of sins.

"3. That there is no purgatory.

"4. That the holy patriarchs were in heaven before Christ's passion.

"5. That the pope is antichrist, and that every priest hath as much power as he."

The sentence, as given by Mr. Fox in his "Acts and Monuments of Martyrs," is as follows:

"CHRISTI nomini invocato: We, James, by the mercy of God, archbishop of St. Andrew's, primate of Scotland, with the counsel, decree and authority, of the most reverend fathers in God, and lords, abbots, doctors of theology, professors of the holy scripture, and masters of the university, assisting us for the time, sitting in judgment within our metropolitan church of St. Andrew's, in the cause of heretical pravity, against Mr. Patrick Hamilton, abbot or pensionary of Ferne, being summoned to appear before us, to answer to certain articles affirmed, taught, and preached by him, and so appearing before us, and accused, the merits of the cause being ripely weighed, discussed, and understood, by faithful inquisition made in Lent last passed: We have found the same Mr. Hamilton many ways infamed with heresy, disputing, holding and maintaining divers heresies of Martin Luther and his followers, repugnant to our faith, and which is already condemned by general councils, and most famous universities. And he being under the same infamy, we discerning before him to be summoned and accused upon the premises, he of evil mind (as may be presumed), passed to other parts, forth of the realm, suspected and noted of heresy. And being lately returned, not being admitted, but of his own head, without license or privilege, hath presumed to preach wicked heresy.

"We have found also that he hath affirmed, published, and taught, divers opinions of Luther and wicked heretics, after that he was summoned to appear before us and our council: That man hath no free will: That man is in sin so long as he liveth: That children incontinent after their baptism, are sinners: all Christians, that be worthy to be called Christians, do know that they are in grace: No man is justified by works but by faith only: Good works make not a good man, but a good man doth make good works: That faith, hope, and charity are so knit, that he that hath the one hath the rest, and he that wanteth one of them wanteth the rest, &c., with divers other heresies and detestable opinions; and hath persisted so obstinate in the same, that by no counsel or persuasion he may be drawn therefrom, to the way of our right faith.

"All these premises being considered, we having God and the integrity of our faith before our eyes, and following the counsel and advice of the professors of the holy scripture, men of law, and others assisting us for the time, do pronounce, determine, and declare, the said Mr. Patrick Hamilton, for his affirming, confessing, and maintaining of the aforesaid heresies, and his pertinacity (they being condemned already by church, general councils, and most famous universities,) and to have an evil opinion of the faith, and therefore to be condemned and punished, like as we condemn and define him to be punished by this our sentence definitive, depriving, and sentencing him to be deprived of all dignities, honours, orders, offices, and benefices of the church; and therefore do judge and pronounce him to be delivered over to the secular power, to be punished, and his goods to be confiscated.

"This our sentence definitive was given and read at our metropolitan church of St Andrew's, the last day of the month of February, anno 1527, being present, the most reverend fathers in Christ, and lords, Gawand archbishop of Glasgow, George bishop of Dunkelden, John bishop of Brechin, William bishop of Dunblane, Patrick prior of St Andrew's, David abbot of Aberbrothoe, George abbot of Dunfermline, Alexander abbot of Cambuskenneth, Henry abbot of Lenders, John prior of Pittenweeme, the dean and subdean of Glasgow, Mr Hugh Spence, Thomas Ramsay, Allan Meldrum, &c., in the presence of the clergy and the people."

Such was the solemn mockery, by the Romish clergy, of all law, justice, and religion, in drawing out their "sentence definitive" against the martyr. The sentence was originally in Latin, as all such documents are, connected with the church; and they foolishly imagined, by the parade and show of equity, that they would convince the people of the danger of heresy, and confirm their attachment to the holy church infallible. Beaton, however, soon got more work to perform than what he at first anticipated; yet let us not contemplate this impiety, but rather turn to the closing scene of this noble martyr's life, and briefly witness the constancy of him, whom a modern historian has justly characterized as having received "the eternal honour of being the proto-martyr in Scotland, for the freedom of the human mind."

Hamilton heard his sentence with all the meekness and resignation of a Christian martyr. He had previously argued with his judges, and had defended his opinions with firmness, though with modesty: now he anticipated the result and he prepared himself for death. On the same day that this sentence was pronounced by the ecclesiastical court, he was also condemned by the secular power; and the clergy, afraid that some sudden intercession would be made for his life, determined to hurry him to the stake that very afternoon.

Patrick Hamilton in the Flamez.

During the interval he was visited by Alexander Aless, canon of the metropolitan church of St. Andrew's, who again tried to reclaim him to the bosom of the catholic church, but in vain. Aless was himself staggered by the martyr's arguments. He had studied the Lutheran controversy, and, being well instructed in scholastic theology, held several conferences with Hamilton, to induce him to recant. These conferences ended in the conversion of Aless; and the constancy with which he beheld Hamilton adhere to his opinions at the stake, strengthened his resolutions. Aless some time after delivered a Latin discourse to the synod, which brought him under suspicion of heresy. He was thrown into prison; but after a few years' confinement he made his escape, and, embarking in a vessel on the coast, eluded the vigilance of his pursuers. Aless went to Germany, and in 1535, came over to England, recommended to Cranmer by Melancthon. He returned to Germany, in 1540, and was made professor of divinity in the University of Leipsic.

GEORGE WISHART

THIS illustrious martyr was of the house of Pitarrow, in the county of Mearns. He was born in the reign of James V., though the particular year is not certain, from the silence of contemporary writers as to his early history; but as he might be nearly 30 years of age at the time of his martyrdom, it is very probable he was born about 1514 or 1515. His family was ancient and respectable, his brother being laird of Pitarrow, an estate by no means insignificant.

Little is also known of Wishart's youth. In the early part of his life he was sent to the university of Aberdeen, and there he completed a course of education in philosophy and belles lettres, such as was then taught. As was the custom of all the youths connected with families of any note in those days, Wishart was sent abroad by his parents, and travelled on the continent for some time, especially in France and Germany. This was previous to the year 1538. It does not appear that he ever resided at the university of St. Andrew's, or Knox, who studied there, would in all probability have mentioned it, considering their after intimacy; but, not at first having any designs at all for the church, Wishart acquired the rudiments of his education in some private seminary in Scotland; next at Aberdeen, and then he proceeded to the continent, where he continued his studies. There, as is most likely also, from the spread of the Reformation, especially in Germany, he imbibed those doctrines from some of the reformers themselves which he afterwards sealed with his blood.

The first public notice which we have of Wishart, is one of considerable interest, as connected with the history of learning in Scotland. In those days literature was in a miserable state, all the learning being confined to the scholastic jargon of the schools, from which even those who despised it could never afterwards wholly free themselves. The knowledge of the languages was limited indeed. Latin was the only language studied—a language which was generally worse understood by the priests, who should have understood it best, than by the laity; Greek was almost wholly unknown; for it is only in the year 1522 that Hector Boetius mentions George Dundas as a good Greek scholar, which language he had most probably acquired in France; but that writer makes no mention of this language as a branch of education taught in the universities in his time. In the year 1534, the celebrated John Erskine of Dun, a man to whom the Reformation was subsequently much indebted, brought a learned man from France to teach Greek in Montrose, which is honoured as being the first town in Scotland in which encouragement was given to this elegant and beautiful language. As Erskine was provost of the town of Montrose, he of course had much in his power, independent of the frowns of the priests, who liked not this encouragement to literature. At the school of this French scholar, Wishart obtained the knowledge of the Greek language, and afterwards succeeded his master as teacher there. But the course of study which Wishart prescribed, drew upon him the resentment of his superiors in the church. The bishop of Brechin, William Chisholm, hearing that Wishart taught the Greek New Testament to his scholars, summoned him to appear before him on a charge of heresy, upon which he consulted his safety by flight, and retreated into England, in the year 1538.

Wishart, thus driven by prelatical tyranny from his native country, betook himself to the university of Cambridge, at that time of great celebrity, from the lectures of reformed divines who resided there, and entered himself a student of Bene't or Corpus Christi college, in that university. Here he resided for six years, leading a life of the most unexampled study and devotion. He was out of the jurisdiction and power of his enemy the bishop of Brechin; and here he made those truths his more particular study, which he afterwards preached with such effect to his countrymen.

The following graphic description of him during his residence at the university of Cambridge, is given by Emery Tylney, one of his scholars:—

"About the yeare of our Lord a thousand, five hundreth, fortie and three, there was in the universitie of Cambridge, one Maister George Wischart, commonly called Maister George of Bennet's colledge, who was a man of tall stature, polde headed, and on the same a round French cap, of the best; judged to be of melancholye complexion by his physiognomie; blacke haired, long-bearded, comely of personage, well-spoken of after his countrey of Scotland, courteous, lowly, glad to teach, desirous to learn, and was well trauelled, hauing on him, for his habit or clothing, neuer but a mantell or frize gown to the shoes, a blacke Millian fustain dublet, and plain blacke hosen; coarse new canvasse for his shirtes, and white falling bandes and cuffes at the hands. All the which apparell he gaue to the poor, some weekly, some monethly, some quarterlie, as he liked, sauing his French cap, which he kept the whole yeare of my beeing with him.

"Hee was a man modest, temperate, fearing God, hating couetousness: for his charitie had neuer ende, night, noone, nor daye; he forbare one meale in three, one day in foure for the most part, except something to comfort nature. Hee lay hard upon a pouffe of straw; coarse new canuasse sheetes, which, when he changed, he gaue away. He had commonly by his bedside a tubbe of water, in the which (his people being in bed, the candle put out, and all quiet,) he used to bathe himself; as I being very young, being assured offten heard him, and in one light night discerned him. He loued mee tenderlie, and I him, for my age, as effectuallie. He taught with great modestie and grauitie, so that some of his people thought him seuere, and would haue slain him, but the Lord was his defence. And hee, after due correction for their malice, by good exhortation amended them, and he went his way. O that the Lord had left him to me his poore boy, that hee might haue finished that he had begunne! For in his religion he was, as you see heere in the rest of his life, when he went into Scotland with diuers of the nobilitie, that came for a treatie to king Henry the Eight. His learning was no less sufficient than his desire, always prest and readie to do good, in that he was able, both in the house privately, and in the Schoole publikely, professing and reading divers authours.

"If I should declare his loue to me and all men, his charitie to the poore, in giuing, relieuing, caring, helping, prouiding, yea, infinitely studying how to do good unto all, and hurt to none, I should sooner want words than just cause to commend him.

"All this I testifie with my whole heart and trueth of this godly man. He that made all, gouerneth all, and shall judge all, knoweth I speake the troth, that the simple may be satisfied, the arrogant confounded, the hypocrite disclosed.

"EMERY TYLNEY."

In the year 1544, Wishart felt a desire to return to his native country, that he might preach those truths which had gladdened his own heart to his fellow-countrymen. And when Wishart "went into Scotland," as his pupil Tylney expresses it, "with diuers of the Nobilitie that came for a treatie to king Henry the Eight;" it was at the earnest invitation of some of these, who were the principal nobility. These "Nobilitie" were commissioners who had been sent to negotiate a treaty with the English monarch, on the following account:—It will be recollected, that, through the cardinal's influence, Henry's favourite scheme of uniting the two kingdoms, by a marriage with his son Edward and the infant princess Mary of Scotland, had been abandoned, and that Henry, in high wrath, proclaimed war against the Scots. The Scots, however, were in no condition at that time to take the field against Henry, then the most powerful monarch in Europe; and the disaster of Solway, which took place only two years before, had made them much more cautious respecting the mastering of their army. Peace was the only alternative, and commissioners were accordingly despatched to the English monarch, to conclude a treaty between the two kingdoms. In the company, therefore, of these, Wishart returned, and established himself first in Montrose, where he commenced his ministry. From Montrose he proceeded to Dundee, where his discourses excited the highest admiration.

It is singular that he should have chosen a town for the commencement of his ministry so near the abode of the cardinal,—St. Andrew's being only about nine miles from that town. It would seem to argue, either that he was only in part instructed in the cardinal's character, or that he was determined to make known the truth, even so near the abode of archiepiscopal tyranny. It is probable, however, that Wishart found an assembly of protestants in Dundee, to whom he hoped his ministry would prove peculiarly acceptable, and these again would be encouragements for him to commence his ministry among them, especially as they would appear to him a people thirsting for the word of life.

While Wishart remained in Dundee, he began to give public lectures on the Epistle to the Romans, by which he acquired great fame. In the unsettled state of the public mind, when men were literally in a strait between two opinions, whether to adhere to the faith of their fathers, or to give full credence to the doctrines of the Reformation, when, in fact, the regard for the established religion was completely set at nought, and men's eyes were gradually opening, to show them that they had been the dupes of superstition and credulity, the efforts made by such a preacher as Wishart to overthrow the catholic church must have been formidable. The cardinal, whose vigilance was unremitting, soon got notice of this new opponent, and forthwith he kept his eye upon him as his sworn adversary. He beheld, with deep regret, a total overthrow of all his plans by the preaching of Wishart; and the rapid and extensive desertion which he caused from the established church raised in him the utmost anxiety to arrest Wishart's exertions. Compared with this new enemy, all the other reformers were as nothing in the hands of the cardinal; but now he had to grapple with a master mind—with a man whose fervour, uprightness, and gentleness, had rendered him greatly beloved.

There cannot be the smallest doubt, but that the cardinal from the very first resolved on Wishart's death.

Measures, however, were to be adopted in the mean time, to silence the reformer in Dundee; and accordingly, either by bribery or by terror, the cardinal prevailed with one of the magistrates of the town named Robert Mill, who had formerly been an adherent to the doctrines of the Reformation, and a considerable sufferer on that account, but who, having renounced these, was now a man of influence in the town, to serve Wishart with a prohibition, in the name of the queen and the governor, to trouble them no more with his preaching. This commission was executed by Mill one day after Wishart had concluded his usual sermon, and was received by him with every expression of pious zeal and resignation. On hearing the prohibition read against him, the reformer kept silence for a little time, with his eyes turned towards heaven; then looking steadfastly on the speaker, with a sorrowful countenance, he said, "God is my witness, that I ever mind your comfort, and not your trouble, which to me is more grievous than to yourselves; but sure I am, that to reject the word of God, and to drive away his messengers, is not the way to save you from trouble. When I am gone, God will send you messengers, who will not be afraid either for burning or banishment. I have, with the hazard of my life, remained among you preaching the word of salvation, and now, since you yourselves refuse me, I must leave my innocency to be declared by God. If it be long well with you, I am not led by the Spirit of truth; and, if trouble unexpected fall upon you, remember this is the cause, and turn to God by repentance, for he is merciful."

Wishart determined to obey the injunction, and in this he at once evinced, that he was not actuated by that rash zeal which willingly courts danger for its own sake. After giving this short address, he came down from the preaching place, and resolved instantly to leave Dundee. The earl marischall, and some other noblemen, who were present at the sermon, earnestly pressed him to go to the north with them, but he resisted their importunities, and went to the western parts of Scotland.

The town of Ayr was the first place where he again commenced his public ministrations. Here his reputation and diligence made him to be gladly received by many, and soon procured for him numerous followers. The great freedom and faithfulness with which he preached the gospel in this quarter, also directed against him the inveteracy of the church, and the archbishop of Glasgow resolved to apprehend him. Dunbar, at this time, was archbishop of that see, in whose diocese Ayr was situated,—a man who was not possessed of that furious zeal for persecution which characterized the cardinal. Beaton and he, in fact, had long looked on each other with evil eyes; for when, in the year 1543, a legate from the pope arrived in Scotland, and spent the winter in that country, during the residence of this functionary, the pride of the cardinal was excessively wounded before him, by the pretensions of the archbishop of Glasgow. The cardinal having attended the legate in his visit to that city, claimed, as primate of all Scotland, precedence of the archbishop, to which, in his own cathedral, that prelate would not submit. Upon this, a dispute arose, each asserting in very formal terms the priority of erection of his respective see; and, in the eagerness of both to maintain their dignity before the legate, a struggle took place between them, and the large cross, carried before the primate, was thrown to the ground. The dispute ran so high, that the regent was compelled to interfere, and to restore unanimity between men, who, professing to be the ministers of a religion of peace, had so indecently interrupted all good order, dignity, and worship.

The archbishop, who, although certainly not a violent persecutor, was nevertheless zealous enough for the church, at the instigation of the cardinal, with whom he now preserved an appearance of friendship, hastened to Ayr with a number of attendants. He took possession of the pulpit, with a view to hinder Wishart from preaching: on the report of which, the earl of Glencairn, and some other gentlemen of the neighbourhood, came quickly to the town, and offered to put Wishart by force into the pulpit, should the archbishop prove unwilling to resign it. To this Wishart would by no means consent, and as the archbishop began to make a show of preaching, he calmly said, that the bishop's sermon would not do much hurt, and that, if they pleased, he would go to the market-cross. He said this, because he disapproved of whatever could be regarded as a violation of peace; "and it was, indeed, his uniform practice," says Dr. Cook, "to shun giving unnecessary offence; and this moderation, while it increased the attachment of his adherents, perplexed and astonished those by whom he was opposed." He accordingly repaired to the market-cross, and there preached with such success, that various persons were converted to the truth. During the time in which Wishart was thus employed, the archbishop was haranguing his own followers and some few priests in the church. Having no sermon to give them, and, like his brethren, not being much accustomed to the employment, he told them he would be better provided with a sermon on some other occasion, and speedily thereafter left the town.

After the archbishop's departure, Wishart continued with those who professed the reformed doctrines, protected by the powerful, and constantly preaching the truths of the gospel. On the sabbath following, he was desired to preach in the church of Mauchline; but the sheriff of Ayr, during the night, had anticipated him by placing a guard of soldiers in the church. Hugh Campbell of kinzeancleugh, a man of considerable influence in the parish, with others, being offended at this proceeding, would have entered the church by force, but Wishart again displayed his accustomed moderation and forbearance. "It is the word of peace," said he, "which I preach unto you, and the blood of no man shall be shed for it this day. Christ is as mighty in the fields as in the church, and he himself, when he lived in the flesh, preached oftener in the desert and upon the sea-side, than in the temple of Jerusalem." With these words he appeased the multitude, and withdrawing to a muir on the southwest of the parish, he there preached for almost three hours to a vast multitude of attentive hearers; in which sermon was that good seed sown, which afterwards brought forth much fruit to the glory of divine grace.

While Wishart was thus employed in the neighborhood of Ayr, instant in season and out of season, and teaching daily with success, he received intelligence, that a contagious distemper raged with great violence in Dundee, and was daily proving fatal to vast numbers. His old affection towards that town now revived, and he accordingly proceeded thither, after a month's stay in Ayr, notwithstanding the urgent entreaties of many that he should remain. His reasons were, "they are now in trouble, and need comfort. Perchance this visitation of God will make them now to magnify and reverence that word which before, for the fear of man, they set at light price." The humanity which Wishart on this occasion displayed is highly honourable to his character. He could not altogether acquit the inhabitants of Dundee of ingratitude, in forcing him, only a month previous, to depart from their town, even although his residence among them had been at the hourly risk of his life. But the religion of love operated too powerfully on the heart of this eminent man; and he felt every latent tie to revive, which bound him in the affections of that people.

Having arrived at Dundee, he found that the reports as to the malignity of the distemper had come far short of the truth, and his benevolent soul was grieved to behold the ravages made by death. "The joy of the faithful," says Knox, "was exceeding great when he gave signification that he would preach on the morrow." He chose the head of the street called the East Port in Dundee, for his preaching station; to the intent that, while those who were in health might remain within, those who were infected with disease should take their station without, the port or gate.* The whole conduct, in truth, of Wishart, while at this time in Dundee, was such as entitles his memory to be held in everlasting remembrance.

During all this time, his sworn adversary the cardinal had his eye close upon him, and, like the indefatigable animal of the forest, urged on by devouring hunger, watched every opportunity to seize him. He suborned many to vilify this holy man, and to act openly as his avowed foes. His enemies, however, afraid of having recourse to open violence, attempted, while he remained in Dundee, to assassinate him. A priest, named Sir John Wightman, either from his own private hatred and bigotry, or, as has been supposed, though without sufficient evidence, stimulated by the cardinal, resolved on his destruction. To effect his purpose, the priest stationed himself at the foot of the pulpit steps, with his gown loose, and a dagger concealed under it, in order that he might plunge it into Wishart's breast, as he came down. The agitation of the priest's countenance, or the singularity of his appearance, luckily arrested Wishart's attention, and raised his suspicions. Looking steadfastly on him when he approached, he demanded of him, What he intended to do? and in an instant seized the hand which grasped the murderous weapon. The priest, overcome by his intrepidity and presence of mind, instantly fell at his feet, and acknowledged his guilt. The enraged multitude would at once have sacrificed him as a punishment for his barbarous purpose; but Wishart restrained their violence, and calmed their resentment.

The reformer now prepared himself to proceed to Edinburgh, that he might appear before a convocation of the clergy, and be publicly heard in defence of the doctrines he taught. To this he had willingly agreed, and as the time appointed for the conference was at hand, he resolved first to visit Montrose, and give a short exhortation to the adherents of the Reformation in that town; for he felt a presentiment that they would after that see his face no more. He accordingly journeyed thither, and imparted fresh courage to the professors of religion by his presence. He taught publicly among them, and administered to them the sacrament of the Supper, with great solemnity. This was the first time, and the first place, in which the Lord's Supper was administered after the reformed manner.* While here, Wishart received a letter from the friends of the Reformation in Ayrshire, desiring him to meet them at Edinburgh in the month of December. They promised to him, according to agreement, that they would demand the bishops to grant him a conference on the matters of religion; assured him that he would be heard; and that he might dread no danger, as they would answer for his protection.

These things gladdened the heart of Wishart, as he had now the prospect of a favourable opportunity of promoting the great designs he had in view by his return to Scotland. But Erskine of Dun, who well understood the political aspect of the times, the power of Cardinal Beaton, and the inconstant temper of the Regent, earnestly dissuaded him from his proposed journey. Wishart, however, could could not be withheld. In the midst of winter, he travelled with a few attendants to Invergowrie, thence to Perth, and, after proceeding through Fife, he arrived at Leith early in the month of December, 1545. There he had the mortification to learn, that his friends from the west of Scotland had not yet arrived, nor was there any notice of their being on their way. But the cardinal, ever vigilant, was aware of their intentions, and had taken most effectual means to deter them.

On Wishart's arrival in Leith, as we have already said, he found that his friends from the west had not arrived, nor was there any appearance of their coming to Edinburgh. This was the contrivance of the cardinal, who, ever active and vigilant, had thrown various obstacles in their way. Beaton well knew that he could not resist the call which would be made for a free conference, and, as he dreaded the result, he determined to disappoint the proposed meeting. This he did by various methods, as he was then actually at the helm of power, by counterfeit letters, by threats and by employing secret influence.

Wishart kept himself in retirement at Leith for a few days. He began now to feel all the bitterness of hope deferred, his friends had disappointed him, and the great objects which lay nearest his heart had every appearance of being overthrown. Day after day he passed in sorrow and heaviness, especially as he saw that no man around him cared for his own soul. His friends observed his dejection, and offered him their consolations; but to them he replied, "I have laboured to bring people out of darkness, but now I lurk as a man ashamed to shew himself before men." They soon perceived his desire was to preach to them salvation; upon which they told him that they would gladly hear him, but that the danger he would run was so great, that they could not advise him. To this he replied, "If you and others will hear me next sabbath-day, I shall preach in Leith; and let God provide for me as he best pleaseth." He accordingly, on the following sabbath, discoursed to his audience in Leith, from the 13th chapter of Matthew, taking for his subject the admirable parable of the sower.

At this time the celebrated John Knox was preceptor in the family of Langniddry, in East Lothian. This illustrious man, to whom posterity is so much indebted, and who was afterwards destined to complete the Reformation in Scotland, had by this time abjured the Romish church. He had received ordination, immediately after completing his education at St. Andrew's, even before the age appointed by the canons, but he had never publicly preached, having contented himself with merely expounding the scriptures, in the family of Douglas of Langniddry, a secret friend to the Reformation. Whether Knox was acquainted with Wishart, before his retreat into England, or whether he was attracted by his great fame to Leith, does not appear, as Knox is completely silent on Wishart's early history. Be that as it may, Knox was no sooner informed that he was in Leith, than he hastened thither from Langniddry, disregarding every danger to which he might be subjected by such a step. The future reformer resolved not to leave Wishart during the time he should remain in the Lothians, in order that he might, with the greater freedom, enjoy his valuable instructions.

Knox was among Wishart's auditors that he preached to in Leith, as were also various gentlemen of repute in East Lothian, "who were then earnest professors of Christ Jesus." It would appear also, that the Lairds of Langniddry, Ormiston, and Brunston, were present among the rest. After the sermon, a consultation was held by the gentleman present, who all agreed that it would be advisable for Wishart to depart from Leith, especially as the regent and the cardinal were to be in Edinburgh at the approaching Christmas. With this advice Wishart deemed it prudent to comply, and his friends agreed to take him with themselves, and to give him safe lodging at Brunston, Ormiston, and Langniddry.

Knox heard this resolution with great joy, for he had now found that he could not be separated from him. While Knox attended Wishart he was instructed by him in the Greek language,—a study which was at that time almost unknown in Scotland. He likewise performed an office of considerable notoriety. From the time that the attempt had been made to assassinate Wishart in Dundee, a sword had been always carried before his person by one of his attendants, for his defence. This office was at this time fulfilled by Knox, and none more faithful could have been chosen. On Sabbath, December 17th, 1545, Wishart and his friends were at Inveresk, near Musselburgh, where he preached twice to a great assembly. Among his hearers was Sir George Douglas, who at the close of the sermon publicly said, "I know that my lord-governor and my lord cardinal will hear that I have been at this preaching (for they were both by this time in Edinburgh,) but say unto them that I will avow it, and will not only maintain the doctrine which I have heard, but also the person of the preacher, to the uttermost of my power." These words greatly rejoiced the people, and pleased the friends of Wishart.* During the sermon, two grey friars made their appearance among the auditors. They were easily distinguished by their dress; and, as soon as Wishart perceived them, he exclaimed to the people who stood near, "I heartily pray you to make room for these two men; it may be that they come to learn." Then, addressing himself to them, "for," says Knox, who was present, they stood at the very entrance of the door,"—"Come near, for I assure you, ye shall hear the words of verity, which shall either this very day seal in you your salvation or condemnation. But the friars showed no disposition for instruction. Wishart proceeded, however, in his discourse, supposing them to be listening attentively; but seeing that their object was to disturb the solemnity of the service, and to disturb the attention of the audience, he turned to them, and with a solemn countenance, said, "O ye servants of Satan, and deceivers of the souls of men, will you neither hear God's truth, nor suffer others to hear it? Depart, and take this for your portion, God shall shortly confound and disclose your hypocrisy within this realm! Ye shall be abominable unto men, and your places and habitations shall be desolate." Abashed and confounded, the friars retreated, afraid to confront this minister of the New Testament. They stole from the service like guilty criminals; while Wishart turned to the audience, and said, "Those wicked men have provoked the Spirit of God to anger." He kept silence for some time, as if occupied in internal prayer. The audience stood deeply affected before him. He then resumed his discourse, and towards the end comforted them greatly with the assurances of God's grace. Next day, the reformer proceeded to Langniddry, in company with his friends. The two following Sabbaths he preached at Tranent, and gave distinct intimation, that the impression was on his mind, that his ministry was near a close. "In all his sermons," says Knox, who was at this time his constant auditor, "after his departure from Argus, he forespake of the shortness of time he had to travail, and of his approaching death, the day whereof was nearer, he said, than any would believe."

At the end of the Christmas holidays, we find him with his friends at Haddington. Here, by the consent of his friends, as it was a town, even in those days, of considerable note, he preached to a very numerous audience. On the following day, however, few attended, through the influence, it was supposed, of the earl of Bothwell, who was the most powerful man in the country, and who had been secretly corrupted by the cardinal. At this time, too, he received notice from his friends in Ayshire, stating that they could not hold the appointed conference. This, with the circumstances attending his preaching at Haddington, almost overwhelmed him with despondency. His devotedness to the truth is here remarkably conspicuous; as long as he saw men eager to be instructed, he rejoiced and counted on no labour; but as his whole soul was engaged in the cause of the Reformation, he now felt himself grieved unto death. As it was at the request of his friends in Ayshire that he had hazarded his life by coming to the Lothians, where he had not a sufficient number of friends to oppose his enemies, all the hopes which he had long entertained of seeing the Reformation furthered were now blasted, and he already felt himself like one deserted, and in the power of the cardinal, his implacable foe. He conferred with Knox, "who had carefully waited upon him from the time he came to Lothian," to whom he read the letter, and said that he was now weary of life, for he perceived that men began to be weary of God. During this time, he was residing with Sir Richard Maitland, at Lethington, who though not a professed protestant, received and entertained him with hospitality. To Maitland he also read his letter in the deepest despondency; and though he was just on the point of ascending the pulpit, he could not conceal his grief. Knox, desiring to recall his ideas, remarked to him that it was not his custom to consider these things before preaching. "True," replied Wishart, "the time for sermon approacheth; I will leave you for the present to your meditation."

It is extremely difficult to account for the conduct of Wishart's friends on this occasion. His own expressions would seem to indicate an apostasy on their part, and it is certain that they expressed little concern for his disappointment, or for the danger into which they had brought him. Whether the earl of Glencairn, who afterwards acted a most conspicuous part in the history of the Reformation, and who was among the first of the nobility who renounced popery, was of the number, does not appear; but there is every reason to conclude, that, from his openly encouraging and protecting Wishart while in Ayr, if he was not to act personally, at least the party was to set out under his cognizance. Whatever were the causes which detained them,—whether the designs of the cardinal, or the state of the weather, still their conduct is highly censurable, on account of their being the instruments by whose advice Wishart brought his life into hazard. Had they not expressed themselves with callousness, Wishart would never have asserted, that "he was weary of life, since men were weary of God," for he was possessed of a nature by far too generous, and he had too much of Christian charity, to condemn rashly, when there was any reasonable excuse. He seems, in fact, to have considered their conduct as highly reprehensible, and as an act of great injustice done to himself.

These feelings operated on him more peculiarly, as he was just preparing to enter the pulpit in the church of Haddington. As this was the last sermon our reformer ever preached, we shall be here minute in our detail, taking as our authority the graphic description of Knox, who was present on the occasion. Wishart went into the church, and walked to and fro before the high altar nearly an hour, his dejected countenance indicating the grief and sorrow of his mind. At last he ascended the pulpit, but the audience was the smallest he had ever witnessed. He clearly saw that some secret influence had been employed to restrain the attendance of the people. He had purposed to expound to his audience the second table of the law, "but thereof in that sermon he spoke very little." Mortified and grieved by the appearance of such a total want of love for the gospel, despising that timidity which restrained men from hearing the word of life, all his enthusiasm burst forth, and he felt himself, as it were, transported by his piety beyond the bounds even of charitable allowances. He reasoned from his own consciousness; and knowing the hazard to which he had exposed himself by preaching, he thought it indeed a most grievous dereliction, when men refused the least dangerous part, namely, to hear, the holy gospel. Nor was he wrong in his conclusion. The true way of knowing the sincerity of any man's religious profession, is by observing his conduct in the hour of danger and persecution; and he who shrinks cowardly from witnessing a good confession, subjects himself to a charge of being one who has never in any degree felt the influence of religion. To be pious only in the day of prosperity, when the world smiles fair on every outward prospect, but afterwards to conform to the world in adversity, when by so doing persecution is avoided, or our own purposes served, is like a hypocrite who covers himself with a mask to further his intentions, but who throws it off whenever his guilty purposes are accomplished. Of what avail is profession at all, unless it be accompanied by a corresponding practice? and of what avail is it to pretend to have a concern for the servants of God—the ministers of truth, unless it be accompanied by a resolution to stand by them both in prosperity and adversity? We must say, that the conduct of Wishart's friends in the west, and that of his hearers at Haddington at this juncture, was not that conduct which they had previously professed. And it must have been peculiarly discouraging to that good man, to behold such a lamentable decay of religious zeal, when his whole soul was occupied by love to God, and concern for the immortal interests of his countrymen.

Wishart thus felt keenly the unpropitious prospects before him, and in the pulpit he gave utterance to his feelings. "O Lord," he cried in the beginning of his discourse, "how long shall it be that thy holy word shall be despised, and men shall not regard their own salvation? I have heard of thee, Haddington, that in thee would have been at any vain play two or three thousand people,* and now, to hear the messenger of the eternal God, of all the town and parish, cannot be numbered one hundred persons. Sore and fearful shall the plagues be that shall ensue, because of this thy contempt. With fire and sword shalt thou be plagued. Yea, thou Haddington in special, strangers shall possess thee; and you, the present inhabitants shall either in bondage serve your enemies, or else ye shall be chased from your own habitations; and that because ye have not known, nor will not now know, the time of God's merciful visitation." "In such vehemency and threatening," says Knox,† "continued that servant of God, near an hour and a half; in the which he declared all the plagues that ensued, as plainly as after our eyes saw them performed." Towards the end of his discourse, however, his characteristic meekness, magnanimity, and benevolence returned, and he said, "I have forgotten myself, and the matter I should have treated of; but let these my last words concerning public preaching remain in your minds, till God send you new comfort." He then proceeded to make a few remarks on the second table of the law; and, as if impressed with the conviction that his end was at hand, he took farewell of his audience, as one whose face they should see no more in the flesh.

The sermon at Haddington was the last which Wishart preached. He spoke of his own end as certain, for he saw that the cardinal had so ensnared him as to make escape impossible. His friends were deeply grieved, and in the afternoon of that very day he took a last farewell of them all with great affection and solemnity, especially of Douglas and Langniddry, who was under the necessity of returning home that night, chiefly on Knox's account, whom he wished to be out of the way of danger, as he was well aware of the whole proceedings of the cardinal with the earl of Both well, since the former had arrived in Edinburgh. Knox could hardly be prevailed upon to separate from his revered instructor, for whom he now felt the most filial affection. As Wishart was to leave Haddington for the house or castle of Ormiston, Knox entreated that he might be permitted to accompany him, but to this Wishart would by means consent. He affectionately embraced him, but advised him to depart, as he knew that Knox had brought himself under the notice of the cardinal, by his attachment to him. "Return to your bairnes," said the martyr mildly, meaning his pupils, "and God blesse you. Ane is sufficient for a sacrifice at this time."

The Reformer then commanded that the two-handed sword, which Knox had been accustomed to carry, should be taken from him. Knox complied with his request, and, overwhelmed with sorrow, returned to Langniddry with the father of his pupils, Hugh Douglas.

All that night, however, Wishart remained in Haddington, and in the morning he went on foot to Ormiston, in the midst of a severe storm, accompanied by Cockburn, the owner of that place, Sandilands of Calder, and Crichton of Brunston. But now the time was come in which this martyr was to be delivered into the hands of his bitter persecutors. The plans of the cardinal had taken effect, and so resolved was he to apprehend Wishart, that he had secretly left Edinburgh, and on the same night in which Wishart went to Ormiston, the primate, unknown to the martyr or his friends, arrived at Elphingstone castle, a place about two miles distant from Ormiston.

The cardinal had previously been with Arran, the regent of the kingdom, who was wholly under his control, and desired that he would send his own servants to seize Wishart, a request with which Arran very unwillingly complied. Wishart, in the meanwhile, his mind strongly impressed with the impending danger, displayed all that magnanimity and patience which true religion so effectually imparts. His behaviour was, as usual, devout, expressing an entire resignation to the will of God. After supper, he delivered to the inmates of Cockburn's family a most consoling discourse on the death of God's children, at the end of which he pleasantly said, "Methinkes I desire earnestlie to slepe; let us sing a psalme." He appointed the 51st* Psalm to be sung, which had been turned into Scottish rhyme, and began thus, "Haue mercy on me, God of might:" which being sung, he retired to his chamber, adding these words, "And grant us quiet rest." Alas! he little knew that the arch-enemy was at hand, and that, like his great Master, he was almost on the point of being betrayed into the hands of those who had long thirsted for his blood.

At midnight, however, the trampling of horses was heard; the family were thrown into confusion, as it was found that the house was surrounded by armed men. The party was commanded by the Earl of Bothwell, high sheriff of the county, who had been commissioned by the governor and the cardinal to take Wishart prisoner. Bothwell desired a conference with Cockburn, the chief of Ormiston, whose friend and guest Wishart was, and told him his instructions. Cockburn at first refused to deliver him up, thinking, that by contriving a delay, that Wishart would get time to escape; but Bothwell, in virtue of his authority as sheriff, declared to him that it was in vain for him to hold out his house—that all resistance was useless, for the governor and cardinal, with a great force, were at hand, and that, indeed, the cardinal was then at Elphingstone, only two miles distant: but if he (Ormiston,) would deliver Wishart into his hands, he would promise on his honour that he would be safe, and that it would be out of the cardinal's power to do him harm; and to remove Cockburn's honourable scruples, Bothwell solemnly pledged himself that he would answer for his safety.

Cockburn, seeing that resistance was vain, went immediately to his guest, to whom he reported the whole proceedings. Wishart heard him with his usual calmness and fortitude, and mildly said, "Open the gates: the will of God be done." The earl entered the house, and Wishart being conducted into his presence, thus addressed him: "My lord, I praise my God that so honourable a man as your lordship receives me this night, in the presence of these noblemen; for I am assured, that, for your honour's sake, you will suffer nothing to be done against me but by the order of the law. I am not ignorant that all their law is nothing else but corruption, that they may shed the blood of the saints; but I fear less to die openly, than to be murdered in secret." To this most affecting and interesting appeal, Bothwell answered, "I shall not only preserve your body from violence, if any be purposed against you in violation of all law; but also I solemnly promise, in the presence of these gentlemen, upon my honour, that neither the governor nor the cardinal shall be able to harm you; but I shall retain you in mine own hand, and in mine own house, either till I set you at liberty, or restore you to the same place in which I have received you." This solemn promise being given in the presence of various gentlemen, they Said individually to Bothwell, "My lord, if ye will do as ye have spoken, and as we think your lordship will do, then do we promise unto your lordship, that not only we ourselves shall serve you all the days of our life, but also we shall procure the whole professors of the truth in Lothian to do the same. And upon either the preservation of this our brother, or upon his delivery again into our hands, we being reasonably advertised to receive him, that we, in the name and behalf of our friends, shall deliver to your lordship, or any sufficient man that shall deliver to us this servant of God again, our band of man-rent, in manner requisite." Bothwell again solemnly pledged his honour, and Wishart being put into his hands, he departed with him to Elphingstone, where the cardinal then was.

To Wishart, however, death seemed certain, although he relied much on Bothwell's honour: for as he knew the cardinal's utter worthlessness, he dreaded the idea of his taking private revenge. "I fear less," he says to Bothwell, "to die openly, than to be murdered in secret." The furious zeal of Beaton, in whatever concerned the stability of the church, would, Wishart knew, in this case completely overcome all the prudence and policy which, in secular affairs, the cardinal had hitherto so completely displayed. "Instead of preserving Wishart," says Dr. Cook, "and thus keeping the Protestants, from dread of accelerating the destruction of their beloved teacher, under restraint, he thirsted for his death, and hastened by every means an event, with which he little knew that the termination of his own career was so intimately connected."

Bothwell, as we have already said, carried Wishart to Elphingstone castle, where the cardinal then was. But the rage of the cardinal, though he had now got his greatest enemy into his hands, did not stop here. He made inquiry concerning the persons who were at Ormiston in company with Wishart, and being informed that John Sandilands the younger, of the house of Calder,* the Lord of Brunston, by name Crichton, and Cockburn of Ormiston, were all present, he immediately commanded that these should be apprehended. By this time his whole retinue had arrived at Elphingstone; and they, with some of the regent's soldiers, were sent to apprehend Wishart's friends. The noise of horsemen was again that night heard by the servants at Ormiston, of which they gave immediate notice to their superiors. While they were consulting among themselves what now could be the motive of their visiters, the soldiers had seized that part of the building which Knox designates "the outer and inner close." They quickly called for Ormiston and Sandilands of Calder, who, on appearing, demanded the cause of their visit; and they received the answer, that it was to bring them, as also the Lord of Brunston, to the governor at Elphingstone. They soon perceived that their destruction was also intended, or, at any rate, that the cardinal would take his revenge on them in some way or other for the open countenance they had given to Wishart; and therefore, contriving a delay under the pretence of putting themselves in readiness to ride, Brunston made his escape by conveying himself secretly to the wood of Ormiston; but the other two were apprehended, and carried before the cardinal. They were both committed prisoners to Edinburgh castle, where Sandilands of Calder remained till he had given satisfaction to the primate; but his friend, the lord of Ormiston, "freed himself, by leaping off the wall of the castle, betwixt ten of the clock and eleven before noon." Had Knox been found with them, he also would have been taken; and, as he had already brought on himself the hatred of the cardinal, in all probability he would have suffered with his friend the martyr.

Wishart was first conveyed from Elphingstone to Edinburgh castle, and thence back again, to the house of Hailes, the earl of Both well's principal residence in East Lothian. During this time the negotiation took place for the delivery of Wishart into the hands of the cardinal. "As gold and women," says Knox, "have corrupted all worldly and fleshly men from the beginning, so did they Bothwell; for the cardinal gave gold, and that largely; and the queen, with whom the said earl was then on had terms (Knox writes glunders), promised him favours in all his lawful suits to women, if he would deliver Wishart to be kept in the castle of Edinburgh. He made some resistance at first, by reason of his promise. But an effeminate man cannot long withstand the assaults of a gracious queen, and so was the servant of God transported to Edinburgh." Spottiswoode also says, the "queen-mother, at the cardinal's desire, being earnest with the earl to have him (Wishart) sent again to the castle of Edinburgh, albeit in regard to his promise, he refused a long time, yet overcome in the end by her entreaty, he yielded. And thus Wishart a second time was taken to the castle."

Wishart was not permitted to remain long in Edinburgh. The cardinal was then in that city, presiding in a convention of prelates, who had assembled for the purpose of redressing some abuses of the church, "and reforming the lives of the clergy." The deliberations of this assembly, however, like those of the one which met in 1549, never took effect. The cardinal, having now got Wishart completely into his power, speedily broke up the convention, and afraid of delay, proceeded in great haste with his prisoner to St. Andrew's, where he summoned a convocation of the prelates to assemble on the 27th day of February, 1546. Wishart, in the mean time, was committed a close prisoner to the castle of St. Andrew's.

As the cardinal, from the very first, and long before he got Wishart into his power, had resolved on his death, it may easily be supposed that he knew what to do. We have already alluded to the dispute which took place between him and the archbishop of Glasgow, respecting the priority of their respective Sees before the pope's legate; and to the ludicrous and disgraceful scene which took place between them at Glasgow. The conduct of the archbishop of Glasgow had been most offensive to Beaton's pride; and, as might be expected, a deadly animosity subsisted between the two prelates. The former had held forth, that he was an archbishop in his own diocese, and would give place to no man,—that the power of the cardinal was borrowed from Rome, and pertained only to his own person, and not to his bishopric; for it was a probable case that his successor would not be a cardinal, but that his (the archbishop of Glasgow's) dignity was inseparable from his office, and would belong to all that ever should be bishops of Glasgow;—in fine, and what was most offensive of all to the cardinal,—that he (the archbishop of Glasgow) was a bishop, when the other was only Beaton, before he got the abby of Aberbrothwick. These sentiments of the prelate of Glasgow being spoken without reserve, and having been spread throughout the church, had made such a variance between him and the primate, "that the enmity was judged mortal, and without all hope of reconciliation." But, as in one day, on an occasion somewhat similar, though of far more importance, Pilate and Herod were made friends, so, in the eagerness of the cardinal to procure the condemnation of Wishart from the most exalted dignitaries of the church, he laid aside his resentment against the archbishop of Glasgow, and wrote to him first of all, in most friendly terms, craving is presence and assistance, in order to the suppression of this great enemy of the church. Nor was the prelate of Glasgow slow in his obedience. As if glad of the opportunity of commencing again a friendship with the cardinal, he hastened to St Andrew's at the time appointed; "sat next to the cardinal," says Knox, "waited and subscribed next in rank, and lay over the east block-house with the said cardinal, till the martyr of God was consumed with fire."

The archbishop of Glasgow, however, on his arrival at St Andrew's, being a man, on the whole, of greater caution and prudence, suggested to the cardinal the propriety of an application to the governor, to grant a commission to some layman of rank, appointing him to be the medium of executing justice upon Wishart that the odium of putting to death a preacher so universally beloved, might not rest wholly with the clergy.

The archbishop of Glasgow now made no farther opposition, and accordingly the cardinal served Wishart with a summons to appear before him and his clergy, in the abby church, on the last day of February (which was the next day), to answer for his seditious and heretical doctrines. "Nothing," says Dr. Cook, "can be conceived more irritating, or more adapted to render oppression doubly grieving, than a regard to the forms of justice, when there is a firm conviction, that they who use them intend their violation." Wishart strongly felt this injustice; and when, by the order of the cardinal, he was cited to appear by the dean of St. Andrew's, he took this form for jest, seeing that he was already a prisoner, and wholly in the cardinal's power. He replied to the citation, "The cardinal has no need to summon me, for I am already in his power, and kept fast bound in irons; so that he can compel me to answer when he pleases. I am not unprovided to render an account of my doctrine, but to show at once what men ye are, it is well done to adhere to your forms and constitutions.

On the following day this most illegal trial took place. The cardinal displayed on the occasion all the ensigns of his authority, that, by the grandeur of the procession, and the show of armed men, he might make an impression on the people. The place of assembly was the abbey-church of St. Andrew's, into which Wishart was brought by the captain of the castle. The court was opened by a sermon from John Winram, the sub-prior of the abbey, a man of great learning, enlightened mind, and a secret friend to the reformed doctrines, who preached by appointment of the cardinal. He took for his text the 13th chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, and discoursed concerning the good seed. The whole sermon was on the nature of heresy, but was delivered in such a manner as applied more justly to the cardinal and his colleagues, than to the accused. His discourse he divided into four parts. The first was a short declaration of the meaning of the evangelist. The second was concerning the meaning of the good seed, which he declared to be the word of God, and hesesy the bad seed; and he defined heresy to be "a false opinion, directly repugnant to the word of God, and pertinaciously defended." After laying down some rules for the discovery of heresy, which could only be ascertained by the scriptures, he said, that, as the touchstone was made use of for distinguishing gold from counterfeit metals, so the proper trial of heresy was the word of God. The third part of the discourse was concerning the causes of the increase of heresy within the realm, which, without hesitation, he ascribed to the ignorance of those who had the charge of men's souls; who, because they did not themselves understand the word of God, were unable to lead back those into the right path, who went astray; and, in defining the character of those who ought to be able to win again the teachers of heresy, by the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, he supported his position by St Paul's charge to Timothy:—"A bishop must be faultless, as becometh the minister of God, not stubborn nor angry, no drunkard, no fighter, not given to filthy lucre, but hospitable, one that loveth charity, sober-minded, righteous, holy, temperate, and such as cleaveth unto the true word of doctrine; that he may prevail with wholesome learning, and impugn what is said against him." He expressed some doubt about the propriety of punishing heretics in the world, founding his opinions on the words of the parable on the wheat and the tares, "Let them both grow together till the harvest." The conclusion of his discourse, however, was inconsistent, for he asserted that heresy ought to be opposed by the church and state, and that those who were guilty of it might be lawfully put to death by the civil magistrate.

It may be readily supposed, that the cardinal, who was not devoid of talent, did not at all relish Winram's discourse, and had he been in other circumstances, he would probably have called him to an account for some of his premises. But at that time he had affairs of much greater importance on hand. Accordingly after the sermon, Winram descended from the pulpit, and was succeeded by Wishart himself, whom they caused to ascend there that he might hear his accusation and articles. Opposite to him, on an eminence erected for the purpose, stood a priest of the name of John Lauder, who acted as his accuser, and who addressed him with such coarseness and reproach, as would have disgraced the tyranny of a more barbarous age. The mildness and humility of Wishart presented a striking contrast to the furious zeal of this fanatical priest. He fell on his knees, and offered up a short petition to heaven. In the mean time Lauder went from one accusation to another, foaming at the mouth with rage, and even spitting in Wishart's face, and calling out to him, "Thou runagate, traitor, thief, what answerest thou to these sayings, which we have duly proved by sufficient witnesses against thee?"

Wishart, throughout this scene of persecution and abuse, preserved all his characteristic meekness and magnanimity. He calmly made answer, that they had alleged against him, as a Christian man, many abominable sayings, which he thought abomination not only to teach, but also to think; and he besought them quietly to hear him, that they might the more equitably judge of his doctrine. He desired to be heard, he said, for three causes. First, because, through preaching of the word of God, his glory is made manifest; and it was reasonable for the advancement of God's glory, that they should hear him teaching the pure word of God, without any dissimulation; secondly, because their own well-being originated from God's word; for by it he worketh all things. It would be therefore an unrighteous thing, if they should stop their ears, when he truly preached the word of God. And, thirdly, because their allegations set forth many pestilent, blasphemous, and abominable words, not coming by the inspiration of God, but from the devil, to the great hazard of his life. It would be just, therefore, and reasonable, that they knew what his words and doctrine were, which he had ever taught since his return to Scotland, that he might not perish unjustly, to the great danger of his accusers. He besought them, therefore, to hear him, for the glory of God, their own peace of mind, and the safeguard of his own life, while he recited his doctrine, without any colouring or dissimulation.

Wishart then began with great modesty to give an account of his sermons, declaring that he had never taught any doctrines contrary to the ten commandments, the apostles' creed, and the Lord's prayer. First and chiefly, he said, since he had returned to Scotland, he had taught these in the mother tongue. He had, moreover, expounded the Epistle to the Romans in Dundee, and he would show them faithfully what fashion and manner he used, when he taught without any dread of human authority. As Wishart was thus proceeding, he was interrupted by Lauder, who again exclaimed, "Thou heretic, runagate, traitor, thief, it was not lawful for thee to preach; thou hast taken the power into thine own hand, without any authority from the church! We forethink thou hast been a preacher so long." The assembled prelates also prohibited him from discoursing, saying, "If we give him liberty to preach, he is so crafty, and in holy Scripture so exercised, that he will persuade the people to his opinion, and raise them against us." "They willed him," says Spottiswoode, "to answer simply, yea or nay, fearing, if liberty was given him to speak, he should draw some of the hearers to his mind."

Being thus interrupted with the utmost violence, and finding that it was impossible for him, in the situation in which he was placed, to make his defence, Wishart at once appealed to more competent and unbiassed judges. Lauder, his accuser and most virulent enemy, took this opportunity of flattering the cardinal. Triumphantly enumerating his many splendid titles, he asked the martyr, if he who was archbishop of St. Andrew's, bishop of Mirepoix in France, chancellor of Scotland, commendator (or abbot) of Aberbrothwick, Legatus natus, legatus a latere, and the second person in the kingdom, was not to be regarded as a proper judge? Wishart calmly answered, "I condemn not the lord cardinal, neither do I refuse him, but I desire the word of God to be my judge, and some of the temporal estate, with certain of your lordships here present, because I am my lord governor's prisoner." When Wishart had thus spoken, some of his enemies called out, "such man, such judge," meaning that the governor and others of his friends were heretics like himself.

This appeal of Wishart greatly irritated Beaton, and he would have immediately condemned him without any farther ceremony, had he not been reminded that it was proper that the accusation should be again read, and the replies heard to its different parts, lest the people might think him wrongfully condemned. "It is evident that the other prelates, aware of the impression which the death of Wishart would probably leave, were anxious to avoid all irregularity in their proceedings, and although they had failed in procuring the sanction of the civil power, they persuaded the cardinal to hear Wishart."* Eighteen articles were accordingly exhibited against the prisoner, and these were brought against him in such a manner as to affix a lasting disgrace on those who compiled them. His opinions were most grievously misrepresented, as if indeed the cardinal had resolved on his destruction at all hazards. He endeavoured in vain to convey to his persecutors an accurate idea of them; they either would not, or could not, understand him. The patience of Beaton had been long ere this time exhausted. In order to bring the trial to a conclusion, it was found that Wishart maintained opinions contrary to those received by the catholic church; and, because he obstinately defended them, he was condemned as a heretic, and sentenced to die at the stake the following day.

ADAM WALLACE

FOR four years after the death of Wishart, the political troubles in which Scotland was involved, served to suspend the rage of persecution. A peace, however, was at last concluded, and the year 1550 terminated the war.

Archbishop Hamilton then commenced his persecuting career by apprehending Adam Wallace, and bringing him to trial and execution. Nothing could be more impolitic or more infatuated than this procedure of the primate. Wallace, who is always described by contemporary historians as a "simple man," was of such humble station in life, as to have secured him from notice, had not the archbishop been at once led away by the most imprudent rage against the Reformers. The death of Wallace, in fact, could serve no purpose at all, but only exasperate to a greater degree the minds of those who held the doctrines of the Reformation. The priests seemed, indeed, by their own conduct, to be fast hastening their downfall: so true it is, that the wicked often lay snares for themselves, and perish by means of their own devices. But simple as Wallace was, his simplicity was that of the gospel; he was not profoundly learned in the wisdom of the world, but he was well instructed in the gospel of peace; and as a martyr for the truth, and a patient and heroic sufferer, he deserves to be remembered by posterity with every grateful recollection.

Perhaps his humble station may be assigned as a reason why we know nothing of him, till about the time of his martyrdom. But whatever was "the humble station" of Wallace, it is certain that he and his wife, whose name was Beatrice Livingston, were frequently in company with the lady of Ormiston, and that he acted as preceptor to that lady's children during the absence of her husband. What formed the branches of instruction we are not informed, but the family was one of considerable note in East Lothian, and long famed for their adherence to the doctrines of the Reformers. It will be recollected that the martyr Wishart was apprehended in the house of Ormiston, and that this baron was one of the martyr's greatest friends; and it will also be recollected, that he was himself apprehended on that occasion along with Sir John Sandilands of Calder, and committed prisoner to the castle of Edinburgh, from which he made his escape by leaping the wall.

Wallace was not a priest; and the remark of Keith seems in all likelihood to be true, "that the catechising" of the lady Ormiston's children, "and also of other children in the new forms," the reformed doctrines, "made the man to be more taken notice of than otherwise he would have been." Whether this be the case or not, he was apprehended at Winton in East Lothian, by the direction of the archbishop of St. Andrew's, and brought to his trial in the church of the Black Friars at Edinburgh.

The apprehension of this inoffensive man seems to have been viewed as a great matter by the primate and his friends; at least if we may judge from the personages who assembled on that occasion. With all the apparatus of rank and power, a scaffold was erected in the church, and seats were placed thereon for the reception of the assembly. The regent himself occupied the chief seat; above him at his back, sat Gavin Hamilton dean of Glasgow, representing the archbishop of that see; at the right hand of the regent sat his natural brother, the archbishop of St. Andrew's; and at the back of the primate, stood the official of Lothian. The bishops of Dunblane and Moray, the Abbot of Dunfermline, who seems to have thrust himself into every occasion of persecution, the abbot of Glenluce, and other churchmen of inferior degree, with various of the primate's clergy, from the city of St. Andrew's, were also present. There were also in attendance the earl of Argyle as justice, and Sir John Campbell of Lundy, the earl of Huntly, lord chancellor, the earl of Angus, the bishop of Galloway, the prior of St. Andrew's, (afterwards) earl of Moray), the bishop of Orkney, lord Forbes, John Winram sub-prior of St. Andrew's, and behind them stood the whole senate, and other inferior officers, the clerk of the register.

Such was the splendid convention in the church of the Black Friars at Edinburgh, which met for the trial of Adam Wallace. In the pulpit appeared John Lauder, the fanatical priest who abused Wishart at his trial, and who, on this occasion, acted also the part of accuser. Arrayed in a surplice and red hood, Lauder stood forth before a large congregation, some of whom beheld the scene with wonder, and others with contempt and indignation. Lauder seems to have been plentifully endowed with the sanguinary ideas of his late master, Beaton, and he only wanted the power to be fully as severe. It is not at all improbable, that he gained the confidence of his superiors in the church by his zeal, and that he even stimulated them by his counsels. His situation at best was contemptible, as being the tool of men abhorred for their cruelty, and everywhere unpopular for their political intrigues. But the man who could revile the meek and pious Wishart, who could exult at the misfortunes of him whom Providence had placed in his power, who could address the language of foul-mouthed scorn and reproach, to a man whose only crime, if crime it be, was difference of opinion,—such a man was capable of committing any act of cruelty, and of over-colouring any charge exhibited against a prisoner, in order to further and support his fabric of deceit.

To call together such an assembly for the purpose of condemning a man of humble station and primitive simplicity, who would have never been heard of beyond his own narrow and humble circle, was in the highest degree ridiculous and absurd. But the primate was not a bad politician, and on this occasion he thought proper to exercise some of his political foresight, which he conceived would tend to the future benefit and stability of the church. This was his first outset in his career of blood, which his predecessor, "the persecuting cardinal," as Fox appropriately terms Beaton, had so carefully trod, and for which he at last received his reward; and he determined to show the spectators a specimen of his power and influence. Surrounded by some of the great men of the kingdom, supported by his brother, the weak and irresolute regent, and the earl of Huntly, the lord chancellor of the kingdom, and by numerous sons of the church, who, by their presence, gave their hearty concurrence to the measure, he sat in prelatical dignity, smiling with complacency at his own power and exaltation, and at the blow he vainly thought he was about to give the Reformation by the death of Adam Wallace. The primate had resolved to strike terror at once into the hearts of the spectators, and to declare to the kingdom, that, supported as he was by the civil power, and with the regent entirely at his devotion, he was determined to strengthen the church, and to crush the Reformation. He forgot the declaration of sacred writ, that the counsel of God shall stand, and that he shall do all his pleasure.

John Winram, sub-prior of St. Andrew's, was among the ecclesiastics; and, to a mind like his, enlightened by truth, and secretly attached to the reformed doctrines, this must have appeared a scene of ridiculous farce and cruelty. He was already convinced that the catholic church was tottering to its base, and he not unlikely thought, that the primate before him would be the last whose nomination would be confirmed by his holiness of Rome. Reasoning from cause to effect, this seemed to be the real state of the case; nor did Winram the less rejoice on that account. This worthy priest, whose excellence Wishart himself acknowledged, and whose orthodoxy Knox had complimented, detested those exhibitions of cruelty, and secretly wished for the overthrow of all the strongholds of superstition. Moderate himself in his measures, he was for proceeding by fair and honest argument; and he rightly thought the cause to be indeed pitiable, which could not stand a calm and candid investigation. In this case he must have beheld with abhorrence the primate's proceedings, and he doubtless rejoiced, that, otherwise than by his presence, he took no active part in the trial.

The conduct of Winram, however, it must be confessed, does not at all appear to be open and consistent. He was long deeply sensible of the errors of his church, and yet we find him remaining in the church, and not only present at the trial of Wallace, but also at that of Walter Mill, which took place eight years afterwards. When a man is convinced that the church of which he is a member has made a most lamentable declension,—that her doctrines are not only dangerous but damnable,—that not only her profession but her practice is unscriptural—that she is not only deluded herself, but tries to delude others,—and when he sees that she obstinately sets her face, as it were, against all reformation, and not only maintains but exults in her errors, it is his duty as a man, a Christian, a professor of the truth, a lover of his own soul and the souls of others, to separate from such a corrupt society, and not to give place by subjection, no, not for an hour, lest the gospel of Christ become a reproach to the scorner. It is every man's duty to examine for himself the standards and doctrines of every Christian society, and to unite himself to that which he conceives the most scriptural, and the purest in doctrine and discipline; but it is not his duty to remain in a society which can be proved to have departed from its original practice, and, above all, from the great authority of the church, the scriptures of truth, more especially if he sees men in that society, who, deaf to every expostulation, ever and anon vindicate and defend its errors, and attempt to gloss them over and reconcile them by sophistical reasonings; and when he also well knows, that all his own attempts at reformation will be unavailing, and treated with ridicule or severity. And more especially is it his duty to separate from a corrupt Christian society, when he beholds it not only determined to support its errors, but actually employing the civil power, to punish, by the heaviest penalties, those who take the sacred and birth-right liberty of thinking for themselves. But to what length soever these remarks may apply in our own day, let us not be too rash in condemning the conduct of Winram, and of others in his times, who were placed in the like circumstances. While we venerate those illustrious men, who at the dawn of the Reformation enlisted under the banners of truth, let us not load with unqualified censure, or deprive of all praise, those who, less enlightened, or from nature more timid, were tardy in fighting the battles of the Lord. The Saviour himself rejected not such disciples. Nicodemus, who "came by night to Jesus," and Joseph of Arimathea, who was his disciple "secretly for fear of the Jews," afterwards declared their faith in their Master, by embalming and interring his dead body, when all the other disciples "had forsaken him and fled." Numbers of the Scottish clergy, friendly to the Reformation, contrived to retain their situations, by a concealment of their sentiments. Among these, besides the learned and moderate Winram, were Adam Heriot, a friar of the Abbey of St. Andrew's, John Carsewell, rector of Kilmartin, and John Spottiswoode, parson of Calder. And the services which those men and others afterwards rendered the Reformation, were ample equivalents for their tardiness in embracing that cause, which emphatically brought "liberty to the captive, and the opening of the prison doors to them that were bound."

It appears to us, that there never was a greater satire upon justice, than the pretence made by the Romish church of trying heretics. Already condemned by the canon laws, which expressly declare that heretics shall be punished with death, how absurd was it for churchmen to pretend to give men a fair trial, whom they had previously condemned without ceremony? We do not here allude at all to the Inquisition, nor to the forms of trial pursued in that villainous and bloody tribunal, which, did we lack other proofs, would at once verity our assertions, by a host of arguments, from its well-known history; but we refer simply to those individual trials which took place in Scotland, and in other countries, where churchmen coolly condemned their prisoners, and delivered them over to the secular power, without any ceremony at all. And let it be remarked, that almost all those prisoners were men who had been long marked out by the prelates—whom they had long pursued—and whose death they had already determined before their apprehension; and was it not in the highest degree ridiculous, and against all equity, that those very prelates who had long before resolved on the death of the heretic, should, prejudiced as they were, sit as judges over him? Was there mercy to be expected from such judges? Was there even the slightest chance that the opinions of the prisoner would be investigated, or even that he would get a hearing at all? We hesitate not to challenge any one to produce, from the annals of the catholic church in this or any country, a single case in which the prisoner was fairly and equitably tried, or in which he was not condemned by the prelates in their own minds, before he was apprehended. There is scarcely a single instance in which the sentence was mitigated, except when the intercession was most powerful, and even the cases are exceedingly rare. We say again, it was a mere mockery, a satire on justice, to pretend to try men fairly and honourably, whose death had already been determined, both by private resentment, and outrageous and fanatical zeal for the church.

These remarks are abundantly verified in the case of the simple but upright Adam Wallace. Hamilton had previously determined the death of the humble martyr; he resolved to begin with him as an example, thinking that, as the life of this amiable man was of no great consequence, his punishment would prove a salutary check to those who professed the reformed doctrines. No prelate in Scotland ever showed a greater want of feeling, Beaton excepted, than did Hamilton on this occasion. He knew well that Wallace was not able to answer the sophisms and scurrility of Lauder, who, when he treated George Wishart with such fanatical abuse, a gentleman, of an ancient family, and a man of learning, would to a greater degree vilify the "simple man," whom the rash primate had caused to be apprehended. But having met, as they all did, with their resolution previously formed to condemn him, what could be more unworthy of a man of the primate's birth and station, of his character as a man, and a Christian bishop, than the line of conduct which he pursued?

It would seem that, on this occasion, the lords spiritual and temporal, and the right reverend fathers, had some other business to manage before they proceeded to the trial of Wallace. Sir John Ker, a priest, and prebendary of St. Giles' church in Edinburgh, was cited before them to answer charges brought against him. He was accused, convicted, and condemned, for issuing a false sentence of divorce, whereby a separation took place between a man and his lawful wife, and this too in the name of the dean of Restalrig, and certain other judges nominated by the pope. Ker admitted his crime, but alleged that he never intended to do anything against the laws of the realm. Sentence of banishment was passed against him, and he was doomed to lose his right hand, if he was ever afterwards found in Scotland; he was also deprived of his benefices, and they were declared vacant.

The case of the prebendary of St. Giles' church had no sooner been disposed of, than the worthy fathers proceeded to the trial of Wallace. The poor man was brought into the church, and placed before his ecclesiastical judges. He cast his eyes around, but it was not the empty gaze or the vacant stare. He probably felt his own personal insignificance when compared with the dignified convention before him, and he wondered why there should be such an assemblage of temporal and ecclesiastical power to condemn him. There was, in fact, a striking contrast between the persecutors and the persecuted. The former, proud, haughty, yet not devoid of splendid talents; the latter, poor, humble, not learned; "but zealous in godliness and uprightness of life." He looked around, and before him was the great and noble, behind him was the large congregation. He could not fail to perceive, that all this display of justice by the archbishop was a mere mockery, and that the primate only wished to impose on the people by the dignity of the assembly, and the great power of his friends.

Wallace was placed opposite to and confronted with Lauder, who was the person filling the office of public prosecutor for his superior of St. Andrew's. The prisoner's appearance was humble and simple in the extreme. His name was first demanded by Lauder, to whom he replied, "Adam Wallace." "Thou hast another name," said the accuser. "Yea," he replied, "I am commonly called Feane." "Where wast thou born?" "Near Fayle, in the district of Kyle." "Then," said Lauder, "I repent that such a poor man as thou art, should put those noble lords to so great inconvenience this day by your vain speaking." "I must speak," replied Wallace, "as God giveth me grace, and I believe I have said no evil to hurt any man." "Would to God," said the fanatical priest, "you had never spoken; but you are brought forth for such horrible crimes of heresy as were never before heard or thought of in this kingdom; and these shall be proved in such a manner as you shall not be able to deny them. Indeed, I doubt whether they should be heard, lest they prove ruinous to weak minds, but I will not say any more; thou shalt hear the heinous charges laid against thee."

Lauder accordingly proceeded to read the indictment.—"Adam Wallace, alias Feane," said he, "thou art openly delated and accused for holding, teaching, and preaching the abominable blasphemies and heresies underwritten:—1. Thou hast said and taught, that the bread and wine on the altar, after the words of consecration, are not the body and blood of Jesus Christ. 2. Thou saidst likewise, and didst teach openly, that the mass is idolatry, and abominable in the sight of God. 3. Thou hast openly usurped the office of a priest, having no calling thereto. 4. Thou didst impiously baptize one of thy own children. 5. Thou hast openly and impiously said and taught, that there is no purgatory. 6. Thou hast openly maintained, that prayers made to the saints and for the dead are superstitious. Thou false heretic, what answerest thou to these charges against thee?"

Wallace heard them again read over one by one, as was the custom. When the first charge was read, he turned to the regent and the other nobles, and said, "My lords, I never said nor taught anything but what I found written in this book," (and he produced forthwith a Bible in the English, French, and Dutch languages,) "which is the word of God; and, if you be content to judge me by the word of God, here it is, and what I have said wrong, for that I shall be content to suffer punishment, for never said I anything concerning this accusation, but what I found in this book."

This of course was an appeal which would not be well relished by the reverend fathers, who never once thought of appealing to the law and the testimony, knowing well that but few of their doctrines were to be found there. "What didst thou say?" cried Lauder in an angry voice. "I said," replied Wallace meekly, "that after our Lord Jesus Christ had eaten the paschal lamb in his last supper with his apostles, and had fulfilled the ceremonies of the old law, he instituted a new sacrament, in remembrance of his death, which was then at hand. He took bread, and blessed it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, Take ye, eat ye, this is my body, which shall be broken and given for you. And likewise the cup he blessed, and bade them drink all thereof, for that was the cup of the New Testament which should be shed for the remission of sins; and as oft, said our Lord, as ye do this, ye do it in remembrance of me."

The archbishop of St. Andrew's, with the official of Lothian, the dean of Glasgow, and the other prelates, in the plentitude of their wisdom, could make no reasonable objection to this statement, and they replied, "We know this well enough." The earl of Huntly, however, who probably did not relish the idea of being detained by a polemical discussion, for which he cared but little, said to Wallace, "Thou answeredst not that which is charged against thee; say either yea or nay." To this he again replied, that he desired the word of God to be his judge, for he had said and taught nothing but what that word authorized him to do; and that word, he wisely said, ought to be judge not only to him, but to all the world.

The earl of Huntley again interfered. "Hast thou not," he said, "a judge good enough in the person of the archbishop, and thinkest thou that he knows not God and his word? Answer those things which are spoken against thee." The simple martyr was not, however, to be so easily borne down. He declared, that the bishops could not be his judges, because they were open enemies to the doctrines he professed; and, as for the lord governor, he doubted whether he had the knowledge to discern lies from truth, and the inventions of men from the worship of God. The judge that he desired, he again declared, was the book of God, and if he could be convicted of having spoken or done any thing contrary to that sacred standard, he did not refuse to die; but if he was found innocent, as having spoken nothing contrary to that book, then he desired the protection of the governor and the nobility against the tyranny of malicious men.

If he expected mercy from such judges, however, he was completely mistaken: and this appeal fell like water to the ground. The prelates saw at the same time that they had a man of peculiar disposition to manage, and they resolved to take him in particular on his ideas of the sacrament. Lauder was accordingly instructed to address him. "Thou sayest," said the accuser, "and has taught, that the bread and wine in the sacrament of the altar, after the words of the consecration, are not the body and blood of our Saviour Jesus Christ."

"I never said more than the Scriptures say," replied Wallace, "nor yet more than I have said before. For I know well by St. Paul, when he says, Whosoever eateth of this bread, and drinketh of this cup, unworthily, receiveth to himself damnation. And, therefore, when I taught, which was seldom, and only to them who desired me, I said, that if the sacrament of the altar were truly ministered, and used as the Son of God did intend it, where that was done, God himself was there, by that divine power by which he is in every place, and his presence over all."

The bishop of Orkney here asked him, "Believest thou not, once for all, that the bread and wine in the sacrament of the altar, after the words of the consecration, become the very body and blood of God, flesh, blood, and bone?"

This direct query, asserting the abominable doctrine of transubstantiation,—a doctrine than which there never was a greater insult on human reason in requiring to believe it,—was answered comprehensively by the humble Wallace. He knew not well, he said, what that word consecration meant. He was not profound in Latin, but he believed that the Son of God was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, and had a natural body, with hands, feet, and other members; that, in the same body, he acted in the world, preached and taught, suffered death under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead, and buried; and by his almighty power he raised up that body on the third day:—that the said body ascended into heaven, and now sitteth at the right hand of God the Father, which shall come again to judge the quick and the dead. And that this natural body cannot be in two places at once, our Saviour showed well himself, for the which everlasting thanks be to his holy name; for, when the woman poured the ointment upon him, and his disciples grudged thereat, he said, "The poor ye have always with you, but me ye have not always;" meaning his natural body. And also at the ascension of the Saviour, he said to his disciples, who, from their love to him, would ever have had him to remain with them in the body, "It is needful for you that I pass away, for if I pass not away, the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, shall not come to you (meaning that his natural body behoved to be taken from them); but be ye stout and of good cheer, for I am with you alway, even to the end of the world." And to conclude: that the eating of his very flesh profiteth nothing, may be known from his own words, recorded in the sixth chapter of St. John's gospel, where, after he had said, "Except ye eat my flesh and drink my blood, ye shall not have life in you;" and his disciples murmuring, because of their fleshly lusts, he adds, "What will ye think when ye see the Son of Man ascend to the place from which he came? It is the spirit that quickeneth, for the flesh profiteth nothing."

The reverend fathers heard this address with astonishment. The plain and practical demonstration was, however, lost upon them; and only tended to confirm them the more in their opinion to put the prisoner to death. "It is an horrible heresy," cried the bishop of Orkney. Wallace again attempted to speak, and desired the lord governor to judge whether he had spoken agreeably to the Scriptures; but he was interrupted. Lauder exclaimed, "Ad secundam," (to the second article), and "Nunc ad secundam" was echoed by the archbishop, whose patience was by this time well nigh exhausted.

Wallace was required now to pay attention to the second article, which was concerning the mass. To this he replied, that he had read the Bible in three languages, and, as far as he understood these languages, he never read the word mass in them all. The thing, he said, which was in the greatest estimation with men, was often abomination in the sight of God; and as the mass is held in high estimation, and is not founded on the Scriptures, so he said it is idolatry, and abominable in the sight of God. He offered to prove his assertions, and if he failed, he would confess his errors, and submit himself to lawful punishment, otherwise to punish him would be unjust. This challenge, however, was not accepted by the prelates. "Ad tertiam," exclaimed the archbishop, while the prelates all cried, "Heresy, heresy, let him be condemned."

He was next charged with assuming the office of a preacher, without being lawfully called to the same; and to this he answered, That he never judged himself worthy of so excellent a vocation as is the calling of a preacher, nor did he ever presume to preach; only he admitted, that in some private places he did read portions of the Scriptures at times, and that he made short comments thereon to those who would hear him. He was quickly told by Lauder, that he ought not to have meddled with the Scriptures; but he answered, that he esteemed it the duty of every man to seek the knowledge of God's word, and the assurance of his own salvation, which was not to be found but in the Scriptures. A bystander asked, What would be left for the bishops and priests to do, if every man should be a babbler in the Bible? To this person Wallace replied, "It becomes you to speak more reverently of God, and of his holy word; and if the judge did right, he would punish you for your blasphemy. But as to your question, I say, that although you and five thousand would read the Bible, and confess together upon it, yet we leave more to the bishops than either they can or will perform; for we leave to them the preaching of the gospel of Christ, and the feeding of his flock, whom he hath redeemed by his own blood, which is a burden heavy enough; neither do we them any wrong in working out our own salvation, as far as we are able."

As to the next charge, viz., that of baptizing his own child, he answered, that it was as lawful for him to do so, when he could not get a minister to do it, as it was for Abraham to circumcise Ishmael and the rest of his family.

Lauder now finally addressed Wallace. "Thou hast preached," he said, "and openly taught divers and sundry other great errors and abominable heresies against all the seven sacraments, which for shortness of time I omit and pass over. Whether dost thou grant the aforesaid articles or no, as thon shalt hear them again?" He then read over the various articles exhibited against him, and asked him whether he granted or denied them.

The answer of Wallace was simple, pious, and unaffected. "I have before given my answers," said he, "and I have said nothing contrary to the holy word of God; and if I have done so, may God judge me, and my own conscience be my accuser. If I am wrong, I would wish to remain till the time in which I shall be better instructed by the holy word. But if you condemn me, my lords, for holding fast the revelation of God, my innocent blood will be required at your hands, and you shall be brought before the judgment seat of Christ, who is mighty to defend my innocent cause, before whom you shall not deny it, nor yet be able to resist his terrible wrath; to whom I refer the vengeance, as it is written, 'Vengeance is mine, and I will repay it, saith the Lord.' "

But his death was resolved on, and his appeal was in vain. Cast in stern moulding, the hearts of his judges felt no pity, but thought they did God service by the death of this amiable man. He was condemned by Lauder, as an obstinate heretic, and delivered over to the secular power, with the approbation of all the prelates, and the regent of the kingdom. Sir John Campbell of Lundy, justice-deputy, condemned him to die at the stake, and he was consigned to the custody of the provost of Edinburgh, to be burnt on the Castle-hill the following day. The assembly now broke up, and Wallace was conducted to prison for the night, and bound fast with irons round about his legs and neck.

Thus ended the trial of Adam Wallace, in the church of the Black Friars at Edinburgh, the first victim to Hamilton's cruelty and outrageous zeal for the church. The dignitaries who assembled on this occasion were men of the greatest influence in the kingdom, whom Hamilton had convened by the authority of his brother the regent, that he might make a vain display, and strike terror into the minds of the Reformers. With the exception of Winram, and the prior of St. Andrew's, they all heard the sentence with the utmost callousness; nor did even a sigh of pity escape them at the wretched fate of the unfortunate man. Dead to every feeling of sympathy, they viewed their proceedings with the utmost complacency, and they left the church of the Black Friars in mutual congratulations.

It was not so, however, with the beholders. Struck with horror at the cruelty of the sentence, and exasperated at this exhibition of tyranny, they rightly thought that they were again to experience the iron domination of cardinal Beaton, and they feared the result. They concealed their resentment; but they were the more convinced of the injustice of their rulers. Persecution, in every case, ought to be avoided for religions differences; but when that persecution extends to the deprivation of life, by a cruel and lingering death, or indeed by any kind of punishment, much more ought it to be execrated, by every lover of truth, of freedom, and of his country. Great is truth, and it shall prevail; but they who attempt to establish their power by intolerance, and their opinions by the sword of the civil magistrate, will be eventually disappointed in their expectations, and find themselves miserably mistaken.

Shackled with irons, as some vile malefactor, and consigned to a dungeon in the prison of Edinburgh, lay Adam Wallace, the night after his trial—another victim to popish tyranny and rage. Tempted, but not forsaken—cast down, but not destroyed—like the persecuted servants of the Most High in the days of old, he looked to heaven while overwhelmed with his sufferings, and found there those consolations which the world can neither give nor take away. He had sounded in the ears of his persecutors the denunciation of heaven, and well did he know it would be fulfilled: "Vengeance is mine, and I will repay it, saith the Lord."

A priest or the name of Hugh Terry had the charge of Wallace for the night; and he, in like manner, adding insult to cruelty, sent two gray friars to instruct him; Wallace refused their instructions, and they quickly departed. Some time after the departure of the gray friars, two black friars, an English friar, and a priest of the name of Abercromby, were sent to him but the martyr refused them all, the English friar excepted. With him he would gladly have conversed, and declared his faith in the sacred Scriptures: but the friar answered, that he had no commission to enter into disputation with him, and he and his companions took their leave.

The priests, however, were determined if possible to reclaim him, and they seem to have been indefatigable in their exertions. The dean of Restalrig visited him shortly after the friars had departed, a man of great learning, and even well instructed in the Scriptures. He gave the martyr Christian consolation, but exhorted him to believe in the reality of the body of Christ in the sacrament after the consecration. Wallace would not be persuaded. He would assent to nothing but what the Scriptures taught, nor would he believe what he well knew was abominable to God. The dean, seeing his exhortations were of no avail, soon left him, grieving also that he found him so obstinately persisting in his opinions.

Wallace spent the awful night preceding his execution in exercises of fervent piety and devotion. He had committed almost all the Psalms to memory, and be was continually engaged in praise and prayer. He had been in the practice of carrying his Bible with him wherever he went; but his persecutors, after his condemnation, took it from him, and destroyed it. Terry, his fanatical jailor, behaved to him with the most barbarous violence. Thinking that he still concealed some books about him which contained heretical doctrine, he entered his cell, and searched his person. He found some short addresses written by professors of the reformed doctrines. These Terry took from him, bestowing on him the most unbecoming and abusing epithets, and even tempting him by his provocations. Such was the inhuman conduct of this priest, who obtruded himself on the privacy of his prisoner, and imbittered the last hours of his life by indecent upbraidings. Such conduct deserves execration; it is worse than savage; it is like the act of a madman. Wallace was denied the last consolation, and even in a degree hindered from making his peace with heaven, of which Terry thought, by the act of his sending priests to instruct him, he stood so much in need.

Next morning, preparations were made for the execution of the sentence, which was to take place on the Castle-hill in the afternoon. The whole affair as we have already said, was given in charge to the provost of Edinburgh, who seems, in the issue, to have been fully as persecuting in spirit as his superiors. During the day, however, Wallace's judges left the city—the regent, with his brother the archbishop, to their respective residences; and the bishops and dignitaries of the church to their several places. Their prisoner was now in the hands of the civil power; and, having the authority of the regent for the sentence, the provost of Edinburgh was accountable for him. Their presence indeed was of little avail. The prelates departed in triumph. They had left behind them a monument of their power, which, they vainly believed, would be salutary to the people, and increase the stability of the church.

The dean of Restalrig visited Wallace once more on the morning of this day, in the hope that he would find him more pliable. But in this he was disappointed. It was in vain that the dean discoursed to him about false doctrine and the danger of his salvation; it was in vain that he even held out to him hopes that his sentence would be mitigated if he would recant. Wallace answered him again, that he would say nothing concerning his belief but what the Scriptures testified; nor would he be persuaded of the contrary, even though an angel from heaven should attempt to persuade him. Nevertheless he felt grateful to the dean, and thanked him for the Christian advices he had given him to preserve his fortitude, and he only prayed that his eyes might be opened to behold the light of the truth.

WALTER MILL

WALTER MILL was born about the year 1476, of parents who were in reputable circumstances. He received his education at the university of Aberdeen, recently founded by bishop Elphingstone. The nation at that time remained secure in its devotion to the church of Rome, being agitated by no heresies, and the prelates like the Israelites of old, "doing every one of them that which was right in his own eyes." The opinions of Luther had not found their way into Scotland, and accordingly Mill was educated most rigidly in the popish religion. At the age appointed by the canon law, he received orders; but he was not connected with any particular monastery.

He was shortly afterwards appointed officiating priest of Lunan, in the shire of Angus, or as it is now called, Forfar. In what manner he first discharged his clerical functions does not appear; but very probably he was like the rest of his brethren, who were not "righteous overmuch." Be this as it may, it is certain that, about the time of the martyrdom of Patrick Hamilton, he was led to an examination of the opinions for which that noble youth suffered, and in common with many others, this examination ended in conviction of the truth.

Mill had no opportunities of conversing with any of the principal reformers; but he carefully studied the Scriptures, and these soon opened his eyes to a conviction of his errors. With all that candour and openness which mark an upright mind, he saw it was his duty to preach the doctrines he now believed, or subject himself to the charge of not being a faithful minister of the New Testament. He accordingly left on celebrating mass, believing it to be gross idolatry, and devoted himself wholly to preaching, and the instruction of his hearers.

This conduct was too flagrant to escape notice in those days, and accordingly Mill was delated to the archbishop of St. Andrew's, as preaching heretical doctrines. This was in the year 1538. James Beaton, the cardinal's uncle, at that time filled the primacy; and having the cardinal for his adviser, who, in fact actually governed the see, a citation was sent to Mill, requiring his appearance at St. Andrew's, to answer certain charges laid against him. The fate of Patrick Hamilton, however, and others, was before his eyes; and he thought it most advisable to escape the flames, and consult his safety by flight.

Mill retreated to the Continent, and at last took refuge for a while in Germany, where, by associating with Zuinglius, Oecolampadius, and others, he was more fully instructed in the doctrines of the Reformation. While in Germany he occasionally preached, and at length completely separated himself from the Romish priesthood by entering into the marriage state. But he did not conceive himself separated from the ministry of the New Testament. He felt his mind glowing with inconceivable ardour, to make known to his countrymen the blessings of that gospel which he had felt so efficacious to his own soul.

This feeling is natural to the man who has known that God is gracious. He cannot remain in cowardly ease, while he sees others perishing for lack of knowledge; and knowing well the infinite value of even one immortal soul,—knowing well that there is joy in heaven over even one sinner that repenteth,—above all, knowing that they who win souls are wise, and they who are the instruments of turning many to righteousness shall shine as the stars for ever and ever,—he feels the influence of redeeming love on his soul, and he burns with holy ardour in the sacred cause. This is not fanaticism, or religious insanity, as it is called by the world. Is not such a man a believer in the sacred Scriptures? Most assuredly; and he therefore knows that the strongholds of sin must be pulled down,—that there must be war waged with spiritual wickednesses in high places,—that the man of sin must be broken in pieces. How, then, are these things to be accomplished? By miracles? No, verily: their age hath for ever passed away. By wondrous interpositions from heaven? No, verily: no more of these shall be seen till the latter days. But by human means doth God now execute whatsoever comes to pass,—means which he hath predestinated as component parts of the event itself.

With this feeling, therefore, did Mill return to his native land, about the year 1556. He kept himself at first in retirement; but still he felt it his duty to instruct many secretly in the knowledge of God and to lift up his voice against the vices of the age. But this could not long escape notice, and as he made himself much more conspicuous by bolder steps, and by proclaiming truths which were not at all relished by the clergy, they began to turn their attention towards him. He was informed, however, of the intentions of the clergy, and he thought it most advisable to change his residence. We are not informed whether his wife came along with him from Germany, or whether she died before he left that country; the latter is most probably the case.

This state of things continued for some time, until the year 1559, when archbishop Hamilton was exasperated at his failure with the protestant nobles to make them dismiss their preachers. Knowing the circumstances of the queen-regent, that she found it her interest, though a devoted catholic, to flatter the Reformers, and knowing that he himself was utterly unable to proceed by force against nobles of the greatest influence, the primate left himself transported beyond all the bounds of moderation. The indecent violence he displayed was that of a man lost to all sense of virtue; and yet he knew not what to do. His enemies the preachers were retained in the castles of the nobility, and to attack them was to attack the owners themselves. He saw it was needless to persecute the people, for, first, that was out of his power; secondly, they had begun to be as cunning as himself; and, lastly, he held them in too great contempt. The primate was actually at a loss what to do, or how to gratify his malignity.

Hamilton was no stranger to Mill's conduct; yet, had he got other opportunities of gratifying his rage, in all probability the extreme old age of the martyr, now in his eighty-second year, and his feebleness, would have shielded him from the primate's hostility. But this was not to be the case. Some one informed him that this aged priest was at that time in Dysart, and of him our primate at once determined to make an example. The old process set on foot by cardinal Beaton was revived against Mill, and, after a vigilant search for him, he was at last apprehended, at the instance of the archbishop, by Sir George Strachan and Sir Hugh Torry, in the town of Dysart in Fife. He was immediately carried to the city of St Andrew's, and committed a close prisoner there.

As the primate conceived that his public recantation might be of as much benefit to the church as his death, he was indefatigable at first in endeavouring to persuade him. The priests therefore beset him, and at first threatened him with the most horrible tortures if he would not recant; but finding these unavailing, and that the constancy of the martyr was not to be shaken by such means, they at length tried flattery, promising him a residence in the abby of Dunfermline for life, if he would sign his recantation. This measure was attended with little better success, and accordingly it was determined to proceed against him according to the laws of the church.

The martyr knew well his fate; but he preserved a marvellous constancy. He knew in whom he had believed, and his faith supported him under every trial. Let us proceed, then, to delineate the last moments of a man, "out of whose ashes," says Fox, in his simple manner, "sprang thousands of his religion and opinions in Scotland, who altogether chose rather to die than to be any longer over-trodden by the tyrannie of the foresayed cruell and ignorant bischops, abbots, monks, and friars, and so began the congregation of Scotland to debate the true religion of Christ against the Frenchmen and the papists, who sought alwaies to depresse and keepe downe the same; for it began soone after the martyrdome of Walter Mille, of which the form hereafter followeth."

With secret complacency did archbishop Hamilton contemplate, the effect of the execution of Mill. He imagined he saw the protestant preachers mute with consternation, the friends of the Reformation trembling for their safety, and the church and his own power acquiring fresh stability. But he was soon convinced of the falsity of his speculations; and he had the mortification to know, that, had he been more moderate, he might, humanly speaking, have longer retained his power, and not rendered himself so obnoxious to the people as to hasten his own destruction.

Mill having resolutely refused to recant, an assembly of the clergy was accordingly summoned to proceed against him. This assembly was composed of various dignitaries. The archbishop presided in person, and beside him were seated the bishops of Moray, Brechin, Caithness, &c.; the abbots of Dunfermline, Lindores, Cupar; various doctors of theology in the university; John Grierson, black friar; John Winram, sub-prior of the abbey; William Cranston, sub-prior of the old college, and others connected with the city. Mill was ordered to be taken from prison, and brought before them.

The prelates assembled in the metropolitan church, and there was the martyr brought to his trial, on the 20th day of April, 1559. His appearance being that of a poor and feeble old man, he excited in the minds of the spectators universal commiseration; and so helpless did he appear, that it was doubted by many whether he would be able to make his defence. He was commanded to get into a pulpit prepared for the occasion, but he was so infirm as to require assistance. He looked around him, nothing dismayed at the assembly, and then sunk on his knees, offering up his fervent prayers to the God of all consolation.

A priest, named Sir Andrew Oliphant, soon commanded him with little ceremony to rise and answer to the charges laid against him. The martyr obeyed; but he spoke in a voice which astonished the beholders, and dismayed his accusers. "Sir Walter Mill," cried Oliphant, "arise, give answers to the articles; for you keep my lord the archbishop here too long." Mill beheld him with a smile of pity. "We ought to obey God," replied he, "rather than man. I serve one more powerful, even the Almighty God; and whereas you are wont to call me Sir Walter, call me not so now. I have been too long one of the pope's knights.—Now, say what thou pleasest."

The examination, which is exceedingly curious, we shall quote from Fox, who says he received it ex testimoniis et literis e Scotia petitis. It affords a specimen of Mill's natural brevity and acuteness of remark; while, at the same time, it shows the injustice of the priests in bringing men to trial with whom they never fairly argued.

It was conducted by Oliphant, who began his interrogations with the following question:

"What thinkest thou of priests' marriage?"

"I hold it a blessed band," replied Mill, "for Christ himselfe maintained it, and approved the same, and also made it free to all men; but you thinke it not free to you; ye abhore it, and in the mean tyme, take other men's wives and daughters, and will not keepe the band that God hath made. Yee vow chastitie, and break the same. Sainte Paul had rather marrie than burne; the which I have done, for God never forbade marriage, to any man, of what state or degree soever he be."

"Thou sayest," continued Oliphant, "there bee not seven sacraments?"

"Give me the Lord's Supper and Baptisme, and take you the reste, and part them among you, for if there bee seven, why have you omitted one of them, to wit, marriage, and give yourselves to slanderous and ungodly whoredom?"

"Thou art against the blessed sacrament of the altar, and saiest, that the masse is wrong, and is idolatrie?"

"A lord or a king," replied Mill, "sendeth and calleth manie to a dinner, and when the dinner is in readines, hee causeth to ring the bell, and the men come to the hall, and site down, to be partakers of the dinner, but the lord, turninge his backe upon them, eateth all himselfe, and so do yee."

"Thou deniest the sacrament of the altar to be the very bodie and blood of Christ?"

"The Scripture of God is not to be taken carnallie but spirituallie, and standeth in fayth onlie; and as for the masse it is wrong, for Christ was once offered on the crosse for man's trespasse, and will never be offered againe, for then he ended all sacrifice."

"Thou deniest the office of a bishop?"

"I affirme that they whom yee call bishops do no bishop's workes, nor use the office of a bishop, as Paul biddeth, writing to Timothy, but live after their own sensuall pleasure, and take no care of the flocke, nor yet regard they the word of God, but desire to be honoured, and called my lords."

"Thou speakest against pilgrimage, and callest it a pilgrimage to whoredome?"

"I affirm and say, that it is not commanded in the Scriptures, and that there is no greater whoredome in any place than at your pilgrimages, except it bee in common brothels."

"Thou preachest secretlie and privatelie in houses, and openlie in the fields?"

"Yea, man, and on the sea also, sayling in a ship."

"Wilt thou not recant thy erroneous opinions? And if thou wilt not, I will pronounce sentence against thee."

"I am accused for my life, and therefore, as Christ said to Judas, Quod facis, fac citius. Yee shall know that I will not recant the truth: for I am corn, I am no chaffe: I will not be blowne away with the winde, nor burst with the flaile. But I will abide both."

Thus ended the examination, and it may be easily conceived how these answers would aggravate the martyr's offence in the eyes of his persecutors. It is to be remarked, that they do not attempt to argue with him, or endeavour to set him right as to his erroneous opinions; on the contrary, they go from one article to another, without making the smallest remark on any one point. This, however, is the nature of Roman Catholicism, which cannot bear an investigation by the standard of truth.

Fox informs us, that his persecutors rehearsed those things on purpose, "together with other light trifles, to augment their small accusations." The patience of the reverend prelates was now exhausted, and Oliphant was commanded to pronounce sentence against the aged martyr, delivering him over to the secular power to suffer death as an obstinate heretic.

The boldness and fervent piety of Mills, however, together with his venerable appearance, excited all the sympathetic feelings of the beholders. The whole city of St. Andrew's was unanimous in his favour, and to so great a degree did this feeling prevail, that the archbishop could not get a civil judge to condemn him. The steward of his regality, and provost of the city, called Patrick Learmont, much to his honour, refused to lend his countenance to the procedure, and, to avoid the odium of the transaction, precipitately left the city. Even the archbishop's chamberlain would not consent to condemn him, "and the whole towne was so offended with his unjust condemnation, that the bishop's servants could not get for their money so much as one cord to tie him to the stake, or a tarre barrell to burne him, but were constrained to cut the cords of their master's owne pavilion to serve their turn."*

The prelates were now put to a stand, and they knew not what to do. The archbishop, however, was resolved on his death, and at length he most illegally prevailed by bribery on a domestic of his own, named Alexander Sommerville, to act as a temporal judge. The stake was prepared on the very day of his condemnation; and by this worthless domestic of Hamilton, the venerable martyr was led forth to receive the crown of glory.

JAMES STUART, EARL OF MORAY

THIS nobleman was the illegitimate son of James V., king of Scotland, by a lady of a noble and ancient family, Margaret Erskine, daughter of John, fifth earl of Mar, and fourth Lord Erskine of that surname.

James V. had six natural children. His sons he intended for the church, and accordingly he enriched his coffers by conferring on them wealthy benefices as they became vacant, and by this means becoming entitled to their revenues while the possessors of them were under age. The priory of St. Andrew's at this time vacant, was assigned to this son, then only three years of age. This presentation entitled James to receive the revenues. It was almost as wealthy as the primacy, and it was the next in dignity. The priors of St. Andrew's were entitled to wear splendid robes and ecclesiastical ornaments on solemn occasions, and to precede all other dignitaries of equal rank.

The history of the prior's juvenile years, and the manner of his education, are unknown; even the exact time and place of his birth are not recorded. It has been lately discovered, on the authority of bishop Leslie, that he was born in 1532, or, according to our computation, 1533. It may be remarked, however, that he at an early age manifested those talents for which the house of Stuart was distinguished. As soon as he became of age, he felt that the idleness and monotony of the ecclesiastical life did not suit his inclinations, and he looked with dislike on a profession which doomed him to inglorious ease.

In April, 1548, Scotland was invaded by lord Grey de Wilton, on which occasion Haddington was taken and fortified, and the adjacent country laid waste. At the same time, lord Clinton, the English admiral, sailed into the estuary of the Forth with a fleet, and made a descent on the coast of Fife. On this occasion happened the first adventure of the prior, who was now sixteen years of age. He was then residing in Fife, probably near St. Andrew's, and as he felt a repugnance towards the ecclesiastical profession, he resolved to embrace the opportunity of displaying his valour. The English, under Clinton, had advanced a considerable way into the country, having met with no opposition; but a few devoted individuals, under the young prior, laid an ambuscade for them on their return, into which they fell; and, after a considerable slaughter, they regained their boats with great difficulty. This was the prior's first exploit, in which he displayed no small personal courage and knowledge of military tactics.

The young queen about this time went to the French dominions, accompanied by a numerous retinue; her brother the prior, who was then in his seventeenth year, also joined her suite. He is said to have remained in France for some time. But even at this early age, his abilities were peculiarly manifested, and his enemies have paid him an unwitting compliment. It has been asserted that about this time he entered into an engagement of a secret nature with the English government to promote a conspiracy, yet the charge has never been proved by any satisfactory evidence, and there are no authentic documents on the subject. It is uncertain how long he remained in France. He went thither with Mary in 1548; we find him in Scotland in 1549; and again at Paris in 1552. The probability is, that he made several journeys to that country; at all events, the circumstance of his having been in England at that period, and the hospitality with which he was received by the English sovereign, are the sole sources of this feeble calumny. A youth of seventeen years of age, entering into a conspiracy as the agent of a foreign government, while at the same time he was without influence at home, unknown, and disregarded, is too ridiculous to be supposed for a moment.

As the prior grew up, his antipathy towards the ecclesiastical profession increased, and he seems to have regarded his priory merely as a temporal inheritance, the principal concerns of it being managed by the sub-prior, the celebrated John Winram. He paid no attention to the synods of the clergy, in which he held no inconsiderable place; and he is said still farther to have manifested his dislike to the life of a priest, by his entertaining thoughts of a matrimonial alliance. The heiress of Buchan was the lady chosen, and there is a curious document extant—a mutual contract entered into by the relations of both parties, that the prior or one of his brothers, should fulfil the intended marriage when the lady was twelve years of age.

In the intrigues which took place between the party of the queen-mother and that of the regent, to deprive him of his office, the prior seems to have taken no concern. It is not unlikely that he was in France during this period, for it would appear that he became reconciled to the French whom he at first thought proper to dislike: and his near relationship to the royal family gave him considerable patronage in all their concerns. In addition to the wealthy priory of St. Andrew's, he acquired the priory of Pittenweem, and several other benefices, both at home and abroad. He accepted of the rich priory of Mascon in France, in commendam, with a dispensation to old three benefices, notwithstanding his illegitimacy: and for these favours he took an oath of fealty to pope Paul III. in 1544.

It appears from the act of council 1555, that a fort was commanded to be built at Kelso, with the view, perhaps, of forming a line of strength along the boundaries of the Scottish kingdom. For this purpose, a tax of £20,000 Scots (about £1600 Sterling) was imposed, one half of which was to be levied from the church. The prior superintended the fort; and in July, 1557, with a force collected chiefly from Mid Lothian, and with a few pieces of artillery, he made a sudden irruption into England, accompanied by his brother, lord Robert Stuart, abbot of Holyrood-house, afterwards earl of Orkney, and lord Home. But they as suddenly returned, without performing any considerable achievement, or occasioning any material damage.

The prior, to be relieved from all the peculiar restraints attached to the clerical profession, as soon as the marriage of Mary with the dauphin was celebrated, solicited Mary for the earldom of Moray. The last earl, a natural son of James IV., by a daughter of lord Kennedy, had died at the castle of Tarnaway, on the 12th of June, 1554, and from the nature of the Scottish law, the earldom had reverted to the crown. Its administration was conferred on the earl of Huntly, who had succeeded cardinal Beaton, in the office of lord high chancellor. Huntly was one of the most powerful of the northern chiefs, and the earldom was consigned to his charge, by a charter dated 13th February, 1548–9. He was, however, deprived some time after of the earldom; but for what cause cannot be ascertained. On the prior's application, Mary, by the advice of her mother, refused the demand, advised him rather to continue in the church, and offered him a bishopric either in France or Scotland. He rejected the proposal, and, offended at the officiousness of the queen regent, from this, it is said, though without evidence, proceeded his future opposition to her government.

As soon as the marriage of the queen with the dauphin was celebrated, the French court evinced their perfidious intentions, by making demands of a most extraordinary nature. They had first allured the queen to sign certain documents, in their nature subversive of Scottish independence, and after the rejoicings were ended, the commissioners were requested by the chancellor of France to deliver to the dauphin the regalia of Scotland, that the prince might be crowned king of that nation. The ambassadors replied, that they had received no commands from the parliament respecting these matters.

The firm but respectful answer of the prior and his colleagues, discovered to the French that they would consent to nothing which might tend to produce any alteration in the order of succession to the crown. They were speedily dismissed from the court, and they prepared to embark for Scotland, with the pleasing idea that they had not sacrificed their country's independence. But, before they embarked, four of the commissioners, and many of their retinue, suddenly died, and it is currently reported, that the French had revenged themselves by administering poison to them. The suspicion was the stronger, as there was at that time no pestilential distemper raging in the country; "and even Mezeray, the French historian," says Keith, "seems to assent to the suspicion of poison, by the contrivance of the duke of Guise and his brother, lest these commissioners should put a bar to their intended measures against this kingdom." The prior of St. Andrew's, it is said, also tasted of the same potion, and escaped death only from his vigorous constitution. But the baneful effects produced a complaint to which he ever afterwards was subject. Lindsay of Pitscottie says, "that the physicians hung up the prior by the heels, to let the poison drop out of him."

The remaining deputies arrived safely at Montrose, and they immediately proceeded to Edinburgh, where a parliament was summoned on the 29th September, 1558, and there were assembled seven bishops, sixteen abbots, thirteen earls, fifteen lords, two masters, and ten for the boroughs. Notwithstanding the caution and reluctance displayed by the Scottish deputies, the French faction, under the influence of the queen-regent, ventured to move the demand in parliament. The duke of Chatelherault was the next heir to the crown, failing Mary and her issue. The dauphin's right being thus incomplete, the French court made a formal demand, in the name of the dauphin, for the crown matrimonial, or rather a right to the revenues of the queen while she lived, and after her decease. The parliament refused, and expressly limited his right during the queen's life. The duke of Chatelherault protested in form against the whole procedure; but he, as the leader of a party, was too feeble and irresolute to withstand the influence of the queen regent, who had supplanted him in the government. That crafty princess so managed the whole affair, as to make the French demands seem of little consequence. The parliament at once consented to this dangerous encroachment of power; and the prior of St. Andrew's and the earl of Argyle were deputed to represent the nation, and to invest the dauphin with the matrimonial crown. The protestants had favoured the measure, to oppose the archbishop of St. Andrew's and his party; while the dexterous management of the queen-regent gave her an influence in the parliament which she would not otherwise have possessed.

The queen-regent had succeeded in her plans to the utmost of her wishes, and she had now no motives to interest her in the protestants, who had cordially joined her in Mary's marriage, in opposition to the designs of Chatelherault and the Hamilton party. The prior and Argyle, though they were deputed to invest the dauphin with the crown-matrimonial, never went on their embassy.

The Reformation had made a rapid progress in Scotland after the murder of cardinal Beaton, and the more frequent intercourse with England tended very much to its extension. The reformers were everywhere opposed by the church and by the state; and the queen-regent now endeavoured to destroy a party whose friendship she had carefully cultivated, till she had accomplished her secret purposes. The reformers formed an association, which is known in history by the name of the Congregation. They firmly remonstrated against the tyranny and oppression of the clergy; the abuses of the church, the whole fabric of superstition. Matters were approaching to a crisis, and the nation was divided into two great parties, between which there was nothing but open warfare.

It was at Perth the queen-regent feared the hazard of a battle with men whose religious fervour made them superior to fear. She had recourse to negotiation. The prior was in her army, and, though he had not forgotten her officiousness when he was refused the earldom of Moray, and was disposed to favour a cause for which he had discovered an early predilection, he continued with her, probably from scrupulous notions of allegiance, and in the hope that he might be able to serve his friends by moderate counsel. He was sent, along with the earl of Argyle and lord Semple, to inquire whether the confederates intended actually to rebel. The reforming lords returned an unsatisfactory answer. The queen then summoned them to surrender and disperse under pain of treason. They replied to the Lyon-herald, that they had convened to deliver the town from the tyranny of the regent; but if she would permit them the free exercise of their religion, they and all their followers would instantly depart at her command. Another conference was held; and, in the meantime, Glencairn arrived, having marched his army day and night through the most rugged and almost impassable defiles, and having with great sagacity eluded various detachments of the royal troops sent out to intercept him. The regent soon got notice of his approach. She had now to contend with 7000 men, animated by the most powerful religious enthusiasm, and whose attack she feared would be irresistible. She knew well, that if she hazarded, a battle, and was defeated, her power and the church would receive a deadly blow. Again the prior, Argyle, and the abbot of Kilwinning, were sent to negotiate. They were met by Glencairn, Erskine of Dun, John Knox, and John Willox, another preacher. Knox bitterly reproached the prior and his friends for not joining the congregation; accusing them of infidelity because they took no part with them, when it was well known that they countenanced their proceedings. This they acknowledged to be true; but they said that they had promised to the regent to attempt a reconciliation, and they would not falsify their honour; adding, however, that if the regent kept not the proposed treaty, they would desert her without fail. An agreement was made, she was put in possession of the town, and the confederates dispersed, after having been edified by a sermon from Knox, of no ordinary length and vehemence. Although, however, he was pacific in the midst of his rhetoric, he procured a new associating bond to be drawn out before their dispersion, as he was assured, he said, that no part of the queen's promise would be long kept. This bond is known in history by the name of the "second covenant," and was solemnly signed by the prior and Argyle, though they still remained with the queen, by Glencairn, lord Boyd, lord Ochiltree, and Matthew Campbell, in the name of the whole confederates.

Knox's assertions were too soon verified. In two days all the regent's promises were broken. She entered the town, garrisoned it with French soldiers, and fined or banished the inhabitants. The civil authorities were deposed and others elected friendly to the church. Then for the first time she was deserted by the prior. He immediately joined the congregation, to whom he was no small acquisition. It is to be regretted that the increase of the congregation had the usual character of popular commotion. Forgetting all moderation to those who believed not as themselves, they marched in triumph through Fife, committing excesses which, though the reaction of the tyranny they had endured, disgraced the sacred cause in which they were associated.

On the 11th of June, 1560, the regent died. Her death, which was peaceful and affecting, made little impression on either party. After her decease, a temporary government was settled. In August, 1560, the celebrated parliament met which established the Reformation, and in it the prior was appointed one of the lords of the Articles.

He was one of the chief actors in the war carried on between the confederated reformers and the queen-regent. But while he and his friends were employed in strengthening their cause—while they were still in suspense, dreading unforeseen distractions and calamities, filled with alarm (notwithstanding their exultation in the overthrow of popery and the countenance of Elizabeth) that the popish party were not altogether annihilated, and that their resources could not save them from domestic strife, or the attacks of their powerful enemies—in consequence of the death of Francis I. of France, other political objects were developed: the tie which united France and Scotland was now completely broken.

No sooner was the death of Francis, Mary's husband, known in Scotland, than a council of the nobility was appointed to be held at Edinburgh, on the 15th of January, 1561. The council met, according to appointment; they were all, of course, protestants, who, in the parliament of the former year, had achieved the downfall of the popish hierarchy. After some deliberation, lord James Stuart, prior of St. Andrew's, the queen's brother, was commissioned to repair to France, and to persuade the queen to return to her own kingdom. The prior complied, but he was particularly cautioned by the reformers as to his negociations on the catholic worship. They enjoined him, after he had condoled with his sister, to declare to her, that the performance of the mass could not be tolerated in the kingdom, either in public or in private; and they took care to make him sensible, that if he did consent, he would betray the cause of God, and expose religion to the utmost danger. The prior, however, although he was zealous enough in the cause of the Reformation, was by no means inclined to act so honestly, as to offend his sovereign by presuming to dictate to her. His reply to this injunction was short but expressive. "I shall never consent," said he, "that mass shall be performed in public; but if the queen wishes to have it done in her own apartment, who will dare to prohibit her?"

The answer of the prior was perfectly consistent with the indisputable right of every human being to worship God according to the dictates of conscience. But as the exercise of any office in a state, supposes certain duties to be performed, and failing in performance, an individual is not eligible for such office: it therefore became necessary, as the ruler of a reformed nation, and for the protection of the rights of her subjects, that the queen should cease to make profession of the ancient faith. It was indeed a most unpropitious prospect held out to Mary, on her return to her native land; and Knox and his friends seem not to have relished the answer of the prior. In the margin of his "Historie," the reader is told to "note the liberality of the earle Murray," and to "note this diligently;" and the reformer, after narrating the circumstance, abruptly says, "The danger was shown, and so he [the prior] departed."

The papists, likewise, as if not to be outdone by their enemies in professions of loyalty to their sovereign, despatched an able commissioner to France. The celebrated and learned John Leslie, the historian, and afterwards bishop of Ross, was appointed to represent Mary's catholic subjects; to assure her of their respect and loyal affection, and to warn her against the prior's insinuating manners, as his sole intention, according to their political foresight, was to seize the government.

Both these ambassadors left Scotland at the same time, and took different routes. Leslie, who was vicar-general and official of Aberdeen, sailed directly from that city: the prior, with a retinue uncommonly numerous, departed from Edinburgh, with the intention to proceed through England, and accomplish the journey by land. Having some business, either of a public or a private nature, to transact at the English court, he was honourably received and entertained by Elizabeth; and of this circumstance, as we shall presently see, his enemies have unfairly taken advantage. Both ambassadors, however, wishing to get the start of each other, made all possible despatch; but Leslie, who was a man of prudence and address, having anticipated the prior, arrived the day before his opponent; and, finding Mary at Vitry, in Champagne, there tendered to her his homage. Mary received the ecclesiastic with dignity and respect, and Leslie immediately unfolded to her the nature of his embassy. He explained to the queen in glowing language the secret ambition of the prior her natural brother, that his great object was to seize the crown,—he warned her against his insidious eloquence and deceitful proposals, because he had resolved to dissuade her from bringing French soldiers into Scotland, by which he would be enabled to strike a fatal and irrecoverable blow against the catholic religion: he declared to her, that the prior supported the opinions of the protestants, not because he cared for them, but because he could render the protestants subservient to his ambition,—that the whole of the prior's conduct was merely political,—that he wished, from motives of policy, to extirpate the Roman Catholic religion out of the kingdom, as to it he had uniformly displayed the most inveterate hostility,—that his only desire was to rise to power and magnificence, and that his ambitious eyes were already fixed on the crown and sceptre,—and he (Leslie) therefore advised the queen to procure the prior's confinement in France, as consistent with her own security, until she had re-established the ancient order of church and state in her kingdom; but if she was averse to this measure, he advised her to comply with the advice of her loyal friends, and not to trust herself among the reformers, especially among those with whom the late rebellion had originated, but to land in the north of Scotland, where she would find an army of twenty thousand men, with the earl of Huntly and other noblemen at their head, ready to escort her to Edinburgh.

The prior arrived the following day, and was introduced to his sister at St. Dizier in the neighborhood of Vitry. He was soon informed of the conversation between her and Leslie, but he had sufficient command over himself to treat it with neglect. He knew well that many had attempted to prejudice Mary's mind towards him, and though he had good cause to be exasperated at Leslie's advice to put him in confinement, he nevertheless conducted himself with his wonted prudence. Mary received her brother with the utmost apparent kindness; and, though he had lost her favour during the life of her husband for his conduct in the reformed cause, she felt it prudent to show no appearance of resentment. Though the prior took no notice of Leslie's counsels, yet they prompted him to act with more decision. He informed her, that nothing was more ardently desired by her subjects, than her return to her own kingdom—that she needed no foreign aid; for she would find the nation willing and obedient—that she would be supported on her throne by the best defence, the affections of her subjects, who, he well knew, would receive her in the most affectionate manner—that the great object she ought to have in view was the national welfare, and the preservation of that tranquillity which had so lately been restored. He also informed her, that a standing army and foreign troops were utterly obnoxious to the genius and disposition of the nation—that "these expedients, at all times dangerous, would, in the present situation of affairs, excite the most dangerous commotions—that it was by far more prudent to confide in the generosity of her people; and he therefore entreated her to revisit them without guards and without soldiers, and he became solemnly bound to secure to her their obedience." Mary heard the prior throughout with the utmost attention; and trusting to his apparent sincerity, she tenderly embraced him, and committed herself to his counsels.

Pleased with the prior, and feeling towards him the affection of a sister, the young and enthusiastic Mary confided in his professions, conscious of the rectitude of her own mind; and happy indeed would it have been for her, had she suffered herself to have been implicitly guided by his counsels in after life. She displayed all the affection which the prior could wish, nor were his professions of regard and attachment wanting in return. Accompanying her to Joinville, he cultivated still farther her kindness and favour, and he again renewed his application for the earldom of Moray, which had lain dormant since the death of the last earl, a son of James IV., and which had been previously refused him during the life of the queen-regent, who feared his ambition, and dreaded his talents and address. Mary either gave him her promise, or told him that it would be considered on her arrival in Scotland. Nevertheless, he was gratified by her flattering reception, and he now began to entertain thoughts of returning home, that he might prepare the nation to receive their sovereign.

The prior attended the queen, in the preparations for her voyage, to Joinville, a seat belonging to the house of Guise, and alter remaining there a short time, he returned home, taking his route through England. He was undoubtedly unpopular in Paris; for the catholics had not forgotten his opposition to the regent, and the conspicuous part he had sustained in the destruction of the Romish hierarchy in Scotland.

The prior left Mary before her embarkation, and proceeded home through England, with the intention, as Knox has it, of preparing Mary's subjects to receive her with affection. While in England, the prior saw Elizabeth and her ministers; and this has given occasion to his enemies to vilify him without measure. We are gravely told by many historians, that the anxiety of Elizabeth to intercept Mary originated in the advice of the prior and Maitland of Lethington,—that the English fleet was sent out by their advice, "for James the bastard," says Stranguage, "very lately returned by England, had secretly advised queen Elizabeth to take Mary by the way, if she (Elizabeth) had a desire to provide for her religion and her own security; and Lethington, being glad that D'Ossel was detained in England, persuaded it also." Camden, too, writes in the same strain, as do various other authors; and truly, were it possible to believe that the prior suggested this scheme, "he would deservedly be regarded as having been one of the basest and most unprincipled of men." But it must be remarked that there is not the least shadow of even circumstantial evidence to support the charge; and, without evidence of the most satisfactory and undoubted nature, it would be absurd and ridiculous to believe it. Good all, indeed, dogmatically and firmly asserts it; but so superficial and irrelevant are his authorities and observations, and to so great a degree does he carry his hatred towards the prior, in order to establish his own extravagant hypothesis, that all his assertions must go for nothing. The truth is, even granting that the prior was crafty and ambitious, which he undoubtedly was, notwithstanding his patriotism, he had at this time no motive to induce him to such a procedure, or thus to have acted the part of a vile and unnatural traitor. He had just been in France, and had conferred with the queen his sister,—he had made the most solemn declarations of loyalty, and had been received with the utmost favour,—he had the assurance that Mary would be guided by his counsels, and even that he would be raised to the helm of government; it was not, in truth, his interest that Mary should be intercepted, as all his hopes and projects would have been annihilated,—the country would have been rent by factions,—and the humble and solitary voice of the prior, aided though he might have been even by all the zealous rhetoric of the reformers, would have been put to silence by the more powerful and adventurous nobles, with the turbulent Chatelherault and the powerful house of Hamilton at their head. His ambition, indeed, could not have been gratified in any way. It is insinuated that he aspired to the crown, and that this was the motive which induced him thus to counsel Elizabeth. But, granting this for a moment, what follows? Either the prior must have been a fool or a miserable politician, with neither of which characters his enemies have charged him. He could not obtain the crown during the life of his sister, even though she had been closely confined by Elizabeth; the right of succession could not be altered, especially when Mary had done nothing to cause such an act; nor could Elizabeth inflict death on Mary, when the only thing alleged against the Scottish queen was her refusal to ratify the treaty of Edinburgh. It is evident, we think, from the whole aspect of the times, that the interception of the queen would have completely ruined the prior's interest, and that his enemies have merely laid hold of the fact of his passing through England on his return home, to fasten on him the whole odium of Elizabeth's procedure.

In her zeal for the due administration of the laws, Mary advanced the prior to be lord-lieutenant and chief justiciary. The borders were in a state of turbulence, and thither the prior directed an expedition in person. Two criminal courts were held by him, the one at Jedburgh, the other at Dumfries, and the military retainers from no less than eleven counties were commanded to attend him at the former town, and to remain there for twenty days. The borders, in those days, were infested by armed banditti, who committed the most lawless depredations, and whom success had made insolent and intolerable. Far removed from the insolence of the two courts, dwelling on the debateable ground, which had been the scene of many a strife of death in preceding ages, the inhabitants associated together in feudal dependencies, under leaders ferocious, barbarous, and ungovernable. Attacking their enemies when they pleased, they subsisted entirely by rapine and robbery; nor did they ever retreat from the objects of their attack without leaving terrible marks of their inroads and devastations. To restrain such freebooters was a matter of no small importance; more especially as, from their knowledge of the country, they could retreat to the fastnesses, and at least for a time elude the vigilance of justice. The military skill of the prior was profound, his courage in high esteem, and the prudence which he had uniformly displayed in all his warlike operations, had ensured to him a boundless popularity. In order that he might be assisted against the border banditti, a strong military force was ordered to attend him, raised from the above number of counties; for as yet the advantages of a standing army were unknown. In this expedition his success corresponded to his abilities, and his administration of justice was most severe. He destroyed many of the strongholds of the freebooters; he executed twenty of the most notorious offenders, and sent fifty more to the capital, to undergo the punishments of the law. At Kelso, he had a conference with the English wardens, lord Grey and Sir John Foster; and they mutually made some salutary regulations for the preservation of the public tranquillity.

The prior was doubtless the great leader of the reformers, and his presence and influence were powerful checks to the fallen ecclesiastics. The distinguished share which he had taken in the wars of the congregation, and the opposition which he had shown to the arbitrary encroachments of the civil government, early distinguished him as a popular leader, and he had secured the universal applause of the people. It has been said, or insinuated, on the authority, of various partial historians, that his commission to quell the border tumults was appointed by the queen, in the hope that he might there fall a sacrifice to his bravery; but no part of Mary's conduct justifies such an insinuation. It is, however, certain, that, though the queen had no object to serve by such a design, as the very man would have been destroyed in whom she placed the greatest confidence; yet the prior's virulent enemies, the catholics, would have heartily rejoiced had such a calamity befallen him. This is evident from the fact, that his absence on his commission afforded some encouragement to the ecclesiastics. His presence about the queen's person had retarded them in their insidious designs; but no sooner was it known that their enemy was on the borders, than the archbishop of St. Andrew's, the bishops of Caithness and Dunblane, with other zealous adherents of the catholic faction, hastened to Edinburgh. Leslie, bishop of Ross, was already there, and he was the well-known agent of the French interest; he had advertised his ecclesiastical brethren of the favourable opportunity, which he better knew, because he had been recently elected one of the new council. The greatest hopes of the prelates were placed in Mary's known attachment to the popish superstition; yet they feared, from her connexion with the protestants, and from the influence which the prior had over her mind, that she might at least be induced to give up the celebration of that indispensable part of the popish ritual, the mass. But though the prior was absent, he did not want an indefatigable auxiliary and substitute to watch over the interests of the Reformation. Knox had entertained suspicions of the queen from her arrival, which had been farther confirmed by the audience she condescended to give him when he delivered his opinion "that her conversion was hopeless,"—and it was his constant theme to declaim against her motives and actions. As his influence was almost unbounded, his success was equal to that influence. Preaching against idolatry was his forte; and by his rhetoric the people began seriously to doubt whether they ought to pay allegiance to a princess whom they conceived to be an idolater; and the more obscure preachers, imitating the example of their leader, circulated his sentiments and phraseology over the kingdom, and excited the popular distrust and dissatisfaction. Those symptoms escaped not the penetrating eye of Randolph, the English resident. He thus writes to secretary Cecil:—"It is now called in question whether the princess, being an idolater, may be obeyed in all civil and politic actions. I think marvellously of the wisdom of God, that gave this unruly, inconstant, and cumbersome people no more substance and power than they have; for then they would run wild."

The prior had now acquired an almost unprecedented degree of popularity. Entitled to the respect and friendship of the queen, on account of his eminent abilities, and to her gratitude for his public services and the salutary tendencies of his counsels, and having discharged his duty on the borders with the utmost applause and diligence, as lord-lieutenant, Mary began to think of rewarding him on his resignation of that office, and of conferring on him a distinguishing mark of her favour. Accordingly, as he had always manifested a repugnance to the ecclesiastical life, he was promoted to the dignity and earldom of Mar.

About this period, also, the prior formed a matrimonial alliance, and he was publicly married in the church of St. Giles, to lady Agnes Keith, a daughter of the earl marischall. We are told by Knox in his history, that after the ceremony was performed (of course in the reformed manner), he was addressed by the preacher to the following effect:—"Sir, the church of God hath received comfort by you and by your labour, unto this day; if you prove more faint therein afterwards, it will be said that your wife hath changed your nature." The fears of the preachers were almost realized on this occasion; for the marriage was celebrated with such a splendour and magnificence, as aroused all their religious apprehensions. They actually dreaded that some avenging judgment or calamity would afflict the land. The utmost clamour was raised against the prior's riotous feasting and banquets; but their bitterness was still greater towards the masquerades, with which he amused his friends, as being till that time unknown in Scotland; and, as they seemed to the preachers to encourage gallantry and licentiousness, against them the severest language of indignation was directed.

The well-known talents of the prior, now earl of Mar; the influence he possessed in the state, as the confidential minister of the queen; the honours which he had received, and his general conduct, had drawn upon him a number of enemies—men who beheld his exaltation with the utmost suspicion, and who secretly determined to effect his ruin. The age was distinguished by its turbulence, aggravated by fierce disputes about religion; and, as the feudal system at that time prevailed to the utmost extent, the hereditary animosities, which had been long fostered among the most powerful families, operated from the chief to the most insignificant of his retainers, and ever and anon broke out with violence, as circumstances seemed favourable. The Scottish nobility were generally ambitious, factious, and fickle; and by them the earl of Mar was beheld with secret hatred. And so savage and barbarous was the age—an age in which every man almost did that which was right in his own eyes—that even the nobles, who, from their station, ought to have disdained such dastardly revenge, were so far hurried along by their violent passions, as without scruple to despatch their enemies by the dagger, when an opportunity of assassination was afforded.

The most formidable of Mar's enemies, and the most desperate, was the earl of Huntly. This powerful chieftain had a most extensive influence in the Highlands,—his followers were savage, and, like himself, adventurous and daring. Already had Huntly signalized himself by various achievements, and his untameable spirit pervaded all his dependents. In fact, they seem to have been a kind of recognized banditti, subsisting wholly by warfare, attacks on their neighbours, and predatory incursions into the territories of those who had been so unfortunate as to incur the displeasure of their chief.

The earl of Mar, while he was prior, and the earl of Huntly, had been rivals for power; and during this contention, mutual disgusts had arisen between them. They were not less opposed to each other in politics than in religion. Mar was the avowed leader and supporter of the reformers; Huntly was the head of their enemies, the papists. It will be recollected, that, on the death of Francis—when Mary, seeing she could not support her influence in France as a dowager, had resolved to revisit her native kingdom—Leslie, afterwards bishop of Ross, had been appointed by the Scottish catholics as their representative; while the prior appeared in his own person on the part of the protestants. The counsel of the prior was preferred, and hence began Huntly's jealousy and disstisfaction. He and his faction had offered to support Mary with 20,000 men, if she would land among them; but his offer was rejected. He had advised her to detain the prior in France as a prisoner, as his influence and talents were dangerous to the state; and this advice was not only disregarded, but he had the mortification to see his rival caressed and honoured. Even after Mary's arrival, he had proffered his services to establish the ancient church; and he had conversed with her bigoted uncles on the subject, yet he was disregarded. At the royal palace he was treated only with civility; and, although he was chancellor, he possessed neither influence nor confidence. Every thing was, in his opinion, engrossed by his rival; disdain and contempt, he clearly foresaw, were all he could expect as long as the earl of Mar prevailed. These neglects and mortifications were too great for a man such as Huntly—of illustrious birth, boundless ambition, vast wealth, and powerful resources. But he was to feel other humiliations, at once destructive of all his authority, his consequence, and, in his opinion, of his very family and name.

The prior, as we have just observed, had been rewarded with the dignity of earl of Mar, on account of his conduct in his border expedition. With this dignity, however, he was far from being content Lord Erskine, with whom he was most intimately connected by his mother, claimed the territory of Mar as his own peculiar property; and the prior's favourite object had been the earldom of Moray. Erskine advanced his claim, and though there was no authority for his immediate right—for he acquired not the property till some years afterwards—his claim was received. The prior resigned that earldom to his mother's house; and, not many months after his first advancement as earl of Mar, the queen gratified the wish which he had never lost sight of, by conferring on him the earldom of Moray. As by this title he is best known in history, we henceforth, of course, designate him as the earl of Moray.

We have said that Moray had a number of enemies. His proceedings, his encouragement of the Reformation, and his talents, had made him so obnoxious, that repeated conspiracies were formed to assassinate him. The licentious Bothwell and the earl of Arran had resolved, as we shall presently see, to murder Moray the very first opportunity, on account of some personal injuries either real or imaginary. Bothwell undertook to penetrate this villany, while Moray was with the queen at Falkland; and it would have been executed, had not the earl of Arran, detesting such a deed, sent a letter privately to Moray, discovering the whole conspiracy, and thus he escaped the meditated evil. Bothwell fled from justice into France. Moray's elevation, however, now made him more envied, and his enemies secretly resolved to destroy a man before whom they felt awe and humiliation.

Huntly beheld, with the most impatient indignation, the advancement of his dreaded and detested rival; and he at last reasoned himself into the belief, that a design had been entered into at court, under the auspices of Moray, to effect his own ruin, and utterly to annihilate his family. This idea was farther strengthened from his peculiar circumstances. The estates of Mar and Moray had been assigned to him, not as his own right, but merely in trust; he had possessed them for some time, and though he had not the slightest legal claim, he had always considered them as his own property. With maddening rage he beheld them torn from him to aggrandize his hated rival; he complained, but he was disregarded. Fearing the influence of his enemy in his own country, he felt these humiliations as the most decisive blows to all his greatness. He now no longer disguised his intentions, but in defiance of the queen's proclamation, openly took arms; and instead of yielding those places of strength, which Mary required him to surrender, his followers dispersed, or cut in pieces, the parties which she despatched to take possession of them; and he himself advancing with a considerable body of men towards Aberdeen, to which place the queen was now returned, filled her small court with consternation. Moray had only a handful of men in whom he could confide. In order to form the appearance of an army, he was obliged to call in the assistance of the neighbouring barons; but as most of these either favoured Huntly's designs, or stood in awe of his power, from them no cordial or effectual service could be expected.

With these troops, however, Moray, who could gain nothing by delay, marched briskly towards the enemy. He found them at Corrichie, posted to great advantage; he commanded his northern associates instantly to begin the attack; but on the first motion of the enemy, they treacherously turned their backs; and Huntly's followers, throwing aside their spears, and breaking their ranks, drew their swords, and rushed forward to the pursuit. It was then that Moray gave proof both of steady courage and of prudent conduct. He stood immoveable on a, rising ground, with the small but trusty body of his adherents, who, presenting their spears to the enemy, received them with a determined resolution which they little expected. Before they recovered from the confusion occasioned by this unforeseen resistance, Moray's northern troop, who had fled so shamefully in the beginning of the action, willing to regain their credit with the victorious party, fell upon them and completed the rout. Huntly himself, who was extremely corpulent, was trodden to death in the pursuit. His sons, Sir John and Adam Gordon, were taken prisoners. Moray marched his victorious troops back to Aberdeen, "where," says Buchanan, "he had appointed a minister of the gospel to wait for his return, and gave thanks to the God of battles, who, out of his infinite mercy, beyond all men's expectation, and without any strength or wisdom of his own, had delivered him and his men from such imminent danger."

Moray proceeded immediately to the queen to inform her of his victory; but she received the tidings without any joyful emotion. Perhaps a consciousness of the rivalship of Moray and Huntly—sympathy for the misfortunes of the latter, and an idea that she had proceeded rashly, and given way too easily to Moray's representations, operated upon her, and raised some sorrow for the destruction of an illustrious house, and for a nobleman who was, notwithstanding his faults, loyal to her, and attached to her religion.

Moray was now in the most desirable situation. By his influence and dexterity, all his rivals had been removed. Mary's affection towards him was sincere; she was guided by his counsels, and he in return rendered her salutary advice. Indeed, the aspect of the country had been totally changed through Moray's influence. Peace was now restored; the laws were efficient; commerce and the arts flourished; learning was encouraged; the protestants were allowed to assemble without molestation, and their preachers were openly countenanced by the state. Freed at length from those turbulent factions which had so long harassed them, though these were too soon again to distract the country, a momentary repose was enjoyed; men felt the blessings of civilization and happiness. The people, in general, were contented and happy; Moray's conduct was viewed with every respect and indulgence; he was deservedly popular, and his administration was salutary and useful. Of profound and versatile talents, he equally knew how to govern in war and peace; and alike great in the cabinet and in the field, he had the good of his country at heart, even though he made many of his public acts subservient to his ambition. In a word, during this momentary respite from the ebullitions of factious passion, the ancient maxim seemed to be verified, that the people can only be called happy who are under the administration of a sage.

In May, 1563, an act of indemnity was passed, in which it was declared that the earl of Moray, and the other leaders of the protestants, should not be molested, or called to account, for the outrages, tumults, and other achievements, carried on by the congregation, between the years 1558 and 1561, under Moray's auspices, when he was only prior of St. Andrew's, and in arms against the authority of the queen-regent. This was a necessary procedure, as it was probable that their conduct might be reviewed in some after period, should an opportunity offer. About this time, it is said, he made a singular proposal to the queen. He advised her to entail the right of succession to the crown, on four families of the name of Stuart; and it is also said, that the queen deliberated with her council on the measure, but that they gave it as their opinion that she could not alter the legal succession. It is evident, that if the counsel of Moray was such, it goes far at this time to prove his patriotism, as he could have little hope of being first named, if, indeed, named at all.

It is necessary to notice some important transactions which occurred about this time. The beauty and accomplishments of Mary were universally known; and many of the European princes ardently sighed to share her crown. With a kingdom as her dowry, joined to her external accomplishments, she attracted the admiration of numerous suitors.

Mary herself was not averse to marriage. She had remained a widow for a sufficient period, and had honored the memory of her husband by her exemplary conduct. But she felt that without a vigorous government she could have little peace or security. Her ministers were continually engaging in plots and family animosities; the nobles were fierce and haughty; the protestant clergy her avowed opponents; and the people, in general, animated by their own peculiar opinions. Young, beautiful, and amiable, among a people of a different religion, she felt herself without friends, solitary and unprotected.

It was in the year 1565, that lord Darnley, son of the earl of Lennox, arrived in Scotland, and was introduced to Mary at the castle of Wemyss, in the county of Fife. The first interview made a favourable impression on the queen. At that time, in the vigour of manhood, his stature was tall and graceful, his countenance beautiful and regular. "In beauty and gracefulness of person," says Dr. Robertson, "he surpassed all his contemporaries; he excelled eminently in all those arts which add ease and elegance to external form, and which enable it not only to dazzle but to please." Mary was in the buoyancy of youthful vivacity; her beauty shed a radiance around the circle in which she moved; every amusement was produced to please "the new arrived;" banquets, masks, and dancing were celebrated; and love stole into her heart. She had been distracted by intrigues and jarring interests; now she resigned herself to the potency of those gentle feelings which elevate the mind amid its corroding cares. The courtiers observed the sovereign's conduct; her feelings escaped not their penetrating eyes. They saw that Darnley was beloved; that the memory of all the queen's former suitors was effaced; and some of them, especially Morton and Glencairn, did not disguise their sentiments of dislike to the rumoured alliance. The opposition of the former, however, resulted from his personal interest being endangered. He had claimed the earldom of Angus, to which the now restored countess of Lennox also alleged her right.

Foreseeing what would be the consequence of the queen's marriage with Darnley, Moray set himself resolutely to oppose it; but finding little attention paid to what he urged on the subject in the convention of estates, he chose rather to absent himself for some time; and accordingly retired to the border, where he remained until that event was consummated.

After the murder of Rizzio, Moray returned. Mary having heard of his arrival, knowing well his power, his talents, and his capacity to serve her, and as it appeared to her that he had no connexion with the murder, perceived the importance of attaching him to her interest. Her natural regard for him also returned, and she felt inclined to bestow on him a sister's affection.

Accordingly, as the queen's accouchement was hastening on, Moray resolved to take advantage of every circumstance, and to effect the return of Morton, Lethington, and their associates. He began openly to plead for their recall; and his conduct alarmed the bishop of Ross and the earl of Huntly. They proceeded forthwith to the queen, informed her of the facts, and enforced on her the necessity of committing such a dangerous man to prison; but she refused to listen to their remonstrance, and suffered it to pass unnoticed, save by instructing Sir James Melville to observe Moray's conduct and that of his party with the utmost vigilance. The delivery of the queen now approached; and letters were sent to all the nobility, desiring them to resort to the capital, and to reside near her person. Mary herself proceeded to the castle of Edinburgh, in which the king, Moray, Argyle, and other nobles, at this juncture resided. On the 19th of June, 1566, she was delivered of a prince, afterwards James VI. This important event was hailed with every sign of enthusiasm and joy. A messenger was immediately dispatched to London, to communicate the tidings to Elizabeth. She was at a ball in Greenwich when she received the information; instantly she threw herself into a chair in the utmost agony and sorrow; and for some time she appeared almost without animation. At length she burst into tears, and exclaimed, "Alas! Mary of Scotland is the mother of a fair son, while I am a solitary and joyless maiden."

The deeply tragical incidents which succeeded, disgusted him more and more at the court. With these the public are well acquainted. The murder of Darnley, and Mary's after marriage with the assassin of her husband, has occasioned too much speculation of late years, not to be known to every one in the least acquainted with Scottish history. Moray now found it impossible to live at a court where his implacable enemy was so highly honoured. Bothwell insulted him openly. He therefore, asked leave of the queen to travel abroad; and she, being willing to get rid of him at all events, granted his desire, upon his promising not to make any stay in England. He went to France, and remained there till he heard that she was in custody at Lochleven, and that Bothwell had fled to Denmark. He then returned home.

On the 29th of July, 1567, James VI. was crowned king of Scotland at Stirling. The papers which the queen had signed were read, and her resignation was received by the assembled nobles in the name of the three estates. Morton, bending his body, and laying his hand on the scriptures, took the coronation oath for the infant king. John Knox preached the inauguration sermon, and the prince was then anointed king of Scotland by Adam Bothwell, bishop of Orkney,—a ceremony which Knox and his friends declaimed against as a Jewish ceremony. That prelate then delivered to him the sword and sceptre, and finally placed on his head the royal crown.

On the 22d day of August, 1567, Moray was solemnly invested with the regency, in presence of the principal nobles, some of the bishops, and other church dignitaries. The good effect of Moray's accession to the regency were quickly felt. The party forming for the queen was weak, irresolute, and disunited; and no sooner was the government of the kingdom in the hands of a man so remarkable both for his abilities and popularity, than the nobles, of whom it was composed, lost all hopes of gaining ground, and began to treat separately with the regent. So many of them were brought to acknowledge the king's authority, that scarce any appearance of opposition to the established government was left in the kingdom. The regent was no less successful in his attempts to get into his hands the places of strength in the kingdom. By liberal bribes and gifts from his own ecclesiastical property, Sir James Balfour delivered to him the castle of Edinburgh. Falkland, the fortalice of the Bass, and other castles, were surrendered without opposition. The castle of Dunbar, Bothwell's famous stronghold, was summoned; and, marching in person, with four large cannon, six smaller pieces, and a great store of military equipments, it capitulated on his approach. The town of Haddington, in his way, had given signs of turbulence; but he compelled the inhabitants to obedience. The town of Dumfries also was obliged to submit. Then marching towards the borders, and arriving secretly and suddenly in Hawick, he sallied out, and attacked the border marauders when they least expected him, seizing thirty-four of them, part of whom were hanged and part drowned. In another part of the border, he seized fifteen more; five, however, got their liberty, upon the delivery of hostages; and ten were brought to Edinburgh, and there laid in irons. He quickly restored order, and the exercise of the laws.

It must not be forgotten, and, indeed it will be evident from what we have already recorded, that the state of the country on Moray's elevation was most unfavourable. The people were in a state of transition from the superstitions and traditions of their fathers,—the nation was excited,—the laws were often defeated in their execution,—justice frequently disregarded,—every petty baron or chief reigned absolute in his own domains. Civil wars, too, had distracted the public mind—had retarded the progress of civilization, and had engendered that restless spirit which was destined to be transmitted to the succeeding century, and to involve the country in strife and bloodshed.

On the 15th of December, the parliament assembled. The regent rode to it in great solemnity; Argyle carried the sword, Huntly the sceptre, and Angus the crown. The nation was now tranquil through Moray's endeavours; and there was no interruption to public business; but he could not be said to be properly the regent until he was confirmed by parliament, nor did resistance to him without this sanction imply high treason. This, of course, was soon obtained. Many wise and salutary laws were enacted, which evinced that the regent had the welfare of his country at heart. The parliament granted everything the confederates could demand, either for the safety of their own persons, or the security of that form of government which they had established in the kingdom. Mary's resignation of the crown was accepted, and declared to be valid. The king's authority and Moray's election were recognized and confirmed. The imprisonment of the queen, and all the other proceedings of the confederates were pronounced lawful. The letters which Mary had written to Bothwell were produced, and she was declared to be accessory to the murder of the king. At the same time, all the acts of the parliament of the year 1560, in favour of the protestant religion, were publicly ratified; new statutes to the same purpose were enacted; and nothing that could contribute to root out the remains of popery, or to encourage the growth of the reformation, was neglected.

The regent now pursued the murderers of the king. This surely is a proof of his innocence. Several were taken and executed. Intercessions were made for Mary's liberation by some foreign states; but the regent publicly averred what was the fact, that the queen was not his prisoner; he was amenable to the parliament, who had ratified her imprisonment.

But while the regent was thus vigorously administering the business of the state, composing internal commotions, and promoting the happiness of his country, the affairs of Mary took a different turn. She had still numerous friends,—Moray had numerous enemies. The length and rigour of Mary's sufferings began to move many to commiserate her case. All who leaned to the ancient religion, dreaded the effects of Moray's zeal. And he, though his abilities were great, did not possess the talents requisite for soothing the rage or removing the jealousies of the different factions. His virtues were severe, and his deportment to his equals, especially after his elevation to the regency, distant and haughty. The house of Hamilton were in secret his implacable foes, fearing that their right of succession to the crown was in jeopardy. Murray of Tullibardine was in secret his determined enemy. Maitland of Lethington, who was famed for his instability, and for his care of his own interest, was now turning his crafty thoughts towards the queen. Lord Fleming still commanded Dumbarton castle in the name of his sovereign. The catholics, headed by the primate of St. Andrew's, were exasperated to a man against Moray. Frequent meetings were held by the queen's friends to contrive her restoration.

Such was the favorable disposition of the nation towards the queen, when she recovered her liberty, in a manner no less surprising to her friends, than unexpected by her enemies. Several attempts had been made to procure her an opportunity of escaping, which some unforeseen accident or the vigilance of her keepers, had hitherto disappointed. At last Mary employed all her art to gain George Douglas, her keeper's brother, a youth of eighteen. As her manners was naturally affable and insinuating, she treated him with the most flattering distinction; she even allowed him to entertain the most ambitious hopes, by letting fall some expressions, as if she would choose him for her husband. At his age, and in such circumstances, it was scarcely possible to resist such a temptation. He yielded, and drew others into the plot.

On the 2d of May, 1568, whilst the lady of Lochleven and his eldest brother were at supper, George Douglas contrived to gain possession of the keys of the castle, which were usually deposited in his grandmother's bedroom, after the gates were locked. The queen and her attendants were in readiness; her youthful deliverer conducted her out of prison; a boat was prepared; and, locking the castle gates behind him to prevent pursuit, he took the keys with him. The night was clear and serene; scarcely a breath of wind ruffled the waters; the moon shone bright in the heavens, and shed her silvery tints on the surface of the dark blue lake. Getting into the boat, the adventurers flew across the watery expanse; but the plashing of the oars roused the inmates of the castle, and an alarm was instantly given. "Treason! treason!" was loudly exclaimed when the flight of the queen was discovered, and several fire arms were discharged after the fugitives.* They landed, however, in safety, on the opposite shore, where the queen was received by Lord Seaton, and a chosen troop of horsemen in complete armour. Mary again felt herself to be a queen; immediately she mounted, and long before break of day she and her trusty adherents had crossed the Forth, and ended their hasty and dangerous journey before the gates of Niddrie castle, in West Lothian, which belonged to Lord Seaton. After the repose of a few hours, she proceeded to Hamilton; her friends advising her to enter Dumbarton castle, then commanded by her adherent lord Fleming.

No sooner was Mary's escape known, than her friends resorted to her from all quarters. In a few days, her court was filled with a great and splendid train of nobles, accompanied by such numbers of followers as formed an army above six thousand strong. Her resignation of the crown was declared to be null and void; the nobles subscribed a bond in her favour; and the inauguration of the king and the regency of Moray were pronounced treasonable acts and usurpation.

Moray was holding a court of justice in Glasgow when he received tidings of the queen's escape. Astonished at the intelligence, he nevertheless prepared calmly to meet the threatened dangers. His own adherents were seized with consternation—he beheld some of them go over to the queen,—others betook themselves to private places. He was advised to proceed to Stirling, and there fortify himself; but he rejected the advice; and, after mature deliberation, determined to remain in Glasgow. His usual vigour and prudence did not forsake him, and his proceedings at once displayed his resolution.

In the midst of the regent's active measures to discomfit his enemies, and to animate his followers, he received a message from Mary, requiring his instant demission of the regency, and submission to her authority, with the promise of a full pardon if he rendered a compliance. He seemed to hesitate; he returned no definite answer, but wished to gain time, as if he would latterly enter into negotiation. In the mean time he was busy in collecting troops; and when a new message reached him, he was found determined to dispute the government with the queen.

A battle, therefore was to decide the hopes of Mary and her brother. The former wished not, indeed, this last alternative; she feared the regent's military talents; she knew well that his officers were all men of distinguished bravery; and one unfortunate engagement might plunge her into irretrievable ruin. But the Hamiltons, who had all joined her standard, overruled her objections. As her army was more numerous than the regent's, they therefore thought it impossible to be defeated; and the primate of St. Andrew's calculating on victory, had already in imagination placed himself at the head of affairs, and planned a visionary marriage between the queen and a son of his brother Chatelherault.

The regent had mustered an army, and he now prepared with the utmost deliberation to decide his fate. His only hope lay in an early encounter. For this purpose he marched his troops from Glasgow, after reviewing them on the common called the Green. Mary began her march on the 13th of May from Hamilton to enter Dumbarton castle, which the regent had not been able to wrest out of the hands of lord Fleming, the governor; but if the enemy should endeavour to intercept her march, she resolved not to decline an engagement. In Mary's situation, no resolution could be more imprudent. The regent came up to her army, and determined to dispute her progress. Perceiving his enemies to be in motion, when near the famous village of Langside, about two miles from Glasgow, although he was farther distant from it, by a great exertion he was successful in gaining an eminence which he perceived them anxious to attain. The regent, fortunately for himself, secured the eminence by a body of chosen troops.

The contending armies were very different in point of numbers. The queen mustered 6000 fighting men, with a considerable number of the nobility. Moray's army consisted only of 3000, "but formidable for his own military talents, and those of Morton, Kirkcaldy of Grange, and others, who had been trained from their youth in foreign and domestic wars." Moray and Morton, indeed, were known to be the best generals in Scotland; no one ever saw Lindsay or Ruthven retreat: and Kirkcaldy of Grange was pronounced by the constable Montmorency the first soldier in Europe. Such were the leaders, and such the force against whom the queen had to contend.

Both armies drew up in the order of battle, and displayed the royal banners: they were also severally provided with two pieces of cannon, which, however, were of little use. The queen's troops were ranged by Argyle in two columns, the main body under his own command; Arbroath commanded the van; Cassilis, the right wing; lord Claud Hamilton, the left. The regent followed the same order in the disposition of his troops; his right wing was commanded by Morton, and under him Home, Lindsay, Lethington, and others; the left wing by his relative the earl of Mar. Glencairn, Monteith, and their followers, with some harquebussiers, were stationed in the village, and behind the hedges on the high road. Kirkcaldy of Grange had taken possession of the hill on the previous night.

A rush on the part of the queen's troops announced the commencement of the action. "For God and the queen," was resounded throughout her army; while the regent's warriors loudly replied, "For God and the king." The queen's cavalry put those of the regent to flight, but in return they were sorely galled by his archers. Her main body marched gallantly into the plain, under a severe fire from the regent's musketeers, who were stationed behind the bushes. The regent hastened to meet the queen's troops with his first division, and a desperate encounter ensued sword in hand. His soldiers were almost losing ground, when his second division came to his support. Kirkcaldy of Grange then decided the fate of the day; and the battle, which continued for an hour and a half, ended in a total defeat of the queen's army; who, panic-struck and sorely pressed by that gallant soldier, fled from the field in the utmost consternation. The regent's victory was complete. Three hundred of the queen's army fell; while he lost only one of his own men, and none of any distinction were wounded, except lords Hume and Ochiltree. He humanely restrained the fury of his victorious soldiers in the pursuit, by riding up and down the field, and calling upon them to spare their countrymen. Many persons of distinction were made prisoners. The regent then returned to Glasgow, and there offered public thanks to God for this happy deliverance from popery and papists, who had thus threatened to overturn the work of reformation in the land.

The unfortunate Mary awaited the issue of the engagement at a little distance. With the utmost anguish she beheld the overthrow of her gallant army; she was dismayed by the apprehensions of captivity and death. She could not venture to Dumbarton, as she might fail into the regent's hands by the way. Lord Herries, a faithful adherent, accompanied her in her flight towards Galloway, and she rested not till she reached the abbey of Dunrennan, near Kircudbright, almost seventy miles distant from the fatal field of Langside. Here she resolved, in a rash and unhappy moment, to retreat to England. The primate and lord Herries on their knees entreated her to give up this desperate resolution. She was inflexible. A despatch was sent to Lauder, the deputy-commander at Carlisle, desiring to know whether the Scottish queen might venture on English ground. He answered, that he could not of his own authority give her any assurance, but that he would send by post and know his sovereign's will; nevertheless, if any danger was evident, he would receive her at Carlisle with due respect. Mary seemed as if fatally anxious to be in the power of her enemy and rival; the regent was active and indefatigable; a revolting captivity or certain death awaited her if she fell into his hands. What more could Elizabeth inflict? Accordingly, without waiting for the return of the messenger, she set sail in a fishing-boat with sixteen attendants, and looked her last adieu on her native land. She landed at Wirkington in Cumberland, and, after a short stay at Cockermouth, was conducted by Lauder to Carlisle, where she remained till an answer was returned to her despatch to Elizabeth.

The regent, in the mean time, followed up the victory he had gained by the most active measures. Seven of the prisoners, one of whom was Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, were condemned, and led out to execution; but the regent spared them, and ordered them back to prison. He appeared before the castles of Hamilton and Draphane, which surrendered at his summons, after which he proceeded to Glasgow, and thence to Edinburgh. Lord Ruthven compelled the earl of Huntly to retire northward, though he had advanced as far as the Tay, with an army of two thousand men. A proclamation was issued by the regent, commanding a general muster of soldiers at Biggar. He set out thither from Edinburgh, and left the place of rendezvous at the head of four thousand horse and one thousand foot. He attacked the castles of all the nobility, who were friendly to the queen. He got possession of Boghall castle, belonging to Lord Fleming, the governor of Dumbarton; he destroyed the castle of Stirling; and the castle of Sanquhar, belonging to Lord Crichton, capitulated. Sir John Gordon, the knight of Lochinvar, refused to surrender his castle, more especially as he expected assistance from lord Herries: the regent was unsuccessful in the attack, but he destroyed Ken more, another of Lochinvar's strongholds. He marched to Dumfries, and there executed some freebooters, who had fallen into his hands. He then made a successful assault on the castle of Hodam, which belonged to lord Herries; and that of Annan surrendered at his approach. Here he had an interview with lord Scroop, the warden of the English marches. He then marched to Peebles, and thence to Edinburgh, where he was received with the loudest congratulations, having established complete tranquillity in the southern and western counties. Nor was Moray less attentive to the administration of the laws, which in some cases amounted to severity.

On the 16th day of August the parliament assembled, and, after much reasoning, it was resolved to send commissioners to England to vindicate their conduct. But none being willing to undertake the business, the regent resolved upon going himself; and accordingly chose three gentlemen, two ministers, two lawyers, together with the celebrated George Buchanan, to accompany him; and, with a guard of a hundred horse, they set out, and arrived at York, the appointed place of conference, on the fourth of October. After several meetings with the English commissioners to little purpose, Elizabeth invited the regent to London, that, by personal conversation with him, she might be better satisfied about the state of affairs in Scotland. But here the same difficulties stood in his way as at York; he refused to enter upon the accusation of his sister, the queen of Scots, unless, provided she was found guilty, Elizabeth would engage to protect the king's party.

The conferences ended in nothing; less from want of inclination, than from inability to prove. It was of the greatest consequence to Moray to preserve the permanence of his power. Had he consented to her restoration, or acknowledged she was innocent, he could not but anticipate the downfall of his pre-eminence. On the other hand, the declaration of Mary's innocence, or her release, would entirely disconcert Elizabeth's plans. Her enmity was too great, not to appear through the mask of feigned affection and impartiality. Although an adept in dissimulation, it was easily discerned she only wanted a pretext to tyrannize over her ill-fated rival. And while she temporized, the bonds of Mary's captivity were rivetting faster and faster. If the motives of the different parties are balanced, reasons may be assigned for the conduct of each. The late king was despised and detested by his subjects; by Elizabeth treated with indignity, and hardly, if ever, recognised by that name. Now, under the plea of loyalty and regard, all fly to arms, and associate to ruin the queen. What could this farce of a trial end in but nothing.

The regent returned to Scotland, and found the kingdom in tranquillity. Finding it necessary, however, to take measures to secure his authority and government against the designs of his enemies, who, he knew, were neither few nor of little consequence, he called an assembly of the nobles at Stirling, and received their sanction to his proceedings in England. But his enemies had resolved to commence their operations, and they were farther encouraged by the opportune return of the duke of Chatelherault to Scotland. This nobleman, who had crossed from France to England to oppose Moray in the regency, had been amused by Elizabeth, and actually detained by her till the regent returned to Scotland. He then received permission to leave England; but the English queen had so contrived, that he did not reach Scotland till a few weeks after the regent's arrival. He had espoused Mary's cause, and had received from her a high military commission, together with the fantastic "title of her adopted father." Prompted by these vain distinctions, no sooner did he arrive at Edinburgh than he issued a proclamation, forbidding the acknowledgment of any other authority than that of the queen. The regent took the alarm, and determined to oppose with vigour this faction, and, if possible, to check it while he was able. He issued a counter proclamation in the name of the king, appointing Glasgow as a place for a general meeting, and ordering all loyal subjects to repair to that city. With his usual expedition, he assembled an army, and directed his march towards the west. Chatelherault was now alarmed; he knew that he was unable to contend with the regent; the effects of the battle of Langside were yet apparent in the west, and had made a visible impression; and he therefore thought it more expedient to propose an accommodation, than hazard another engagement, which might produce the most fatal consequences to his house. In this opinion he was farther decided by his brother, the archbishop of Glasgow; and the regent was by no means willing to proceed to extremities, although he had every advantage on his side. A treaty was accordingly concluded on the 13th of March, 1569. Chatelherault promised to submit to the authority of the king and the regent; and the latter, on his part, promised to repeal all acts passed against the queen's friends, and to restore them to their privileges, on condition that they should submit to the government. Hostages were given by the duke, and he visited the young king at Stirling in company with the regent and lord Herries; while all the prisoners taken at the battle of Langside were set at liberty.

This agreement between the regent and Chatelherault had been conducted by lord Herries and Gavin Hamilton, abbot of Kilwinning, who had just returned from England. But Huntly and Argyle refused to be included. A secret correspondence had been carried on for some time between the captive queen and her faction; her affairs now seemed more promising, and the successful persecution of the protestants in France had raised the hopes of the crest-fallen catholics to such a degree, as to make them already elated by the anticipation of Mary's restoration and triumph. These things powerfully influenced Huntly and Argyle; even on Chatelherault, notwitstanding his recent engagements, they had a visible impression; and he appeared irresolute, fickle, and wavering, still inclined to assume the power of the high office conferred on him by Mary, when she recognised him as her "adopted father." But these noblemen were again to learn another lesson from the regent's boldness and vigilance. Knowing well all the sentiments and contrivances of his enemies, and distrusting their professions of sincerity, he determined, by his decision, to crush the faction while in its state of weakness, before it gathered strength to trouble the country by renewed commotions. It had been agreed at the pacification of Glasgow, between the regent and Chatelherault, that, on the tenth day of April (1569), a convention should be held to settle the affairs of the queen, as well as to ratify the treaty entered into between these two leaders of their respective factions. It was easily perceived, at the same time, that the appearance of friendship was merely superficial,—that the contending parties still indulged their animosities and hostilities,—that their suspicions, instead of being dissipated, were becoming stronger. The regent had secret intelligence of the correspondence of Huntly and Argyle, and of Chatelherault's irresolution. The day of convention arrived, and the nobles assembled. The regent, who, in virtue of his office, presided in the assembly, as president of the convention, rising up, produced a document, and formally demanded of the duke if he would subscribe to the treaty of his submission. Chatelherault, surprised at the regent's address, nevertheless assumed confidence, and, in his reply, said that he was still willing to observe the conditions; but he wished to be informed of the manner in which the affairs of the queen were to be concluded. His reply was evidently evasive; for had he been sincere, he could not have scrupled to make his written acknowledgment. The regent's penetration enabled him at once to perceive the causes of these scruples; he saw that if the duke was permitted thus to break loose from his engagements, no security would be afforded for his pretended allegiance. His resolution was equally bold and adventurous. Setting aside all considerations of Chatelherault's rank, as the nearest heir to the crown, he ordered him to be instantly apprehended by his guards, and, with lord Herries and the abbot of Kilwinning, he was committed a prisoner to the castle of Edinburgh.

This bold and politic conduct completely annihilated the hopes of the faction. Argyle submitted: he applied for a pardon, and, as he had conducted himself with considerable moderation, he was only required to take the oath of allegiance to the king. Huntly was now left alone; his conduct demanded a more serious consideration. While the regent was in England, he had been eminently turbulent, and he had acted with remarkable ferocity in various districts, encouraging the devastations of his retainers, and plundering without exception the adherents of the king. There were various discussions on his punishment, which finally ended in his taking the oath of allegiance to the king at St. Andrew's. Having thus defeated this powerful faction, the regent made a visit to the northern districts of the kingdom, and, after making displays of his justice as well as clemency in various quarters, he disunited his enemies and strengthened his own power.

The regent had committed Chatelherault and lord Herries to prison, as he imagined that he could not reckon on his own security while those two zealous adherents of the queen were at large. The former being chief of the house of Hamilton, this act roused the fury of the whole name. Nor did the regent stop with these proceedings. Knowing well that they were the sole rivals of his greatness, both on account of their high station and their pretensions to the throne, he determined to crush the Hamiltons at every hazard; to undermine their influence, and, if possible, to facilitate their destruction. The part which they had acted at the battle of Langside was not forgotten; and the enmity which Moray and Chatelherault mutually entertained towards each other was undisguised. But from them the regent would have always remained secure from personal vengeance. It was the despair and vengeance of one man which effected his destruction.

James Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, nephew to the archbishop of St. Andrew's, was the person who committed this detestable deed. He had been condemned to death, with six other gentlemen of distinction, two of them of his own name, the barons of Innerwick and Kincavil, and, with them, had been led out to execution for his share in the battle of Langside; but, at the intercession of the reformed clergy, the regent spared their lives, and ordered them all back to prison. This gentleman was a cadet of the ducal house of Chatelherault; his father, the first of his family, being David Hamilton, the fifth son of John Hamilton of Orbiston. His estate was situated in the parish of Bothwell, and county of Lanark, whence he had his designation. He had married Isabella Sinclair, daughter and coheiress of John Sinclair of Woodhouselee, in Mid Lothian, and this lady was the innocent cause of the unfortunate catastrophe.

Hamilton had contrived to make his escape from prison; but as the act of forfeiture for his concern in the battle of Langside remained in full force against him, he was compelled to lurk among his friends. Whether the regent had any particular hatred towards him cannot be ascertained; yet certain it is, that the act of forfeiture was removed from all the gentlemen taken prisoners in that affair, Bothwellhaugh excepted. After the confiscation of Hamilton's estate, his wife, who had remained there during her husband's absence, never imagining that her own inheritance was to be also doomed to the same calamity, proceeded to Woodhouselee, thinking that on her own patrimony she would with security await the issue of more prosperous times.

But in this she was mistaken. Sir James Bellenden, lord justice-clerk, one of the favourites of the regent, had asked and obtained most unjustly the estate of Woodhouselee. As Bellenden knew that Hamilton's lady resided on the property, he applied to the regent for an act of possession; and accordingly some officers were sent to Woodhouselee, who secured the house, and barbarously turned the unfortunate lady, in a cold and stormy night, and in a state of ill health, naked into the fields. Before the morning dawn, she was furiously deranged. Whether the officers exceeded their commission we cannot say; certain it is, however, that this horrid and inhuman conduct was allowed to pass by the regent without any censure. The proceedings of those villains, the enormity of the latter provocation, in thus savagely destroying the wife of his bosom, in addition to the injuries he had already borne, completely overcame Hamilton's prudence, and from that moment he resolved to avenge his wrongs, not on the despicable villains who had thus so barbarously sported with his feelings, but on the regent himself, whom he believed to be the grand author of this injustice. Nor did he conceal his intentions. He openly avowed, wherever he went, that he would endeavor to effect Moray's destruction, and he accordingly watched his enemy's motions for some time; but he was invariably disappointed in his daring purposes.

At length, unfortunately, an opportunity offered, which Hamilton determined to improve. The regent had been at Stirling, and was on his way to the metropolis. He had to pass through Linlithgow, a town venerable and sacred in Scottish story. This town, Hamilton chose as the fittest place to gratify his revenge. With the utmost deliberation, he prepared for the accomplishment of the assassination: the wrongs he had sustained; above all, the recollection of the wife of his bosom whom he tenderly loved, preyed on the mind of the rash and unhappy man, and excited the most frenzied enthusiasm. He believed, too, that he was doing his country a meritorious service in freeing it from the government of one whom he reckoned its greatest oppressor. Many of his friends of the name of Hamilton aided him in the horrid and detestable enterprise. The town of Linlithgow, delightfully situated in a valley, and surrounded on all sides by rising grounds, consisted then, as it does still, of one long continued street, being terminated by the magnificent palace and the ancient church. In this street a house was selected by Hamilton, about the middle of the town, for the accomplishment of his revenge. As there is a number of entries, or passages, (called in Scotland closes), which have an open outlet from the principal street of the town to the fields, there is a tradition, that, on the night before the assassination, these were all choked up with a thorny bush, abounding on the Scottish high grounds, called whins,—a bush full of prickles, and annoying in the greatest degree to those who come in contact with them. This tradition if not true, is at least plausible; for, as Hamilton well knew that there would be an immediate pursuit, it was his interest to present as many obstacles as possible; and this trifling one, by his pursuers rushing through the narrow entries, and finding themselves suddenly plunged among the whins and bramble bushes, might contribute to his safety by causing a small delay. He then took his station in a wooden gallery fronting the street; and that he might the more securely accomplish his purpose, without exciting suspicion or notice while in the act, he first spread on the floor of the room a large feather bed, that the noise of his feet in his movement might not be heard; and he hung up a large black cloth opposite the window, that none without might observe his shadow. "His next care," says an author, who graphically describes this scene, "was to cut a hole a little below the lattice, sufficient to admit the point of his harquebus; and to add to the security of his flight, he examined the gate at the back of the house, and finding it too low for a man to pass under on horseback, with the assistance of his servant he removed the lintel, and kept his horse in the stable ready saddled and bridled. After all these preparations he calmly and deliberately awaited the approach of the regent, who had slept the preceding night in the town."

On the 23d day of January, 1570, was the foul deed committed. The threats of this desperate man, however, had been told to the regent: on this very day he got certain information both of the person, and the place where he was concealed; and Hamilton was almost disappointed in his aim, but unfortunately the regent's hour was come. Moray was remarkable for personal courage; but though he despised Hamilton, he did not think proper to disregard the warning of his danger. He had accordingly resolved to proceed to Edinburgh on the road which skirts the outside of the town, instead of taking the street; but, after mounting his horse, and perceiving the gate through which he meant to pass blockaded by a vast crowd, he turned the other way, through the principal street. Being built according to the fashion of the age, it was exceedingly narrow; and as he rode along with his guards and attendants, the crowd increased so much, or a number of carts were purposely overturned, that it was with the greatest difficulty he proceeded, and he was compelled to move with the utmost tardiness. As he advanced, the pressure increased, and unfortunately he was compelled to make a halt opposite the very house in which his intended assassin was concealed. Hamilton was on the alert; immediately he seized his musket; and, trembling with fury, at the same time rejoicing that his revenge was on the point of being gratified, he took a marked and deliberate aim at the unfortunate nobleman. He pointed towards his belt, and, discharging the musket,* with a single bullet he shot the regent through the lower part of the belly. The ball passed through him below the navel, and killed the horse of George Douglas, who rode on his right side.

The assassin instantly fled. He was pursued for several miles, and was at one time on the point of being taken: his horse was breathless, and almost ready to sink—whip and spur had no effect: and coming to a broad ditch, his progress was impeded. A few moment's delay would have placed Hamilton in the hands of justice; but he drew his dagger, and plunged it into his steed behind. The horse, by a desperate exertion, leaped across the ditch. The assassin thus escaped. He fled first to Hamilton, and then sought shelter with his brother-in-law, Muirhead of Lauchope, who hospitably received him, and protected him for the night. The following day he was accompanied a part of his way by this relative; and after a brief concealment about the town of Hamilton, he effected his final escape to France, where he died some years afterwards, expressing great contrition for the execrable crime he had committed.

Nothing could exceed the consternation of the multitude at Linlithgow, when the fatal shot was fired with such a well-directed aim. A cry of horror and lamentation burst from the crowd and the regent's attendants; the call of "To arms" was sounded, and they rushed forward to the place from whence the ball had been aimed. All was confusion, dismay, and sorrow; for Moray had secured the affections of the nation. The regent, in the mean time, told his attendants that he was wounded; but recovering from the sudden surprise, he dismounted, and demanded to be led to his lodgings. He revived so far as to be able to walk thither, and the medical attendants were quickly summoned, while the multitude and the inhabitants of the town expressed their sorrow by their lamentations and tears. At first it was thought that the wound was not mortal; but towards evening the pain increased, and the unfortunate nobleman began to prepare himself for death. With all the calmness of a hero, a philosopher, and a Christian, he discoursed to those around him, and began to settle his affairs. When he was told by his friends that he had ruined himself by his clemency, having once spared the life of the assassin, which he might justly have taken, he replied with great composure and magnanimity, "Your importunities and reflections do not make me repent of my clemency." His latter end was becoming a Christian and a great man. After he had arranged all his family concerns, he felt the pains of dissolution overtake him. He recommended the young king to the care of the nobles who were present; and, without speaking evil of any man, he expired a little before midnight, on the 23d day of January, 1570, in the thirty-eighth year of his age.

Thus fell the earl of Moray, after he had escaped so many dangers. He was certainly an able governor, and an estimable man. Both Buchanan and Spottiswood, though they differ in many things, have given him the highest character. "His death," says Buchanan, "was lamented by all good men, who loved him as the common father of his country; even his enemies confessed his merit when dead. They admired his valour in war, his ready disposition for peace, his activity in business, in which he was commonly very successful: the Divine favour seemed to shine on all his actions; he was merciful to offenders, and equitable in all his decisions. When the field did not call for his presence, he was busied in the administration of justice; by which means the poor were not oppressed, and the terms of lawsuits were shortened. His house was like a holy temple: after meals he caused a chapter of the Bible to be read, and asked the opinions of such learned men as were present, upon it; not out of vain curiosity, but from a desire to learn, and reduce to practice what it contained." In a word, he was, both in his public and private life, a pattern worthy of imitation; and happy would it be for us, that our nobles were more disposed to walk in the paths in which he trode:—for, "above all his virtues," says Spottiswood, "which were not a few, he shone in piety towards God, ordering himself and his family in such a way, as did more resemble a church than a court; for therein, besides the exercise of devotion, which he never omitted, there was no wickedness to be seen; nay, not an unseemly or wanton word to be heard. He was a man truly good, and worthy to be ranked among the best governors that this kingdom hath enjoyed, and therefore to this day is honoured with the title of the GOOD REGENT."

Nothing could exceed the dismay and surprise when the news of the regent's assassination reached Edinburgh. The gates of the city were closed, and the sentinels doubled on every post. His body was brought to the capital, amid the tears and the groans of the people. His many virtues, his vigorous administration, his talents, were all recollected with regret. Elizabeth lamented his loss as that of a faithful friend; the reformed clergy were in sorrow and despondency, pronouncing panegyrics on his public and private life. He was interred in the cathedral of St. Giles, and his tomb is yet to be seen in that part of the cathedral called the old church. The monument is plain, yet not wanting in decoration. It is on the east side of the massive pillar, at the north end of which is the pulpit. Under this monument are the bones of the regent Moray.

When the news of the regent's death reached Mary's prison, the tenderness of her nature overcame her, and she wept at the fate of a brother. According to her belief, he was a heretic, and she shed tears of sorrow and anguish that he had died impenitent, unconfessed, unforgiven. She heard the account of his fate with a bursting heart, and exclaimed, "Would that he had not died, till he had repented of his crimes towards his God, his country, and me."

Various are the characters given of him by historians, according to the factions to which they adhered. Possessed of the most splendid talents, with an ample revenue, and a person uncommonly attractive, he despised the life of an ecclesiastic, and at an early age appeared on the arena of public affairs. His mind was naturally restless and active, and the period in which he lived afforded him opportunities to display his abilities. Zeal for religion and liberty were among his early characteristics. He was equally brave, resolute, and sagacious; fitted either for the cabinet or the camp; at once a diplomatist, a statesman, and a warrior. Though surrounded by difficulties, he was never overcome: he could rise superior to them all; in adversity and prosperity, when either the exile or the favourite, he flourished: his profound penetration enabled him to foresee dangers, his prudence to prepare for them, and his fortitude to surmount them. His intrepidity, military skill, and vigour in the government are not denied even by his enemies; and he is acknowledged to have been among the greatest captains and statesmen of his age.

Without doubt, therefore, the regent Moray was a great and a good man. He has the glory of achieving and establishing the reformation of religion; and it has afforded him a fame brilliant and lasting. And whether we view him as at the head of the government in those times of turbulence, faction, and strife, or impartial in the dispensing of justice, restraining and repressing the wandering incursions of freebooters, and establishing universal peace and order over the country—we shall find that the Good Regent is the name by which he deserves to be long and affectionately remembered among the people.

JOHN KNOX

JOHN KNOX was born in the year 1505. The place of his nativity has been disputed. The most prevailing opinion is, that he was born at Gifford, a village in East Lothian; while the tradition of the country fixes his birth at Haddington, the principal town of the county.

The name of his mother was Sinclair. His father was descended from an ancient and respectable family, who possessed the lands of Knock, Ranferly, and Craigends, in the shire of Renfrew. The descendants of this family have been accustomed to claim him as a cadet, and to enumerate among the honours of their house, its giving birth to the Scottish reformer, a bishop of Raphoe, and of the Isles. At what period his ancestors removed from their original seat and settled in Lothian, has not been exactly ascertained.

Some writers have asserted that our reformer's parents were poor; but this cannot be strictly true; for they were able to give their son a liberal education, which, in that age, was far from being common. In his youth he was put to the grammar-school of Haddington; and, after acquiring the principles of the Latin tongue there, was sent, by his father, to the university of St. Andrew's, at that time the most celebrated seminary in the kingdom. This was about the year 1524; at which time George Buchanan commenced his studies, under the same masters, and in the same college of St. Salvador.

Here he had an opportunity of studying the Aristotelian philosophy, scholastic theology, with canon and civil law, the principal branches cultivated in our universities. The Latin tongue was universally known among the learned at that time, but not so the Greek.

Knox acquired the latter language before he reached middle age; but we find him acknowledging, as late as the year 1550, that he was ignorant of Hebrew, a defect in his education which he exceedingly lamented, but which he afterwards got supplied during his exile on the continent.

He studied under John Mair, or Major, to whom we have referred in our life of Patrick Hamilton. This famous preceptor taught that the authority of kings and princes was originally derived from the people; that the former are not superior to the latter collectively considered; that if rulers become tyrannical, or employ their power for the destruction of their subjects, they may lawfully be controlled by them, and, proving incorrigible, may be deposed by the community as the superior power; and that tyrants may be judicially proceeded against, even to capital punishment. And as these opinions bear an affinity to the political principles afterwards avowed by Knox, the influence of the teacher is seen on the mind of the pupil.

Knox soon became disgusted with mere scholastic learning, and began to seek entertainment more gratifying to his ardent and inquisitive mind. Having set out in search of knowledge, as is the case with giant minds, he released himself from the trammels, and overleaped the boundaries, prescribed to him by his conductor. He followed the bent of his own mind, and, passing through the avenues of secular learning, devoted himself to the study of divine truth, and the labours of the sacred ministry.

But we must not suppose, that Knox was able at once to divest himself of the prejudices of his education and of the times. Barren and repulsive as the scholastic studies appear to our minds, there was something in the intricate and subtle sophistry then in vogue, calculated to fascinate the youthful and ingenuous mind. It had a show of wisdom; it exercised, although it did not feel the understanding; it even gave play to the imagination, while it exceedingly flattered the pride of the adept. Nor was it easy for the person who had suffered himself to be drawn in, to break through or extricate himself from the mazy labyrinth. Accordingly, Knox continued for some time captivated with these studies, and prosecuted them with great success. After he was created master of arts, he taught philosophy, most probably as an assistant, or private lecturer in the university. His class became celebrated; and he was considered as equalling, if not excelling, his master, in the subtleties of the dialectic art. About the same time, he was advanced to clerical orders, and ordained a priest, before he had reached the age fixed by the canons of the church; although he had no other interests except what was procured by his own merit, or the recommendations of his teachers. This must have taken place previous to the year 1530, at which time he was twenty-five years of age.

It was not long, however, till his studies received a new direction, which led to a complete revolution in his religious sentiments, and had an important influence on the whole of his future life. Not satisfied with the excerpts from ancient authors, which he found in the writings of the scholastic divines and canonists, he resolved to have recourse to the original works. In them he found a method of investigating and communicating truth to which he had hitherto been a stranger; the simplicity of which recommended itself to his mind, in spite of the prejudices of education, and the pride of superior attainments in his own favourite art. Among the fathers of the Christian church, Jerome and Augustine attracted his particular attention. By the writings of the former, he was led to the scriptures as the only pure fountain of divine truth, and instructed in the utility of studying them in the original languages. In the works of the latter, he found religious sentiments very opposite to those taught in the Romish church, who while she retained his name as a saint in her calendar, had banished his doctrine as heretical, from her pulpits. From this time he renounced the study of scholastic theology; and, although not yet completely emancipated from superstition, his mind was fitted for improving the means which Providence had prepared, for leading him to a fuller and more comprehensive view of the system of evangelical religion. It was about the year 1535, when this favourable change of his sentiments commenced; but, until 1542, it does not appear that he professed himself a protestant.

His change of views first discovered itself in his philosophical lectures, in which he began to forsake the scholastic path, and to recommend to his pupils a more rational and useful method of study. Even this innovation excited against him violent suspicions of heresy, which were confirmed, when he proceeded to reprehend the corruptions which prevailed in the church. It was impossible for him, after this, to remain in safety at St. Andrew's, which was wholly under the power of cardinal Beaton, the most determined supporter of the Romish church, and enemy of all reform. He left that place, and retired to the south, where, within a short time, he avowed his full belief of the protestant doctrine. Provoked by his defection, and alarmed lest he should draw others after him, the clergy were anxious to rid themselves of such an adversary. Having passed sentence against him as a heretic, and degraded him from the priesthood, says Beza, the cardinal employed assassins to waylay him, by whose hands he must have fallen, had not Providence placed him under the protection of the laird of Longniddrie.

Thomas Guillaume, or Williams, was very useful to Knox, in leading him to a more perfect acquaintance with the truth. He was a friar of eminence, and along with John Rough, acted as chaplain to the earl of Arran, during the short time that he favoured the reformation, at the beginning of his regency, by whom he was employed in preaching in different parts of the kingdom. But the person to whom our reformer was most indebted, was George Wishart.

Having relinquished all thoughts of officiating in that church, which had invested him with clerical orders, Knox had entered as tutor into the family of Hugh Douglass of Longniddrie, a gentleman in East Lothian, who had embraced the reformed doctrines. John Cockburn of Ormiston, a neighbouring gentleman of the same persuasion, also put his son under his tuition. These young men were instructed by him in the principles of religion, as well of the learned languages. He managed their religious instruction in such a way as to allow the rest of the family, and the people of the neighbourhood to reap advantage from it. He catechized them publicly in a chapel at Longniddrie, in which he also read to them, at stated times, a chapter of the Bible, accompanied with explanatory remarks. The memory of this has been preserved by tradition, and the chapel, the ruins of which are still apparent, is popularly called John Knox's kirk.

It was not to be expected, that he would long be suffered to continue this employment, under a government which was now entirely at the devotion of cardinal Beaton, who had gained over to his measures the timid and irresolute regent, Arran. But in the midst of his cruelties, and while he was planning still more desperate deeds, the cardinal was himself suddenly cut off.* His death did not, however, free Knox from persecution. John Hamilton, an illegitimate brother of the regent, who was nominated to the vacant bishopric, sought his life with as great eagerness as his predecessor. He was obliged to conceal himself, and to remove from place to place, to provide for his safety. Wearied with this mode of living, and apprehensive that he would one day fall into the hands of his enemies, he came to the resolution of leaving Scotland. He had no desire to go to England; because, although "the pope's name was suppressed" in that kingdom, "his laws and corruptions remained in full vigour." His determination was to visit Germany, and prosecute his studies in some of the protestant universities, unless he should see a favourable change in the state of his native country. The lairds of Longniddrie and Ormiston were extremely reluctant to part with him, and, by their importunities, prevailed with him to take refuge, along with their sons, in the castle of St. Andrew's, which continued to be held by the conspirators.

Knox entered the castle of St. Andrew's, at the time of Easter, 1547, and conducted the education of his pupils after his accustomed manner. In the chapel within the castle, he read to them his lectures on the Scriptures, beginning at the place in the Gospel according to John, where he had left off at Longniddrie. He catechized them in the parish church belonging to the city. A number of persons attended both these exercises. Among those who had taken refuge in the castle (though not engaged in the conspiracy against the cardinal,) were John Rough, who, since his dismissal by the regent, had lurked in Kyle; Sir David Lindsay of the Mount; and Henry Belnaves of Halhill. These persons were so much pleased with Knox's doctrine and mode of teaching, that they urged him to preach publicly to the people, and to become colleague to Rough, who acted as chaplain to the garrison. But he resisted all their solicitations, assigning as a reason, that he did not consider himself as having a call to this employment, and would not be guilty of intrusion. They did not, however, desist from their purpose; but, having consulted with their brethren, came to a resolution, without his knowledge, that a call should be publicly given him, in the name of the whole, to become one of their ministers.

Accordingly, on a day fixed for the purpose, Rough preached a sermon on the election of ministers, in which he declared the power which a congregation, however small, had over any one in whom they perceived gifts suited to the office, and how dangerous it was for such a person to reject the call of those who desired instruction. Sermon being ended, the preacher turned to Knox, who was present, and addressed him in these words: "Brother, you shall not be offended, although I speak unto you that which I have in charge, even from all those that are here present, which is this: In the name of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ, and in the name of all that presently call you by my mouth, I charge you that you refuse not this holy vocation; but as you tender the glory of God, the increase of Christ's kingdom, the edification of your brethren, and the comfort of me, whom you understand well enough to be oppressed by the multitude of labours, that you take upon you the public office and charge of preaching, even as you look to avoid God's heavy displeasure, and desire that he shall multiply his graces unto you." Then, addressing himself to the congregation, he said, "Was not this your charge unto me? and do ye not approve this vocation?" They all answered, "It was; and we approve it." Abashed and overwhelmed by this unexpected and solemn charge, Knox was unable to speak; but bursting into tears, retired from the assembly, and shut himself up in his chamber. "His countenance and behaviour from that day, till the day that he was compelled to present himself in the public place of preaching, did sufficiently declare the grief and trouble of his heart; for no man saw any sign of mirth about him, neither had he pleasure to accompany any man for many days together."

His distress of mind on the present occasion proceeded from a higher source than the deficiency of some external formalites in his call. He had no very different thoughts as to the importance of the ministerial office, from what he had entertained when ceremoniously invested with orders. The care of immortal souls, of whom he must give an account to the Chief Bishop; the charge of declaring "the whole counsel of God, keeping nothing back," however ungrateful to his hearers, and of "preaching in season and out of season;" the manner of life, afflictions, persecutions, imprisonment, exile, and violent death, to which the preachers of the protestant doctrine were exposed; the hazard of his sinking under these hardships, and "making shipwreck of faith and a good conscience;" these, with similar considerations, rushed into his mind, and filled it with agitation and grief. At length, satisfied that he had the call of God to engage in this work, he composed his mind to a reliance on Him who had engaged to make his "strength perfect in the weakness" of his servants, and resolved, with the apostle, "not to count his life dear, that he might finish with joy the ministry which he received of the Lord, to testify the gospel of the grace of God." Often did he afterwards reflect with lively emotion upon this very interesting step of his life, and never, in the midst of his greatest sufferings, did he see reason to repent the choice which he had so deliberately made.

His labours were so successful during the few months that he preached at St. Andrew's, that, besides those in the castle, a great number of the inhabitants of the town renounced popery, and made profession of the protestant faith, by participating of the Lord's supper, which he administered to them in the manner afterwards practised in the reformed church of Scotland. The gratification which he felt in these first-fruits of his ministry, was in some degree abated by instances of vicious conduct in those under his charge, some of whom were guilty of those acts of licentiousness too common among soldiery placed in similar circumstances. From the time that he was chosen to be their preacher, he openly rebuked these disorders, and when he perceived that his admonition failed in putting a stop to them, he did not conceal his apprehensions of the issue of the enterprise in which they were engaged.

In the end of June, 1547, a French fleet, with a considerable body of land forces, under the command of Leo Strozzi, appeared before St. Andrew's, to assist the governor in the reduction of the castle. It was invested both by sea and land; and being disappointed of the expected aid from England, the besieged, after a brave and vigorous resistance, were under the necessity of capitulating to the French commander on the last day of July. The terms of the capitulation were honourable; the lives of all that were in the castle were to be spared; they were to be transported to France, and if they did not choose to enter into the service of the French king, were to be conveyed to any other country which they might prefer, except Scotland. John Rough had left the castle previous to the commencement of the siege, and had retired to England. Knox, although he did not expect that the garrison would be able to hold out, could not prevail upon himself to desert his charge, and resolved to share with his brethren the hazard of the siege. He was conveyed along with the rest on board the fleet, which, in a few days, set sail for France, arrived at Fecamp, and, going up the Seine, anchored before Rouen. The capitulation was violated, and they were all detained prisoners of war, at the solicitation of the pope and the Scottish clergy. The principal gentlemen were incarcerated in Rouen, Cherburg, Brest, and Mount St. Michael. Knox, with some others, was confined on board the galleys, bound with chains, and treated with all the indignities offered to heretics, in addition to the rigours of ordinary captivity.

From Rouen they sailed to Nantes, and lay upon the Loire during the following winter. Solicitations, threatenings, and violence, were employed to make the prisoners recant their religion, and countenance the popish worship; but so great was their abhorrence of its idolatry, that not a single individual of the whole company, on land or water, could be induced to symbolize in the smallest degree. While the prison-ships lay on the Loire, mass was frequently said, and Salve Regina sung on board, or on the shore within their hearing: on these occasions they were brought out and threatened with torture, if they did not give the usual signs of reverence; but instead of complying, they covered their heads as soon as the service began. Knox has related a humorous incident which took place on one of these occasions; and although he has not named the person concerned in it, most probably it was himself. One day a fine painted image of the Virgin was brought into one of the galleys, and presented to a Scots prisoner to kiss. He desired the bearer not to trouble him, for such idols were accursed, and he would not touch it. The officers roughly replied, that he should, put it to his face, and thrust it into his hands. Upon this he took hold of the image, and watching his opportunity, threw it into the river, saying, "Lat our Ladie now save herself: sche is lycht anoughe, lat hir leirne to swime." After this they were no more troubled in that way.

The galleys returned to Scotland in the summer of 1548, as nearly as we can ascertain, and continued for a considerable time on the east coast, to watch for English vessels. Knox's health was now greatly impaired by the severity of his confinement, and he was seized with a fever, during which his life was despaired of by all in the ship. But even in this state, his fortitude of mind remained unsubdued, and he comforted his fellow-prisoners with hopes of release. To their anxious desponding inquiries (natural to men in their situation), "if he thought they would ever obtain their liberty," his uniform answer was, "God will deliver us to his glory, even in this life." While they lay on the coast between Dundee and St. Andrew's, Mr. (afterwards Sir) James Balfour, who was confined in the same ship, desired him to look to the land, and see if he knew it. Though at that time very sick, he replied, "Yes, I know it well; for I see the steeple of that place where God first opened my mouth in public to his glory; and I am fully persuaded, how weak soever I now appear, that I shall not depart this life, till that my tongue shall glorify his godly name in the same place." This striking reply Sir James repeated, in the presence of many witnesses, a number of years before Knox returned to Scotland, and when there was very little prospect of his words being verified.

We must not, however, think that he possessed this elevation and tranquillity of mind, during the whole time of his imprisonment. When first thrown into cruel bonds, insulted by his enemies, and without any apparent prospect of release, he was not a stranger to the anguish of despondency, so pathetically described by the royal Psalmist of Israel. He felt that conflict in his spirit, with which all good men are acquainted; and which becomes peculiarly sharp when joined with corporal affection. But, having had recourse to prayer, the never-failing refuge of the oppressed, he was relieved from all his fears; and, reposing upon the promise and providence of the God whom he served, attained to "the confidence and rejoicing of hope."

When free from fever, he relieved the tedium of captivity by committing to writing a confession of his faith, containing the substance of what he had taught at St. Andrew's, with a particular account of the disputation which he had maintained in St. Leonard's Yards. This he found means to convey to his religious acquaintances in Scotland, accompanied with an earnest exhortation to persevere in the faith which they had professed, whatever persecutions they might suffer for its sate. To this confession he afterwards refers, in the defence of his doctrine before the bishop of Durham. "Let no man think, that because I am in the realm of England, therefore so boldly I speak. No, God hath taken that suspicion from me. For the body lying in most painful bands in the midst of cruel tyrants, his mercy and goodness provided that the hand should write and bear witness to the confession of the heart, more abundantly than ever yet the tongue spake."

Notwithstanding the rigour of their confinement, the prisoners, who were separated, found opportunities of occasionally corresponding with one another. Henry Balnaves of Halhill composed in his prison a Treatise on Justification, and the Works and Conversation of a Justified Man. This being conveyed to Knox, probably after his second return in the galleys from Scotland, he was so much pleased with it, that he divided it into chapters, added some marginal notes, and a concise epitome of its contents; to the whole he prefixed a recommendatory dedication, intending that it should be published for the use of their brethren in Scotland, as soon as an opportunity offered. The reader will not, we are persuaded, be displeased to breathe a little the spirit which animated this undaunted confessor, when "his feet lay fast in irons," as expressed by him in this dedication; from which we shall quote more freely, as the book is rare.

It is thus described: "John Knox, the bound servant of Jesus Christ, unto his best beloved brethren of the congregation of the castle of St. Andrew's, and to all professors of Christ's true evangel, desireth grace, mercy, and peace, from God the Father, with perpetual consolation of the Holy Spirit." After mentioning a number of instances in which the name of God was magnified, and the interests of religion advanced, by the exile of those who were driven from their native countries by tyranny, as in the examples of Joseph, Moses, Daniel, and the primitive Christians, he goes on thus:—"Which thing shall openly declare this godly work subsequent. The counsel or Satan in the persecution of us, first, was to stop the wholesome wind of Christ's evangel to blow upon the parts where we converse and dwell; and, secondly, so to oppress ourselves by corporal affliction and worldly calamities, that no place should we find to godly study. But by the great mercy and infinite goodness of God our Father shall these his counsels be frustrate and vain. For, in despite of him and all his wicked members, shall yet that same word (O Lord! this I speak, confiding in thy holy promise), openly be proclaimed in that same country. And now that our merciful Father, amongst these tempestuous storms, by all men's expectation, hath provided some rest for us, this present work shall testify, which was sent to me in Roane, lying in irons, and sore troubled by corporal infirmity, in a galley named Notre Dame, by an honourable brother, Mr. Henry Balnaves of Halhill, for the present holden as prisoner (though unjustly) in the old palace of Roane. Which work after I had once again read to the great comfort and consolation of my spirit, by counsel and advice of the foresaid noble and faithful man, author of the said work, I thought expedient it should be digested in chapters, &c. Which thing I have done as imbecility of ingine [i.e. genius or wit] and incommodity of place would permit; not so much to illustrate the work (which in the self is godly and perfect) as, together with the foresaid nobleman and faithful brother, to give my confession of the article of justification therein contained. And I beseech you, beloved brethren, earnestly to consider, if we deny anything presently (or yet conceal and hide, which any time before we professed in that article. And now we have not the castle of St. Andrew's to be our defence, as some of our enemies falsely accused us, saying, If we wanted our walls, we would not speak so boldly. But blessed be that Lord whose infinite goodness and wisdom hath taken from us the occasion of that slander, and hath shown unto us, that the serpent hath power only to sting the heel, that is, to molest and trouble the flesh, but not to move the spirit, from constant adhering to Christ Jesus, nor public professing of his true word. O blessed be thou, Eternal Father, which, by thy only mercy, hast preserved us to this day, and provided that the confession of our faith (which ever we desired all men to have known) should, by this treatise, come plainly to light. Continue, O Lord, and grant unto us, that as now with pen and ink, so shortly we may confess with voice and tongue the same before thy congregation; upon whom look, O Lord God, with the eyes of thy mercy, and suffer no more darkness to prevail. I pray yon, pardon me, beloved brethren, that on this manner, I digress; vehemence of spirit (the Lord knoweth I lie not), compelleth me thereto."

The prisoners in Mount St. Michael consulted Knox, as to the lawfulness of attempting to escape by breaking their prison, which was opposed by some of their number, lest their escape should subject their brethren who remained in confinement to more severe treatment. He returned for answer, that such fears were not a sufficient reason for relinquishing the design, and that they might, with a safe conscience, effect their escape, provided it could be done "without the blood of any shed or spilt; but to shed any man's blood for their freedom, he would never consent." The attempt was accordingly made by them, and successfully executed, "without harm done to the person of any, and without touching anything that appertained to the king, the captain, or the house.

At length, after enduring a tedious and severe imprisonment of nineteen months, Knox obtained his liberty. This happened in the month of February, 1549, according to the modern computation. By what means his liberation was procured, we cannot certainly determine. One account says, that the galley in which he was confined, was taken in the Channel by the English. According to another account, he was liberated by order of the king of France; because it appeared on examination, that he was not concerned in the murder of the cardinal, nor accessory to other crimes committed by those who held the castle of St. Andrew's. Others say, that his acquaintances purchased his liberty, induced by the hopes which they cherished of great things to be accomplished by him. It is not improbable, however, that he owed his liberty to the circumstance of the French court having now accomplished their great object in Scotland, by the consent of the parliament to the marriage of their young queen to the dauphin, and by obtaining possession of her person; after which they felt less inclined to revenge the quarrels of the Scottish clergy.

Upon regaining his liberty, Knox immediately repaired to England, under the most favourable circumstances; for Henry VIII. died in the year 1547, and archbishop Cranmer, freed from the restraint of his capricious master, exerted himself in advancing the reformation. He had invited learned protestants from Germany, who, with our zealous countrymen, were employed as preachers, itinerating through different parts of the kingdom, where the clergy were most illiterate or disaffected, and the inhabitants most addicted to superstition.

The reputation which Knox had gained by preaching at St. Andrew's was not unknown in England, and his late sufferings recommended him to Cranmer and the privy council. He was accordingly, soon after his arrival in England, sent down from London, by their authority, to preach in Berwick; a situation the more acceptable to him, as it afforded him an opportunity to ascertain the state of religion in his native country, to correspond with his friends, and to impart to them his advice. The council had every reason to be pleased with the choice which they had made of a northern preacher. He had long thirsted for the opportunity which he now enjoyed. His captivity, during which he had felt the powerful support which the protestant doctrine yielded to his mind, had inflamed his love to it, and his zeal against popery. He spared neither time nor bodily strength in the instruction of those to whom he was sent. Regarding the worship of the popish church as grossly idolatrous, and its doctrine as damnable, he attacked both with the utmost fervour, and exerted himself in drawing his hearers from them, with as much eagerness as in saving their lives from a devouring flame or flood. Nor were his labours fruitless: during the two years that he continued in Berwick, numbers were, by his ministry, converted from error and ignorance, and a general reformation of manners became visible among the soldiers of the garrison, who had formerly been noted for turbulence and licentiousness.

The labours of Knox within the diocese of Tonstal, bishop of Durham, must have been very disagreeable to the latter. As the preacher acted under the sanction of the protector and council, he durst not inhibit him; but he was disposed to listen to and encourage informations lodged by the clergy against the doctrine which he taught. Although the town of Berwick was Knox's principal station, during the years 1549 and 1550, it is probable that he was appointed to preach occasionally in the adjacent country. Whether, in the course of his itinerancy, he had, in the beginning of 1550, gone as far as Newcastle, and preached in that town, or whether he was called up to it, in consequence of complaints against his sermons delivered at Berwick, does not clearly appear. It is, however, certain, that a charge was exhibited against him before the bishop, for teaching that the sacrifice of the mass was idolatrous, and a day appointed for him publicly to assign his reasons for this opinion. Accordingly, on the 4th of April, 1550, a great assembly being convened at Newcastle, among whom were the members of the council, the bishop of Durham, and the learned men of his cathedral, Knox delivered in their presence, an ample defence of the doctrine, against which complaints had been made. After an appropriate exordium, in which he stated to the audience the occasion and design of his appearance before them, and cautioned them against the powerful prejudices of education and custom in favour of erroneous opinions and practices in religion, he proceeded to establish the doctrine which he had taught. The mode in which he treated the subject was well adapted to his auditory, which was composed of the unlearned as well as the learned. He proposed his arguments in the syllogistic form, according to the practice of the schools, but illustrated them with a plainness level to the meanest capacity among his hearers. Passing over the more gross notions, and the shameful traffic in masses, extremely common at that time, he engaged to prove that the mass, "in her most high degree, and most honest garments, was an idol struck from the inventive brain of superstition, which had supplanted the sacrament of the supper, and engrossed the honour due to the person and sacrifice of Jesus Christ." "Spare no arrows," was the motto which Knox wore on his standard; the authority of scripture, and the force of reasoning, grave reproof, and pointed irony, were in their turn employed by him. In the course of this defence, he did not restrain those sallies of raillery, which the fooleries of the popish superstition irresistibly provoke, even from those who are deeply impressed with its pernicious tendency. Before concluding, he adverted to certain doctrines which had been taught in that place on the preceding Sunday, the falsehood of which he was prepared to demonstrate; but he would, in the first place, he said, submit to the preacher the notes of the sermon which he had taken down, that he might correct them as he saw proper; for his object was not to misrepresent or captiously entrap a speaker, by catching at words unadvisedly uttered, but to defend the truth, and warn his hearers against errors destructive to their souls.

This defence had the effect of extending Knox's fame through the north of England, while it completely silenced the bishop and his learned suffragans. He continued to preach at Berwick during the remaining part of this year, and in the following was removed to Newcastle, and placed in a sphere of greater usefulness. In December, 1551, the privy council conferred on him a mark of their approbation, by appointing him one of king Edward's chaplains in ordinary. "It was appointed," says his majesty, in a journal of important transactions which he wrote with his own hand, "that I should have six chaplains in ordinary, of which two ever to be present, and four absent in preaching; one year two in Wales, two in Lancashire and Derby; next year two in the marches of Scotland, and two in Yorkshire; the third year two in Norfolk and Essex, and two in Kent and Sussex. These six to be Bill, Harle, Perne, Grindal, Bradford, and ———." The name of the sixth has been dashed out of the journal, but the industrious Strype has shown that it was Knox. "These, it it seems," says bishop Burnet, "were the most zealous and readiest preachers, who were sent about as itinerants, to supply the defects of the greatest part of the clergy, who were generally very faulty." An annual salary of £40 was allotted to each of the chaplains.

In the course of the year, Knox was consulted about the Book of Common Prayer, which was undergoing a review. On that occasion it is probable that he was called up to London for a short time. Although the persons who had the chief direction of ecclesiastical affairs were not disposed, or did not think it yet expedient, to introduce that thorough reform which he judged necessary, in order to reduce the worship of the English church to the Scripture model, his representations were not altogether disregarded. He had influence to procure an important change on the communion office, completely excluding the notion of the corporeal presence of Christ in the sacrament, and guarding against the adoration of the elements, too much countenanced by the practice of kneeling at their reception, which was still continued. Knox speaks of these amendments with great satisfaction, in his Admonition to the Professors of Truth in England. "Also God gave boldness and knowledge to the court of parliament to take away the round clipped god, wherein standeth all the holiness of the papists, and to command common bread to be used at the Lord's table, and also to take away most part of superstitions (kneeling at the Lord's table excepted), which before profaned Christ's true religion." These alterations gave great offence to the papists. In a disputation with Latimer, after the accession of queen Mary, the prolocutor, Dr. Weston, complained of our countryman's influence in procuring them. "A runagate Scot did take away the adoration or worshipping of Christ in the sacrament, by whose procurement that heresie was put into the last communion book; so much prevailed that one man's authoritie at the time." In the following year he was employed in revising the Articles of Religion previous to their ratification by parliament.

During his residence at Berwick, Knox had formed an acquaintance with Miss Marjory Bowes, a young lady who afterwards became his wife. She belonged to the honourable family of Bowes, and was nearly allied to Sir Robert Bowes, a distinguished courtier during the reigns of Henry VIII. and his son Edward. Before he left Berwick, he had paid his addresses to this young lady, and met with a favourable reception. Her mother was also friendly to the match; but, owing to some reason, most probably the presumed aversion of her father, it was deemed prudent to delay the consummating of the union. But having come under a formal promise to her, he considered himself as sacredly bound, and, in his letters to Mrs. Bowes, always addressed her by the name of mother.

Without derogating from the praise justly due to those worthy men, who were at this time employed in disseminating religious truth through England, we may say that our countryman was not behind the first of them, in the unwearied assiduity with which he laboured in the stations assigned to him. From an early period, his mind seems to have presaged, that the golden opportunity enjoyed would not be of long duration. He was eager to "redeem the time," and indefatigable both in his studies and teaching. In addition to his ordinary services on the Sabbath, he preached regularly on weekdays, frequently on every day of the week. Besides the portion of time which he allotted to study, he was often employed in conversing with persons who applied to him for advice on religious subjects. The council were not insensible to the value of his services, and conferred on him several marks of approbation. They wrote different letters to the governors and principal inhabitants of the places where he preached, recommending him to their notice and protection. They secured him in the regular payment of his salary, until such time as he should be provided with a benefice. It was also out of respect to him, that, in September, 1552, they granted a patent to his brother William Knox, a merchant, giving him liberty, for a limited time, to trade to any port of England, in a vessel of a hundred tons burden.

But the things which recommended Knox to the council, drew upon him the hatred of a numerous and powerful party in the northern counties, who remained addicted to popery. Irritated by his boldness and success in attacking their superstition, and sensible that it would be vain, and even dangerous, to prefer an accusation against him on that ground, they watched for an opportunity of catching at something in his discourses or behaviour, which they might improve to his disadvantage. He had long observed, with, great anxiety, the impatience with which the papists submitted to the present government, and their eager desires for any change which might lead to the overthrow of the protestant religion; desires which were expressed by them in the north, without that reserve which prudence dictated in places adjacent to the seat of authority. He had witnessed the joy with which they had received the news of the protector's fall, and was no stranger to the satisfaction with which they circulated prognostications as to the speedy demise of the king. In a sermon preached by him about Christmas, 1552, he gave vent to his feelings on the subject; and, lamenting the obstinacy of the papists, asserted that such as were enemies to the gospel, then preached in England, were secret traitors to the crown and commonwealth,—thirsted for nothing more than his majesty's death, and cared not who should reign over them, provided they got their idolatry again erected. This free speech was immediately laid hold on by his enemies, and transmitted, with many aggravations, to some great men about court, secretly in their interest, who therefore preferred a charge against him, for high offences, before the privy council.

In taking this step, they were not a little encouraged by their knowledge of the sentiments of the duke of Northumberland, who had lately come down to his charge as warden-general of the northern marches. This ambitious and unprincipled nobleman had employed his affected zeal for the reformed religion, as a stirrup to mount to the highest preferment in the state, which he had recently procured by the ruin of the duke of Somerset, the protector of the Kingdom. Knox had offended him by publicly lamenting the fall of Somerset, as threatening danger to the reformation, of which he had always shown himself a zealous friend, whatever his other faults might have been. Nor could the freedom which the preacher used, in reproving from the pulpit the vices of great as well as small, fail to be displeasing to a man of Northumberland's character. On these accounts, he was desirous to have Knox removed from that quarter, and had actually applied for this, by a letter to the council, previous to the occurrence just mentioned; alleging, as a pretext, the great resort of Scotsmen unto him: as if any real danger was to be apprehended from this intercourse with a man, of whose fidelity the existing government had so many strong pledges, and who uniformly employed all his influence to remove the prejudices of his countrymen against England.

In consequence of the charges exhibited against him to the council, he received a citation to repair immediately to London, and answer for his conduct. The following extract of a letter, addressed "to his sister," will show the state of his mind on receiving the summons: "Urgent necessity will not suffer that I testify my mind to you. My lord of Westmoreland has written to me this Wednesday, at six of the clock at night, immediately thereafter to repair unto him, as I will answer at my peril. I could not obtain license to remain the time of the sermon upon the morrow. Blessed be God who does ratify and confirm the truth of his word from time to time, as our weakness shall require! Your adversary, sister, doth labour that you should doubt whether this be the word of God or not. If there had never been testimonial of the undoubted truth thereof before these our ages, may not such things as we see daily come to pass prove the verity thereof? Doth it not affirm, that it shall be preached, and yet contemned and lightly regarded by many; that the true professors thereof shall be hated by father, mother, and others of the contrary religion; that the most faithful shall be persecuted? And cometh not all these things to pass in ourselves? Rejoice, sister, for the same word that forspeaketh trouble doth certify us of the glory consequent. As for myself, albeit the extremity should now apprehend me, it is not come unlooked for. But, alas! I fear that yet I be not ripe nor able to glorify Christ by my death; but what lacketh now, God shall perform in his own time. Be sure I will not forget you and your company, so long as mortal man may remember earthly creature."

Upon reaching London he found that his enemies had been uncommonly industrious in exciting prejudices against him, by transmitting the most false and injurious information. But the council, after hearing his defences, were convinced of their malice, and honourably acquitted him. He was employed to preach before the court, and gave great satisfaction, particularly to his majesty, who contracted a favour for him, and was very desirous to have him promoted in the church. It was resolved by the council that he should preach in London, and the southern counties, during the year 1553; but he was allowed to return for a short time to Newcastle, either to settle his affairs, or as a public testimony of his innocence. In a letter to his sister, dated Newcastle, 23d March, 1553, we find him writing as follows; "Look further of this matter in the other letter, written unto you at such a time as many thought I should never write after to man. Heinous were the delations laid against me, and many are the lies that are made to the council. But God one day shall destroy all lying tongues, and shall deliver his servants from calamity. I look but one day or other to fall into their hands; for more and more rageth the members of the devil against me. This assault of Satan has been to his confusion, and to the glory of God. And therefore, sister, cease not to praise God, and to call for my comfort; for great is the multitude of enemies, whom every one the Lord shall confound. I intend not to depart from Newcastle before Easter."

The vigour of his constitution had been greatly impaired by his confinement in the French galleys, which, together with his labours in England, had brought on a gravel. In the course of the year 1553, he endured several violent attacks of this acute disorder, accompanied with severe pain in his head and stomach. "My daily labours must now increase," says he, in the letter last quoted, "and therefore spare me as much as you may. My old malady troubles me sore, and nothing is more contrarious to my health than writing. Think not that I weary to visit you; but unless my pain shall cease, I will altogether become unprofitable. Work, O Lord, even as pleaseth thy infinite goodness, and relax the troubles, at thy own pleasure, of such as seeketh thy glory to shine. Amen." In another letter to the same correspondent, he writes—"the pain of my head and stomach troubles me greatly. Daily I find my body decay; but the providence of my God shall not be frustrate. I am charged to be at Widrington on Sunday, where I think I shall also remain Monday. The Spirit of the Lord Jesus rest with you. Desire such faithful as with whom ye communicate your mina, to pray that, at the pleasure of our good God, my dolour both of body and spirit may be relieved somewhat; for presently it is very bitter. Never found I the spirit, I praise my God, so abundant where God's glory ought to be declared; and therefore I am sure that there abides something that yet we see not." "Your messenger," says he in another letter, "found me in bed, after a sore trouble and most dolorous night; and so dolour may complain to dolour when we two meet. But the infinite goodness of God, who never despiseth the petitions of a sore troubled heart, shall at his good pleasure, put end to these pains that we presently suffer, and in place thereof shall crown us with glory and immortality for ever. But, dear sister, I am even of mind with faithful Job, yet most sore tormented, that my pain shall have no end in this life. The power of God may, against the purpose of my heart, alter such things as appear not to be altered, as he did unto Job; but dolour and pain, with sore anguish, cries the contrary. And this is more plain than ever I spake, to let you know ye have a fellow and companion in trouble, and thus rest in Christ, for the head of the serpent is already broken down, and he is stinging us upon the heel."

About the beginning of April, 1553, he returned to London. In the month of February preceding, archbishop Cranmer had been desired by the council to present him to the vacant living of All-Hallows in that city. This proposal, which originated in the personal favour of the young king, was very disagreeable to Northumberland, who exerted himself privately to hinder his preferment. His interference was, however, unnecessary on the present occasion; for when the living was offered to him, Knox declined it, and when questioned as to his reasons, readily acknowledged, that he had not freedom in his mind to accept of a fixed charge, in the present state of the English church. His refusal, with the reason assigned, having given offence, he was, on the 14th of April, called before the privy council. There were present the archbishop of Canterbury; Goodrick, bishop of Ely and lord chancellor; the earls of Bedford, Northampton, and Shrewsbury; the lords treasurer and chamberlain, with the two secretaries. They asked him, why he had refused the benefice provided for him in London? He answered, that he was fully satisfied that he could be more useful to the church in another situation. Being interrogated, If it was his opinion, that no person could lawfully serve in ecclesiastical ministrations, according to the present laws of the realm? he frankly replied, That there were many things which needed reformation, without which ministers could not, in his opinion, discharge their office conscientiously in the sight of God; for no minister, according to the existing laws, had power to prevent the unworthy from participating of the sacraments, "which was a chief point of his office." He was asked, If kneeling at the Lord's table was not indifferent? He replied, that Christ's action was most perfect, and in it no such posture was used; that it was most safe to follow his example; and that kneeling was an addition and an invention of men. On this article there was a smart dispute between him and some of the lords of the council. After long reasoning he was told, that they had not sent for him with any bad design, but were sorry to understand that he was of a contrary judgment to the common order. He said he was sorry that the common order was contrary to Christ's institution. They dismissed him with soft speeches, advising him to endeavour to bring his mind to communicate according to the established rites.

If honours and emoluments could have biassed the independent mind of our countryman, he must have been induced to become a full conformist to the English church. At the special request of Edward VI., and with the concurrence of his council, he was offered a bishopric; but the same reasons which prevented him from accepting the living of All-Hallows, determined him to reject this more tempting offer. The fact is attested by Beza, who adds, that his refusal was accompanied with a censure of the episcopal office, as destitute of divine authority, and not even exercised in England according to the ecclesiastical canons. Knox himself speaks in one of his treatises of the "high promotion offered to him by Edward;" and we shall find him at a later period of his life expressly asserting that he had refused a bishopric.

During the time that Knox was in London, he had full opportunity for observing the state of the court; and the observations which he made filled his mind with the most anxious forebodings. Of the piety and sincerity of the young king, he entertained not the smallest doubt. Personal acquaintance Heightened the idea which he had conceived of his character from report, and enabled him to add his testimony to the tribute of praise, which all who knew that prince have so cheerfully paid to his uncommon virtues and endowments. But the principal courtiers by whom he was at that time surrounded, were persons of a very different description, and gave proofs, too unequivocal to be mistaken, of indifference to all religion, and readiness to fall in with and forward the re-establishment of the ancient superstition, whenever this might be required upon a change of rulers. The health of Edward, which had long been declining, growing gradually worse, so that no hope of his recovery remained, they were eager only about the aggrandizing of their families, and providing for the security of their places and fortunes.

The royal chaplains were men of a very different stamp from those who have usually occupied that place in the courts of princes. They were no time-serving, supple, smooth-tongued parasites; they were not afraid of forfeiting their pensions, or of alarming the consciences, and wounding the delicate ears of their royal and noble auditors, by denouncing the vices which they committed, and the judgments of Heaven to which they exposed themselves. The freedom used by the venerable Latimer is well known from his printed sermons, which for their homely honesty, artless simplicity, native humour, and genuine pictures of the manners of the age, continue still to be read with interest. Grindal, Lever, and Bradford, who were superior to him in learning, evinced the same fidelity and courage. They censured the ambition, avarice, luxury, oppression, and irreligion which reigned in the court. As long as their sovereign was able to give personal attendance on the sermons, the preachers were treated with exterior decency and respect; but after he was confined to his chamber by a consumptive cough, the resentment of the courtiers vented itself openly in the most contumelious speeches and insolent behaviour. Those who are acquainted with our countryman's character, will readily conceive that the sermons delivered by him at court, were not less bold and free than those of his colleagues. We may form a judgment of them, from the account which he has given of the last sermon which he preached before his majesty, in which he directed several piercing glances of reproof at the haughty premier, and his crafty relation, the marquis of Winchester, lord high treasurer, both of whom were among his hearers.

On the 6th of July, 1553, Edward VI. departed this life, to the unspeakable grief of all the lovers of learning, virtue, and the protestant religion; and a black cloud spread over England, which, after hovering a while, burst into a dreadful hurricane, that raged during five years with the most destructive fury. Knox was at this time in London. He received the afflicting tidings of his majesty's decease with becoming fortitude, and resignation to the sovereign will of Heaven. The event did not meet him unprepared: he had long anticipated it, with its probable consequences; the prospect had produced the keenest anguish in his breast, and drawn tears from his eyes; and he had frequently introduced the subject into his public discourses and confidential conversations with his friends. Writing to Mrs. Bowes, some time after this, he says: "How oft have you and I talked of these present days, till neither of us both could refrain tears, when no such appearance then was seen of man! How oft have I said unto you, that I looked daily for trouble, and that I wondered at it, that so long I should escape it! What moved me to refuse (and that with displeasure of all men, even of those that best loved me,) those high promotions that were offered by him whom God hath taken from us for our offences? Assuredly the foresight of trouble to come. How oft have I said unto you that the time would not be long that England would give me bread? Advise with the last letter that I wrote unto your brother-in-law, and consider what is therein contained."

He remained in London until the 19th of July, when Mary was proclaimed queen, only nine days after the same ceremony had been performed in that city, for the amiable and unfortunate lady Jane Grey. He was so affected with the thoughtless demonstrations of joy given by the inhabitants at an event which threatened such danger to the religious faith which they still avowed, that he could not refrain from publicly testifying his displeasure, and warning them in his sermons of the calamities which they might look for. Immediately after this, he seems to have withdrawn from London, and retired to the north, being justly apprehensive of the measures which might be pursued by the new government.

To induce the protestants to submit peaceably to her government, Mary amused them for some time with proclamations, in which she promised not to do violence to their consciences. Though aware of the bigotry of the queen, and the spirit of the religion to which she was devoted, the protestant ministers reckoned it their duty to improve this respite. In the month of August, Knox returned to the south, and resumed his labours. It seems to have been at this time that he composed the Confession and Prayer, which he commonly used in the congregations to which he preached, in which he prayed for queen Mary by name, and for the suppression of such as meditated rebellion. While he itinerated through Buckinghamshire, he was attended by large audiences, which his popularity and the alarming crisis drew together; especially at Amersham, a borough formerly noted for the general reception of the doctrines of Wickliffe, the precursor of the reformation in England, and from which the seed sown by his followers had never been altogether eradicated. Wherever he went, he earnestly exhorted the people to repentance under the tokens of divine displeasure, and to a steady adherence to the faith which they had embraced. He continued to preach in Buckinghamshire and Kent during the harvest months, although the measures of government daily rendered his safety more precarious; and in the beginning of November, returned to London, where he resided in the houses of Mr. Locke and Mr. Hickman, two respectable merchants of his acquaintance.

While the measures of the new government threatened danger to all the protestants in the kingdom, and our countryman was under daily apprehension of imprisonment, he met with a severe trial of a private nature. We have already mentioned his engagements to Miss Bowes. At this time, it was judged proper by both parties to avow the connexion, and to proceed to solemnize the union. This step was opposed by the young lady's father; and his opposition was accompanied with circumstances which gave much distress to Knox, Mrs. Bowes, and her daughter. His refusal seems to have proceeded from family pride; but we are inclined to think that it was also influenced by religious considerations; as from different hints dropped in the correspondence, Mr. Bowes appears to have been, if not inclined to popery in his judgment, at least resolved to comply with the religion now favoured by the court. We find Knox writing to Mrs. Bowes on this subject from London, in a letter dated 20th September, 1553: "My great labours, wherein I desire your daily prayers, will not suffer me to satisfy my mind touching all the process between your husband and you, touching my matter with his daughter. I praise God heartily, both for your boldness and constancy. But I beseech you, mother, trouble not yourself too much therewith. It becomes me now to jeopard my life for the comfort and deliverance of my own flesh, as that I will do, by God's grace, both fear and friendship of all earthly creatures laid aside. I have written to your husband, the contents whereof I trust our brother Harry will declare to you and to my wife. If I escape sickness and imprisonment, [you may] be sure to see me soon."

His wife and mother-in-law were very anxious that he should settle in Berwick, or the neighbourhood of it, where he might perhaps be allowed to reside peaceably, although in a more private way than formerly. But for this purpose some pecuniary provision was requisite. Since the accession of queen Mary, the payment of the salary allotted to him by government had been stopped. Indeed, he had not received any part of it for the last twelve months. His wife's relations were abundantly able to give him a sufficient establishment, but their dissatisfaction with the marriage rendered them averse. Induced by the importunity of his mother-in-law, he applied to Sir Robert Bowes at London, and attempted, by a candid explanation of all circumstances, to remove any umbrage which he had conceived against him, and procure an amicable settlement of the whole affair. He communicated the unfavourable issue of this interview, in a letter to Mrs. Bowes, of which the following is an extract:

"Dear Mother, so may and will I call yon, not only for the tender affection I bear unto you in Christ, but also for the motherly kindness ye have shown unto me at all times since our first acquaintance, albeit such things as I have desired (if it had pleased God), and ye and others have long desired, are never like to come to pass, yet shall ye be sure that my love and care toward you shall never abate, so long as I can care for any earthly creature. Ye shall understand that this 6th of November, I spake with Sir Robert Bowes, on the matter ye know, according to your request, whose disdainful, yea, despiteful words, hath so pierced my heart, that my life is bitter unto me. I bear a good countenance with a sore troubled heart; while he that ought to consider matters with a deep judgment is become not only a despiser, but also a taunter of God's messengers. God be merciful unto him. Among other his most unpleasing words, while that I was about to have declared my part in the whole matter, he said, 'Away with your rhetorical reasons, for I will not be persuaded with them.' God knows I did use no rhetoric or coloured speech, but would have spoken the truth, and that in most simple manner. I am not a good orator in my own cause. But what he would not be content to hear of me, God shall declare to him one day to his displeasure, unless he repent. It is supposed that all the matter comes by you and me. I pray God that your conscience were quiet, and at peace, and I regard not what country consume this my wicked carcass. And were [it] not that no man's unthankfulness shall move me (God supporting my infirmity) to cease to do profit unto Christ's congregation, those days should be few that England would give me bread. And I fear that, when all is done, I shall be driven to that end; for I cannot abide the disdainful hatred of those, of whom not only I thought I might have craved kindness, but also to whom God hath been by me more liberal than they be thankful. But so must men declare themselves. Affection does trouble me at this present: yet I doubt not to overcome by him, who will not leave comfortless his afflicted to the end: whose omnipotent Spirit rest with you. Amen.

He refers to the same disagreeable affair in another letter written, about the end of this year. After mentioning the bad state of his health, which had been greatly increased by distress of mind, he adds, "It will be after the 12th day before I can be at Berwick; and almost I am determined not to come at all. Ye know the cause. God be more merciful unto some, than they are equitable unto me in judgment. The testimony of my conscience absolves me, before his face who looks not upon the presence of man." These extracts show us the heart of the writer; they discover the sensibility of his temper, the keenness of his feelings, and his pride and independence of spirit struggling with affection to his relations, and a sense of duty.

About the end of November, or beginning of December, he returned from the south to Newcastle. The parliament had by this time repealed all the laws made in favour of the reformation, and restored the Roman Catholic religion; but liberty was reserved, to such as pleased to observe the protestant worship, until the 20th of December. After that period they were thrown out of the protection of the law, and exposed to the pains decreed against heretics. Many of the bishops and ministers were committed to prison; others had escaped beyond sea. Knox could not however prevail on himself either to flee the kingdom, or to desist from preaching. Three days after the period limited by the statute had elapsed, he says in one of his letters, "I may not answer your places of Scripture, nor yet write the exposition of the 6th Psalm, for every day of this week must I preach, if this wicked carcass will permit."

His enemies, who had been defeated in their attempts to ruin him under the former government, had now access to rulers sufficiently disposed to listen to their informations. They were not dilatory in improving the opportunity. In the end of December, 1553, or beginning of January, 1554, his servant was seized as he carried letters from him to his wife and mother-in-law, and the letters taken from him, with the view of finding in them some matter of accusation against the writer. As they contained merely religious advices, and exhortations to constancy in the faith which they professed, which he was prepared to avow before any court to which he might be called, he was not alarmed at their interception. But, being aware of the uneasiness which the report would give to his friends at Berwick, he set out immediately with the design of visiting them. Notwithstanding the secrecy with which he conducted this journey, the rumour of it quickly spread; and some of his wife's relations who had joined him, persuaded that he was in imminent danger, prevailed on him, greatly against his own inclination, to relinquish his design of proceeding to Berwick, and to retire to a place of safety on the coast, from which he might escape by sea, provided the search after him was continued. From this retreat he wrote to his wife and mother, acquainting them with the reasons of his absconding, and the little prospect which he had of being able at that time to see them. His brethren, he said, had, "partly by admonition, partly by tears, compelled him to obey," somewhat contrary to his own mind; for "never could he die in a more honest quarrel," than by suffering as a witness for that truth for which God had made him a messenger. Notwithstanding this state of his mind, he promised, if Providence prepared the way, to "obey the voices of his brethren and give place to the fury and rage of Satan for a time."

Having ascertained that the apprehensions of his friends were too well founded, and that he could not elude the pursuit of his enemies, if he remained in England, he procured a vessel, which, on the 28th of January, 1554, landed him safely at Dieppe, a port of Normandy, in France.

Providence, which had more important services in reserve for Knox, made use of the urgent importunities of his friends to hurry him away from the danger to which, had he been left to the determination of his own mind, his zeal and fearlessness would have prompted him to expose himself. No sooner did he reach a foreign shore than he began to regret the course, which he had been induced to take. When he thought upon his fellow-preachers, whom he had left behind immured in dungeons, and the people lately under his charge, now scattered abroad as sheep without a shepherd, and a prey to ravening wolves, he felt an indescribable pang, and an almost irresistible desire to return and share in the hazardous but honourable conflict. Although he had only complied with the divine direction, "when they persecute you in one city, flee ye into another," and in his own breast stood acquitted of cowardice, he found it difficult to divest his conduct of the appearance of that weakness, and was afraid it might operate as a discouragement to his brethren in England, or an inducement to them to make sinful compliances with the view of saving their lives.

He did not, however, abandon himself to melancholy and unavailing complaints. One of his first cares after arriving at Dieppe, was to employ his pen in writing suitable advices to those whom he could no longer instruct by his sermons and conversation. With this view he transmitted to England two short treatises. The one was an exposition of the Sixth Psalm, which he had begun to write in England, at the request of Mrs. Bowes, but had not found leisure to finish. It is an excellent practical discourse upon that portion of Scripture, and will be read with peculiar satisfaction by those who have been trained to religion in the school of adversity. The other treatise was a large letter, addressed to those in London and other parts of England, among whom he had been employed as a preacher. The drift of it was to warn them against defection from the religion which they had professed, or giving countenance to the idolatrous worship erected among them. The conclusion is a most impressive and eloquent exhortation, in which he addresses their consciences, their hopes, their fears, their feelings, and adjures them by all that is sacred, and all that is dear to them, as men, as parents, and as Christians, not to start back from their good profession, and plunge themselves and their posterity into the gulf of ignorance and idolatry. The reader of this letter cannot fail to be struck with its animated strain, when he reflects, that it proceeded from a foreign exile, in a strange country, without a single acquaintance, and ignorant where he would find a place of abode or the means of subsistence.

On the last day of February, 1554, he set out from Dieppe, like the Hebrew patriarch of old, "not knowing whither he went;" and "committing his way to God," travelled through France, and came to Switzerland. A correspondence had been kept up between some of the English reformers and the most noted divines of the Helvetic church. The latter had already heard, with the sincerest grief, of the overthrow of the reformation in England, and the dispersion of its friends. Upon making himself known, Knox was cordially received by them, and treated with the most Christian hospitality. He spent some time in Switzerland, visiting the particular churches, and conferring with the learned men. Certain difficult questions, suggested by the present conjuncture of affairs in England, which, he had revolved in his mind, he propounded to them for advice, and was confirmed in his own judgment by the coincidence of their views.

In the beginning of May he returned to Dieppe, to receive information from England, a journey which he repeated at intervals as long as he remained on the continent. The kind reception which he had met with, and the agreeable company which he enjoyed, during his short residence in Switzerland, had helped to dissipate the cloud which hung upon his spirits when he landed in France, and to open his mind to more pleasing prospects as to the issue of the present afflicting providences. This appears from a letter written by him at this time, and addressed, "To his afflicted brethren." After discoursing of the situation of the disciples of Christ, during the time that he lay in the grave, and the sudden transition which they experienced, from the depth of sorrow to the summit of joy, upon the reappearance of their Master; he adds: "The remembrance thereof is unto my heart great matter of consolation. For yet my good hope is, that one day or other, Christ Jesus, that now is crucified in England, shall rise again, in despite of his enemies, and shall appear to his weak and sore troubled disciples (for yet some he hath in that wretched and miserable realm); to whom he shall say, 'Peace be unto you; it is I; be not afraid.' "

His spirit was also refreshed at this time, by the information which he received of the constancy with which his mother-in-law adhered to the protestant faith. It appears that her husband had expected that she and the rest of her family had consciences equally accommodating with his own. It was not until she had evinced in the most determined manner, her resolution to forsake friends and native country, rather than sacrifice her religion, that she was released from his importunities to comply with the Roman catholic religion. Before he went to Switzerland, Knox had signified his intention, if his life was spared, of visiting his friends at Berwick. When he returned to Dieppe, he had not relinquished the thoughts of this enterprise. His friends, by their letters, would, it is likely, dissuade him from this; and, after cool consideration, he resolved to postpone an attempt, by which he must have risked his life, without any prospect of doing good.

Wherefore, setting out again from Dieppe, he repaired to Geneva. It was on this occasion that he first became personally acquainted with the celebrated Calvin, and formed that intimate friendship which subsisted between them till the death of the latter, in 1564. They were nearly of the same age; and there was a striking similarity in their sentiments, and in the prominent features of their character. The Genevan reformer was highly pleased with the piety and talents of Knox, who, in his turn, entertained a greater esteem and deference for Calvin than for any other of the reformers. As Geneva was an eligible situation for prosecuting study, and he approved much of the religious order established in it, he resolved to make that city the ordinary place of his residence, during the continuance of his exile.

But no prospect of personal safety or accommodation could banish from his mind the thoughts of his persecuted brethren. In the month of July he undertook another journey to Dieppe, to inform himself accurately of their situation, and learn if he could do anything for their comfort. On this occasion he received tidings, which tore open those wounds which had begun to close. The severities used against the protestants of England daily increased; and, what was still more afflicting to him, many of those who had embraced the truth under his ministry, had been induced to recant, and go over to popery.

About this time he composed the Admonition to England, which was published about the end of this year. Those who have censured him, as indulging in an excessive vehemence of spirit and bitterness of language, usually refer to this tract in support of the charge. It is true that he there paints the persecuting papists in the blackest colours, and holds them up as objects of human execration and divine vengeance. We do not stop here to inquire whether he was chargeable with transgressing the bounds of moderation prescribed by religion and the gospel, in the expression of his indignation and zeal; or whether the censures pronounced by his accusers, and the principles upon which they proceed, do not involve a condemnation of the temper and language of the most righteous men mentioned in Scripture, and even of our Saviour himself. But we ask—What terms were too strong for stigmatizing the execrable system of persecution coolly projected by the dissembling, vindictive Gardiner, the brutal barbarity of the bloody Bonner, or the unrelenting, insatiable cruelty of Mary, who, having extinguished the feelings of humanity, and divested herself of the tenderness which characterizes her sex, issued orders for the murder of her subjects, until her own husband, bigoted and unfeeling as he was, turned with disgust from the spectacle, and continued to urge to fresh severities the willing instruments of her cruelty, after they were sated with blood!

Knox returned to Geneva, and applied himself to study with all the ardour of youth, although his age now bordered upon fifty. It was about this time that he seems to have made some proficiency in the knowledge of the Hebrew language, which he had no opportunity of acquiring in early life. It is natural to inquire, by what funds he was supported during his exile. However much inclined his mother-in-law was to relieve his necessities, the disposition of her husband seems to have put it greatly out of her power. Any small sum which his friends had advanced to him, before his sudden departure from England, was exhausted, and he was at this time very much straitened for money. Being unwilling to burden strangers, he looked for assistance to the voluntary contributions of those among whom he had laboured. In a letter to Mrs. Bowes, he says, "My own estate I cannot well declare; but God shall guide the footsteps of him that is wilsome, and will feed him in trouble that never greatly solicited for the world. If any collection might be made among the faithful, it were no shame for me to receive that which Paul refused not in the time of his trouble. But all I remit to His providence, that ever careth for his own." I find from his letters, that remittances were made to him by particular friends, both in England and Scotland, during his residence on the continent.

On the 14th of July, 1554, the English exiles who had come to Frankfort, obtained from the magistrates the joint use of the place of worship allotted to the French, with liberty to perform religious service in their own language. This was granted upon the condition of their conforming as nearly as possible to the form of worship used by the French church, a prudent precaution which their political circumstances dictated. The offer was gratefully accepted by the English, who came to an unanimous agreement, that in using the English liturgy they would omit the litany, the audible responses, the surplice, with other ceremonies, which, "in those reformed churches would seem more than strange," or which were superstitious and superfluous." Having settled this point in the most harmonious manner, elected a pastor and deacons, pro tempore, and agreed upon some rules for discipline, they wrote a circular letter to their brethren scattered in different places, inviting them to Frankfort, to share with them in their accommodations, and unite their prayers for the afflicted church of England. The exiles at Strasburgh, in their reply, recommended to them certain persons as most fit for the offices of superintendent and pastors; a recommendation not asked by the congregation at Frankfort, who did not think a superintendent requisite in their situation, and meant to have two or three pastors of equal authority. They, accordingly, proceeded to make choice of three, one of whom was Knox, who received information of his election, by the following letter from the congregation delivered to him in Geneva:—

"We have received letters from our brethren off Strausbrough, but not in suche sorte and ample wise as we looked for; whereupon we assembled together in the II. Goaste (we hope), and have, with one voice and consent, chosen yow so particulerly to be one off the ministers off our congregation here, to preache unto us the most lively worde of God, accordinge to the gift that God hathe geven yow: for as muche as we have here, throughe the mercifull goodness off God a churche to be congregated together in the name of Christe, and be ye all of one body, and also beinge of one nation, tonge, and countrie. And at this presente, having need of such a one as yow, we do desier yow and also require yow, in the name of God, not to deny us, nor to refuse theis oure requests: but that yow will aide, helpe, and assiste us with your presence in this our good and godlie enterprise, which we have taken in hand, to the glorie off God and the profit off his congregation, and the poore sheepe off Christ dispersed abroad, who, withe your and like presences, woulde come hither and be of one folde, where as nowe they wander abroad as loste sheepe, withowte anie gide. We mistruste not but that you will joifully accepte this callinge. Fare ye well from Franckford this 24. of September."

Knox was averse to undertake this charge, either from a desire to continue his studies at Geneva, or from an apprehension of difficulties which he might meet with at Frankfort. By the persuasion of Calvin, he was, however, induced to comply with the call, and, repairing to Frankfort in the month of November, commenced his ministry with the universal consent and approbation of the congregation.

When Knox arrived, he found that the seeds of animosity had already sprung up amongst them. From his sentiments respecting the English service-book we may be sure that the eagerness manifested by those who wished to impose it was very displeasing to him. But so sensible was he of the pernicious and discreditable effects of division among brethren exiled for the same faith, that he resolved to act as a moderator between the two parties, and to avoid, as far as possible, everything which tended to widen or continue the breach. Accordingly, when the congregation had agreed to the order of the Genevan church, and requested him to proceed to administer the communion according to it, (although, in his judgment, he approved of that order), he declined to use it, until their learned brethren in other places were consulted. At the same time he signified that he had not freedom to administer the sacraments agreeably to the English liturgy. If he could not be allowed to perform this service in a manner more consonant to Scripture, he requested that some other might be employed in this duty, and he would willingly confine himself to preaching; if neither of these could be granted, he besought them to release him altogether from his charge. To this last request they would by no means consent.

Fearing that if these differences were not speedily accommodated, they would burst into a flame of contention, Knox, along with some others, was employed to draw up a summary of the Book of Common Prayer, and having translated it into Latin, to send it to Calvin for his opinion and advice. Calvin replied in a letter, which being read to the congregation, had a great effect in repressing the keenness of such as had urged the unlimited use of the liturgy; and a committee was appointed to draw up a form which might accommodate all differences. When this committee met, Knox told them that he was convinced it was necessary for one of the parties to relent before they could come to an amicable settlement; he would therefore state, he said, what he judged most proper, and having exonerated himself, would allow them without opposition to determine as they should answer to God and the church. They accordingly agreed upon a form of worship, in which some things were taken from the English liturgy, and others added, which were thought suitable to their circumstances. This was to continue in force, until the end of April next; if any dispute arose in the interval, it was to be referred to five of the most celebrated foreign divines. This agreement was subscribed by all the members of the congregation; thanks were publicly returned to God for the restoration of harmony; and the communion was received as a pledge of union, and the burial of all past offences.

But this agreement was soon after violated, and the peace of that unhappy congregation again broken, in the most wanton and scandalous manner. On the 13th of March, Dr. Cox, who had been preceptor to Edward VI., came from England to Frankfort, with some others in his company. The first day that they attended public worship after their arrival, they broke through the established order, by answering aloud after the minister in the time of divine service. Being admonished by some of the elders to refrain from that practice, they insolently replied: "That they would do as they had done in England; and they would have the face of an English church." On the following Sabbath, one of the number intruded himself into the pulpit, without the consent of the pastors or the congregation, and read the litany, Cox and the other accomplices echoing the responses. This offensive behaviour was aggravated by the consideration, that some of them, before leaving England had been guilty of compliances with popery, for which they had as yet given no satisfaction. This occasioned an unhappy difference between the preceptor of the king and the reformer, which led the latter to quit Frankfort.

Upon leaving Frankfort, Knox went directly to Geneva. He was cordially welcomed back by Calvin. As his advice had great weight in disposing Knox to comply with the invitation from Frankfort, he felt much hurt at the treatment which had obliged him to leave it. In reply to an apologetic epistle which he received from Dr. Cox, Calvin, although he restrained himself from saying anything which might revive or increase the flame, could not conceal his opinion, that Knox had been used in an unbrotherly, unchristian manner; and that it would have been better for the accuser to have remained at home, than to have brought a firebrand into a foreign country, to inflame a peaceable society.

It appeared from the event, that Providence had disengaged Knox from his late charge, to employ him on a more important service. From the time that he was carried prisoner into France, he had never lost sight of Scotland, nor relinquished the hope of again preaching in his native country. His constant employment, during the five years which he spent in England, occupied his mind, and lessened the regret which he felt, at seeing the great object of his desire apparently at as great a distance as ever. Upon leaving England, his attention was more particularly directed to his native country; and soon after returning from Frankfort, he was informed that matters began to assume a more favourable appearance there than they had worn for a number of years. After the surrender of the castle of St. Andrew's, and the banishment of the protestants who had taken refuge in it, an irrecoverable blow seemed to have been given to the reformed cause in Scotland. The clergy triumphed in their victory, and flattered themselves that they had stifled the voice of opposition. There were still many protestants in the kingdom; but they satisfied themselves with retaining their sentiments in secret, without exposing their lives to certain destruction by avowing them, or exciting the suspicions of their enemies by private conventicles. An event which threatened the extinction of the reformation in Britain proved the means of reviving it in Scotland. Several of those who were driven from England by the persecution of Mary, took refuge in this country, and were overlooked, in consequence of the security into which the Scottish clergy had been lulled by success. Travelling from place to place, they instructed many, and fanned the latent zeal of those who had formerly received the knowledge of the truth.

William Harlow, whose zeal and knowledge of the doctrines of the gospel compensated for the defects of his education, was the first preacher who came. After him arrived John Willock, in summer, 1555, being charged with a commission from the duchess of Embden to the queen regent. Willock became afterwards the chief coadjutor of Knox, who entertained the highest esteem and affection for him. The union of their talents and peculiar qualities was of great advantage to the reformation. Willock was not inferior to Knox in learning; and, although he did not equal him in intrepidity and eloquence, surpassed him in affability, prudence, and address; by which means he was sometimes able to maintain his station and accomplish his purposes, when his colleague could not act with safety or success. He was a native of Ayrshire, and had worn the monastic habit; but, at an early period, he embraced the reformed opinions, and fled into England. During the severe persecution for the Six Articles, he was, in 1541, thrown into the prison of the Fleet. He was afterwards chaplain to the duke of Suffolk, the father of lady Jane Grey; and upon the accession of queen Mary, he retired to East Friesland.

Although Knox did not know what it was to fear danger, and was little accustomed to consult his personal ease, when he had the prospect of being useful in his Master's service, none of his enterprises were undertaken rashly, and without serious deliberation upon the call which he had to engage in them. On the present occasion, he felt at first averse to a journey into Scotland, notwithstanding some encouraging circumstances in the intelligence which he had received from that quarter. He had been so much tossed about of late, that he felt a peculiar relish in the learned leisure which he at present enjoyed, and was desirous to prolong. His anxiety to see his wife, after an absence of nearly two years, and the importunity with which, his mother-in-law, in her letters, urged him to visit them, determined him at last to undertake the journey. Setting out from Geneva in the month of August, 1555, he came to Dieppe; and, sailing from that port, landed on the east coast, near the boundaries between Scotland and England, about the end of harvest. He repaired immediately to Berwick, where he had the satisfaction of finding his wife and her mother in comfortable circumstances; enjoying the happiness of religious society with several individuals in that city, who like themselves, had not "bowed the knee" to the established idolatry, nor submitted to "receive the mark" of Antichrist.

Having remained some time with them, he set out secretly to visit the protestants in Edinburgh, intending, after a short stay, to return to Berwick. But he found employment which detained him beyond his expectation. In Edinburgh he lodged with James Syme, a respectable and religious burgess, to whose house the friends of the reformed doctrine repaired, to attend his instructions, as soon as they were informed of his arrival. Among these were John Erskine of Dun, and William Maitland, younger of Lethington, afterwards secretary to Mary queen of Scots. John Willock was also in Edinburgh at this time. Those who heard him, being exceedingly gratified with his doctrine, brought their friends and acquaintances along with them, and his audiences daily increased. Being confined to a private house, he was obliged to preach to successive assemblies; and was almost unremittingly employed, by night as well as by day, in communicating instruction to persons who demanded it with extraordinary avidity.

When he arrived in Scotland, he found that the friends of the reformed doctrine, in general, continued to attend the popish worship, and even the celebration of mass; principally with a view of avoiding the scandal which they would otherwise incur. This was very disagreeable to Knox, who, in his sermons and conversation, disclosed the impiety of that service, and the danger of symbolizing with it. A meeting being appointed for the express purpose of discussing this question, Maitland defended the practice with all that ingenuity and learning for which he was distinguished; but his arguments were so satisfactorily answered by Knox, that he yielded the point as indefensible, and agreed with the rest of his brethren, to abstain for the future from such temporizing conduct. Thus was a formal separation made from the popish church in Scotland, which may justly be regarded as an important step in the reformation.

Mr. Erskine prevailed on Knox to accompany him to his family seat of Dun, in Angus, where he continued a month, preaching every day. The principal persons in that neighbourhood attended his sermons. After he returned to the south, he resided for the most part in Calderhouse, with Sir James Sandilands. Here he was attended by lord Lorn, afterwards earl of Argyle; the master of Mar, afterwards earl of Mar; and lord James Stuart, natural son of James V., and prior of St. Andrew's, afterwards earl of Moray; the last two of whom Knox lived to see resents of Scotland. These noblemen were highly pleased with the doctrine which he taught. In the beginning of the year 1556, he was conducted by Lockhart of Bar, and Campbell of Kinzeancleugh, to Kyle, the ancient receptacle of the Scottish Lollards, where there were a number of adherents to the reformed doctrines. He preached in the houses of Bar, Kinzeancleugh, Carnell, Ochiltree, and Gadgirth, and in the town of Ayr. In several of these places, he also dispensed the sacrament of our Lord's Supper. A little before Easter, the earl of Glencairn sent for him to his manor of Finlayston, in which, after preaching, he also dispensed the sacrament; the earl, his lady, and two of their sons, with some friends assembled for that purpose, participating of the sacred feast. From Finlayston he returned to Calder-house, and soon after paid a second visit to Dun, during which he preached more openly than before. The most of the gentlemen of Mearns did at this time make profession of the reformed religion, by sitting down at the Lord's table; and entered into a solemn and mutual bond, in which they renounced the popish communion, and engaged to maintain the true preaching of the gospel, according as Providence should favour them with opportunities. This seems to have been the first of those religious bonds or covenants, by which the confederation of the protestants in Scotland was so frequently ratified.

The dangers to which Knox and his friends had been accustomed, had taught them to conduct matters with such secrecy, that he had preached for a considerable time and in different places, before the clergy knew that he was in the kingdom. Concealment, however, was impracticable, after his audiences became so numerous. His preaching in Ayr was reported to the court, and formed the topic of conversation in the presence of the queen regent. Some affirmed that the preacher was an Englishman; "a prelate not of the least pride," (probably Beaton, archbishop of Glasgow,) said, "Nay, no Englishman, but it is Knox, that knave." "It was my Lord's pleasure," says Knox, "so to baptize a poor man; the reason whereof, if it should be required, his rochet and mitre must stand for authority. What further liberty he used in defining things like uncertain to him, to wit, of my learning and doctrine, at this present I omit. For what hath my life and conversation been, since it hath pleased God to call me from the puddle of papistry, let my very enemies speak; and what learning I have, they may prove when they please." Interest was at this time made by the bishops for his apprehension; but the queen regent discouraged the application.

After his last journey to the north, the friars flocked from all quarters to the bishops, and instigated them to adopt speedy and decisive measures for checking the alarming effects of his preaching. In consequence of this, Knox was summoned to appear before a convention of the clergy, in the church of the blackfriars at Edinburgh, on the 15th of May. This diet he resolved to keep, and with that view came to Edinburgh, before the day appointed, accompanied by Erskine of Dun, and several other gentlemen. The clergy had never dreamed of his attendance: when apprized of his design, being afraid to bring matters to extremity, and unassured of the regent's decided support, they met beforehand, cast the summons under pretence of some informality, and deserted the diet against him. On the day on which he should have appeared as a pannel, Knox preached in the bishop of Dunkeld's large lodging, to a far greater audience than had before attended him in Edinburgh. During the ten following days, he preached in the same place, forenoon and afternoon; none of the clergy making the smallest attempt to disturb him.

About this time, the earl marischal, at the desire of the earl of Glencairn, attended an evening exhortation delivered by Knox. He was so much pleased with it, that he joined with Glencairn, in urging the preacher to write a letter to the queen regent, which they thought might have the effect of inclining her to protect the reformed preachers, if not also to give a favourable ear to their doctrine. With this request he was induced to comply.

As a specimen of the manner in which this letter was written, we shall give the following quotation, in the original language. "I doubt not, that the rumouris, whilk haif cumin to your Grace's earis of me, haif bene such, that (yf all reportis wer true) I wer unworthie to live in the earth. And wonder it is, that the voces of the multitude suld not have so inflamed your Grace's hart with just hatred of such a one as I am accuseit to be, that all acces to pitie suld have bene schute up. I am traduceit as ane heretick, accusit as a fais teacher, and seducer of the pepill, besydis uther opprobries, whilk (affirmit be men of warldlie honour and estimatoun) may easelie kendill the wrath of majestratis, whair innocencie in not knawin. But blissit be God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Chryst, who, by the dew of his heavenlie grace, hath so quench it the fyre of displeasure as yit in your Grace's hart, (whilk of lait dayis I have understand) that Sathan is frustrat of his interpryse and purpois. Whilk is to my hart no small comfort; not so muche (God is witnes) for any benefit that I can resave in this miserable lyfe, by protectioun of any earthlie creature, (for the cupe whilk it behoveth me to drink is apoyntit by the wisdome of him whois consallis ar not changeable) as that I am for that benefit whilk I am assurit your Grace sall resave; yf that ye continew in lyke modaratioun and clemencie toward is utheris, that maist unjustlie ar and sall be accusit, as that your Grace hath begun toward is me, and my most desperat cause."

Though Knox's pen was not the most smooth nor delicate, and he often irritated by the plainness and severity of his language, the letter to the queen regent is far from being uncourtly. It seems to have been written with great care; and, in point of language, it may be compared with any composition of that period, for simplicity and forcible expression. Its strain was well calculated for stimulating the inquiries, and confirming the resolutions of one who was impressed with a conviction of the reigning evils in the church, or who, though not resolved in judgment as to the matters in controversy, was determined to preserve moderation between the contending parties. Notwithstanding her imposing manners, the regent was not a person of this description. The earl of Glencairn delivered the letter into her hand; she glanced at it with a careless air, and gave it to the archbishop of Glasgow, saying, Please you, my lord, to read a pasquil. The report of this induced Knox, after he retired from Scotland, to publish the letter, with additions, in which he used a more pointed and severe style.

While he was thus employed in Scotland, he received letters from the English congregation at Geneva, stating that they had made choice of him as one of their pastors, and urging him to come and take the inspection of them. He judged it his duty to comply with this invitation, and began immediately to prepare for the journey. His wife and mother-in-law had by this time joined him at Edinburgh; and Mrs. Bowes, being now a widow, resolved to accompany her daughter and her husband to Geneva. Having sent them before him in a vessel, to Dieppe, Knox again visited and took his leave of the brethren in the different places where he had preached. Campbell of Kinzancleugh conducted him to the earl of Argyle, and he preached for some days in Castle Campbell. Argyle, and the laird of Glenorchy, urged him to remain in Scotland, but he resisted all their importunities. "If God so blessed their small beginning," he said, "that they continued in godliness, whensoever they pleased to command him, they should find him obedient. But once he must needs visit that little flock, which the wickedness of men had compelled him to leave." Accordingly, in the month of July, 1556, he left Scotland, and, arriving at Dieppe, proceeded with his family to Geneva.

Knox reached Geneva before the end of harvest, and took upon him the charge of the English congregation there, among whom he laboured during the two following years. This short period was the most quiet of his life. In the bosom of his own family, he experienced that soothing care to which he had hitherto been a stranger, and which his frequent bodily ailments required. Two sons were born to him in Geneva. The greatest cordiality among themselves, and affection to him, subsisted in the small flock under his charge. With his colleague, Christopher Goodman, he lived as a brother; and was happy in the friendship of Calvin and the other pastors of Geneva. So much was he pleased with the purity of religion established in that city, that he warmly recommended it to his religious acquaintances in England, as the best Christian asylum to which they could flee. "In my heart," says he, in a letter to his friend Mr. Locke, "I could have wished, yea, and cannot cease to wish, that it might please God to guide and conduct yourself to this place, where I neither fear nor eshame to say, is the most perfect school of Christ that ever was in the earth, since the days of the apostles. In other places I confess Christ to be truly preached; but manners and religion so sincerely reformed, I have not yet seen in any other place beside."

But neither the enjoyment of personal accommodations, nor the pleasure of literary society, nor the endearments of domestic happiness, could subdue our reformer's ruling passion, or unfix his determination to return to Scotland, as soon as an opportunity should offer for advancing the reformation among his countrymen. In a letter written to some of his friends in Edinburgh, March 16, 1557, we find him expressing himself thus: "My own motion and daily prayer is, not only that I may visit you, but also that with joy I may end my battle among you. And assure yourselves of that, that whenever a greater number among you shall call upon me than now hath bound me to serve them, by his grace it shall not be the fear of punishment, neither yet of the death temporal, that shall impede my coming to you." A certain heroic confidence, and assurance of ultimate success have often been displayed by those whom Providence has raised up to achieve great revolutions in the world; by which they have been borne up under discouragements which would have overwhelmed men of ordinary spirits, and emboldened to face dangers from which others would have shrunk appalled. This enthusiastic heroism (I use not the epithet in a bad sense) often blazed forth in the conduct of the great German reformer. Knox possessed no inconsiderable portion of the same spirit. "Satan, I confess, rageth," says he, in a letter nearly of the same date with that last quoted; "but potent is He that promised to be with us, in all such enterprises as we take in hand at his commandment, for the glory of his name, and for maintenance of his true religion. And therefore the less fear we any contrary power: yea, in the boldness of our God, we altogether contemn them, be they kings, emperors, men, angels, or devils. For they shall never be able to prevail against the simple truth of God which we openly profess: by the permission of God, they may appear to prevail against our bodies; but our cause shall triumph in despite of Satan."

Within a month after he wrote the letter last quoted but one, James Syme, who had been his host at Edinburgh, and James Barron, another burgess of the same city, arrived at Geneva with a letter, and credence, from the earl of Glencairn, lords Lorn, Erskine, and James Stuart, informing him that those who had professed the reformed doctrine remained steadfast, that its adversaries were daily losing credit in the nation, and that those who possessed the supreme authority, although they had not yet declared themselves friendly, still refrained from persecution; and inviting him in their own name, and in that of their brethren, to return to Scotland, where he would find them all ready to receive him, and to spend their lives and fortunes in advancing the cause which they had espoused.

This invitation Knox laid before his congregation, and also submitted it to Calvin and his colleagues. The latter delivered it as their opinion, "that he could not refuse the call, without showing himself rebellious to God, and unmerciful to his country." His congregation agreed to sacrifice their particular interest to the greater good of the church; and his own family acquiesced. Upon this, he returned an answer to the letter of the nobility, signifying, that he meant to visit them with all reasonable expedition. Accordingly, after seeing the congregation agreeably provided with a pastor in his room, and settling his other affairs, he took an affectionate leave of his friends at Geneva, and went to Dieppe, in the beginning of October. While he waited there for a vessel, he received letters from Scotland, written in a very different strain from the former. These informed him, that new consultations had been held; that some began to repent of the invitation which they had given him to return to Scotland; and that the greater part seemed irresolute and fainthearted.

This intelligence exceedingly disconcerted and embarrassed him. He instantly despatched a letter to the nobility who had invited him, upbraiding them for their timidity and inconstancy.

Having sent off this letter, with others written in the same strain, to Erskine of Dun, Wishart of Pitarrow, and some other gentlemen of his acquaintance, he resolved to spend some time in the interior of France, hoping to receive in a little more favourable accounts from Scotland. The reformed doctrine had been early introduced into the kingdom of France; it had been watered with the blood of many martyrs; and all the violence and barbarity which had been employed, had not been able to extirpate it, or prevent it from spreading among all ranks. The Parisian protestants were at present smarting under the effects of one of those massacres which so often disgraced the Roman catholic religion in that country, before as well as after the commencement of the civil wars. Not satisfied with assaulting them when peaceably assembled for worship in a private house, and treating them with great barbarity, their adversaries, in imitation of their pagan predecessors, invented the most diabolical calumnies against them, and circulated everywhere, that they were guilty of committing the most flagitious crimes in their assemblies. The innocent sufferers had drawn up an apology, vindicating themselves from this atrocious charge, and Knox, having got a copy of this, translated it into English, and wrote a preface and additions to it, intending to publish it for the use of his countrymen.

Having acquired the French language, and formed an acquaintance with many of the protestants, he occasionally preached to them in passing through the country. It seems to nave been on the present occasion, that he preached in the city of Rochelle, when having introduced the subject of his native country, he told his audience that he expected, within a few years, to preach in the church of St. Giles, in Edinburgh. There is nothing in our reformer's letters from which I can learn whether he found any protestants in Dieppe, a place which he so often visited during his exile: it is probable he did; for at an early period of the following century they had a very numerous church in that town.

Having received no intelligence of an encouraging nature, Knox determined to relinquish for the present his design of proceeding to Scotland.

Before he left Dieppe, he transmitted two long letters to Scotland: the one, dated 1st December, 1557, was addressed to the protestants in general; the other, dated the 17th of the same month, was directed to the nobility. In judging of Knox's influence in advancing the reformation, we must take into view not only his personal labours, but also the epistolary correspondence which he maintained with his countrymen. By this, he instructed them in his absence, communicated his own advice, and that of the learned among whom he resided, upon every difficult case which occurred, and animated them to constancy and perseverance. The letters which he wrote at this time deserve particular attention in this view. In both of them he prudently avoids any reference to his late disappointment.

In the first letter he strongly inculcates purity of morals, and warns all who professed the reformed religion against those irregularities of life, which were improved to the disparagement of their cause, by two classes of persons; by the papists, who, although the same vices prevailed in a far higher degree among themselves, represented them as the native fruits of the protestant doctrine; and by a new sect, who were enemies to superstition, and had belonged to their own society; but having deserted it, had become scarcely less hostile to them than the papists. The principal design of this letter was to put them on their guard against the arts of this class of persons, and to expose their leading errors.

His letter to the protestant lords breathes a spirit of ardent and noble piety. He endeavours to purify their minds from selfish and worldly principles; to raise, sanctity, and Christianize their motives, by exhibiting and recommending to them the spirit and conduct of the princes and heroes, celebrated not in profane, but sacred story. The glory of God, the advancement of the kingdom of Jesus Christ, the salvation of themselves and their brethren, the emancipation of their country from spiritual and civil thraldom; these, and not their own honour and aggrandizement, or the revenging of their petty, private quarrels, were the objects which they ought to keep steadily and solely in view.

In this letter, he also communicates his advice on the delicate question of resistance to supreme rulers. They had consulted him on this question, and he had submitted it to the judgment of the most learned on the continent.

Knox returned to Geneva in the end of the year 1557. During the following year, he was engaged, along with several learned men of his congregation, in making a new translation of the Bible into English; which, from the place where it was composed and first printed, obtained the name of the Geneva Bible. It was at this time that he published his letter to the queen regent, and his appellation and exhortation; both of which were transmitted to Scotland, and contributed not a little to the spread of the reformed opinions. I have already given an account of the first of these tracts, which was chiefly intended for removing the prejudices of catholics. The last was more immediately designed for instructing and animating such as were friendly to the reformed religion. Addressing himself to the nobility and estates, he shows that the care and reformation of religion belonged to civil rulers, and constituted one of the primary duties of their office. This was a dictate of nature as well as revelation; and he would not insist long upon that topic, lest he should seem to suppose them "lesse careful over God's true religion, than were the Ethnickes over their idolatrie." Inferior magistrates, within the sphere of their jurisdiction—the nobles and estates of a kingdom, as well as kings and princes—were bound to attend to this high duty. He then addresses himself to the commonality of Scotland, and points out their duty and interest, with regard to the important controversy in agitation. They were rational creatures, formed after the image of God: they had souls to be saved; they were accountable for their conduct; they were bound to judge of the truth of religion, and to make profession of it, as well as kings, nobles, or bishops. If idolatry was maintained, if the gospel was suppressed, if the blood of the innocent was shed, how could they be exculpated, provided they kept silence, and did not exert themselves to prevent these evils.

But the most singular treatise published this year by Knox, and that which made the greatest noise, was, The First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women; in which he attacked with great vehemence, the practice of admitting females to the government of nations. There is some reason to think that his mind was struck with the incongruity of this practice, as early as Mary's accession to the throne of England. This was probably one of the points on which he had conferred with the Swiss divines in 1554. It is certain, from a letter written by him in 1556, that his sentiments respecting it were then fixed and decided. He continued, however, to retain them to himself, and refrained for a considerable time from publishing them, out of deference to the opinions of others. But at last, provoked by the tyranny of the queen of England, and wearied out with her increasing cruelties, he applied the trumpet to his mouth, and uttered a terrible blast. "To promote a woman to bear rule, superiority, dominion, or empire, above any realm, nation or city, is repugnant to nature, contumely to God, a thing most contrarious to his revealed will and approved ordinance; and, finally, it is the subversion of all equity and justice." Such is the first sentence and principal proposition of the work.

Our reformer's letter to the protestant lords in Scotland produced its intended effect, in re-animating their drooping courage. At a consultative meeting held at Edinburgh, in December, 1557, they unanimously resolved to adhere to one another, and exert themselves for the advancement of the reformation. Having subscribed a solemn bond of mutual assurance, they renewed their invitation to Knox; and being afraid that he might hesitate on account of their former irresolution, they wrote to Calvin to employ his influence to induce him to comply. Their letters did not reach Geneva until November, 1558. By the same conveyance Knox received from Scotland letters of later date, communicating the most agreeable intelligence, respecting the progress which the reformed cause had made, and the flourishing appearance which it continued to wear.

Through the exertions of our reformer, during his residence among them in the beginning of the year 1556, and in pursuance of the instructions which he left behind him, the protestants had formed themselves into congregations, which met in different parts of the country with greater or less privacy, according to the opportunities which they enjoyed. Having come to the resolution of withdrawing from the popish worship, they endeavoured to provide for their religious instruction and mutual edification, in the best manner that their circumstances permitted. As there were no ministers among them, they continued for some time to be deprived of the dispensation of the sacraments; but certain intelligent and pious men of their number were chosen, to read the Scriptures, exhort, and offer up prayers, in their assemblies. Convinced of the necessity of order and discipline in their societies, and desirous to have them organized, as far as within their power, agreeably to the institution of Christ, they next proceeded to choose elders, for the inspection of their manners, to whom they promised subjection; and deacons, for the collection and distribution of alms to the poor. Edinburgh was the first place in which this order was established—Dundee the first town in which a reformed church was completely organized, provided with a regular minister, and the dispensation of the sacraments.

During the war with England, which began in Autumn, 1556, and continued through the following year, the protestants enjoyed considerable liberty; and as they improved it with the utmost assiduity, their numbers rapidly increased. William Harlow, John Douglas, Paul Methven, and John Willock, who had again returned from Embden, now began to preach, with greater publicity, in different parts of the country. The popish clergy were not indifferent to these proceedings, and wanted not inclination to put a stop to them. They prevailed on the queen regent to summon the protestant preachers; but the interposition of the gentlemen of the west country obliged her to abandon the process against them. At length, the clergy determined to revive those cruel measures which, since the year 1550, had been suspended by the political circumstances of the kingdom, more than by their clemency or moderation. In April, 1559, the archbishop of St. Andrew's committed to the flames Walter Mill,* and summoned several others to appear, on a charge of heresy, before a convention of the clergy at Edinburgh.

This barbarous and illegal execution produced effects of the greatest importance. It raised the horror of the nation to an incredible pitch; and as it was believed, at that time, that the regent was not accessory to the deed, their indignation was directed wholly against the clergy. Throwing aside all fear, and those restraints which prudence, or a regard to established order, had hitherto imposed on them, the people now assembled openly to join in the reformed worship, and avowed their determination to adhere to it at all hazards. The protestant leaders laid their complaints, in a regular and respectful manner, before the regent, and repeated their petition, that she would, by her authority, and in concurrence with the parliament, restrain the tyrannical proceedings of the clergy, correct the flagrant and insufferable abuses which prevailed in the church, and grant to them and their brethren the liberty of religious instruction and worship—at least according to a restricted plan, which they laid before her, and to which they were willing to submit, until such time as their grievances were deliberately examined and redressed. The regent's reply was such as to persuade them that she was friendly to their proposals: she promised that she would take measures for carrying them legally into effect, as soon as it was in her power; and that, in the mean time, they might depend on her protection.

It did not require many arguments to persuade Knox to comply with an invitation which was accompanied with such gratifying intelligence; and he began immediately to prepare for his journey to Scotland. The future settlement of the congregation under his charge occupied him for some time. Information being received of the death of Mary, queen of England, and the accession of Elizabeth, the protestant refugees hastened to return to their native country. The congregation at Geneva having met to return thanks to God for this deliverance, agreed to send one of their number with letters to their brethren in different places of the continent, particularly at Frankfort, congratulating them on the late happy change, and requesting a confirmation of the mutual reconciliation which had already been effected, the burial of all past offences with a brotherly co-operation, in endeavouring to obtain such a settlement of religion in England as would be agreeable to all the sincere well-wishers of the reformation. A favourable return to their letters being obtained, they took leave of the hospitable city, and set out for their native country. By them Knox sent letters to some of his former acquaintances, who were now in the court of Elizabeth, requesting permission to travel through England, on his way to Scotland.

In the month of January, 1559, our reformer took his leave of Geneva for the last time, In addition to former marks of respect, the republic, before his departure, conferred on him the freedom of the city. He left his wife and family behind him, until he should ascertain that they could live with safety in Scotland.

Notwithstanding the flattering accounts which he received from his countrymen of the favourable disposition of the queen regent, and the directions which he sent them to cultivate this, he always entertained suspicions of the sincerity of her professions. But, since he left Geneva, they had been confirmed; and the information which he had procured, in travelling through France, conspired with the intelligence which he had lately received from Scotland, in convincing him, that the immediate suppression of the reformation in his native country, and its consequent suppression in the neighbouring kingdom were intended. The plan projected by the gigantic ambition of the princes of Lorraine, brothers of the queen regent of Scotland, has been developed, and described with great accuracy and ability, by a celebrated modern historian. Suffice it to say here, that the court of France, under their influence, had resolved to set up the claim of the young queen of Scots to the crown of England; to attack Elizabeth, and wrest the sceptre from her hands as a bastard and a heretic; and, as Scotland was the only avenue by which this attack could be successfully made, to begin by suppressing the reformation, and establishing their power in that country. Knox, in the course of his journeys through France, had formed an acquaintance with some persons about the court; and by their means had gained some knowledge of the plan. He was convinced that the Scottish reformers were unable to resist the power of France, which was to be directed against them; and that it was the interest as well as duty of the English court, to afford them the most effectual support. But he was afraid that a selfish and narrow policy might prevent them from doing this, until it was too late; and was therefore anxious to call their attention to this subject at an early period, and to put them in possession of the facts that had come to his knowledge. The assistance which Elizabeth granted to the Scottish protestants, in 1559 and 1560, was dictated by the soundest policy. It baffled and defeated the designs of her enemies at the very outset; it gave her an influence over Scotland, which all her predecessors could not obtain; it secured the stability of her government, by extending and strengthening the protestant interest, the principal pillar on which it rested. And it reflects not a little credit on our reformer's sagacity, that he had formed this plan in his mind at so early a period, and persisted to urge its adoption, until his endeavours were crowned with success.

On his arrival, Knox found matters in the most critical state in Scotland. The queen recent had thrown off the mask which she had long worn, and avowed her determination forcibly to suppress the reformation. As long as she stood in need of the assistance of the protestants to support her authority against the Hamiltons, and procure the matrimonial crown for her son-in-law, the dauphin of France, she courted their friendship, pretended to accede to all their plans of reform, and flattered them, if not with the hopes of her joining their party, at least with assurances that she would shield them from the fury of the clergy. So completely were they duped by her consummate address and dissimulation, that they complied with all her requests, restrained some of their preachers from teaching in public, and desisted from presenting to the late parliament a petition which they had prepared; nor would they believe her insincere, even after different parts of her conduct had afforded strong grounds for suspicion. But, having accomplished the great objects which she had in view, she at last, in conformity with instructions from France, and secret engagements with the clergy, adopted measures which completely undeceived them, and discovered the gulf into which they were ready to be precipitated. Some of the protestant leaders having waited on her to intercede in behalf of their preachers, who had been summoned by her, she told them in plain terms, that "in spite of them, they should be all banished from Scotland, although they preached as truly as ever St. Paul did:" and when they reminded her of the repeated promises of protection that she had given them, she unblushingly replied, that "it became not subjects to burden their princes with promises, farther than they pleased to keep them." They told her that, if she violated the engagements which she came under to her subjects, they would consider themselves as released from allegiance to her, and warned her very freely of the dangerous consequences; upon which she adopted milder language, and engaged to prevent the trial. But soon after, upon hearing that the exercise of the reformed religion had been introduced into the town of Perth, she renewed the process, and summoned all the preachers to appear at Stirling, on the 10th of May, to undergo a trial.

Although his own cause was prejudged, and sentence already pronounced against him, he did not hesitate a moment in resolving to present himself voluntarily at Stirling, to assist his brethren in their defence, and share in their danger. Having rested only a single day at Edinburgh, he hurried to Dundee, where he found the principal protestants in Angus and Mearns already assembled, determined to attend their ministers to the place of trial, and to avow their adherence to the doctrines for which they were accused. The providential arrival of such an able champion of the cause, at this crisis, must have been very encouraging to the assembly; and the liberty of accompanying them, which he requested, was readily granted.

Lest the unexpected approach of such a multitude, though unarmed, should alarm or offend the regent, the congregation (for so the protestants began at this time to be called) agreed to stop at Perth, and sent Erskine of Dun before them to Stirling, to acquaint her with the peaceable object and manner of their coming. Apprehensive that their presence would disconcert her measures, the regent had again recourse to dissimulation. She persuaded Erskine to write to his brethren to desist from their intended journey, and authorized him to promise, in her name, that she would put a stop to the trial. The congregation testified their pacific intentions by a cheerful compliance with this request, and the great part, confiding in the royal promise, returned to their homes. But when the day of trial came, the summons was called by the orders of the queen, the accused were outlawed for not appearing, and all were prohibited under the pain of rebellion, from harbouring or assisting them.

Escaping from Stirling, Erskine brought to Perth the intelligence of this disgraceful transaction, which could not fail to incense the protestants. It happened that, on the same day on which the news came, Knox, who remained at Perth, preached a sermon, in which he exposed the idolatry of the mass, and of image-worship. Sermon being ended, the audience quietly dismissed; a few idle persons only loitered in the church, when an imprudent priest, wishing either to try the disposition of the people, or to show his contempt of the doctrine which had been just delivered, uncovered a rich altar-piece decorated with images, and prepared to celebrate mass. A boy having uttered some expressions of disapprobation was struck by the priest. He retaliated by throwing a stone at the aggressor, which, falling on the altar, broke one of the images. This operated like a signal upon the people present who had taken part with the boy; and, in the course of a few minutes, the altar, images, and all the ornaments of the church were torn down and trampled under foot. The noise soon collected a mob, who, finding no employment in the church, by a sudden and irresistible impulse flew upon the monasteries; nor could they be restrained by the authority of the magistrates and the persuasions of the preachers, who assembled as soon as they heard of the riot, until the houses of the gray and black friars, with the costly edifice of the Carthusian monks, were laid in ruins. None of the gentlemen or sober part of the congregation were concerned in this unpremeditated tumult; it was wholly confined to the baser inhabitants, or, as Knox designs them, "the rascal multitude."

The demolition of the monasteries has been represented as the first-fruits of our reformer's labours on this occasion; but whatever his sentiments were as to the destruction of the instruments and monuments of idolatry, he wished this to be accomplished in a regular manner; he was sensible that such tumultuary proceedings were prejudicial to the cause of the reformers in present circumstances; and, instead of instigating, he exerted himself in putting a stop to the ravages of the mob. If, however, it is to be traced to a remote cause, it must be imputed to the wanton and dishonourable perfidy of the queen.

Nothing could be more favourable to the designs of the regent than this riot. By her recent conduct, she had forfeited the confidence of the protestants, and even exposed herself in the eyes of the sober and moderate of her own party. This occurrence afforded her an opportunity of turning the public indignation from herself, and directing it against the congregation, which she did not fail to improve with her usual address. Having assembled the nobility, she magnified the accidental tumult into a dangerous and designed rebellion. To the catholics she dwelt upon the sacriligious overthrow of those venerable structures which their ancestors had dedicated to the service of God. To the protestants who had not joined those at Perth, she complained of the destruction of the royal foundation of the charter-house, protested that she had no intention of offering violence to their consciences, and promised her protection, provided they assisted her in punishing those who had been guilty of this violation of public order. Having inflamed the minds of all against them, she advanced to Perth with an army, threatening to lay waste the town with fire and sword, and to inflict the most exemplary vengeance on all who had been instrumental in producing the riot.

The protestants of the north were not insensible of their danger, and did all in their power to appease the rage of the queen; they wrote to her, to the commanders of the French troops, to the popish nobles, and to those of their own persuasion; they solemnly disclaimed all rebellious intentions; they protested their readiness to yield all due obedience to the government; they obtested and admonished all to refrain from offering violence to peaceable subjects, who sought only the liberty of their consciences. Finding all these endeavours fruitless, they resolved, however, not to suffer themselves and their brethren to be massacred, but prepared for a defence of the town against an illegal and furious assault. So prompt and vigorous were their measures, that the regent, when she approached, deemed it imprudent to attack them, and proposed overtures of accommodation, to which they readily acceded.

While the two armies lay before Perth, and negotiations were going on between them, our reformer obtained an interview with the prior of St. Andrew's and the young earl of Argyle, who adhered to the regent; he reminded them of the solemn engagements which they had contracted, and charged them with violating these, by abetting measures which tended to the suppression of the reformed religion, and the enslaving of their native country. The noblemen assured them that they held their engagements sacred: the regent had requested them to use their best endeavours to bring the present differences to an amicable termination; if, however, she violated the present treaty, they promised that they would no longer adhere to her, but would openly take part with the rest of the congregation. The queen was not long in affording them the opportunity of verifying this promise.

The lords of the congregation now resolved to introduce a reformation, in those places to which their authority or influence extended, and where the greater part of the inhabitants were friendly, by abolishing the popish superstition, and setting up the protestant worship in its room. The feudal ideas respecting the jurisdiction of the nobility, which at that time prevailed in Scotland, in part justified this step: the urgent and extreme necessity of the case forms its best vindication.

St. Andrew's was the place fixed on for beginning these operations. With this view, Lord James Stuart, who was prior of the abbey of St. Andrew's, and the earl of Argyle, made an appointment with Knox to meet him on a certain day, in that city. Travelling along the east coast of Fife, he preached at Anstruther and Crail, and on the 9th of June, he came to St. Andrew's. The archbishop, apprized of his design to preach in his cathedral, assembled an armed force, and sent information to him, that if he appeared in the pulpit, he would give orders to the soldiers to fire upon him. The noblemen, having met to consult what ought to be done, were of opinion that Knox should desist from preaching at that time. Their retinue was very slender; they had not yet ascertained the disposition of the town; the queen lay at a small distance with an army, ready to come to the bishop's assistance; and his appearance in the pulpit might lead to the sacrifice of his own life, and the lives of those who were determined to defend him from violence.

But had the reformers, after announcing their intentions, suffered themselves to be intimidated by the bravadoing attitudes and threats of the archbishop, their cause would, at the very outset, have received a blow, from which it could not easily have recovered. This was prevented by the firmness and intrepidity of Knox. Fired with the recollection of the part which he had formerly acted on that spot, and with the near prospect of realizing the sanguine hopes which he had cherished in his breast for many years, he replied to the solicitations of his brethren,—That he could take God to witness, that he never preached in contempt of any man, nor with the design of hurting an earthly creature; but to delay to preach next day (unless forcibly hindered), he could not in conscience agree. In that town, and in that church, had God first raised him to the dignity of a preacher, and from it he had been reft by French tyranny, at the instigation of the Scotch bishops. The length of his imprisonment, and the tortures which he had endured, he would not at present recite: but one thing he could not conceal, that, in the hearing of many yet alive, he had expressed his confident hope of again preaching in St. Andrew's. Now, therefore, when Providence, beyond all men's expectation, had brought him to that place, he besought them not to hinder him. "As for the fear of danger that may come to me," continued he, "let no man be solicitous; for my life is in the custody of Him whose glory I seek. I desire the hand or weapon of no man to defend me. I only crave audience; which, if it be denied here unto me at this time, I must seek where I may have it."

This intrepid reply silenced all further remonstrances; and next day Knox appeared in the pulpit, and preached to a numerous assembly without meeting with the slightest opposition or interruption. He discoursed on the subject of our Saviour's ejecting the profane traffickers from the temple of Jerusalem; from which he took occasion to expose the enormous corruptions which had been introduced into the church, under the papacy; and to point out what was incumbent upon Christians in their different spheres, for removing them. On the three following days he preached in the same place; and such was the influence of his doctrine, that the provost, bailies, and inhabitants, harmoniously agreed to set up the reformed worship in the town; the church was stripped of images and pictures, and the monasteries pulled down.

The example of St. Andrew's was quickly followed in other parts of the kingdom; and, in the course of a few weeks, at Crail, at Cupar, at Lindores, at Stirling, at Linlithgow, and at Edinburgh, the houses of the monks were overthrown, and all the instruments which had been employed to foster idolatry and image-worship were destroyed.

Our reformer continued at St. Andrew's till the end of June, when he came to Edinburgh, from which the regent and her forces had retired. The protestants in this city fixed their eyes upon him, and chose him immediately for their minister. He accordingly entered upon that charge; but the lords of the congregation having soon after concluded a treaty with the regent, by which they delivered up Edinburgh to her, judged it unsafe for him to remain there, on account of the extreme personal hostility with which the papists were inflamed against him. Willock, as being less obnoxious to them, was therefore substituted in his place, while he undertook a tour of preaching through the kingdom. This itinerancy had great influence in extending the reformed interest. The wide field which was before him; the interesting situation in which he was placed; the dangers by which he was surrounded, and the hopes which he cherished, increased the ardour of his zeal, and stimulated him to extraordinary exertions both of body and mind. Within less than two months, he travelled over the greater part of Scotland. He visited Kelso, and Jedburgh, and Dumfries, and Ayr, and Stirling, and Perth, and Brechin, and Montrose, and Dundee, and returned again to St. Andrew's. The attention of the nation was aroused; their eyes were opened to the errors by which they had been deluded; and they panted for the word of life which they had once tasted.

Immediately after his arrival in Scotland, Knox wrote to Geneva for his wife and family. On the 13th of June, Mrs. Knox and her family were at Paris, and applied to Sir Nicolas Throkmorton, the English ambassador, for a safe conduct to pass into England. Throkmorton, who by this time had begun to penetrate the counsels of the French court, not only granted this, but wrote a letter to the queen, in which he urged the propriety of overlooking the offence which Knox had given by his publication, and of conciliating him by the kind treatment of his wife; seeing he was in great credit with the lords of the congregation; had been the principal instrument in producing the late change in that kingdom; and was capable of doing essential service to her majesty. Accordingly, Mrs. Knox came into England, and being conveyed to the borders by the direction of the court, reached her husband in safety, on the 20th of September. Her mother, after remaining a short time in her native country, followed her into Scotland, where she remained until her death.

The arrival of his family was the more gratifying to our reformer, that they were accompanied by Christopher Goodman. He had repeatedly written, in the most pressing manner, for his late colleague to come to his assistance, and expressed much uneasiness at the delay of his arrival. Goodman became minister of St. Andrew's. The settlement of protestant ministers took place at an earlier period than is mentioned in our common histories. Previous to September, 1559, eight towns were provided with pastors; other places remained unprovided, owing to the scarcity of preachers, which was severely felt.

In the mean time, it became daily more apparent that the lords of the congregation would be unable, without foreign aid, to maintain the struggle in which they were involved. Had the contest been merely between them and the domestic party of the regent, they would soon have brought it to a successful termination; but they could not withstand the veteran troops which France had sent to her assistance, and was preparing to send, in still more formidable numbers. As far back as the middle of June, our reformer renewed his exertions for obtaining assistance from England, and persuaded William Kircaldy of Grange, first to write, and afterwards to pay a visit to Sir Henry Percy, who held a public situation on the English marches. Percy immediately transmitted his representations to London, and an answer was returned from secretary Cecil, encouraging the correspondence.

Knox himself wrote to Cecil, requesting permission to visit England, and enclosed a letter to queen Elizabeth, in which he attempted to apologize for his rude attack upon female government. There was nothing at which he was more awkward than making apologies. The letter contains professions of strong attachment to Elizabeth's government; but the strain in which it is written is such as, if it was ever read by that high-minded princess, must have aggravated instead of extenuating his offence. But the sagacious secretary, we have little doubt, suppressed it. He was himself friendly to the measure of assisting the Scottish congregation, and exerted all his in fine nee to bring over the queen and her council to his opinion. A message was accordingly sent to Knox, desiring him to meet with Sir Henry Percy at Alnwick, on the 2d of August, upon business which required the utmost secresy and despatch; and Cecil came down to Stamford to hold an interview with him.

The confusion produced by the advance of the regent's army upon Edinburgh retarded his journey; but no sooner was this settled, than he sailed from Pittenweem to Holy Island. Finding that Percy was recalled from the borders, he applied to Sir James Croft, governor of Berwick. Croft, who was not unapprized of the design upon which he came, dissuaded him from proceeding farther into England, and undertook to despatch his communications to London, and to procure a speedy return. While he remained at Berwick, Whitlaw came from the English court with answers to the letters formerly sent; and he immediately returned to lay these before a meeting of the protestant lords at Stirling. The irresolution or the caution of Elizabeth's cabinet had led them to express themselves in such general and unsatisfactory terms, that the assembly were both disappointed and displeased; and it was with some difficulty that our reformer obtained permission from them to write again to London in his own name. The representation which he gave of the urgency of the case, and the danger of further hesitation or delay, produced a speedy reply, desiring them to send a confidential messenger to Berwick, who would receive a sum of money to assist them in carrying on the war. About the same time, Sir Ralph Saddler was sent down to Berwick, to act as an accredited, but secret agent; and the correspondence between the court of London and the lords of the congregation continued afterwards to be carried on through him and Sir James Croft, until the English auxiliary army entered Scotland.

If we reflect upon the connexion which the religious and civil liberties of the nation had with the contest in which the protestants were engaged, and upon our reformer's zeal in that cause, we will not be greatly surprised to find him at this time acting in the character of a politician. Extraordinary cases cannot be measured by ordinary rules. In a great emergency, like that under consideration, when all that is valuable and dear to a people is at stake, it becomes the duty of every individual to step forward, and exert the talents with which he is endowed, for the public good. Learning was at this time rare among the nobility; and though there were men of distinguished abilities among the protestant leaders, few of them had been accustomed to transact public business. Accordingly, the management of the correspondence with England was for a time devolved chiefly on Balnaves and our reformer. But he submitted to this merely from a sense of duty and regard to the common cause; and, when the younger Maitland acceded to their party, he expressed the greatest satisfaction at the prospect which this gave him of being relieved from the burden.

In a letter to Sir James Croft, Knox represented the great importance of their being speedily assisted with troops, without which they would be in much hazard of miscarrying in an attack upon the fortifications of Leith. The court of England, he said, ought not to hesitate at offending France, of whose hostile intentions against them they had the most satisfactory evidence. But "if ye list to craft with thame," continued he, "the sending of a thousand or mo men to us can breake no league nor point of peace contracted betwixt you and France: For it is free for your subjects to serve in warr anie prince or nation for their wages; and if yee fear that such excuses will not prevail, ye may declare thame rebelles to your real me, when ye shall be assured that thei be in our companie." No doubt such things have been often done; and such political casuistry, as Keith not improperly styles it, is not unknown at courts. But it must be confessed, that the measure recommended by Knox—the morality of which must stand on the same grounds with the assistance which the English were at that time affording—was too glaring to be concealed by the excuses which he suggested. Croft laid hold of this opportunity to check the impetuosity of his correspondent, and wrote him, that he wondered how he, "being a wise man," would require from them such aid as they could not give "without breach of treaty, and dishonour;" and that the world was not so blind as not to see through the devices by which he proposed to colour the matter. Knox, in his reply, apologized for his "unreasonable request;" but, at the same time, reminded Croft of the common practice of courts in such matters, and of the French court toward themselves in a recent instance; he was not ignorant, he said, of the inconveniences which might attend an open declaration in their favour, but feared that they would have cause to "repent the drift of time, when the remedy shall not be so easy."

Notwithstanding the prejudice which existed in the English court against our reformer, on account of his "audacity" in attacking female prerogative, they were too well acquainted with his integrity and influence to decline his services. Cecil kept up a correspondence with him; and, in the directions sent from London for the management of the subsidy, it was expressly provided that he should be one of the council for examining the receipts and payments, to see that it was applied to the common action, and not to any private use.

In the mean time, his zeal and activity in the cause of the congregation exposed him to the deadly resentment of the queen regent and the papists. A reward was publicly offered to the person who should seize or kill him, and numbers, actuated by hatred or avarice, lay in wait for his apprehension. But he was not deterred by this from appearing in public, nor from travelling through the country, in the discharge of his duty. His exertions at this period were incredibly great. By day he was employed in preaching; by night in writing letters on public business. He was the soul of the congregation; was always present at the post of danger; and by his presence, his public discourses, and private advices, animated the whole body, and defeated the schemes employed to corrupt and disunite them.

On the 21st of October, an assembly of nobles, barons, and representatives of boroughs, was convened at Edinburgh, to deliberate on the lawfulness of suspending the queen regent. Willock, who then officiated as minister of Edinburgh, and Knox, were called to attend, when they both concurred in the legality of the proposal.

Those who judge of the propriety of any measure, from the success with which it is accompanied, will be disposed to condemn this treatment of the queen. Soon after this step was taken, the affairs of the congregation began to wear a gloomy appearance. The messenger whom they had sent to Berwick, to receive a remittance from the English court, was intercepted on his return, and rifled of the treasure; their soldiers mutinied for want of pay; they were repulsed in a premature assault upon the fortifications of Leith, and worsted in a skirmish with the French troops; the secret emissaries of the regent were too successful among them; their numbers daily decreased; and the remainder, disunited, dispirited, and dismayed, came to the resolution of abandoning Edinburgh on the evening of the 5th of November, and retreated with precipitation and disgrace to Stirling.

Amidst the universal dejection produced by these disasters, the spirit of Knox remained unsubdued. On the day after their arrival at Stirling, he mounted the pulpit, and delivered a discourse, which had a wonderful effect in rekindling the zeal and courage of the congregation. Their faces, he said, were confounded, their enemies triumphed, their hearts had quaked for fear, and still remained oppressed with sorrow and shame. What was the cause for which God had thus dejected them? The situation of their affairs required plain language, and he would use it. In the present distressed state of their minds, they were in danger of fixing upon an erroneous cause of their misfortunes, and of imagining that they had offended in taking the sword of self-defence into their hands; just as the tribes of Israel did when twice discomfited in the war which they undertook, by divine direction, against their brethren the Benjamites. Having divided the congregation into two classes, those who had been embarked in the cause from the beginning, and those who had lately acceded to it, he proceeded to point out what he considered as blamable in the conduct of each; and, after exhorting all to amendment of life, prayers, and works of charity, he concluded with an animating address. God, he said, often suffered the wicked to triumph for a while, and exposed his chosen congregation to mockery, dangers, and apparent destruction, in order to abase their self-confidence, and induce them to look to him for deliverance and victory. If they turned unfeignedly to the Eternal, he no more doubted that their present distress would be converted into joy, and followed by success, than he doubted that Israel was finally victorious over the Benjamites, after being twice repulsed with ignominy. The cause in which they were engaged would, in spite of all opposition, prevail in Scotland. It was the eternal truth of the eternal God which they maintained; it might be oppressed for a time, but would ultimately triumph.

The audience who had entered the church in deep despondency, left it with renovated courage. In the afternoon the council met, and after prayer by the reformer, unanimously agreed to despatch Maitland to London to supplicate more effectual assistance from Elizabeth. In the mean time as they were unable to keep the field, they resolved to divide; and that the one half of the council should remain at Glasgow, and the other at St. Andrew's. Knox was appointed to attend the latter. The French having, in the beginning of the year 1560, penetrated into Fife, he encouraged that small band, which, under the earl of Arran, and the prior of St. Andrew's, bravely resisted their progress, until the appearance of the English fleet obliged them to make a precipitate retreat.

Knox Preaching.

The disaster which caused the protestant army to leave Edinburgh turned out to the advantage of their cause. It obliged the English court to abandon the line of cautious policy which they had hitherto pursued. On the 27th of February, 1560, they concluded a formal treaty with the lords of the congregation; and, in the beginning of April, the English army entered Scotland. The French troops retired within the fortifications of Leith, and were invested by sea and land; the queen regent died in the castle of Edinburgh during the siege; and the ambassadors of France were forced to agree to a treaty, by which it was provided that the French troops should be removed from Scotland, an amnesty granted to all who had been engaged in the late resistance to the measures of the regent, their principal grievances redressed, and a free parliament called to settle the other affairs of the kingdom.

During the continuance of the civil war, while the protestant preachers were assiduous in disseminating the knowledge of the truth through all parts of the kingdom, the popish clergy used no exertions to counteract them. Too corrupt to think of reforming their manners; and too illiterate to be capable of defending their errors, they placed their forlorn hope upon the success of the French arms, and looked forward to the issue of the contest, as involving the establishment or the ruin of their religion. One attempt they indeed made to recover their lost reputation, and support their sinking cause by reviving the stale pretence of miracles wrought at the shrines of their saints. But the detection of the imposture exposed them to derision, and was the occasion of their losing a person, who, by his learning and integrity, was the greatest ornament of their party.

The treaty which put an end to hostilities made no settlement respecting religious differences; but, on that very account, it was fatal to popery. The power was left in the hands of the protestants. The Roman catholic worship was almost universally deserted through the kingdom, except in those places which had been occupied by the regent and her foreign auxiliaries; and no provision was made for its restoration. The firm hold which it once had of the opinions and affections of the people was completely loosened; it was supported by force alone; and the moment that the French troops embarked, that fabric, which had stood for ages in Scotland, fell to the ground. Its feeble and dismayed priests ceased, of their own accord, from the celebration of its rites; and the reformed service was peaceably set up, wherever ministers could be found to perform it. The parliament, when it met, had little else to do respecting religion, than to sanction what the nation had previously adopted.

In the assignation of ministers to the different parts of the kingdom, a measure which engaged the attention of the protestants immediately after the proclamation of peace, the temporary arrangements formerly made were in general confirmed; and our reformer resumed his station as minister of Edinburgh. During the month of August, he was employed in composing the Protestant Confession of Faith, which was presented to the parliament, who ratified it and abolished the papal jurisdiction and worship.

The organization of the reformed church was not yet completed. Hitherto the Book of Common Order, agreed upon by the English church at Geneva, had been chiefly followed as a directory for worship and government. But this having been compiled for the use of a single congregation, composed, too, for the most part, of men of education, was found inadeqate for an extensive church, consisting of a multitude of confederated congregations. Sensible of the great importance of ecclesiastical polity for the maintainance of order, the preservation of purity of doctrine and morals, and the general flourishing of religion in the kingdom, our reformer, at an early period, called the attention of the protestants to this subject, and urged its speedy settlement. In consequence of this, the lords of the privy council appointed him and other five ministers to draw out such a plan as they judged most agreeable to scripture, and conducive to the advancement of religion. They met accordingly; and with great pains, and much unanimity, formed the book which was afterwards called the First Book of Discipline. Our reformer had a chief hand in the compilation of this book.

The first General Assembly of the reformed church of Scotland, sat down at Edinburgh on the 20th of December, 1560. It consisted of forty members, only six of whom were ministers. Knox was one of these; and he continued to sit in most of its meetings until the time of his death. Their deliberations were conducted at first with great simplicity and unanimity. It is a singular circumstance, that they had seven different meetings without a president or moderator. But as the number of members increased, and business became more complicated, a moderator was appointed to be chosen at every meeting; he was invested with authority to maintain order; and regulations were enacted concerning the constituent members of the court, the causes which ought to come before them, and the order of procedure.

In the close of this year our reformer suffered a heavy domestic loss by the death of his valuable wife, who, after sharing in the hardships of her husband's exile, was removed from him when he had obtained a comfortable settlement for his family. He was left with the charge of two young children, in addition to his other cares. His mother-in-law was still with him; but though he took pleasure in her religious company, the dejection of mind to which she was subject, and which all his efforts could never completely cure, rather increased than lightened his burden. His acute feelings were severely wounded by this stroke; but he endeavoured to moderate his grief by the consolations which he administered to others, and by application to public duties. He had the satisfaction of receiving, on this occasion, a letter from his much respected friend Calvin, in which expressions of great esteem for his deceased partner were mingled with condolence for his loss. We may take this opportunity of mentioning, that Knox, with the consent of his brethren, consulted the Genevan reformer upon several difficult questions which occurred respecting the settlement of the Scottish reformation; and that a number of letters passed between them on this subject.

Anxieties on a public account were felt by Knox along with his domestic distress. The reformation had hitherto advanced with a success equal to his most sanguine expectations; and, at this time, no opposition was publicly made to the new establishment. But matters were still in a very critical state. There was a party in the nation, by no means inconsiderable in numbers and power, who remained addicted to popery; and, though they had given way to the torrent, they anxiously waited for an opportunity to embroil the country in another civil war, for the restoration of the ancient religion. Queen Mary and her husband, the king of France, had refused to ratify the late treaty, and had dismissed the deputy sent by the parliament, with marks of the highest displeasure at the innovations which they had presumed to introduce. A new army was preparing in France for the invasion of Scotland against the spring; emissaries were sent, in the mean time, to encourage and unite the Roman catholics; and it was doubtful if the queen of England would subject herself to new expense and odium, by protecting them against a second attack.

The danger was not unperceived by our reformer, who exerted himself to prepare his countrymen, by impressing their minds with a due sense of it, and exciting them speedily to complete the settlement of religion throughout the kingdom, which, he was persuaded, would prove the principal bulwark against the assaults of their adversaries. In the state in which the minds of men then were, his admonitions were listened to by many who had formerly treated them with indifference. The threatened storm blew over, in consequence of the death of the French king; but this necessarily led to a measure which involved the Scottish protestants in a new struggle, and exposed the reformed church to dangers less obvious and striking; but, on that account, not less to be dreaded than open violence and hostility. This was the invitation given by the protestant nobility to their young queen, who, on the 19th of August, 1561, arrived in Scotland and assumed the reins of government into her own hands.

The reception which she met with on her first arrival in Scotland was flattering; but an occurrence which took place soon after damped the joy which had been expressed, and prognosticated future jealousies and confusion. Resolved to give her subjects an early proof of her firm determination to adhere to the Roman catholic worship, Mary directed preparations to be made for the celebration of a solemn mass in the chapel of Holyrood-house, on the first Sunday after her arrival. So great was the horror with which the protestants viewed this service, and the alarm which they felt at finding it countenanced by their queen, that the first rumour of the design excited violent murmurs, which would have burst into an open tumult, had not the leaders interfered, and by their authority repressed the zeal of the multitude. Knox, from regard to public tranquillity, and to avoid giving offence to the queen and her relations, at the present juncture, used his influence in private conversation to allay the fervour of the more zealous, who were ready to prevent the service by force. But he was not less alarmed at the precedent than the rest of his brethren; and, having exposed the evil of idolatry in his sermon on the following Sabbath, he said, that "one mess was more fearfull unto him, than if ten thousand armed enemies wer landed in ony part of the realme, of purpose to suppress the hole religioun."

Besides his fears for the common cause, Knox had grounds for apprehension as to his personal safety. The queen was peculiarly incensed against him on account of the active hand which he had in the late revolution; the popish clergy who left the kingdom represented him as the ringleader of her factious subjects; and she had signified, before she left France, that she was determined he should be punished. His book against female government was most probably the ostensible charge on which he was to be prosecuted; and accordingly we find him making application through the English resident at Edinburgh, to secure the favour of Elizabeth; reasonably fearing that she might be induced to abet the proceedings against him on this head. But whatever perils he apprehended from the personal presence of the queen, either to the public or to himself, he used not the smallest influence to prevent her being invited home. On the contrary, he concurred with his brethren in this measure, and in defeating a scheme which the duke of Chatelherault, under the direction of the archbishop of St. Andrew's, had formed to exclude her from the government. But when the prior of St. Andrew's was sent to France with the invitation, he urged that her desisting from the celebation of mass should be one of the conditions of her return; and when he found him and the rest of the council disposed to grant her this liberty within her own chapel, he predicted that "her liberty would be their thraldom."

Soon after her arrival, queen Mary, whether of her own accord or by advice is uncertain, sent for Knox to the palace, and held a long conversation with him, in the presence of her brother the prior of St. Andrew's. She seems to have expected to awe him into submission by her authority, if not to confound him by her arguments. But the bold freedom with which he replied to all her charges, and vindicated his own conduct, convinced her that the one expectation was not more vain than the other; and the impression which she wished to make was left on her own mind. She accused him of raising her subjects against her mother and herself; of writing a book against her just authority, which, she said, she would cause the most learned men in Europe to answer; of being the cause of sedition and bloodshed when he was in England; and of accomplishing his purposes by magical arts.

To these heavy charges Knox replied—that, if to teach the truth of God in sincerity, to rebuke idolatry, and exhort a people to worship God according to his word, were to excite subjects to rise against their princes, then he stood convicted of that crime; for it had pleased God to employ him, among others, to disclose unto that realm the vanity of the papistical religion, with the deceit, pride, and tyranny of the Roman Antichrist. But if the true knowledge of God and his right worship were the most powerful inducements to subjects cordially to obey their princes, as they certainly were, he was innocent. Her Grace, he was persuaded, had at present as unfeigned obedience from the protestants of Scotland, as ever her father or any of her ancestors had from those called bishops. With respect to what had been reported to her majesty, concerning the fruits of his preaching in England, he was glad that his enemies laid nothing to his charge but what the world knew to be false. If any of them could prove, that in any of the places where he had resided, there was either sedition or mutiny, he would confess himself to be a malefactor. So far from this being the case, he was not ashamed to say, that in Berwick, where bloodshed among the soldiers had formerly been so common, God so blessed his weak labours, that there was as great quietness during the time he resided in it, as there was at present in Edinburgh. The slander of practising magic (an art which he had condemned wherever he preached,) he could more easily bear, when he recollected that his Master, the Lord Jesus, had been defamed as one in league with Beelzebub. As to the book which seemed so highly to offend her majesty, he owned that he wrote it, and was willing that all the learned should judge of it. He understood that an Englishman had written against it; but he had not read him. If he had sufficiently confuted his arguments, and established the contrary propositions, he would confess his error; but to that hour he continued to think himself alone more able to sustain the things affirmed in that work, than any ten in Europe were to confute them.

"You think I have no just authority," said the queen. "Please your majesty," replied he, "learned men in all ages have had their judgments free, and most commonly disagreeing from the common judgment of the world; such also have they published both with pen and tongue; notwithstanding, they themselves had lived in the common society with others, and have borne patiently with the errors and imperfections which they could not amend. Plato the philosopher wrote his book Of the Commonwealth, in which he condemned many things that then were maintained in the world, and required many things to have been reformed; and yet notwithstanding, he lived under such policies as then were universally received, without further troubling of any state. Even so, Madame, am I content to do, in uprightness of heart, and with a testimony of a good conscience." He added, that his sentiments on that subject should be confined to his own breast; and that, if she refrained from persecution, her authority would be hurt, either by him or his book, "which was written most especially against the wicked Jesabell of England."

"But ye speak of women in general," said the queen. "Most true it is, Madame: yet it appeareth to me, that wisdom should persuade your Grace never to raise trouble for that which to this day hath not troubled your majesty, neither in person nor in authority; for of late years many things, which before were held stable, have been called in doubt; yea, they have been plainly impugned. But yet, Madame, I am assured that neither protestant nor papist shall be able to prove, that any such question was at any time moved either in public or in secret. Now, Madame, if I had intended to have troubled your state, because ye are a woman, I would have chosen a time more convenient for that purpose, than I can do now, when your presence is within the realm."

Changing the subject, she charged him with having taught the people to receive a religion different from that allowed by their princes; and asked, if this was not contrary to the divine command, that subjects should obey their rulers? He replied, that true religion derived not its original or authority from princes, but from the eternal God; that princes were often most ignorant of the true religion; and that subjects were not bound to frame their religion according to the arbitrary will of their rulers; else the Hebrews would have been bound to adopt the religion of Pharaoh; Daniel and his associates that of Nebuchadnezzar and Darius; and the primitive Christians that of the Roman emperors. "Yea," replied the queen, qualifying her assertion; "but none of these men raised the sword against their princes." "Yet you cannot deny," said he, "that they resisted; for those who obey not the commandment given them do in some sort resist." "But they resisted not with the sword," rejoined the queen, pressing home the argument. "God, Madame, had not given unto them the power and the means." "Think you," said the queen, "that subjects, having the power, may resist their princes?" "If princes exceed their bounds, Madame, no doubt they may be resisted, even by power. For no greater honours, or greater obedience, is to be given to kings and princes, than God has commanded to be given to father and mother. But the father may be struck with a phrensy, in which he would slay his children. Now, Madame, if the children arise, join together, apprehend the father, take the sword from him, bind his hands, and keep him in prison till the phrensy be over; think you, Madame, that the children do any wrong? Even so, Madame, is it with princes that would murder the children of God that are subject unto them. Their blind zeal is nothing but a mad phrensy; therefore, to take the sword from them, to bind their hands, and to cast them into prison till they be brought to a more sober mind, is no disobedience against princes, but just obedience; because it agreeth with the will of God."

The queen, who had hitherto maintained her courage in reasoning, was completely overpowered by this bold answer: her countenance changed, and she continued in a silent stupor. Her brother spoke to her, and inquired the cause of her uneasiness; but she made no reply. At length, recovering herself, she said, "Well then, I perceive that my subjects shall obey you, and not me, and will do what they please, and not what I command; and so must I be subject to them, and not they to me." "God forbid!" answered Knox, "that ever I take upon me to command any to obey me, or to get subjects at liberty to do whatever pleases them. But my travel is, that both princes and subjects may obey God. And think not, Madame, that wrong is done you, when you are required to be subject unto God; for it is he who subjects people under princes, and causes obedience to be given unto them. He craves of kings, that they be as foster-fathers to his church, and commands queens to be nurses to his people. And this subjection, Madam, unto God and his church, is the greatest dignity that flesh can get upon the face of the earth; for it shall raise them to everlasting glory."

"But you are not the church that I will nourish," said the queen: "I will defend the church of Rome; for it is, I think, the true church of God." "Your will, Madam, is no reason; neither doth your thought make the Roman harlot to be the true and immaculate spouse of Jesus Christ. Wonder not, Madam, that I call Rome an harlot; for that church is altogether polluted with all kinds of spiritual fornication, both in doctrine and manners." He added, that he was ready to prove that the Romish church had declined farther from the purity of religion taught by the apostles, than the Jewish church had degenerated from the ordinances which God gave them by Moses and Aaron, at the time when they denied and crucified the Son of God. "My conscience is not so," said the queen. "Conscience, Madam, requires knowledge; and I fear that right knowledge you have none." She said she had both heard and read. "So, Madam, did the Jews who crucified Christ; they read the law and the prophets, and heard them interpreted after their manner. Have you heard any teach but such as the pope and cardinals have allowed?—and you may be assured, that such will speak nothing to offend their own estate."

"You interpret the Scriptures in one way," said the queen, evasively, "and they in another: whom shall I believe, and who shall be judge?" "You shall believe God, who plainly speaketh in his word," replied the reformer, "and farther than the word teacheth you, you shall believe neither the one nor the other. The word of God is plain in itself; if there is any obscurity in one place, the Holy Ghost, who is never contrary to himself, explains it more clearly in other places, so that there can remain no doubt, but unto such as are obstinately ignorant." As an example, he selected one of the articles in controversy, that concerning the sacrament of the Supper, and proceeded to show, that the popish doctrine of the sacrifice of the Mass was destitute of all foundation in Scripture. But the queen, who was determined to avoid all discussion of the articles of her creed, interrupted him, by saying, that she was unable to contend with him in argument; but if she had those present whom she had heard, they would answer him. "Madam," replied the reformer, fervently, "would to God that the learnedest papist in Europe, and he whom you would best believe, were present with your Grace to sustain the argument, and that you would wait patiently to hear the matter reasoned to the end!—for then, I doubt not, Madam, but you would hear the vanity of the papistical religion, and how little ground it hath in the word of God." "Well," said she, "you may perchance get that sooner than you believe." "Assuredly, if ever I get that in my life, I get it sooner than I believe; for the ignorant papist cannot patiently reason, and the learned and crafty papist will never come in your audience, Madam to have the ground of their religion searched out. When you shall let me see the contrary, I shall grant myself to have been deceived in that point." The hour after dinner afforded an occasion for breaking off this singular conversation; and at taking leave of her majesty, the reformer said, "I pray God, Madam, that you may be as blessed within the commonwealth of Scotland, as ever Deborah was in the commonwealth of Israel."

The reformer was not ignorant that some of his friends thought him too severe in his language, but he was persuaded that the times required the utmost plainness; and he was afraid that snares lurked under the smoothness which was recommended and practised by courtiers. The abatement of zeal which he dreaded from "the holy water of the court," soon began to appear among the protestant leaders. The General Assemblies of the church were a great eyesore to the queen, who was very desirous to have them put down. At the first Assembly after her arrival, the courtiers, through her influence, absented themselves, and, when challenged for this, began to dispute the propriety of such conventions without her majesty's pleasure. On this point, there was sharp reasoning between Knox and Maitland, who was now made secretary of state. "Take from us the liberty of assemblies—and take from us the gospel," said the reformer. "If the liberty of the church must depend upon her allowance or disallowance, we shall want not only assemblies, but also the preaching of the gospel." He was still more indignant at their management in settling the provision for the ministers of the church. Hitherto they had lived mostly on the benevolence of their hearers, and many of them had scarcely the means of subsistence; but repeated complaints having obliged the privy council to take up the affair, they came at last to a determination, that the ecclesiastical revenues should be divided into three parts; that two of these should be given to the ejected popish clergy; and that the other part should be divided between the court and the protestant ministry! The persons appointed to modify the stipends were disposed to gratify the queen; and the sums allotted to the ministers were as ill paid as they were paltry and inadequate. "We all!" exclaimed Knox, when he heard of this disgraceful arrangement, "if the end of this ordour, pretendit to be takin for sustentatioun of the ministers, be happie, my judgment failes me. I sie twa pairtis freelie geven to the devill, and the thrid mon be devyded betwix God and the devill. Quho wald have thocht, that quhen Joseph reulled in Egypt, his brethren sould have travellit for victualles; and have returned with emptie sackes unto thair families? O happie servands of the devill, and miserabill servands of Jesus Christ, if efter this lyf thair wer not hell and heavin!"

He vented his mind more freely on this subject, as his complaints could not be imputed to personal motives; for his own stipend, though moderate, was liberal when compared with those of the most of his brethren. From the time of his last return to Scotland, until the conclusion of the war, he had been indebted to the liberality of individuals for the support of his family. After that period, he lodged for some time in the house of David Forrest, a burgess of Edinburgh, from which he removed to the lodging which had belonged to Durie, abbot of Dunfermline. As soon as he began to preach statedly in the city, the town council assigned him an annnal stipend of two hundred pounds, to be paid quarterly; besides discharging his house-rent, and re-imbursing some individuals the money which they had expended in maintaining his family. Subsequent to the settlement made by the privy council, it would seem that he received his stipend from the common fund, allotted to the ministers of the church; but the good town had still an opportunity of testifying their generosity, by supplying the deficiencies of the legal allowance. Indeed, the uniform attention of the town council to his external accommodation and comfort was honourable to them, and deserves to be recorded to their commendation.

In the beginning of the year 1562, he went to Angus to preside in the election and admission of John Erskine of Dun as superintendent of Angus and Mearns. That respectable baron was one of those whom the first general assembly declared "apt and able to minister;" and having already contributed in different ways to the advancement of the reformation, he now devoted himself to the service of the church, in a laborious employment, at a time when she stood eminently in need of the assistance of all the learned and pious. Knox had formerly presided at the installation of John Spottiswood, as superintendent of Lothian.

The influence of our reformer appears from his being employed on different occasions to compose variances of a civil nature, which arose among the protestants. He was applied to frequently, to intercede with the town council in behalf of some of the inhabitants, who had subjected themselves to punishment by their disorderly conduct. In March, this year, the earl of Bothwell urged him to assist in removing a deadly feud which subsisted between him and the earl of Arran. He was averse to interfere in this business, which had already baffled the authority of the privy council; but, at the desire of some friends, he yielded, and, after considerable pains, had the satisfaction of bringing the parties to an amicable interview, at which they mutually promised to bury all differences. But he was exceedingly mortified by the information which Arran, immediately on the back of this agreement, communicated to him, of a conspiracy which Bothwell had proposed to him, which produced the imprisonment of both; and, notwithstanding the lunacy of the informer, created great jealousies in the minds of the principal courtiers.

In the month of May, Knox had another interview with the queen, on the following occasion. The family of Guise were at this time making the most vigourous efforts to regain that influence in France which they had been deprived of since the death of Francis II.; and, as zeal for the catholic religion was the cloak by which they covered their ambitious designs, they began by stirring up persecution against the protestants. The massacre of Vassy, in the beginning of March, this year, was a prelude to this; in which the duke of Guise and cardinal of Lorraine attacked, with an armed force, a congregation assembled for worship, killed a number of them, and wounded and mutilated others, not excepting women and children. Intelligence of the success which attended the measures of her uncles was brought to queen Mary, who immediately after gave a splendid ball to her foreign servants, at which the dancing was prolonged to a late hour.

Knox was advertised of the festivities in the palace, and the occasion of them. He always felt a lively interest in the concerns of the French protestants, with many of whom he was intimately acquainted; and he entertained a very bad opinion of the princes of Lorraine. In his sermon on the following Sabbath, he introduced some severe strictures upon the vices to which princes were addicted, their oppression, ignorance hatred to virtue, attachment to bad company, and fondness for foolish pleasures. Information of this discourse was quickly conveyed to the queen, with many exaggerations; and the preacher was next day ordered to attend at the palace. Being conveyed into the royal chamber, where the queen sat with her maids of honour and principal counsellors, he was accused of having spoken of her majesty irreverently, and in such a manner as to bring her under the contempt and hatred of her subjects.

After the queen had made a long speech on that theme, he was allowed to state his defence. He told her majesty, that she had been treated as persons usually were who refused to attend the preaching of the word of God: she had been obliged to trust to the false reports of flatterers; for, if she had heard the calumniated discourse, he did not believe she could have been offended with anything that he had said. She would now, therefore, be pleased to hear him repeat, as exactly as he could, what he had preached yesterday. Having done this, he added, "If any man, Madam, will say, that I spake more, let him presently accuse me." Several of the company attested that he had given a just report of the sermon. The queen, after turning round to the informers, who were dumb, told him, that his words, though sharp enough as related by himself, were reported to her in a different way. She added, that she knew that her uncles and he were of a different religion, and therefore did not blame him for having no good opinion of them; but if he heard anything about her conduct which displeased him, he should come to herself, and she would be willing to hear him. Knox easily saw through the artifice of this fair proposal. He replied, that he was willing to do anything for her majesty's contentment, which was consistent with his office; if her Grace choosed to attend the public sermons, she would hear what pleased or displeased him in her and in others; or if she pleased to appoint a time when she would hear the substance of the doctrine which he preached in public, he would most gladly wait upon her Grace's pleasure, time, and place; but to come and wait at her chamber-door, and then to have liberty only to whisper in her ear what people thought and said of her, that would neither his conscience nor his office permit him to do. "For," he added, in a strain which he sometimes used even on serious occasions, "albeit at your Grace's commandment, I am heir now, yit can I not tell quhat uther men shall judge of me, that, at this tyme of day, am absent from my buke, and waiting upon the court." "Ye will not alwayes be at your buke," said the queen pettishly, and turned her back. As he left the room "with a reasonable merry countenance," some of the popish attendants said in his hearing, "he is not afraid!" "Why sould the plesing face of a gentilwoman affray me?" said he, regarding them with a sarcastic scowl, "I have luiked in the faces of mony angry men, and yet have not bene affrayed above measour."

There was at this time but one place of worship in the city of Edinburgh. The number of inhabitants was indeed small, when compared with its present population; but still they must have formed a very large congregation. The place used for worship in St. Giles' church was capacious: on some occasions, three thousand persons assembled in it to hear sermon. In this church, Knox had, since 1560, performed all the parts of ministerial duty, without any other assistant but John Cairns, who acted as reader. He preached twice every Sabbath, and thrice on other days of the week. He met regularly once every week with the session of the parish, for discipline; and with the assembly of the neighbourhood, for the exercise on the scriptures. He attended, besides, the meetings of the provincial synod, and general assembly; and at almost every meeting of the last-mentioned court, he received an appointment to visit and preach in some distant part of the country. These labours must have been oppressive to a constitution which was already impaired; especially as he did not indulge in extemporaneous effusions, but devoted a part of every day to study. His parish were sensible of this; and, in April, 1562, the town council came to an unanimous resolution to solicit John Craig, the minister of Canongate, or Holyroodhouse, to undertake the half of the charge. The ensuing general assembly approved of the council's proposal, and appointed Craig to remove to Edinburgh. His translation did not, however, take place before June, 1563, owing, as it would seem, to the difficulty of obtaining an additional stipend.

During the autumn of 1562, the Roman catholics entertained great hopes of a change in their favour. After several unsuccessful attempts to cut off the principal protestant courtiers, the earl of Huntly openly took arms in the north, to rescue the queen from their hands; while the archbishop of St. Andrew's endeavoured to unite and rouse the papists of the south. On this occasion, our reformer acted with his usual zeal and foresight. Being appointed by the general assembly as commissioner to visit the churches of the west, he persuaded the gentlemen of that quarter to enter into a new bond of defence. Hastening into Galloway and Nithsdale, he by his sermons and conversation, confirmed the protestants of these places. He employed the master of Maxwell to write to the earl of Bothwell, who had escaped from confinement, and meant, it was feared, to join Huntly. He himself wrote to the duke of Chatelherault, warning him not to listen to the solicitations of his brother, the archbishop, nor accede to a conspiracy which would infallibly prove the ruin of his house. By these means, the southern parts of the kingdom were preserved in a state of peace, while the vigourous measures of the council crushed the rebellion in the north. The queen expressed little satisfaction at the victory, and there is every reason to think, that if she was not privy to the rising of Huntly, she expected to turn it to the advancement of her projects. She scrupled not to say, at this time, that she "hoped, before a year was expired, to have the mass and catholic profession restored through the whole kingdom."

While these hopes were indulged, the popish clergy thought it necessary to gain credit to their cause, by appearing more openly in defence of their tenets than they had lately done. They began to preach publicly, and boasted that they were ready to dispute with the protestant ministers. The person who stepped forward as their champion was Quintin Kennedy, uncle of the earl of Cassilis, and abbot of Crossraguel. The abbot appears to have spent the greater part of his life in the same negligence of the duties of his office with the rest of his brethren; but he was roused from his inactivity by the success of the protestant preachers, who, in the years 1556 and 1557, attacked the popish faith, and inveighed against the idleness and corruption of the clergy. At an age when others retire from the field, he began to rub up his long-neglected theological weapons, and to gird on his armour.

His first appearance was in 1558, when he published a short system of catholic tactics, under the title of Ane Compendious Tractive, showing "the nearest and onlie way" to establish the conscience of a Christian man, in all matters which were in debate concerning faith and religion. This way was no other than that of implicit faith in the decisions of the church or clergy. The Scripture was only a witness; the church was the judge, in every controversy, whose determinations, in general councils canonically assembled, were to be humbly received and submitted to by all the faithful. This was no doubt the most compendious and nearest way of establishing the conscience of every Christian man, and deciding every controversy which might arise, without examination, reasoning, and debate.

But as the stubborn reformers would not submit to this easy and short mode of decision, the abbot was reluctantly obliged to enter the lists of argument with them. Accordingly, when Willock preached in his neighbourhood, in the beginning of 1559, he challenged him to a dispute on the sacrifice of the mass. The challenge was accepted—the time and place were fixed; but the abbot refused to appear, unless his antagonist would previously engage to submit to the interpretations of Scripture which had been given by the ancient doctors of the church. From this time he seems to have made the mass the great subject of his study, and endeavoured to qualify himself for defending this keystone of the popish arch.

George Hay having been sent by the general assembly to preach in Carrick and Cunningham, during the autumn of 1562, Kennedy offered to dispute with him; but no meeting took place between them. On the 30th of August, the abbot read in his chapel of Kirk Oswald, a number of articles respecting the mass, purgatory, praying to saints, the use of images, &c., which he said he would defend against any who should impugn them, and promised to declare his mind more fully respecting them on the following Sunday. Knox, who was in the vicinity, came to Kirk Oswald on that day, with the design of hearing the abbot, and granting him the disputation which he had courted. The abbot not making his appearance, he himself preached in the chapel. When he came down from the pulpit, there was a letter from Kennedy put into his hand, stating that he understood he had come to that country to seek disputation, and offering to meet with him on the following Sunday in any house in May bole, provided there were not more than twenty persons on each side admitted. Knox replied, that he had come, not purposely to dispute, but to preach the gospel; he was, however, willing to meet with him; he was under a previous engagement to be in Dumfries on the day mentioned by the abbot; but if he sent him his articles, he would, with all convenient speed, return and fix a time.

A correspondence was carried on between them on this subject, which is fully as curious as the dispute which ensued. Knox wished that his reasoning should be as public as the abbot had made his articles, and proposed that it should take place in St. John's church in Ayr; but the abbot refused to dispute publicly. The earl of Cassilis wrote to Knox, expressing his disapprobation of the proposed disputation, as unlikely to do any good, and calculated to endanger the public peace; to which the reformer replied, by signifying, that his relation had given the challenge, which he was resolved not to decline, and that his lordship ought to encourage him to keep the appointment, from which no bad effects were to be dreaded. Upon this, the abbot, feeling his honour touched, wrote a letter to the reformer, in which he told him that he would have "rencountered" him the last time he was in the country, had it not been for the interposition of the earl of Cassilis, and charged him with stirring up his nephew to write that letter, in order to bring him into disgrace. "Ye sal be assured," says he, "I sal keip day and place in Mayboill, according to my writing, and I haif my life, and my feit louse;" and in another letter to Knox, and the bailies of Ayr, he says, "keip your promes, and pretex na joukrie, be my lorde of Cassilis writing." The abbot being in this state of mind, the conditions of the combat were speedily settled. They agreed to meet on the 18th of September, at eight o'clock, ante meridiem, in the house of the provost of Maybole. Forty persons on each side were to be admitted as witnesses of the dispute, with "as many mo as the house might goodly hold, at the sight of my lord of Cassilis." And notaries or scribes were appointed to record the papers which might be given in by the parties, and the arguments which they advanced in the course of reasoning, to prevent unnecessary repetition, or a false report of the proceedings. These conditions were formally subscribed by the abbot and the reformer, on the day preceding the meeting.

They met and disputed for three days. On the third, Knox proposed that they should adjourn to Ayr, and finish the dispute, which was refused by the abbot, who said he would come to Edinburgh for that purpose, provided he could obtain the queen's permission. Upon this the company dismissed.

In the beginning of 1563, Knox went to Jedburgh, by appointment of the general assembly, to investigate a scandal which had broken out against Paul Methven, the minister of that place, who was suspected of adultery. The accused was found guilty, and excommunicated. He fled to England; but having afterwards returned and offered to submit to the discipline of the church, a severe and humiliating course of public repentance was prescribed to him. He went through a part of it, with professions of deep sorrow; but overwhelmed with shame, or despairing to regain his lost reputation, he stopped in the midst of it, and again retired to England.

In the month of May, the queen sent for Knox to Lochleven. The popish priests, presuming upon her avowed partiality to them, and secret promises of protection, had of late become more bold, and during the late Easter, masses had been openly celebrated in the different parts of the kingdom. The queen in council had issued various proclamations against this; but as the execution had hitherto been left to her, nothing had followed upon them. The protestants of the west, who were the most zealous, perceiving that the laws were eluded, resolved to execute them, without making any application to the court, and apprehended some of the offenders by way of example. These decided proceedings highly offended the queen, as they were calculated to defeat the scheme of policy which she had formed; but finding that the signification of her displeasure had not the effect of stopping them, she wished to avail herself of the reformer's influence for accomplishing her purpose.

She dealt with him very earnestly, for two hours before supper, to persuade the western gentlemen to desist from all interruption of the catholic worship. He told her majesty, that if she would exercise her authority in executing the laws of the land, he could promise for the peaceable behaviour of the protestants; but if her majesty thought to elude them, he feared there were some who would let the papists understand that they should not offend with impunity. "Will ye allow that they shall take my sword in their hands?" said the queen. "The sword of justice is God's," replied the reformer with equal firmness, "and is given to princes and rulers for one end, which if they transgress, sparing the wicked and oppressing the innocent; they who, in the fear of God, execute judgment where God has commanded, offend not God, although kings do it not." He added, that the gentlemen of the west were acting strictly according to law; for the act of parliament gave power to all judges within their bounds, to search for and punish those who should transgress its enactments. He concluded with advising her majesty to consider the terms of the mutual contract between her and her subjects, and that she could not expect to receive obedience from them, if she did not grant unto them protection, and the execution of justice. The queen broke off the conversation with evident marks of displeasure.

Having communicated what had passed between them to the Earl of Moray, (which was the title now conferred on the prior of St. Andrew's,) Knox meant to return to Edinburgh next day, without waiting for any further communication with the queen. But a message was delivered him early in the morning, desiring him not to depart until he had again spoken to her majesty. He accordingly met with her west from Kinross, where she took the amusement of hawking. This interview was very different from that of the preceding evening. Waiving entirely the subject on which they had differed, she introduced a variety of topics, upon which she conversed with the greatest familiarity and apparent confidence. Lord Ruthven, she said, had offered her a ring; but she could not love him. She knew that he used enchantment; and yet he was made one of her privy council. Lethington, she said, was the sole cause of that appointment. "I understand," said she, introducing another subject of discourse, "that ye are appointed to go to Dumfries, for the election of a superintendent to be established in these countries." He answered in the affirmative. "But I understand the bishop of Athens would be superintendent." "He is one, Madam, that is put in election." "If you knew him as well as I do, you would not promote him to that office, nor yet to any other within your kirk." Knox said that he deceived many more than him, if he did not fear God. "Well, do as you will; but that man is a dangerous man."

When Knox was about to take his leave of her majesty, she pressed him to stay. "I have one of the greatest matters that have touched me since I came into this realm to open to you, and I must have your help in it," said she, with an air of condescension and confidence as enchanting as if she had put a ring on his finger. She then entered into a long discourse concerning a domestic difference between the earl of Argyle and his lady. Her ladyship had not, she said, been so circumspect in everything as she could have wished, but still she was of opinion that his lordship had not treated her in an honest and godly manner. Knox said that he was not unacquainted with the disagreeable variance which had subsisted between that honourable couple; and, before her majesty's arrival in this country, he had effected a reconciliation. On that occasion, the countess had promised not to complain to any creature before acquainting him; and as he had never heard from her, he concluded that there was nothing but concord. "Well," said the queen, "it is worse than ye believe. But do this much, for my sake, as once again to put them at unity, and if she behave not herself as she ought to do, she shall find no favour of me; but in anywise let not my lord know that I have requested you in this matter." Then introducing the subject of their reasoning on the preceding evening, she said, "I promise to do as ye required. I shall cause summon all offenders; and ye shall know that I shall minister justice." "I am assured then," said he, "that ye shall please God, and enjoy rest and tranquillity within your realm, which to your majesty is more profitable than all the pope's power can be." Upon this he took his leave of the queen.

On the 19th of May, in order to allay the general discontent, the archbishop of St. Andrew's and a number of the principal papists were arraigned by the queen's orders, before the lord justice-general, for transgressing the laws; but having come in her majesty's will, were only committed to ward. This, however, was merely a stroke of policy, to enable her more easily to carry her measures in the parliament which met on the following day. This was the first parliament since the queen's arrival in Scotland; and it was very natural to expect that they would proceed to ratify the treaty of peace made in July, 1560, and the establishment of the protestant religion. But so well had she laid her plans, such was the effect of her insinuating address, and, above all, so powerful was the temptation of self interest on the minds of the protestant leaders, that, by general consent, they passed from this demand, and lost the only favourable opportunity, during the reign of Mary, for giving a legal security to the reformed religion, and thereby removing one principal source of jealousies. An act of oblivion, securing indemnity to those who had been engaged in the late civil war, was indeed passed; but the mode of its enactment virtually implied the invalidity of the treaty in which it had been originally imbodied; and the protestants, on their bended knees, supplicated as a boon from their sovereign, what they had formerly won with their swords, and repeatedly demanded as their right.

Knox was deeply affected with this selfishness and servility of the protestant leaders, and so hot was the altercation between the earl of Moray and him on that subject, that an open rupture ensued. He had long looked upon that nobleman as one of the most steady and sincere adherents to the reformed cause; and therefore felt the greater disappointment at his conduct. Under his first irritation, he wrote a letter to the earl, in which, after reminding him of his condition at the time when they first became acquainted in London, and the honours to which Providence had now raised him, he solemnly renounced friendship with him as one who preferred his own interest and the pleasure of his sister to the advancement of religion, left him to the guidance of the new counsellors which he had chosen, and exonerated him from all future concern in his affairs. This variance, which continued nearly two years, was very gratifying to the queen and others, who disliked their former familiarity, and failed not, as Knox informs us, to "cast oil into the flame, until God did quench it by the water of affliction."

Before the dissolution of the parliament, the reformer embraced an opportunity of disburdening his mind in the presence of the greater part of the members assembled in his church. After discoursing of the great mercy of God shown to Scotland, in marvellously delivering them from bondage of soul and body, and of the deep ingratitude which he perceived in all ranks of persons, he addressed himself particularly to the nobility. He praised God that he had an opportunity of pouring out the sorrows of his heart in their presence, who could attest the truth of all he had spoken. He appealed to their consciences if he had not, in their greatest extremities, exhorted them to depend upon God, and assured them of preservation and victory, if they preferred his glory to their own lives and secular interests. "I have been with you in your most desperate temptations," continued he, in a strain of impassioned eloquence: "in your most extreme dangers I have been with you. St. Johnston, Cupar-moor, and the Crags of Edinburgh, are yet recent in my heart; yea, that dark and dolorous night wherein all ye, my lords, with shame and fear, left this town, is yet in my mind, and God forbid that ever I forget it! What was, I say, my exhortation to you, and what has fallen in vain of all that ever God promised unto you by my mouth, ye yourselves yet live to testify. There is not one of you against whom was death and destruction threatened perished; and how many of your enemies has God plagued before your eyes? Shall this be the thankfulness that ye shall render unto your God? To betray his cause, when ye have it in your hands to establish it as you please?" He saw nothing, he said, "but a cowardly desertion of Christ's standard. Some had even the effrontery to say that they had neither law nor parliament for their religion. They had the authority of God for their religion, the truth of which was independent of human laws; but it was also accepted within this realm in public parliament; and that parliament he would maintain to have been as lawful as any ever held in the kingdom."

In the conclusion of his discourse, he adverted to the reports of her majesty's marriage, and the princes who courted this alliance; and, desiring the audience to mark his words, predicted the consequences which were to be dreaded, if ever the nobility consented that their sovereign should marry a papist.

Protestants as well as papists were offended with the freedom of this sermon, and some who had been most familiar with the preacher now shunned his company. Flatterers were not wanting to run to the queen, and inform her that John Knox had preached against her marriage. After surmounting the opposition to her measures, and managing so successfully the haughty and independent barons of her kingdom, Mary was incensed that there should yet be one man of obscure condition, who ventured to condemn her proceedings; and as she could not tame his stubbornness, she determined to punish his temerity. Knox was ordered instantly to appear before her. Lord Ochiltree, with several other gentlemen, accompanied him to the palace; but the superintendent of Angus alone was allowed to go with him into the royal presence.

Her majesty received him in a very different manner from what she had done at Lochleven. Never had prince been handled, she passionately exclaimed, as she was: she had borne with him in all his rigourous speeches against herself and her uncles; she had sought his favour by all means; she had offered unto him audience whenever he pleased to admonish her. "And yet," said she, "I cannot be quit of you. I vow to God I shall be once revenged."—On pronouncing these words with great violence, she burst into a flood of tears which interrupted her speech. When the queen had composed herself, he proceeded calmly to make his defence. Her Grace and he had, he said, at different times been engaged in controversy, and he never before perceived her offended with him. When it should please God to deliver her from the bondage of error in which she had been trained through want of instruction in the truth, he trusted that her majesty would not find the liberty of his tongue offensive. Out of the pulpit he thought few had occasion to be offended with him; but there he was not master of himself, but bound to obey him who commanded him to speak plainly, and to flatter no flesh on the face of the earth.

"But what have you to do with my marriage?" said the queen. He was proceeding to state the extent of his commission as a preacher, and the reasons which led him to touch on that delicate subject; but she interrupted him by repeating her question: "What have ye to do with my marriage? Or what are you in this commonwealth?"—"A subject born within the same, Madam," replied the reformer, piqued by the last question, and the contemptuous tone in which it was proposed. "And albeit I be neither earl, lord, nor baron in it, yet has God made me (how abject that ever I be in your eyes) a profitable member within the same. Yea, Madam, to me it appertains no less to forewarn of such things as may hurt it, if I foresee them, than it doth to any of the nobility; for both my vocation and conscience require plainness of me. And therefore, Madam, to yourself I say that which I spake in public place: 'Whensoever the nobility of this realm shall consent that ye be subject to an unfaithful husband, they do as much as in them lieth to renounce Christ, to banish his truth from them, to betray the freedom of this realm, and perchance shall in the end do small comfort to yourself." At these words, the queen began to weep and sob with great bitterness. The superintendent, who was a man of mild and gentle spirit, tried to mitigate her grief and resentment; he praised her beauty and her accomplishments; and told her, that there was not a prince in Europe who would not reckon himself happy in gaining her hand. During this scene, the severe and inflexible mind of the reformer displayed itself. He continued silent, and with unaltered countenance, until the queen had given vent to her feelings. He then protested, that he never took delight in the distress of any creature; it was with great difficulty that he could see his own boys weep when he corrected them for their faults, far less could be rejoice in her majesty's tears: but seeing he had given her no just reason of offence, and had only discharged his duty, he was constrained, though unwillingly, to sustain her tears, rather than hurt his conscience, and betray the commonwealth through his silence.

This apology inflamed the queen still more; she ordered him immediately to leave her presence, and wait the signification of her pleasure in the adjoining room. There he stood as "one whom men had never seen;" all his friends (lord Ochiltree excepted), being afraid to show him the smallest countenance. In this situation he addressed himself to the court-ladies, who sat in their richest dress in the chamber. "O fair ladies, how plesing war this lyfe of yours, if it sould ever abyde, and then, in the end, that we might pas to hevin with all this gay gear!" Having engaged them in a conversation, he passed the time till Erskine came and informed him, that he was allowed to go home until her majesty had taken further advice. The queen insisted to have the judgment of the lords of articles, whether the words he had used in the pulpit were not actionable: but she was persuaded to desist from a prosecution. "And so that storme quietit in appearance, bot nevir in the hart."

During the queen's residence at Stirling, in the month of August, the domestics, whom she had left behind her in Holyroodhouse, celebrated the popish worship with greater publicity than had been usual when she herself was present; and at the time when the sacrament of the Supper was dispensed in Edinburgh, they revived certain superstitious practices which had been laid aside by the Roman catholics since the establishment of the reformation. This boldness offended the protestants, and some of them went down to the palace to mark the inhabitants who repaired to the service. Perceiving numbers entering, they burst into the chapel; and presenting themselves at the altar, which was prepared for mass, asked the priest, how he durst be so malapert as to proceed in that manner, when the queen was absent. Alarmed at this intrusion, the mistress of the household despatched a messenger to the comptroller, who was attending sermon in St. Giles's church, desiring him to come instantly to save her life and the palace. Having hurried down, accompanied with the magistrates, and a guard, the comptroller found everything quiet, and no appearance of tumult, except what was occasioned by the company which he brought along with him. When the report of this affair was conveyed to the queen, she declared her resolution not to return to Edinburgh unless this riot was punished, and indicted two of the protestants, who had been most active, to stand trial "for forethought felony, hamesuckin, and invasion of the palace." Fearing that she intended to proceed to extremities against these men, and that their condemnation was a preparative to some hostile attempts against their religion, the protestants in Edinburgh resolved that Knox, agreeably to a commission, should write a circular letter to the principal gentlemen of their persuasion, informing them of the circumstances, and requesting their presence on the day of trial. He wrote the letter according to their request. A copy of it having come into the hands of Sinclair, bishop of Ross, and president of the court of session, who was a great personal enemy to Knox, he conveyed it immediately to the queen at Stirling. She communicated it to the privy council, who, to her great satisfaction, pronounced it treasonable; but to give the greater solemnity to the proceedings, it was resolved that an extraordinary convention of the counsellors and other noblemen should be called to meet at Edinburgh, in the end of December, to try the cause. The reformer was summoned to appear before this convention.

On the day appointed for the trial, the public anxiety was greatly raised, and the palace-yard, with all the avenues, was crowded with people, who waited to learn the result. The pannel was conducted to the chamber in which the lords were already assembled, and engaged in consultation. When the queen had taken her seat, and perceived Knox standing uncovered at the foot at the table, she burst into a loud fit of laughter. "That man," she said, "had made her weep, and shed never a tear himself; she would now see if she could make him weep." The secretary opened the proceedings, by stating in a speech addressed to the reformer, the reasons why the queen had convened him before her nobility. "Let him acknowledge his own handwriting," said the queen, "and then we shall judge of the contents of the letter." A copy of the circular letter being handed to him, he looked at the subscription, and said that it was his; and though he had subscribed a number of blanks, he had such confidence in the fidelity of the scribe, that he was ready to acknowledge both the subscription and the contents. "You have done more than I would have done," said Maitland. "Charity is not suspicious," replied the other. "Well, well," said the queen, "read your own letter, and then answer to such things as shall be demanded of you." "I will do the best I can," said he; and having read the letter with an audible voice, returned it to the queen's advocate, who was commanded to accuse him.

"Heard you ever, my lords, a more despiteful and treasonable letter?" said the queen, looking round the table. "Mr. Knox, are you not sorry from your heart, and do you not repent that such a letter has passed your pen, and from you has come to the knowledge of others?" said Maitland. "My lord secretary, before I repent, I must be taught my offence."—"Offence! if there were no more but the convocation of the queen's lieges, the offence cannot be denied."—"Remember yourself, my lord, there is a difference between a lawful convocation and an unlawful. If I have been guilty in this, I offended oft since I came last into Scotland, for what convocation of the brethren has ever been to this hour, unto which my pen served not?"—"Then was then, and now is now," said the secretary; "we have no need of such convocations as sometimes we have had."—"The time that has been is even now before my eyes," rejoined the reformer; "for I see the poor flock in no less danger than it has been at any time before, except that the devil has got a vizor upon his face. Before, he came in with his own face, discovered by open tyranny, seeking the destruction of all that refused idolatry; and then, I think, you will confess the brethren lawfully assembled themselves for defence of their lives; and now, the devil comes under the cloak of justice, to do that which God would not suffer him to do by strength"—

"What is this?" interrupted her majesty, who was offended that the pannel should be allowed such liberty of speech, and thought that she could bring him more closely to the question. "What is this? Methinks you trifle with him. Who gave him authority to make convocation of my lieges? Is not that treason?" "No, Madam," replied Lord Ruthven, displeased at the active keenness which the queen showed in the cause; "for he makes convocation of the people to hear prayer and sermon almost daily; and whatever your Grace or others will think thereof, we think it no treason."—"Hold your peace," said the queen; "and let him make answer for himself."—"I began, Madam," resumed Knox, "to reason with the secretary (whom I take to be a better dialectician than your Grace) that all convocations are not unlawful; and now my lord Ruthven has given the instance."—"I will say nothing against your religion, nor against your convening to your sermons; but what authority have you to convocate my subjects when you will, without my commandment?" He answered, that at his own will he had never convened four persons in Scotland; but at the orders of his brethren he had given many advertisements, and great multitudes had assembled; and if her Grace complained that this had been done without her command, he would answer, so was all that had been done as to the reformation of religion in this kingdom. He must, therefore, be convicted by a just law, before he would profess sorrow for what he had done. He thought he had done no wrong.

"You shall not escape so," said the queen. "Is it not treason, my lords, to accuse a prince of cruelty? I think there be acts of parliament against such whisperers." Several of their lordships said that there were such laws. "But wherein can I be accused of this?"—"Read this part of your own bill," said the queen, who showed herself an acute prosecutor. She then caused the following sentence to be read from his letter.—"This fearful summons is directed against them [the two persons who were indicted] to make no doubt a preparative on a few, that a door may be opened to execute cruelty upon a greater multitude."—"Lo!" exclaimed the queen exultingly; "what say you to that?"—The eyes of the assembly were fixed on the pannel, anxious to know what answer he would make to this charge.

"Is it lawful for me, Madam, to answer for myself? or, shall I be condemned unheard?"—"Say what you can: for I think you have enough to do."—I will first then desire of your Grace, Madam, and of this most honourable audience, Whether your Grace knows not, that the obstinate papists are deadly enemies to all such as profess the gospel of Jesus Christ, and that they most earnestly desire the extermination of them, and of the true doctrine that is taught within this realm?" The queen was silent: but the lords, with one voice, exclaimed, "God forbid, that ever the lives of the faithful, or yet the staying of the doctrine, stood in the power of the papists! for just experience has taught us what cruelty lies in their hearts." "I must proceed, then," said the reformer. "Seeing that I perceive that all will grant, that it were a barbarous thing to destroy such a multitude as profess the gospel of Christ within this realm, which oftener than once or twice they have attempted to do by force—they, by God and by his providence being disappointed, have invented more crafty and dangerous practices; to wit, to make the prince a party under colour of law; and so what they could not do by open force, they shall perform by crafty deceit. For who thinks, my lords, that the insatiable cruelty of the papists (within this realm I mean,) shall end in the murdering of these two brethren, now unjustly summoned, and more unjustly to be accused?—And therefore, Madam, cast up, when you list, the acts of your parliament; I have offended nothing against them; for I accuse not, in my letter, your Grace, nor yet your nature, of cruelty. But I affirm yet again, that the pestilent papists, who have inflamed your Grace against these poor men at this present, are the sons of the devil, and therefore must obey the desires of their father, who has been a liar and manslayer from the beginning."—"You forget yourself! you are not now in the pulpit," said one of the lords. "I am in the place where I am demanded of conscience to speak the truth; and therefore the truth I speak, impugn it whoso list." He added, again addressing the queen, that persons who appeared to be of honest, gentle, and meek natures, had often been corrupted by wicked counsel; that the papists who had her ear were dangerous counsellors, and such her mother had found them to be.

Mary perceiving that nothing was to be gained by reasoning, began to upbraid him with his harsh behaviour to her, at their last interview. He spake "fair enough" at present before the lords, she said, but on that occasion he caused her to shed many salt tears, and said, "he set not by her weeping." This drew from him a vindication of his conduct, in which he gave a narration of that conference. After this, the secretary having spoken with the queen, told Knox that he was at liberty to return home for that night. "I thank God and the queen's majesty," said he.

When Knox had withdrawn, the judgment of the nobility was taken respecting his conduct. All of them, with the exception of the immediate dependents of the court, voted, that he was not guilty of any breach of the laws. The secretary, who had assured the queen, of his condemnation, was enraged at this decision. He brought her majesty, who had retired before the vote, again into the room, and proceeded to call the votes a second time in her presence. This attempt to overawe them incensed the nobility. "What!" said they, "shall the laird of Lethington have power to control us? or shall the presence of a woman cause us to offend God, and to condemn an innocent man, against our consciences?" With this they repeated their votes, absolving him from all offence, and praising his modest appearance and judicious defences.

Mary was unable to conceal her mortification and displeasure, at this unexpected acquittal. When the bishop of Ross, who had been the informer, gave his vote on the same side with the rest, she taunted him openly in the presence of the court. "Trouble not the child! I pray you trouble him not! for he is newly awakened out of his sleep. Why should not the old fool follow the footsteps of those that passed before him?" The bishop replied coldly, that her majesty might easily know, that his vote was not influenced by partiality to the accused. "That nicht was nyther dancing nor fiddleing in the court; the madam was disappoynted of hir purpose, quhilk was to have had Johne Knox in hir will, be vote of hir nobility."

The indignation of the queen at the reformer's escape from punishment did not soon abate, and the effects of it fell both upon the courtiers who had voted for his exculpation, and upon those who had opposed it. The earl of Moray was among the former; Maitland among the latter. In order to appease her, they again attempted to persuade him to condescend to some voluntary submission to her; and they engaged that all the punishment which should be inflicted on him would merely be to go within the walls of the castle, and return again to his own house. But he refused to make any such compliances, by which he would throw discredit on the judgment of the nobility who had acquitted him, and confess himself to have been a mover of sedition. Disappointed in this, they endeavoured to injure him by whispers and detraction, circulating that he had no authority from his brethren for what he had done; and that he arrogated a papal and arbitrary power over the Scottish church, issuing his letters, and exacting obedience to them. These charges were very groundless and injurious; for there never was perhaps any one who had as much influence, that was so careful in avoiding all appearance of assuming superiority over his brethren, or acting by his own authority, in matters of public and common concern.

In the general assembly which met in the close of this year, he declined taking any share in the debates. When their principal business was settled, he requested liberty to speak on an affair which concerned himself. He stated what he had done in writing the late circular letter, the proceedings to which it had given rise, and the surmises which were still circulated to his prejudice; and insisted that the church should now examine his conduct in that matter, and particularly that they should declare whether or not they had given him a commission to advertise the brethren, when he foresaw any danger threatening their religion, or any difficult case which required their advice. The courtiers strenuously opposed the decision of this question; but it was taken up, and the assembly, by a great majority, found that he had been burthened with such a commission, and in the advertisement which he had lately given, had not gone beyond the bounds of his commission.

Knox had remained a widower upwards of three years. But in March, 1564, he contracted a second marriage with Margaret Stewart, daughter of Lord Ochiltree, a nobleman of amiable disposition, who had been long familiar with our reformer, and steadily adhered to him when he was deserted by his other friends. She continued to discharge the duties of a wife to him, with pious and affectionate assiduity, until the time of his death. The popish writers, who envied the honours of the Scottish reformer, have represented this marriage as a proof of his great ambition; and, in the excess of their spleen, have ridiculously imputed to him the project of aiming to raise his progeny to the throne of Scotland; because the family of Ochiltree were of the blood royal! They are quite clear, too, that he gained the heart of the young lady by means of sorcery, and the assistance of the devil. But it seems, that powerful as his black-footed second was, he could not succeed in another attempt which he had previously made; for the same writers inform us, that he had paid his addresses to the lady Fleming, eldest daughter to the duke of Chatelherault, and was repulsed.

In the month of August, Knox went, by appointment of the general assembly, as visitor of the churches in Aberdeen and the north, where he remained six or seven weeks. The subsequent assembly gave him a similar appointment to Fife and Perthshire.

Our reformer's predictions at the last meeting of parliament were now fully realised. Another parliament was held in the end of 1564; but nothing was done for securing the protestant religion. The queen's marriage approached, and the lords demanded this as the condition of their consent; but she artfully evaded the demand, and accomplished her object. While she was arranging her plans for the marriage, she sent for the superintendents of Lothian, Glasgow, and Fife (for Knox was now inadmissible to her presence), and amused them with fair words. She was not yet persuaded, she said, of the truth of their religion; but she was willing to hear conference and reasoning on the subject; she was even content to attend the public sermons of some of them; and, "above all others, she would gladly hear the superintendent of Angus, for he was a mild and sweet-natured man, with true honesty and uprightness, Sir John Erskine of Dun." But as soon as her marriage with lord Darnley was over, she told them in very plain and determined language, "her majesty neither will, nor may leave the religion wherein she has been nourished, and brought up." And there was no more word of hearing either sermon or conference.

The friendship between the earl of Moray and the reformer was renewed in the beginning of 1565. The latter was placed in a very delicate predicament, by the insurrection under Moray, and the other lords who opposed the queen's marriage. His father-in-law was one of the number. They professed that the security of the protestant religion was the principal ground of their taking arms; and they came to Edinburgh to collect men to their standard. But whatever favour he might have for them, he kept himself clear from any engagement. If he had taken part in this unsuccessful revolt, we need not doubt that her majesty would have embraced the opportunity of punishing him for it, when his principal friends had fled the kingdom.

We find, in fact, that she immediately proceeded against him on a different but far more slender pretext. The young king, who could be either papist or protestant as it suited, went sometimes to mass with the queen, and sometimes attended the reformed sermons. To silence the suspicions of his alienation from the reformed religion, circulated by the insurgent lords, he, on the 19th of August, made a solemn appearance in St. Giles's church, sitting on a throne, which had been prepared for his reception. Knox preached that day on Isaiah 26:13, &c., and happened to prolong the service beyond his usual time. In one part of the sermon, he quoted these words of Scripture: "I will give children to be their princes, and babes shall rule over them; children are their oppressors, and women rule over them;" and in another part of it, he mentioned that God punished Ahab, because he did not correct his idolatrous wife Jezebel. Though no particular application was made by the preacher, the king applied these passages to himself and the queen, and returning to the palace in great wrath, refused to taste dinner. The papists, who had accompanied him to the church, inflamed his resentment and that of the queen, by their representations.

That very afternoon Knox was taken from bed, and carried before the privy council. Some respectable inhabitants of the city, understanding his situation, accompanied him to the palace. He was told that he had offended the king, and must desist from preaching as long as their majesties were in Edinburgh. He replied, that "he had spoken nothing but according to his text; and if the church would command him to speak or abstain, he would obey, so far as the word of God would permit him." Spottiswood says, that he not only stood to what he had said in the pulpit, but added, "That as the king, for" the queen's "pleasure, had gone to mass, and dishonoured the Lord God, so should he in his justice, make her the instrument of his overthrow. This speech," continues the archbishop's manuscript, "esteemed too bold at the time, came afterwards to be remembered, and was reckoned among other his prophetical sayings, which certainly were marvellous. The queen, enraged at this answer, burst forth into tears."

The report of the inhibition laid upon the reformer, created great agitation in the city. His colleague, who was appointed to supply his place during the suspension, threatened to desist entirely from preaching. The town council met, and appointed a deputation to wait on their majesties, and request the removal of the inhibition; and in a second meeting, on the same day, they came to an unanimous resolution, that they would "in no manner of way consent or grant that his mouth be closed," but that he should be desired, "at his pleasure, and as God should move his heart, to proceed forward to true doctrine as before, which doctrine they would approve and abide at to their life's end."

It does not appear that he continued any time suspended from preaching. For the king and queen left Edinburgh before the next Sabbath, and the prohibition extended only to the time of their residence in the city. Upon their return, it is probable that the court judged it unadvisable to enforce an order which had already created much discontent, and might alienate the minds of the people still farther from the present administration. Accordingly, we find him exercising his ministry in Edinburgh with the same boldness as formerly. Complaints were made to the council of the manner in which he prayed for the exiled noblemen; but secretary Maitland, who had formerly found so much fault with his prayers, defended them on the present occasion, saying that he had heard them, and they were such as nobody could blame.

Christopher Goodman had officiated with much acceptance as minister of St. Andrew's, since the year 1560; but he was prevailed on, by the solicitations of his friends in England, to return, about this time, to his native country. The commissioners from St. Andrew's were instructed to petition the general assembly, which met in December this year, that Knox should be translated from Edinburgh to their city. They claimed a right to him, as he had commenced his ministry among them; and they might think that the dissensions between the court and him would induce him to prefer a more retired situation. But the petition was refused.

This assembly imposed on him several important services. He was commissioned to visit the churches in the south of Scotland, and appointed to write "a comfortable letter," exhorting the ministers, exhorters, and readers, throughout the kingdom, to persevere in the discharge of their functions, which many of them were threatening to throw up, on account of the non-payment of their stipends, and exciting the people among whom they laboured to relieve their necessities. He had formerly received an appointment to draw up the Form of Excommunication and Public Repentance. At this time he was required to compose a Treatise of Fasting. The assembly, having taken into consideration the troubles of the country, and the dangers which threatened the whole protestant interest, appointed a general fast to be kept through the kingdom. The form and order to be observed on that occasion they left to be drawn out by Knox and his colleague. As nothing had been hitherto published expressly on this subject, they were authorized to explain the duty, as well as state the reasons which at this time called for that solemn exercise. The whole was appointed to be ready before the time of the fast, to serve as a directory to ministers and people.

When the queen came to Edinburgh, Knox left it, and retired to Kyle. There is no reason to think that he was privy to the conspiracy which proved fatal to Rizzio. But it is probable that he had expressed his satisfaction at an event which contributed to the safety of religion and the commonwealth, if not also his approbation of the conduct of the conspirators. At any rate, he was, on other grounds, sufficiently obnoxious to the queen; and as her resentment, on the present occasion, was exceedingly inflamed, it was deemed prudent for him to withdraw.

Having, at last, "got quit" of one who had long been troublesome to her, she was determined to prevent his return to the capital. We need not doubt that the town council and inhabitants, who had formerly refused to agree to his suspension from preaching for a short time, would exert themselves to obtain his restoration. But she resisted the importunities of all his friends. She was even unwilling that he should find a refuge within the kingdom, and wrote to a nobleman in the west country, with whom he resided, to banish him from his house. It does not appear that he returned to Edinburgh, or, at least, that he resumed his ministry in it, until the queen was deprived of the government.

Being banished from his flock, he judged this a favourable opportunity for paying a visit to England. Parental affection, on the present occasion, increased the desire which he had long felt to accomplish this journey. His two sons had some time ago been sent by him into that kingdom, probably at the desire of their mother's relations, to obtain their education in some of the English seminaries. Having obtained the queen's safe-conduct, he applied to the general assembly, which met in December, 1566, for their liberty to remove. They readily granted it, upon condition of his returning against the time of their next meeting in June; and, at the same time, gave him a most ample and honourable testimonial, in which they described him as "a true and faithful minister, in doctrine pure and sincere, in life and conversation in our sight inculpable," and one who "has so fruitfully used that talent granted to him by the Eternal, to the advancement of the glory of his godly name, to the propagation of the kingdom of Jesus Christ, and edifying of them who heard his preaching, that of duty we most heartily praise his godly name, for that so great a benefit granted unto him for our utility and profit.

The reformer was charged with a letter from the assembly, to the bishops and ministers of England, interceding for lenity to such of their brethren as scrupled to use the sacerdotal dress, enjoined by the laws. The controversy on that subject was at this time carried on with great warmth among the English clergy. It is not improbable, that the assembly interfered in this business at the desire of Knox, to whom the composition of the letter was committed. He could not have forgotten the trouble which he himself had suffered on a similar ground, and he had a high regard for many of the scruplers. This interposition did not procure for them any relief. Even though the superior clergy had been more zealous to obtain it than they were, Elizabeth was inflexible, and would listen neither to the supplications of her bishops, nor the advice of her counsellors. Knox's good opinion of the English queen does not seem to have been improved by this visit.

There was one piece of public service which he performed, before undertaking his journey to England. On the 23d of December, the queen granted a commission to the archbishop of St. Andrew's, under the privy seal, restoring him to his ancient jurisdiction, which had been abolished, in 1560, by act of parliament. This step was taken, partly to prepare for the restoration of the popish religion, and partly to facilitate another dark design which was soon after disclosed. The protestants could not fail to be both alarmed and enraged at this daring measure. The reformer, moved both by his own zeal, and the advice of his brethren, addressed a circular letter to the principal protestants in the kingdom, requesting their immediate advice on the measures most proper to be adopted on this occasion, and enclosing a copy of a proposed supplication to the queen. This letter discovers all the ardour of the writer's spirit, called forth by such an occurrence.

Rizzio's assassination was acted during the time that Knox was in England, which led to a complete revolution in the government of the kingdom, and contrary to the designs of the actors, threw the power solely into the hands of the protestants.

Knox was absent from Edinburgh at the time of the queen's marriage with Bothwell; but his colleague ably supported the honour of his place and order on that occasion. Being required to publish the banns, he reluctantly agreed, by the advice of his session, to make known the purpose; but at the same time protested from the pulpit, on three several days, that he abhorred and detested the intended marriage as unlawful and scandalous, and solemnly charged the nobility to use their influence to prevent the queen from taking a step which would cover her with infamy. Being called before the council, and accused of having exceeded the bounds of his commission, he boldly replied, that the bounds of his commission were the word of God, good laws, and natural reason, to all of which the proposed marriage was contrary. And Bothwell being present, he charged him with the crime of adultery, the precipitancy with which the process of divorce had been carried through, the suspicions entertained of collusion between him and his wife, of his having murdered the king, and ravished the queen, all of which would be confirmed, if they carried their purpose into execution.

The events which followed in rapid succession upon this infamous marriage; the confederation of the nobility for revenging the king's death, and preserving the person of the infant prince; the flight of Bothwell; the surrender and imprisonment of Mary; her resignation of the government; the coronation of her son; and the appointment of the earl of Moray as regent during his minority, are all well known to the readers of Scottish history.

Knox seems to have returned to his charge at the time that the queen fled with Bothwell to Dunbar. He was present in the general assembly which met at Edinburgh on the 25th of June, and was delegated by them to go to the west country, and endeavour to persuade the Hamiltons, and others who still stood aloof from the confederated lords, to join with them in settling the distracted affairs of the country, and to attend a general convention of the delegates of the churches, to be held on the 20th of July following. He was unsuccessful in this negotiation. But the convention was held, and the nobles, barons, and other commissioners, who were present, subscribed a number of articles, with reference to religion and the state of the nation.

On the 29th of July, the reformer preached the sermon at the coronation of king James VI, in the parish church of Stirling. He objected to the ceremony of unction, as a Jewish rite, abused under the papacy; but it was deemed inexpedient to depart from the accustomed ceremonial on the present occasion. It was therefore performed by the bishop of Orkney, the superintendents of Lothian and Angus assisting him to place the crown on the king's head. After the coronation, Knox, along with some others, took instruments, and craved extracts of the proceedings.

When the queen was confined by the lords in the castle of Lochleven, they had not resolved in what manner they should dispose of her person for the future. Some proposed that she should be allowed to leave the kingdom; some that she should be imprisoned during life; while others insisted that she ought to suffer capital punishment. Of this last opinion was Knox, with almost all the ministers, and the great body of the people. The chief ground upon which they insisted for this, was not her maladministration in the government, or the mere safety and peace of the commonwealth—which were the reasons upon which the parliament of England, in the following century, proceeded to the execution of her grandson;—but they grounded their opinion upon the personal crimes with which Mary was charged. Murder and adultery, they reasoned, were crimes to which the punishment of death was allotted by the law of God and of nations. From this penalty persons of no rank could plead exemption. The ordinary forms of judicial procedure, indeed, made no provision for the trial of a supreme magistrate for these crimes because the laws did not suppose that such enormous offences would be committed by them. But extraordinary cases required extraordinary remedies; and new offences gave birth to new laws. There were examples in Scripture of the capital punishment of princes, and precedents for it in the history of their own country.

Upon these grounds, Knox scrupled not publicly to maintain, that the estates of the kingdom ought to bring Mary to a trial, and if she was found guilty of the murder of her husband, and an adulterous connexion with Bothwell, that she ought to be put to death. Throckmorton, the English ambassador, had a conference with him, with the view of mitigating the rigour of this judgment; but though he acquiesced in the resolution adopted by the lords to detain her in prison, he retained his sentiment, and, after the civil war was kindled by her escape, repeatedly said, that he considered the nation as suffering for their criminal lenity.

The earl of Moray, being established in the regency, directed his attention, at an early period, to the settlement of religion, and the redressing of the principal grievances of which the church had long complained. A parliament being summoned to meet in the middle of December, he, with the advice of the privy council, previously nominated certain barons, and commissioners of boroughs, to consult upon and digest such overtures as were proper to be laid before that assembly. With these he joined Knox, and other four ministers, to assist in matters which related to the church. This committee met in the beginning of December, and sat until the opening of the parliament. The record of their proceedings, both as to civil and ecclesiastical affairs, is preserved; and, as many of their propositions were not adopted by the parliament, it is valuable as a declaration of the sentiments of a number of the most able men in the kingdom.

On the 15th of December, Knox preached at the opening of the parliament, and exhorted them to begin with the affairs of religion, in which case they would find better success in their other business. The parliament ratified all the acts which had been passed in 1560, in favour of the protestant religion, and against popery. New statutes of a similar kind were added. It was provided that no prince should afterwards be admitted to the exercise of authority in the kingdom, without taking an oath to maintain the protestant religion; and that none but protestants should be admitted to any office, not hereditary nor held for life. The ecclesiastical jurisdiction, exercised by the different assemblies of the church, was formally ratified, and commissioners appointed to define more exactly the causes which properly came within the sphere of their judgment. The thirds of benefices were appointed to be paid immediately to collectors appointed by the church, who were to account to the exchequer for the overplus after paying the stipends of the ministers. And the funds of provostries, prebendaries, and chaplainries, were appropriated to maintain bursars in colleges.

In the act ratifying the jurisdiction of the church, Knox was appointed one of the commissioners for drawing out the particular points which pertained to ecclesiastical jurisdiction, to be presented to next meeting of parliament. The general assembly, which met about the same time, save him a commission, along with some others, to act for them in this matter, and, in general, to consult with the regent and council on such ecclesiastical questions as occurred after the dissolution of that assembly. He was also appointed to assist the superintendent of Lothian in his visitation, and afterwards to visit the churches in Kyle, Carrick, and Cunningham.

Our reformer had now reached that point from which he could take a calm and deliberate view of the dangerous and bustling scene through which he had passed, and the termination to which the arduous struggle in which he had been so long engaged, was now happily brought. Superstition and ignorance were overthrown and dispelled; true religion was established; the supreme government of the nation was in the hands of one in whose wisdom and integrity he had the greatest confidence; the church was freed from many of those grievances under which she had hitherto groaned, and enjoyed the prospect of obtaining the redress of such as still remained, the work on which his heart had been so ardently set for such a long period, and for the success of which he had so often trembled, had prospered beyond his utmost expectation. He now congratulated himself on being released from all burden of public affairs, and spending the remainder of his days in religious meditation, and preparation for that event of which his increasing infirmities admonished him. He even secretly cherished the wish of resigning his charge in Edinburgh, and retiring to that privacy, from which he had been drawn at the commencement of the Scottish reformation.

But "the way of man is not in himself." Providence had allotted to him further trials of a public nature; he was yet to see the security of the reformed religion endangered, and the country involved in another civil war, even more distressing than the former, inasmuch as the principal persons on each side were professed protestants. From the time that the government was transferred from Mary to her infant son, and the earl of Moray appointed to the regency, a number of the nobility, with the house of Hamilton at their head, had stood aloof, and, from other motives as much as attachment to the queen, had refused to acknowledge the authority of the regent. Upon the escape of the queen from imprisonment, they collected to her standard, and avowed their design to restore her to the full exercise of the royal authority. In consequence of the defeat at Langside, Mary was driven from the kingdom, and her party broken; and the regent, by his vigorous measures, reduced the whole kingdom to a state of obedience to the king's authority. Despairing to accomplish their object during his life, the partisans of Mary resolved to cut him off by private means.

The regent was assassinated on Saturday, 23d January, 1570, and the intelligence was conveyed early next morning to Edinburgh. It is impossible to describe the anguish which the reformer felt on this occasion. A cordial and intimate friendship had long subsisted between them. Of all the Scottish nobility, he placed the greatest confidence in Moray's attachment to religion; and his conduct after his elevation to the regency, had served to heighten the good opinion which he formerly entertained of him. He looked upon his death as the greatest calamity which could befall the nation, and the forerunner of other evils. When the shock produced by the melancholy tidings had subsided, the first thought that rushed into his mind was that he had himself been the instrument of obtaining, from his clemency, a pardon to the man who had become his murderer,—a thought which naturally produced a very different impression on him from what it did on the dying regent.

In his sermon that day, he introduced the subject; and after saying, that God in his great mercy had raised up godly rulers, and took them away in his displeasure on account of the sins of a nation, he thus poured out the sorrows of his heart in an address to God. "O Lord, in what misery and confusion found he this realm! To what rest and quietness now by his labours suddenly he brought the same, all estates, but especially the poor commons, can witness. Thy image, O Lord, did so clearly shine in that personage, that the devil, and the wicked to whom he is prince, could not abide it; and so to punish our sins and our ingratitude (who did not rightly esteem so precious a gift), thou hast permitted him to fall, to our great grief in the hands of cruel and traitorous murderers. He is at rest, O Lord—we are left in extreme misery."

Only a few days before this, when the murder was fully concerted, the abbot of Kilwinning applied to Knox to intercede with the regent in behalf of his kinsmen, who were confined for practising against the government. He signified his readiness to do all in his power for the relief of any of that family who were willing to own the authority of the king and regent; but he entreated him not to abuse him, by employing his services, if any mischief were intended against the regent; for, "I protest," said he, "before God, who is the only witness now betwixt us, that if there be anything attempted, by any of that surname, against the person of that man, in that case, I discharge myself to you and them for ever." After the assassination, the abbot sent to desire another interview; but Knox refused to see him, and desired the messenger to say to him, "I have not now the regent to make suit unto for the Hamiltons."

At this time there was handed about a fabricated account of a pretended conference held by the late regent with lord Lindsay, Wishart of Pittarrow, the tutor of Pitcur, James Macgill, and Knox, in which they were represented as advising him to set aside the young king, and place the crown on his own head. The modes of expression peculiar to each of the persons were carefully imitated in the speeches put into their mouths, to give it the greater air of credibility. The design of it evidently was to lessen the odium of the murder, and the veneration of the people for the memory of Moray; but it was universally regarded as an impudent and gross forgery. Its fabricator was Thomas Maitland, a young man of talents, but corrupted by his brother the secretary, who before this had engaged himself to the queen's party, and was suspected of having a deep hand in the plot for cutting off the regent.

On the day on which the weekly conference was held in Edinburgh, the same person slipped into the pulpit a schedule, containing words to this effect: "Take up now the man whom you accounted another God, and consider the end to which his ambition hath brought him." Knox, whose turn it was to preach that day, took up the paper on entering the pulpit, supposing it to be a note requesting the prayers of the congregation for a sick person, and, having read it, laid it aside without any apparent emotion. But towards the conclusion of his sermon, having deplored the loss which the church and commonwealth had recently sustained, and declared the account of the conference, which had been circulated, to be false and calumnious, he said that there were persons who rejoiced at the treasonable murder, and scrupled not to make it the subject of their merriment; particularly there was one present who had thrown in a writing insulting over an event which was the cause of grief to all good men. "That wicked man, whosoever he be, shall not go unpunished, and shall die where there shall be none to lament him." Maitland, when he went home, said to his sister, that the preacher was raving, when he spake in such manner of a person who was unknown to him; but she, understanding that her brother had written the line, reproved him, saying with tears, that none of that man's denunciations were wont to prove idle. Spottiswood, who had his information personally from the mouth of that lady, says, that Maitland died in Italy, "having no known person to attend him."

Upon Tuesday, the 14th of February, the regent's corpse was brought from the palace of Holyroodhouse, and interred in the south aisle of the collegiate church of St. Giles. Before the funeral, Knox preached a sermon on these words. "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord." Three thousand persons were dissolved in tears before him, while he described the regent's virtues, and bewailed his loss. Buchanan paid his tribute to the memory of the deceased, by writing the inscription placed on his monument, with that expressive simplicity and brevity which are dictated by genuine grief. A convention of the nobility was held after the funeral, at which it was resolved to avenge his death; but different opinions were entertained as to the mode of doing this, and the commons complained loudly of the remissness with which it was carried into execution. The general assembly, at their first meeting, testified their detestation of the crime, by ordering the assassin to be publicly excommunicated in all the chief towns of the kingdom, and appointed the same process to be used against all who should afterwards be convicted of accession to the conspiracy.

During the sitting of the convention, Knox received a number of letters from his acquaintances in England, expressive of their high regard for the character of the regent, and their sorrow at so grievous a Loss. One of his correspondents, Dr. Laurence Humphrey, urged him to write a memoir of the deceased. Had he done this, he would no doubt, from his intimate acquaintance with him, have communicated a number of particulars of which we must now be content to remain ignorant. But though he had been disposed to undertake this task, the state of his health must have prevented its execution.

The grief which he indulged, in consequence of this mournful event, and the confusions which followed it, preyed upon his spirits, and injured his health. In the month of October, he had a stroke of apoplexy, which affected his speech to a considerable degree. Upon this occasion, his enemies exulted, and circulated the most exaggerated tales. The report ran through England as well as Scotland, that John Knox would never preach nor speak more; that his face was turned into his neck; that he was become the most deformed creature ever seen; that he was actually dead;—a most unequivocal expression of the high consideration in which he was held, which our reformer received in common with some other great men of his age.

Those who flattered themselves that the reformer's disorder was mortal were disappointed; for he convalesced, recovered the use of his speech, and was able, in the course of a few days, to resume preaching, at least on Sabbath days. He never recovered, however, from the debility which was produced by the stroke. He never went abroad except on Sabbath days, to preach in the forenoon. He had given up attendance upon church courts. He had, previous to the breaking out of the last disturbances, weaned his heart from public affairs. But whenever he saw the welfare of the church and commonwealth threatened, he forgot his resolutions and his infirmities, and entered into the cause with all the keenness of his more vigorous days. Whether the public proceedings of the nation, or his own conduct, were arraigned and condemned, whether the attacks upon them were open or clandestine, he stood prepared to repel them, and convinced the adversaries, that they could not accomplish their designs without opposition, as long as he was able to move a tongue.

His situation in Edinburgh became very critical in April, 1571, when Grange received the Hamiltons, with their forces, into the castle. Their inveteracy against him was so great, that his friends were obliged to watch his house during the night. They wished to form a guard for his protection when he went abroad; but the governor of the castle forbade this, as implying a suspicion of him, and offered to send Melvill, one of his officers, to conduct him to and from church. "He wold gif the woulf the wedder to keip," says Bannatyne. The duke and his friends refused to pledge their word for his safety, because "there were many rascals among them who loved him not." Intimations were often given him of threatenings against his life; and one evening, as he sat in his house, a musketball was fired in at the window, and lodged in the roof of the room. It happened that he sat at the time in a different part of the room from his usual, otherwise the ball, from the direction which it took, must have struck him. Upon this a number of the inhabitants, along with his colleague, repaired to him, and renewed a request which they had formerly made, that he would remove from Edinburgh, to a place where his life would be in greater safety, until such time as the queen's party should evacuate the town. But he refused to yield to them, apprehending that his enemies wished to intimidate him into flight, that they might carry on their designs more quietly, and then accuse him of cowardice. Being unable to persuade him by any other means, they at last had recourse to an argument which prevailed. They told him that they were determined to defend him, if attacked, at the peril of their lives, and if blood was shed in the quarrel, which was highly probable, they would leave it on his head. Upon this, he consented, "sore against his will," to leave that city.

On the fifth of May he left Edinburgh, and crossing the frith at Leith, travelled by short stages to St. Andrew's, which he had chosen as the place of his retreat. Alexander Gordon, bishop of Galloway, occupied his pulpit. He preached and prayed in a manner more acceptable to the queen's party than his predecessor, but little to the satisfaction of the people, who despised him on account of his weakness, and disliked him for supplanting their favourite pastor. The church of Edinburgh was for a time dissolved. A great number of its most respectable members either were driven from the city, or left it through dissatisfaction. The celebration of the Lord's Supper was suspended. During a whole week "there was neither preaching nor prayer, neither was there any sound of bell heard in all the town, except the ringing of the cannon."

Amidst the extreme hostility by which both parties were inflamed, and which produced several disgraceful acts of mutual retaliation, many proofs were exhibited of the personal antipathy which the queen's adherents bore to the reformer. An inhabitant of Leith was assaulted, and his body mutilated, because he was of the same name with him. A servant of John Craig being met one day by a reconnoitering party, and asked who was his master, answered in his trepidation, Mr. Knox, upon which he was seized; and, although he immediately corrected his mistake, they desired him to "hold at his first master," and haled him to prison. Having fortified St. Giles's steeple, to overawe the town, the soldiers baptized one of the cannons by the name of Knox, which they were so fond of firing, that it burst, killed two of the party, and wounded others. They circulated the most ridiculous tales respecting his conduct at St. Andrew's. John Law, the letter-carrier of St. Andrew's, being in the castle of Edinburgh, "the ladie Home and utheris wald neidis thraip in his face, that" John Knox "was banist the said toune, becaus that in the yarde he had reasit sum sanctis, amongis whome thair came up the devill with hornis, which when his servant Richart sawe, [he] ran woode, and so died."

Although he was free from personal danger, Knox did not find St. Andrew's that peaceful retreat which he had expected. The Kircaldies and Balfours were a considerable party in that quarter, and the Hamiltons had their friends both in the university and among the ministry. These were thorns in the reformer's side, and made his situation uneasy, as long as he resided among them. Having left Edinburgh, because he could not be permitted to discharge his conscience, in testifying against the designs of persons whom he regarded as conspirators against the legal government of the country, and the security of the reformed religion, it was not to be expected that he would preserve silence on this subject at St. Andrew's. In the discourses which he preached on the eleventh chapter of Daniel's prophecy, he frequently took occasion to advert to the transactions of his own time, and to inveigh against the murder of the late king and the regent. This was very grating to the ears of the opposite faction, particularly to Robert and Archibald Hamilton, the former a minister of the city, and the latter a professor in one of the colleges. Displeased with his censures of his relations, and aware of his popularity in the pulpit, Robert Hamilton circulated in private, that it did not become Knox to exclaim so loudly against murderers; for he had seen his subscription, along with that of the earl of Moray, to a bond for assassinating Darnley. But when the reformer replied to him, Hamilton denied that he had ever spoken such words.

During his stay at St. Andrew's, he published a vindication of the reformed religion, in answer to a letter written by a Scots Jesuit, called Tyrie. The argumentative part of the work was finished by him in 1568; but he sent it abroad at this time, with additions, as a farewell address to the world, and a dying testimony to the truth which he had so long taught and defended. Along with it he published one of his religious letters to his mother-in-law, Mrs. Bowes; and, in an advertisement prefixed to this, he informs us that she had lately departed this life, and that he could not allow the opportunity to slip of acquainting the public, by means of this letter, with the principal cause of that intimate Christian friendship which had so long subsisted between them.

The ardent desire which he felt to be released, by death, from the troubles of the present life, appears in all that he wrote about this time. "Wearie of the world," and "thristing to depart," are expressions frequently used by him. The dedication of the above, work is thus inscribed: "John Knox, the servant of Jesus Christ, now wearie of the world, and daylie luiking for the resolution of this my earthly tabernakle, to the faithful that God of his mercie shall appoint to fight after me." In the conclusion of it he says, "Call for me, deir brethren, that God, in his mercie, will pleas to put end to my long and paneful battell. For now being unable to fight, as God sumtymes gave strength, I thrist an end, before I be more troublesome to the faithfull. And yet, Lord, let my desyre be moderat be thy Holy Spirit." In a prayer subjoined to the dedication are these words, "To thee, O Lord, I commend my spirit. For I thrist to be resolved from this body of sin, and am assured that I shall rise agane in glorie; howsoever it be that the wicked for a tyme sall trode me and others thy servandes under their feit. Be merciful, O Lord, unto the kirk within this realme; continew with it the light of thy evangell; augment the number of true preicheris. And let thy mercyfull providence luke upon my desolate bedfellow, the fruit of hir bosome, and my two deir children, Nathaneal and Eleazer. Now, Lord, put end to my miserie." The advertisement "to the Faithful Reader," dated from St. Andrew's, 12th July, 1572, concludes in the following manner: "I hartly salute and take my good night of all the faithful in both realmes, earnestly desyring the assistance of their prayers, that, without any notable slander to the evangel of Jesus Christ, I may end my battell. For as the world is wearie of me, so am I of it."

The general assembly being appointed to meet at Perth on the 6th August, he took his leave of them in a letter, along with which he transmitted certain articles and questions which he recommended to their consideration. The assembly returned him an answer, declaring their approbation of his propositions, and their earnest desires for his preservation and comfort. The last piece of public service which he performed at their request, was examining and approving a sermon which had been lately preached by David Ferguson, minister of Dunfermline. His subscription to this sermon, like everything which proceeded from his mouth or pen, about this time, is uncommonly striking. "John Knox, with my dead hand, but glaid heart, praising God, that of his mercy he levis such light to his kirk in this desolatioun."

From the rapid decline of our reformer's health, in spring 1572, there was every appearance of his ending his days in St. Andrew's; but it pleased God that he should be restored once more to his flock, and allowed to die peaceably in his own bed. In consequence of a cessation of arms agreed to, in the end of July, between the regent and the adherents of the queen, the city of Edinburgh was abandoned by the forces of the latter, and secured from the annoyance of the garrison in the castle. As soon as the banished citizens returned to their houses, they sent a deputation to St. Andrew's, with a letter to their minister, expressive of their earnest desire "that once again his voice might be heard among them," and intreating him immediately to come to Edinburgh, if his health would at all permit him. After reading the letter, and conversing with the commissioners, he agreed to return, but under the express condition, that he should not be urged to observe silence respecting the conduct of those who held the castle against the regent; "whose treasonable and tyrannical deeds," he said, "he would cry out against, as long as he was able to speak." He therefore desired them to acquaint their constituents with this, lest they should afterwards repent of his austerity, and be apprehensive of ill treatment on his account. This he repeated upon his return to Edinburgh, before he entered the pulpit. Both the commissioners and the rest of their brethren assured him, that they did not mean to put a bridle in his mouth; but wished him to discharge his duty as he had been accustomed to do.

On the 17th of August, to the great joy of the queen's faction, whom he had overawed during his residence among them, the reformer left St. Andrew's, along with his family, and was accompanied on his journey by a number of his brethren and acquaintances. Being obliged by his weakness to travel slowly, it was the 23d of the month before he reached Leith, from which, after resting a day or two, he came to Edinburgh. The inhabitants enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing him again in his own pulpit, on the first Sabbath after he arrived; but his voice was now so enfeebled that he could not be heard by the half of the congregation. Nobody was more sensible of this than himself. He therefore requested his session to provide a smaller house in which he could be heard, if it were only by a hundred persons; for his voice, even in its best time, was not able to extend over the multitude which assembled in the large church, much less now when he was so debilitated. This was done accordingly.

During his absence, a coolness had taken place between his colleague and the parish, who found fault with him for temporizing during the time that the queen's faction retained possession of the city. In consequence of this, they had separated, and Craig was gone to another part of the country. Knox perceiving that he would not long be able to preach, and that he was already incapacitated for all other ministerial duties, was extremely solicitous to nave one settled as his colleague, that the congregation might not be left "as sheep without a shepherd," when he was called away. The last general assembly having granted to the church of Edinburgh liberty to choose any minister within the kingdom, those of Dundee and Perth excepted, they now unanimously fixed upon James Lawson, sub-principal of the college of Aberdeen. This choice was very agreeable to the reformer, who, in a letter sent along with those of the superintendent and session, urged him to comply with the call without delay. Though this letter has already appeared in print, yet as it is not long, and is very descriptive of his frame of mind at this interesting period, we shall lay it before the reader.

"All worldlie strenth, yea ewin in thingis spirituall, decayes; and yit sall never the work of God decay. Belovit brother, seeing that God of his mercie, far above my expectatione, has callit me ones agane to Edinburgh, and yet that I feill nature so decayed, and daylie to decay, that I luke not for a long continewance of my battell, I wald gladlie anes discharge my conscience into your bosome, and into the bosome of vtheris, in whome I think the feare of God remanes. Gif I had had the habilitie of bodie, I suld not have put you to the pane to the whilk I now requyre you, that is, anes to visit me, that we may conferre together of heawinlie things; for into earth there is no stabilitie, except the kirk of Jesus Christ, ever fightand under the crosse, to whose myghtie protectione I hartlie comit yeu. Of Edinburgh the 7 of September, 1572. JHONE KNOX."

In a postscript these expressive words were added, "Haste, brother, lest you come too late."

In the beginning of September, intelligence came to Edinburgh, that the admiral of France, the brave, the generous, the pious Coligni was murdered in the city of Paris by the orders of Charles IX. Immediately on the back of this, tidings arrived of that most detestable and unparalleled scene of barbarity and treachery, the general massacre of the protestants throughout that kingdom. Post after post brought fresh accounts of the most shocking and unheard-of cruelties. Hired cut-throats, and fanatical cannibals marched from city to city, paraded the streets, and entered into the houses of those that were marked out for destruction. No reverence was shown to the hoary head, no respect to rank or talents, no pity to tender age or sex. Aged matrons, women upon the point of their delivery, and children, were trodden under the feet of the assassins, or dragged with hooks into the rivers; others, after being thrown into prison, were instantly brought out, and butchered in cold blood. Seventy thousand persons were murdered in one week. For several days the streets of Paris literally ran with blood. The savage monarch, standing at the windows of the palace, with his courtiers, glutted his eyes with the inhuman spectacle, and amused himself with firing upon the miserable fugitives who sought shelter at his merciless gates.

The intelligence of this massacre (for which a solemn thanksgiving was offered up at Rome by order of the pope,) produced the same horror and consternation in Scotland as in every other protestant country. It inflicted a deep wound on the exhausted spirit of Knox. Besides the blow struck at the whole reformed bodies, he had to lament the loss of many individuals eminent for piety, learning, and rank, whom he numbered among his acquaintances. Being conveyed to the pulpit, and summoning up the remainder of his strength, he thundered the vengeance of Heaven against that cruel murderer and false traitor, the king of France, and desired Le Croc, the French ambassador, to tell his master, that sentence was pronounced against him in Scotland, that the divine vengeance would never depart from him, nor from his house, if repentence did not ensue; but his name would remain an execration to posterity, and none proceeding from his loins would enjoy that kingdom in peace. The ambassador complained of the indignity offered to his master, and required the regent to silence the preacher; but this was refused, upon which he left Scotland.

Lawson, having received the letters of invitation, hastened to Edinburgh, and had the satisfaction to find that Knox was still able to receive him. Having preached to the people he gave universal satisfaction. On the following Sabbath, 21st September, Knox began to preach in the Tolbooth church, which was now fitted up for him. He chose for the subject of his discourses, the account of our Saviour's crucifixion, as recorded in the 27th chapter of the gospel according to Matthew, a theme upon which he often expressed a wish to close his ministry. On Sabbath, the 9th of November, he presided in the installation of Lawson as his colleague and successor. The sermon was preached by him in the Tolbooth church; after it was ended, he removed, with the audience, to the large church, where he went through the accustomed form of admission, by proposing the questions to the minister and people, addressing an exhortation to both, and praying for the divine blessing upon the connexion. Upon no former occasion did he deliver himself more to the satisfaction of those who were able to hear him. After declaring the mutual duties of pastor and congregation, he protested in the presence of Him before whom he expected soon to appear, that he had walked among them with a good conscience, preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ in all sincerity, not studying to please men nor to gratify his own affections; he praised God, that he had been pleased to give them a pastor in his room, when he was now unable to teach; he fervently prayed, that any gifts which had been conferred on himself might be augmented a thousand fold to his successor; and in a most serious and impressive manner, he exhorted and charged all present to adhere steadfastly to the faith which they had professed. Having finished the service, and pronounced the blessing with a cheerful but exhausted voice, he came down from the pulpit, and, leaning upon his staff, crept down the street, which was lined with the audience, who, as if anxious to take the last sight of their beloved pastor, followed him until he entered his house He never again came out alive.

On the Tuesday following (Nov. 11), he was seized with a severe cough, which, together with the defluxion, greatly affected his breathing. When his friends, anxious to prolong his life, proposed to call in the assistance of physicians, he readily acquiesced, saying, that he would not neglect the ordinary means of health, although he was persuaded that the Lord would soon put an end to all his troubles. It was his ordinary practice to read every day some chapters of the Old and New Testaments; to which he added a certain number of the Psalms of David, the whole of which he perused regularly once a-month. On Thursday the 13th, he sickened, and was obliged to desist from his course of reading, but he gave directions to his wife, and to his secretary, Richard Bannatyne, that one of them should every day read to him, with a distinct voice, the 17th chapter of the Gospel according to John, the 53d of Isaiah, and a chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians. This was punctually complied with during the whole time of his sickness; so that scarcely an hour passed in which some part of the Scripture was not read. Besides the above passages, he at different times fixed on certain Psalms, and some of Calvin's French sermons on the Ephesians. Sometimes as they were reading these sermons, thinking him to be asleep, they asked him if he heard, to which he answered, "I hear (I praise God), and understand far better," which words he uttered for the last time, about four hours before his death.

The same day on which he sickened, he desired his wife to discharge the servants' wages; and next day wishing to pay one of his men-servants himself, he gave him twenty shillings above his fee, adding, "Thou wilt never receive more of me in this life." To all his servants he gave suitable exhortations to walk in the fear of God, and as became Christians who had been educated in his family.

On Friday the 14th, he rose from bed sooner than his usual hour; and, thinking that it was the Sabbath, said that he meant to go to church, and preach on the resurrection of Christ, upon which he had meditated through the whole night. This was the subject upon which he should have preached in his ordinary course. But he was so weak, that he needed to be supported from his bed-side, by two men, and it was with great difficulty that he could sit on a chair.

Next day at noon, John Durie, and Archibald Steward, two of his intimate acquaintances, came into his room, not knowing that he was so sick. He rose, however, on their account; and having prevailed on them to stay dinner, he came to the table, which was the last time that he ever sat at it. He ordered a hogshead of wine which was in his cellar to be pierced: and, with a hilarity which he delighted to indulge among his friends, desired Archibald Steward to send for some of it as long as it lasted, for he would not tarry until it was all drunk.

On Sabbath he kept his bed, and mistaking it for the first day of the fast appointed on account of the French massacre, refused to take any dinner. Fairley of Braid, who was present, informed him that the fast did not commence until the following Sabbath, and sitting down, and dining before his bed, prevailed on him to take a little food.

He was very anxious to meet once more with the session of his church, to leave them his dying charge, and bid them a last farewell. In compliance with this wish, his colleague, the elders, and deacons, with David Lindsay, one of the ministers of Leith, assembled in his room on Monday, the 17th, when he addressed them in the following words, which made a deep and lasting impression on the minds of all. "The day now approaches and is before the door, for which I have frequently and vehemently thirsted, when I shall be released from my great labours and innumerable sorrows, and shall be with Christ. And now, God is my witness, whom I have served in spirit, in the gospel of his Son, that I have taught nothing but the true and solid doctrine of the gospel of the Son of God, and have had it for my only object to instruct the ignorant, to confirm the faithful, to comfort the weak, the fearful, and the distressed, by the promises of grace, and to fight against the proud and rebellious, by the divine threatenings. I know that many have frequently and loudly complained, and do yet complain, of my too great severity; but God knows that my mind was always void of hatred to the persons of those against whom I thundered the severest judgments. I cannot deny but that I felt the greatest abhorrence at the sins in which they indulged, but I still kept this one thing in view, that if possible I might gain them to the Lord. What influenced me to utter whatever the Lord put into my mouth so boldly, without respect of persons, was a reverential fear of my God, who called, and of his grace appointed me to be a steward of divine mysteries, and a belief that he will demand an account of my discharge of the trust committed unto me, when I shall stand before his tribunal. I profess, therefore, before God, and before his holy angels, that I never made merchandise of the sacred word of God, never studied to please men, never indulged my own private passions or those of others, but faithfully distributed the talent intrusted to me, for the edification of the church over which I watched. Whatever obloquy wicked men may cast on me respecting this point, I rejoice in the testimony of a good conscience. In the mean time, my dearest brethren, do you persevere in the eternal truth of the gospel; wait diligently on the flock over which the Lord hath set you, and which he redeemed with the blood of his only begotten Son. And thou, my brother Lawson, fight the good fight, and do the work of the Lord joyfully and resolutely. The Lord from on high bless you, and the whole church of Edinburgh, against whom, as long as they persevere in the word of truth which they have heard of me, the gates of hell shall not prevail." Having warned them against countenancing those who disowned the king's authority, and made some observations on a complaint which Maitland had lodged against him before the session, he was so exhausted that he was obliged to desist from speaking. Those who were present were filled with both joy and grief by this affecting address. After reminding him of the warfare which he had endured, and the triumph which awaited him, and joining in prayer, they took their leave of him in tears.

When they were going out, he desired his colleague and Lindsay to remain behind, to whom he said: "There is one thing that greatly grieves me. You have been witnesses of the former courage and constancy of Grange in the cause of God; but now, alas! into what a gulf has he precipitated himself? I entreat you not to refuse to go, and tell him from me, that John Knox remains the same man now, when he is going to die, that ever he knew him when able in body, and wills him to consider what he was, and the estate in which he now stands, which is a great part of his trouble. Neither the craggy rock in which he miserably confides, nor the carnal prudence of that man (Maitland), whom he esteems a demigod, nor the assistance of strangers, shall preserve him; but he shall be disgracefully dragged from his nest to punishment, and hung on a gallows before the face of the sun, unless he speedily amend his life, and flee to the mercy of God. That man's soul is dear to me, and I would not have it perish, if I could save it." The ministers undertook to execute this commission, and going up to the castle, obtained an interview with the governor, and delivered their message. He at first exhibited some symptoms of relenting, but having consulted with Maitland, he returned and gave them a very unpleasant answer. This being reported to Knox, he was much grieved, and said, that he had been very earnest in prayer for that man, and he still trusted that his soul would be saved, although his body should come to a miserable end.

After this interview with the session, he was much worse; his difficulty of breathing increased, and he could not speak without obvious and great pain. Yet he continued still to receive persons of every rank, who came, in great numbers, to visit him, and he suffered none to go away without exhortations, which he uttered with such variety and suitableness as astonished those who waited upon him. Lord Boyd came in and said, "I know, Sir, that I have offended you in many things, and am now come to crave your pardon." His answer was not beard, as the attendants retired and left them alone. But his lordship returned next day, in company with the earl of Morton and the laird of Drumlanrig. His conversation with Morton was very particular, as related by the earl himself before his death. He asked him, if he was previously acquainted with the design to murder the late king. Morton having answered in the negative, he said, "Well, God has beautified you with many benefits which he has not given to every man; as he has given you riches, wisdom, and friends, and now is to prefer you to the government of the realm. And therefore, in the name of God, I charge you to all these benefits aright, and better in time to come than ye have done in times bypast; first, to God's glory, to the furtherance of the evangel, the maintenance of the church of God, and his ministry; next for the weal of the king, and his realm, and true subjects. If so ye shall do, God shall bless you, and honour you; but if ye do it not, God shall spoil you of these benefits, and your end shall be ignominy and shame."

On Thursday, the 20th, lord Lindsay, the bishop of Caithness, and several gentlemen visited him. He exhorted them to continue in the truth which they had heard, for there was no other word of salvation, and besought them to have nothing to do with those in the castle. The earl of Glencairn (who had often visited him), came in, with lord Ruthven. The latter, who called only once, said, "If there be anything, Sir, that I am able to do for you, I pray you charge me." His reply was, "I care not for all the pleasure and friendship of the world."

A religious lady of his acquaintance desired him to praise God for what good he had done, and was beginning to speak in his commendation, when he interrupted her. "Tongue, tongue, lady, flesh of itself is over proud, and needs no means to esteem itself." He put her in mind of what had been said to her long ago, "Lady, lady, the black one has never trampit on your fute," and exhorted her to lay aside pride, and be clothed with humility. He then protested as to himself, as he had often done before, that he relied wholly on the free mercy of God, manifested to mankind through his dear Son Jesus Christ, whom alone he embraced for wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption. The rest of the company having taken their leave of him, he said to the laird of Braid, "Every one bids me good night, but when will you do it? I have been greatly indebted unto you, for which I shall never be able to recompense you; but I commit you to one that is able to do it, to the eternal God."

Upon Friday, the 21st, he desired Richard Bannatyne to order his coffin to be made. During that day he was much engaged in meditation and prayer. These words were often in his mouth: "Come, Lord Jesus. Sweet Jesus, into thy hands I commend my spirit. Be merciful, Lord, to thy church which thou hast redeemed. Give peace to this afflicted commonwealth. Raise up faithful pastors who will take the charge of thy church. Grant us, Lord, the perfect hatred of sin, both by the evidences of thy wrath and mercy." In the midst of his meditations, he would often address those who stood by, in such sentences as these:—"O serve the Lord in fear, and death shall not be terrible to you. Nay, blessed shall death be to those who have felt the power of the death of the only begotten Son of God."

On Sabbath 23d, (which was the first day of the national fast,) during the afternoon sermon, he, after lying a considerable time quiet, suddenly exclaimed, "If any be present, let them come and see the work of God. Richard Bannatyne thinking that his death was at hand, sent to the church for Johnston of Elphingston. When they came to his bed-side, he burst out in these rapturous expressions: "I have been these two last nights in meditation on the troubled state of the church of God, the spouse of Jesus Christ, despised of the world, but precious in the sight of God. I have called to God for her, and have committed her to her head, Jesus Christ. I have fought against spiritual wickedness in heavenly things, and have prevailed. I have been in heaven, and have possession. I have tasted of the heavenly joys, where presently I am." He then repeated the Lord's prayer and creed, interjecting some devout aspiration at the end of every petition, and article.

After sermon many came in to visit him. Perceiving that he breathed with great difficulty, some of them asked, if he felt much pain. He answered that he was willing to lie there for years, if God so pleased, and if he continued to shine upon his soul, through Jesus Christ. When they thought him asleep, he was employed in meditation, and at intervals exhorted and prayed. "Live in Christ. Live in Christ, and then flesh need not fear death. Lord, grant true pastors to thy church, that purity of doctrine may be retained. Restore peace again to this commonwealth, with godly rulers and magistrates. Once, Lord, make an end of my trouble." Stretching his hands toward heaven, he said, "Lord, I commend my spirit, soul, and body, and all, into thy hands. Thou knowest, O Lord, my troubles: I do not murmur against thee." His pious ejaculations were so numerous, that those who waited on him could recollect only a part of them, for seldom was he silent, when they were not employed in reading or in prayer.—During the course of that night his trouble greatly increased.

Monday, the 24th of November, was the last day that he spent on earth. That morning he would not be persuaded to lie in bed, but, though unable to stand alone, rose between nine and ten o'clock, and put on his stockings and doublet. Being conducted to a chair, he sat about half an hour, and then went to bed again. In the progress of the day, it appeared evident that his end drew near. Besides his wife and Richard Bannatyne, Campbell of Kinzeancleugh, Johnston of Elphingston, and Dr. Preston, three of his most intimate acquaintances, waited by his bed-side. Mr. Campbell asked him if he had any pain. "It is no painful pain, but such as shall, I trust, put an end to the battle. I must leave the care of my wife and children to you," continued he, "to whom you must be a husband in my room." About three o'clock in the afternoon, one of his eyes failed, and his speech was considerably affected. He desired his wife to read the 15th chapter of 1st Corinthians. "Is not that a comfortable chapter?" said he, when it was finished. "O, what sweet and salutary consolation the Lord hath afforded me from that chapter!" A little after, he said, "Now, for the last time, I commend my soul, spirit, and body," touching three of his fingers, "into thy hand, O Lord." About five o'clock he said to his wife, "Go read where I cast my first anchor;" upon which she read the 17th chapter of John's gospel, and afterwards a part of Calvin's sermons on the Ephesians.

After this he appeared to fall into a slumber, during which he uttered heavy groans. The attendants looked every moment for his dissolution. At length he awaked as if from sleep, and being asked the cause of his sighing so deeply, replied, "I have formerly, during my frail life, sustained many contests, and many assaults of Satan; but at present that roaring lion has assailed me most furiously, and put forth all his strength to devour, and make an end of me at once. Often before has he placed my sins before my eyes, often tempted me to despair, often endeavoured to ensnare me by the allurements of the world; but with these weapons, broken by the sword of the Spirit, the word of God, he could not prevail. Now he has attacked me in another way; the cunning serpent has laboured to persuade me that I have merited heaven and eternal blessedness, by the faithful discharge of my ministry. But blessed be God who has enabled me to beat down and quench this fiery dart, by suggesting to me such passages of scripture as these: What hast thou that thou hast not received? By the grace of God I am what I am: Not I, but the grace of God in me. Being thus vanquished, he left me. Wherefore I give thanks to my God through Jesus Christ, who was pleased to give me the victory; and I am persuaded that the tempter shall not again attack me, but, within a short time, I shall, without any great bodily pain, or anguish of mind, exchange this mortal and miserable life, for a blessed immortality through Jesus Christ.'

He then lay quiet for some hours, except that now and then he desired them to wet his mouth with a little weak ale. At ten o'clock they read the evening prayer, which they had delayed beyond their usual hour, from an apprehension that he was asleep. After they concluded, Dr. Preston asked him, if he had heard the prayers. "Would to God," said he, "that you and all men had heard them as I have heard them: I praise God for that heavenly sound." The doctor rose up, and Mr. Campbell sat down before the bed. About eleven o'clock, he gave a deep sigh, and said, "Now it is come." Richard Bannatyne immediately drew near, and desired him to think upon those comfortable promises of our Saviour Jesus Christ, which no had so often declared to others; and, perceiving that he was speechless, requested him to give them a sign that he heard them, and died in peace. Upon this he lifted up one of his hands, and sighing twice, expired without a struggle.

He died in the sixty-seventh year of his age, not so much oppressed with years, as worn out and exhausted by his extraordinary labours of body and anxieties of mind. Few men ever were exposed to more dangers, or underwent such hardships. From the time that he embraced the reformed religion, till he breathed his last, seldom did he enjoy a respite from these, and he emerged from one scene of difficulties, only to be involved in another, and a more distressing one. Obliged to flee from St. Andrew's to escape the fury of cardinal Beaton, he found a retreat in East Lothian, from which he was hunted by archbishop Hamilton. He lived for several years an outlaw, in daily apprehension of falling a prey to those who eagerly sought his life. The few months during which he enjoyed protection in the castle of St. Andrew's were succeeded by a long and rigorous captivity. After enjoying some repose in England, he was again driven into banishment, and for five years wandered as an exile on the continent. When he returned to his native country, it was to engage in a struggle of the most perilous and arduous kind. After the reformation was established, and he was settled in the capital, he was involved in a continual contest with the court. When he had retired from warfare, and thought only of ending his days in peace, he was again called into the field; and, although scarcely able to walk, was obliged to remove from his flock, and to avoid the hatred of his enemies, by submitting to a new banishment. Often had his life been threatened; a price was publicly set upon his head; and persons were not wanting who were disposed to attempt his destruction. No wonder that he was weary of the world, and anxious to depart. With great propriety might it be said, at his decease, that he rested from his labours.

On Wednesday the 26th of November, he was interred in the churchyard of St. Giles. His funeral was attended by the newly elected regent, Morton, the nobility who were in the city, and a great concourse of people. When his body was laid in the grave, the regent pronounced his eulogium, in the well-known words, "There lies he, who never feared the face of man."

Our reformer left behind him a widow, and five children. His two sons, Nathanael and Eleazar, were born to him by his first wife, Mrs. Marjory Bowes. We have already seen that, about the year 1566, they went to England, where their mother's relations resided. They received their education at St. John's college, in the university of Cambridge, and after finishing it, died in the prime of life. It appears that they died without issue, and the family of the reformer became extinct in the male line. His other three children were daughters by his second wife. Dame Margaret Stewart, his widow, afterwards married Sir Andrew Ker of Fadounside, a strenuous supporter of the reformation. One of his daughters was married to Mr. Robert Pont, minister of St. Cuthbert's; another of them to Mr. James Fleming, also a minister of the church of Scotland; Elizabeth, the third daughter, was married to Mr. John Welch, minister of Ayr.

GEORGE BUCHANAN

GEORGE BUCHANAN was born about the beginning of February, in the year 1506. His father was Thomas, the second son of Thomas Buchanan of Drummikill, his mother Agnes Heriot, of the family of Trabroun. The house from which he descended, he has himself characterized as more remarkable for its antiquity, than for its opulence. The only patrimony which his father inherited, was the farm of Mid-Leowen, or, as it is more commonly denominated, the Moss, situated in the parish of Killearn and county of Stirling. The farm-house in which Buchanan was born, has twice been rebuilt; but on each occasion, its original dimensions and characteristics have been studiously preserved, and an oak beam, together with an intermediate wall, has even retained its ancient position. The present building, which may be considered as a correct model of Buchanan's paternal residence, is a lowly cottage thatched with straw; but this cottage is still visited with a kind of religious veneration. A fragment of the oak is regarded as a precious relic; and an Irish student, who thirsted for a portion of Buchanan's inspiration, is known to have travelled from Glasgow, for the purpose of visiting the house, and passing a night directly under the original beam.

Buchanan's father died at a premature age; and, about the same period, his grandfather found himself in a state of insolvency. The family, which had never been opulent, was thus reduced to extreme poverty; but his mother struggled hard with the misery of her condition; and all her children, five sons and three daughters, arrived at the age of maturity. The third son, whose extraordinary attainments have rendered the family illustrious, is reported by oral tradition, which must not however be too rashly credited, to have been indebted for the rudiments of learning to the public school of Killearn, which long continued to maintain a very considerable degree of celebrity. Mid-Leowen, which stands on the banks of the Blane, is situated at the distance of about two miles from the village; and it may be conjectured that the future poet and statesman daily walked to school, and bore along with him his meridian repast. A considerable number of trees, which he is said to have planted in his school-boy days, are still to be seen in the immediate vicinity of his native cottage: one of which, a mountain ash, conspicuous for its magnitude, was lately torn from its roots by the violence of a storm; but two fresh scions which arose from its ruins, have been nourished and protected with anxious care. Nor is the name of his mother without its rural memorial; a place which had been adapted to the purpose of shielding her flock, is still denominated Heriot's Shiels.

Buchanan was afterwards removed to the school of Dumbarton. His unfolding genius recommended him to the favour and protection of his maternal uncle James Heriot, who, in the year 1520, sent him to prosecute his studies in the university of Paris. It was here that he began to cultivate his poetical talents; partly impelled, as he informs us, by the natural temperament of his mind, partly by the necessity of performing the usual exercises prescribed to younger students. Buchanan did not profess to be one of those bright geniuses who can acquire a new language every six weeks,—he incidentally suggests that his knowlegde of Latin was the result of much juvenile labour. The Greek tongue, in which he likewise attained to proficiency, he acquired without the aid of a preceptor. Within the space of two years after his arrival at Paris, his uncle died, and left him exposed to want in a foreign country. His misery was increased by a violent distemper, which had perhaps been occasioned by poverty and mortification. In this state of hopeless langour, he returned to Scotland at the critical age of sixteen.

Having devoted the best part of a year to the care of his health, he next assumed the character of a soldier, and served along with the auxiliaries whom the duke of Albany had conducted from France, and he marched with them against England in the end of the year 1523. This fruitless expedition terminated in an attack on the castle of Werk, from which they were repulsed and compelled to retreat; and repassed the Tweed, towards Lauder, during midnight, in the midst of a severe snow storm. His experience in the course of this campaign, did not render him more enamoured of a military life: the hardships which he had undergone reduced him to his former state of languor, and during the rest of the winter he was confined to bed.

In the beginning of the ensuing spring, when he had completed the eighteenth year of his age, he was sent to the university of St. Andrew's. Patrick Buchanan, his eldest brother, was matriculated at the same time. On the third of October, 1525, George Buchanan received the degree of bachelor of arts; and it appears from the faculty register that he was then a pauper, or exhibitioner. At this period the famous John Mair taught logic in St. Salvador's college. Buchanan informs us that it was to attend his prelections that he had been sent to St. Andrew's, and that he afterwards followed Mair to France.

Upon his return to France, he became a student in the Scottish college of Paris. On the 10th of October, 1527, he was incorporated a bachelor of arts, and he received the higher degree next March. During the following year, 1529, he was a candidate for the office of procurator of the German nation; but his blind compatriot, Robert Wauchope, afterwards archbishop of Armagh, was elected for the ninth time. Buchanan was thus repulsed on the 5th of May, but on the 3d of June he was more successful. The university of Paris being frequented by students from various countries, they were distributed into four classes or nations. What was termed the German nation comprehended the Scottish academics.

At this period, the principles of the Reformation had begun to be widely disseminated, and were eagerly discussed on the continent. Buchanan, on his return to Paris, was caught by the spreading flame. His Lutheranism seems to have exposed him to new mortifications; for, after he had discovered his attachment, he continued for the space of nearly two years to struggle with adverse fortune. At the expiration of that term, he was appointed a regent or professor in the college of St. Barbe, where he taught grammar for about three years. Notwithstanding his eminent qualifications for such a situation, his services seem to have procured him very inadequate remuneration; but still he represents his situation as comparatively comfortable when contrasted with the miseries Parisian professors of humanity were then exposed to. At the time that he entered on the duties at St. Barbe, he was twenty-three years of age.

About this time, Gilbert Kennedy, earl of Cassilis, who was residing near the college of St. Barbe, having become acquainted with Buchanan, admired his literary talents, and was delighted with his conversation. He therefore retained him as preceptor. The first work that Buchanan committed to the press, was a translation of the famous Thomas Linacre's rudiments of Latin grammar, which he inscribed to lord Cassilis, "a youth of the most promising talents, and of an excellent disposition." This Latin version was printed by R. Stephanus, in 1533.

After he had resided with his pupil for the term of five years, they both returned to Scotland. While he was residing at the earl's seat in the country, he composed a short poem, which rendered him extremely obnoxious to the ecclesiastics, an order of men whom it is generally hazardous to provoke. He expresses his own abhorrence of a monastic life, and stigmatizes the impudence and hypocrisy of the monks, particularly those of the order of St. Francis. The holy fathers, when they became acquainted with this specimen of his sarcastic wit, speedily forgot their professions of meekness, and resolved to convince him of his heterodox presumption in disparaging the sacred institutions of the church.

Buchanan had determined to resume his former occupations in France; but king James V. retained him in the capacity of preceptor to one of his natural sons. This son was not, as has generally been supposed, the celebrated James Stuart, who afterwards obtained the regency, but another who bore the same baptismal name.

But he soon experienced the danger of extending his ridicule to the orthodox. The preferment of a profane scoffer at priests must have augmented their spleen; and the Franciscan friars, still smarting from his Somnium, found means of representing him to the king as a man of depraved morals, and of dubious faith. But on this occasion their zeal recoiled upon themselves. By comparing the humility of their professions with the arrogance of their deportment, James had formerly begun to discover their genuine character; and the part which he supposed them to have acted in a late conspiracy against his own life, had not contributed to diminish his antipathy. Instead of consigning the poet to disgrace or punishment, the king, who was aware that private resentment would improve the edge of his satire, enjoined him, in the presence of many courtiers, to renew his well-directed attack on the same pious fathers.

Buchanan's late experience, however, had taught him the importance of caution; he determined at once to gratify the king, and to avoid increasing the resentment of the friars against himself. In pursuance of this, he composed a kind of recantation, which he supposed might delude the Franciscans by its ambiguity of phrase. But he found himself doubly deceived: the indignation of the king, who was himself a satirical poet, could not so easily be gratified; and the friars were now impelled to a higher pitch of resentment. James requested him to compose another satire, which should exhibit their vices in a more glaring light. The subject was copious, and well adapted to the poet's talents and views. He accordingly applied himself to the composition of the poem afterwards published under the title of Franciscanus—the Franciscan; and to satisfy the king's impatience, soon presented him with a specimen. This production, as it now appears in its finished state, may without hazard be pronounced the most skilful and pungent satire, which any nation or language can exhibit. He has not servilely adhered to the model of any ancient poet, but is himself original and unequalled. To a masterly command of classical phraseology, he unites uncommon felicity of versification; and his diction often rises with his increasing indignation, to majesty and splendour. The combinations of his wit are variegated and original; and he evinces himself a most sagacious observer of human life. No class of men was ever more completly exposed to ridicule and infamy; nor is it astonishing that the popish clergy afterwards regarded the author with implacable hatred. Of the validity of his poetical accusations, many historical documents still remain. Buchanan has himself related in plain prose, that about this period some of the Scottish ecclesiastics were so deplorably ignorant, as to suppose Martin Luther to be the author of a dangerous book called the New Testament.

But the church being infallible, he speedily recognised the hazard of accosting its retainers by their proper names. At the commencement of the year 1539, many individuals suspected of reformed principles were involved in the horrible scenes of persecution. Towards the close of February, five were committed to the flames; nine made a formal recantation of their supposed errors, and many were driven into exile. Buchanan had been comprehended in the general arrest. After he was committed to custody, cardinal Beaton endeavoured to accelerate his doom, by tendering to the king a sum of money as the price of his innocent blood. Of this circumstance Buchanan was apprized by some of his friends at court; and his knowledge of the king's unfortunate propensity to avarice, must have augmented all the horrors of his situation. Stimulated by the thoughts of increasing danger, he made a successful effort to regain his liberty: while his keepers were fast asleep, he escaped through the window of the apartment in which he was confined. Directing his steps toward the south, he had soon to encounter new disasters. When he reached the borders, be was molested by robbers; and his life was exposed to jeopardy from the contagion of a pestilential disease, which then raged in the north of England; but he escaped both perils, and reached London in safety.

On his arrival in London, he experienced the friendship of Sir John Rainsford, who protected him against the fury of the papists. Of this generous protection, Buchanan was not afterwards unmindful: he has immortalized his benefactor by consecrating a poem to his memory. He remained but a short time in London, as he could not find any patrons; and the aspect of political affairs in England was not calculated to secure Buchanan's attachment to that nation:—he was anxious to escape from a country which he saw exposed to the wanton cruelties of a brutal tyrant. The civilization of France, as well as the particular intimacies which he had formed in that country, led him to adopt the resolution of returning to Paris. But he found on his arrival [1539] that cardinal Beaton was residing there in the character of an ambassador. Andrew Govean, a native of Portugal, invited him to Bourdeaux; nor did he hesitate to embrace an opportunity of removing himself beyond the influence of the cardinal's deadly hatred. Of the college of Guienne, lately founded in that city, Govean had been nominated principal; and Buchanan evidently through his interest, was now appointed one of the professors. Here he must have fixed his residence before the close of the year; for, to Charles V., who made his solemn entry into Bourdeaux on the first of December, 1539, he presented a poem in the name of the college.

The task assigned him at Bourdeaux, was that of teaching the Latin language. For an occupation of this kind, he seems to have entertained no particular affection; but, although sufficiently laborious, it never impaired the native elevation of his mind. He now prosecuted his poetical studies with a degree of ardour which may excite admiration; during the three years of his residence at Bourdeaux, he completed four tragedies, together with various other poems on miscellaneous subjects. It was then, and indeed at a much later period, the common practice of academical students to exercise themselves in the representation of Latin dramas. In dramatic poetry, the taste of the French nation was still rude and grotesque; for they had not begun to extricate themselves from the absurdities of the early mysteries and allegories. With the view of familiarizing the youths to the more correct and elegant models of the ancient theatre, Buchanan, with his usual intrepidity, made a sudden incursion into this province of literature. The earliest of his dramatic compositions bears the title of Baptistes—the Baptist. He had, at a former period, applied himself to the study of the Greek language, without the aid of a tutor, and as a useful exercise had then executed a close translation of the Medea of Euripides. He now delivered a poetical version to the academical stage, and afterwards, at the earnest request of his friends, suffered it to be printed. These two tragedies were performed with a degree of applause which exceeded his hopes. He afterwards wrote Jephthes, and translated Alcestes, another tragedy from Euripides. These last productions, as he intended them for publication, appear to have been written with superior diligence, when we consider the labours of his professional duties, and the distractions produced by the unwearied enmity of cardinal Beaton, and the Franciscans, who still threatened his life. Cardinal Beaton had, in a letter addressed to the archbishop of Bourdeaux, requested him to secure the person of the heretical poet; but this letter having been intrusted to the care of some individual much interested in the welfare of Buchanan, he was suffered to remain without molestation. The appearance of a dreadful plague in Guienne for some time occupied their attention; and the death of king James [1542], opening for the ambition of the cardinal a field for political intrigue at home, rescued Buchanan from farther fear of persecution.

The Baptistes, although inferior to the other tragedy in dramatic interest, is more strongly impregnated with the author's characteristic sentiments. Its great theme is civil and religious liberty. The poet frequently expresses himself with astonishing boldness; his language relative to tyranny and priestcraft is so strong and undisguised, that it could not then have been tolerated in many colleges.

His translations from Euripides must have contributed, as well as his original compositions, to revive the genius of the ancient drama. These versions are executed with no inconsiderable felicity. The diction of Alcestes surpasses that of Medea; yet to his learned contemporaries the last appeared so highly classical, that strong suspicions were entertained of his having published in his own name some ancient manuscript.

The excellence of the teachers, and the assiduity of the scholars, soon rendered the college of Guienne one of the most distinguished schools in France. In the learned dramas represented in the college, the well-known Michel de Montagne was a frequent performer.

Buchanan's attention to the interests of elegant and useful learning was unremitting, In a Sapphic ode addressed to the youth of Bourdeaux, he reminds them of the dignity and importance of the liberal arts, and particularly of that art which he had himself cultivated with such success. The exertions of such a preceptor could not fail of improving the taste of his pupils; but the splendour of his poetry seems to have conferred upon the college a substantial benefit of another kind. This seminary was more remarkable for the learning of its members, than for the amplitude of its endowments. The penury of their provision was so sensibly felt, that Buchanan, at the suggestion of his colleagues, addressed a poetical representation to Francis Olivier, chancellor of France, which had the desired effect. Buchanan afterwards inscribed to the chancellor an elegant ode in which he commemorates his liberality and promptitude in ameliorating their condition.

Buchanan's social intercourse was not confined to the college and the city; it was at this period that he occasionally enjoyed the society of a very extraordinary personage, who resided at a considerable distance. At Agen, the elder Scaliger was now exercising the profession of a physician. That city, when he there fixed his residence, could not furnish him with a single individual capable of supporting literary conversation; and he was therefore led to cultivate an intimacy with some of the more enlightened inhabitants of Bourdeaux. Buchanan, Tevius, and other accomplished scholars who then belonged to the college of Guienne, were accustomed to pay him an annual visit during the vacation. They were hospitably entertained in his house, and he declared that he forgot the torture of his gout whenever he had an opportunity of discussing topics of learning with such guests. The younger Scaliger, more illustrious than his father, inherited his high admiration of the Scottish poet. To Buchanan he awarded a decided superiority over all the Latin poets of those times.

Having resided three years at Bourdeaux, he afterwards removed to Paris. In 1544, he was officiating as a regent in the college of cardinal Le Maire, which he retained till 1547. About the former of these periods, he was miserably tormented with the gout, and acknowledges the medical aid he had received from Carolus Stephanus, a doctor of physic, of the faculty of Paris; who, like many of his relations, was equally distinguished as a scholar and as a printer.

In the college of cardinal Le Maire, Buchanan was associated with colleagues worthy of himself; viz., Turnebus and Muretus, two of the most eminent scholars of modern times; and it has been remarked that three of the most learned men in the world then taught humanity in the same college. The first class being taught by Turnebus, the second by Buchanan, and the third by Muretus.

John III., king of Portugal, having founded the university of Coimbra; and, as his own dominions could not readily supply competent professors, he invited Andrew Govean to accept the principality, and to conduct from France a considerable number of proficients in philosophy and ancient literature. Govean accordingly returned to his native country in the year 1547, accompanied by Buchanan and other associates. The affairs of Europe then presented an alarming aspect; and Portugal seemed to be almost the only corner free from tumults. To the proposals of Govean he had not only lent a prompt ear, but was so much satisfied with the character of his associates, that he also persuaded his brother Patrick to join this famous colony. To several of its members he had formerly been attached by the strictest ties of friendship, and all had distinguished themselves by the publication of learned works.

The happiness which Buchanan had promised himself with associates so congenial to his taste, soon came to an end, by the death of Govean, which took place in the year 1548. During the lifetime of this worthy man, Buchanan and his associates had found their situation at Coimbra sufficiently agreeable; but after they were deprived of his protection, the Portuguese began to persecute them with unrelenting bigotry. The harmless professors were at first assailed by the secret weapons of calumny; and in due time were loudly accused of imaginary crimes. Three of their number were thrown into the dungeons of the inquisition, and after having been subjected to a tedious and loathsome imprisonment, were at length arraigned at the infernal tribunal. According to the usual practice, they were not confronted with their accusers, of whose very names they were ignorant. As they could not be convicted of any crime, they were overwhelmed with reproaches, and again committed to custody.

Buchanan's superior genius attracted an unusual degree of indignation. He was accused of having written an impious poem against the Franciscans; yet with the nature of that poem the inquisitors were totally unacquainted. The only copy which he had ever parted with was presented to his native sovereign, James V., and before he left France, he had even adopted the precaution of having the circumstances of its composition properly explained to the Portuguese monarch. He was also charged with having eaten flesh in Lent, though the practice was universal in Portugal. He was, moreover, accused of having alleged, in a conversation with some young Portuguese, that with respect to the eucharist, St. Augustin appeared to him to be strongly inclined towards the opinion condemned by the church of Rome. Two witnesses, whom he afterwards discovered to be Joannes Ferrerius, a Piedmontese, who had visited Scotland, and resided at Kinloss, author of a continuation of Boece's History of Scotland, and Jean Tulpin, a doctor of theology, and a native of Normandy, made a formal deposition of their having been assured by several respectable informants, that Buchanan was disaffected to the Romish faith.

After the inquisitors had harassed Buchanan and themselves for the space of nearly a year and a half, in order to justify their proceedings against a scholar of such celebrity, they sentenced him to be confined to a monastery for some months, for the purpose of being thoroughly instructed by the monks; men by no means destitute of humanity or abandoned in morals, but totally unacquainted with religion. In this confinement he consoled himself with that unrivalled paraphrase of the Psalms of David, which placed him first among modern Latin poets, and will continue to be read with delight as long as the language in which they are written is understood.

Buchanan was at length restored to liberty, and apparently with testimonials in his favour from the monks; for when he solicited permission of the king to return to France, he was by him requested to remain in Portugal; and was presented with a small sum of money till he should be promoted to some station worthy of his talents.

Buchanan found that his prospect of being promoted by the Portuguese monarch was somewhat precarious; and he therefore determined to abandon a country in which he had experienced such unworthy treatment. Having embarked in a Candian vessel, which he found in the port of Lisbon, he was safely conveyed to England. Here, however, he did not long remain; though fair offers were made him to induce him to stay. The political affairs of England bore a very unpromising aspect. A young prince upon the throne, Edward VI.; the nobles at variance with one another; and the minds of the commons yet in a ferment, on account of their recent civil commotions [1552]: he arrived in France about the beginning of the year 1553, at the time the siege of the city of Metz was raised; and at the earnest request of his friends, though reluctantly, he composed a poem on that event, as several other poets of his acquaintance had previously celebrated that achievement.

To the French, at this period of his life, Buchanan appears to have been strongly attached; and they, with their characteristic vanity, wished to appropriate as their own, a poet, the splendour of whose reputation shed a glory round the country to which his name was associated. The warmth of his attachment he expressed in a poem Adventus in Galliam, which he wrote about this time.

Soon after his return to Paris, he was appointed a regent in the college of Boncourt; and in the year 1555, he was called from that charge by the celebrated marshal Comte de Brissac, who entertained him as the domestic tutor of his son, Timoleon de Cossé. At that period the Marshal presided over the French dominions in Italy; whither Buchanan was invited to attend his pupil.

Marshal de Brissac lived in Italy in a state of princely magnificence. Though much of his life had been spent amidst the tumults of war, he appears like the most eminent heroes of antiquity, to have cultivated the liberal arts amid the din of arms, and in the camp itself, enjoyed the society of learned men. In the preceptor of his son, he recognised in Buchanan a man capable of adorning a higher station; and he accordingly treated him with the utmost respect and deference. He was even accustomed to place him at the council board among the principal officers of his army. To this singular honour Buchanan was not entitled from his actual acquaintance with the theory or practice of war; he had recommended himself by the intuitive sagacity of his comprehensive mind; and his original admission arose from a circumstance entirely accidental. He happened to enter an apartment contiguous to the hall in which the marshal and his officers were engaged in discussing some measure of great importance; and on being arrested by their debates, he could not refrain from murmuring his disapprobation of the opinion supported by the majority. One of the generals smiled at so unexpected a salutation; but the marshal having invited Buchanan into the council, enjoined him to deliver his sentiments without restraint. He accordingly proceeded to discuss the question with his wonted perspicacity, and to excite the amazement of Brissac and his officers. In the issue, his suggestious were found to have been oracular.

Much of Buchanan's time was devoted to the study of theology. At that era, religious controversy exercised the faculties of a large proportion of mankind; and he was likewise anxious to place his faith on the solid foundation of reason. His poetical studies were not, however, entirely neglected. It was apparently about this period that he conceived the design of his philosophical poem, De Sphœra, which his future avocations did not suffer him to draw to a conclusion.

His connexion with the family of Brissac terminated in the year 1560, when the flames of civil war had already seized France, and the friends of civil and religious liberty had triumphed in Scotland. The precise period of his return has not been ascertained; but it is certain that he was at the Scottish court in January, 1562; and that, in the month of April, he was officiating as classical tutor to the queen, who was then in the twentieth year of her age. Every afternoon she perused with Buchanan a portion of Livy. The condescensions of royalty win upon the most austere, and, aided by the fascinating and elegant manners of a beautiful princess, in the full bloom and freshness of youth, it was no wonder that his young sovereign became an object of ardent admiration to Buchanan. This he expressed in the dedication of the first complete edition of his Psalms, which must have been soon after Mary arrived in Scotland, and before she had forfeited the esteem of her friends by her misconduct.

The era at which Buchanan finally returned to his native country was highly important. After a violent struggle between the old and the new religion, the latter had at length prevailed; its doctrines and discipline received the sanction of parliament in the year 1560. For the manly principles of the reformation he had always cherished a secret affection; and his attachment, as he candidly owns, had been confirmed by the personal malignity of the grey friars. As he now resided in a country where he could avow his sentiments without restraint, he professed himself a member of the reformed church of Scotland; and this accession to their cause was duly appreciated by the leaders of the party. The earl of Moray was then rising towards that summit of power which he afterwards attained. He was one of the few Scottish nobles of the age who reverenced literature, and patronized its professors.

In the year 1564, queen Mary rewarded his literary merit by conferring on him the temporalities of the abbey of Crossraguel; which amounted in annual valuation to the sum of five hundred pounds in Scottish currency. But while he thus enjoyed the favour of the queen, he did not neglect his powerful friend the earl of Moray.

He prepared for the press his miscellany entitled Fratres Fraterrimi; a collection of satires, almost entirely directed against the impurities of the popish church. The absurdity of its doctrines, and the immoral lives of its priests, afforded him an ample field for the exercise of his formidable talents; and he has alternately employed the weapons of sarcastic irony and vehement indignation. These he dedicated to the earl of Moray. For Buchanan he soon procured a station of some dignity and importance: as commendator of the priory of St. Andrew's, he enjoyed the right of nominating the principal of St. Leonard's college; and a vacancy occurring about the year 1566, he placed Buchanan at the head of that seminary.

In the year 1567, Buchanan published another collection, consisting of Elegiæ, Silvæ, Hendecasyllabi. From an epistle to his friend Peter Daniel, prefixed to this publication, it would appear he still continued in some situation about court: for he says, "Between the occupations of a court and the annoyance of disease, I have hardly been able to steal any portion of time, which I could either devote to my friends or to myself; and I have therefore been prevented from maintaining a frequent correspondence with my friends, and from collecting my poems which lie so widely dispersed. For my own part, I was not extremely solicitous to recall them from perdition; but as some friends, to whom I neither can nor ought to refuse any request, demanded them with such earnestness, I have employed some of my leisure hours in collecting a portion, and placing it in a state of arrangement. With this specimen, which consists of one book of elegies, another of miscellanies, and a third of hendecasyllables, I, in the mean time present you. When it shall suit your convenience, I beg you will communicate them to Montauré, Des Mesmes, and other philological friends, without whose advice I trust you will not adopt any measure relative to their publication.

In my paraphrase of the Psalms, I have corrected many typographical errors, and have likewise made various alterations: I must therefore request you to advise Stephanus* not to publish a new edition without my knowledge. Hitherto I have not found leisure to finish the second book of my poem De Sphœra; and, therefore, I have not made a transcript of the first; as soon as the former is completed, I shall transmit them to you. Salute in my name all our friends at Orleans, and such others as it may be convenient. Farewell. Edinburgh, July the twenty-fourth, 1566."

While he presided over St. Leonard's college, he appears to have enjoyed the esteem and confidence of the university. In 1566, and the two ensuing years, he was one of the four electors of the rector; and was nominated a prorector by each of the three officers who were successively chosen. For several years, he was likewise dean of faculty. In the general assemblies of the national church, convened at Edinburgh, during the years 1563 to 1567, he had the honour of a seat as a "doctor," and was a constant member of its most important committees. In this last year he was chosen moderator.

He was now called from the calm pursuits of the scholar, poet, and theologian, to mingle in the arena of civil politics. After the defeat of the queen at Langside, in an evil hour she sought refuge in England, where the regent was forced by circumstances to undertake the ungracious task of appearing as the accuser of his sister and sovereign; and in the performance of this painful duty he was assisted by Buchanan, who attended him to the conference at York and Westminster, 1568–9, and drew up in Latin "A Detection of the Doings of Mary Queen of Scots," which was extensively circulated by the English court. Buchanan received much undeserved reproach, by the appearance at this time, of another Latin treatise on the same subject, "Actio contra Mariam Scotorum Reginam," which was attributed to him, but was written by a Sir Thomas Smith, a satellite of queen Elizabeth, and annexed, in Italic print, to the "Detection" published in London, in 1571.

The "Detection," as originally written by Buchanan, was a concise historical deduction of facts, preceding the marriage with Both well, such as was absolutely necessary for understanding the subject, and vindicating the proceedings of the nobles; written with chaste and classical precision—keen but not virulent. But the Action against Mary is a dull declamation, and a malignant invective, written in professed imitation of the ancient orators, whom Buchanan has never imitated.

Soon after the assassination of the regent, Buchanan was removed to a situation of no inconsiderable importance; he was appointed one of the preceptors of the young king. The prince had been committed during his infancy to the charge of the earl of Mar, a nobleman of the most unblemished integrity. In 1570, when Buchanan entered upon his office, he was only four years of age. The preceptors associated with Buchanan were Peter Young, and the two abbots of Cambuskenneth and Dryburgh, David and Adam Erskine, both related to the noble family of Mar.

Buchanan, during the regency of Moray, appears to have been a director of the chancery; which he seems to have retained but a short while, and probably resigned on being appointed lord privy seal, under the regent Lennox, in 1570. His situation as lord privy seal was undoubtedly honourable, and probably lucrative. It entitled him to a seat in parliament, in whose proceedings he took an active part, and was appointed a commissioner on several important occasions. In 1578, he formed one of a commission, including many of the most illustrious for rank or talent in Scotland, appointed to examine and digest the laws of the land; but which was never carried into execution. He was included also, in two commissions respecting education—the one for supplying a proper Latin grammar, to be substituted by authority in all the schools—the other to inspect and reform the universities and colleges within the realm; to displace unqualified teachers, and to provide persons more competent in their room. Besides these commissions, he was associated in one for examining a "Book of the Policy of the Kirk."

During the time that Morton was displaced from the office of regent for his aggrandizing schemes, Buchanan was associated with other officers of the state, appointed by the privy counsel to advise and direct the young monarch—an office which soon became unnecessary by the return to power of the earl of Morton. But amidst all these numerous avocations, his whole soul seems to have been intensely bent on forming in the mind of his royal pupil, those principles which alone elevate the character, and secure the happiness of a first magistrate in a free state.

Having prepared his tragedy of Baptistes for the press, he dedicated it to the young king in the year 1576. The dedication is written in such a strain as seldom meets the royal ear. It is like a solemn prophetical admonition, in which his venerable preceptor frees himself from any blame which might arise from the consequences of his pupil's misconduct; and with an anxiety but too well grounded, warns him against forsaking the instructions of his youth.

"This circumstance," says he, "may seem to bear a more peculiar reference to you, that it clearly discloses the punishment of tyrants, and the misery which awaits them even when their prosperity seems at the height. That you should now acquire such knowledge, I consider as not only expedient, but even necessary, in order that you may early begin to hate what you ought even to shun. I therefore wish this work to remain as a witness to posterity, that if impelled by evil counsellors, or suffering the licentiousness of royalty to prevail over a virtuous education, you should hereafter be guilty of any improper conduct, the fault may be imputed, not to your preceptors, but to you who have not obeyed their salutary admonitions."

In similar language, and with increasing anxiety, as if "age had imparted its mystical lore," three years afterwards, he inscribed to him the most important of all his writings, except his History, the treatise, De Jure Regni apud Scotos. "I have deemed," says the venerable teacher, "this publication expedient, that it may at once testify my zeal for your service, and admonish you of your duty to the community." Then after some compliments to his docility, he adds, "yet am I compelled to entertain some slight degree of suspicion, lest evil communication, the alluring nurse of the vices, should lend an unhappy impulse to your still tender mind; especially as I am not ignorant with what facility the external senses yield to seduction. I have therefore sent you this treatise, not only as an advice, but even as an importunate, and sometimes impudent exhorter, to direct you at this critical period of life, safely past the dangerous rocks of adulation; not merely to point out the path, but to keep you in it; and if you should deviate, to reprove and reclaim your wanderings, which monitor, if you obey, you will ensure tranquillity to yourself and your family, and transmit your glory to the most remote posterity."

This treatise, originally written as a defence of the friends of freedom, with regard to their treatment of the queen, does not enter upon the discussion of a merely local question, as to her participation in the murder of her husband, and her liability to punishment; but considers in all its bearings the broad but delicate question of allegiance, and has in view to show, that a good government alone has a right to support, and that a bad one ought to be resisted. At the time of its publication it had to combat with the accumulated prejudices and interests of ages of ignorance and superstition. It was extensively read on the continent, and had taken too deep root in the public mind of Europe to be eradicated by the imbecile attempts of the monarch, to whom it was dedicated, to suppress it. The verdict of some of the most able writers of our own time, has assigned it a primary station among the few books in political science which deserve to be preserved. "The science," says Sir James Macintosh, "which teaches the rights of man, the eloquence that kindles the spirit of freedom, had for ages been buried with the other monuments of the wisdom, and relics of the genius of antiquity. But the revival of letters first unlocked, only to a few, the sacred fountain. The necessary labours of criticism and lexicography occupied the earlier scholars, and some time elapsed before the spirit of antiquity was transfused into its admirers. The first man of that period who united elegant learning to original and masculine thought, was Buchanan; and he, too, seems to have been the first scholar who caught from the ancients the noble flame of republican enthusiasm. This praise is merited by his neglected, though incomparable tract, De Jure Regni, in which the principles of popular politics, and the maxims of a free government, are delivered with a precision, and enforced with an energy, which no former age had equalled, and no succeeding has surpassed."

Being now advanced to the seventy-fourth year of his age, Buchanan composed a brief sketch of his own life, to this task he was urged by some of his numerous friends. This little work is composed with his usual elegance, and with a degree of modesty and candour worthy of so illustrious a character. So far as it goes it is followed in its principal features throughout this memoir.

An instance of his amiable character, at this advanced period of his life, is mentioned by Thomas Jack, teacher of the Grammar School of Glasgow, afterwards minister of Eastwood. He waited upon Buchanan to solicit his revisal of a MS. entitled Onomasticon, Poeticum composed in Latin verse. He says, "I found him in the royal palace of Stirling, diligently engaged in writing his History of Scotland. He was so far from being displeased with my interruption, that he cheerfully took my work into his hands, and after continuing to read two or three pages of it, he collected together his own papers, which were scattered on the table, and said, 'I will desist from my undertaking, till I have done what you wish.' This promise he accurately performed, and within a few days, gave me a paper, written with his own hand, containing such corrections as he thought necessary."

His last epistle, addressed to his early friend Beza, exhibits him in a no less pleasing point of view:—"Although my attention is divided by various occupations, and the state of my health is so desperate as to leave me no leisure for the common duties of life, yet the departure of Jerome Groslot has banished all my excuses. For, as the father, who was a man of distinction, loaded me during my residence in France with every species of kindness, and the son has honoured me here as another parent, I was aware that among you I could not escape the heavy charge of ingratitude, if I should now overlook the kindness which I experienced from the one, the pleasant intercourse which I have enjoyed with the other, and the polite attention which you have uniformly paid me. Yet among those who are not unacquainted with my present condition, such a fault would readily find its apology. It is my best apology, that all my senses dying before me, what now remains of the image of the former man testifies, not that I am, but that I have been alive; especially as I can neither cherish the hope of contracting new intimacies, nor of continuing the old. These circumstances I now mention with greater confidence, as the present occasion affords you an opportunity of learning my condition from Groslot; whom it appears superfluous to recommend to your attention. The dispositions of youth disclose themselves without our aid. I have however furnished him with a recommendation, rather to comply with the common practice, than because it is requisite. With regard to myself, since I cannot continue my former mode of life by the reciprocation of friendly offices, I shall refrain from those exertions to which I have long been unequal, and indulge in silence. Farewell. Edinburgh, July the fifteenth, 1581."

The last production which Buchanan lived to complete was his History of Scotland. In the year 1582, it issued from the office of Alexander Arbuthnot, printer to the king. It bears the royal privilege, and, like other works of the same author, is dedicated to the young monarch.

In the month of September that year, his learned friends, Andrew Melville, James Melville, and his own cousin Thomas Buchanan, provost of the collegiate church of Kirkheugh, having heard that the work was in the press, and the author indisposed, hastened to Edinburgh to pay him a final visit. James, who was the nephew of Andrew Melville, and professor of divinity at St. Andrew's, has in simple terms recorded the principal circumstances which occurred during their interview. Upon entering his apartment, they found the greatest genius of the age employed in the humble though benevolent task of teaching the horn-book to a young man in his service. After the usual salutations, "I perceive, Sir," said Andrew Melville, "you are not idle." "Better this," replied Buchanan, "than stealing sheep, or sitting idle, which is as bad." He afterwards showed them his dedication to the young king; and Melville having perused it, remarked that it seemed in some passages obscure, and required certain words to complete the sense. "I can do nothing more," said Buchanan, "for thinking of another matter." "What is that?" rejoined Melville.—"To die. But I leave that, and many other things to your care." Melville likewise alluded to the publication of Blackwood's answer to his treatise De Jure Regni apud Scotos. These visitors afterwards proceeded to Arbuthnot's printing-office, to inspect a work which had excited such high expectation. They found the impression had proceeded as far as the passage relative to the interment of David Rizzio; and being alarmed at the unguarded boldness with which the historian had there expressed himself, they requested the printer to desist. Having returned to Buchanan's house, they found him in bed. In answer to their friendly inquiries, he informed them that he was "even going the way of welfare." His kinsman then proceeded to state their apprehensions respecting the consequence of publishing so unpalatable a story, and to suggest the probability of its inducing the king to prohibit the entire work. "Tell me, man," said Buchanan, "if I have told the truth." "Yes, Sir," replied his cousin, "I think so." "Then," rejoined the dying historian, "I will abide his feud, and all his kin's. Pray to God for me, and let him direct all." And so, subjoins the original narrative, "by the printing of his chronicle was ended, that most learned, wise, and godly man, ended this mortal life."

This visit he survived about a twelvemonth, and it would have been gratifying to know, whether he ever received any mark of gratitude or kindness from his royal pupil, during the whole of his protracted illness—presumptions are against it. Thaunus informs us, that James required his preceptor to retract what he had written with so much freedom respecting the queen his mother, and leave to posterity some formal testimony of his compunction. He at first returned an evasive answer, but being afterwards importuned by repeated messages, he made this final declaration:—That he could not recall what he had written in the full conviction of its truth; but that after his decease it would be in the king's power to adopt such measures with regard to his writings as he might judge expedient. He, however, admonished him to proceed with mature deliberation; and to reflect, that although God had intrusted supreme power to kings, yet that truth, which derives its strength from God, is as superior to their control as God is superior to man.

Tradition adds, that about this time, in one of the several messages he sent to him, the king required his presence at court, within twenty days, under pain of his displeasure; but that he, finding his death approaching, sent him back a letter of admonition relative to the government of his kingdom, and well-being of his people; and told him, that he could run the hazard of his majesty's displeasure without danger; for that "by the time limited, he would be where few kings or great men should be honoured to enter." At reading which, it is said, the king wept.

It is uncertain whether he lived to see his great work published: he was, however, spared the pain of seeing the attempts of his ungrateful pupil to suppress it, and what would have been more galling to his virtuous spirit, the sycophancy of a Scottish parliament seconding the wishes of an undisguised, but happily a weak despot, in a country, heretofore the land of freedom.

Buchanan expired a short while after five o'clock, on the morning of Friday the twenty-eighth of September, 1582. He was then in the seventy-seventh year of his age. His remains were interred in the cemetery of the Grey Friars; and his ungrateful country never afforded his grave the common tribute of a monumental stone. After an interval of some years, his tomb was opened; and his skull, or at least a skull supposed to be his, was, by the intervention of principal Adamson, deposited in the library of the university of Edinburgh. It is so thin as to be transparent.

Buchanan had consecrated a monument of his own fame, composed of materials more permanent than brass or marble; but his country has at length afforded him one of those memorials which are of least value when most merited, and which contribute more to the honour of the living than of the dead. An obelisk, nineteen feet square at the base, and extending to the height of one hundred and three feet, was lately erected by subscription to his memory at the village of Killearn.

Buchanan had experienced many of the vicissitudes of human life, and, in every situation, had adhered to those maxims of conduct which he deemed honourable. His integrity was stern and inflexible: what has been regarded as the least immaculate part of his character, naturally resulted from the prominent qualities of a mind which could not sufficiently accommodate itself to the frailties of mankind. But the age in which he lived was rude and boisterous; nor did the exquisite cultivation of his mind entirely defend him from the general contagion. He was subject to the nice and irritable feelings which frequently attend exalted genius; enthusiastic in his attachment, and violent in his resentment; equally sincere in his love and in his hatred. His friends, among whom he numbered many of the most distinguished characters of that era, regarded him with a warmth of affection which intellectual eminence cannot alone secure. Of an open and generous disposition, he displayed the enviable qualities which render domestic intercourse profitable and interesting. The general voice had awarded him a pre-eminence in literature that seemed to preclude all hopes of rivalship; but his estimate of his own attainments was uniformly consistent with perfect modesty; and no man could evince himself more willing to acknowledge genuine merit in other candidates for fame. This affability, united to the charms of a brilliant conversation, rendered his society highly acceptable to persons of the most opposite denominations. His countenance was stern and austere; but his heart soft and humane. His patriotism was of that unadulterated species which flows from general philanthropy: his large soul embraced the common family of mankind; but his affections taught him that his first regards were due to the barren land from which he derived his birth. Notwithstanding his long habituation to an academical life, his manners betrayed none of the peculiarities of a mere pedagogue. The native elegance of his mind, and the splendour of his reputation, secured him the utmost respect and deference from such of his countrymen as were not separated from him by the rancour of political zeal; and although he even assumed considerable latitude in censuring the errors of exalted station, yet the dignified simplicity of his manners prevented his liberties from exciting resentment. Conscious of personal worth and of intrinsic greatness, he did not fail to assert his own privileges: mere superiority of rank was not capable of alluring him to a servile and degrading attachment; but it was equally incapable of provoking his envy or malice. Of the truth of the Christian religion, and consequently of its eternal moment, his conviction seems to have been complete and uniform. The nature of his attachment to the reformation was consistent with his usual wisdom: he eagerly embraced the doctrine of the reformed.

Nor was the genius of Buchanan less variegated than his life. In his numerous writings, he discovers a vigorous and mature combination of talents which have seldom been found united in equal perfection. To an imagination excursive and brilliant, he unites an undeviating rectitude of judgment. His learning was at once elegant, various, and profound: in philosophical dialogue and historical narrative; in lyric and didactic poetry; in elegy, epigram, and satire; he has never been equalled in modern, and hardly surpassed in ancient times.

George Buchanan was born in an age of little refinement, and enjoyed none of the early advantages which result from hereditary wealth; but his intrinsic greatness of mind enabled him to emerge from original obscurity, and to earn a reputation which can only decay with literature itself. By the universal suffrage of the learned, he has been stationed near the summit of modern renown; but his moral qualities are sometimes considered as more equivocal. His character has however been subjected to a most rigid and inhuman scrutiny: his genuine actions have been misrepresented, if not with all the powers, certainly with all the propensities, of the vilest sophistry; and many fictitious actions have been industriously imputed to him, for the sake of completing the picture of his iniquities. He has a thousand times been upbraided with horrible ingratitude for favours which he never received. To prove the purest of mankind guilty of the most henious crimes, will always be extremely easy, where passion and prejudice are permitted to supply every deficiency of evidence; where the witnesses are strangers to common veracity, and the judges utterly unable or unwilling to appreciate their testimony. The character of Buchanan excited the respect and even the veneration of contemporaries highly distinguished for their moral virtues, and for their intellectual endowments; and it unquestionably suggests another strong presumption in his favour, that notwithstanding all the persevering anxiety of a regular succession of enemies, political and theological, his long and chequered life has actually been found to betray so few of the frailties inseparable from humanity. His stern integrity, his love of his country and of mankind, cannot fail of endearing his memory to those who possess congenial qualities; and such errors as he really committed, will not perhaps be deemed unpardonable by those who recollect that they are also men.

"He was a man," says Sir James Melville, "of notable endowments, great learning, and an excellent Latin poet; he was much honoured in foreign countries; pleasant in conversation, into which he happily introduced short moral maxims, which his invention readily supplied him with, upon any emergency." His works that are now extant, make two folio volumes. The pamphlet, going under the title of "the witty exploits of George Buchanan," seems to be spurious; although it is certain he pronounced many witty savings, of which the greater number were never committed to writing.

JOHN ERSKINE OF DUN

JOHN ERSKINE, descended of the ancient and honourable family of Dun, was born in the year 1509, at the family-seat near Montrose, in the shire of Angus and the Mearns. In his youth he attended, most probably, the university of Aberdeen, and afterwards travelled abroad for the purpose of improving and perfecting his education, by attendance at some of the foreign schools and universities.

In the year 1534, we find him returned home, and in possession of his estate. At this time the merchants of Dundee, Montrose, and other towns, carried on an extensive trade with England, Holland, and France. From these places they imported Tyndale's translation of the Scriptures, as well as books written against popery; and the accounts which at the same time reached this country of the progress of the reformation in Germany, induced many to read and inquire concerning religion, and to receive impressions very unfavourable to popery. These influences, and the conversation he had with ministers and other serious persons, both abroad and at home, operating upon the mind of Erskine, he became a convert to the protestant faith: and he was also eminently instrumental in the conversion of David Straiton, who, on the 27th of August of this year, was executed at Edinburgh for his profession of the reformed religion.

The castle of Dun was always open as an asylum for the persecuted preachers and professors of the protestant faith, where they enjoyed Christian communion. Mr. Erskine was appointed an "exhorter" long before he became a regular minister among the reformers. "Exhorters" were a class of men, whose duty consisted in expounding the Scriptures. Being provost of Montrose, he procured for George Wishart the appointment to be master of the grammar school.

In the war with England, which began September, 1548, he took an active part: and his able and gallant defence of the town of Montrose, is particularly noticed. The following account as given by Beagué, will be read with interest.

"The English fleet came secretly thither expecting no opposition. The Laird of Dun, by reason of the valetudinary state of his health, chanced to be at home at the time. This gentleman had a large stock of wisdom and honesty; and being admirably well seen in war, was not ignorant that the smallest oversights usher in for the most part, inconveniences of the highest importance, namelie, where access is easy. For this reason, though his illnes pleaded for rest, he never retired at night till he had first visited the guard of a fort, which, with incredible diligence, he had caused to be reared at the mouth of the harbour of Montrose: then after weakening, or doubling the guard as he found expedient, and leaving proper orders behind him, he retired to his own house, or stayed in the town of Monross; and was frequently wont to say, 'That as men of honour are bound to fear shame, so they are by the same rule oblidged not to shun dangers or troubles.' When the English fleet approached, he hapned to see a great many ships not far of. Behold a singular example of what a ready wit can effect upon the most urgent necessitys. The Laird of Dun having discovered the enimys fleet, and looking for the worst, a consideration seldome lyable to the pains of repenting, gave orders to some of his men to man the best ships in the harbour, and impede the enimie's ingress that way; he commanded others to guard the fort, and sent off some to the town, with orders to go about in a privat way among the Burgesses, seamen, and others, to cause them to take armes. He left orders with them in their respective posts, and he himself marched with a party against the enimie. To compass his aim with the more caution, he left a part of his men out of the town in an advantageous place, formerly fortifyed, to secure his retrait, and advanced with the most nimble, with that secrecy and diligence, that he discovered the enimie's frigates sailing to and froe with their men in them landing. Having thus penetrated into the plot, he withdrew to his party he had left without the town; and having placed sentinells in proper posts, to prevent surprizes, he reentered the town. By this time a thousand of the inhabitants wer in armse; of them he picked out three hundred, and ordered them out to joyn their friends at the trenches, the remainder he thought unfitt for action, and ordered two gentlemen in whom he could confide to lead them, with the ship boyes and populace, to the back of a mountain which looks down upon that place wher the enimy landed. These gentlemen he ordered to lye closs till he gave the signall, the second fire of his artillery, and then to draw all their company in the best order they could, and show themselves at a distance to the English. He had laizour enough to put his signe in execution. The English knew litle of the country, and though six or eight hundred men wer landed, they had not stirred from the shore. By the break of day they hastned to the town full of hopes and expecting no opposition. The Laird of Dun with his men in the trenches, gave them a terrible onsett, and their arrowes flew so quick that many of them wer overwhelmed before they knew from whence or by whom the storm was poured down. The Scots who lay in ambush, charged the enimy at this rate four or five times, till they rallyed and offered to repell the shock, the ambush retired with order and inconsiderable loss to the trenches. The English pursued with incredible speed, wher the Scots with the shot of their arrowes and fire of their arquebushes cut off a great many of the formost, and mentained their post against the remainder, without coming to hardy blowes. Thus, the Laird of Dun's orders and dispositions wer exactly executed, and now all being ready for his intended project, and apprehensive that the heat of action should warm his men to an excess of forwardnes, he began insensibly to draw them behind the trenches. This he did so cunningly, that the enimies scarce perceived the insensible retiring, till they saw him retire with the last. Upon this the English pursued briskly, as he expected, and then the Laird of Dun commanded three feild pieces which he had brought thither to be discharged, which by reason of the nearnes and confusion of the enimie, did them a worlde of mischeife. After this the Scots broke out again, with a great cry, and their swords in hand, with incredible and irresistible fury. Meanwhile, the signall being given, the detachment which the Laird of Dun had loged on the back of the hill, made all the neighbourhood resound with shouts and huzzas, and failed not to show themselves as ordered at a convenient distance; they appeared in the form of a four-square battalion, and wer so skilfuly ranked, though their weepons were ridiculouse, that the enemy took them to be armed according to the French fashion and concluded they wer about to cut off their retreat. This struck them with terrour, and made them run to the sea with the grea[te]st disorder that fancy can represent. They ne[ver] once looked back on the pursuing Scots, who chased them so eagerly, and made such havock among them, that of nine hundred not one hundred gote to their ships. The fleet putt to sea and retired. The Laird of Dun divided the spoils of the vanquished among his men, and returned to the town with the glory of a victory, that was owing not only to valour and vigilancy, but to such a nice piece of martiall cunning, as at once elevated the spirits of his own people, and intimidated the enimy so very much, that at last they broke their ranks, and tamely permitted their throats to be cut."

In the autumn of the year 1555, and shortly after Knox's arrival from Geneva, the laird of Dun held a conference at his lodgings in Edinburgh upon the unlawfulness of communion with papists. Mr. Knox pointed out the sinfulness of it so forcibly, that a great secession was made from the popish meetings; and the reformers resolved so soon as a protestant minister could be procured, the sacrament of the Lord's Supper should be administered to them according to the plan adopted by the reformed churches abroad. Soon after this Mr. Erskine left Edinburgh for his family seat of Dun, Mr. Knox quickly following, and residing with him for about a month, where the latter daily preached the gospel, and dispensed the sacrament to most of the gentlemen of the county of Nearns and Angus, all engaging to oppose idolatry to the utmost.

In December 1557, the parliament assembled, and having named eight commissioners, among whom was the laird of Dun, to proceed to France to be present at the marriage of the young queen with the dauphin, they set sail in February 1558. They returned in October following, after a voyage of great disaster; some of the commissioners having died, not without suspicion of having been poisoned.

After the martyrdom of Walter Mill, the last who suffered previous to the reformation, the professors of the protestant religion grew more bold, and in the summer of 1558, held their meetings for worship in public, and were countenanced by the presence of the laird of Dun, and lord James, prior of St. Andrew's, both of whom had returned safe from the embassy to France.

The English queen, Mary, having died November 15th of the same year, and her sister Elizabeth, who succeeded her, being a protestant, she gave her countenance and support to the reformers in Scotland.

The laird of Dun was one of the petitioners to the queen regent of Scotland, who, being chiefly guided by the popish bishops, persecuted her protestant subjects, and was strongly opposed to the spread of the principles of the reformation. The petitioners requested permission to worship God, "according to the dictates or their own conscience," and also desired that their ministers should be freed from obeying the proclamation which enjoined their attendance at Stirling the 10th day of May, 1559, under pain of rebellion. The laird of Dun being anxious for the safety of the ministers, and at the same time wishing to preserve peace, proposed to the congregation then at Perth, that he should proceed to Stirling, and endeavour to give the queen advice, contrary to that which she had received from her popish counsellors. The queen regent even signified her wish to have a conference with him; but this was only used as a pretext for delay, till she had accomplished her design with the parliament, of vesting in the dauphin, the succession to the crown of Scotland. After some conference with the queen, who used all her wonted dissimulation, the laird of Dun became impressed with her sincerity, and wrote letters to the congregation, that the queen had acceded to his requests; and that the ministers were not to be tried, but might return to their homes. At the reading of his letters, a few were disposed to put confidence in the queen regent's promises—but the greater portion of the barons and gentlemen were of opinion that the laird of Dun had been deceived, and therefore determined to remain at Perth until after the 10th of May, or until the proclamation should be withdrawn. The ministers having failed to appear, in consequence of the device of the queen regent, she immediately gave orders to put them all to the horn, for non-compearance, and likewise to punish all who should presume to assist or maintain them. The laird of Dun arrived at Perth on the evening of the 10th May, with these evil tidings, which put the congregation into a state of great consternation; and the excitement consequent on the deceit thus practised, contributed in no small degree to the pulling down of the monuments of idolatry at St. Johnston and Scoon, on the following day. But the laird of Dun and Knox were conspicuous in their endeavours to quell the ferment thus occasioned by the double-dealing of the queen and her popish advisers.

In the following year, the laird of Dun was employed in conducting some of the most arduous affaire of the nation. He was one of those appointed to sign the instructions given to the Scots commissioners, dated at Glasgow, February 10th, 1560, who went to Berwick to treat with the Duke of Norfolk, for assistance from England against the French troops, who at this time held possession of Leith. The commissioners having acted according to their instructions, aid was sent from England, under the command of lord Gray of Wilton, who succeeded in expelling the French;* and by the treaty of Leith, which was signed May 10th, 1560, the reformation was finally established.

On the death of the queen regent, which happened in June following, a convention of the estates was held to take the affairs of the church into their consideration, and to allocate the few ministers that were among them, according to the necessities of the different parts of the country. At this time the First Book of Discipline was produced, which contained an act, ordaining ecclesiastical superintendents. They nominated five, agreeably to the "First Book," and the laird of Dun was appointed to the superintendence of Angus and Mearns.

On December 10th, 1560, the first National or General Assembly was held. The early assemblies watched strictly over the conduct of their superintendents; and in that which was held, December 25th, 1562, it was proposed that the laird of Dun should be removed from acting as superintendent of Angus and Mearns: it was observed, that he had permitted popish priests to read in kirks within his diocese; that young men were admitted to be exhorters, without the necessary examination laid down in the "First Book of Discipline,"—that gentlemen of vicious lives were chosen to be elders—and that sundry ministers came late to the kirk, unnecessarily detaining the people, and causing them to depart immediately after sermon. The superintendent being called in, tendered his resignation of the commission he had received from the assembly—stating that the office was one of much difficulty and responsibility; and, from the declining state of his health, he wished to be freed from it—at the same time, he promised to do all in his power to remedy the evils complained of.

The laird of Dun was chosen Moderator of the eleventh general assembly, which met December 1565. Among the first subjects which they took up, was the conduct of the superintendents—and they entered a complaint against the moderator that his visitation was not so close as it ought to be. He admitted with his usual candour, that he had not visited the kirks for two months bypast, but alleged in vindication, that during the time, he lodged with his friends who had most need of correction and discipline—he therefore besought the assembly to provide some other for the office; a request, which in the humility of his spirit he frequently made; but the assembly always declined to grant his desire. Erskine was continued moderator of the next two assemblies—and towards the end of the thirteenth (December 1566,) he again claimed to be "exonered from the burdensome calling on account of the weak state of his health; but they would not altogether free him from his charge, only allowing him to appoint some of the best qualified within his bounds, to visit when he found himself unable to perform the duty.

Next year, he took a prominent part in the important ceremony of the coronation of James VI., which took place at Stirling, July 29th, 1567.

After the assembly of 1569, a commission was given to Erskine to visit the bounds of Aberdeen, and particularly the university. Here he deposed from their offices five members of king's college, who remained obstinate in their popish faith. We do not find that they were taxed with any immorality; but, according to the act of parliament which was passed at Edinburgh, 24th August, 1560, their tenets rendered them unfit for the office of teachers of youth.

On the 28th of July, 1569, the "good regent" called a convention of the estates to be held at Perth, to consider a matter of vital importance to the reformers. This was an application from lord Boyd to the regent, in name of queen Mary, backed with letters from the English ministers of state, containing proposals for the return of the queen to Scotland. Of this convention the laird of Dun was member for the town of Montrose.

A circumstance is related that took place next year, which shows that the pious life led by the laird of Dun, was acknowledged in a remarkable way—he having had, like the prophets of old, a revelation of the death of the "good regent," which happened at Linlithgow on the 23d January, 1570. The following is Wodrow's account, as handed down on the authority of two ministers of the church, who at one time resided in the family of Dun. "The regent was over in Lochleven with the earl of Northumberland, whom he had catched after the late rebellion raised by him and other papists in England was suppressed; and had been made prisoner there about the 2d of January. He came and lodged with the superintendent of Angus, in the house of Dun, where they yet know the large window at the end of the old hall there, which looked out to a pleasant green. The earl of Moray, and the laird of Dun were standing in that window, conversing closely upon important matters, with their faces looking towards the green. While the regent was talking, the superintendent suddenly looked about to him, and with the greatest sorrow and tears in his eyes, after he had been silent for some time, at length interrupted the regent with these words, 'Ah! woes me, my lord, for what I perceive is to befall you shortly, for in a fortnight's time you will be murdered.' Such hints of future things were not uncommon among our reformers, as I have more than once noticed. And the regent had several fore notices of his hazard, as well as this, and too little regarded them."

After the murder of the earl of Moray, the earl of Mar was appointed regent, and the laird of Dun entered into a correspondence with him, in which he showed his great zeal for the liberties of the church. His first letter, dated 10th November 1571, appears to have been a reply to several heads or questions issued by the regent on the subject of the application of church rents to the uses of government,—on presentations to bishops,—and on the superseding of superintendents by bishops; and as it contains distinct answers to all these questions, exhibiting a view of his opinions on these subjects, it is here given entire.

"I thought it expedient in write to let your Grace know my judgment in these articles and heads conteaned in your Grace's last writing. As to the pension appointed before unto the Regent's house, as I understand, litle difficulty will be therin, your Grace doing your duty to the Kirk, the which I pray God your Grace may do. As to the provision of benefices, this is my judgment. All benefices of teinds, or having teinds joyned or annexed thereunto, which is taken up of the peoples labours, have the offices joined unto them; which office is the preaching of the Evangell and ministration of the sacraments; and this office is spirituall, and belongeth to the Kirk, who only hath the distribution and ministation of spirituall things; so be the Kirk spirituall offices are distributed, and men received and admitted therunto; and the administration of the power is committed be the Kirk to Bishops or Superintendants, wherfor to the Bishops and Superintendants perteaneth the examination and admission of men to offices and Benefices of spirituall cure, whatsoever benefice it be, as well Bishopricks, Abbacys and Priories, as other benefices inferior. That this perteaneth by the Scriptures of God to the Bishops or Superintendants is manifest, for the Apostle Paul writeth in the 2d to Timothy, chap. 2, ver. 2, 4 'These things that thou hast heard of me, many being witness, the same deliver to faithfull men, who shall be able to teach others.' Here the Apostle referreth the examination to Timothy of the quality and ability of the persons, wher he sayeth, 'to men able to teach others,' and also the admonition he referreth, wher he biddeth deliver to him, the same that is able to teach others; and in another place, 1 Tim. chap. 5, ver. 22, 'Lay hands on no man sudainly, neither be partaker of other men's sins, keep thyself pure.' By laying on of hands, is understood admission to spirituall offices, which the Apostle will not that Timothy do suddenly, without just examination of their manners and doctrine. The Apostle also writing to Titus, Bishop of Crete, putteth him in remembrance of his office, which was to admitt, and appoint ministers in every city and congregation; and that he should not do the same rashly, without examination, he expresses the quality and conditions of such men as should be admitted, as at lenth is conteaned in the first chapter of the Epistle for-said. The deacons which wer chosen in Jerusalem be the whole congregation, wer received and admitted by the Apostles, and that by laying on of their hands, as St. Luke writeth in the 6th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. This we have expressed plainly by the Scriptures. That to the office of a Bishop perteaneth examination and admission to spirituall cure and office, and also to oversee them that are admitted, that they walk uprightly, and also exercise their office faithfully and purely. To take this power from a Bishop or Superintendant, is to take away the office of a Bishop, that no bishop be in the Kirk, which were to alter and abolish the order that God hath appointed in his Kirk. Ther is a spirituall power and jurisdiction which God hath given to his Kirk, and to those who bear office therin, and ther is a temporall jurisdiction given of God to kings and civil magistrates. Both the powers are of God, and most agreing to the fortifying one another, if they be right used. But when the corruption of man entereth in, confounding the offices, usurping to himself what he pleaseth, nothing regerding the good order appointed by God, then confusion followeth in all estates. In the first Book of the Kings, 12 chap., it is written that Jeroboam the King, in presumption of his authority, made Preists in his realme, express against the order which the Lord in those dayes had appointed concerning the priesthood, wherupon followed [the] destruction of that king, and his seed also, as also of all other kings who followed him in that wickednes. For better understanding of this matter, Christ hath given forth a rule which ought to be weighed of magistrates, and of all people, saying, 'Give to Cæsar that pertaineth to Cæsar, and to God that which pertaineth unto God.' The Kirk of God should fortify all lawfull power and authority that pertaineth to the civil magistrat, because its the ordinance of God, but if he pass the bounds of his office, and enters the sanctuary of our Lord, medling with such things as appertean to the ministers of God's Kirk, as Uzziah King of Judah, 2. Paralip. 16, entering into the temple to burn incense, the which pertained not to his office, then the servants of God should withstand his unjust interprize, as the Preists at that time did withstand the Kings of Judah, for so they are commanded of God. The servants of God, when such wickednes occurreth, should not keep silence, flattering princes in their vain pride, but withstand and reprove them in their iniquity; and who doth otherwise in God's Kirk, is unworthy to bear any office. A greater offence and contempt of his Kirk can no prince do, than to set up by his own authority men in spirituall offices, as to creat Bishops and Pastors of the Kirk, for so to do is to conclude no Kirk of God to be, for the Kirk cannot be, without it have the awn proper jurisdiction and liberty, with the ministration of such offices as God hath appointed. In speaking this of the liberty of the Kirk, I mean not the hurt of the King, or others in their patronages, but that they have their privileges of presentation according to the lawes, providing alwise that the examination and admission pertean only to the Kirk, of all benefices having cure of souls. That it should not appear that the pastors of the Kirk, of avarice and ambition, seek to have posesion of great benefices, your Grace shall understand, that the Kirk continoually hath suited (of old as well as of new) as their articles concluded in the General Assemblys, and consented to, and subscribed by the most part of the nobility, which are to be produced, bear, and was propounded to the Queen, the King's Majestys mother, to wit, that whenever any of the great Benefices vake, having many Kirks joyned thereunto, that all the Kirks should be divided, and severally disponed to severall men, to serve every one at his own Kirk continow; wherfor it may appear that they seek not of avarice such promotion is alledged. And I doubt not but if others of the nobility wer as well purged of avarice, and other corruption, as the ministers of the Kirk, they would have agreed to fulfill that thing which they subscribed with solemn oath. And as yet the Kirk most humbly suiteth your Grace, and councill to have the same fulfilled, but if this cannot be granted, I mean the dismembering, as they call it, of great benefices, I trust, in respect of this confused troublesome time, the Kirk will consent (the benefices and offices joyned thereunto being given, after the order before spoken of, that the privilege and liberty of the Kirk be not hurt,) to assign such profites as may be spared above the reasonable sustentation of the ministry, to the mentenance of the authority and common affaire for the present, while further order may be tane in these matters; for the Kirk contendeth not for worldly profite, but for that spirituall liberty which God hath given unto it, without the which be granted, the servants of God will not be satisfyed, but will oppose themselves against all power and tyranny, which presumeth to spoil the Kirk, of the liberty thereof, and rather to dye than underly that miserable bondage. Their lives are not so dear to them as is the honour of God, and liberty of his Kirk. I hear some men bragg and boasts the poor ministers of God, to take their lives from them, but I wish such men contean themselves within bounds, for they are not sure of their own lives, and to runn that race will make it more short. Of old, the Papists called the truth heresy, and now some call the truth treason. We may perceive in all ages and times Satan wanteth not his servants to impugne the truth. As to the question, If it be expedient for a Superintendant to be wher a qualifyed Bishop is? I understand a Bishop and Superintendant to be but one office, and wher the one is, the other is. But having some respect to the case wherupon the question is moved, I answer, the Superintendants that are placed, ought to continow in their offices, notwithstanding any other intruse themselves, or are placed be such as have no power in such offices. They may be called Bishops, but are no Bishops, but idols, Zach. 11:17, saith the Prophet, and therfor the Superintendants which are called and placed by the Kirk, have office and jurisdiction, and the other Bishops, so called, have no office and jurisdiction in the Kirk of God, for they enter not by the dore, but by another way, and therefore are not pastors, as saith Christ, but thieves and robbers. I cannot but from my very heart lament that great misorder used in Stirling at the last Parliament, in creating Bishops, planting them and giving them vote in Parliament as Bishops, in despite of the Kirk, and high contempt of God, having the Kirk opposing itself against that misorder, but they wer not heard, but boasted with threatnings; but their boasting is not against man, but against the Eternall God, whose ordinance publickly they transgressed, what followed thereupon is knowen. God hath power to destroy and to save, he is Almighty Lord, able to preserve the innocent, and cast down the pride of the mighty. I hear that some wer offended with the commissioners of the Kirk at that time, but without cause, for they passed not the bounds of their commission, and the whole Kirk will affirm their proceedings, and insist further in that matter. If that misordered creation of Bishops be not reformed, the Kirk will first complean unto God, as also to all their brethren members of the Kirk within this realme, and to all reformed Kirks within Europ. Some counsellors think now good time to conquess from the Kirk (being, as they judge, now poor and weak,) priviledges and profits to the temporall authority, but if ther wer no other particular respects but the authority, I judge they would not travell so bussily; but what respect soever they have, their unrightious conquest and spoil of the Kirk, shall not profit them, but rather be a cause to bring plagues and destruction both upon the head and counselors of such an abomination. Because the servants of the Lord speak in this matter, reproving mens corruptions, they are called proud, and misknowers of their own place, and know not with whom they deal, as though they wer gods, and yet are but flesh. Let such men understand of whatsoever state they be, that the ministers of God's Kirk have received an office of God above them, wheranto they ought to be subject and obedient, and have received a ritcher threasure than they, though it be in earthen vessels, as saith the Apostle Saint Paul, 2 Cor. chap. 4, ver. 7. And have received a power of God to cast [down] and destroy the pride of men, and to bring in subjection all things that exalt themself against God, 2 Cor. 10:5. The Lord will not that his servants in executing and using their office should fear men, how mighty and potent soever they appear to be, as it is written, Esai. 51:7. 'Fear not the reproaches of men, neither be affrayed of their rebukes and threatnings, for the moth shall eat them up like a garment, and the worm shall eat them as wool; but my rightiousnes shall be for ever, and my salvation from generation to generation.' The Spirit of God entering into the hearts of his servants, giveth them such a tast of his power and majesty, and a sight of his judgments, that with them the enimies of God and his Kirk are nothing regarded, but counted as dust before the wind, and as wax before the fire, unable to stand, but are to perish in the day of the Lords visitation. They will, according to their power, reprove all ungodlines, and withstand all iniquity; and as to the malice and trouble raised against them by the wicked powers of the worlde to their own damnation, they will patiently endure, for there consisteth the patience of the saints, for they see a glorious end to follow thereupon. Some men in their corruption, (as their minds have declared,) purpose in time of trouble, craftily to handle in Kirk, while all their troubles be pacifyed. Let such men understand that such evil purposes make the trouble to continow the longer. But though the troubles wer pacifyed, and they confederat with England, France, and Spain, and all other earthly kingdomes, yet shall they not be able to destroy the Kirk of God, and liberty thereof, for the mighty God who hath been a protector of his Kirk in all ages, and hath destroyed and casten down great impyres and kingdomes that made battail against his Kirk, shall use the same judgments against all men that in their days intend the like; for he beareth to his Kirk a perpetuall love, and is a perpetuall protection and defence to it in this time and for ever. An admonition of Davids to Kings and magistrates, 'Be wise, O! ye Kings, be learned, O! ye that are Judges of the earth, serve the Lord with fear, and rejoyce before him with reverence. Kisse the Son lest the Lord be angry, and so ye perish from the right way, for his wrath shall be shortly kindled,' I conclude with. Of Montrose the 10th of November, 1571."*

Janet Geddes.

The earl of Morton, at this time, was extremely urgent to have Mr. Douglas presented to the see of St. Andrew's, that the profits of the benefice might revert thereby into his own hands; and the proceedings which took place in consequence drew a second letter from Erskine, which follows.

"I being in Perth this Wensday, having there an Assembly of the Kirk of Stormont and Gourie, being under my care, I received a writing from your Grace, touching the convention to be in Leith of the Superintendants, the 16 of this Instant, specifying also an inhibition, that nothing should be answered to the collectors of the Kirk. It is the first inhibition given to that effect, and I wish of God it had not begun in your Graces hands. The poor ministers are not convict of any crimes nor offence, and yet their living is commanded to be holden from them. I perceive the Kirk to be so far despised, that no wrong can be done to it. It may appear most justly to all men, that the destruction of the Kirk and ministry is sought; for benefices are given and Bishops are made at men's pleasure, without consent of the Kirk, and the poor thing already appointed by a law to sustean the ministry, is inhibited to be answered. If this hath proceeded for obteaning the pension assigned to the first most Godly Regent; that might have been handled otherwise more reasonably: for I know the mind of the Kirk willing to have satisfyed your Grace therein, and that might have been obteaned with a good writing. But it seemeth to me, that men intend to bring the Kirk under slavery and vile subjection; but the Great Lord will be enimie to their purposes, and bring destruction upon the heads of such who so intend, of whatsoever estate they be, and will preserve his Kirk in liberty. Perceiving such proceeding, I see no cause wherefor any who bear office should come to Leith, for their counsel will not be received, neither will they be suffered to reason freely, as experience hath taught in times past: and the counsell of the enemies of God and his Kirk is followed, yet despised Israel is comforted in the Lord, he careth for his people and will deliver them from the oppression of Tyrants, and give them honour and liberty, when their enimies shall suffer confusion and shame. If your Grace consider the matter well, ye will call back the letters of inhibition; if not, the Kirk will have patience, and look for help at the hands of the Lord. The Kirk should have her own, and not beg at men. I have staid the Superintendant of Fyfe, while my coming to St. Andrew's, till we know further of your Grace's mind by this bearer, if it be your pleasure. Perth, 14 Novembris."*

In reply to these two letters, the regent sent the following:—

"Right trustie cusine, After most hearty commendations, in place of your self, whom we have long looked for, we have received this day two letters of yours, one from Montrose the 10, and another from Perth the 14, of this moneth; conteaning other effect and matter than our expectation was. In consideration of our good meaning to have travelled by all possible means for quieting of such things as wer in contraversy, that the ministers of the Kirk might have found some ease and repose, and we be relieved of a fashious burden that we have, in default of a certain forme accorded unto the disposition of benefices greater or smaller: our said meaning we perceive is otherwise taken, which we understand to proceed from other privat fountains than your own good nature; and so we will not press meikle to contend with you in write by reason of this matter, as the weight and gravity therof requireth. We have been very desirous indeed to speak to yourself, especially since we were burthened with charge of regiment, and your own presence peradventure might have supplyed some things that your letters find fault with. But seeing matters taken as they are, that all occasion of grudge may be removed for anything done by us, we send you herewith an inhibition of the charge lately given. For as we have lived heretofore (praised be God) honourably on our own, so shall we forbear to crave the collectors, while this matter be better considered of. And yet when indifferent men shall look on the words of the inhibition, the intention wherfor it is given, and for how short a space it should have lasted; we trust that they shall think that it ought not to be tâne in such part as we see it is taken. If collectors be subjects to the king (of others we will spare to speak at this time,) they might compear when they are charged, and not write in contempt, let as many charges pass as they please, they will obey none, and this we mean of such as be most ernest. What the other Regents had intended to be taken up, that we shall be frustrat of, which yet was not the greatest occasion why we desired some of the Superintendants to be here at this time; but thir matters touched in our leter sent you. Which albeit we sent you for privat information, yet being scansed, we see rather extremity meaned, to stop the helping of the matter, nor otherwise any mention of quieting or ordering things amiss, as truely our meaning it was, and is still, to procure the reforming of things disordered in all sorts, as far as may be, reteaning the priviledge of the King, Crown and Patronage. The default of the whole stands in this, that the policy of the Kirk of Scotland is not perfect, or any solid conference among godly men, that are well willed, and of judgment, how the same may be helped. And for corruption which daily encreaseth, whensoever the circumstances of things shall be well considered by the good ministers, who are neither bussy, nor over desirous of promotions to them and their's, it will be found that some have been authors and procurers of things that no good policy in the Kirk can allow. Wheranent we thought to have conferred especially with yourself, and to have yeilded to you in things reasonable, and craved satisfaction of other things alike reasonable at your hands, and by your procurement. If ye see no cause that any who beareth office in the Kirk of God shall come to Leith, I must take patience and deferr the matter to the convention of the estates of the realme, by whom I was burthened with this office, and will make them and all the Godly in Christendom judges betwixt them bearing office in the Kirk (ye write of,) and me, whether I have not sought their satisfaction, or if they have not neglected the means and occasions that wer most apparent to bring quietness to the poor ministers of the Kirk. And in the meantime, I will answer no further to the several points of your letters, but keep the same to my self, while time and better advice work effects. If ye of your self only have written, then there is one way to be considered of, if be common consent of any number of them bearing office in the Kirk, then are they to be otherwise considered, as time and place serveth. And so for this time suffering and ceasing to make longer letter, committs you to the protection of Almighty God. At Leith, this 15 of November, 1571.

Your assured good Friend,

JOHN REGENT."*

The assembly which met in 1576, appointed commissioners for compiling the "Second Book of Discipline," among whom was the laird of Dun. Each commissioner had a particular point of church-government allotted to him; and in the assembly which met in the following year, Erskine complained that there was an obscurity about that which had fallen to him,—when he was advised to confer with the other commissioners, who would assist in removing his doubts. In 1579, the "Second Book of Discipline" was presented to the assembly, and was approved of, as complete; and such was the labour bestowed upon it, and the sound views held by the compilers, that to this day it is considered to contain a scriptural model and true representation, of what ought to be the government of a presbyterian church.

The laird of Dun, though now advanced in years, was still able to attend to, and took a share in the business of the assemblies of 1586 and 1587. With the king's consent he was appointed to erect presbyteries in Angus and Mearns; and, along with others, to collect all the acts of parliament in favour of the protestant religion. He did not appear at the assembly of 1588, and three years after, his infirmities increasing with his years, he departed this life, at his house of Dun, March 12th, 1591, in the eighty-second year of his age;—leaving a numerous posterity, and a name for virtue and honesty of principle, especially in the great cause in which he was engaged, not to be equalled in his day. Of the five persons appointed to act as superintendents, he was the last survivor, and at his death that office ceased, as the duties had fallen, to be performed by means of presbyteries or elderships, as they were then called. When he was in Edinburgh, in May, 1565, it is related by Knox, that queen Mary expressed the following opinion of his character: "That albeit she was not persuaded of the truth of any religion, but the one in which she had been brought up, yet she would be content to hear public preaching, out of the mouths of such as pleased her; and that above all others, she would gladly hear the superintendent of Angus, Sir John Erskine, for he was a mild and sweet-natured man, and of true honesty and uprightness."

He has the honour of being among the first who professed the reformation in the north of Scotland, and had a great share in promoting its success. He was possessed of singular prudence, great generosity, liberality, and considerable learning; he was bold and zealous—but, above all, singularly pious and religious.

ROBERT ROLLOCK

ROBERT ROLLOCK was born in the year 1555, and was descended from the ancient family of the Livingstons. Discovering a talent for learning, his father, David Rollock, sent him to Stirling to be educated for the university under Thomas Buchanan, nephew to the author of the "History of Scotland." He remained under the care of this teacher till he was prepared for entering the university, when he was sent to the college of St. Salvador, St. Andrew's. By his genius, modesty, and sweetness of disposition, young Rollock procured for himself the particular friendship of his master, which continued till his death. He also procured in a short time the particular and favourable notice of the whole university; so that when he had gone through the regular course of four years' study, which was the prescribed period in all the Scottish colleges, and taken out his degree, he was elected professor of philosophy, being then only in the twenty-third year of his age. Here he discharged the duties of his office for four years, with singular diligence and success. At this period, and long after, it was the practice, in the Scottish universities, for the same professor to conduct the studies of the same set of students through the whole course; and the remarkable progress of his pupils, induced the magistrates of Edinburgh to fix upon Mr. Rollock, as a fit person to open their university, which had been founded by James 6, the previous year. This invitation Mr. Rollock accepted, and entered, in the beginning of winter, 1583, with energy upon his laborious office. He was the only teacher, comprising in his own person, the character of principal and professors to the infant establishment. His reputation as a teacher soon drew a number of students to that college. Having no assistant, Mr. Rollock joined all his students at first into one class, but afterwards he found a division necessary; forming those who had received little or no previous training, into one class, and those who were somewhat advanced, into another. At the recommendation of Mr. Rollock, the patrons of the college elected a young man of the name of Duncan Nairn, a second master of the college, who undertook the charge of this first class in the month of November, 1583. Mr. Nairn taught his class Latin the first year, Greek the second; there being properly no humanity professor in the university till a number of years afterwards. Mr. Rollock was also created principal, though he still continued to teach his class. Duncan Nairn died the following year; and the council having resolved to have three classes taught, Messrs. Adam Colt and Alexander Scrimger were elected in his place.

Mr. Rollock continued to teach his class till the first laureation, which was public, and attended by all the nobility in town. The number graduated was forty-eight, who of course signed the national covenant; for it had been introduced into the college, and tendered to every student in the year 1586. As soon as this ceremony was concluded, Mr. Rollock resigned the special care of his class, but retained the principalship, to which was now annexed the professorship of theology; for which, and preaching regularly on the Sabbath, he was allowed four hundred marks yearly. He prayed in public with the students every morning; and on one day of the week explained to them some passage or Scripture, which exercised he concluded with most pertinent and practical exhortations. He was particularly careful of the more advanced students, that they might enter upon the ministry prepared for its duties, and under a deep feeling of its sacred responsibilities. He was also a diligent and acceptable minister of the gospel.

About this time he wrote several commentaries on different passages of Scripture. His exposition of the Epistles to the Romans and Ephesians coming into the hands of the learned Beza, he wrote to one of his friends, telling him, that he had an incomparable treasure, which, for its judiciousness, brevity, and elegance of style, had few equals.

With literary ardour and piety almost boundless, Mr. Rollock's simplicity of character disqualified him from acting either a consistent, or a profitable part in conducting the public affairs of the church, which at this period were of paramount importance, involving at once the civil and religious rights of the community. In the language of Calderwood, "he was a godly man, but simple in the matters of the church-government; credulous, easily led by counsel, and tutored in a manner by his old master, Thomas Buchanan, who was now gained to the king's cause." This easy disposition was at once seen and appreciated by king James, who had now matured his plans for reducing the church to an entire dependence upon himself, and was sedulously employed in carrying them into effect. He was chosen moderator to the Assembly held at Dundee, in 1597, in which were passed several acts strongly tending to support the whole superstructure of episcopacy. He was also one of those commissioned by the assembly to wait on his majesty about seating the churches of Edinburgh.*

Soon after this, Mr. Rollock was seized with an illness which confined him to his house, and finally terminated his existence.

His works are a commentary on some select Psalms; on the Prophecy of Daniel; and the Gospel of John with its Harmony. He wrote also on the Epistles to the Ephesians, Colossians, Thessalonians, and Galatians; and an analysis of the Epistles to the Romans and Hebrews, with respect to effectual calling.

JOHN CRAIG

JOHN CRAIG was born about the year 1512, and had the misfortune to lose his father next year at the battle of Flodden. Notwithstanding this misfortune, he obtained a good education, and removing to England, became tutor to the children of lord Dacre. In consequence of war arising between England and Scotland, he returned to his native country, and became a monk of the Dominican order. Having afforded some reason for a suspicion of heresy, he was cast into prison, but being acquitted, he returned to England, and endeavoured, by the influence of lord Dacre, to procure a place at Cambridge, in which, however, he was disappointed. He then travelled to France, and thence to Rome, where he was in such favour with cardinal Pole, that he obtained a place among the Dominicans of Bologna, and was appointed to instruct the novices of the cloister. Being advanced to the rectorate, he had access to the library, where, happening to read Calvin's "Institutes," he became tainted with the protestant heresy.

Craig did not conceal his new views; he was laid hold of, sent to Rome, thrown into prison, tried, and condemned to be burnt; from which fate he was only saved by an accident. Pope Paul IV. having died the day before his intended execution, the people rose tumultuously, dragged the statue of his late holiness through the streets, and, breaking open all the prisons, set the prisoners at liberty. Craig immediately left the city; and, as he was walking through the suburbs, he met a company of banditti,—one of whom, taking him aside, asked him if he had ever been in Bologna? On his answering in the affirmative, the man inquired if he recollected, as he was one day walking there in the fields with some young noblemen, having administered relief to a poor maimed soldier, who asked him for alms? Craig replied that he had no recollection of such an event; the bandit told him, however, that he could never forget the kindness he had received on that occasion, which he would now beg to repay by administering to the present necessities of his benefactor. In short, this man gave Craig a sufficient sum to carry him to Bologna.

Craig was afraid lest some of his former acquaintances might denounce him to the inquisition; accordingly, he directed his course to Milan, avoiding all the principal roads, for fear of meeting any enemy. One day, when both his money and strength were exhausted by the journey, he came to a desert place, where he threw himself down upon the ground, and almost despaired of life. At this moment a dog came fawning up to him, with a bag of money in its mouth, which it laid down at his feet. The despairing traveller instantly recognised this as "a special token of God's favour;" and, picking up fresh energy, proceeded on his way till he reached a village, where he obtained some refreshment. He now turned to Vienna, when, professing himself of the Dominican order, he was brought to preach before the emperor, Maximilian II., and soon became a favourite at the court of that sovereign. His fame reaching Rome, pope Pius III. sent a letter to the emperor, desiring him to be sent back as one that had been condemned for heresy. The emperor generously gave him a safe guidance out of Germany.

On reaching England, about the year 1560, Craig heard of the reformation which had taken place in his native country, and offered his services to the church. He found, however, that having been for the long period of twenty-four years absent from the country, he was unfitted to preach in his vernacular tongue, and was therefore obliged for some time to make known the truth to the learned in Latin. Having partly recovered his native tongue, he was appointed next year to be the colleague of Knox, in the parish church of Edinburgh, which office he held for nine years. In 1567, the earl of Bothwell obtained a divorce from his lawful wife, preparatory to his marriage with queen Mary. The queen sent a letter to Mr. Craig, commanding him to publish the banns of matrimony betwixt her and Bothwell; but on Sabbath, having declared that he had received such a command, he added, that he could not in conscience obey it, the marriage being altogether unlawful. He was immediately sent for by Bothwell, to whom he declared his reasons with great boldness. He was reproved for this conduct at the time by the council; but two years afterwards, it was declared by the assembly that he had acted as a faithful minister.

About the year 1572, he was sent by the general assembly to preach at Montrose, "for the illuminating the north; and when he had remained two years there he was sent to Aberdeen, to illuminate those dark places in Mar, Buchan, and Aberdeen, and to teach the youth in the college there."

In 1569, Mr. Craig being appointed minister to the king (James VI.,) returned to Edinburgh, and occupied a prominent place in the general assemblies of the church. He was compiler of part of the Second Book of Discipline, and the writer of the national covenant, signed in 1580 by the king and his household, which was destined in a future age to exercise so mighty an influence over the destinies of the country. In 1584, when an act of parliament was made, that all ministers, masters of colleges, &c., should, within forty-eight hours, compear and subscribe the act of parliament concerning the king's power over all estates, spiritual and temporal, and submit themselves to the bishops; Mr. Craig and some others having opposed this act, were called before the council, and asked. "How they could be so bold as to controvert the late act of parliament." Mr. Craig replied, they would find fault with anything repugnant to God's word. At which answer the earl of Arran started to his feet, and said they were too pert; that he would shave their heads, pare their nails, and cut their toes, and make them an example unto all who should disobey the king's command, and his council's orders; and forthwith charged them to appear before the king at Falkland, on the 4th of September following.

Upon their appearance at Falkland, they were again accused of transgressing the foresaid act of Parliament, and disobeying the bishop's injunctions, when there arose a hot discussion between Mr. Craig and the bishop of St. Andrew's. The earl of Arran interfered and spoke most outrageously against Mr. Craig, who coolly replied "that there had been as great men set up higher, who had been brought low." Arran rejoined, "I shall make thee of a false liar, a true prophet," and, stooping down on his knee he said, "now I am humbled." "Nay," said Mr. Craig," mock the servants as thou wilt, God will not be mocked, but shall make thee find it in earnest, when thou shalt be cast down from the high horse of thy pride, and humbled." This came to pass a few years afterwards, when he was thrown off his horse by a spear by James Douglas of Parkhead, killed, and his corpse exposed to dogs and swine before it was buried.*

Mr. Craig was forthwith discharged from preaching any more in Edinburgh, and the bishop of St. Andrew's was appointed to preach in his place; but as soon as he entered the great church of Edinburgh, the whole congregation, except a few court parasites, retired. It was not long till Mr. Craig was restored to his place and office.

On the 27th of December, 1591, when the earl of Bothwell and his accomplices came to the king and chancellor's chamber-doors with fire, and to the queen's with a hammer, in the palace of Holyrood-house, with a design to seize the king and the chancellor, Mr. Craig, upon the 29th, preaching before the king, upon the two brazen mountains in Zechariah, said, "as the king had lightly regarded the many bloody shirts presented to him by his subjects craving justice, so God in his providence had made a noise of crying, and forehammers to come to his own doors." The king would have the people to stay after sermon, that he might purge himself; and said, "if he had thought his hired servant (meaning Mr. Craig, who was his minister) would have dealt in that manner with him, he should not have dealt with him so long in his house." Mr. Craig, by reason of the crowd, not hearing what he said, went away.

In 1595, Mr. Craig being quite worn out by his labours, and the infirmities of age, the king's commissioner presented some articles to the general assembly; wherein, amongst other things, he craved, that, seeing Mr. Craig was awaiting the hour God should please to call him, and was unable to serve any longer, and his majesty designing to place John Duncanson, Mr. Craig's colleague, with the prince, therefore his highness desired an ordinance to be made, granting any two ministers he should choose. This was accordingly done, and Craig died on the 4th of December, 1600, aged eighty-eight, his life having extended through the reigns of four sovereigns.

Mr. Craig will appear, from these short memoirs, to have been a man of uncommon resolution and activity. He was employed in most part of the affairs of the church, during the reign of queen Mary, and in the beginning of that of her son. He compiled the National Covenant, and a catechism commonly called Craig's Catechism, which was first printed by order of the assembly, in 1591.

DAVID BLACK

HITHERTO the Scottish reformers had more especially to direct their warfare against the encroachments that had been made by the papists upon Christ's prophetical and sacerdotal offices; but, from 1570 downward, they were more particularly called upon to vindicate and defend his regal prerogative, as king and head of the church. Among the earliest of those who stood forward in defence of their Lord and Master, was David Black, to whom a conspicuous part is most preëminently due. Little, indeed, is known of his early history; but this is the less to be regretted, as it is with his public life that we are more immediately concerned.

Mr. Black was for some time colleague to the celebrated Andrew Melville, as a minister of St. Andrew's. He was remarkable for zeal and fidelity in the discharge of his duty, applying his doctrines closely to the corruptions of the age, whether prevailing amongst the highest or lowest of the people. In consequence of which, he was, in 1596, cited before the council for some expressions uttered in a sermon, alleged to strike against the king and council. But his brethren in the ministry, thinking that by this method of procedure with him, the spiritual government of the house of God was intended to be subverted, resolved that he should decline answering the king and council, and that in the meantime, they should be preparing themselves to prove from the holy Scriptures, that the judgment of all doctrine, in the first instance, belonged to the church.

Accordingly, Mr. Black, on the 18th November, 1596, gave in a declinature to the council to this effect: That he was able to defend all that he had said: yet seeing his answering before them to that accusation might be prejudicial to the liberties of the church, and would be taken as an acknowledgment of his Majesty's jurisdiction in matters merely spiritual, he was constrained to decline that judicatory, 1. Because the Lord Jesus Christ had given him his word for a rule, and that therefore he could not fall under the civil law, but in so far as, after trial he should be found to have passed from his instructions, which trial belonged only to the prophets, i.e. the ministers of the church. 2. That the liberties of the church, and discipline presently exercised, were confirmed by divers acts of parliament, and approved of by the Confession of Faith; that the office bearers of the church were now in the peaceable possession thereof; and that the question of his preaching ought first, according to the grounds and practices aforesaid, to be judged by the ecclesiastical senate, as the competent judges thereof in the first instance. This declinature, with a letter sent by the different presbyteries, was in a short time subscribed by between three and four hundred ministers, all assenting to and approving of it.

The commissioners of the general assembly then sitting at Edinburgh, knowing that the king was displeased at this proceeding, sent some of their number to speak with his majesty; to whom he replied that if Mr. Black would pass from his declinature, he would pass from the summons; but this they would not consent to do. Upon which the king caused summon Mr. Black again, on the 27th of November, to a council to be held on the 30th. This summons was given with sound of trumpet, and open proclamation, at the cross of Edinburgh; and the same day, the commissioners of the assembly were ordered to depart thence in twenty-four hours, under pain of rebellion.

Before the day of Mr. Black's second appearance at the council, he prepared a still more explicit declinature, especially as it respected the king's supremacy, declaring, "that there are two jurisdictions in the realm, the one spiritual, and the other civil; the one respecting the conscience, and the other concerning external things; the one persuading by the spiritual sword, the other compelling by the temporal sword; the one spiritually procuring the edification of the church, the other by justice procuring the peace and quiet of the commonwealth, which being grounded in the light of nature, proceeds from God as he is Creator, and is so termed by an apostle,* but varying according to the constitution of men; the other above nature, grounded upon the grace of redemption, proceeding immediately from the gospel of Christ, the only king and only head of his church.† Therefore, in so far as he was one of the spiritual office-bearers, and had discharged his spiritual calling in some measure of grace and sincerity, he should not, and could not, lawfully be judged for preaching and applying the word of God, by any civil power, he being an ambassador and messenger of the Lord Jesus, having his commission from the King of Kings, and all his instructions being set down and limited in the Word of God, that cannot be extended or abridged by any mortal king or emperor; and seeing he was sent to all sorts, his commission and discharge of it should not, nor cannot, be lawfully judged by them to whom he was sent, they being sheep, not pastors, and to be judged by the, word of God, and not to be the judges thereof, in a judicial way."

A decree of council was passed against him, upon which his brethren of the commission directed their doctrine against the council. The king sent a message to the commissioners, signifying that he would rest satisfied with Mr. Black's simple declaration of the truth; but Mr. Bruce and the rest replied, that if the affair concerned Mr. Black alone, they should be content; but the liberty of Christ's kingdom had received such a wound by the proclamation of last Saturday, that if Mr. Black's life, and a dozen of others besides, had been taken, it had not grieved the hearts of the godly so much, and that either these things behoved to be retracted, or they would oppose so long as they had breath. But, after a long process, no mitigation of the council's severity could be obtained; for Mr. Black was charged by a macer, to enter his person in ward, on the north of the Tay, there to remain on his own expense, during his majesty's pleasure; and though he was next year restored to his place at St. Andrew's yet he was not suffered to continue; for about the month of July that same year, the king and council again proceeded against him; and he was removed to Angus, where he continued till the day of his death. He had always been a severe check on the negligent and unfaithful part of the clergy; but now they had found means to get rid of him. The situation from which he had been ejected was conferred upon Mr. George Gladstanes, minister of Arbirlot, in the county of Angus, to which charge Black was soon after inducted.

After his removal to that place, he continued to exercise his ministry, preaching daily to such as resorted to him, with much success, and enjoying an intimate communion with God till the day of his death.

In his last sickness, the Christian temper of his mind was so much improved by large measures of the Spirit, that his conversation had a remarkable effect in humbling the hearts and comforting the souls of those who attended him; engaging them to take the easy yoke of Christ upon them. He found in his own soul also, such a sensible taste of heavenly joy, that he was seized with a fervent desire to depart, and to be with the Lord, longing to have the earthly house of his tabernacle dissolved, that he might be admitted into the mansions of everlasting rest. In the midst of these earnest breathings after God, the Lord was wonderfully pleased to condescend to the importunity of his servant, to let him know that the time of his departure was near. Upon which he took a solemn farewell of his family and flock, in a discourse, as Melville says, that seemed to be spoken out of heaven, concerning the misery and grief of this life, and the inconceivable glory which is above.

The night following, after supper, having read and prayed in his family with unusual continuance and fervency, he went to bed, and slept for some time. The next day being set apart for the celebration of the Lord's Supper, he went to church, and having brought the communion service near a close, he felt death approaching; and all discovering a sudden change in his countenance, some ran to support him; but pressing to be on his knees, with his hands and eyes lifted up to heaven, in the very act of adoration, as in a transport of joy, he was taken away without showing any symptoms of pain. Thus this holy man who had so faithfully maintained the interest of Christ upon earth, breathed forth his soul in this happy manner, so that it seemed rather like a translation than a real death.

JOHN DAVIDSON

JOHN DAVIDSON was a native of Dunfermline, and was born, probably, about the year 1550, as he was enrolled a student of St. Leonard's college, in the university of St. Andrew's, in the year 1567, where he continued until 1570. He was a man of great zeal and boldness in favour of the reformed interests, and began very early to discover uncommon piety and faithfulness in the discharge of his duty. When the regent Morton, in the year 1573, obtained an order in the privy council, authorizing the union of several parishes into one, Davidson, then a regent in St. Leonard's college, wrote a poem, exposing Morton's intention in the severest terms. The poem was entitled "Commendatioun of Uprichtnes." M'Crie says, "there was nothing in the obnoxious book which could give ground of offence or alarm to any good government, being merely a temperate discussion of a measure which was at least controvertible. The evils which the act of council was calculated to produce are indeed exposed with faithfulness and spirit; but without anything disrespectful to authority, or tending in the slightest degree to excite 'sedition and uproar.' " Rutherford, however, principal of St. Salvador's college, and a number of his colleagues in the university, more desirous of keeping favour with the court, than of appearing in defence of the persecuted church, showed themselves unfriendly to Davidson; and Rutherford, conceiving that disrespectful allusions had been made to himself in the poem, wrote a reply to it. The following is the offensive passage:—

"Thair is some collages we ken,

Weill foundit to uphald learnit men:

Amang the rest foundit we se

The teiching of theologie.

Lat anis the counsell send and se

Gif thir places weill gydit be;

And not abusit wi waist rudis,

That dois nathing bot spendis yai gudis

That was maid for that haly use

And not to feid ane crusit Guse."*

This production having been printed and circulated without Davidson's knowledge, he was summoned to a justice eyre at Haddington, where sentence of imprisonment was pronounced against him. He was, however, soon liberated on bail, in the hope that the leniency thus shown would induce him to retract what he had written, or at least that his brethren might be prevailed upon to condemn it. But the greater part of the general assembly, although of the same sentiments with Davidson, being afraid of the regent's resentment, declined to interfere in his favour, and left him to the vengeance of the prosecutor. These expectations, then, being disappointed, and Davidson, finding the intercession even of some of the principal gentlemen in the country unavailing, and that nothing but a recantation would save him from punishment, fled to the west of Scotland, and thence into England, where he remained until the degradation of the regent, when he returned home.

About the same time that he wrote the other poem, he also composed one to the memory of Robert Campbell of Kinzeancleugh, a gentleman strongly attached to the reformed religion, and an unvarying and disinterested friend to our intrepid reformer. This worthy gentleman died while industriously engaged in defending Davidson from the effects of persecution; and his virtues are commemorated in a poem by him, which although rather defective in composition, nevertheless contains many interesting notices relative to those troublous times. Being rare, and not easily attainable by most readers, it may not be foreign to our purpose to give a brief account of it in the author's own words. The following is the title:—"A Memorial of the life and death of two worthye Christians, Robert Campbel of the Kinzeanclevgh, and his wife Elizabeth Campbel;" and the dedication—"To his loving sister in Christ, Elizabeth Campbel of Kinzeanclevch."†

"From Edinburgh the 24. of May, 1595. Your

assured Friend in Christ. J. D.

}

"Finding this little Treatise (Sister, dearelie beloved in Christ,) of late yeares amongst my other Papers, which I made about twentie yeares and one agoe, Immediatlie after the death of your godlie Parentes of good memorie, with whom I was most dearlie acquainted in Christ, by reason of the troble I suffered in those daies for the good cause, wherin God made them chiefe comforters unto me till death separated us. As I viewed it over, and reade it before some godlie persones of late, they were most instant with me, that I woulde suffer it to come to light, to the stirring up of the zeale of God's people among us, which now beginneth almost to be quenched in all estaits none excepted. So that the saying of the worthie servant of God, John Knox (among many other his forespeakings), proveth true, 'That as the gospel entred among us and was received with fervencie and heat; so he feared it should decay and lose the former bewtie, through coldnes, and lothsomnesse, howbeit (as he saide many times,) it should not be utterlie overthrowne in Scotland, til the coming of the Lord Jesus to judgment, in spite of Sathan and malice of all his slaves.' "

After eulogizing his protector's piety, charity, lenity to his tenants, and his wisdom and integrity in settling private differences; and his lady for encouraging him in these disinterested expeditions, instead of grudging the expense which he incurred as some wives did, he thus proceeds—

But to be plainer is no skaith,

Of surname they were Campbels baith:

Of ancient blood of the cuntrie

They were baith of Genealogie:

He of the Shirefs' house of Air

Long noble famous and preclair:

Scho of a gude and godlie stock

Came of the old house of Cesnok;

Quhais Laird of many years bygane,

Professed Christ's religion plaine.

Being then minister of Libberton, near Edinburgh, he was appointed by the metropolitan presbytery to excommunicate Robert Montgomery, minister of Stirling, for contumaciously reviving a claim to the archbishopric of Glasgow, after having solemnly renounced it in the preceding general assembly. This appointment he executed with a degree of boldness which not a little surprised the court party.* Montgomery, it seems, had made a simoniacal purchase of the archbishopric of Glasgow from the earl of Lennox, and accordingly, in March, 1582, accompanied by a number of soldiers, he proceeded to that city, where, finding the minister in the pulpit, he went up to him, and pulled him by the sleeve, crying out, "Come down, sirrah!" The minister replied, "he was placed there by the kirk, and would give place to none who intruded themselves without orders." Thereupon much confusion and bloodshed ensued. The presbytery of Stirling suspended Montgomery, and were supported in their authority by the general assembly; but the earl of Lennox, not inclined to submit to this opposition, obtained a commission from the king, to try and bring the offenders to justice. Before, however, that commission-court met, the earls of Mar and Gowrie, the master of Oliphant, young Lochleven, &c., carried the king to Ruthven castle, and there constrained him to revoke the commission, and to banish the earl of Lennox from the kingdom. But the king, having afterwards made his escape from his rebellions nobles, banished all those who had been engaged in the enterprise. Davidson was afterwards appointed one of the commission sent by the assembly to Stirling, to remonstrate with the king on account of this measure in favour of Montgomery. In consequence, however, of the fearlessness with which he had admonished the king,* to whom the parliament had given the sole power in all causes, ecclesiastic as well as civil, and the tyrannous procedure against several of his brethren which immediately followed, Davidson found it expedient again to make his escape into England, where he remained for a considerable time.

Upon his return to Scotland, when the church was enjoying internal peace, and her ministers were living upon terms of amity with their brethren in the sister kingdom, employed only in removing the corruptions which had not been entirely purged away after the expulsion of the popish intruders; nay, even when they were engaged peaceably in defending their own presbyterianism against the court and a few ambitious churchmen, who were anxiously seeking to introduce episcopacy, open hostilities were suddenly commenced by a hot-headed and aspiring zealot, doctor Bancroft, in a declamatory sermon which he preached before the parliament, and which was published immediately after. He represented the Scotch presbyterians to be puritans; classing them with heretics, and styling them proud, ambitious, covetous, insubordinate, and inquisitorial; pests to society; and called upon all magistrates to restrain and punish them. "If they" (the puritanical "geese and dogs"), said he, "will gaggle and make a noise in the daytime without any cause, I think it very fit that they should be rapt on the shinnes." This was too much for a man of Davidson's piety and attachment to the reformation to bear silently. He, therefore, by the consent of his brethren, published a "protest against the rashness of the calumniator, and the reasons of the church declining to enter upon a defence of their conduct," in a small pamphlet of sixteen leaves, entitled, "D. Bancroft's Rashnes in rayling against the church of Scotland, noted in an Answer to a Letter of a worthy person of England, and some reasons rendred, why the answere thereunto had not hitherto come foorth." It concludes—"Farewell, from Edinburgh; the 18. of September, 1590. Yours in the Lord. J. D."—The publication of this reply elevated him very high in the estimation of his brethren; and, accordingly, we find him afterwards employed in almost every difficult emergency.

The "renewal of the covenant" will render the year 1596 ever memorable in the history of the church of Scotland; and, in effecting this, Davidson acted the principal part. His own mind had been for a long time deeply affected at the prevailing corruptions, and he felt anxious that a general reformation should be brought about as speedily as possible. With this view he laid before the presbytery of Haddington a proposal to that effect, by whom it was transmitted to the general assembly, at Edinburgh, in the month of March following, and unanimously approved of. This meeting was held in the Little church, on the 30th of the same month, and Davidson was elected moderator. On that occasion he actually seemed more than man. His deep and humble confessions in prayer, addressed to the throne of the Almighty, and his powerful exposure of the defects of the church, both in doctrine and practice, operated so powerfully upon the minds of the audience, that all burst into tears;* and, with one heart, lifting up their right hands, renewed their covenant with God, "protesting to walk more warily in their ways, and to be more diligent in their charges." An act of sederunt was thereafter passed, enjoining the same sacred duty upon all synods and presbyteries, which was afterwards observed, in the month of October, with due solemnity.

In the general assembly held at Dundee, 1598, when the king was present, it was proposed that the clergy should vote in parliament in the name of the church. Davidson, looking upon this measure as a mere device for the introduction of bishops, opposed it violently. "Busk, busk, busk him," he exclaimed, "as bonnily as you can, and bring him in as fairly as you will, we still see him weel enough, we can discern the horns of his mitre." He concluded by entreating the assembly not to be rash; for, "brethren," said he, "see you not how readily the bishops begin to creep up." Davidson was one of the principal speakers, in opposition to the king's motion; and one Gladstanes in support of it. In course of the debate, Gladstanes insisted on the power which the priests had among the ancient Romans, in proposing and making the laws; Davidson refuted the assertion, contending that they had no vote, although he allowed that they were present in the senate. "Ah! where do you find that?" said the king. "In Titus Livius," replied Davidson. "Oh! are you going from the Scriptures to Titus Livius then?" retorted his majesty. James Melville, in his Diary, informs us, that on the question being called for, the king's motion was carried by a majority of ten votes,—"Mr. Gilbert Brady leading the ring, a drunken Orkney ass, and the greater number following, all for the bodie, without respect for the spreit." Davidson being desired to give his vote, refused, and protested in his own name, and in the name of those who should adhere to him, and requested that his protest should be inserted in the books of assembly. Here the king interposed, and said, "That shall not be granted; see if you have voted and reasoned before." "Never, Sir," said Davidson, "but without prejudice to any protestation made or to be made." He then gave his protestation, which, after having been passed from one to another, was at last laid down before the clerk. The king taking it up, and reading it, showed it to the moderator and others about, and at last put it in his pocket.* This protest and letter were the occasion of farther trouble to him. For, in May following, he was charged to compear before the council on the 26th, and answer for the same, and was by order of the king committed prisoner to the castle of Edinburgh; but, on account of the infirm state of his health, the place of his confinement was changed to his own manse. Afterwards he was allowed to perform the duties of his office in his own parish, and after discharging these for some years, during which he suffered much from bad health, he died at Preston-pans, in the year 1604.

This worthy and much persecuted divine possessed a considerable share of learning. Besides the poems already noticed, a little before his death he penned a treatise in Latin, De Hostibus Ecclesiœ Christi (of the enemies of Christ's kirk), in which Row says, "he affirmes that the erecting of bishops in this kirk is the most subtile thing to destroy religione that could ever be devised." In 1602, he published a catechism entitled, "Some Helpes for young Scollers in Christianity," which was reprinted in 1708, with a very curious preface by Mr. William Jameson, professor of ecclesiastical history at Glasgow, in which he exposes the forgery of Mr. Robert Calder, who, by a pretended quotation from this catechism, had attempted to propagate the falsehood that Davidson had recanted his presbyterian principles before his death. Archbishop Spottiswood, too, embraced every opportunity of speaking disrespectfully of Davidson, particularly at the time he was prosecuted at the king's instance; asserting, among other calumnies, that it was his custom when brought to trouble, "to flee away, and lurk a-while, till his peace was again made." Davidson was a Christian hero of a very different stamp. "It is very easy," says our authority, "for a time-serving priest, who, by his tame compliances can always secure himself against falling into danger, to talk thus of a man, from whose rebuke he more than once shrunk, and to accuse him of cowardice merely because he fled from the lawless rage of a despot. But it is false that Davidson either fled or concealed himself; for it is satisfactorily attested by the records of the presbytery of Haddington, that he appeared, according to his citation, on the 29th of March; and, on the 5th of April, it was farther certified to the presbytery, that he was "stayit by ane heavie fever."

He was a man of sincere piety, indefatigable zeal in the cause of the reformation, and strongly characterized by a boldness and honesty, for which almost all the early reformers were remarkable. Davidson particularly deserves notice on account of the exertions which he made for the religious and literary instruction of his parishioners in Prestonpans. At his own expense he built the church, the manse, and the school, and schoolmaster's house. The school was erected for teaching the three learned languages, and he bequeathed all his heritable and moveable property for its support.

He showed in some instances that he was possessed, if not of the spirit of prophecy, at least of a high degree of sagacity. Calder-wood relates, that Davidson "one day seeing Mr. John Kerr, the minister of Prestonpans, going in a scarlet cloak like a courtier, told him to lay aside that abominable dress, as he was destined to succeed him in his ministry; which accordingly came to pass. On another occasion, when John Spottiswood, minister of Calder, and James Law, minister of Kirkliston, were called before the synod of Lothian on the charge of playing at football on Sunday, Davidson, who was acting as moderator, moved that the culprits should be deposed from their charges. The synod, however, awarded them a slighter punishment; and when they were called in to receive their sentence, Davidson called out to them, "Come in, you pretty football men, the synod ordains you only to be rebuked." Then addressing the meeting, he said, "And now, brethren, let me tell you what reward you shall get for your lenity: these two men shall trample on your necks, and the necks of the whole ministry of Scotland." The one was afterwards archbishop of St. Andrew's, and the other archbishop of Glasgow.

ANDREW MELVILLE

THIS eminent saint and servant of God, inferior only to Knox in the great work of the reformation, was born at Baldovy, near Montrose, on the 1st of August, 1545. Both of his parents died when he was only two years of age; but his elder brother Richard, to whom the estate of Baldovy fell upon the demise of his father, took upon himself the nurture and tuition of the subject of our memoir.* In his juvenile years, too, he was greatly indebted to the maternal tenderness and affection of his sister-in-law, who treated him upon all occasions as one of her own children. Being of a delicate constitution, and much in the company of this amiable woman, he ingratiated himself into her affections, by his docile and obedient behaviour, to such a degree, that after the fondest caresses, she would frequently exclaim, "God give me another lad like thee, and syne take me to his rest." To the end of his life he retained a grateful sense of her attentions; and, often, when his mind was relaxed from the intensity of severe study, he expressed a peculiar pleasure in recurring to the domestic scenes of that happy family.

His brother, perceiving him to be a boy of quick understanding, resolved to cultivate his taste, and accordingly placed him under the care of Thomas Anderson, then teacher of the grammar-school of Montrose, to whom, it may be presumed, he was greatly indebted for an early knowledge of the doctrines of the protestant religion, as well as for having laid the foundation of that classic literature, for which he was so pre-eminently distinguished in future life. But, to his pious brother, who had embraced the protestant faith several years before Andrew's birth, and who afterwards became minister to the parish of Maritoun, he chiefly owes his celebrity for his adherence to the principles of the reformed religion, amidst all the persecutions with which he was afterwards assailed.

Under the tuition of Thomas Anderson young Melville was instructed, not only in the principles of the Latin language, in which he made great proficiency; but also in gymnastic exercises, which had the happy effect of invigorating his naturally delicate frame, These exercises were chiefly, archery, golf, the art of fencing, running, leaping, wrestling, and swimming, in which every boy had his antagonist. The pupils of this very judicious teacher were also matched in their scholastic exercises, who thereby kept up a spirit of emulation among those under his care; so that it was observed of the teacher, that although by no means a profound scholar himself, he had the happy art of training the youth to excellence.

At the age of eleven, young Melville, instead of going to college, was sent to study Greek under Pierre de Marsilliers, a native of France, who had been brought to Montrose by the celebrated John Erskine of Dun, for the purpose of improving the literature of his native country. With this talented Frenchman he remained two years, prosecuting the study of that language with the greatest eagerness. From the same person, too, he acquired a knowledge of the French language, more correct than he could have obtained it at the grammar-school. In those days the study of this language was commonly conjoined with that of Latin; but Greek was very little known, even by the professors in universities, until a period considerably later.

After this preliminary training, so very superior to that of most of his contemporaries, young Melville became an alumnus of the university of St. Andrew's, in the year 1559, and was entered in the college of St. Mary. The smallness of his stature, and the delicate conformation of his body, formed a singular contrast with his admirable acquirements in literature. The writings of Aristotle were then the only prelections in all our Scottish universities, which were studied and commented upon from a Latin translation; but Melville drank from the fountain head; the language of that author being already quite familiar to him.* This superior attainment in the pupil, however, gave rise to no bad feeling on the part of the professors,—on the contrary, the young student was lauded and caressed for his assiduity, and incited to farther diligence and perseverance in his career of fame. By John Douglas, who was at the time rector of the university, he was shown much marked attention. This kind gentleman used frequently to invite him to his house, and converse with him upon the subject of his studies; and, so much pleased was he with the shrewdness and accuracy of his observations, that he would take him between his knees, and stroke his head, exclaiming, "My silly, fatherless and motherless boy, it's ill to wit what God may make of thee yet."

In the matriculation list for the year in which Melville entered college, among other celebrated names we find those of Thomas Maitlande and James Lawsone; the former, brother of the famous secretary of that name; and the latter, colleague and successor of the celebrated reformer. To Lawson he seems to have been particularly attached, as may very fairly be conjectured, from the circumstance of a red line being drawn under his name in the matriculation roll, which Dr. Lee believes to have been done by Melville. With both of these men, however, he lived in the most amicable terms till the day of his death. Doubts have been expressed whether Melville took his degrees at this university or not. His nephew, James Melville, asserts that he did. This, however, is not authenticated by the records of St. Mary's; but these are understood, from some circumstance with which we are not acquainted, to be defective about this period.

During Melville's stay at St. Andrew's, George Buchanan returned from abroad; and it has been supposed, from an expression used by Melville in a poem addressed to this celebrated man, in which he calls him "his preceptor and master of the muses," that he had actually studied under Buchanan. This, however, is doubtful, and therefore has not met with general assent. Perhaps all that is meant by the term "preceptor" is, that as Melville himself was passionately addicted to poetry, and wrote verses of no mean character, but considering Buchanan to be very much his superior in that art, he merely styles him so, in this respect. Sir Thomas Randolph, upon more than one occasion, when addressing Buchanan, uses the term "my maister," but he does not confine these words to him only; and therefore it is probable, that nothing more was intended than to convey an acknowledgment of literary superiority.

So very celebrated were Melville's literary acquirements, even at this early period of his life, that they did not pass unobserved by several foreign men of letters who at that time visited Scotland. Bizzarus, an Italian poet, who then visited this country out of attachment to the reformed religion, celebrates his talents and reputation in a strain of great sublimity, in a short Latin poem, which being altogether unintelligible, to the mere English reader, we give below in a tree translation.*

Melville, being now in his nineteenth year, resolved to complete on the continent that education to which his ardent mind aspired, and in which he found he could proceed no farther at home. With this view he sailed for France in the autumn of 1564, and after considerable hinderances, not unattended by danger, arrived in Paris. Without loss of time, he recommenced his studies in the university of that city, having been enrolled in the Germanic nation, which included Scotland, England, and Ireland. Scaliger, Pontanus, and others, inform us that it was no unusual thing in those days to find from ten thousand to thirty thousand students in that university. It was then in a most flourishing state; enjoying a peaceful repose between the civil wars of 1563, and 1567, which had dispersed many of its professors and students, who had taken part in the contest; but who were now happily restored to their former situations. Turnebus† was professor of Greek, and Melville had the good fortune to attend the last course of lectures delivered by that distinguished man. Mercerus and Quinquarboreus jointly occupied the chair of Hebrew and Chaldee. Under these able teachers he applied himself assiduously to the study of these languages, of which the professors in the Scottish universities were at that time ignorant. From Peter Ramus, too, professor of "Roman eloquence," he acquired a more acute knowledge of the Latin language, and to him he was indebted for that happy mode of teaching which he afterwards so successfully practised in his native country. Besides Melville, almost all the greatest geniuses of that age studied under Ramus, with one of whom, regent Moray, prior of St. Andrew's, we are more immediately concerned. Besides these already mentioned, Melville received instructions in mathematics from Paschasius Hamelius, Petrus Forcatellus, Jacobus Carpentarius, and Joannes Scalignacus. It is probable that he also took lessons in Hebrew from the latter, as he bore a very high reputation for his acquaintance with Jewish and Rabbinical learning, and it appears he was one of the royal professors of that language, at the time Melville was at Paris. He also attended the lectures of Ludovicus Duretus, who was the favourite physician of Charles IX. and Henry III. During his residence in France he became acquainted with the intrigues of the Jesuits, who about that time had opened a college, evidently for the purpose of obtaining the ascendancy in the management of the education of youth,—a circumstance which stimulated him afterwards to use all his influence to establish such a system of education in the Scottish universities, as would prevent the native youth from going abroad, where they would be in constant danger of being contaminated by the insiduous devotees of the church of Rome. Here, too, he devoted his attention for some time to the study of civil law, not with the intention of following out the profession, but merely that he might add this to his other acquirements, "as connected with a complete course of education." Indeed, so far back as 1220, pope Honorius the third had strictly prohibited civil law from being taught at Paris, or any place adjacent; and we have it upon undoubted authority, that this prohibition continued in force even so late as the sixteenth century, and that it was only removed by an edict of parliament, on the 8th day of May, 1679. As there was therefore no regular class, Melville removed to the university of Poictiers, after a stay of two years, that he might obtain his desired object.

From this period, 1566, may be dated the commencement of Melville's public life. Although only twenty-one years of age, he had acquired such a reputation for general learning, that immediately on his arrival at Poictiers, he was elected a professor in the college of St. Marceon; the duties of which he undertook very cheerfully; but, without at the same time neglecting the chief intention of his visit, viz., the science of law. The period of Melville's regency was one of great celebrity to the university. As was pretty common in those days, there happened to be at that time a rivalship between the students of this college and that of St. Pivareau, in the composition of verses. Melville was master of the art; and, as might have been expected, his pupils uniformly gained the laurel. As a public teacher, he excelled in the art of communication—a gift which comparatively few men of letters possess; and, as the roots of both the Latin and Greek languages were as familiar to him as his vernacular tongue, it is not to be wondered that archbishop Spottiswood said of him, "Redit in patriam Andreas Melvinus bonis literis excultus, et trium linguarum, quarum eo seculo ignorantiœ, ille famam et tantum, non admirationem apud omnes peperit, callentissimus."*

In 1567, the civil war began to break out afresh, and learning for a time met with a serious interruption. The public classes were discontinued; but Melville found an asylum in the family of a counsellor of parliament, as tutor to his only son. The town was besieged in the following year; and, during the heat of the conflict, Melville, coming one day into his room, found his promising pupil bleeding profusely from the effects of a cannon ball from the besieger's camp, which had pierced the house and inflicted a mortal wound. During the short interval that elapsed between this and his death, the amiable youth employed his time in comforting his afflicted parent with the consolations of religion, and expired in his tutor's arms, pronouncing in Greek the affecting words of the Apostle—"Master, I have finished my course!" It is related of Melville, that he never afterwards alluded to this mournful scene without shedding tears. Although he had sedulously avoided giving offence to the catholics, with whom he had daily intercourse, yet he was not altogether free from being suspected of having a bias to the protestant faith. He had been observed reading the Bible, by the officer who commanded a small party stationed to guard the counsellor's house; and on an alarm being given one day that the besiegers were meditating an assault, the officer called him a Hugonot,† and even hinted at placing him under confinement. Melville became indignant, and, arming himself with all possible expedition, took a horse from the stable, and was preparing to mount, when the officer requested him to stop. "No," replied Melville, "I will this day show myself to be as honourable and as brave a man as you." The officer, afraid lest he might lose his commission, if his rashness should be reported to his superior, employed the most urgent entreaties, and ever after behaved towards Melville with the most marked respect.

No sooner was the siege raised, than Melville, in company with a young Frenchman, prepared to bid adieu to France; and, without passports, leaving all his books behind him, except a small Hebrew Bible which he had slung in his belt, set out on foot, and by striking out new paths for themselves, they fortunately passed the Gallic frontiers without interruption. Geneva was the place of their destination, and it was after nightfall when they reached it. The city was strictly guarded on account of the commotions in France, and the vast numbers who daily sought admission from that disorganized country. The sentinel on duty eyed them with suspicion; and their appearance certainly bespoke them to be in reality what the Frenchman told the guard they were—"poor scholars from France;" for their joint stock did not exceed a crown. Melville, however, assured the sentinel that they had money enough to pay for what they would require; but it was not till he produced his letters of introduction to Beza, that the gates were opened for their admission. Melville at once attracted the notice of that distinguished scholar, who immediately recommended him to his colleagues, as a person well qualified to undertake the duties of professor of humanity, which chair happened at the time to be vacant. He was accordingly put upon trial; and after a long and severe examination in Virgil and Homer, he acquitted himself so entirely to the satisfaction of the examinators, that he was immediately installed. A quarter of a years salary was paid him in advance, which, though small, proved a very seasonable relief. From the strict habits of economy which he uniformly practised, this enabled him to appear with respectability, and at the same time to assist his friend until he procured a situation.

It was here he acquired that accurate knowledge of oriental literature, for which he was afterwards so justly celebrated; for whilst he strictly attended to the duties of his own class, he waited also with all the humility of a scholar upon the instructions of such of his colleagues, as could add to his stock of literary knowledge. Under Cornelius Bertram, a man of profound talents and general erudition, he acquired a knowledge of Syriac, which before that time had been but little known in Europe; and with Franciscus Portus, a native of Candia, he perfected himself. So very accurate was his knowledge of this language, that upon a certain occasion, when the Cretan was expatiating with great pathos and sublimity upon the beauties of his native tongue, Melville, either from well-weighed conviction, or with a view to inform himself still more fully of certain idioms and peculiarities of the language, ventured to oppose some of his teacher's favourite opinions; when Portus, piqued at what he no doubt considered illiberal interruption, exclaimed in angry sarcasm—"Vos Scoti, vos barbari, docebitis nos Grœcos pronunciationem linguœ nostrœ, scilicet!"*

Of all the learned men in Geneva, Melville felt the strongest attachment to Beza; for, besides attending upon his public prelections, he enjoyed the felicity of being at all times admitted into his private company. This attachment on the part of the learned Genevan is to be attributed not only to Melville's splendid literary and mental endowments, but also to the undeviating adherence which he at all times expressed to the ecclesiastical constitution of the land of his birth, which upon all proper occasions formed a delightful subject of conversation to the two reformers. Beza was partial to Scotland and to Scotsmen. But "the massacre of the protestants," says Dr. M'Crie, "which commenced at Paris on St. Bartholomew's Day, 1572, and which wrought such wo to France, was the occasion of extending Melville's acquaintance with the learned men of the age. Those who escaped the dagger of the murderer took refuge in Geneva, whose gates were thrown open to receive them. One hundred and twenty French ministers were at one time in the city. The academy overflowed with students, and the magistrates were unable to provide salaries for the learned men whom they were desirous to employ, or to find situations for such as were willing to teach without receiving any remuneration." It was at this time that Melville became acquainted with Scaliger, and Hottoman, and Bonnefoy, French refugees, all of whom were distinguished for their talents and erudition, and all obtained public appointments. Scaliger was considered the first scholar of the age he lived in; and even to this day his critical authority is bowed to by the profoundest of modern linguists. It is certain that Melville studied Roman law under Hottoman, and it cannot be doubted that he also embraced the opportunity of attending Bonnefoy's lectures on Oriental jurisprudence. Thus tutored and thus qualified, his mind was deeply impressed with uniform zeal for the liberties of his country; and upon all occasions his juvenile mind burned with indignation at the thought of papistical tyranny. And, fortunately for his country, the time drew nigh when he was to take leave of Geneva. A Scottish gentleman with whom Melville had been acquainted at St. Andrew's, travelling as tutor to Alexander Campbell, bishop of Brechin, visited this city in his continental tour, and representing to Melville the distracted state of his native country, and the urgent solicitations of his friends that he should now return home, he immediately formed the resolution of complying with their request, and devoting to the service of that country—hallowed to his remembrance by every tie of kindred and early piety—the knowledge and experience which he had acquired abroad. Without delay he waited upon the superiors of the academy and his colleagues, respectfully requesting their concurrence in resigning his office. To this they assented with great reluctance; but at the same time accompanied his demission with the most flattering testimonials of esteem and regret. Beza, particularly, has perhaps passed the highest encomium that could be given of his worth, in a letter to the General Assembly, certifying "that Andrew Melville was equally distinguished by his piety and erudition, and that the church of Geneva could not give a stronger proof of affection to her sister church of Scotland, than by suffering herself to be bereaved of him that his native country might be enriched with his gifts."

Melville now prepared for his departure; and it may well be imagined that his regrets were not few, at bidding adieu to a place where he had spent the happiest years of his life, in the acquisition of knowledge, and in the enjoyment of the society of the most distinguished men of the age, for literature and piety. To these he often recurs in fancy in after life, especially in an elegiac poem to the memory of John Lindsay, a Scotchman, who died at Geneva. He left that "seat of genuine piety," as he himself expresses it, in the spring of 1574, taking the route of Lyons, Franchecompté, and descending the Loire to Orleans, in company with the bishop of Brechin, and his tutor. As the latter place was strictly guarded on account of the civil war which was still raging in France, the soldier on duty accosted Melville, who was on horseback, in consequence of having sprained his foot, with "Whence are you?"—"From Scotland," replied Melville.—"O! you Scots are all Hugonots."—"Hugonots! what's that? we do not know such people in Scotland."—"You have no mass," said the sentinel—"vous vous n'avez pas la Messe"—"No mess!" retorted Melville smiling; "our children in Scotland go to mess every day." On their way home, Melville and his fellow-travellers visited Paris, where he was for some days engaged in a public polemical dispute with a Jesuit, the issue of which might nave proved prejudicial to him, had he not been warned by some of his friends to withdraw speedily from the city. They accordingly took their departure for London, where they remained for a short time. Melville at length reached Edinburgh, early in July, 1574, after an absence of nine years and ten months.

Melville had been but a short time in the metropolis, when he was visited by George Buchanan, Alexander Hay, and colonel James Halyburton, with an offer of becoming tutor in the family of the regent. This, however, he declined, assigning as a reason, his long absence from his native country, and his desire to spend some time with his friends before he undertook any public employment. His retirement, however, was of short duration. Both St. Andrew's and Glasgow contended for the honour of having him appointed as principal of their universities; but he preferred the latter. On his way to Glasgow, he was introduced to the young king at Stirling, then only nine years of age. Here he found George Buchanan engaged in writing his History of Scotland, whom he consulted regarding the plan of education he should adopt in the university over which he was called to preside. "Such was his success," says James Melville, "that I dare say there was no place in Europe comparable to Glasgow for good letters during these years, for a plentiful and good cheap market of all kinds of languages, arts, and sciences;" and such was his happy art of communication, said one of his pupils, "that he learned more of Mr. Andrew Melville, cracking and playing, for understanding of the authors which he taught in the school, than by all his commentators." By Melville's exertions, the living of Govan, about two miles from Glasgow, valued at twenty-four chalders of grain yearly, was added to the university. M'Gavin says the regent Morton offered this to Melville, in addition to what he enjoyed as principal, provided he would not insist against the establishment of bishops; but Melville rejected his offer with scorn.

There is one part of Melville's character that fitted him so admirably for the arduous duties to which he was soon to be called, that we cannot pass unnoticed; we mean, his acute discernment or human character, and his firm persevering adherence to what he conceived to be his duty, upon all occasions. It may be sufficient here, to mention only one instance of each. John Colville, minister of Kilbride, (whether East or West is not said,) having been called before the synod to answer for dereliction of duty and deserting his ministry, made such plausible excuses upon examination, as to satisfy all his brethren, except Melville. He was the only one who doubted Colville's sincerity. Judging from the evasive answers he received to some rather sifting questions upon the occasion, he told his brethren that he would not be surprised to see Colville desert his ministerial profession, and renounce Christianity altogether; which turned out exactly as Melville had suspected. He soon after, from one step to another, became an adherent of the church of Rome, and wrote bitterly against the protestant religion. "Indeed," says M'Crie, "all his tergiversations, political and religious, were marked by uncommon want of principle." The other instance refers to the state of discipline then in practice in the university; viz., that of corporal chastisement, which, although Melville himself never inflicted, he supported firmly among the regents under his superintendence. Upon one occasion, a son of Lord Herries had been enticed from his studies, by the dissolute son of a wealthy citizen, and had been reported to the principal. In compliance with his duty, and to restrain others from similar offence, Melville caused him to be cited to appear before the whole college, and reprimanded him sharply for his misdemeanors. Instead, however, of being received with submission and penitence, the young gentleman became greatly irritated, and meditated revenge. With this intention, he withdrew into the city; where, having collected a band of reckless young men like himself, who were no friends to the college, they waylaid the professors and students upon a sabbath-day as they were returning from church, and Heriot, the ringleader, brandished a sword in the principal's face, making use at the same time of the most disgusting and opprobrious epithets. Melville bore all this, says his nephew, with the utmost patience, and with difficulty restrained the students from fighting in defence of their master; for, "although verie hot in all [public] questions, yet when it twitched his particular, no man could crab him, contrar to his common custom." As soon as this came to the ears of Lord Herries, he obliged his son to go down upon his knees in the open court of the college, and beg pardon of the principal. Melville received this with all the dignity of office, but immediately forgave the culprit. "If they would have forgiveness," said he to one of the professors upon another occasion, "let them crave it humbly, and they shall have it; but ere this preparative pass, that we dare not correct our scholars for fear of bangsters and clanned gentlemen, they shall have all the blood of my body first."

Melville was satisfied in his own mind that prelacy had no foundation in Scripture—he had witnessed the happy effects of presbyterianism both in France and Geneva,—he had taught that the words bishop and presbyter are used "interchangeably" in the New Testament, and that those who pleaded for the divine origin of episcopacy, did so from ignorance of the language of Scripture; and therefore his advice was, to strike at once at the root of the evil, and restore that equality of rank among the ministers of religion, which the court party were seeking to destroy, and which certainly existed among the early pastors of the church. Being a member of the first General Assembly that had met since his appointment in the university of Glasgow, he stoutly advocated these principles. From that period he was a member of all the committees that sat from time to time, collecting materials for the book of church polity,—he had a chief share in all disputations both public and private—"And indeid," says James Melville, "that mater cost him exceeding great peans, bathe in mynd, body, and gear, during the space of five or sax yair, with the gean of the regent Erl of Morton and his bischopes utter indignation. Yit with the wonderful assistance of God, he bure it out till the abolishing of bischopes and establishing of the presbyteries according to the word of God, wharby he gatt the name of the slinger out of bischops." That Melville was at any time violent and overbearing, as has been alleged by his enemies, is totally without evidence. Cool argument, and calm but firm persuasion, were the only weapons he used; but these were most effective,—indeed, the whole of the proceedings of the Assembly were characterized by a deliberative wisdom, calmness of temper, and unanimity, that both astonished and greatly disappointed their enemies.

In 1577, Melville and other seven were nominated by the Assembly, at the request of the regent, to attend a convocation of protestants at Magdeburgh, for establishing the Augsburg Confession; but for reasons best known to himself, the matter dropped, although frequently urged to it by the assembly. Finding that he could not by any art gain over Melville to his party, the regent attempted to intimidate him by accusing him as a disturber of the peace, and threatened to proceed against him accordingly; but our reformer was not to be so overawed. Not satisfied with the proceedings of the Assembly at the time, he sent for Melville to his chamber one day, and after addressing him for some time on the propriety of preserving the peace of the church and kingdom, and saying that there never would be quietness in the kingdom till half-a-dozen of them were either hanged or banished the country,—Melville replied, "Tush, sir; threaten your courtiers after this manner. It is the same to me whether I rot in the air or in the ground. The earth is the Lord's. I have been ready to give my life where it could not be so well wared, at the pleasure of my God. I have lived out of your country for ten years, as well as in it. Let God be glorified: it will not be in your power either to hang or exile His truth." In reference to this and similar castigations that he was wont to hear from the lips of Morton, his nephew writes—"Manie siclyke has he heard, and far mae reported in mair ferful form; but for all he never jarged a jot ather frae the substance of the cause, or forme of preceding tharin."

The high state of learning and discipline to which the university of Glasgow had now been raised, and the comparatively low grade of education in the other colleges, became an object of public notoriety, and consequently measures were taken for reforming and new-modelling the same. A new theological college was agreed upon for St. Andrew's; and it was resolved to translate Melville thither, and to install Smeton in his room.

Melville entered upon his charge at St. Andrew's in December, 1580, and the persons appointed by the general assembly to attend him were Sir Andrew Ker of Tandonside, the lairds of Braid and Lundie, with James Lawson and John Dury, says Dr. M'Crie; and Calderwood adds, Mr. Robert Pont, and William Christieson. Although he was permitted to take with him from Glasgow what teachers soever he thought fit, yet being unwilling to deprive that flourishing university of any of its ornaments, he was content with taking his nephew only, the celebrated James Melville, whose preceptor he himself had been. He appointed him professor of oriental languages. His own lectures here excited universal admiration, and were attended by even some of the professors, who, though teachers themselves, were not ashamed to receive instruction from this justly celebrated man. But, enough we should suppose has already been said to establish the literary reputation of Melville, and therefore our attention shall now be exclusively directed to the active part he took in the affairs of the church, and the sufferings he underwent in bringing about the great work of the reformation.

In the Assembly which met at St. Andrew's, in 1582, Melville was chosen moderator, and preached the opening sermon from 1 Tim. 4:10—"For therefore we both labour and suffer reproach, because we trust in the living God, who is the Saviour of all men, specially of those who believe." In his discourse, he censured in strong terms the absolute authority which was stealing into the church, and pointedly named Beaton and Leslie, as the principal agents in the matter, saying—"I know this will be called interfering with civil affairs; but these things tend to the wreck of religion, and therefore I rehearse them." Among other things, the assembly drew up a statement of their grievances, to be laid before the king, and Melville was one of a deputation appointed to present the same to his majesty, who was at the time living at Perth. His nephew had been premonished to advise his uncle not to appear, as Lennox and Arran were enraged at the obstacles he had thrown in their way for the prevention of their schemes; but when the young man informed him of the message, and at the same time entreated him not to make light of the friendly premonition, Melville replied—"I am not afraid, thank God; nor feeble-spirited in the cause and message of Christ,—come what God pleases to send, our commission shall be executed." The deputation, having been admitted to the king and council, presented their grievances, craving redress; which, after having been read, the earl of Arran, looking round the assembly with a stern countenance, cried aloud in a tone of defiance, "Who dare subscribe these treasonable articles?"—"WE DARE," said Melville, stepping forward to the table, "and will render our lives for it;" and then, taking the pen from the clerk's hand, subscribed his name before the whole audience. Arran was thunderstruck and humbled; and Lennox became mild as a lamb; telling the commissioners they were at liberty to depart.

Melville, besides his academical duties, preached frequently in vacant pulpits, and for some time he and his nephew divided the labours of the sabbath between them, in one of the churches, where, through the profligacy of the times, no stipend could be obtained for the minister. For this reason, the church was without a stated preacher for three years; and, upon one occasion, Melville, being in the pulpit, inveighed loudly against the conduct of those who hindered the settlement of a minister. "Galled by his reproofs," says Dr. M'Crie, "the provost rose one day from his seat in the middle of the sermon, and left the church, muttering his dissatisfaction with the preacher. Placards were affixed to the new college gate, threatening to set fire to the principal's lodging, to bastinade him, and chase him out of the town." Melville remained quite at ease amidst the general alarm for his safety, and summoned the provost to appear before the presbytery, to answer for his behaviour in church, and for contempt of divine ordinances. Nothing could deter him from his duty; and wherever he found vice to exist, there he exposed it. The writer of one of the placards was pretty surely known from some of the foreign phrases which it contained; and this the preacher one day produced before the congregation, at the close of his discourse. The suspected writer was sitting before him, whom Melville characterized as "a Frenchified, Italianized, jolly gentleman, who had polluted many marriage-beds, and who now boasted that he would pollute the church of God, by bastinading his servants." Melville's boldness upon this and some former occasions had created him a number of enemies, who lost no opportunity of prepossessing the royal ear against him; the consequence of which was, that he was summoned to appear before the privy council on the 15th day of February following, to answer for "certain treasonable and seditious expressions uttered by him in the pulpit, when preaching on a fast day which had been kept in the preceding month."

Not in the least intimidated, Melville obeyed the citation with the utmost consciousness of innocence, and answered to the charge; solemnly protesting, that neither in that sermon, nor upon any other occasion, had he ever spoken disrespectfully of his majesty. To this effect he had been furnished with attestations by the university, the town-council, the kirk session, and the presbytery of St. Andrew's. The court, however, set aside all these, and determined to proceed with the trial. As a matter of justice, Melville requested that his trial should be remitted to the ecclesiastical courts, according to the word of God and the laws of the realm—that he should be tried at St. Andrew's where the offence was alleged to have been committed—that he should at least be allowed to submit his cause to the judgment of the rector and professors of the university—that he should enjoy the benefit of the apostolic injunction, "against an elder receive not an accusation, but before two or three witnesses"—that he should be confronted with his accuser; and, if the charges brought against him turned out false, that he should have redress for the calumnies. Having stated these objections, the council delayed farther procedure till the day following. In the mean time, suspecting that none of his objections would be attended to, he drew up a written protest against the proceedings of council, and appeared next day, attended by commissioners from the university and presbytery, each determined to plead for their respective rights; but both were denied admission. Prepared for what he rightly conjectured would be the issue, he gave in his protest,—the reading of which threw the king and Arran into such a violent fit of passion, as to alarm those who were waiting without for the decision. Melville's spirit rose with the emergency,—and, boldly defending his procedure, he unslung his small Hebrew Bible which he always carried suspended from his girdle, throwing it down upon the table, saying—"These are my instructions and authority, see if you can show me that I have acted contrary to my injunctions!" The chancellor took up the book, and, observing that it was in a language of which he was ignorant, said to his majesty—"Sire, he scorns your majesty and the council!"—"I scorn not, my lords; but I am earnest and zealous for the cause of Christ and his church!"—Every art was used to induce him to withdraw his protest; but this he peremptorily refused. Judgment was therefore passed upon him for having declined the competency of the council, and for behaving "irreverently" in their presence; and he was sentenced to be imprisoned in Edinburgh castle during the king's pleasure. The place of his confinement was afterwards commuted for Blackness, a solitary and damp fortress in the county of Linlithgow, on the southern banks of the Forth, kept by one of the chancellor's underlings.

Melville's friends were now at a loss what to advise. All seemed perplexed but himself, and he therefore laid his plans in such a way that his real intentions were entirely concealed. He made preparations for his departure with all expedition, and dined with a party of ministers in Edinburgh, desiring them, with great apparent cheerfulness, to prepare to follow him, and even drank to the health of his captain, as he jocularly styled the keeper of Blackness. He desired the macer to be brought in, and, with a seeming air of satisfaction, received from him the summons to enter himself at Blackness within twenty-four hours. Soon after, having been joined by one of his brothers, he withdrew for a little by permission, and, having spent the night in the vicinity of the city, he reached Berwick next day in safety, to the sad disappointment of Arran, who was in waiting with a troop of horse, to honour him with an equestrian convoy to his place of confinement.

His absence in England turned out afterwards to be of great benefit to the suffering church at home. Being beyond the reach of his enemies, he could watch the proceedings of the court, and its emissaries,—one of whom, Patrick Adamson, a vacillating, unprincipled creature, began now to show his craftiness. The political atmosphere was beginning to darken, and it was evident that the storm would ere long burst with awful vengeance. Adamson had represented to the French presbyterian ministers in London, and to the churches in Geneva and Zurich, the principles and behaviour of his brethren in a very false and odious light; but, fortunately, Melville had obtained copies of these letters, and without delay he wrote and contradicted Adamson's statements. It is not difficult to see that by these means Adamson thought to obtain such a concurrence from the foreign churches, as might at least form a plausible pretext for the part he was acting. This, however, he did not obtain. Even his residence at London did not favour the cause he was sent to promote. Upon his return, however, an act was passed by the Scottish parliament, overthrowing presbytery, suppressing the General Assembly, and consigning the whole ecclesiastical government to the will of the king, without whose permission no Assembly could be held. Not a few of the faithful ministers were cast into prison for their resistance; many of them gave up their livings, and withdrew to England; and, as might have been expected, a number succumbed to the reigning power, and submitted to episcopal ordination. At this time Melville wrote a reply to a "Vindication of the Scottish Court," artfully drawn up by Adamson, impugning the banished lords, and inveighing against the proceedings of the church. Melville did not escape his own share of abuse.

In July, 1584, Angus, Mar, and the master of Glammis, wrote to Melville to meet them at Newcastle, along with James Lawson, to consult about matters too weighty for their own deliberation; but being absent from London at the time, the meeting did not take place. This, however, was the less to be regretted, as matters were beginning to assume a different aspect at home. The nation was discontented—the principal courtiers were disgusted at Arran's lordly usurpation and arrogance—and the king himself began to feel uneasy. The exiled lords applied to Elizabeth for permission to depart, which having been obtained, the people from all quarters flocked to their standard as soon as they set foot in Scotland; and, upon their arrival at Stirling, the army by which they were accompanied had such an imposing effect, that Arran consulted his safety by flight. After mutual explanation, the king came down from the castle, and the lords, having laid down their arms were immediately reinstated in power and favour. Melville, anxious to lend his talents once more to his suffering countrymen, accompanied the banished nobles, and returned to his native country, in November, 1585, having been absent twenty months.

Melville's first object after his return was to attempt the restoration of the church's liberties, and to bring about the abrogation of the black acts, as they were called; but he met with strenuous opposition, even from quarters where he least expected it. The exiled lords having regained their temporalities bestirred themselves but very slovenly in the cause, and the king therefore, emboldened by their imbecility, declared that he would resist any alteration of the existing ecclesiastical law, as interfering with his personal prerogative, which he would maintain at all hazards; and this the cowardly nobles, in violation of their former good faith, took no steps to oppose. A deputation of ministers was therefore nominated to confer with the nobility, and to urge the fulfilment of their promises; but, although entreaties, expostulations, nay threats, were employed, it was of no avail. The king's determination not to part with his (usurped) prerogative, served as an objection to every point. There was therefore no hope but to apply to James himself. Their reception was far from being courteous; and in the course of the interview, they were shocked at the iteration of language, by which they had been frequently before assailed by Lennox and Arran—"language," says Dr. M'Crie, "not more disrespectful to them, than indecorous from the mouth of a king." Melville urged his suit with his wonted firmness, and spoke in such plain terms as were not altogether agreeable to the ear of royalty. The king, however, relaxed so far as to require them to write out their objections to the existing law. To these the king gave his own interpretation, adding, that it should be as authentic as an act of parliament. Nothing farther could be obtained at the time, than that all ministers and masters of colleges were at liberty to return to their places and professions; but, on the other hand, an act had just passed through parliament, dooming to death—"to be executed with the utmost rigour"—all who should publicly or privately "speak to the reproach of his majesty's person or government, or misconstrue his proceedings"—prohibiting at the same time, "all leagues or bands among the subjects, without his majesty's privity and consent, under whatever pretext they should be made." Adamson, too, laboured incessantly to keep the breach open, and to incense his majesty still more against Melville. Discoursing one day with the king upon the subject, says Calderwood, he exclaimed, "By the Lord God, Sire, (for the bishop did not scruple to encourage his majesty in his profane habit of swearing!) had that enemy to lawful authority remained another half-year, he had pulled the crown off your head by his seditious doctrine—for he taught that kings should come by election, as the multitude pleased to put them up or down." Adamson was excommunicated by the General Assembly for his double-dealing; and he in his turn drew up an excommunication of Melville and other ministers, which he caused to be read publicly—at the same time preferring a complaint to the king and parliament. Melville was now for a time laid under civil restraint, and ordered to confine himself to the north side of the Tay; but at the solicitation of the university of St. Andrew's—aided however by the secret influence of a minion of majesty—Melville was commanded to wait upon the king at Falkland, where his majesty generally spent the summer. Having been introduced into the royal presence, he was, after mutual explanations, restored to favour, and ordered to resume his duties in the university.

Melville's re-admission to favour now induced the General Assembly to choose him their moderator in the Assembly which met in June, 1587, and also to nominate him their commissioner to the approaching parliament. In virtue of his office as moderator, he was at that time of signal service, not only to the church but to the nation. The kingdom was in a state of alarm at the threatened invasion of the Spanish Armada, and the king was amusing himself in writing a commentary upon the book of Revelation, to prove that the Pope was Antichrist, the man of sin—the Jesuits and priests were corresponding with the Pope, and instigating the people to a revolt, in the event of the enemy effecting a landing; and a general massacre of the protestants was to have summed up the catastrophe. Under these circumstances, Melville felt himself warranted to summon a pro re nata meeting of the Assembly, early in the following year, which he opened with a brilliant address, in which he laid before them his reasons for calling the meeting. All were unanimous in providing against the threatened danger, and made an offer of their lives and fortunes, in defence of the country, and Melville was appointed to lay the same before the king. The providential dispersion of that formidable fleet is known to all, and fortunately no sacrifices were required. This, however, had not the effect of silencing the restless and turbulent spirit of the papists. Bent upon supremacy, they busied themselves in fomenting a new conspiracy, and even wrote to the Spanish government to send an army direct to Scotland, as the sure way of obtaining possession of England. Melville was again at his post. Having called another meeting of Assembly, he was re-elected moderator, in which assisted by Thomas Craig and other distinguished lawyers, such measures were adopted as enabled the government to frustrate the intentions of the insurrectionists, by the discovery of their correspondence.

The ecclesiastical horizon now began to brighten, in consequence of the united efforts of Melville, Chancellor Maitland, and Robert Bruce, using their influence with the king to retrace his steps. James, although sorely importuned by the enemies of presbyterianism, yet conceiving a high opinion of the talent, integrity, and prudence of the three reformers, lent a favourable ear to their admonitions. Bruce had particularly gained upon the king's good opinion, and he acted in all things in perfect harmony with Melville. During the king's absence in Denmark, on the occasion of his marriage, he declared that he had more faith in Brace's preserving public tranquillity, than in the whole of his nobility; and, upon his return he found it to be exactly as he had predicted.

By special invitation Melville was present at the coronation of the queen, on the 17th of May, 1590; and immediately after the crown was placed upon her head, he pronounced a Latin poem which he had composed for the occasion, although he did not know that he was expected until two days before the ceremony. James was so much delighted both with the composition and the manner in which it was recited, that he publicly thanked the author,—saying, "that he had that day done him and the country such honour as he never could requite;" and at the same time gave orders that the poem should be immediately printed. The title of the poem is STEPHANISKION, a copy of which the learned reader will find in Deliciœ Poetarum Scotorum, tom. 2. pp. 71–76. Of this poem, Lipsius, after he had read it, exclaimed—Revera Andreas Melvinus est serio doctus; and Scaliger, in a letter to the author, wrote, Nos talia non possumus.* James, however, soon forgot his fair promises; and the silly vacillating monarch allowed himself to be swayed by the party at court. The indifference which both king and courtiers showed to the murder of the Earl of Moray had given great offence to the reformers, and therefore Melville and others were commissioned to wait upon the king, and remonstrate with him for allowing such barbarity to pass unpunished. The freedom with which the deputation opened their minds upon the subject was far from being satisfactory to the king, and he testified his displeasure in terms the reverse of being pacific. Melville defended himself and his party with considerable warmth; and, upon being interrupted by the chancellor, who did not feel altogether at ease in the conversation, he replied, "that on such a theme he would not be silenced by him or any individual beneath his majesty." The king said that Moray, Knox, and Buchanan could be defended only by seditious and traitorous theologues. Melville replied, that they were the men who had set the crown upon his head, and therefore deserved better treatment. His majesty said that his crown came to him by succession, and was not given to him by any man. "But they were the instruments (replied Melville); and whosoever informs your majesty sinistrously of these men, neither loves you nor the commonwealth." To such a pitch of excitement had the popular indignation now risen, in consequence of the assassination of the earl of Moray, that they did not hesitate to accuse both James and his courtiers as having been accessory to the murder. Foreseeing, therefore, that nothing would allay the ferment but a timely compliance with the wishes of the reformers, the royal assent was given to an act ratifying presbytery, as "most just, good, and lawful;" and proclamation was made accordingly at the market cross of Edinburgh, to that effect. After a painful but unflinching struggle, for nearly eighteen years, Melville was at length gratified with the completion of his wishes, sanctioned by the state, as well as by the church. Melville now resumed his academical labours with a placidity of mind to which he had long been a stranger.

In 1590, he was elected rector of the university, in room of the venerable James Wilkie, principal of St. Leonard's college; and in this new situation he conducted himself with that firmness, decision, and prudence, as supreme, which had formerly characterized him, when subordinate. For several years he acted as ruling elder, and exerted himself to the utmost, in filling up the kirk session, with men of piety, talent, and influence. In those days the office of elder was attended with much labour and personal inconvenience. Besides giving attendance upon the weekly meetings of session, they had to assist the minister in examining the congregation before the communions, take cognizance of profane swearers, sabbath-breakers, violators of the fifth commandment, intemperate persons, slanderers, backbiters, as well as trespassers of the laws of chastity; and, in all these our reformer showed himself ever alive to the glory of God, and the purity of the church. One of his chief objects was to see that vacant parishes were supplied with proper ministers. Previous to this period, the deficiency had been very great; for when Melville came first to St. Andrew's, there were only five members of presbytery; and now the number had increased to sixteen. Among these were David Black and Robert Wallace, two of the most faithful and laborious ministers of any age. The affairs of the kingdom were still in a very disorderly state; James was still the same babyish creature as formerly;—still in leading strings,—and the papists taking advantage of his imbecility, were in correspondence with the king of Spain, to land thirty thousand men in Scotland, for the purpose of invading England. James himself was strongly suspected of being in the plot; and, upon the authority of Calderwood, we mention, that upon the discovery of the conspiracy, by the interception of letters, one of them was suppressed because it "touched the king with knowledge and approbation of the traffiquing, and promise of assistance." And, indeed, his majesty's subsequent conduct tended greatly to strengthen the suspicion. It was well known that his mind was secretly addicted to popery; and therefore he found great fault with the presbyterian ministers for meeting to devise measures for counteracting the plot. They, however, defended themselves with spirit, and told the king that it was not expedient to stand upon forms, when they saw his person, the church, and the nation in danger. James was soon pacified, and testified his sense of their loyalty, by requesting them to assist his council with their best advice. The measures which they found necessary to adopt, in the mean time, were not, however, altogether to the king's mind; for, the first step which they deemed it advisable to adopt, was, to excommunicate the popish lords; and this he tried every method to counteract. Melville fell particularly under the royal displeasure for the part he had taken in the affair; but at a convention of estates which was held at Linlithgow, in October, 1593, he told the king his sentiments very freely,—boldly reproving him for the manner in which he had spoken of the principal agents in bringing about the reformation, and the partiality he had shown to the avowed enemies of both his own throne and the church,—challenging, at the same time, his advisers to stand forward and not dissemble, and he would prove them traitors to the crown and kingdom of Scotland—failing which he would go to the gibbet.

In the General Assembly which was held in May, 1594, Melville was again placed in the moderator's chair. The sentence of excommunication which the synod of Fife had passed against the popish lords was unanimously confirmed and ratified, upon the grounds that they had refused to take the benefit of the act of abolition, and were still in arms, persevering in their correspondence with the Spanish government. At this assembly the king and his ministers came to a better understanding than at any time before; and they enjoined all its members to beware of uttering from the pulpit any rash or irreverent speeches against the king and his council. Nevertheless the popish lords continued still unawed; they were in a state of open rebellion; and, for all that had been said and done, they found not a few friends in the parliament which was held in the month of June. Melville was again at his post; and, in presence of the lords of articles, insisted upon speedy measures being adopted against the leading conspirators, in order to secure the safety of religion, and the tranquillity of the kingdom; and, so powerful was the influence which his speech had upon the assembly, that the majority of the lords of articles consented to the forfeiture of Huntly, Angus, and Errol, and their decision was ratified by parliament.

Melville was now, at the express request of the king, called to accompany him in an expedition to the north, against the rebels, who felt inclined to take the command upon himself, after the defeat of the earl of Argyle, by lord Glenlivet; and fortunate it was that he thought of taking Melville with him; for the measures which he recommended were the means of bringing about tranquillity. Finding that they were to be hard pressed, the rebels had retreated within their mountain fastnesses; and thus the king's troops began to be dispirited at the prospect of a tedious campaign, which became so much the more grievous, as they had been some time without pay. In these circumstances, his majesty was advised not to proceed to extremities against the insurgents; but Melville counselled otherwise, and the king thought it would be expedient to listen to his admonition. Orders were therefore given for the immediate demolition of the castle of Strathbogie, and the principal seats of those who had taken part with him. This had the desired effect, and the discontented noblemen soon after left the kingdom.

Melville's disinterested friendship and strong attachment to David Black, one of the ministers of St. Andrew's, whose name we have already introduced, had very nearly involved him in serious difficulties. In consequence of a lawsuit which Black had seen it necessary to raise for the cause of public justice against a person of the name of Burley, the latter, fearing that he would be nonsuited, laid a complaint before the court, that Mr. Black, in his sermons, had spoken disrespectfully of the late queen, and at the same time accused Melville of aiding and abetting him in the use of such language. Black was accordingly called before a meeting of the privy council and a few select ministers, where, upon being interrogated, he declared his willingness to give an account of his sermons before a proper tribunal; but begged to decline giving any explanation before that court, which he said was neither ecclesiastical nor civil. These objections, however, were overruled, and the examination of proof was proceeding, when Melville, suspecting what was going on, knocked at the door for entrance, and was admitted. Like his precursor Knox, who "feared not the face of man," he craved permission to be heard upon a point of the most serious importance. Liberty having been granted, he fearlessly told his majesty, that although he was king of Scotland, he was not king of the church, and therefore the present court had no right to try the cause which had been brought before them. But if he had any cause of judicature here, it ought rather to be to try the traitor Burley, than to interfere with the faithful servants of the Lord Jesus, the King of the church, in the execution of their duty. Turning to Burley and pointing to him, he then told the king, that he had been repeatedly guilty of treason against the government, by taking his majesty's peaceable subjects out of their houses in the night time, and harbouring in his own house the king's rebels and enemies. Burley, trembling for fear, fell on his knees, and cried out for justice. "Justice," exclaimed Melville,—"would to God you had it! You would not be then here to bring a judgment from Christ upon the king, and thus falsely and unjustly to vex the faithful servants of God!" Moved at what he considered unwarranted presumption in Melville, the king attempted to silence him; but our reformer was not to be so overawed; wherefore the king, addressing both parties in a strain of humour, said "they were both little men, and their heart was at their mouth," and thus the affair ended. The king by this time saw that it would be impolitic to turn Melville against his government, and therefore he immediately sent for him to a private audience, where, after unrestrained but friendly communication on both sides, Melville was dismissed with the greatest courtesy.

We have now come to another memorable era in the history of the church (1596); and, it is pleasant to observe, that as her difficulties began to thicken, so did our reformer's vigilance and courage begin to be still more conspicuous. The forfeited lords had secretly returned to the country—the Scottish priests abroad were in close communication with the king of Spain, who was still bent upon invading England—James was aware of all this, and he remained in a state of listless inaction—and the country was in the greatest alarm, lest perhaps the popish lords should obtain a pardon, nay—be readmitted into his majesty's counsels. This was no time for inactivity on the part of the reformers, and accordingly we find them upon their watchtower. Huntley had made offers to the government, and a meeting of the privy council was held at Falkland, to consider these. The more moderate of the clergy were also summoned to attend, but Melville was among the uninvited. Conceiving however that he had a right to be present, as a commissioner from the General Assembly, he appeared along with the rest of his brethren; and when the king asked him why he had intruded, he replied, "Sire, I have a call from Christ and his church, who have a special interest in this convention; and I charge you and your estates in their name, that you favour not their enemies, nor go about to make citizens of those who have traitorously sought to betray their country to the cruel Spaniard, to the overthrow of Christ's kingdom."* Here he was ordered by his majesty to withdraw, which he did, but not before his words had the happy effect of encouraging the other ministers to hold out, and resist the proposals of the court. A convention of the estates being soon after called at Dunfermline to take the matter again into consideration, the presbytery sent thither two of their number to watch their proceedings, and to solicit that the promise which the king had made them, declaring that he did not intend to carry the resolutions of the privy council into effect, should not be violated. Their petition, however was thrown out, and the Falkland measures confirmed and ratified.

But the General Assembly were not to be outdone even by this. Without delay a commission was appointed to go to Falkland, and lay their grievances before the king. Being graciously admitted to private audience, they began through James Melville, their president, to exhort the king to consider what he was doing, and to beware of the consequences that would follow from the steps he was pursuing. Scarcely, however, had he opened his speech, when the king began to storm and rage, saying that they themselves had been the cause of all the alarm, by infusing into the minds of the people the most unwarrantable and groundless fears. The president was proceeding to reply in his usually calm manner, when his uncle, our reformer, unable to bear any longer, caught his majesty by the sleeve, in the warmth of his excitement, and calling him God's silly vassal, says Dr. M'Crie, he thus addressed him,—"Sire, we will always humbly reverence your majesty in public; but since we have this occasion to be with your majesty in private; and, since ye are brought in extreme danger both of your life and crown, and along with you the country and the church of God are like to go to wreck, for not telling you the truth, and giving you faithful counsel, we must discharge our duty, or else be traitors both to Christ and you. Therefore, Sire, as divers times before I have told you, so now again I must tell you, there are two kings and two kingdoms in Scotland—there is Christ Jesus the King of the church, whose subject king James the Sixth is and of whose kingdom he is not a king nor a lord, nor a head, but a member. Those whom Christ has called and commanded to watch over his church, and govern his spiritual kingdom, have sufficient power and authority to do this both jointly and severally—the which no Christian king or prince should control and discharge, but fortify and assist,—otherwise they are not faithful subjects of Christ and members of his church. We will yield to your place, and give you all due obedience; but again I say you are not the head of me church—you cannot give us that eternal life which even in this world we seek for, and you cannot deprive us of it. Permit us then freely to meet in the name of Christ, and to attend to the interests of that church of which you are the chief member. Sire, when you were in your swaddling clothes, Christ Jesus reigned freely in this land, in spite of all his enemies:—his officers and ministers convened and assembled for the ruling and welfare of his church, which was ever for your welfare, defence, and preservation, when these same enemies were seeking your destruction and cutting off. Their assemblies since that time continually have been terrible to these enemies and most steadable to you. And now, when there is more than extreme necessity for the continuance and discharge of that duty, will you, drawn to your own destruction by a devilish and most pernicious council, begin to hinder and dishearten Christ's servants and your most faithful subjects, quarrelling them for their convening and the care they have of their duty to Christ and you, when you should rather commend and countenance them, as the godly kings and emperors did? The wisdom of your counsel, which I call devilish, is this, that ye must be served by all sorts of men, to come to your purpose and grandeur, Jew and Gentile, papist and protestant;—and because the protestants and ministers of Scotland are over strong and control the king, they must be weakened and brought low by stirring up a party against them; and, the king being equally indifferent, both shall be fain to flee to him. But, Sire, if God's wisdom be the only true wisdom, this will prove mere and mad folly—his curse cannot but light upon it—in seeking of both ye shall lose both—whereas in cleaving uprightly to God, his true servants would be your sure friends, and he would compel the rest counterfeitly and lyingly to give over themselves and serve you." Undissembling, free, and bold, as this speech certainly was, it had the effect of quieting the king—for the moment, at least. He solemnly declared his ignorance of the return of the popish lords; and assured the commissioners that no favour should be shown them until the church was satisfied. But James was master of finesse, and his future conduct plainly evinced that he spoke with insincerity.

Melville took his departure from Edinburgh on the 15th of December, and of course was not present at the much-talked of feud between the octavians and cubiculars, as the parties were called, and which has been much exaggerated by almost all writers. This tumult, however, was the cause of James issuing a proclamation that all the courts of justice should from that time be transferred to Perth; and that no Assembly, synod, or presbytery, should be held in Edinburgh. A meeting of the estates and General Assembly was summoned by the king, to be held in February at Perth, to consider the state of affairs; but Melville was prevented from attending, in consequence of business connected with the university, which required his presence. Of the proceedings, however, he had timely information from his nephew, who left the convention in disgust. At this assembly the king carried all his measures, swaying the members as he found most convenient for his own ends. It cannot be doubted that this was almost entirely owing to Melville's absence; and, indeed, the king was heard to express himself in words to that effect, and to add, that on that account, he dreaded his opposition in the Assembly which was appointed to meet at Dundee, on the 10th May following. Melville was greatly agitated on learning how the convention had acted; but the repeated victories he had obtained over the king, and the powerful influence he had among his brethren, kept him from desponding. For presbyterianism he was ready to submit to any sacrifice—even to lay down his life for it, if necessary; and therefore, that he might avoid even the semblance of submitting to the king's usurped prerogative, he, with some others of his brethren, held the meeting of Assembly on the ordinary day. Having opened the meeting according to prescribed form, and considered the steps most proper to be taken, the moderator closed their proceedings with fervent prayer to God for direction. It was agreed to refer all business to the king's Assembly appointed to meet at Dundee. At the time appointed Melville made his appearance there among the rest; but before the hour of meeting, James Melville was sent for to advise his uncle to return home, for fear of the king's displeasure. To this his reply was, that it would be to no purpose, for he knew well, that his uncle would submit to death, rather than act contrary to what he conceived to be his duty. Melville and his nephew were both desired to wait upon the king next day; and, says James Melville in his diary, they were at first both very calm, but when my uncle began to speak his mind freely, the king became hot and furious—"and there they heckled on, till all the house and close baith heard." At this meeting also, James, by the help of the northern ministers gained so far upon the assembly as to get fourteen ministers nominated, to advise with him "in all affaire concerning the weal of the church, and entertainment of peace and obedience to his Majesty within his realm." The king's real intention in this was to get quit of presbyterianism altogether, under the pretence of arranging regarding the ministers of Edinburgh and St. Andrew's, providing ministers for vacant churches, and allocating stipends for the whole throughout the kingdom; although he had artfully concealed this from the Assembly.

James now began to rule with a high hand, and, by virtue of his assumed prerogative, summoned the presbytery of St. Andrew's to appear before him at Falkland; and there, in opposition to all their remonstrances, he restored to his ministerial office and living, a minister who had been deposed for immoralities. Not content with this, attended by his privy counsellors, he visited St. Andrew's with the intention of ejecting the ministers, and placing the university under such subjugation as might deter them from thwarting him in the schemes which he was meditating: and, to such a length did he carry his insolence, that he imperiously ordered Robert Wallace to desist in the middle of a sermon. But Melville was not silent upon the occasion. Regardless of the royal presence, and that of his attending sycophants, he rebuked the king sharply for his interference, and at the same time did not spare the commissioners for their tacit acquiescence in such unwarranted and unauthorized conduct, although he could not at the time be free from the suspicion that he himself might be the next object of royal persecution. And, so indeed it happened. Every method was tried to intrap our reformer. The king dreaded him more than all the other ministers in the kingdom; and, therefore, to get him out of the way was the grand aim of James and his party. At the visitation of the university which took place at this time, a long catalogue of complaints was handed in to the king, from persons whose displeasure he had incurred; but from all these Melville cleared himself so satisfactorily, that even the tortuous mind of James could find nothing plausible enough whereon to found an accusation. It was however necessary to visit him with some mark of royal censure, and therefore he was, to suit the king's purposes, degraded from the Rectorship of the college—an office which he had held for seven years, with much honour to himself, and great usefulness to the seminary. It was easy for James to find pretexts for this measure; but his main object was to get Melville debarred from attending the church courts, where he had always been a sharp thorn in the king's side; and this he attempted to effect by enacting a regulation, that no doctor or regent, teaching only theology or philosophy, without having the pastoral charge of a particular congregation, should have a seat either in kirk sessions, presbyteries, synods, or General Assembly, under pain of deprivation of office. All this, however, did not in the least intimidate Melville; for he determined to adhere to his privilege, cost what it might; and this he very soon had an opportunity of evincing, by his attendance at a meeting of the synod of Fife, where, upon being challenged by Thomas Buchanan, an apostate, as to his right to be present, he defended himself, by telling the tergiversator, that it had been his province to expound the word of God, and to sit and vote; nay, even preside in ecclesiastical courts, when he was only teaching hic, hœc, hoc, to young men and boys.

At the General Assembly held at Dundee, in 1588, Melville made his appearance, notwithstanding the restrictions under which he had been laid at the royal visitation at St. Andrew's; but when his name was called, his majesty objected, and declared that he would permit no business to be done, until Melville had withdrawn. Melville defended himself with his wonted boldness, and presence of mind, and told James that his veto could extend only to his official academical situation, as rector of the university, which he had obeyed; but not to his theological status, as a minister of Christ,—that he was nominated by his presbytery as their commissioner, and he was determined not to betray it. That the business of the court might not be interrupted, however, Melville judged it prudent to retire; but not until he had delivered his sentiments freely upon the topics regarding the church, which were to occupy the attention of the Assembly. The king's commands were, that he should not come forth from his lodgings; but this would not do, as his brethren found him out there, and therefore the royal mandate was given, that he should leave Dundee without delay. By this it was evident, that the poor imbecile monarch durst not proceed with his business so long as the magnanimous reformer was within reach, although he had a packed assembly of cringing commissioners, and "a trained band of voters from the extremities of the north." The king's measure, which he wanted to carry at this Assembly, was, "that the ministry, as the third state of the realm, should, in the name of the church, have a vote in parliament." This was stoutly opposed by the reformers, who plainly foresaw that it was but a prelude to the introduction of episcopacy. It was therefore put off, from want of unanimity, until the sentiments of the different church courts should be ascertained, after which a deputation from these bodies, along with the professors of theology, were to hold a conference in presence of his majesty, on the points that had been left unsettled. At these preparatory meetings Melville gave sedulous attendance. So dissatisfied was the king with the meeting held at Falkland after these conferences, that the general assembly summoned to meet at Aberdeen was put off sine die. Melville could neither be deterred by threats, nor allured by fair promises from watching this momentous question; and accordingly we find him again at a meeting in Holyrood-house, in November 1599, telling the king in the debate upon the lawfulness of clergymen to sit in parliament, to beware that he did not set up those who would cast him or his successors down. Upon the second topic, viz., the duration of the office, a very keen and animated debate was kept up; in course of which it was said, says Dr. M'Crie—"that his majesty and the parliament would not admit the voters otherwise than for life." "Then," replied Melville, "the loss will be small!"—"Oh but!" it was answered, "ministers will then have to lie in contempt and poverty." "It was their Master's case before them," answered our reformer,—"better poverty with sincerity, than promotion with corruption!" "Others will then be promoted to the place," retorted the friends of the measure, "who will oppress and ruin the church, for the king will not want his third estate!" "Then let Christ, the King of the church, avenge her wrongs, as he has done before!"—The third measure, "the denomination of the voter in parliament," gave rise to a long and interesting debate, and afforded Melville an opportunity of keen and cutting satire, which with his usual tact he handled with great dexterity. It was contended by James and his party, that nothing inferior to the dignity of bishop would satisfy. "Very well," said Melville, "I grant the name of bishop to be scriptural, certainly; but I would propose to prefix to it, an epithet which is scriptural also, and in this I am supported by the apostle Peter,—I would christen them busy-bishops, because they interfere with matters totally unconnected with their office as ministers of Christ!" Resuming his gravity, however, he said that the church of Scotland had decided, that no idea of superiority was attached to the word bishop in the New Testament; but that it was applied indiscriminately to all preaching presbyters, and therefore he conceived that the title was only calculated to flatter the vanity of ambitious men, whose tastes savoured more of the things of this world, than of the things that be of God.

All eyes were now bent upon the General Assembly that was to meet at Montrose, on the 28th of March, 1600; which Row says was "notified only by sound of trumpet at the cross of Edinburgh, and other needful places, whereat many good Christians wondered, seeing there was never the like before." Melville was returned by the presbytery of St. Andrew's as one of their commissioners; and he hastened to Montrose at the time appointed; but no sooner was it known that he had arrived, than a royal mandate was issued, commanding his immediate appearance. Nothing intimidated, he obeyed the summons; but scarcely had he been introduced, when James, in an imperious tone, demanded why he was so troublesome, knowing that against him there was a positive prohibition. Melville answered that he had been deputed by his presbytery, and their unanimous voice he durst not disobey, under pain of displeasing one much higher, and of far greater dignity than any earthly sovereign. His fortitude rose with the crisis. The king's rage served only to nerve him the more;—and, before leaving the royal presence, he quite coolly lifted up his hand to his throat, and said, "Sire, if it is this you want, you shall have it before I betray the cause of Christ!"—He was refused a seat in the Assembly, however; but he remained in the town during the sitting, and was of great service by his advice in keeping his brethren to their duty. The result of this meeting is well known. Calderwood mentions that Melville was present at an Assembly which met at Burntisland, in May 1601, and that he voted against the translation of the ministers of Edinburgh. Nothing further seems to be recorded of him at that meeting; but no sooner was the Assembly dissolved, than a story was got up by the church commissioners, that the king of Spain was about to attempt another descent upon Britain, and calling upon all ministers to rouse their parishes to a sense of the country's danger, and to unite, heart and hand, to repel the common foe. There can be no doubt that this fama was propagated, solely with a view to divert the attention of the reformers from the real danger with which they were threatened; and Melville, foreseeing this, took every opportunity of warning all with whom he was connected, and over whom he had any influence, of what he conceived to be the true state of the matter. This having been told to the king, he immediately came to St. Andrew's; and there, without even the sanction of his privy council, issued the following precept, which we give in the words of Calderwood.

"At St. Andrew's, the eleventh day of the month of July, in the year of our Lord, 1602,—The king's Majesty, for certain causes and considerations moving his Highness, ordains a macer or other officer of arms, to pass and in his name and authority command and charge Mr. Andrew Melville, principal of the new college of St. Andrew's, to remain and contain himself in ward, within the precincts of the said college, and in no wise to resort or repair without the said precincts while he be lawfully and orderly relieved, and freed by his Majesty, under the pain of rebellion and putting of him to the horn—with certification to him, if he fail and do in the contrary, that he shall be incontinent thereafter denounced rebel and put to the horn, and all his moveables goods escheat to his Highness' use, for his contemption.

"Thomas Fenteun, Messenger."

Elizabeth, queen of England, having died about this time, James, before his departure to that kingdom, in a speech which he delivered in the High Church of Edinburgh, declared that he had no intention of making any further alteration in the government of the church; and, through the intercession of the queen, Melville had obtained permission to go anywhere six miles around St. Andrew's. But even the king's most solemn asseverations were not to be regarded, and this the ministers of Scotland well knew. He had set his heart upon uniting the two kingdoms, and therefore it became necessary to watch that he did not insist upon uniformity of ecclesiastical worship and government, as well as political jurisdiction. To the latter Melville yielded his decided approbation; but he, with an overwhelming majority of his brethren, maintained that they would part with their lives, rather than renounce any of the articles of their religion. Instructions to this effect were given to the commissioners to lay before parliament, and to demand that former laws made for the security of the church should be ratified, and that no alteration or innovation, not founded on the word of God, as already sanctioned by law, solemn promises, and oaths, should have any place in the articles of Union.

It will be remembered, that in the year 1592, when Presbytery received the civil sanction, it was then secured to the church, that the General Assembly should meet at least once a year; but James had repeatedly set this at naught; and to applications now made to him for liberty to meet, he said that it was neither necessary nor seasonable. Melville took an active part in urging on the different synods to assert their rights, by petitioning his majesty to allow the Assembly to meet for the dispatch of important business; and for this he was represented to James as being the cause of all the anxiety that was agitating the country. Orders were immediately sent from London to put him in prison; but this was not enforced, probably owing to the spirit which was then abroad in the nation. Despite of all the solicitations that had been used, however, the Assembly that should have met in 1605 was again prorogued sine die; but before this was made public, several presbyteries had made choice of their representatives, and therefore it was judged expedient that they should go to Aberdeen, and constitute; but adjourn to some future day, without proceeding to any business. This was done accordingly; and just after they had broken up ten other ministers came forward, who, by their subscriptions, approved of what their brethren had done. This step, on the part of the church, was highly resented by James. No sooner was he informed of what had taken place, than he ordered the ministers who had met at Aberdeen, to be summoned before the privy council to answer for their conduct. Fourteen of them having stood to their defence were incarcerated in different prisons. It is amusing to see how this unprincipled monarch acted upon this occasion, in order to put a plausible pretext upon his conduct; and therefore we here give part of the letter which he sent to Secretary Balmerino, dated from "Havering in the boure" the 19th of July, 1605. In the Assembly's letter to the privy council, James had marked with his own hand, such passages as he thought would render the ministers censurable, and bring them within the compass of the law. The following one chiefly attracts notice:—"In the said Ire thereafter at this signe ÷, they wald mak this thair apologie for thair proceeding, 'that they suld not be the first oppenaris of ane gap to the oppin breach and violatioun of the lawis and statutis of this realme;' willing the counsell to wey and considder thairoff; as giff they wald mak ane plane accusatioun of sum tyrannie intendit be us to the prejudice of the lawis of our kingdome, ane speich altogidder smelling of treasoun and less majestic." When brought to trial, the whole of the accused declined the jurisdiction of the privy council; and therefore, after every illegal measure that could be devised by the council and crown officers, the prisoners were found guilty of treason. Sentence, however, was delayed, aud the king would neither listen to the voice of the nation supplicating for pardon to the condemned, nor would he impart to the council what punishment he intended to inflict. At length, after much painful uncertainty, eight of them were banished to Orkney and Shetland, and six to France. Melville interested himself deeply in their fate; openly avowing his approval of their conduct, and helping forward petitions to parliament in their favour. During their trial at Linlithgow he was present to assist them with his advice; and after their conviction, he accompanied them to their place of confinement.

Notwithstanding all that happened to our reformer, the presbytery of St. Andrew's nominated him their commissioner, to attend a meeting of parliament which was to be held at Perth, in August, 1606, with instructions to watch over the interests of the church, in conjunction with the deputies from other presbyteries. The church was now in imminent danger, and therefore, knowing well what the king's instructions were, he and his brethren presented to the Lords of Articles a memorial, craving, that whatever changes might be in contemplation, the privileges of the presbyterian church might be regarded, as these had been enacted by the General Assembly, and sanctioned by the king's most solemn concurrence. To this, answer was made by the chancellor, that bishops would be restored to the rank, dignity, and power which was attached to the office a hundred years ago. All that the ministers could do in this case was to remonstrate; and, therefore, they gave in a protest, containing forty-two signatures, of which Melville's was the first upon the list, couched in the most respectful language, but most decidedly hostile to the measures proposed; and maintaining, that to the last they would preserve inviolate what had been given to the church by her Divine Head. Reasons of protest were drawn up by James Melville, with the assistance of his uncle; but James could not be swayed from his purpose. This was the last appearance that Melville was permitted to make in Scotland; for, in the end of May, this same year, he was commanded by the king to appear at London, on the 15th of September following, under the pretence of conferring with him upon the best method of settling the peace of the church. Letters to the same effect were also sent to his nephew, and seven other ministers, his majesty's most formidable opponents in Scotland. Melville, his nephew, and other two ministers, sailed from Anstruther, in Fife, on the 15th of August; and, in a few days after they arrived in London, they were joined by the other four, who had made the journey by land.

On being admitted into the royal presence, they were very graciously received, and had the honour to kiss his majesty's hand. This first conference was managed by the king with the most artful duplicity, who introduced nothing into the conversation that might have the most distant tendency to excite alarm. At the second conference, however, James threw off the mask, and at once demanded an explicit answer to the two following questions:—1st. Did they approve of the late Assembly held at Aberdeen, and of the conduct of those who held it? 2nd. What did they consider to be the best mode of obtaining a peaceable meeting of the General Assembly, so as to restore a proper understanding and harmony in the church?—To these James Melville, in name of the rest, requested time for deliberation; and they were accordingly granted liberty till next day. On entering the royal apartment, Melville was not a little hurt at finding the room crowded with English nobility, bishops, and other subordinates of the episcopalian church; and therefore the earl of Dunbar cautioned him to be guarded in his speech before such high and honourable strangers; but the ministers had made choice of James Melville to be their speaker upon the occasion, in the hope that they would be saved from making speeches upon the subject. This, however, would not satisfy the king; and he therefore told them that every man must speak for himself. Beginning with the bishops, James first wished to know from them, what was their opinion concerning the pretended Assembly which had met at Aberdeen. One and all of them answered, that it was "daring and illegal." Upon which, turning to Melville, the king thus addressed him—"Well, Mr. Andrew, what is your opinion; you have heard how your brethren condemn that convocation? Do you think that eight or nine ministers, met without any warrant, wanting the chief members, the moderator and scribe, convening unmannerly without a sermon, being also discharged by open proclamation, can make an Assembly or not?" Undismayed either at the splendour or dignity of the audience, Melville, in a speech of great length, of which we can give only a few brief extracts from Dr. M'Crie, spoke thus:—

"For myself, I have been for a long time debarred from public meetings; but, since it is your majesty's pleasure, I shall endeavour to give satisfaction on the different objections your majesty has stated. With respect to the paucity of members, I presume there is no rule fixing the precise number. In the days of our Lord's humiliation, two or three, met in his name, had the assurance of his presence; and the promise will continue to the end of time. An ordinary meeting of a court, established by law, cannot be declared unlawful on account of the smallness of the number who may choose to attend. Besides, the ministers who attended at Aberdeen were sufficiently numerous for transacting all the business they intended, which was only to constitute the Assembly, and prorogue till a future day. As to their warrant, it is founded on Scripture, your majesty's laws, and the commissions which they received from their presbyteries. The presence of the former moderator and clerk was not essential to the validity of the Assembly, which, in case these office-bearers were either necessarily or wilfully absent, might choose others in their room according to reason and the practice of the church. With regard to no sermon having been preached, your majesty has been misinformed; because one of the ministers of Aberdeen delivered a discourse at the opening of the meeting. And, as to the alleged discharge of the Assembly on the day before it met" (turning and addressing himself to Lauriston,* the king's commissioner, who was present, he said), "I charge you, in the name of the church of Scotland, as you shall answer before the great God at the appearance of Jesus Christ to judge the quick and the dead, to testify the truth, and tell whether any such discharge was given or not!" (Lauriston remained silent, and the king desired Melville to go on and state his reasons for not condemning the conduct of the ministers.) "May it please your majesty, I am here but as a private individual, come upon your majesty's letter, without any commission from the church of Scotland; and as no person has made me a judge, I cannot take upon me to condemn them. Your majesty has, by your proclamation at Hampton court" (here Melville produced the proclamation), "remitted their trial to a General Assembly, expecting there reparation of wrongs, if any have been done. I cannot prejudge the church and Assembly of my vote, which, if I give now, I shall be sure to have my mouth shut then, as I and others of my brethren have found before. Besides, the case is already prejudged by your majesty's council; whether rightly or not, I remit to God, before whom one day they must appear and answer for that sentence; and therefore, I am of opinion that your majesty would not much relish it, if I should now contradict your majesty's council and their proceedings. How then can I condemn my brethren, who have not yet been put upon their trial, having neither heard your majesty's accusation, nor their defence?"

At the close of this speech, his nephew handed to the king a petition from the condemned ministers, upon which his majesty said, "I am glad to see this!" It was evident that James felt uneasy at Melville's oration; and the more so, because he had been supported by every one of his brethren, in everything he had advanced. But Melville was quite master of himself. In a discussion which at the same time took place between the lord advocate of Scotland, and one of the ministers, upon the trial of the Scottish clergy for treason, Melville caught some expressions uttered by the former, that he could not refrain from answering; and, falling upon his knees before his majesty, begged to be heard again. Permission having been granted, he now threw off all restraint, and in a strain of bold, impassioned eloquence, which astonished the audience, fearlessly vindicated his brethren in all that they had done. Nor did the lord advocate escape without a severe castigation. "I charge you, Sir," said Melville sternly, "with having employed all your craft and eloquence to convict the unoffending servants of Christ. The accuser of the brethren could not have done more against the saints of God, than you did against these men at Linlithgow; and, not satisfied with the part you then and there acted, you take upon you still to show yourself ὃ κατηγρος των Αδελφων"—* i.e. "the accuser of the brethren."

Instead of pacifying the enraged monarch, as might have been expected, or swaying his mind to more pacific measures, the unanimous expression of sentiment by Melville and his brethren served only to determine the king to more harsh and unprincely conduct; and therefore before the ministers had time to reach their lodgings, they were overtaken by one of the royal secretaries, who read to them a charge not to appear in the presence of either king, queen, or prince, without special liberty. This did not affect them much; but on the 28th September, they were again sent for to meet the Scottish council, in the presence of the earl of Dunbar and the lord advocate. Melville was the last of being admitted. With his wonted boldness he told these noblemen, that they were a disgrace to their country and their forefathers, who scrupled not to hazard life and fortune in defence of the gospel; whereas they, their descendants, were leaguing together for its overthrow. Each of the ministers, before his dismissal, received in writing the following questions, which he was desired to answer:—1st. Have you not transgressed your duty by praying for your condemned brethren, and are you willing to ask his Majesty's pardon for your offence? 2nd. Do you acknowledge that his majesty, in virtue of his royal prerogative, has full power to convocate, prorogue, and dismiss, all ecclesiastical assemblies within his dominions? 3rd. Has the king a lawful right, by his royal authority, to call before him and his council, all persons, ecclesiastical and civil, for whatsoever faults; and are all subjects bound to appear, answer, and obey, in the premises? To these, answers were given in,—guarded, but explicit; without the most distant tendency to deviate, in the least, from the principles they had hitherto maintained. Along with these they also tendered their advice as to the best method of allaying the disturbances, and securing the tranquillity of the church, in a paper to which all their names were adhibited. Melville and his brethren, thinking all was now over, were anxious to return home; but nothing was farther from James' intention. Every method was tried to entrap them; their conduct was watched upon all occasions; they were compelled to listen to harangues from the English bishops; they were marched to and from church like penitentiaries, day after day, without any prospect of release; and on the 28th of the same month, they were by a message from the king ordered to attend in the royal chapel, it being the feast of St. Michael. Several foreigners of distinction were present; and all imaginable pomp suited to the day was exhibited, in order to attract the attention of the reformers. Melville's eye was particularly drawn to the altar, on which were two books, shut; two empty chalices, and two candlesticks with candles un-lighted. On this dumb, dark, and empty display, he composed the following epigram, after he returned to his lodgings:—

Cur stant clausi Anglis libri duo regia in ara,

Lumina cæca duo, pullubra sicca duo?

Num sensum cultemque Dei tenet Anglia clausum,

Lumine cæca suo, sorde sepulta sua?

Romano an ritu dum regalem instruit aram

Purpuream pingit religiosa lupam?

As these verses were afterwards made the subject of serious accusation against Melville, we hope it will not be judged improper for having introduced them into our narrative; and therefore we shall give the following old translation, which is perfectly accurate, copied verbatim from Dr. M'Crie:—

Why stand there on the Royal Altar hie

Two closed books, blind lights, two basins drie?

Doth England hold God's mind and worship closs,

Blind of her sight, and buried in her dross?

Doth she, with Chapel put in Romish dress,

The purple whore religiously express?

These verses were not long in being shown to the king; and it was supposed to have been done by one of the spies, who were, under various pretences, in the constant habit of frequenting the ministers' lodgings; the result of which was, that Melville was summoned to attend a meeting of the English privy council at Whitehall, on the 30th of November. A copy of the verses having been shown to him, he acknowledged the composition to be his own; and said that he had done it out of pity and indignation, at seeing a church, calling itself reformed, so far lost to true religion, and the pure light of the gospel, as to introduce such gross and base idolatry. How it had come to his majesty's hand he knew not; but of this he was certain, that he had not given a copy to any one; but his mind was quite at ease upon the subject, however, as he intended to have embraced the earliest opportunity of showing them to his majesty himself. He said, at the same time, that he was not conscious of any crime in having penned these verses; but the archbishop of Canterbury declared that having spoken in such terms of the church of England was a high misdemeanor, and brought the writer fairly within the laws of treason. Melville maintained that he had never been a traitor, and told the archbishop to his face, that he considered him the capital enemy of all the reformed churches in Europe; and as such he professed himself to be his enemy to the last drop of blood in his body; and that he was sorry that such a person should be so near his majesty, and have a seat in his councils. One of the Scottish noblemen—fearing that Melville was going too far, desired him to remember in whose presence he was, and to whom he was speaking—received from him the following sharp rebuke; "I remember very well, my lord, and am sorry that your lordship, by sitting here, and countenancing such proceedings against me, should furnish a precedent which may yet be used against yourself and your posterity." The king had not thought it proper to be present upon this occasion, but the court had instructions how to act; and Melville was therefore committed to the custody of the dean of St. Paul's, to remain a close prisoner in his house, without liberty either to make or receive visits, until the 9th of March in the following year, when he was ordered to remove to the house of the bishop of Winchester.

The plot against Melville was deeply laid—they had got into their hands the man of whom they were most afraid; and therefore it was determined, contrary to all justice, and the law of nations, that he should never revisit his native country. Before, however, placing himself under the superintendence of his new overseer, he paid a visit to his brethren, where he remained without molestation for a few weeks, until the 26th of April, when he received a message from the bishop, requesting his presence at Whitehall. Before taking leave of his brethren, his nephew said to him,—"They know you will speak your mind freely, and therefore they will be all on the watch to find something farther against you, with a view to keep you longer from returning to Scotland;"—to which the uncle replied,—"If God have any business for me to do in Scotland, he will carry me thither; and, if not, it is my desire to glorify him wherever I am; but I have still something to say,—let them make of me what they will, I will never pass in silence the abominable superstitions and errors which they seek to introduce, in order to shut out the pure and blessed light of the gospel." Before he was ready to depart, two messages arrived, informing him that the council were waiting for him. Having heard this with perfect composure, he commended himself and his brethren to God, in a short but fervent prayer, and withdrew. The epigram being the only plausible charge which the council had against him, recourse was had to this, in order, if possible, to convict him of treason. Upon this occasion, the king had secreted himself in an adjoining room, that he might overhear what was said without being seen; and probably thinking that Melville would be less guarded in his speech, and might thereby be the more easily caught. But this had no effect,—the face of majesty would have laid him under no restraint. Like his great precursor, "he feared not the face of man," when duty to his God required him to speak out. Melville spared neither king, lords, nor bishops; but fearlessly reproved them all. In vain did they attempt to bring out an apology, or extort a retractation. He adhered resolutely to all that he had either written or spoken; and made such an open exposure of the delinquencies of both king and court, that they wished in their hearts they had never brought him from St. Andrew's. Finding, therefore, every effort unavailing, and seeing no other way in which they could be revenged, he was committed prisoner to the tower. Upon hearing his sentence, he magnanimously cried out: "To this comes England's boasted pride at last!—very lately you put a priest to death, and to-morrow you would do the same to a minister!"* Having said so, he appealed to the duke of Lennox, and the earl of Mar, and told them he was a true Scotsman, and to take care that it did not end with them, as it began with himself. This expression enraged the king more than anything that he had spoken; wherefore he gave orders that he should be immediately conveyed to the Tower, by water, without any of his friends being permitted to see him. Aware that he could never have regained his liberty without sacrificing his principles, he resolved to speak out his mind freely, and, rather than accept it upon any other terms, than free unfettered restraint in the exercise of his duty as a public teacher, and minister of Christ, he preferred an honourable captivity. The fate of Melville cast a gloom over the hope of release for his brethren; and so it turned out,—his nephew was commanded to leave London within six days, and to betake himself to Newcastle-upon-Tyne, under heavy penalties if he should be afterwards found above ten miles distant from that place. The rest of the ministers were sent to different parts of Scotland, and not only prohibited from preaching, but also from attending upon church courts; and to be ready to produce testimonials of good behaviour from the bishops, when required, or to return to London within a stipulated time.

It would be unfeeling to close this part of our narrative, without casting a retrospective glance at the final farewell of these eminent and affectionate friends, who were now to be separated for ever in this world. Melville had been delivered over to the governor of the Tower, with positive orders that no one should be admitted into his presence; but, through the kindness of one of the keepers, his nephew had obtained permission to converse, for a short time, every day, with his uncle, outside the prison, while the former continued in London. Forgetful of his own sentence, and tarrying for a fortnight in the city beyond the period prescribed for his departure, he thought only how he might alleviate his uncle's sufferings; but, all that he could obtain was, that his servant was allowed to incarcerate himself along with his master. Melville had been to him a father, a teacher, and a friend; and he was repaid with the affection of a dutiful son, the gratitude of a much attached disciple, and the fidelity of one who would have died to save his benefactor. Old age was now stealing apace upon his uncle, and his tender heart was ready to rend at the thought of leaving him in captivity and poverty. But he could do no more. Having therefore conveyed to his uncle all the money he could spare, he went on board a vessel bound for Newcastle, at the foot of the Tower stairs, on the 2nd of July, 1607. When sailing down the river, he remained on deck as long as his eyes could catch a glimpse of his uncle's prison; and, with eyes suffused with tears, he breathed out prayers for him whom he so ardently and enthusiastically loved, and whose face he was never again to behold on earth.

Scarcely had Melville slept in his new apartment, until the king wrote to St. Andrew's, declaring that the privy council had found the Reformer guilty of a high trespass, and as he would not be allowed to return to the university, they might proceed to fill up the vacancy. To add to the miseries of his confinement, a pretence was soon found for removing his servant from him, and no person was allowed to see him, except the one who carried his food. He was denied the use of writing materials; but, notwithstanding the dismal loneliness of his situation, his spirit remained unsubdued, and he amused himself by writing verses upon the walls of his cell, with the tongue of his shoe-buckle. In this state he lingered out ten months. In the course of the following year, however, through the interest of Sir James Sempell of Belltrees, he was removed to a more comfortable apartment, where his friends were occasionally admitted to visit him, and where he was indulged with paper, ink, and pens. In the month of May he wrote to his nephew, that notwithstanding the severity of the previous winter, his health was not in the least impaired, and that he felt comparatively cheerful in the cause for which he was suffering,—well in body and soul—prepared for whatever might be the event, either to remain where he was, to return home, or to go into exile. During his confinement he was visited by several persons of distinguished reputation, with whom he conversed with the most apparent cheerfulness and affability, showing to those of them who were capable of judging, a Latin paraphrase of the psalms of David, with which he occupied his hours. In the month of November, 1610, the Duke de Boillon applied to James for Melville's release, and for liberty to send him to Sedan in France; but this negotiation was soon broken off by the queen regent of that country, who, having heard that Melville was of a turbulent disposition, judged it unsafe to admit a man of such habits within her dominions. James himself had been the propagator of these calumnies, in order to save his own reputation abroad; but the truth having come out at length, the duke was more fortunate in February, 1611, having procured his final release from the place of his captivity. Pecuniary embarrassment, however, prevented him, in the mean time, from accepting the duke's invitation to go to Sedan, and his nephew was unable to assist him. Although his health had held out well during his confinement, yet upon being set at liberty it began to give way, and he at last caught a fever, which confined him for a short time. Powerful influence was now exerted by many of his friends, that he might be allowed to return to his native country; but the terms dictated by the king were such as, when rehearsed to Melville, he would by no means accept. Having through the liberality of some of his friends in Scotland been favoured with a sum of money, sufficient to enable him to make a respectable appearance in France, and his health being considerably recruited, he set sail for that country, after having been four years confined a prisoner in the Tower. The state of his mind at that time will be best known from himself, and therefore we hope it is unnecessary to apologize for the following letter, which we extract from Dr. M'Crie, written to his nephew, immediately before he embarked:—

"My dear son, my dear James, farewell, farewell in the Lord. I must now go to other climes. Such is the pleasure of my divine and heavenly Father, and I regard it as a fruit of his paternal love towards me. Why should I not, when he has recovered me from a sudden and heavy distemper, and animates me to the journey by so many tokens of his favour? Now at length I feel the truth of the presage which I have frequently pronounced—that it behoved me to confess Christ on a larger theatre; which, so far as it may yet be unfulfilled, shall soon, I augur, receive a complete verification. In the mean time I retain you in my heart, nor shall anything in this life be dearer to me, after God, than you. To-day I set out on my journey under the auspices of Heaven,—may the God of mercy give it a prosperous issue. Join with me in supplicating that it may turn out for his glory and the profit of his church. Although I have no uneasiness about my library, yet I must request you to charge those who are intrusted with its keeping, to be careful of it, both for my sake, and for the sake of the church to which I have dedicated myself and all my property. Who knows but we may yet meet again to give thanks publicly to God for all his benefits to us? Why should we not cherish the hope of better days; seeing the fraud and pride of our enemies have brought us to a condition which appears to prognosticate the ruin of the lately reared fabric? Our three pretended bishops affirm that they urged, and on their knees supplicated his Majesty to restore me to my native country; but you know the disposition of the men, and what was the drift of their request. The vessel is under weigh, and I am called on board. My salutation to all friends. The grace of God be with you always. From the Tower of London, just embarking, the 19th of April, 1611.

"Yours as his own in the Lord,

"ANDREW MELVILLE."

Melville, on arriving in France, paid a short visit to Rouen and Paris, and immediately after hastened off to Sedan, where he was admitted as joint professor in theology with Daniel Tilenus,—the latter teaching the system, and the former prelecting on the Scriptures. In a letter to his nephew he thus expresses himself in the language of Dr. M'Crie—"The Lord, on whom, and not on the pleasures or wishes of men, I depend wholly, has his own times. I keep all my friends in my eye; I carry them in my bosom; I commend them to the God of mercy in my daily prayers. What comes to my hand I do; I fill up my station to the best of my ability. My conversation is in heaven. I neither importune nor deprecate the day of my death—I aspire after things divine,—I maintain my post. About human things I give myself little trouble. In fine I live to God and the church. I do not sink under adversity,—I reserve myself for better days. My mind is prepared by the grace of God; and, strong in the Lord, for whose sake I am not afraid to meet death in that new and living way which he hath consecrated, and which leads to heaven alike from every quarter of the globe."

The report of his nephew's death, which reached him in April, 1614, gave a powerful shock to his feelings; and this is not to be wondered at; for like Saul and Jonathan, they had been "lovely in their lives." This excellent man, this paragon of humility, and gentleness, and faith, and good works, when asked upon his deathbed, if he had a wish to be restored to health, replied, "No! not for twenty worlds." The first expression that escaped Melville when the melancholy tidings reached him was, "The Lord hath taken to himself the faithful brother, my dearly beloved son. I fear melancholy to have abridged his days. Now he is out of all doubt and trouble, enjoying the fruits of his sufferings here: God forgive the instruments of his withholding from his flock." Soon after this, the infirmities of age began to distress him; but amidst all his sufferings he kept up his natural cheerfulness of mind. In 1612, we find him writing in the following strain, "Am I not threescore and eight years old,—unto the which age none of my fourteen brethren came? And yet, I thank God, I eat, I drink, I sleep, as well as I did these thirty years bygone, and better than when I was younger,—in the very flower of youth. Only the gravel now and then seasons my mirth with some little pain, which I have felt only since the beginning of March, last year, a month before my deliverance from prison. I feel, thank God, no abatement of alacrity and ardour of mind for the propagation of the truth. Neither use I spectacles now more than ever—yea, I use none at all, nor ever did; and I see now the smallest Hebrew without points, and the smallest characters. Why, may I not live to see a change for the better, when the prince shall be informed truly by honest men, or God open his eyes and move his heart to see the pride of stately prelates!" In the following year, in a letter to the same correspondent, he says—"My heart is a Scotch heart, and as good or better nor ever it was, both toward God and man. The Lord only be praised thereof, to whom belongs all glory. Who can tell when out of this confusion it may please him to draw out some good order, and to the comfort of his children and relief of his servants?—Courage, courage, brother! we shall judge angels; how much more mortals!" In the year 1616, to the same person he writes,—"Let the bishops be moles; we shall lay our treasures in heaven, where they shall be safe. My colic, gravel, and gout, are messengers to spoil my patience, but to exercise my faith. My health is better than I would look for at this age,—praised be the true Mediator, to whose glory may it serve and to the benefit of his church!"

To his dying hour Melville felt a deep interest in the affairs of the church of Scotland. He had heard of the five articles of Perth, which for the sake of some of our readers we shall here name,—kneeling when receiving the sacrament—the observance of holidays—confirmation by bishops before being first admitted to communion—private baptism—and private communicating—and he said he could not have believed that the government would have carried matters to such extremity. He was greatly distressed for the church. "Let us not fear the wiles of her enemies," he said; "but turn our eyes to Him who governs and over-rules all things for the good of those who love him. He that shall come will come, and will cleanse his floor, and consume the chaff and rubbish with the fire of his wrath. Let us reserve ourselves for better times, and He who is at once our way, and our guide, and the beginning and end of our course, will bring all things to a happy termination. I had rather remain the captive of a legitimate sovereign, than become the servant of the legitimate lords. I esteem it more honourable to wear the chains of a lawful king, than the insignia of unlawful prelates. I am filled with grief and indignation at the present deplorable state of affairs, and at the hard fate of good men, who cannot obtain corporal liberty without submitting to a spiritual bondage." His constitution began to give way in 1620, and gradually wore down that frame, which had been "in perils oft, in bonds and in imprisonment" for the cause of Christ and his church. Little more is known of him from this period till the time of his death, which took place at Sedan, in the course of the year 1622. The whole tenor of his life, however, contradicts the assertion of a certain writer, that he became unconcerned about the interests of the church of Scotland before his death—as a refutation of which, we might adduce the testimony of Robert Boyd of Trochrig, at that time principal of the university of Edinburgh; but, as we shall have occasion to notice this in our account of that eminent divine, we shall content ourselves with translating from "Simson's Annals," the following, which, from its brevity, point, and originality, is not unworthy of notice. "Andrew Melville was a man of the greatest piety, of singular zeal (the zeal of God's house ate him up), the foremost—nay he stood alone—for his acumen in all languages and sciences. He introduced Athens and Jerusalem (Greek and Hebrew,) into Scotland—he was an enemy to pseudoepiscopacy and popery, ever upon the alert—throughout life he continued in a state of celibacy, and strict chastity. By warrant of the king he was cast into the Tower, where he remained till the Duke of Bouillon took him to France. In that country he was a valiant wrestler for the truth, until the day of his death, in 1622:—an octogenarian."—His exact age, however, was seventy-seven.

In the beginning of our memoir we have dwelt at so great a length upon his intellectual endowments, as to render it altogether superfluous to say much more upon this head, than that even at the time of his death, he had few equals, and certainly no superiors. To Latin poetry he was peculiarly attached, being a very common amusement among scholars in the age in which he lived. His style was pure, chaste, flowing, and elegant; but when he chose to dip his pen in gall, it was master satire,—keen, pointed, and effective. In this, however, he indulged only against episcopal hierarchy and antichristian popery. His versification of many of the psalms of David is but little inferior to that of his great prototype, and his paraphrase on the song of Moses will be admired, so long as the beauties of the language in which it is written are studied and appreciated. His panegyric on the two Scaligers and his preceptor Buchanan will do him honour while time endures. Of his natural temper, the attentive reader must have come to the conclusion, that it was lofty, ardent, and independent; far removed from the fear of threat or suffering; but at the same time candid, forgiving, open, generous, and above suspicion. Of dissimulation he knew nothing. Hypocrisy formed no part of his character; and the despicable art of cringing had no place in his heart. But, it is with his character as a Scottish Reformer, a public minister, a saint, a man of God, that we have here chiefly to do. Others of his contemporaries were perhaps nearly as unflinching as he, in their opposition to the introduction of episcopacy; but to him certainly appertains the merit of being the first to denounce the scheme; viewing it as he did at first in its remote bearings, he threw down the gauntlet even before majesty, who had the foolhardiness to take it up, and thereby to render himself the scorn, and contempt, and pity, not only of the age in which he lived; but even to hand down his name to posterity for universal execration. Whether James or Melville had the mastery it will not be difficult to decide. The monarch could deprive him of office, and debar him from his presence; but did he ever deter him from meeting with his brethren, and helping on the great cause by his example and advice?—he could shut him up in a dungeon, and keep at a distance from him the sweets of social conversation, and the apparatus for conveying his meditations to those who were without; but did he thereby fetter his genius?—the very walls of his cell afforded him ample space for his effusions, written with a style sharp as the point of a diamond—he could drive him into exile, far from his church, and his country; but could he persuade him to restrain prayer before God, or prevent him from pouring forth his supplications for the afflicted, persecuted, church of Scotland? Never;—no sufferings could force him to retract his opposition,—no favours induce him even to smile approbation. As a preacher of God's word, he was talented in a very high degree; zealous, untiring, instant in season and out of season, and eminently successful; and as a saint of God, he was a living epistle of the power of religion on the heart. Sound in faith and pure in morals, he recommended the gospel in his life and conversation—he fought the good fight; and, as a shock of corn cometh in in its season, so he bade adieu to this mortal life, ripe for everlasting glory. If John Knox rid Scotland of the errors and superstitions of popery,—Andrew Melville contributed materially, by his fortitude, example, and counsel, to resist even to the death, the propagation of a form of worship, uncongenial to the Scottish character; and therefore his name deserves to be handed down to latest generations, as an eminent scholar, a sound presbyterian, a faithful minister, and a distinguished servant of God.

WILLIAM ROW

WILLIAM Row was a son of John Row, minister at Perth. His father, John Row, had gone abroad in early youth, and the fame of his talents and learning having reached the Vatican, he was, in 1559, selected by the pope as an emissary to watch over the dawning reformation in Scotland. He, however, shortly after his return to his native country, embraced the principles of the reformed religion, and advocated them with zeal and ability. He was in 1560 appointed minister of Perth, and from that time had considerable influence in the councils of the reformed clergy,—sharing the friendship of Knox and other distinguished men of that age. His son William, the subject of this memoir, enjoyed a very liberal education under his own eye. The day of his birth is not recorded; but there is reason to believe, that it was in the year 1563. Some say his first and only appointment was to the parish of Forgandenny, in the presbytery of Perth. According to others, he was settled minister at Strathmiglo, in Fife, about the year 1600, and continued there for several years. His life, though short, is peculiarly interesting.

He was one of those ministers who refused to give public thanks for the king's deliverance from his danger in Gowrie's conspiracy, until the truth of that plot should be made to appear. This refusal brought upon him the king's displeasure, and he was summoned to appear before the king and council at Stirling soon after. On the day appointed for his compearance, two noblemen were sent, the one before the other, to meet him on the road, and, under pretence of friendship, to inform him that the council had a design upon his life, that so he might be prevailed on to decline appearing. The first met him near his own house, the second a few miles from Stirling; but Row told them that he would not, by disobedience of the summons, make himself justly liable to the pains of law; and proceeded to Stirling to the amazement of the king and his court. When challenged for disbelieving the truth of that conspiracy, he told them, as one reason of his hesitation, that one Henderson, who was said to have confessed that Gowrie hired him to kill the king, and to have been found armed in his majesty's chamber for that purpose, was not only suffered to live, but rewarded: "Whereas," said he, "if I had seen the king's life in hazard, and not ventured my life to rescue him, I think I deserved not to live."

The two following anecdotes will show what an uncommon degree of courage and resolution he possessed.

Being at Edinburgh previous to a meeting of Assembly there, at which the king wanted to bring in some innovation, and meeting with Mr. James Melville, who was sent for by the king, he accompanied him to Holyroodhouse. While Melville was with the king, Row stood behind a screen, and not getting an opportunity to go out with his brother, undiscovered, he overheard the king say to some of his courtiers, "This is a good simple man, I have stroked cream on his mouth, and he will procure me a good number of voters, I warrant you!" This said, Row got off; and overtaking Melville, asked him what had passed? Melville told him all; and said, the king is well disposed to the church, and intends to do her good by all his schemes. Row replied, "the king looks upon you as a fool and a knave; and wants to use you as a coy-duck to draw in others;" and then told him what he had overheard. Melville suspecting the truth of this report, Row offered to go with him, and avouch it to the king's face. Accordingly, they went back to the palace, when Melville seeing Row as forward to go in as he was, believed his report, and stopped him: and next day, when the assembly proceeded to voting, Melville having voted against what the king proposed, his majesty would not believe that such was his vote, till he, being asked again, repeated it.

Again, he being to open the synod of Perth, in 1607, to which king James sent lord Scoon, captain of his guards, to force them to accept a constant moderator, Scoon sent notice to Row, that if, in his preaching, he uttered ought against constant moderators, he should cause ten or twelve of his guards to discharge their culverins at his nose; and, when he attended the sermon introductory to that synod, he stood up in a menacing posture to outbrave the preacher. But Row, no way dismayed, knowing what vices Scoon was chargeable with, particularly that he was a great glutton, drew his picture so like the life, and condemned what was culpable in it, with so much severity, that Scoon was forced to sit down, and even to cover his face. After which Row proceeded to prove that no constant moderator ought to be suffered in the church; but knowing that Scoon understood neither Latin nor Greek, he wisely avoided naming the words, constant moderator, in English, and always gave the Greek or Latin phrase. Sermon being ended, Scoon said to some of the nobles attending him, "You see I have scared the preacher from meddling with the constant moderator; but I wonder who he spoke so much against by the name of prœstes ad vitam." The told him that in was in Latin, the constant moderator, which so incensed him, that when Row proceeded to constitute the synod in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, Scoon said, "The devil a Jesus is here:" and when he was calling over the roll to choose their moderator after the ancient form, Scoon would have pulled it from him; but Row, being a strong man, held off Scoon with one hand, and holding the synod roll in the other, called out the names of the members.

After this, Row was put to the horn; and on the 11th June following, he and Henry Livingstone, the moderator, were summoned before the council, to answer for their proceedings at the synod. Livingstone compeared, and with great difficulty obtained the favour to be warded in his own parish. But Row was advised not to compear, unless the council would relax him from the horning, and make him free of the Scoon party, who had letters of caption to apprehend him, and commit him to Blackness. This was refused, and a search made, which obliged him to abscond and lurk among his friends for a considerable time.

He was subjected to several other hardships during the remainder of his life, but still maintained that steady faithfulness and courage in the discharge of his duty, which is exemplified in the above instances, until the day of his death.

Alexander Lindsay, bishop of Dunkeld, and minister of St. Madoes, in the presbytery of Perth, was the patron of Forgandenny, who, having been acquainted with Row from the time they had been at college, although they differed in opinion on some church matters, esteemed him for his good qualities, and generously appointed his son William assistant and successor in that parish.

The following interesting anecdote, in reference to this event, is found in Row's own manuscript. Lindsay said to him, "Mr. William, I do not come to this meeting as a bishop, but as your co-presbyter; and I promise you I shall not ask your son any other questions than those which are contained in the Psalm-book," that is, in the old form of admission, which together with other forms and prayers, were prefixed to the metrical version of the Psalms. Row enjoyed the bishop's friendship, and could therefore easily exonerate his conscience by refraining from calling him "My lord;" accordingly when they went to dinner, to which the bishop came uninvited, Row, in the manner of the times, showed the behaviour of a rigid presbyterian. "Mr. Alexander," said he, "you know you and I were co-disciples at college, and Mr. John Malcolm, now minister of Perth, was our master; it is therefore fit that your master should sit at table above you." "It is exceedingly right," said the bishop; and with a great deal of good humour, he gave place to Mr. Malcolm. Indeed Lindsay, who was laird of Evelick, in the Garse of Gowrie, was in his last years a presbyterian.

Row died in the beginning of October, 1634. William his son followed in the footsteps of his father; for, in the time of the civil war he was a zealous covenanter, and attended the Scots army into England as one of its chaplains. He died in 1660. If he had lived till the establishment of episcopacy in the following year, he would likely have been deprived for non-conformity.*

PATRICK SIMPSON

PATRICK SIMPSON was the son of Andrew Simpson, minister of Dunbar, one of the first in the church of Scotland who boldly opposed popery, and instructed many, both of the clergy and laity, in the protestant faith. He was also one of live brothers, who, after the example of their father, devoted themselves to the church. After having finished his academical course, he spent a considerable time in retirement, which he employed in reading the Greek and Latin classics, the ancient Christian fathers, and the history of the primitive church. Being blamed by one of his friends for wasting so much time in the study of Pagan writers, he replied that he intended to adorn the house of God with these Egyptian jewels.

He was first ordained minister of Cramond, but was afterwards translated to Stirling, where he continued until his death. He was a faithful contender against the lordly encroachment of prelacy. In 1584, when there was an express charge given by the king to the ministers, either to acknowledge Patrick Adamson, as archbishop of St. Andrew's, or lose their benefices, Simpson opposed that order with all his power, although Adamson was his uncle by the mother's side; and when some of his brethren seemed willing to acquiesce in the king's mandate, and subscribe their submission to Adamson, so far as it was agreeable to the word of God, he rebuked them sharply, saying, it would be no salvo to their consciences, seeing it was altogether absurd to subscribe an agreement with any human invention, when it was condemned by the word of God. A bishopric was offered him, besides a yearly pension from the king, in order to bring him over to his designs; but he positively refused all, saying, that he regarded that preferment and profit as a bribe to enslave his conscience, which was dearer to him than anything whatever. He did not stop with this; but having occasion, in 1598, to preach before the king, he publicly exhorted him to beware that he drew not the wrath of God upon himself, by patronizing a manifest breach of the divine laws. Immediately after sermon, the king stood up, and charged him not to intermeddle in these matters.

When the Assembly which was held at Aberdeen, in 1604, was condemned by the state, he in a very solemn manner denounced the judgment of God against all such as had been concerned in distressing, and imprisoning the ministers who maintained its lawfulness, and justified its proceedings; and in 1606, when the parliament met at Perth to repeal the statute which annexed the episcopal temporalities to the crown, and to restore the order of bishops to their ancient privileges, Simpson, seeing that no attention was paid to the remonstrances of the clergy, drew up a protest, which was given in to each of the three estates, after having been most insultingly thrown out by the lords of articles. This important document, of which we subjoin a copy, was signed by forty-two ministers, and by him delivered into the hands of the earl of Dunbar.

Protestation offered to the estates convened in Parliament at Perth, in the beginning of July, anno 1606

"The earnest desire of our hearts is to be faithful, and in case we could have been silent and unfaithful at this time, when the undermined estate of Christ's kirk craveth a duty at our hands, we should have locked up our hearts with patience and our mouths with taciturnity, rather than to have impeached any with our admonition. But that which Christ commandeth, necessity urgeth, and duty wringeth out of us; to be faithful office-bearers in the kirk of God, no man can justly blame us, providing we hold ourselves within the bounds of that Christian moderation, which followeth God, without injury done to any man, especially these whom God hath lapped up within the skirts of his own honourable styles and names, calling them gods upon earth.

"Now, therefore, my lords, convened in this present parliament, under the most high and excellent majesty of our dread sovereign, to your honours is our exhortation, that ye would endeavor with all singleness of heart, love and zeal, to advance the building of the house of God, reserving always unto the Lord's own hand, that glory which he will communicate neither with man nor angel, viz., to prescribe from his holy mountain, a lively pattern, according to which his own tabernacle should be formed. Remembering always, that there is no absolute and undoubted authority in this world, excepting the sovereign authority of Christ, the King, to whom it belongeth as properly to rule the kirk, according to the good pleasure of his own will, as it belongeth to him to save his kirk, by the merit of his own sufferings. All other authority is so intrenched within the marches of divine commandment, that the least overpassing of the bounds set by God himself, bringeth men under the fearful expectation of temporal and eternal judgments. For this cause my lords, let that authority of your meeting in this present parliament, be like the ocean, which, as it is the greatest of all other waters, so it containeth itself better within the coasts and limits appointed by God, than any rivers of fresh running waters have done.

"Next, remember that God hath sent you to be nursing fathers to the kirk, craving of your hands, that ye would maintain and advance by your authority, that kirk which the Lord had fashioned, by the uncounterfeited work of his own new creation, as the prophet speaketh, He hath made us, and not we ourselves; not that ye should presume to fashion and shape a new portraiture of a kirk, and a new form of divine service, which God in his word hath not before allowed; because, that were you to extend your authority farther than the calling ye have of God doth permit, as namely, if ye should (as God forbid,) authorize the authority of bishops, and their pre-eminence above their brethren, ye should bring into the kirk of God the ordinance of man, and that thing which the experience of preceding ages hath testified to be the ground of great idleness, palpable ignorance, insufferable pride, pitiless tyranny, and shameless ambition, in the kirk of God; and, finally, to have been the ground of that antichristian hierarchy, which mounted up on the steps of pre-eminence of bishops, until that man of sin came forth, as the ripe fruit of man's wisdom, whom God shall consume with the breath of his own mouth. Let the sword of God pierce that belly which brought forth such a monster; and let the staff of God crush that egg which hath hatched such a cockatrice: and let not only that Roman antichrist be thrown down from the high bench of his usurped authority, but also let all the steps, whereby he mounted up to that unlawful pre-eminence, be cut down, and utterly abolished in this land.

"Above all things, my lords, beware to strive against God with an open and displayed banner, by building up again the walls of Jericho, which the Lord hath not only cast down, but hath also laid them under a horrible interdiction and execration: so that the building of them again must needs stand to greater charges to the builders, than the re-edifying of Jericho to Hiel the Bethelite, in the days of Ahab: for he had nothing but the interdiction of Joshua, and the curse pronounced, to stay him from the building again of Jericho; but the noblemen and states of this realm, have the reverence of the oath of God, made by themselves, and subscribed with their own hands, in the Confession of Faith, called the king's majesty's, published oftener than once or twice, subscribed and sworn by his most excellent majesty, and by his highness, the nobility, estates, and whole subjects of this realm, to hold them back from setting up the dominion of bishops: because it is of verity, that they subscribed and swore the said Confession, containing, not only the maintenance of the true doctrine, but also of the discipline professed within the realm of Scotland.

"Consider also, that this work cannot be set forward, without the great slander of the gospel, defamation of many preachers, and evident hurt and loss of the people's souls, committed to our charge. For the people are brought almost to the like case, as they were in Syria, Arabia, and Egypt, about the year of our Lord 600, when the people were so shaken and brangled with contrary doctrines; some affirming, and others denying the opinion of Eutychus, that in the end they lost all assured persuasion of true religion; and within short time thereafter, did cast the gates of their hearts open to the peril; to receive that vile and blasphemous doctrine of Mahomet; even so the people in this land are cast into such admiration, to hear the preachers who damned so openly this stately pre-eminence of bishops, and then, within a few years after, accept the same dignity, pomp, and superiority, in their own persons, which they before had damned in others, that the people know not what way to incline, and in the end will become so doubtful, in matters of religion and doctrine, that their hearts will be like an open tavern, patent to every guest that chooses to come in.

"We beseech your honours to ponder this in the balance of a godly and prudent mind, and suffer not the gospel to be slandered by the behaviour of a few preachers, of whom we are bold to affirm, that, if they go forward in this defection, not only abusing and appropriating the name of bishops to themselves, which is common to all the pastors of God's kirk, but also taking upon themselves such offices, that carry with them the ordinary charge of governing the civil affairs of the country, neglecting their flocks, and seeking to subordinate their brethren to their jurisdiction; if any of them, we say, be found to step forward in this cause of defection, they are more worthy as rotten members, to be cut off from the body of Christ, than to have superiority and dominion over their brethren within the kirk of God.

"This pre-eminence of bishops is that Dagon, which once already fell before the ark of God in this land, and no band of iron shall be able to hold him up again. This is that pattern of that altar brought from Damascus, but not showed to Moses in the mountain; and therefore it shall fare with it, as it did with that altar of Damascus, it came last into the temple and went first out. Likewise the institution of Christ was anterior to this pre-eminence of bishops, and shall consist and stand within the house of God, when this new fashion of the altar shall go to the door.

"Remember, my lords, that in times past your authority was for Christ and not against him. Ye followed the light of God, and strived not against it; and, like a child in the mother's hand, ye said to Christ:—Draw us after thee. God forbid that ye should now leave off, and fall away from your former reverence borne to Christ, in presuming to lead him whom the Father hath appointed to be leader of you. And far less to trail the holy ordinances of Christ, by the cords of your authority, at the heels of the ordinances of men.

"And albeit your honours have no such intention to do anything which may impair the honour of Christ's kingdom; yet remember, that spiritual darkness, flowing from a very small beginning, doth so insinuate, and thrust itself into the house of God, as men can hardly discern by what secret means the light was dimmed, and darkness creeping in, got the upper hand; and in the end, at unawares, all was involved in a misty cloud of horrible apostasy.

"And lest any should think this our admonition out of time, in so far it is statute and ordained already by his majesty, with advice of his estates in parliament, that all ministers, provided to prelacies, should have vote in parliament; as likewise, the General Assembly (his majesty being present thereat,) hath found the same lawful and expedient, we would humbly and earnestly beseech all such to consider,

"First, That the kingdom of Jesus Christ, the office-bearers and laws thereof, neither should nor can suffer any derogation, addition, diminution, or alteration, besides the prescript of his holy word, by any inventions or doings of men, civil or ecclesiastical. And we are able, by the grace of God, and will offer ourselves to prove that this bishoprick to be erected, is against the word of God, the ancient fathers, and canons of the kirk, the modern most learned and godly divines, the doctrine and constitution of the kirk of Scotland since the first reformation of religion within the same country, the laws of the realm, ratifying the government of the kirk by the general and provincial assemblies, presbyteries, and sessions, also against the weal and honour of the king's most excellent majesty, the weal and honour of the realm, and quietness thereof; the established estate and weal of the kirk, in the doctrine, discipline, and patrimony thereof; the weal and honour of your lordships, the most ancient estate of this realm; and finally, against the weal of all, and every one, the good subjects thereof, in soul, body, and substance.

"Next, That the act of parliament, granting vote in parliament to ministers, is with a special provision, that nothing thereby be derogatory or prejudicial to the present established discipline of the kirk, and jurisdiction thereof, in general and synodical assemblies, presbyteries, and sessions.

"Thirdly, and lastly, The General Assembly (his majesty sitting, voting and consenting therein), fearing the corruption of that office, hath circumscribed and bounded the same with a number of cautions; all which, together with such others as shall be concluded upon by the Assembly, were thought expedient to be inserted in the body of the act of parliament, as most necessary and substantial parts of the same. And the said Assembly hath not agreed to give thereunto the name of bishops, for fear of importing the old corruption, pomp, and tyranny, of papal bishops, but ordained them to be called commissioners for the kirk to vote in parliament. And it is of verity, that according to these cautions, neither have these men, now called bishops, entered to that office of commissionary to vote in parliament, neither since their ingoing have they behaved themselves therein. And therefore, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, who shall hold the great court of parliament to judge both the quick and the dead, at his glorious manifestation; and in the name of his kirk in general, so happily and well established within this realm, and whereof the said realm hath reaped the comfortable peace and unity, free from heresy, schism, and dissension, these forty-six years bypast; also in name of our presbyteries, from which we have our commission; and in our name, office-bearers and pastors within the same, for discharging of our necessary duty, and disburdening of our consciences in particular, we except and protest against the said bishoprick, and bishops, and the erection, or confirmation, or ratification thereof, at this present parliament; most humbly craving that this our protestation may be admitted by your honours, and registered among the statutes and acts of the same, in case (as God forbid,) these bishopricks be erected, ratified, or confirmed therein."

The above protestation was subscribed by the following ministers:—Messrs. Andrew Melville, James Melville, William Scott, James Ross, John Carmichael, John Gillespie, William Erskine, Colin Campbell, James Muirhead, John Mitchell, John Davidson, John Colden, John Abernethy, James Davidson, Adam Bannatyne, John Row, William Buchanan, John Kennedy, John Ogilvie, John Scrimgeour, John Malcolm, James Burden, Isaac Blackfoord, Isaac Strachan, James Row, William Row, Robert Mercer, Edmund Myles, John French, Patrick Simpson, John Dykes, William Young, William Cooper, William Keith, Hugh Duncan, James Mercer, Robert Colvill, William Hogg, Robert Wallace, David Barclay, John Weemes, William Cranston.

Simpson was not more distinguished for zeal in the cause of Christ, than for piety and an exemplary life, which had a happy effect upon the people with whom he stood connected. He was in a very eminent degree blessed with the spirit and return of prayer; and the following fact, attested by old Mr. Row of Carnock, shows how much of the divine countenance he had in this duty:—His wife, Martha Barron, a woman of singular piety, fell sick; and under her indisposition, was strongly assaulted by the common enemy of salvation, suggesting to her that she should be delivered up to him. This soon brought her into a very uneasy state of mind, which continued for some time increasing; and she frequently broke forth into very dreadful expressions.—Being in one of these fits of despair, one Sabbath morning, when her husband was going to preach, he was exceedingly troubled at her condition, and went to prayer, which she took no notice of. After he had done, he turned to the company present, and said, that they who had been witnesses to that sad hour, should yet see a gracious work of God on her, and that the devil's malice against that poor woman should have a shameful foil. Her perturbation of mind continued for some days after. Unwearied in his supplications in her behalf, his mind became gradually more and more confident that they would be graciously answered; when on the Tuesday morning preceding her death, upon his return from secret prayer, he said to the people who were in the chamber:—"Be of good comfort, for I am sure, that ere ten hours of the day, that brand Shall be plucked out of the fire;" after which he went to prayer, at his wife's bedside. She continued for some time quiet, but, upon his mentioning Jacob wrestling with God, she sat up in the bed, drew the curtain aside, and said, "Thou art this day a Jacob, who hast wrestled and hast prevailed: and now God hath made good his word, which he spoke this morning to you, for I am plucked out of the hands of Satan, and he shall have no power over me." This interruption made him silent for a little; out afterwards with great melting of heart, he proceeded in prayer, and magnified the riches of grace towards him. From that hour she continued to utter nothing but the language of joy and comfort, until her death, which was on Friday following, August 13th, 1601.

He lived for several years after this, fervent and faithful in the work of the ministry. In 1608, when the bishops and some commissioners convened in the palace of Falkland, for the purpose of coming to an agreement respecting the affairs of the church, towards the summoning of a General Assembly, several ministers assembled also in the kirk of the town, and chose him for their moderator; after which, they spent some time in prayer, and tasted some of the comfort of their former meetings. They then agreed upon certain articles for concord and peace to be given in to the bishops. This Simpson and some others did in the name of the rest; but the bishops shitted them off to the next Assembly, and in the mean time took all possible precautions to strengthen their own party, which they effected.

In 1610, the noblemen and bishops came to Stirling, after dissolving the Assembly. In preaching before them, Simpson openly charged the bishops with perjury and gross defection. They hesitated for some time, whether they should accuse him or compound the matter: but, after deliberation, they dropt the affair altogether for the present. There is no reason to doubt but he would have been subjected to the same sufferings with many others of his brethren, had he lived, but before the copestone was laid on prelacy in Scotland, he had entered into the joy of his Lord. In March 1618, which was about four months before the Assembly at Perth, in which the five articles were agreed upon, he said, that that month should put an end to all his troubles; and he died accordingly about the end of it, blesssing the Lord, that he had not been perverted by the sinful courses of these times; and saying, As the Lord had said to Elijah in the wilderness, so in some respects, he had dealt with him all the days of his life.

He wrote a history of the Church, for the space of about ten centuries; besides some other little tracts, and a History of the Councils of the Church. Upon some of his books he had written, "Remember, O my soul, and never forget the 9th of August, what consolation the Lord gave thee, and how he performed what he spake according to Zechariah,—Is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?"

ANDREW DUNCAN

SOON after the illustrious Melville was made principal of the new college of St. Andrew's, Andrew Duncan, the subject of this memoir, became a keen opponent of what were then thought his unwarrantable strictures on the philosophy of Aristotle. Duncan was at that time a Regent in St. Leonard's college, who, in common with other members of the university, regarded the novel views of the principal as calculated to destroy the credit of his teaching. But his prejudices against Melville soon subsided, and from being an adversary he became an ardent admirer and a steady friend.

He was afterwards settled Minister at Crail, in Fife, and became a sufferer for the presbyterian cause. He was present at the famous Assembly held at Aberdeen in 1605; and was the following year along with five other ministers, tried and found guilty of high treason because they had attended said Assembly. After having been imprisoned for fourteen months in Blackness castle, he was with his five brethren banished to France. On making some acknowledgments to the king and counsel, he was allowed to return to his native land about six years thereafter.

In 1619, he was summoned before the high commission court, at St. Andrew's, on account of his faithfulness in opposing the five articles of Perth. At his first compearance he declined their authority; and at the second, adhering to his former declinature, the high commission court passed sentence of deposition against him; and ordained him to enter himself in ward at Dundee. After sentence was pronounced, he gave in a protestation, which was as follows: "Now seeing I have done nothing of this business, whereof I have been accused by you, but have been serving Jesus Christ, my Master, in rebuking vice, in simplicity and righteousness of heart, I protest, seeing ye have done me wrong, for a remedy at God's hand, the righteous judge; and summon you before his dreadful Judgment-seat, to be censured and punished for such unrighteous dealings, at such a time as his majesty shall think expedient; and in the mean time decline this your judgment simpliciter, now as before, and appeal to the ordinary Assembly of the church, for reasons before produced in writ. Pity yourselves for the Lord's sake; lose not your own dear souls, I beseech you, for Esau's pottage: remember Balaam, who was cast away by the deceit of the wages of unrighteousness; forget not how miserable Judas was, who lost himself for a trifle of money, that never did him good. Better be pined to death by hunger, than for a little pittance of the earth, to perish for ever, and never be recovered, so long as the days of heaven shall last, and the years of eternity shall endure. Why would ye distress your own brethren, sons and servants of the Lord Jesus? This is not the doing of the shepherds of the flock of Christ: if ye will not regard your souls nor consciences, look, I beseech you, to your fame: why will ye be miserable both in this life and in the life to come!"

When the bishop of St. Andrew's had read a few lines of this admonition, he cast it from him; the bishop of Dunblane took it up, and reading it, said, he calls us Esaus, Balaams, and Judases. "Not so," said Duncan, "read again, beware that ye be not like them." In the space of a month after, he was deposed for non-comformity.*

In July 1621, he presented a large supplication, in name of himself, and some of his faithful brethren, who had been excluded from the General Assembly, to Sir George Hay, clerk register; on which account he was in a few days after apprehended by the captain of the guard and brought before the council, who accused him of breaking ward, after he had been suspended and confined to Dundee, for having preached the week before at Crail. Duncan denied that he had been put to the horn; and as for breaking ward, he said, that for the sake of obedience, he staid at Dundee, separated from a wife and six children for half a year, and that the winter approaching had forced him to go home. In the end, he requested them not to imprison him on his own charges; but the sentence had been resolved upon before he compeared. He was conveyed next day to Blackness castle, where he remained until October thereafter, when he was again brought before the council, and by them confined to Kilrennie, a parish adjacent to his own, upon his own charges.

Upon another occasion of the same nature, this worthy man was banished out of the kingdom, and went to settle at Berwick; but having several children, and his wife again near her confinement, they were reduced to great hardships, being obliged to part with their servant, having scarcely subsistence sufficient for themselves. One night in particular, the children asking for bread, and there being none to give them, they cried very sore: the mother was likewise much depressed in spirit; the minister himself had recourse sometimes to prayer; and in the intervals endeavoured to cherish his wife's hope, and please the children, and at last got them to bed; but she continued to mourn heavily. He exhorted her to wait patiently upon God, who was now trying them, but would undoubtedly provide for them; and added that if the Lord should rain down bread from heaven, they should not want. This confidence was the more remarkable, because they had neither friend nor acquaintance in that place to whom they could make their case known. And yet before morning, a man brought them a sackful of provision, and went off, without telling them from whence it came, though entreated to do so. When the father opened the sack he found in it a bag with twenty pounds Scots, two loaves of bread, a bag of flour, another of barley, and such like provisions; and having brought the whole to his wife, he said, "See what a good Master I serve." After this she hired a servant again, but was soon reduced to a new extremity: the pains of childbearing came upon her before she could make any provision for her delivery; but Providence interposed in their behalf at this time also. While she travailed in the night season, and the good man knew not where to apply for a midwife, a gentlewoman came early in the morning riding to the door, and having sent her servant back with the horse, with orders when to return, she went in, and asked the maid of the house, how her mistress was, and desired access to her, which she obtained. She first ordered a good fire to be made, then desired Mrs. Duncan to rise, and without any other assistance than the house afforded, she delivered her, and afterwards accommodated Mrs. Duncan and the child with abundance of very fine linen which she had brought along with her. She gave her likewise a box, containing some necessary cordials, and five pieces of gold, bidding them both be of good comfort, for they should not want. After which she rode away on the horse, which had by this time returned for her; but would not tell her name, nor from whence she came.

Thus did God take his own servant under his immediate care and providence, when men had wrongfully excluded him from enjoying his worldly comforts. He continued zealous and steadfast in the faith, enduring his severe trials with the most exemplary resignation; and to the end of his life, his conduct was uniform with the circumstances of this brief narrative.

JOHN SCRIMGEOUR

NOTHING seems to be known of the parentage and birth of this godly man. The earliest authentic notice we have of him, is, that he was minister of Kinghorn, in Fife, and that, in 1590, John Scrimgeour was the person selected to attend king James as chaplain, in his voyage to Denmark to bring home his queen. He was afterwards concerned in several important affairs of the church, until that fatal year 1618, when the five articles of Perth were agreed on in an Assembly held at that place. He attended at this Assembly, and gave in some proposals, upon being, along with others of his faithful brethren, excluded from having a vote, by the prevailing party of that Assembly.

In 1620, he was, with some others, summoned before the high commission court, for not preaching upon holidays, and not administering the communion conform to the agreement at Perth; with certification, if this were proved, that he should be deprived of exercising the functions of a minister in all time coming. But there being none present on the day appointed, except the bishops of St. Andrew's, Glasgow, and the Isles, and Walter Whiteford, they were dismissed at that time; but were summoned apud acta to compear again on the 1st of March, and the bishops caused the clerk to exact their consent to deprivation, in case they did not compear against that day. Nevertheless, they all protested, with one voice, that they would never willingly renounce their ministry; and such was the resolution and courage of Scrimgeour, that, notwithstanding all the threatenings of the bishops, he celebrated the communion conform to the ancient practice of the church, a few days thereafter.

On the day appointed for their next compearance, the bishops of St. Andrew's, Dunkeld, Galloway, the Isles, Dunblane, Hewison, commissary of Edinburgh, and Dr. Blair, being assembled in the bishop of St. Andrew's lodging in Edinburgh, John Scrimgeour was again called upon to answer. The bishop of St. Andrew's alleged against him, that he had promised either to conform or quit his ministry, as the act at his last compearance on January 26th reported; to which he replied, "I am sore straitened, I never saw reason to conform; and as for my ministry, it was not mine, and so I could not quit it." After long reasoning betwixt him and the bishops concerning church policy and the keeping of holidays, he was removed for a little. Being called in again, the bishop of St. Andrew's said to him, "You are deprived of all function within the kirk, and ordained within six days to enter in ward at Dundee." "It is a very summary and peremptory sentence," said Scrimgeour, "Ye might have been advised better, and first have heard what I would have said." "You shall be heard," said the bishop. This brought on some further reasoning, in the course of which Scrimgeour gave a faithful testimony against the king's supremacy over the church, and, among other things, said, I have bad opportunity to reason with the king himself on this subject, and have told him, that Christ was the Sovereign, and only Director of his house; and that his Majesty was subject to him. I have had occasion to tell other men's matters to the king, and could have truly claimed this great preferment." "I tell you, John," said the bishop of St. Andrew's, "that the king is pope, and shall be so now." He replied, "that is an evil style you give him," and then gave in his reasons in writ, which they read at leisure. Afterwards the bishops of St. Andrew's said to him, "take up your reasons again; if you will not conform I cannot help it; the king must be obeyed, the Lords have given sentence, and will stand to it." "Ye cannot deprive me of my ministry," said Scrimgeour; "I received it not from you; I received it from the whole synod of Fife, and, for anything ye do, I will never think myself deposed." The bishop of St. Andrew's replied, "You are deprived only of the present exercise of it." Then he presented the following protestation: "I protest before the Lord Jesus, that I get manifest wrong; my reasons and allegations are not considered and answered. I obtest you to answer at his glorious appearance, for this and such dealings; and protest, that my cause should have been heard as pled, and still plead and challenge. I likewise appeal to the Lord Jesus, his eternal Word; to the king, my dread sovereign, his law, to the constitution of this kirk and kingdom, to the councils and assemblies of both; and protest, that I stand minister of the evangel, and only by violence I am thrust from the same." "You must obey the sentence," said the bishop of St. Andrew's. He answered, "that Dundee was far off, and he was not able for far journeys, as physicians can witness." And he added, "little know ye what is in my purse." "Then where will you choose the place of your confinement?" said the bishop. He answered, "at a little room of my own, called Bowhill, in the parish of Auchterderran." Then said the bishop, "write at Bowhill, during the king's pleasure." Thus this worthy servant of Christ lived the rest of his days in Auchterderran. In his old age he was grievously afflicted with the stone. He said to a godly minister who went to see him before his death, "I have been a rude stunkard all my life, and now by this pain the Lord is humbling me to make me a lamb before he take me to himself.*

He was a man somewhat negligent in his clothing, and inelegant in some of his expressions and behaviour; and yet was a very loving tender-hearted man; of a deep natural judgment; and very learned, especially in Hebrew. He often wished that most books were burnt except the Bible and some short notes thereon. He had a peculiar talent for comforting the dejected. He used a very familiar, but pressing manner of preaching. He was also an eminent wrestler with God, and had more than ordinary fervency and success in that exercise, as appears from the following instances.

When minister of Kinghorn, there was a certain godly woman under his charge, who fell sick of a very lingering disease, and was all the while assaulted with strong temptations, leading her to think that she was a castaway, notwithstanding that her whole conversation had put the reality of grace in her beyond a doubt. He often visited her while in this deep exercise, but her trouble and terror still remained. As her dissolution drew on, her spiritual trouble increased. He went with two of his elders to her, and began first, in their presence to comfort her, and pray with her; but she still grew worse. He ordered his elders to pray, and afterwards prayed himself; but no relief came. Then sitting pensive for a little space, he thus broke silence: "What is this? Our laying grounds of comfort before her will not do: prayer will not do. We must try another remedy. Sure I am, this is a daughter of Abraham,—sure I am, she hath sent for me,—and, therefore, in the name of God, the Father of our Lord Jesus, who sent him to redeem sinners; in the name of Jesus Christ, who obeyed the Father, and came to save us; in the name of the Holy and Blessed Spirit, our Quickener and Sanctifier—I, the elder, command thee, a daughter of Abraham, to be loosed from these bonds!" And immediately peace and joy ensued.

Scrimgeour had several friends and children taken away by death; and his only daughter who at that time survived, and whom he dearly loved, being seized with the king's evil, by which she was reduced to the very point of death, so that he was called up to see her die; and finding her in this condition, he went out to the fields, (as he himself told,) in the night time, in great grief and anxiety, and began to expostulate with the Lord, with such expressions as, for all the world, he durst not again utter. In a fit of displeasure, he said, "Thou, O Lord, knowest that I have been serving thee in the uprightness of my heart, according to my power and measure; nor have I stood in awe to declare thy mind even unto the greatest in the time, and thou seest that I take pleasure in this child. O that I could obtain such a thing at thy hand as to spare her!" And being in great agony of spirit, at last it was said to him from the Lord, "I have heard thee at this time, but use not the like boldness in time coming, for such particulars." When he came home the child was recovered, and, sitting up in the bed, took some meat: and when he looked at her arm, it was perfectly whole.

JOHN WELCH

JOHN WELCH was by birth a gentleman, his father being laird of Collieston, in Nithsdale, an estate rather competent than large. He was born about the year 1570, and throughout life was a rich instance of divine grace and mercy, although with him the night went before the day. He was a very irregular, hopeless boy, frequently running away from school, and playing truant; but after he had past his grammar, and was come to be an adult, he left his studies, and his father's house, and went and joined himself to the thieves on the English border, who lived by robbing the two nations, and amongst them he stayed till he wore out a suit of clothes. When he came to be clothed only with rags, the prodigal's misery brought him to the prodigal's resolution: then he resolved to return to his father's house, but durst not venture till he should interpose a reconciler. In his return homeward, he took Dumfries in his way, where he had an aunt, one Agnes Forsyth, and with her he spent some days, earnestly entreating her to reconcile him to his father. While he remained in her house, his father came providentially to visit her; and after they had talked a while, she asked him, whether he ever heard any word of his son John? To this he replied with great grief, "O cruel woman, how can you name him to me!—the first news I expect to hear of him is, that he is hanged for a thief." She answered, "many a profligate boy had become a virtuous man," and thus comforted him. He insisted, however, upon his sad complaint; but asked, whether she knew if his lost son was yet alive! She answered, "Yes; and hoped he should prove a better man than he had been a boy;" and with that she called upon him to come to his father. He came weeping, and kneeled, beseeching his father, for Christ's sake, to pardon his misbehaviour, engaging heartily to be a new man. His father reproached and threatened him. Yet at length, by his tears, and Mrs. Forsyth's importunities, he was persuaded to a reconciliation. The boy entreated his father to send him to college, and there to try his behaviour; and if ever thereafter he should break off, he said, he should be content that his father should disclaim him for ever. His father therefore took him home, and put him to college, and there he became a diligent student, of great expectation, and showed himself a sincere convert; and so he proceeded to the ministry.

His first settlement was at Selkirk, while he was yet very young, and the country very uncivilized. While there, his ministry was rather admired by some, than received by many; for he was always attended with the prophet's shadow,—the hatred of the wicked: yea, even the ministers of that country were more ready to pick a quarrel with his person, than to follow his doctrine, as appears to this day in their synodical records, where we find he had: many to censure, and few to defend him; yet it was thought his ministry in that place was not without fruit, though his stay was but short. Being unmarried, he lodged in the house of one Mitchelhill, and took a young boy of his to be his bedfellow, who to his dying day retained the highest respect for Welch and his ministry, from the deep impression then made upon his mind though but a child. Welch's custom was, when he went to bed at night, to lay a Scots plaid above his bed-clothes, that when he rose to his night prayers, he might cover himself therewith; for, from the beginning of his ministry till his death, he reckoned the day ill spent, if he stayed not seven or eight hours in prayer: and this the boy did not forget even to his old age.

An old man of the name of Ewart, in Selkirk, who remembered Welch's being in that place, said he was a type of Christ; an expression more magnificent that proper; for his meaning was, that in heart and life he imitated Christ, as indeed in many things he did. He also said that his custom was to preach publicly once every day, and to spend his whole time in spiritual exercises; that some in that place waited well upon his ministry, with great tenderness; but that he was constrained to leave that place, because of the malice of the wicked.

The special cause of his departure was, the enmity of a profane gentleman in the country (Scott of Headschaw, whose family is now extinct), who, either because Welch had reproved him, or merely from malignity, treated him most unworthily. Among the rest of the injuries he did him, the following is one of great cruelty. That gentleman, either with his own hand, or by those of his servants, cut off the rumps of Welch's two horses, in consequence of which they both died. Such base usage as this persuaded him to listen to a call to the ministry at Kircudbright, which was his next station.

When about to leave Selkirk, he could not find a man in all the town to transport his furniture, except one Ewart, who was at that time a poor young man, but master of two horses, with which he transported Welch's goods, and so left him. As he took his leave, Welch gave him his blessing, and a piece of gold for a token, exhorting him to fear God, and promised he should never want; which saying Providence made good through the whole course of the man's life, as was observed by all his neighbours.*

At Kircudbright he stayed not long: but there he reaped a harvest of converts which subsisted long after his departure, and were part of Samuel Rutherford's flock, though not his parish, while he was minister at Anworth: yet when his call to Ayr came to him, the people of the parish of Kircudbright never offered to detain him; so his translation thither was the more easy.

While he was at Kircudbright, he met with a young man in scarlet and silver lace, whose name was Robert Glendinning, newly returned from his travels; whom he very much surprised by telling him, he behoved to change his garb, and way of life, and betake himself to his studies, for he should be his successor in the ministry at Kircudbright. This accordingly came to pass some time after.

Welch was translated to Ayr in 1590, and there he continued till he was banished, in the year 1606. In that place he had a very hard beginning but a very sweet end; for when he came first to the town, the country was so wicked, and the hatred of godliness so great, that there could not one in all the town be found, who would let him a house to dwell in. He was therefore constrained to accommodate himself the best way he could in a part of a gentleman's house whose name was John Stuart, merchant, and sometime provost of Ayr, an eminent Christian, and great assistant of Welch.

When he first took up his residence in that town, it was so divided into factions, and disturbed with bloody conflicts, that a man could hardly walk the streets with safety. He therefore made it his first undertaking, to remove these bloody quarrellings, but he found it a very difficult work: such, however, was his earnestness to pursue his design, that many times he would rush betwixt two parties of men fighting, even in the midst of blood and wounds. Upon these occasions he used to cover his head with a helmet before he went to separate the combatants, but would never use a sword, that they might see he came for peace, and not for war; and thus, by little and little, he made the town a peaceable habitation.

His manner was, after he had ended a skirmish amongst neighbours, and reconciled bitter enemies, to cause a table to be covered upon the street, to which he brought the enemies together; and, beginning with prayer, he persuaded them to profess themselves friends, and to eat and drink together; concluding the work by singing a psalm. After these rude people began to observe his example, and to listen to his heavenly doctrine, he rose quickly to that respect amongst them, that he became not not only a necessary councillor, without whose advice they would do nothing, but an example of imitation.

He gave himself wholly to ministerial exercises, preaching once every day, and praying the third part of his time. He was unwearied in his studies: as a proof of this, it was found among his papers, that he had abridged Suarez's Metaphysics,* when well stricken in years. By all which it appears, that he was not only a man of great diligence, but also of a strong and robust natural constitution; otherwise he had never endured the fatigue.

Sometimes before he went to sermon, he would send for his elders, and tell them he was afraid to go to church, because he found himself sore deserted; and then desiring one or more of them to pray, he would venture to the pulpit. But it was observed, that this humbling exercise used ordinarily to be followed with extraordinary assistance,—so near neighbours often are contrary dispositions and frames. He would frequently retire to the church of Ayr, which was at some distance from the town, and there spend the whole night in prayer; for he used to allow his affections full expression, and prayed not only with an audible, but sometimes a loud voice.

There was in Ayr, at the time he came to it, an aged man, a minister of the town, called Porterfield, who was judged no bad man fur his personal inclinations, but so easy in his disposition, that he used often to go too great a length with his neighbours in many improper practices; amongst the rest he used to go to the bow-butts and archery on the Sabbath afternoon, to Welch's great dissatisfaction; and the method he took to reclaim him was, not by bitter severity, but gentle policy. He, together with John Stuart, and Hugh Kennedy, his intimate friends, used to spend the Sabbath afternoon in religious conference and prayer; and to this exercise they invited Porterfield, which he could not refuse,—by these means he was not only diverted from his former sinful practice, but likewise brought to a more watchful and edifying behaviour in his course of life.

During his residence at Ayr, the Lord's day was greatly profaned at a gentleman's house about eight miles distant, by reason of a great confluence of people playing at football, and other pastimes. After writing several times to him to suppress this profanation at his house, Welch came one day to his gate, and called him out to tell him, that he had a message from God to him; that because he had slighted the advice given him, the Lord would cast him out of his house, and none of his posterity should afterwards enjoy it, which accordingly came to pass; for although he was in good external circumstances at the time, yet afterwards all things went against him, until he was obliged to Sell his estate; and when giving the purchaser possession thereof, he told his wife and children that he had found Welch a true prophet.†

He married Elizabeth Knox, daughter of the famous John Knox, the reformer, by whom he had three sons.*

As the duty wherein Welch abounded and excelled most was in prayer, so his greatest attainments were in that duty. He used to say, he wondered how a Christian could lie in bed all night, and not rise to pray; and many times he rose, and watched unto prayer. One night having risen from his wife, and gone into the next room, where he staid so long at secret prayer, that she fearing he might catch cold, was constrained to rise and follow him: and as she listened, she heard him say as by interrupted sentences, "Lord, wilt thou not grant me Scotland?" and, after a pause, "Enough, Lord, enough!" and so she returned to her bed; and he following, she asked him, what he meant by saying, "Enough, Lord, enough!" He showed himself dissatisfied with her curiosity; but told her he had been wrestling with the Lord for Scotland, and found there was a sad time at hand but that the Lord would be gracious to a remnant. This was about the time when the bishops first overspread the land and corrupted the Church. The following, however, is more wonderful still: An honest minister, who was Welch's parishioner many a day, said, "that one night as he watched in his garden very late, and some friends waiting upon him in his house, and wearying because of his long stay, one of them chanced to open a window towards the place where he walked, and saw clearly a strange light surround him, and heard him speak strange words about his spiritual joy." But though Welch had, upon the account of his holiness, abilities, and success, acquired a very great respect; yet was he never in such admiration as after the great plague which raged in Scotland in his time.

And one cause was this: the magistrates of Ayr, forasmuch as the town alone was free, and the county about infected, thought fit to guard the ports with sentinels and watchmen; when one day, two travelling merchants, each with a pack of cloth upon horseback, came to the town, desiring entrance, that they might sell their goods, producing a pass from the magistrates of the town from whence they came, which was at that time sound and free. Notwithstanding all this, the sentinels stopt them till the magistrates were called; who when they came, would do nothing without their minister's advice; and so Welch was called, and his opinion asked. He demurred, and, putting off his hat, with his eyes raised towards heaven for a short space, though he uttered no audible words, continued in a praying posture. Having broken silence, he then told the magistrates they would do well to discharge these travellers, affirming with great asseveration, that the plague was in their packs. The magistrates commanded them to be gone, and they went to Cumnock, a town about sixteen miles distant, where they sold their goods; which spread such an infection in the place that the living were hardly able to bury the dead. This made the people begin to look upon Welch as an oracle; yet, as he walked with God, and kept close with him, so he forgot not man; for he used frequently to dine abroad with such of his friends, as he thought were persons with whom he might maintain the communion of saints: and once in the year, he used always to invite all his familiar acquaintances in the town to a treat in his house, where there was a banquet of holiness and sobriety.

He continued the course of his ministry in Ayr, till king James' purpose of destroying the church of Scotland, by establishing bishops, was ripe, and then he felt it to be his duty to edify the church by his sufferings, as he had formerly done by his doctrine.

The reason why king James was so eager for the appointment of bishops, was neither their divine institution, which he denied they had; nor yet the profit the church should reap by them, for he knew well both the men and their manner; but merely because he believed they were useful instruments for turning a limited monarchy into absolute dominion, and subjects into slaves; which of all things in the world he minded most.

In pursuit of this design, he resolved in the first place to destroy General Assemblies, knowing well that so long as these might be convened in freedom, bishops could never gain the ascendancy in Scotland: and the dissolution of Assemblies he brought about in the following manner.

The General Assembly at Holyroodhouse, in 1602, with the king's consent, appointed their meeting to be held at Aberdeen, the last Tuesday of July, 1604; but before that day arrived, the king, by his commissioner, the laird of Laurieston, and Patrick Galloway, moderator of the last General Assembly, in a letter directed to the several presbyteries, prorogued the meeting till the first Tuesday of July, 1605; and again, in June following, the expected meeting was, by a new letter from the king's commissioner, and the commissioners of the General Assembly, absolutely discharged and prohibited, but without naming any day or place, for any other assembly; and thus the series of Assemblies expired, never to be revived again in due form, till the covenant was renewed in 1638. However, many of the godly ministers of Scotland—knowing well, that if once the hedge of the government were broken, corruption of doctrine would soon follow—resolved not to give up their assemblies so quietly; and therefore a number of them met at Aberdeen, upon the first Tuesday of July 1605, being the last day distinctly appointed by authority; and when they had met, did no more than constitute and dissolve. Amongst those was Welch, who, though not present upon the precise day, yet because he came afterwards, and approved what his brethren had done, was accused as guilty of the treasonable fact committed by them.

Within a month after this meeting, many of the godly men were incarcerated, some in one prison, some in another. Welch was sent first to Edinburgh tolbooth, and then to Blackness; and so from prison to prison, till he was banished to France, never to see Scotland again.

And now the scene of his life begins to change; but, before his sufferings, he had the following warning.

After the meeting at Aberdeen was over, he retired immediately to Ayr; and one night having risen from his wife, and gone into his garden, as his custom was, he staid longer than ordinary. This alarmed and troubled his wife not a little, who, when he returned, expostulated very hard with him for staying so long to injure his health; but he bade her be quiet, for it should yet be well with them, although he knew he should never preach more at Ayr; and accordingly, before next Sabbath, he was carried prisoner to Blackness castle. Alter this, he, with many others who had met at Aberdeen, were brought before the council of Scotland at Edinburgh, to answer for their rebellion and contempt, in holding a General Assembly not authorized by the king; and because they declined the secret council as judges competent in causes purely spiritual, such as the nature and constitution of a General Assembly, they were remitted to prison at Blackness, and other places. Thereafter, six of the most considerable* of them were brought by night from Blackness to Linlithgow, before the criminal judges, to answer to an accusation of high treason, at the instance of Sir Thomas Hamilton, the king's advocate, for declining, as he alledged, the king's lawful authority, in refusing to admit the council as judges competent in the cause. After their accusation and answer were read, they were condemned as guilty of high treason, by the verdict of a jury; but the punishment was deferred till the king's pleasure should be known, which some time after was declared to be banishment.

While he was in Blackness, he wrote his famous letter to Lilias Graham, countess of Wigton; in which he expresses, in the strongest terms, his consolation in suffering; his desire to be dissolved, that he might be with the Lord; the judgments he foresaw coming upon Scotland; the cause of their sufferings, and the true state of the testimony, which he and his fellow sufferers exhibited.

"Who am I, that he should first have called me, and then constituted me a minister of the glad tidings of the gospel of salvation these years past, and now, last of all, to be a sufferer for his cause and kingdom. Now, let it be so that I have fought my fight, and run my race, henceforth there is laid up for me that crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give; not to me only, but to all that love his appearing, and choose to witness that Jesus Christ is the King of saints, and that his Church is a free kingdom; yea as free as any kingdom under heaven, not only to convocate, hold, and keep her meetings, and conventions, and Assemblies; but also to judge all her affairs, in all her meetings and conventions, amongst her members and subjects. These two points; 1. That Christ is the head of the church; 2. That she is free in her government from all other jurisdiction except Christ's:—These two points, I say, are the special cause of our imprisonment; being now convicted as traitors for maintaining the same. We have been ever waiting with joyfulness to give the last testimony of our blood in confirmation thereof, if it should please our God to be so favourable, as to honour us with that dignity; yea, I do affirm, that these two points above written, and all other things which belong to Christ's crown, sceptre, and kingdom, are not subject, nor can be, to any other authority, but to His only,—so that I would be most glad to be offered up as a sacrifice for so glorious a truth. It would be to me the most glorious day, and the gladdest hour I ever saw in this life; but I am in his hand, to do with me whatsoever he shall please.

"I am also bound and sworn, by a special covenant, to maintain the doctrine and discipline thereof, according to my vocation and power, all the days of my life, under all the pains contained in the book of God, and danger of body and soul, in the day of God's fearful judgment; and therefore, though I should perish in the cause, yet will I speak for it, and to my power defend it, according to my vocation."

He wrote about the same time to Sir William Livingstone of Kilsyth. There are some prophetical expressions in that letter worthy of notice.

"As for that instrument, Spottiswood, we are sure the Lord will never bless that man, but a malediction lies upon him, and shall accompany all his doings; and it may be, Sir, your eyes shall see as great confusion covering him, ere he go to his grave, as ever did his predecessors. Now, surely, Sir, I am far from bitterness; but here I denounce the wrath of an everlasting God against him, which assuredly shall fall, except it be prevented. Sir, Dagon shall not stand before the ark of the Lord; and these names of blasphemy that he wears, of arch and lord bishop, will have a fearful end. Not one beck is to be given to Haman, suppose he were as great a courtier as ever he was; suppose the decree were given out, and sealed with the king's ring, deliverance will come to us elsewhere and not by him, who has been so sore an instrument, not against our persons, (that were nothing, for I protest to you, Sir, in the sight of God, I forgive him all the evil he has done, or can do, to me), but unto Christ's poor kirk, in stamping under foot so glorious a kingdom and beauty, as was once in this land. He has helped to cut Samson's hair, and to expose him to mocking; but the Lord will not be mocked. He shall be cast away as a stone out of a sling; his name shall rot; and a malediction shall fall upon his posterity after he is gone. Let this, Sir, be a monument of it, that it was told before, that when it shall come to pass, it may be seen there was warning given him. And therefore, Sir, seeing I have not the access myself, if it would please God to move you, I wish you would deliver this hand-message to him, not as from me, but from the Lord."

Spottiswood, of whom he thus complains, was at the time archbishop of Glasgow; and these predictions were punctually accomplished, though after a period of forty years: for, first, the bishop himself died in a strange land, and, as many say, in misery; next, his son, Robert Spottiswood, sometime president of the court of Session, was beheaded by the parliament of Scotland, at the market-cross of St. Andrew's, in the winter after the battle of Philiphaugh, which many thousands witnessed; and, when coming upon the scaffold, Blair, the minister of the town told him, that now Welch's prophecy was fulfilled; to which he replied in anger, that both Welch and he were false prophets.

But before leaving Scotland, there are other remarkable passages in his life worthy of being remembered. And, first, when the dispute about church government began to grow warm, as he was walking upon the streets of Edinburgh, betwixt two honest citizens, he told them, "they had in their town two great ministers, who were no great friends to Christ's cause at present in controversy, but it should be seen, the world should never hear of their repentance." The two men were Patrick Galloway and John Hall; who both died suddenly and unobserved, without one to witness or soothe their dying moments.

He was some time prisoner in Edinburgh castle before he went into exile; where, one night sitting at supper with lord Ochiltree, who was his wife's uncle, Welch, as his manner was, entertained the company with godly and edifying discourse, which was well received by all the company except a debauched popish young gentleman, who sometimes laughed, and sometimes mocked, and made wry faces. Grieved at such conduct, Welch broke out into an abrupt charge upon all the company to be silent, and observe the work of the Lord upon that profane mocker; upon which the wretched man sunk down, and died beneath the table, to the great astonishment of all present.

Another wonderful story is told of him at the same time: Lord Ochiltree, having been for a long time, through the multitude of affairs, kept from visiting him in his chamber, he, as he was one day walking in the court, having observed Welch at his window, asked him kindly, how he did, and if in anything he could serve him? Welch answered, he would earnestly entreat his lordship, being at that time to go to court, to petition king James in his name, that he might have liberty to preach the gospel; which my lord promised to do. Welch then added, "My lord, both because you are my kinsman, and for other reasons, I would earnestly entreat and obtest you not to promise, except you faithfully perform." His lordship answered, he would faithfully perform his promise; and so went for London. But though, at his first arrival, he really purposed to present the petition, he found the king in such a rage against the condemned ministers, that he durst not at that time present it; and therefore thinking fit to delay, he entirely forgot it.

The first time that Welch saw him after his return from court, he asked him what he had done with his petition. His lordship answered, he had presented it to the king; but that his majesty was in so great a rage against the ministers at that time, he believed it had been forgotten, for he had got no answer. Nay, said Welch to him, "My lord, you should not lie to God, and to me, for I know you never delivered it, though I warned you to take heed not to undertake it except you would perform it; but because you have dealt so unfaithfully, remember God will take from you both estate and honours, and give them to your neighbour in your own time"—which accordingly came to pass; for, both his estate and honours were in his own time transferred to James Stuart, a cadet, but not the lineal heir of the family.

While he was detained prisoner in Edinburgh castle, his wife used for the most part to be with him; but upon a time she fell into a longing to see her family in Ayr, to which with some difficulty he yielded. When she was about to take her journey, he strictly charged her not to take the ordinary way to her own house, when she came to the town; but to pass the river above the bridge, and so get home without going into the town; "for," said he, "before you come thither, you shall find the plague broken out in Ayr," which accordingly came to pass.

The plague was at that time very terrible, and his being necessarily separate from his people, it was to him the more grievous. When his parishioners came to him to bemoan themselves, his answer was, that "Hugh Kennedy, a godly gentleman in their town, should pray for them, and God would hear him." This counsel they accepted, and the gentleman, convening a number of the honest citizens, prayed earnestly for the town, and the plague decreased.

The time being come when he must leave Scotland, never to see it again, he, upon the 7th of November, 1606, in the morning, with his brethren took ship at Leith; and though it was but two o'clock, many were waiting with their afflicted families, to bid them farewell.* After prayer, they sang the 23d Psalm, and to the great grief of the spectators, set sail for the south of France, and landed in the river of Bourdeaux. Such was the Lord's blessing upon his diligence, that within fourteen weeks after his arrival he was able to preach in French, and accordingly was not long in being called to the ministry; first in a village, called Nerac, and thereafter in St. Jean d'Angely, a considerable walled town; where he continued the rest of the time he sojourned in France, which was about sixteen years. When he began to preach, it was observed by some of his hearers, that while he continued in the doctrinal part of his sermon, he spoke very correct French; but when he came to the application, when his affections kindled, his fervour made him sometimes neglect the accuracy of the French construction. There were some godly young men who admonished him of this, which he took in very good part; and to prevent mistakes afterwards, he desired them, when they perceived him beginning to trespass, to give him a signal, viz., by standing up; thereafter he became more accurate in his expression through the whole sermon; so desirous was he, not only to deliver good matter, but to recommend it by correct language.

In his auditory, there were frequently persons of great rank, before whom he was as bold as ever he had been in a Scottish village; which led Boyd of Trochrig once to ask him—after he had preached before the university of Saumur, with as much boldness and authority, as if he had been before the meanest congregation—how he could be so confident among strangers, and persons of such dignity? To which he answered, that he was so filled with the dread of God, he had no apprehensions from man at all. This reply, said Boyd, "did not remove my admiration, but rather increased it."

There was in his house, amongst many others who boarded with him for good education, a young gentleman of great quality, and suitable expectations, the heir of Lord Ochiltree, captain of the castle of Edinburgh. This young nobleman, after he had gained very much upon Welch's affections, fell ill of a grievous sickness, and after he had been long wasted with it, he to the apprehension of all spectators, closed his eyes, and expired. He was therefore taken out of his bed, and laid on a pallet on the floor, that his body might be more conveniently dressed. This was to Welch a great grief, and therefore he stayed with the dead body full three hours, lamenting over him with great tenderness. After twelve hours, the friends brought in a coffin, and desired the corpse might be put into it, as the custom was; but Welch requested that, for his satisfaction, they would forbear it for a time. This they granted, and did not return till twenty-four hours after his death. They then desired, with great importunity, that the corpse might be coffined and speedily buried, the weather being extremely hot. The good man still persisted, however, in his request, and earnestly begged them to excuse him once more; so they left the corpse upon the pallet for full thirty-six hours: but even after that, as he urged not only with great earnestness, but with some displeasure, they were constrained to forbear for twelve hours more. After forty-eight hours were past, he still held out against them; and then his friends, perceiving that he believed the young man was not really dead, but under some fit, proposed to him, for satisfaction, that trial should be made upon his body if possibly any spark of life might be found in him; to which he agreed. The doctors accordingly were set to work; they pinched him in the fleshy parts of his body, and twisted a bow-string about his head with great force; but no sign of life appearing, they pronounced him dead, and then there was no more delay to be made. Yet Welch begged of them once more that they would but step into the next room for an hour or two, and leave him with the dead youth; and this they granted. He then fell down before the pallet, and cried to the Lord, with all his might, and sometimes looking upon the dead body, he continued to wrestle with the Lord, till at length the youth opened his eyes, and cried out to Welch, whom he distinctly knew, "O Sir, I am all whole, but my head and legs!" These were the places hurt with the pinching. When Welch perceived this, he called his friends, and showed them the dead man restored to life again, to their great astonishment.

This young nobleman, though he lost the estate of Ochiltree, lived to inherit one not inferior in Ireland, became lord Castlestuart, and was a man of such excellent parts, that he was courted by the earl of Stafford to be a counsellor in Ireland. This, however, he refused, till the godly silenced Scottish ministers, who suffered under the bishops in the north of Ireland, were restored to the exercise of their ministry. He then engaged, and continued during his whole life; not only in honour and power, but in the profession and practice of godliness, to the great comfort of the country where he lived. This story the nobleman himself communicated to his friends in Ireland.

While Welch was minister in one of the before mentioned places, a certain popish friar upon an evening travelling through the country, because he could not find a lodging in the whole village, addressed himself to his house for a night. The servants acquainted their master, and he was willing to receive him. The family had supped before he came, and so the servants showed the friar to his chamber, and after they had made his supper, left him to rest. There was but a wooden partition betwixt his room and that of Welch; and, after the friar awoke from his first sleep, he was surprised at hearing a constant whispering noise.

Next morning as he walked in the fields, he chanced to meet with a countryman, who, saluting him because of his habit, asked him, where he had lodged that night? The friar answered, he had lodged with the Hugonot minister. The countryman then asked him, what entertainment he had had; to which the friar answered, very bad: for, said he, I always held, that devils haunted these ministers' houses, and I am persuaded there was one with me last night; for I heard a continual whisper, and I believe it was nothing else than the minister and the devil conversing together. The countryman told him he was much mistaken, and that it was nothing else than the minister at his nightly prayers. "O," said the friar, "does the minister pray?" "Yes, more than any man in France," answered the countryman; "and if you please to stay another night with him, you may be satisfied." The friar accordingly went back to Welch's, and, pretending indisposition, entreated another night's lodging, which was granted him.

Before dinner, Welch came from his chamber, and made his family exercise, according to custom. He first sang a psalm, then read a portion of Scripture, and discoursed upon it; and thereafter prayed with great fervour; to all which the friar was an astonished witness. After exercise they went to dinner, where the friar was very civilly entertained, Welch forbearing all question and dispute with him for the time. When the evening came, Welch made exercise as he had done in the morning, which occasioned more wonder to the friar. After supper they went to bed, and the friar longing much to know what the night whisper was, was soon satisfied; for after Welch's first sleep, the sound began. Resolving to be certain what it was, he crept silently to Welch's chamber door, where he heard not only the sound, but the words, distinctly, and had an example of communion betwixt God and man, such as he thought had not been in this world. The next morning, as soon as Welch was ready, the friar went to him, and said, that he had lived in ignorance the whole of his life, but now he was resolved to venture his soul with him, and thereupon declared himself a protestant. Welch welcomed and encouraged him; and he continued a protestant to his death.

When Louis XIII. king of France, made war upon the protestants because of their religion, the city of St. Jean d'Angely was besieged by him with his whole army, and brought into extreme danger. Welch was minister of the town at the time, and mightily encouraged the citizens to hold out, assuring them that God would deliver them. In the time of the siege, a cannon ball pierced the bed where he was lying; upon which he got up, but would not leave the room, till he had by solemn prayer acknowledged his deliverance. The townsmen made a stout defence, till one of the king's cannoniers planted a gun so conveniently upon a rising ground, that he could command the whole wall, upon which the inhabitants for the most part were stationed. By this they were constrained to abandon their post, though they had several guns there; for no man durst to undertake to manage them, until Welch prevailed upon the principal gunner to remount the wall, promising to assist him in person. The cannonier told him, that they behoved to dismount the gun upon the rising ground, else they were surely lost. Welch desired him to aim well, that he would serve, and God would help him. The gunner fell to work, and Welch ran to fetch powder for a charge; but as he was returning, the king's gunner fired his piece, which carried the ladle with the powder out of his hands. This did not discourage him; for having lost the ladle, he filled his hat with powder, wherewith the cannonier dismounted the king's gun at the first shot, and the citizens returned to their post of defence.

This disappointed the king so much, that he sent to the citizens to offer them conditions, viz.;—that they should enjoy the liberty of their religion, and their civil privileges; that their walls should not be demolished; and that the king only desired to enter the city in a friendly manner with his servants. This the city thought fit to grant, and the king, with a few more, entered the city for a short time. While the king was in the city, Welch preached as usual. This offended the French court; and while he was at sermon, the king sent the duke de Esperon to fetch him out of the pulpit into his presence. The duke went with his guard, but when he entered the church, Welch commanded to make way, and to place a seat, that the duke might hear the word of the Lord. The duke, instead of interrupting him, sat down, and gravely heard the sermon to an end; and then told Welch, he behoved to go with him to the king; which he willingly did. When the duke returned, the king asked him, why he had not brought the minister with him, and why he did not interrupt him? The duke answered, that never man spake like this man: but that he had brought him along with him. Upon this Welch was called. When he had entered the king's room, he kneeled, and silently prayed for wisdom and assistance. The king then challenged him, how he durst preach in that place, since it was against the laws of France that any man should preach within the verge of his court? Welch answered, "Sire, if you did right, you would come and hear me preach, and make all France hear me likewise. For," said he, "I preach, that you must be saved by the death and merits of Jesus Christ, and not your own; and I preach, that as you are king of France, you are under the authority of no man on earth. Those men whom you hear subject you to the pope of Rome, which I will never do." The king replied, "Well, well, you shall be my minister!" and having dismissed the good man he left the city without molestation.

A short time after, in 1621, the war having been renewed, Welch told the inhabitants of the city, that their cup was full, and they should no more escape. This accordingly came to pass; for the king took the town, but commanded de Vitry, the captain of his guard, to enter and preserve his minister from all danger. Horses and wagons were provided by his order, to transport Welch and his family to Rochelle, where he sojourned for a time.

His flock in France being thus scattered, he obtained liberty to return to England in the year following. His friends entreated that he might be permitted to repair to Scotland, the physicians having declared that there was no other hope of preserving his life, but the enjoyment of his native air. To this, however, king James would not accede, protesting he would be unable to establish episcopacy in Scotland, if Welch were permitted to return thither.* He continued therefore to languish in London a considerable time: his disease was regarded by some as a sort of leprosy, and the physicians declared he had received poison. A distressing languor pervaded his frame, together with a great weakness in his knees, caused by his kneeling at prayer, in consequence of which, though he was able to move them and to walk, the flesh became hard and insensible, almost like a horn. But when, in the time of his weakness, he was desired to remit in some degree his excessive painfulness, his answer was, he had his life from God, and therefore it should be spent in his service.

His friends importuned the king exceedingly, that if he might not return to Scotland, he might at least have liberty to preach in London; but even this he would not grant till he heard all hopes of life were past, not then fearing his activity.

As soon, however, as he heard he might preach, he eagerly embraced the liberty; and having access to a lecturer's pulpit, he went and preached both long and fervently. This proved to be his last service; for, after he had ended his sermon, he returned to his chamber, and within two hours, quietly and without pain, resigned his spirit into his Maker's hands, in the 53d year of his age.

During his last sickness, he was so filled and overcome with the sensible enjoyment of God, that he was overheard to utter these words; "O Lord, hold thy hand; it is enough, thy servant is a clay vessel, and can hold no more!"

Great as his diligence undoubtedly was, it may be doubted whether his labours or his success were most abundant; for whether his spiritual experience in seeking the Lord, or his fruitfulness in converting souls, be considered, they will be found unparalleled in Scotland. Many years after his death, David Dickson, at that time a highly esteemed minister at Irvine, was frequently heard to say, when people talked to him of his own success in the ministry, "that the grape-gleaning at Ayr in Welch's time, was far above the vintage at Irvine in his own." Welch, in his preaching, was spiritual and searching; his utterance was tender and moving; he did not much insist upon scholastic topics, and made no show of his learning. One of his hearers, who was afterwards minister at Muirkirk in Kyle, used to say, "that no man could hear him, and forbear weeping," his speech was so affecting.

There is a large volume of his sermons yet extant, though only a few of them have been printed. He never himself published anything, except his dispute with Abbot Brown, in which he shows that his learning was not behind his other virtues; and his Armageddon,* or Meditations upon the enemies of the church, and their destruction; a piece which is rarely to be found.

ROBERT BOYD

ROBERT BOYD of Trochrig, was born in 1578, in the city of Glasgow. When three years old, his father, who was archbishop there, died; and the superintendence of his early education devolved on his mother. Having retired to the family estate of Trochrig, in the neighbourhood of Ayr, she sent her son to the grammar school, to be taught the rudiments of the Latin tongue; and after some time removed with him to Edinburgh. He studied philosophy at the university of that city, and had the degree of Master of Arts conferred on him, about the year 1594. Robert Rollock was then principal of the university; and had appointed Mr. Charles Ferme to be teacher of philosophy; and from him Boyd early imbibed that branch of learning which he afterwards taught with so much success in France. He also studied divinity under Rollock, from whom he not only received his first instructions in theology, but much spiritual benefit to his soul, which circumstances he considered as the main instruments, under God, of his conversion.

It was common, at this time, for the youth of Scotland to travel to other countries, particularly to France, in order to improve themselves in learning and in elegant accomplishments; and the unsettled state of affairs in Scotland induced Boyd to leave his native country. Keenly bent on the pursuit of his studies, more especially theology, it was natural that he should retire to a country where these could be pursued with safety, and where liberty of conscience might be enjoyed. He left Scotland on the first of May, 1597, and arrived at Dieppe in France six days after. Thence he proceeded to Paris by way of Rouen—and afterwards to Poictiers. Not finding that convenience for frequenting religious worship and assemblies that he desired, he left Poictiers, and came to Thouars. At this place he remained a year; when finding his health giving way, he went to Rochelle intending to return to Scotland; out travelling having recruited his health, he visited Bourdeaux and Montauban. He became acquainted at the latter place with M. de Dismes, then professor of philosophy; and the providence of God disposed of him in such a way that his talents began to shine forth with eminence.

While at Thouars, in 1598, he became acquainted with the learned and pious M. Rivet, who entertained him with the greatest welcome. Here he applied himself to the study of the Latin and Greek classics, besides devoting considerable attention to the cultivation of Hebrew. During his stay he received charge of a school which had been formed by Dr. Rivet, under the patronage of the duke de Fremouille.

About the end of the year 1599, Boyd was requested to accept the professorship of philosophy, in the university of Montauban—to which he was admitted in November of that year. This appointment took place before he had reached 21 years of age—which must be attributed to his extraordinary fame for piety and learning. But, as will be seen, still more onerous and arduous duties awaited him; while his mental powers, being thus stimulated, kept pace with his promotion, and shone forth with greater lustre, Boyd continued at Montauban during the space of five years; but in September, 1604, having received a call from the congregation of the church of Vertuil to supply the place of their late pastor, he resigned his professorship, and was inducted into the holy office of the ministry, in November following. The cause assigned for this change was, that certain of his students at Montauban, on returning to Angouleme, had spoken highly of his eloquence, his modesty, and exemplary conversation and conduct—and they stated that he had declared he would embrace a call to the ministry in the church of France, whenever he should receive one. The church of Vertuil in Angouleme being vacant, they sent delegates to him, desiring his consent to become their pastor; to which he agreed, upon condition, that, if he should have a call to any university where he might exercise the office both of a pastor and a professor, they would not object to him resigning his charge. This being admitted, he was, after due examination and trial, ordained by the synod, and settled in the church.

In November, 1605, he received a pressing letter from his cousin, David Boyd, desiring him to return to Scotland, and look after his estate; and urging, that as there was only one youth to represent the families of Trochrig and Penkill—and he absent from his friends, it was a duty he had to perform—and one from which he could not excuse himself. But Providence ordered otherwise; and it was well for those young persons of Saumur who afterwards profited by his instructions, that Boyd resolved to remain in France. By the appointment of Craig to the divinity chair of Saumur, the professorship of philosophy was left vacant: and, through the activity of M. Monmartin, minister at Rochelle, and of his early friend Dr. Rivet, who was in constant correspondence with lord Duplessis Mornay, founder of the college of Saumur, and to whom Dr. Rivet had been eloquent in setting forth the qualities of Boyd for the vacant office, he was appointed to be minister and professor of Divinity there, on the 19th April, 1606. Here he continued for six years, discharging his duties with credit to himself, and profit to his students;—but the assiduity with which he applied himself to study laid the foundation of that disease which ultimately occasioned his death.

In 1611, he was so satisfied and happy in his situation at Saumur, that he gave up all hope of ever returning to Scotland for permanent settlement—on the contrary indeed, he felt a strong desire to settle in France. With this view he proposed marriage to a daughter of the family of Malivern; and, having satisfied the relations of the lady as to his nobility of birth, they gave their consent, and the marriage took place in May of the above year.

Notwithstanding his arrangements to remain in France, and the success which had attended his duties as a professor, it was so ordered that he should return to Scotland.

King James VI., who was anxious to increase the fame of the universities in his dominions, having heard of the learning of Boyd, wrote to Lord Duplessis Mornay to permit him to return, and also addressed a letter to himself desiring him to come, and fill the situation of principal of the college of Glasgow, then vacant. This offer, coming direct from the king, could not be resisted; and, notwithstanding his previous determination to remain in France, he with great difficulty procured the consent of his wife and her parents to leave that country. On leaving the university of Saumur, which was much regretted by all who enjoyed his acquaintance, the elders of the reformed church, as a token of affection, assembled at his house, the day previous to his departure (October 1st, 1614), and presented him with a testimonial of their esteem, love, and good-will towards him, and one hundred pounds, to reimburse him for the expense he had incurred in repairing and ornamenting his residence, besides twenty-five crowns, being his quarter's salary. They presented him also with ample testimonials from the synod of the province; and the church and academy gave him a large silver has in, on which were engraved his name and crest.

Next day, October 2nd, Boyd and his family left Saumur, and were accompanied out of the town, and some part on their way, by the ministers and elders, the masters of the college, and a considerable number of their friends, and all Scotchmen in that neighbourhood. Having arrived at Dieppe, they embarked for England; and, after remaining a short time in London, he departed for Glasgow, which he reached about the end of December.

On Friday the 30th January, 1615, Boyd was installed into the office of principal of the college of Glasgow, by the chancellor and senate, to whom he produced his majesty's presentation; and being unanimously admitted, he agreed to accept the office under certain conditions; that he would try it for a year; but that, from the infirm state of his health, he expected to be relieved from personally correcting the scholars—eating at the college table, &c.—all of which they conceded to him, and prayed that the Lord might accompany his labours and management with his grace and blessing. Immediately thereafter he commenced the duties of his office, and nothing appears to have disturbed his tranquillity for some time.

In October following a daughter was born to him; and, three days before that event, his house in the college—which on his arrival was undergoing repair, and towards which the town of Glasgow gave five hundred merks—had been prepared for his reception.

In answer to a letter from Boyd, in 1616, his friend, Scot of Elie, remarks, that "men of all ranks who have heard of your teaching and learning, are very joyous, well pleased, and content, and thank God for you. I hope your hard entry and beginning shall have a kind, soft and sweet progress, and a right joyful end, and success both to yourself and the hail country." We may presume from this, that those who had been instrumental in promoting him to the situation of principal, had entertained expectations that he would conform to those points of worship and discipline, so strongly pressed by the king and the bishops; but, however much disposed to gratify his majesty on indifferent affairs, when it turned on matters of conscience, he felt he could not honestly comply: and the disappointment and irritation, which thence arose, were the causes which induced him to resign his charge.

During the year 1617, nothing particular occurred to disturb him in the performance of his duties; and we find he was particularly careful in looking after the income of the university, which had been much neglected by his predecessors. The king, when on a visit to Glasgow, in July this year, honoured the college with his presence, and dined with the professors,—Boyd, as principal, taking the superintendence.

The Assembly which was held at Perth, in the following year, by order of the king, was induced by the court bishops to promise, that, either by art or force, the Scottish church should be made to assimilate to that of England, in government and ceremonies. By means of this mock Assembly, it was therefore resolved that five of the chief English ceremonies should be practised in the Scottish church, commonly styled the Perth Articles,* nonconformity to which brought about such a train of persecution and suffering upon the people of Scotland and the ministers, that at last it ended in open resistance to the armed forces brought to compel obedience to the objectionable articles. But after much bloodshed,—the opposition of the people of Scotland was successful, and they were in the end allowed to worship God "according to their own conscience."

Boyd kept himself aloof from all Assemblies, and did not interfere publicly with the controversies which took place after the passing of these articles;—he even extended his hospitality to the bishops, being disposed to think well of them. As soon however as they perceived that he favoured their opponents, they, by means of their emissaries, construed all his words and actions into the worst of motives. About this time Robert Bruce, one of the greatest opponents of the bishops, having visited the neighbourhood of Glasgow, Boyd had several interviews with him,—they having been formerly on terms of friendship. In consequence of these meetings it was reported that he had adopted the principles of the puritanical party. This having been reported to the king, Boyd, in order that he might avoid his displeasure, and escape the enmity of the bishops, resolved to demit his office, and retire to his estate in Carrick. He was strongly advised against this step by his friends; but, notwithstanding their earnest intreaties, he carried his purpose into effect. Of this proceeding he afterwards sorely repented: and indeed to this cause may be attributed many of the disappointments and vexations which he afterwards encountered; and there can be no doubt that these contributed to hasten his death.

In July, this year, he received an invitation to return to Saumur, to be colleague of the learned John Cameron in the professorship of divinity. This, however, he refused, which was ultimately fortunate; as, shortly after, the troubles in France came to such a height that all the protestant academies were dispersed, and their professors obliged to flee for their lives.

In March, 1621, he gave in to Law, bishop of Glasgow, the following reasons for his resignation of the office of principal in the college of Glasgow:—1st That he could not, from the weak state of his health, undertake to perform worthily the duties of his double charge, as principal and minister of Govan. 2nd. The correction of students by corporal punishments was altogether contrary to his humour and disposition. 3rd. He had been for some time engaged in the composition of several works, which he was anxious to have leisure to perfect. 4th. That he was determined neither to acquiesce in nor agree with the articles of Perth Assembly. 5th. That he had not made any provision for his family; and that his estate, being neglected by the present occupiers, required his personal superintendence, in order that it might not be altogether lost; and besides, that he had originally undertaken the office of principal on trial only. But what more immediately brought about his determination to follow up this resolution, was the following:—at the dispensing of the Sacrament, in April this year, archbishop Law urged all the people to kneel; some did so, but some of the students sat still. On this he commanded them to kneel or depart; but they remonstrated before retiring, observing that there was no warrant for kneeling, and therefore, that they ought not to be debarred from the table of the Lord. In consequence of this, the principal, accompanied by the masters of the college, went to the archbishop and reproved him freely for driving from the Lord's table such godly young men, telling him that the table was not his but Christ's, "and that he dealt in the matter, as if he had been removing his house-boy from the bye-board." The archbishop was so enraged at this free admonition that he could not find utterance for some time, and when he did, he gave vent to his indignation in such high words, that Boyd saw it was in vain to argue further with him; and told him, on retiring, that he would not sit in Rome and strive with the pope. This dispute with the archbishop determined Boyd to give up his office, which he did in July following. Having sent his family to his estate at Trochrig, he remained at Glasgow for a few months; and while there, some dependents of the bishop, (it is supposed,) broke into his house and took away several papers relating to the affairs of the college, regarding the loss of which he was unkindly used by the regents, as they threatened to compel him to make restitution; and it was suspected that the whole affair had been planned for the purpose of giving him trouble and annoyance. However he got rid of all his difficulties, and arrived at Trochrig in November.

On October 17th, 1622, he received a letter from archbishop Spottiswood, offering him the divinity chair of the university of Edinburgh, which was backed by the magistrates, and also by the masters of the college, notwithstanding his known sentiments against conformity. Having accepted the offer, as soon as he began his public duties, the people flocked to hear him, which excited against him the enmity of the other ministers,—they having all conformed; and they represented to the king the impropriety of appointing to such an office, a person who had been so lately turned out of a similar one, on account of nonconformity. Andrew Ramsay was the strongest in his opposition to him—as from his teaching in the same school, and preaching in the same church, he perceived that almost all who came to town flocked to hear Boyd in preference to him.

Upon November 23d, there came a letter from the king, to the provost and bailies of Edinburgh, expressing surprise that they should have placed a man to be principal, who had been deposed from his ministry for not obeying the king's command in the matter of kneeling at the sacrament; and therefore commanded them either to get him to conform, or expel him.

After some correspondence betwixt the provost and bailies of Edinburgh, and the archbishop of St. Andrew's and his majesty, a peremptory order arrrived, on the last day of January, 1623, ordering them again to call Boyd before them, and to urge him to conform; but if he refused, himself, his wife, and family, were to be banished from the town—and the provost and bailies were threatened on their peril to see this put in execution. Boyd, having compeared before them, and having been shown the king's letter, at once resigned.

The king's letter to the provost and bailies showed a spirit of arbitrariness and persecution, which, instead of furthering, deeply wounded the interests of prelacy in Scotland. When noncomformity was made a bar to the usefulness of the most pious and learned men of the age, even those who were disinterested could not but be dissatisfied; and the treatment of Boyd, and other learned and pious men, prepared the way for the ultimate overthrow of prelacy in Scotland.

After this Boyd returned again to his estate of Trochrig, where he remained in peace and tranquillity for about three years. His enemies were determined, however, that he should not remain long without feeling their enmity; for on the 24th June, 1624, there came an order from the council, that he should be confined to the bounds of Carrick, on account of his noncomformity to the Perth articles, and keeping private meetings for prayer.

At this time his son being old enough to go to school, Boyd wrote to his friend Bruce, one of the regents of Glasgow college, with whom he wished to board him—and also to the bishop, for permission to come to Glasgow in the beginning of October. Bruce, in answering him, states that the bishop would do anything with safety to satisfy him; but he could not grant him a license to pass the bounds, as he was not present when the order for his confinement took place; yet if he had anything to do in Glasgow, he might come and do it, and he would take no notice of his coming, provided he came secretly, and transacted his affaire in as quiet a manner as possible.

When Boyd came to Glasgow with his son, old affection and respect for him rekindled; and as his situation had been vacant for nearly two years, since Mr. Cameron's removal—the masters, the town council and the bishop, were most anxious that he should occupy it again.

We come now to that transaction in his life of which he afterwards most sorely repented. By the advice of some of his friends, he was induced to give in a paper to Law, archbishop of Glasgow, in which he in part acknowledged the supremacy of bishops; but no sooner had he taken this step, than he felt so troubled, that he went to the archbishop, and with tears requested it back. Law, however, pretended that it was already sent up to the king, and that it was not in his power to restore it. This paper follows in his own words: "I, Robert Boyd of Trochrig, undersubscribing, having learned and considered the reasons and motives laid before me by ane reverend father in God, James, archbishop of Glasgow, and some other my loving and Christian friends, and weighed more deeply than of before the necessity of employing the Lord's talent in the exercise of my calling to his glory and the good of the kirk, whairunto my abstinence from conformity to the five articles of the late Perth Assembly has been hitherto the chiefest lett and hinderance, do here in end faithfully promise to give obedience thereunto in due time and place, craving humbly his majesty to remitt all offence conceived against me for my former delay and off-putting, and of his royal clemency to vouchsafe me his wonted favour and acceptation, as to one resolved to live and die, by the grace of Almighty God, his majesty's most loyal, humble and obedient servant. Written and subscribed with my hand at Glasgow, this 25th of October, 1624.

"ROBERT BOYD of Trochrig."

Notwithstanding this apparent submission to the Perth articles, we find an almost immediate regret at the writing of this letter. He adds: "Thus far have I yielded in my simplicity and weakness, and yet with an honest and upright mind, according to my mean judgment." The following conditions were to be insisted on by him, should he agree to return to his former office—and were to be made good by the town, kirk, and college of Glasgow:—"1st, To read but once a week on the common heads of divinity. 2d, To preach in the college kirk at 7 o'clock on the sabbath-day morning, except from laureation to Lukesmas,* that the college be convened again. 3d, Not to be burdened with the chastisement of the scholars either privately or publicly, but every regent should chastise his own, or else the superior, all in public. 4th, Not to meddle with the exercise or common head in presbytery. 5th, To repair both my dwelling-place and the yard according to my direction. 6th, To agree with the minister of Govan for the teind hay that I may keep a naig therewith. 7th, That my stipend be as it was before, only defalking the glebe and small teinds: and of the town I require these two things, for testification of their willingness and inclination to my recalling and replacing: 1. That they will modify to me a certain sum for the charges of my transport back to them again, and losses that I will incur thereby, according to their own discretion. 2. That they gratify me thus far, as that they will make my servant burges and freeman of his craft."

These conditions were only as memoranda to refresh his memory, in case he should return to Glasgow; and it shows his cautiousness, arising probably from his former experience, that previous to his acceptance, everything should be explicitly laid down and thoroughly understood. However, with all his forethought he was destined never to resume his office; for, what between the bishop, who was anxious that his cousin Dr. Strang should get the situation, and the share in the business which was attributed to the king, who was now approaching his latter end—difficulties were thrown in the way which operated as barriers to his reappointment. His enemies, besides, having come to the knowledge of the letter referred to above, made the most of it to serve their own purposes, and to induce others to follow his example; and many were indeed staggered thereby. But, as the proposal was not sanctioned by the king, and as his election consequently never took place, it was conscientiously believed by his friends, that the whole affair was an invention of the prelatical party, to bring Boyd into discredit with those who stood out against the articles of the Perth Assembly.

Notwithstanding what had taken place, his friends still expected he would return to Glasgow, and resume his office. His friend and cousin, Mr. Zacharias Boyd, who warmly espoused his cause, wrote to him from Glasgow, April, 1625, as follows:—"This day I spoke to the bishop with Mr. Bell concerning you. We found him in a very good temper towards you. He is come to this point, that if you will write to him that you will conform yourself against pasch next coming, save one, he will receive you presently into the colledge and give you up all your writings. I have given you the whole that he said in a few words. Therfor, Sir, I pray you, hast to us and be here before the 23d of this moneth, for that day the bishop goes to Saint Andrew's to a meeting ther, wher he is to confer with Doctor Strang, who is to be at that meeting. I hope you will not deliberat much. I pray you come and offer yourself to the bishop's will, who loves you. I am in hast and can write no more, being just running out to find a bearer to send this straight to you. I pray God give his counsell. Glasgow, April 15th, 1625."

In December following, he received an invitation from the heritors of Paisley to accept of the charge in that place; and as the letter requesting his acceptance forms what has since been termed a call from a congregation to a minister, even where a presentation had been given by the patron, it follows entire:—

"Reverend Sir,

"Having been long destitute of a minister, to every one of our particular greives, and to the general regrate of every true professor, according to God's providence and the desire of our own hearts, ye were called to us by every kind of consent requisite, and finding from private impediments as ye wrote to us, we meaned ourselves to the lord Ross, a present cheif of our parish, and having the cheifest desire of our design, whereupon his lordship being sensibly touched went into Glasgow on Wednesday last, accompanied with some gentlemen of the parish, who for his lordship's own special interest, and for the whole parishioners in general, took occasion to deal earnestly with the bishop of Glasgow. That by his lordship's worthy, zealous, and carefull endeavours, we are not only in hopes, but confident, that immediately after your return to us the bishop will remove all whatsoever impediments as may hinder you from using that talent, which in the self is so pretiouse and so necessary to be applyed to us presently destitute of the sweet comfort of the gospell, so that though your sudden departure seemed very unpleasant to us, and is the only reason of our present delay, we all with one voice most earnestly desire you to repair to us with all possible diligence, for you knew our harvest is great and the labourers are few. And to delay the distribution of so great gifts unto us who stand in so great present need wer a great sin in you, and a great hinder to our edification, seeing the calling is of God, and God has given us the hearts so earnestly to desire you, while by his providence all impediments are taken away, so every hour wishing your presence, and assuredly expecting you with all possible diligence that ye and we may perfect that marriage made in heaven for the advancement of God's glory and the confirmation of our salvation, whiles by his grace ye are so lauchfully appointed our pastor and we your flock. And to that effect in the name of God, and for the precious blood of Christ, hasten your coming, and by his grace we shall ever remain,

"Yours in all obedience to serve you,

"Paisley, 18 of Decem. 1625.

"Ross,

"B. Sempill, Will. Sempill, William Wallace of Alderslie, Will. Wodfit, Tho. Sempill, John Wallace of Ferguslie, Will. Sempill, And. Semple, Hugh Cochran of Newton, John Homes, James Wallace, James Whiteford, Bailay of Paisley, Andrew Stuart of Wodside."

Upon this invitation Mr. Boyd came to Glasgow, toward the end of December, in order to get matters arranged with the bishop for his admission, which took place on the first day of January, 1626. But as the bishop declined to collate him until he was actually placed, and as Mr. Boyd felt a delicacy in allowing himself to be placed until he was secured by the collation in the freedom of his ministry, and provided with maintenance therein—he, until these differences were adjusted, considered it prudent to retire to Carrick, where he remained till March following. During this month he returned to Paisley, to enter upon his charge; but he found things so unpromising, judging by the reception he received from lady Abercorn, that he began to lose heart; and in a letter to his wife, dated March 12, he says,—"Pray to the Lord to vouchsafe me strength for accomplishing this charge and sustaining me under the burden of it.

While in Paisley, his residence was appointed to be in the front house of the abbey, into which he put some furniture and his books; but on Sunday, 2d April, while he was preaching in the church, the Master of Paisley, with a number of followers, entered into his house, destroyed his furniture, cast all his books about the place, and locked the door, so that Boyd could not have admittance. In consequence of this he complained to the lords of the secret council, at Edinburgh, by whom the Master of Paisley and the bailies of the town were summoned to answer to the charge laid against them. After an examination of the affair, it was the intention of the council to have imprisoned the Master of Paisley; but Boyd, being unwilling that he should receive any punishment, requested that he might be pardoned on condition that he expressed sorrow for his conduct. This being assented to, the council gave orders that Boyd should be repossessed of his house; but on proceeding to the abbey for this purpose, it was found that the keyhole of the door had been filled with stones, so that no entrance could be had; and the authorities refused to force the door. Seeing how matters stood, Boyd was about to depart; but a rabble of women having collected about the place, (the men having purposely kept out of the way,) they began to upbraid him with opprobrious speeches, and, in the words of a contemporary writer, "shouted and hoyed him, and cast dirt and stones at him, so that he was forced to leave the town, and go to Glasgow." Thence he proceeded to his house in Carrick, sadly dispirited through this unprovoked insult; but he seems to have determined to bear all without complaint.

The archbishop of Glasgow, receiving information of this attack upon Boyd, felt himself called on to interfere; and the lady Abercorn, with her son, the Master of Paisley, were summoned to appear at Edinburgh before the council, to answer for this second contempt towards the minister. On the day appointed, they came, accompanied by the earl of Abercorn and a strong party of their friends, evidently for the purpose of overawing the judgment of the court; and after the matter had been heard, nothing was done beyond again ordering Boyd to be repossessed,—the attack made upon him by the common people being passed over without notice.

After this last insult Boyd seems to have become quite dejected, and to have resolved to prosecute the business no further, conceiving a happy result altogether hopeless; and, although Mr. Cunningham, minister of Kilmalcolm, wrote to him by order of the presbytery, requesting him to return and continue in the charge; yet in his answer to him, he intimates his firm determination to retire, and desires that some other person be appointed to the church.

These successive annoyances, and the trouble which each new appointment brought with it, could not but weigh heavily on a spirit such as Boyd's—and tend to injure a constitution already labouring under a complication of diseases. These now increased so much that he was obliged to relinquish all idea of ever accepting any charge; and he was compelled, December 9th, to proceed to Edinburgn to consult physicians. Shortly after his arrival there, his sickness increased, and confined him to bed. He lingered on in great pain till the 5th of January, 1627, when he departed this life in the hope of a blessed immortality. "His sickness," says a biographer, "was but short, but his pain very great—his patience and submission much greater. He had been but tender and weakly through life, and much inured to the cross. He had learned to bear it with joy, and great was his enlargement during his three weeks' trouble at Edinburgh. He was under the foretaste of the glory to be revealed, and under much heavenly ravishment and holy rapture. His life had been a life of love, faith, and usefulness. Great was his peace, and glorious were his victories, over all the shakings and temptations which at some times he was haunted with. They all tended to his own comfort and establishment, and the confirmation of his friends about him."

His death was lamented by all. The bishops and those who had opposed him acknowledged his vast learning, great wisdom, and remarkable piety. Those who opposed the innovations and corruptions of the times were almost inconsolable, at the loss of one who, by his singular ability and wisdom, as well as his powerful wrestlings and intercessions, was truly one of the greatest pillars of the land; and, had he been spared, would have been singularly useful in this dark and difficult time. As a teacher, his exemplary holiness, singular learning, admirable eloquence; his gravity, humility, unaffected modesty, and extraordinary diligence, as well in his ecclesiastical as in his scholastic employments, above the rate of ordinary pastors and professors, drew all to a reverence, love and esteem for, and many even to, an admiration of him. In his studies he was indefatigable, often sitting from morning till midnight, and sometimes longer, save only during such time as was occupied in taking that sustenance which nature required. In his diet he was very strict and severe. In his private conversation, when he unbended himself, he was most courteous; and among those with whom he was familiar, he was sometimes pleasant and cheerful. In all his public lectures, piety and learning and eloquence strove which should get the mastery. In the exercise of discipline, whether in private or public, such was the severity of his reproofs, the earnestness of his persuasion, the authority of his injunctions, the charity and prudence of his counsels, and, so all-impressive his manner, that his looks and words were more effective to reform what was amiss, than the sharpest corrections of others.

Further: as to his character we give the following from his contemporaries:—John Row terms him "a very learned and holy man, eminent both in the school and the pulpit," and adds, "that considering his great learning and extraordinary gifts, he was one of the most humble, modest, and meek men in the ministry, in all this kingdom." John Livingstone, who knew him perfectly, expresses himself thus:—"he was a man of an austere carriage, but of a most tender heart. Notwithstanding of his rare abilities, he had no account of himself, but a high account of every other man's parts."

ROBERT BRUCE

ROBERT BRUCE was born about the year 1554. He was second son to the laird of Airth, from whom he inherited the estate of Kinnaird; and who being at that time a baron of the best quality in the kingdom, educated his son with the view of his becoming a lord of session; and for his better accomplishment, sent him to France to study the civil law. After his return, his father enjoined him to attend to some business of his that was then before the court, as he had got the royal patent for his being one of these lords. But He, whose thoughts are not as men's thoughts, having other designs with him, began to work mightily upon his conscience, so that he could get no rest, till he was allowed to attend the divinity lectures of Andrew Melville at St. Andrew's. To this step his mother was greatly averse, nor would she agree to it till he gave up some lands and casualties wherein he was infeft. This he most willingly did; and, shaking off all impediments, fully resolved upon an employment more fitted to the turn of his mind.

He went to St. Andrew's sometime before Melville left the country, and continued at that university till his return. Whilst there, he wanted not some sharp conflicts in his mind, on the subject of his future destination; insomuch that upon a certain time, walking in the fields with that holy and excellent man, James Melville, he said to him, "Before I throw myself again into such torment of conscience, as I have had in resisting the call to the ministry, I would rather choose to walk through a fire of brimstone, even though it were half a mile in length." After he had qualified himself for the ministry, Andrew Melville, perceiving how the Lord wrought with him, brought him over to the General Assembly in 1587, and moved the church of Edinburgh to call him to a charge in that city.

Although he was urged by some of the brethren to enter upon the ministry in place of James Lawson, yet he could not be prevailed upon to accept the charge, although willing for the time to labour in it; till persuaded by the joint advice of the ministers of the city, who in a manner entrapped him into it. For, on a time when the sacrament was to be dispensed at Edinburgh, one of the ministers desired him to sit by him, as he was to preach in the afternoon; and after having served two or three tables, went out of the church, as if he had been to return in a little. Instead of this, however, he sent notice to Bruce, who still sat over against the elements, that unless he served the rest of the tables the work behoved to stop. Bruce—not knowing but the minister had been seized of a sudden with sickness, and the eyes of all being fixed on him, many entreating him to supply the minister's place—proceeded through the remaining services, and that with such assistance to himself, and such effect upon the people, as had never before been seen in that place.

When afterwards urged by his brethren to receive, in the ordinary way, the imposition of hands, he refused; because he had already received the material part of ordination, viz., the call of the people, and the approbation of his brethren; and besides, he had already administered the sacrament of the Supper, which, by a new ordination, would seem to be made void. Having thus made trial of the work, and experienced the blessing of God upon his labours, he accepted the charge.

While a minister of Edinburgh, he shone as a great light through all the neighbouring parts of the country. The king had such a high opinion of him, that in 1590, when he went to bring home his queen, he, at his departure, nominated Bruce an extraordinary councillor, and expressly desired him to acquaint himself with the affairs of the country, and the proceedings of the council; professing that he reposed more trust in him than in the rest of his brethren, or even in all his nobles,—and in this his hopes were not disappointed. The country, during the king's absence, was more quiet than either before or afterward; in consequence of which he wrote Bruce a congratulatory letter, dated February 19th, 1590, saying, "He would be obligated to him all his life, for the pains he had taken in his absence to keep his subjects in good order." Yea, such is said to have been his esteem for Bruce, that upon a certain occasion, before many witnesses, he declared that he judged him worthy of the half of his kingdom: but in this as in other promises, he proved no slave to his word; for, shortly after, he obliged this good man, for his faithfulness, to leave the kingdom.

But still it cannot be doubted, that the respect and esteem which he thus expressed towards him were at the time perfectly sincere. Accordingly on his return, he made choice of Bruce to officiate at the queen's coronation,—which was performed in the Chapel of Holyrood-house, on Sabbath the 17th of May, 1590, in presence of the foreign ambassadors, and a great concourse of Scottish nobility. Bruce annointed the queen, and, assisted by the chancellor and David Lindsay, placed the crown on her head.

Nor was it, indeed, till about three years after this event, that his majesty's opinion of Bruce seems to have been changed. In 1593, the injudicious and unwarrantable lenity shown by the court to the popish earls,—men who had been detected in the most treacherous designs against their country—excited universal distrust, suspicion, and alarm. Under the influence of such feelings, the synod of Fife which met in September of that year, by way of expressing its detestation of their crime, solemnly excommunicated these noblemen and their adherents; ordaining the sentence to be communicated to other synods, by whom it was approved, and directed to be published. On this occasion his majesty sent for Bruce, and importunately urged him not to publish it himself; and, as far as possible, to prevent its being published by his brethren. With every disposition, however, to preserve harmony and to retain the good-will of the king, Bruce did not dissemble his sentiments. He resolutely refused to do what was asked of him, and the conversation terminated, by an insinuation on the part of James, against the discipline and polity under which such measures were tolerated or sanctioned.

Some time after this, being charged by the king—in a conference which he held with the magistrates and ministers of Edinburgh—with having favoured certain alleged treasonable designs of the earl of Bothwell, who then attempted to gain the good-will of the church, he evinced a similar firmness and intrepidity; and, whilst his brethren in the ministry, against whom the accusation was vague and general, contented themselves with simply appealing to their hearers in proof of their innocence, Bruce—against whom the charge was more specific and serious—insisted on knowing the individuals who had thus slandered him to his majesty, and declared, that he would not again enter the pulpit until he was legally cleared of the crime imputed to him. James, after some shuffling, named the master of Gray, and one Tyrie a papist, as his informers; but on the day fixed for examining the affair, no person appeared to make good the charge; and Gray, after having left the court, denied that he had given the alleged information against Bruce, and offered to fight any person, his majesty excepted, who should affirm that he had defamed that minister.

Being a man of public spirit and heroic mind, Bruce was always pitched upon to deal in matters of high moment; and, amongst other things, upon the 9th of November, 1596, he, together with Andrew Melville and John Davidson, was directed by a council of the brethren, to deal with the queen concerning her religion; and for want of religious exercises and virtuous occupation amongst her maids, to move her to hear now and then the instructions of godly and discreet men. They went accordingly; but were refused admittance until another time.

About the same period, Bruce distinguished himself by the part he took in defence of David Black, and by the zeal he displayed against the suspected inroads of popery. The commissioners who had been appointed to assist in conducting the case of that worthy minister, being, by an order of the court, removed from Edinburgh; the public mind, in some degree agitated by this unusual stretch of prerogative, soon after experienced a new cause of alarm. On the morning of the 17th December, a day memorable in the history of the church of Scotland, statements were circulated that Huntly, one of the popish earls, had been privately at court, and had prevailed on the King to issue an order which had just been intimated;—that twenty-four of the citizens, best affected towards the ministers, and most distinguished for their zeal, should leave the town; and, as some added, that his friends and retainers were at hand, waiting for orders to enter the capital. This information, which was to a certain degree correct, was, as might be expected, a source of considerable alarm to Bruce and his brethren in the ministry. It being the day of the weekly sermon, they agreed that Balcanquhal, whose turn it was to preach, should desire the barons and burgesses present, to meet in the Little Church, to advise along with them what ought to be done. The meeting took place after sermon; and two persons from each of the estates were appointed to wait on the king, who happened at that time to be in the Tolbooth with the lords of session. Having obtained an audience, Bruce told his majesty that they were sent by the noblemen, barons and citizens, convened in the Little Church, to lay before him the dangers which threatened religion. "What dangers see you?" said the king. Bruce mentioned their apprehensions as to Huntly. "What have you to do with that?" said his majesty. "And how durst you convene against my proclamation?"—"We dare more than that," said lord Lindsay, "and will not suffer religion to be overthrown." Upon this, the king retired to another apartment and shut the door. The deputies therefore returned, and reported that they had not been able to obtain a favourable answer to their petitions; and Bruce proposed, that, deferring the consideration of their grievances for the present, they should merely pledge themselves to be constant in their profession and defence of religion. This proposal having been received with acclamation, he besought them, as they regarded the credit of the cause, to be silent and quiet. As they were thus proceeding, however, an unknown person entered, exclaiming, "Fly, save yourselves! the papists are coming to massacre you!" to which another rejoined, "The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!" "These are not our weapons," said Bruce, attempting to calm the Assembly; but the cry of "To arms! to arms!" being raised on the street, they immediately rushed out, and being joined by a crowd already collected without, the panic spread; and for about an hour, confusion and riot prevailed throughout the city. The tumult was at length quelled by the joint exertions of the magistrates and ministers; but the king, the day after, hastily left the city and removed to Linlithgow; from whence he issued a severe proclamation, commanding all judges and officers to repair to him, and forbidding all noblemen and barons from assembling without his permission.

Upon the Sabbath following, Bruce, in preaching from the 51st psalm, declared, "The removal of your ministers is at hand, our lives will be bitterly sought after; but ye shall see with your eyes, that God shall guard us, and be our buckler and defence,"—a saying which was soon in part accomplished; for on the day following, the king sent a charge from Linlithgow against him and the other ministers of Edinburgh, to enter themselves in ward at the castle there, within six hours, under pain of horning. Though conscious of their innocence, yet seeing that he king's anger was kindled against them, they thought proper at the advice of their friends to withdraw, and for a time conceal themselves from the effects of his displeasure. Bruce and Balcanquhal accordingly went into England; Watson and Balfour concealed themselves in Fife. They wrote apologies for their conduct, in which they vindicated themselves from the aspersions thrown upon them, and assigned reasons for their flight.

As soon as it was known that they had fled, they were publicly denounced rebels. Great keenness was shown to find some evidence of their accession to the tumult; and when this failed, recourse was had to fabrication. A letter, which on the day after, Bruce, at the request of the convened barons, wrote to lord Hamilton requesting his countenance and assistance in support of the church's interests, was altered and vitiated in such a manner, as to make it express an approbation of the riot. Conscious, however, of the fraud, the court did not dare to make any public use of this vitiated document; but it was circulated in private, with the view of blasting the reputation of Bruce and his friends.

When in favour with the court in the year 1589, he had obtained a gift for life, out of the lands of the abbey of Arbroath, which he enjoyed for a number of years. In 1598, the king privately disposed of this to lord Hamilton. He at first stirred up the tenants of the abbey to resist payment, and when this expedient failed, he avowed the deed. Bruce signified his willingness to yield up the gift, provided the king retained it in his own hands, or applied it to the use of the church; but learning that it was to be bestowed on lord Hamilton, he resolved to defend his right, although his majesty, by threats and persuasions, endeavored to induce the lords of session to give a decision in Hamilton's favour. They, however, found that Bruce's title was valid and complete. Upon this, the king, not content with storming at the judges and his opponent's counsel, and determined to obtain his object, "wakened the process" by means of two ministers in Angus, to whom he transferred part of the annuity. And notwithstanding a private settlement of the dispute, which was sanctioned by the lords of session, he afterwards so set aside, and altered the minute of court, that by it Bruce was deprived of the greater part of his annuity, and made to hold the remainder at the royal pleasure: upon which he threw up the gift in disdain.

But all this was nothing more than the drops before the shower, or as the gathering of waters before an inundation. This, though allowed to return from his concealment, Bruce afterwards experienced to be the case; for the king having for some time laboured to get prelacy established in Scotland, not only discharged him from preaching in Edinburgh, but even forced him to go into exile, because he would not comply with his measures; and in particular, because he refused to give praise to God in public for his majesty's deliverance from the pretended treason, in 1600, until he was made certain of the crime. He embarked at Queensferry, on the 3rd of November the same year, and arrived at Dieppe on the 8th of that month.

Although, by the king's permission, he returned home the year following, yet because he would not acknowledge Gowrie's conspiracy to be treason, exculpate his majesty in such places as he should appoint, and crave pardon for his long distrust and disobedience, &c., he could not be admitted to his place and office again, but was commanded by the king to keep ward in his own house at Kinnaird. After the king's departure to England, however, he had some respite for about a year or more; but on the 20th of February, 1605, he was summoned to compear before the commission of the General Assembly, to hear and see himself removed from his charge at Edinburgh. In his absence, they had declared the place vacant; now, they intimated the sentence, and Livingstone was commissioned by the king to see it put in execution. Bruce appealed; they attempted to prohibit him from preaching; but he disregarded them. In July thereafter, chancellor Seaton informed him of the king's express order discharging him from preaching any more; but said, he would not use his authority in this, and would only request him to desist for nine or ten days; to which he consented, thinking it but of small moment for so short a time. But he soon felt how deep the smallest deviation from his Master's cause and interest might go into the devoted heart; for that very night, as he himself afterwards declared his body became so feverish, and he felt such terror of conscience, as made him resolve to obey such commands no more.

Upon the 8th of August following, he was charged to enter himself in ward at Inverness, within the space of ten days, under pain of horning; which order he obeyed upon the 17th following. In this place he remained for the space of four years, teaching every Wednesday and Sabbath forenoon, and reading public prayers every other night; and his labours were greatly blessed. By means of his ministry, a dark country was wonderfully illuminated; many were brought to Christ, and a seed was sown which remained and was manifest for many years afterward.

When he returned from Inverness to his own house, even though his son had procured a license for him, he could find nothing but trouble and vexation from the ministers of the presbyteries of Stirling and Linlithgow; and for no other reason but declaiming against the vices in which many of them indulged. At last he obtained liberty from the council to remove his family to another house he had at Monkland; but, because of the archbishop of Glasgow, he was again forced to retire to Kinnaird.

Thus this good man was tossed about, and obliged to go from place to place; and in this state he continued, until by the king's order he was summoned before the council, on September 19th, 1621, to answer for transgressing the law of his confinement, &c. When he appeared, he pleaded the favour expressed towards him by his majesty when in Denmark, and withal purged himself of the accusation laid against him: "and yet, notwithstanding all these, (said he,) the king hath exhausted both my estate and person, and has left me nothing but my life, and that, too, apparently he is seeking! I am prepared to suffer any punishment; only I am careful not to suffer as a malefactor or evil-doer." A charge was then given him to enter himself in ward in the castle of Edinburgh, where he continued till the first of January. Though the bishops, his delators, chose to absent themselves on that day, he was brought before the council, and the king's pleasure intimated to him, viz., that he should return to his own house, until the 21st of April, and thence remove again to Inverness, of which he was to confine himself, during the king's pleasure.

Here he accordingly remained until September, 1624, when he obtained liberty to return from his confinement to settle some domestic affairs; but the conditions of his license were so severe, that he resolved to return to Inverness. In the mean time, however, the king died, and therefore he was not urged to resume his confinement; for, although king Charles I. renewed: the charge against him some years after, yet he continued for the most part in his own house, preaching and teaching wherever he had occasion.

About this time the parish of Larbert was vacant; where it was without stipend, he repaired the church at his own expense, and discharged all the duties of a Christian minister, with great success. Many, besides the inhabitants of the parish, attended upon his preaching with much benefit; and it would appear, that about this time Henderson, then minister of Leuchars, was converted by his ministry.

At this place it was his custom, after the first sermon, to retire by himself some time for private prayer; and on one occasion, some noblemen who had to ride to a distance sent the beadle to learn if there were any appearance of his coming in. The man returned, saying, "I think he will not come to day; for I overheard him say to another, 'I protest I will not go unless thou goest with me.' " However, in a little time he came, accompanied by no man, but full of the blessing of Christ: for his speech was with much evidence and demonstration of the Spirit. It was easy for his hearers to perceive that he had been on the mount with God, and that he had indeed brought that God whom he had met in private, into his mother's house, and into the chambers of her that conceived him!

Some time before his death, being at Edinburgh, where through weakness he often kept his chamber, several godly ministers, who had met about some business connected with the church, hearing he was in town, came and gave him an account of the prelate's actings. After this he prayed, adverting to the facts they had stated, and deploring the state of the church, in such a manner, that during the whole time there was such a powerful emotion felt by all present, and such a sensible down-pouring of the spirit, that they could hardly contain themselves. Wemyss of Lathokar, who was present, said, at departing, "O how strange a man this is, for he knocketh down the Spirit of God upon us all;" referring to his having different times knocked with his fingers upon the table in the time of prayer.

About the same period, he related a strange dream that had occurred to him. He thought he saw a long broad book, with black boards, flying in the air, with many black fowls like crows flying about it; and as it touched any of them, they fell down dead; and that he heard a voice speak to him, saying, Hœc est ira Dei contra pastores ecclesiœ Scoticanœ!* upon which he fell a weeping, praying that he might be kept faithful, and not be one of those who were thus struck down by the torch of God's wrath, for deserting the truth. He said, when he awakened he found his pillow drenched with tears.

"Upon one occasion," says Livingstone in his memoirs, "I went to Edinburgh to see him, in company with the tutor of Bonnington. When we called for him at eight o'clock in the morning, he told us he was not inclined for company; and, on being urged to tell us the cause, he answered, that when he went to bed he had a good measure of the Lord's presence, but that he had wrestled about an hour or two before we came in, and had not yet got access; and so we left him. At another time, I went to his house, but saw him not till very late. When he came out of his closet, his face was foul with weeping; and he told me, that that day he had been thinking on what torture and hardships Dr. Leighton, our countryman, had been put to at London† and added, if I had been faithful, I might have had the pillory and some of my blood shed for Christ, as well as he, but he hath got the crown from us all.' " "I heard him once say," the same writer declares, " 'I would desire no more at my first appeal from king James, but one hour's converse with him: I know he has a conscience, I made him once weep bitterly at Holyroodhouse.' And upon another occasion, in reference to his death, he said, 'I wonder how I am kept so long here: I have lived two years already in violence; meaning, that he was that much beyond seventy years of age.' "‡

In such manner did this bright star set in our horizon. There were none, in his time, who preached with such manifestations of the power of the Spirit; and no man had more seals of his ministry; yea many of his hearers thought, that no man since the days of the apostles, ever spoke with such power; and although he was no Boanerges, being of a slow but grave delivery, yet he spoke with such authority and weight, as became the oracles of the living God. Some of the most stout-hearted of his hearers were ordinarily made to tremble; and by thus having the door, which had formerly been shut against Jesus Christ, as by an irresistible power thrown open, and the secrets of their hearts made manifest, they oftentimes went away under deep convictions. In prayer he was short, especially in public; but "every word or sentence he spoke was as a bolt shot to heaven." He spent much of his time in private prayer. He had a very notable faculty in searching the scriptures, and explaining the most obscure mysteries therein. He had also much inward exercise of conscience regarding his own case, and was sometimes tempted, even concerning that grand fundamental truth—the being of a God; insomuch that it was almost customary to him to say, as he did when he first spoke in the pulpit, "I think it a great matter to believe there is a God. By such experience he was the better fitted to deal with others under the like tempations. Having a very majestic countenance, his appearance in the pulpit was good. His delivery was solemn, impressive, and commanding; and to apply to his sermons the reverse of the figure by which one of his hearers described his prayers, "every word or sentence he spoke was like a bolt shot from heaven."

As a writer, Bruce may be regarded as having been, for his time, both substantial and eloquent. The forementioned apology; his letters to M. Espignol, the duke of Parma, Col. Semple and others; and above all, his five sermons on the Lord's Supper, together with his miscellaneous sermons, entitled him to this character. But it is more especially for his services and sufferings in the cause of civil and religious liberty, that he is entitled to the respect and gratitude of posterity; even as it was by these, especially, that he earned the esteem and admiration of his contemporaries. For some time previous to his death, which happened in August 1631, he was through age and infirmity, mostly confined to his chamber. Being frequently visited by friends and acquaintances, he was on one occasion asked by one of them, how matters stood betwixt God and his soul? He made this reply, "When I was young, I was diligent, and lived by faith on the Son of God; but now I am old and not able to do so much, and yet he condescends to feed me with lumps of sense and experience." On the morning of the day on which he died—his sickness consisting chiefly in the weakness of age—he came to breakfast; and having, as usual, eaten an egg, he said to his daughters, "I think I am yet hungry, ye may bring me another egg." But instantly thereafter, falling into deep meditation, and after having mused a little, he said, "Hold, daughter, my Master calls me!" Upon these words, his sight failed him; and calling for his family Bible, but finding he could not see, he said, "Cast up to me the eighth chapter of the epistle to the Romans, and set my finger on these words, I am persuaded that neither death nor life, &c., shall he able to separate me from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus my Lord. Now," said he, "is my finger upon them?" and being told it was, he said, "Now God be with you my children; I have breakfasted with you, and shall sup with my Lord Jesus Christ this night." And thus, like Abraham of old, this eminent saint and servant of God gave up the ghost in a good old age, and was gathered to his people.

JOSIAS WELCH

THIS eminent minister of the gospel was a younger son of the famous John Welch of Ayr, and Elizabeth Knox, daughter of the great Reformer. As might be expected from such parents, he received a most liberal and religious education. But what proved more especially the source of his reputation was, that he was heir to his father's graces and virtues. Although he had received all the branches of useful learning, required for the ministry; yet prelacy being then prevalent in Scotland, he kept back for some time from the office, not being clear in his own mind about entering into it by the door of episcopacy.

But some time after, it so fell out, that meeting with worthy Mr. Blair, (who was then a minister at Bangor in Ireland,) he was exhorted and solicited to go over with him, under the assurance that there he would find work enough, and he hoped success likewise. This accordingly was the case; for, upon his going thither, he was highly honoured of the Lord, to bring the covenant of grace to the people at the Six-mile-water; and having also preached some time at Oldstone, he was afterwards settled at Temple-patrick, where with great vigilance and diligence, he exercised his office, and, by the blessing of God upon his labours, gained many seals of his ministry.

But Satan, envying the success of the gospel in that quarter, stirred up the prelatical clergy against him; and in May, 1632, the bishop of Down caused to cite him, together with Blair, Livingstone, and Dunbar; and on their compearing, urged them to conform, and give their subscription to that effect. But they answered with great boldness, that there was no law in that kingdom requiring this; yet, notwithstanding, they were all four deposed by him from the office of the holy ministry.

After this, Welch continued some time preaching in his own house, where he had a large audience; and such was his desire to gain souls to Christ, that he commonly stood in a door looking towards a garden, that he might be heard by those without as well as within; in consequence of which, being of a weakly constitution, he contracted a cold which occasioned his death in a short time after.

He continued in this way, until May, 1634, when by the intercession of lord Castlestuart with the king in their behalf, he and his brethren received a grant of six months' liberty from the bishop. This freedom he most gladly embraced; but he had preached only a few weeks in his own pulpit before his illness increased, so as to prevent his continuing his labours. He died very soon after. The short history of his life may be summed up in the words of one who knew him well, who had been his companion in labour and in suffering, and who could well appreciate the virtues by which he was adorned. On the Sabbath afternoon before his death, which was on Monday following, "I heard," says Livingstone, "of his sickness, and came to him about eleven o'clock at night, and Mr. Blair came about two hours thereafter. He had many gracious discourses, as also some wrestling and exercise of mind. One time he cried out, 'Oh for hypocrisy!' on which Blair said, 'See how Satan is nibbling at his heels before he enter into glory!' A very little before he died, being at prayer by his bedside, and the word 'Victory' coming out of my mouth, he took hold of my hand, desiring me to forbear a little; and clapping his hands, cried out, Victory, Victory, Victory for evermore!'—he then desired me to go on, and in a little after expired. His death happened on the 23rd of June, 1634."

He died in the flower of his youth, leaving only one son behind him, viz., John Welch, afterwards minister of Irongray in Gallowway.

JOHN GORDON, VISCOUNT KENMURE

THIS memoir may be reckoned more an account of the latter days than of the whole life of the nobleman, whose title it bears; as comparatively little is known of him, so long as he was distinguished only by the appellation of John Gordon of Lochinvar. It is certain, however, that he was born in the year 1599.* His father, Sir Robert Gordon, was the tenth in lineal descent of that ancient family, who had been proprietors of Lochinvar for more than three centuries prior to this period. And we learn from the peerage of Scotland, that his mother was lady Isabel Ruthven, daughter of William Ruthven, first earl of Gowrie. The ancient family of Gordon, very early embraced the principles of the reformation, and were devotedly attached to the presbyterian form of worship. Wodrow informs us that a branch of the Lochinvar family had become converts to the principles of Wickliffe, and that they received into their house several of his adherents who had itinerated to Scotland to propagate the truth. So early as 1574, the well-known Robert Campbell of Kinzeancleugh, and John Davidson, minister of Prestonpans, who was then under concealment, paid a visit to Sir John Gordon, grandfather to the subject of this brief memoir, at Rusco castle; a visit which, in all probability, would not have taken place, had not Sir John been of a kindred spirit.

It is uncertain whether lord Kenmure enjoyed the advantages of an early religious education, while under the paternal roof, or not; but we are safe to conclude, that his religious impressions, if not at first received from the famous John Welch, were matured and confirmed by that celebrated man, while in exile in the kingdom of France. Kenmure, while resident in that country, according to the custom of the times among young men in prosecution of their studies, was an inmate of Welch's family; and, it cannot be doubted, that, witnessing the distinguished piety which marked the whole of that good man's ministerial life, and sharing in the conversations and habits of a family so singularly holy, he could not but, by the richness and freeness of divine grace, imbibe a similar spirit. And, that he there became a subject of the Redeemer's kingdom, is evident, not only from his exemplary deportment, upon his return from the continent; but also from the anxiety he manifested to provide and disseminate the blessings of a gospel ministry to those around him. Anwoth, the parish in which Rusco, the family residence was situated, enjoyed at that time the benefit of public worship only every alternate sabbath, in consequence of its being united to other two parishes. To a pious mind like Kenmure's, this was a lamentable grievance; and therefore he immediately set about obtaining a disjunction, in which, after much delay, and great difficulty, he at length succeeded. The first person invited to the ministerial office, in that parish, was the celebrated John Livingstone, author of "Remarkable Observations upon the Lives of the most eminent Ministers and Professors in the Church of Scotland;" but Providence overruled the call, and the godly Samuel Rutherford was sent in his place. Nor was Kenmure's Christian benevolence confined to his own parish. He endeavoured to procure for other parishes, also, the blessings of a gospel ministry; but the distracted state of the times rendered all his exertions ineffectual.

Before Rutherford's settlement in Anwoth, Kenmure had been married to lady Jane Campbell, sister to the celebrated Marquis of Argyle, who was beheaded in 1661, for his adherence to Presbytery, and the Solemn League and Covenant;—"a lady," says a recent biographer, "of uncommon piety and worth, and a never-failing friend of all to whom the Saviour was dear." Both of these eminent Christians vied with Rutherford in promoting, among the people of the neighbourhood, a spirit of true religion; but of this happiness they were soon deprived,—for in less that two years they removed to Edinburgh, leaving Rutherford to struggle alone,—a circumstance which he afterwards designated "as the severest trial he had met with since he entered upon his ministry." Their absence in the metropolis, however, was not long; but on their return, they took up their residence at Kenmure castle, about twenty miles distant from Anwoth. As soon as Rutherford heard of their arrival, he addressed lady Kenmure in the following strain of heavenly salutation—"I bless our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath brought you home again to your country, from that place where ye have seen with your eyes, that which our Lord's truth taught you before; to wit, that worldly glory is nothing but a vapour, a shadow, the foam of the water, or something less and lighter, even nothing; and that our Lord had not without cause said in his word, 'The countenance or fashion of this world passeth away.' "

It is probable that Rutherford's reason for thus expressing himself was in consequence of an overweening ambition and worldly-mindedness which had, for some time previous, been unhappily conspicuous in Kenmure's pursuits; for, in 1633, he had been elevated to the peerage, under the title of viscount Kenmure, and was indulging the hope that the attainted honours of the house of Gowrie might perhaps be revived in his person, in right of his mother—for he had sold part of his patrimony, that he might have it in his power to bribe the duke of Buckingham, in order to promote his views to the earldom; and he was said to have actually presented that nobleman with a purse of gold, the very night before his assassination.

The state of affairs at that time were far from being favourable for maintaining, unsullied, a constant feeling of "pure and undefined religion," and, although Kenmure did not altogether throw off the restraint of his earlier "theological and ecclesiastical principles;" yet, having received such marks of the royal favour and distinction, he so far relinquished his concern for religion and the church of Christ, from motives of mere temporary expediency, and worldly policy, as to lay the foundation of a regret which did not cease to afflict him to the day of his death. We do not mean to say that he took part with the court, in opposing the interests of the church of Scotland; but he certainly did not exhibit that zeal for her advancement and prosperity that might have been expected; for, leaving others to struggle and fight on in the heat of the day, he, with apparent callousness and unconcern, withdrew from parliament, without a word of remonstrance, to his seat in the country,—a step, the recollection of which imbittered even his departing moments. "I deserted the parliament," said he, "for fear of incurring the displeasure of my sovereign, and the loss of further honour, which I certainly expected!" But, that he had not altogether lost sight of his spiritual interests, is happily proved by the fact of his making choice of Mr. George Gillespie, as his domestic chaplain, when he withdrew from the turmoils of a political life,—a man whose high qualifications, both as a scholar and servant of God, eminently fitted him for being useful in a family whose hearts were set upon doing good. Kenmure, however, does not appear to have profited by this good man's pious example, as he might have done; for, upon his deathbed, we find him thus addressing Gillespie—"I would I had paid better heed to many of your words;—I might have gotten good by the means God gave me; but I made no use of them."

During the following year he continued to reside in the country, with the exception of a short visit to Edinburgh, probably in reference to his views of worldly elevation; but it seemed good in the mind of God, that he should not rise to higher honours in this world; for in little more than a year after the sitting of the parliament to which we have alluded, he was seized with a fever, when he had not reached the meridian of life. This happened in the end of August, 1634. Before this time, however, it had pleased God to give him a saving view of his conduct; and it stung him to the heart when he learned the exertions that had been made, and were still making, to expose the enactments, and counteract the effects of an episcopalian government. "God knoweth," said he, "that I deserted the last parliament with the fearful wrestlings of my conscience, my light paying me home within, when I seemed to be glad and joyful before men." Gladly would he now have parted with all worldly honours, could be have undone or revoked his former abandonment of duty. "I have found," said he, "the weight of God's anger, for not giving testimony for the Lord my God, when I had opportunity in the last parliament; for which foul fault, how fierce have I found the wrath of the Lord! For all the earth, should I not do, as I have done. "Wo, wo, to honour or anything else bought with the loss of conscience and God's favour!" But he was not abandoned to despair. His Redeemer had thoughts of peace and mercy towards him; and, providentially, just when his disease was beginning to assume an alarming aspect, Rutherford came to pay a visit to Kenmure castle. Seeing but little prospect of recovery, the good man was induced to prolong his stay, till the time of Kenmure's death, which took place about a fortnight after, on the 12th of September, 1634.

Rutherford's arrival was a great relief to the mind of Kenmure. His eye glistened with joy when he saw a clergyman whom he had been instrumental in bringing to that part of the country, whom he esteemed very highly, and in whose religious conferences and services he had formerly taken so much delight. But it would be superfluous to pursue the subject of his death further in this place, as a minute and interesting detail will be found in his Testimony. It would be improper, however, to close this narrative, without making honourable mention of his amiable and truly pious lady,—and we cannot do so more appropriately, than in Kenmure's own words. On his death-bed, he "gave her different times, and that openly, an honourable and ample testimony of holiness and goodness, and all respectful kindness,—and craved her forgiveness, earnestly, where he had offended her, and desired her to make the Lord her comfort." The Lord had taken away from her all her children except one; and five years after Kenmure's death, she was deprived of her only surviving son and child. She was afterwards married to the Hon. Henry Montgomery, second son to the earl of Eglinton, an active and faithful friend to the church of Christ. But their union was of short duration; for she was soon after again left a widow. During the whole of her life she was a pattern of holiness, and good works. She was, in an especial manner, kind to those, who, in those days, were suffering for conscience' sake, and who had been reduced to poverty and exile. She was eminently one of those, whose nobility is not written "in old, rotten, or mouldered parchments, but is more ancient than the heavens,"—consisting in that adoption by which they are made the children of God, subjects to the King of kings, and brethren of the eternal Son of God.*

Although the subject of this memoir did not actually suffer persecution for the cause of Christ and his gospel, yet he had those inward workings of the Spirit, which very alarmingly reproved him for a want of zeal in the good work, upon an opportunity when worldly ambition induced him to be silent; even when so many of his own rank stood manfully forward, and declared their willingness to suffer the loss of all things, that they might do honour to the great King and Head of the church. That he bitterly lamented this misgiving, and sincerely repented of it, upon his death-bed, however, will be made clearly apparent, in the subsequent account of the last days of his life.

Upon the last day of August 1634, which was the Sabbath of the Lord, when this nobleman's body was much weakened, he was visited by a religious and learned pastor,† who then lived in Galloway, not far distant from the house of Kenmure. He rejoiced at the coming of this pastor to his house, and observed and spoke of a directing and all-ruling Providence, who had sent to him such a man. After supper, Kenmure drew on a conference with the pastor, saying, "I am heavily weighed and affrighted in soul with two great burdens: the one is, fear of death—the other, extreme and vehement bodily pain; but the former is heavier than the latter; for I never dreamed that death had such an austere, gloomy, terrible, and grim-like countenance. I dare not die; howbeit I know I must die. What shall I do? for I dare not venture in grips with death; because I find my sins so grevious, and so many, that I fear my accounts are ragged and out of order, and not so as becometh a dying man.

The pastor answered, "My lord, there is a piece of nature in all men, (the believer not excepted,) whereby the first look upon death is terrible and fearful. O! my lord, believe in him who died for you. O! look the second and third time upon death's face; and if you be in Christ, you shall see Jesus hath put a white mask upon death; and I dare say, if this be the time of your dissolution, I trust in God you shall both change your mind and words: for if you have a good second in the combat, (such as is only Jesus Christ,) your Lord will possibly let your conscience wrestle with the fear of death: Yet he is beholding fair play; and I hope Christ Jesus will not be a naked beholder, and say, Deal it betwixt you, as he doth in the death of reprobates, but shall lend you help; for borrowed strength is all your strength here. But, my lord, I fear more the ground of your fear of death, which is (as you say), the consciousness of your sins; for there can be no plea betwixt you and your Lord, if your sins be taken away in Christ; for then death loseth its action of law against you, you being in Christ; and therefore make that sure work, and fear not."

Kenmure answered, "I have been too late in coming to God, and have deferred the time of making my account so long, that I fear I have but the foolish virgins' part of it, who came and knocked at the door of the bridegroom too late, and never got in." The pastor said, "My lord, I have gathered by experience, and observed in sundry, and especially in your father, that when they were plunged over head and ears in the world, and had cast down old barns, and built up new again, God came in a month's space and less, and plucked them from their deceiving hopes, before ever they got half a mouthful; and this, my lord, looketh like your case: for you know how deep yourself hath been in the world, in building, planting, parking, seeking honours, and now belike your summons are to a short day." Kenmure answered, "'Tis true I have been busy that way; but my intentions were honest, and only to free myself of burdens and business."

Not being content with such a naked answer, the pastor drew the conference about again to his fear of death, and to a reckoning with the Lord, and said, "My lord, you know that it is one of the weightiest businesses that ever you put your hand to, to die; especially seeing judgment is at death's back. Faults in your life are mendable by repentance; but one wrong footstep in death is conjoined with eternal loss; for there is neither time nor place to regret of evil and bad dying. Therefore, I entreat you, my lord, by the mercies of God,—by your appearance before Christ, your judge,—and by the salvation of your soul, that you would here look ere you leap, and venture not into eternity without a certificate under Jesus Christ's hand."

To this Kenmure replied, "When I begin to look upon my life, I think all is wrong in it, and the lateness of my reckoning affrighteth me: therefore stay with me, and show me the marks of a child of God; for you must be my second in this combat, and wait upon me." His lady answered, "You must have Jesus Christ to be your second;" to which he heartily said Amen. Then said he, "But how shall I know that I am in a state of grace? for till I be resolved, my will still overburdens me. You never did see in me any tokens of true grace; and that is my only fear." The pastor said, "I was sorry to see you carried away so fearfully with temptation, and you know, whether by word or writ, I did give you faithful warning that it would come to this. I wish your soul were deeply humbled for sin. But to your demand, I thought you ever had a love for the saints, even the poorest and most silly, who carried Christ's image, howbeit they could never serve nor please you in any way. By this we know we are translated from death unto life, because we love the brethren." With this remark he was, after some objections, convinced. The pastor then asked him, "My lord, dare you now quit your part of Christ, and subscribe an absolute resignation of him? My lord said, "O! Sir, that is too hard. I hope He and I have more to do together: I will be advised ere I do that." Then he asked, "What mark is it to have judgment to discern a minister called and sent of God, and an hireling?" The pastor allowed it as a good mark also, and cited to him, My sheep know my voice.

At the second conference, the minister urged the necessity of deep humiliation, and said, "My lord, you know Christ must have such souls to work upon, and not the whole." He answered, "God knoweth but that is needful. O! if I could get him. But sin causeth me to be jealous of his love to such a man as I have been." "Be jealous of yourself, my lord," said the pastor, "but not of Jesus Christ, and know that there is no meeting betwixt Christ and you, except you be weary and laden; for the commission from the Father is only to the broken-hearted, to the captives, to the prisoners, and to the, mourners in Zion." Whereupon he said with a deep sigh and with tears, "God send me that!" and thereafter reckoned out a number of sins, which, said he, "are as serpents and crocodiles before my eyes." Thereafter he continued "but this hath been a sudden warning that God hath given me. What shall I do. I am afraid to die; and I can neither win through death, nor about it." To this the minister replied, "My lord, death and you are strangers. You have not made your acquaintance with death. I hope you will tell another tale ere all the play be ended; and you shall think death a sweet messenger, who is coming to fetch you up to your Father's house." Upon this he said with tears, "God make it so!" and desired the pastor to pray.

At the third conference, Kenmure said, "Death bindeth me strait. Oh! how sweet a thing it is to seek God in health, and in time of prosperity to make up our accounts; for now, through bodily pain, I am so distempered that I cannot get my heart framed to think on my account, and on the life to come." The pastor remarked, "It is a part of your battle to fight against sickness and pain, no less than against sin and death, seeing sickness is a temptation." My lord answered, "I have taken the play very long: God hath given me five and thirty years to repent, and, alas! I have mispent it, and now I see an ugly sight."—Then he covered his face with a linen cloth, and burst into tears, and wept sore. "My lord," said the pastor, "they are far behind that may not follow: think not your time too late. Christ's door is yet half-open: you have time to throng in, and your time is not all spent as yet; it's far after noon, and the back of the day is now come, yea, the edge of the evening: but run fast that ye lie not in the fields, and miss your lodging." Upon that, his lordship said, with his eves lifted up to heaven, "Lord, how can I run? Draw me, and I shall run." The pastor hearing that, desired him to pray, but he answered nothing;—within one hour after, however, in the hearing of his lady and the minister, he prayed divinely and graciously with tears. The substance of his prayer was a bemoaning to God of his weak estate, both inward and outward; for, said he, "Lord, I am oppressed with pain without; sorrow and fear within. I dare not knock at the door, I lie at it, but scraping as I may, till thou come out and take me in. I dare not speak. I look up to thee, and wait on for a kiss of Christ's fair face. Oh! when wilt thou come?"

At the fourth conference, he, calling for the pastor, said, "I charge you go to a secret place to God, and pray for me, and take help of others with you, and do it not for the fashion. I know prayer will bring Christ out of heaven." "My lord, what shall we seek from God for you? give us a commission from your own mouth." Kenmure answered, "I charge you to tell my beloved that I am sick of love." Then said the pastor, "Shall we seek life and recovery for you?" He answered, "Yea, if it be God's good pleasure, for I find my fear of death now less, and I think God is loosing the roots of this deep-grown tree of my soul, so strongly fastened to this life." The pastor said, "My lord, you must swear a covenant to God, that if he restore you to this life again, you shall renew your obedience to God, and that Jesus Christ shall be dearer to your soul than your honours, pleasures, credit, place, baronies, lands, and all that you have." He said, ere the pastor had ended, "I believe so, and all too little for him; and by God's grace, I bind myself under the pain of everlasting wrath, to abide by that covenant, if the Lord shall restore me."

After this, his lordship conceiving hope of recovery, became exceedingly careless, remiss, and dead, and seldom called for the pastor. For the space of two days he continued so, hoping to recover; howbeit, upon no terms would he permit him to go home to his kirk and flock till the Lord's day was passed. This coldness gave occasion of heaviness to my lady and the pastor and others, his friends and lovers, seeing his care for his soul so exceedingly slacked, and made the pastor go to the physician, and ask his opinion; who answered plainly, that there was nothing for him but death, which would be certain if his flux returned, which, in effect, did return. This made the pastor go in to him, and say, "My lord, I have a necessary business to impart to you;" and he said, "Say on." "You are not aware, my lord, of a deep and dangerous temptation of the devil, by which your soul is insnared: You have conceived hopes to return back again to this life; but I tell you, ere it be long, you shall be presented before the Judge of the quick and dead, to receive doom and sentence according to your works. I have a warrant for me to say this; therefore I beseech you, my lord, as you tender your own soul's salvation, be not deceived. Ere it be long, time will be no more with you; eternity is drawing on; your glass is shorter than you are aware of; Satan would be glad to steal you out of this life sleeping." The physician likewise seconded these words, and faithfully gave him warning of the danger of his disease. After these words he took the pastor by the hand, and said, "That he experienced faithful and plain dealing; this man will not sunder till death sunder us. Now I will set aside all these things; I know one thing is needful. It was but the folly of my deceiving heart, to look back over my shoulder to this life, when I was fairly on, once in my journey towards heaven;" and therefore he caused all men go out of the chamber, save only the pastor, that he might converse with him concerning the state of his soul." After prayer, the pastor said, "My lord, I perceive I have been deceived, and your lordship also; for your joy, I fear, hath not been well rooted, neither your humiliation so deep as need were; we must dig deeper to seek a lower foundation; for, when I think of your coldness in devotion, and your untimely relenting in the necessary works of making your reckoning with your Judge, upon vain conceived hope of recovery of health, I see certainly the work is not sure,—one pin is loose. Your lordship knows, that this church and country have been grievously offended at many gross and open sins in you, both against the first and second table of the law." Upon this, the pastor burdened him with sundry particulars, and told him plainly, and said, "My lord, my mistake of the case of your soul has been from hence, that you have never cleared yourself of many predominant and bosom sins, whereof I both spoke and wrote to you, and may remember how malcontent you were at a sharp letter of many particulars that I wrote to your lordship; and how, at your house at Rusco, you made half a challenge of it to me; for I found you always witty to shift and cover anything whereof you were rebuked. Howbeit, at my first coming to this country, when you sided too much with a gentleman of your name, who killed a man vilely, you promised willingly to receive and take in good part, what I freely told your lordship was amiss." Whereupon my lord reckoned up a number of fearful sins, and amongst others, he ingeniously and freely confessed his sin in deserting the last parliament, and said, "God knoweth I did it with the fearful wrestlings of my conscience, my light paying me home within, when I seemed to be glad and joyful before men; yet I did it for fear of incurring the indignation of my prince, and the loss of further honour, which I certainly expected; but wo! wo! to honour or anything else, bought with the loss of peace of conscience, and God's favour."

The pastor being struck with fear and astonishment at the reckoning of those fearful sins which my lord had kept close,—notwithstanding such fair appearance of a sound grace in his soul, as he had conceived—stood up, and read to him the first eight verses of the 6th chapter of the Hebrews, and discoursed to him of the far ongoing of reprobates in the way of heaven, and of their taste of the good word of God, and of the virtues of the life to come, and yet are true reprobates; and cited also Rev. 21,—"But the fearful, and the unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, shall have their part in the lake that burneth with fire and brimstone; which is the second death;"—and told him what everlasting burning was; and with that, the pastor turned his back and said, "Now, my lord, I have not one word of mercy from the Lord to say to you; God hath sealed up my lips, that I dare speak nothing to you but one thing, the wrath and ire of God Almighty." My lord hearing this with tears, cried out so that they heard him in the withdrawing room, and in all the houses about; then he said, "God, armed in wrath, is coming against me to beat out my brains. I would die; I would not die; I dare not live; O! what a burden the hand of an angry God! O! what shall I do! Is there no hope of mercy?" Then in a fearful agony he lay a long time weeping; so that those who attended ran in and said the pastor had no skill; he would kill him; and others said, I pray you beware, you will not fail to thrust him into despair. The pastor, not content with those words, bore with them, however, but went to a quiet place, and sought from God his salvation, and words from God to speak to his lordship. Some said that the pastor was a miserable comforter. After this, another minister came to visit him, to whom Kenmure said, "He hath slain me;" and before the pastor could answer anything for himself, said further, "Not he, but the Spirit of God in him." "No!" said the pastor, "Not I, but the law hath slain you. And, my lord, I say yet again, the God of heaven hath a terrible process against your father's house, and a deep and bloody controversy with the stones and furniture of the house of Kenmure; and, my lord, your name is in the process; see how you can free yourself. God is not mocked." The other minister read to him the history of Manasses, his most wicked life, and how the Lord was entreated of him, and gave him mercy; but the former pastor went still upon wrath, and asked him, saying, "My lord, you are extremely pained, I know, both in body and mind; what think you of the lake of fire and brimstone, of everlasting burnings, and of utter darkness with the devil and his angels?" To which he replied, "Wo is me; what can I think of it! I think if I should suffer my thoughts to dwell upon it any space, it were enough to cause me to go out of my wits; but I pray you what shall my soul do?" The pastor answered, "I am where I was: God knoweth I dissemble not; I have not one word of mercy to say to you; only I know Christ hath not given out the doom against you; the sentence is yet suspended; therefore, mourn and sorrow for the offending of your God." "What, my lord," added the pastor, "if Christ had given out a sentence of condemnation, and come to your bedside, and told you of it, would you not still love him, and trust in him, and hang upon him?" Kenmure said, "God knoweth, I durst not challenge him; yea, howbeit he should not love me, yet I will still love him; yea, though the Lord should slay me, yet will I trust in him: I will lie down at God's feet; let him trample upon me; I will die, if I die at Christ's feet." Finding my lord claiming kindred to Christ, and hearing him cry often, "Oh! Son of God, where art thou? When wilt thou come to me? Oh, for a love look!" the pastor said, "Is it possible, my lord, that you can love and long for Christ, and he not love and long for you? Or can love and kindness stand only on your side? Is your poor, weak, unworthy love greater than infinite love, seeing he hath said, 'Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, she may forget, yet will I not forget thee.' 'Behold I have graven thee on the palms of my hands.' And therefore your loving and longing for Christ is a fire of God's kindling. My lord, persuade yourself you are graven on the palms of God's hands."

Upon this, his lordship, with a hearty smile, looked about to a gentleman, a good Christian, whom he had commanded to attend his body till his dying hour, and said, "I am written upon the palms of Christ's hands; he will not forget me. Is this not brave talking?" The pastor finding him weaker, said, "My lord, the marriage feast is drawing near; make ready the marriage robes; set aside all care of your estate and the world; and give yourself to meditation, prayer, and spiritual conference." He was observed, after that, to be always in that exercise; and when none was near him, he was overheard praying; and many times, when we thought he was sound sleeping, he was at prayer. After a sleep he called for the pastor, and said, "I have been troubled in my sleep with this, that being at peace with God, I am not also at peace with men; and, therefore, send for such a kinsman (with whom I am reconciled), as also for a minister that had before offended me, that I may shake hands with them;" which was done quickly. When the preacher came, he said, "I have ground of offence against you, as a natural man, and now I do to you what all men breathing could not have moved me to do; but now because the Holy Spirit commands me, I must obey, and therefore I freely forgive you, as I would wish you to forgive me. You are in an eminent place; walk before God, and be faithful in your calling, and take heed to your steps; walk in the right road; hold your eye right; for all the world, decline not from holiness, and take example by me." He wished the pastor to sleep in a bed made upon the ground beside him, within the chamber, and urged him against his will to lie down and sleep, and said, "You and I have a far journey to go; make you for it." Some four nights before his death, he would drink a cup of wine to the pastor, who answered, I receive it, my lord, in hope you shall drink of the pure river of the water of life, proceeding from the throne of God, and of the Lamb;" and when the cup was in his hand, with a smiling countenance he said, "I think I have good cause to drink with a good will to you."

After some heaviness, the pastor said, "My lord, I come with news to you." He inquired, "What are they?" The pastor replied, "Be not afraid of death and judgment, because the process that your judge had against you is cancelled and rent in pieces, and Jesus Christ hath trampled it under his feet: your dittay is burnt." My lord said, very pithily, with a smile, "O! that is a lucky tale: I will then believe and rejoice; for sure I am that Jesus Christ and I once met, and will he not come again?" The pastor said, "My lord, you have gotten the first fruits of the Spirit—the earnest; and Christ will not lose his earnest: therefore the bargain betwixt Christ and you holdeth." He then asked him, "What is Christ like, that I may know him?" "He is like love and altogether lovely," said the pastor; "love cannot but be known wheresoever it is. My lord, if you had the man Christ in your arms now, would you not thrust him to your heart, howbeit your heart and side be pained with a stitch?" He answered, "God knoweth, I would forget my pain, and thrust him into my heart; yea, if I had my heart in the palm of my hand, I would give it to him, and think it too unworthy a gift for him." He complained of Jesus Christ going and coming. "I find," said he, "my soul drowneth with heaviness: when the Lord cometh, he stayeth not long." The pastor said, "Wooers dwell not together; but married folks take up house together and sunder not. Jesus Christ is now wooing, and therefore he feedeth his own with hunger, which is as growing meat, as the sense of his presence."

After a sound sleep, in the dawning, the pastor said, "My lord, where lay Christ all night? Did not your well-beloved lie as a bundle of myrrh betwixt your breasts?" He answered, "Nay, not betwixt my breasts, but betwixt my breasts locked in my heart. He asked, "When will my heart be loosed, and my tongue untied, that I may express the sweetness of the love of God to my soul?" and before the pastor answered anything, he answered himself, "even when the wind bloweth." Being asked "what was his judgment concerning the ceremonies now entered in the kirk of God?" "I think and am persuaded in my conscience," said he, "they are superstitious, idolatrous, and antichristian, and come from hell, and I repute it a mercy, that my eyes shall not see the desolation that shall come upon this poor church. It's plain popery that is coming among you; God help me! God forgive the nobility! for they are either key-cold, or ready to welcome popery; whereas they should resist; and wo be to a dead time-serving, and profane ministry; they are but a company of dumb dogs!" He called his lady, and a gentleman who was a friend to her, and who had come a good way to meet him with the pastor, causing the chamber door to be shut upon all others, and from his bed directed his speech to the gentleman, saying, "I ever found you kind and honest to me all the time of my life; therefore, I must now give you a charge, which you shall deliver to all the noblemen you know, and with whom you are acquainted. Tell them all how heavy I have found the weight of the Lord's hand upon me, for not giving testimony to the Lord my God, when I had occasion once in my life at the last parliament. For this foul fault, how fierce have I felt the wrath of the Lord my God! My soul hath raged and roared. I have been grieved to the heart. Tell them that they will be as I am now. Encourage others that stand for the Lord. Tell them that failed, that, as even they would wish to have mercy when they are as I am now, that they should repent and crave mercy from God. Would to God I had such an occasion again, to testify my love to the Lord? For all the earth, should I not do as I have done."

Upon Friday morning, the 12th of September, the day of his departure from this life, he said to the pastor, "This night must I sup with Jesus Christ in paradise." After prayer he said, "I conceive good hopes that God looketh on me, when he gives his servants such liberty to pray for me. Is it possible that Jesus Christ can lose his hold of me? Neither can my soul get itself plucked from Jesus Christ." He earnestly desired a sense of God's presence; and the pastor said, "What, my lord, if that be suspended till you come to your home, and be before the throne, clothed in white, and get your harp in your hand, to sing salvation to the Lamb, and to him that sitteth on the throne; for that is heaven; and who dare promise it to you on earth? There is a piece of nature in desiring a sense of God's love; it being an apple that the Lord's children delight to play with. But, my lord, if you would have it only as a pledge of your salvation, we shall seek it from the Lord for you, and you may lawfully pray for it." Earnest prayers were made for him, and he testified that he was filled with a sense of the Lord's love. Being asked what he thought of the world, he answered, "It is more bitter than gall or wormwood." Being demanded if now he feared death, he answered, "I have tasted death now. It is not a whit bitter: welcome the messenger of Jesus Christ!" He never left off mourning for his sins, especially his deserting the parliament. To which the pastor said, "There is a process between the Lord and your father's house, but your name is taken out of it. How dear, dear, was heaven bought for you by your Saviour Jesus Christ?"—"I know there is wrath against my father's house, but I shall get my soul for a prey;" which words he had frequently in his mouth. Ofttimes also he said, "Is not this a sweet word that God saith, 'As I live, I delight not in the death of a sinner?' I will not let go the hold that I have got of Christ: 'Though he should slay me, yet will I trust in him,' and lie at his feet and die there, and lie at his door, like a beggar, waiting on him, and if I may not knock, I may scrape." He had another expression very often,—"Oh, son of God! one love-blink, one smile!" After he had been in a deep meditation on his change of life, he put this question, "What will Jesus Christ be like when he cometh?" It was answered, "All lovely." On this day he said to the doctor, "I thought to have been dissolved ere now." The pastor answered, "My lord, weary not of the Lord's yoke: Jesus Christ is posting fast to be at you; he is within a few miles." He answered mildly, "This is my infirmity. I will wait on; he is worthy the on-waiting. Though he be long in coming, yet I dare say he is coming, leaping over the mountains, and skipping over the hills. If he were once come, we shall not sunder." The pastor said, "Some have gotten their fill of Christ in this life; though he is often under a mask to his own. Even his best saints, Job, David, Jeremiah, &c., were under desertions." His lordship answered, "What are those examples to me! I am not in holiness near to Job, David, or Jeremiah." The minister replied, "It is true, my lord, you cannot take so wide steps as they did, but you are in the same way with them. A young child followeth his father at the back; and though he cannot take such wide steps as he, yet this hindereth him not to be in the same way with him. My lord, your hunger overcometh your faith,—only believe his word. You are longing for Christ,—only believe he is faithful, and will come quickly." To this Kenmure said, "I think it time; Lord Jesus, come!" Then said the pastor, "My lord, our nature is in trouble to be wholly upon our own deliverance; whereas God seeketh first to be glorified in our faith, and patience, and hope; and then it is time enough that we be delivered." He answered, "There is good reason that my Lord be first served. Lord, give me to wait on; only, Lord, burn me not to dross." Another said, "Cast back your eyes, my lord, on what you have received, and be thankful." At the hearing whereof, he presently brake forth in praising of God; and finding himself weak, and his speech failing, more than an hour before his death, he desired the pastor to pray,—which he did. After prayer, the minister cried in his ear, "My lord, can you now sunder with Christ?" He said nothing, nor was it expected he would speak any more. Yet a little after, the minister asked, "Have ye any sense of the Lord's love?" He answered, "I have sense." The pastor said, "Do you not enjoy?" He answered, "I do enjoy." Thereafter said the pastor, "Will ye not sunder with Christ?" He replied, "By no means." This was the last word, not being able to speak any more. The pastor then asked if he should pray. Kenmure turned his eye towards him. In the time of that last prayer, he was observed smiling joyfully, looking up with glorious looks, as was observed by the beholders, and with a certain splendour his visage was beautified, as comely as ever he was in his life. He expired with loud and strong fetches and sobs, being strong of heart and body, of the age of five and thirty years. The expiring of his breath, the ceasing of the motion of his pulse (which the physician was still holding), ceased all precisely with the Amen of his prayer, and so he died sweetly and holily, and his end was peace. He departed about the setting of the sun, September the 12th. 1634.

"Blessed are they who die in the Lord."

ROBERT CUNNINGHAM

OF the birth-place and early life of this godly man, nothing seems to be known. The first notice we have concerning him is, that after having qualified himself for the ministry, he was appointed chaplain to a regiment commanded by the duke of Buccleugh, at that time in Holland. He was afterwards settled minister at Holyrood, in Ireland, sometime before Mr. Blair's appointment to Bangor, with whom he established an acquaintance which proved a source of great comfort and usefulness to both.

He applied himself so closely to the work of the ministry, and took so much delight in preaching, that when in the pulpit, he seemed like a fish in the water, or a bird in the air. There he considered that a Christian minister might enjoy much fellowship with Christ, and at the same time do him the most acceptable of all services; always bearing in mind what the Saviour said to Peter,—"Feed my lambs—feed my sheep!"

He continued to exercise his ministry at Holyrood, as a faithful pastor among the flock over whom he had been appointed overseer, until several of his brethren were deposed and ejected by the bishops; at which time the bishop of Down threatened Mr. Blair with a prosecution against himself, Cunningham, and several others. To this Blair replied, "Ye may do with me and some others as ye please; but if ever ye meddle with Mr. Cunningham, your cup will be full." And indeed he was longer spared than any of the rest, which was a great blessing to their flocks; for, after they were ejected, he preached every week in one or other of their kirks. But the severe exercise to which he thus subjected himself, both at home and abroad, gradually undermined his constitution, which at no former period had been remarkable for vigour.

When Blair and Livingstone were summoned to appear before the bishop to hear their deposition, they went, the night previous, to take leave of Cunningham; and, having done so, they were not a little surprised next day, when he came up to them as they were going to the church of Parphillips. After mutual salutations, and having asked what was the cause of this unexpected appearance, Cunningham replied—"I have been troubled all night with that passage—At my first answer no man stood with me; therefore I am come to stand by you." However, being very offensive to the prelatical clergy in that part of the country, it was not to be expected that he should be permitted to exercise his ministry long; and therefore he was ejected from his charge, in August, 1636, along with others of his faithful brethren. The episcopalian party being powerfully predominant, and not knowing what cruelty might yet be in reserve for him, he entertained, for a short time, the idea of emigrating to New England; but Providence, in his wisdom, overruled the intention. Being obliged to leave Ireland, in company with a number of his suffering brethren, he landed at Irvine, in Scotland, where, having caught fever, he soon bade adieu to all his earthly sufferings, on the 27th March, 1637.

He was a man much under deep exercise of mind; and, although in his public ministrations he complained sometimes of the want of divine illumination and assistance; yet it was remarked, that even at these times his sermons were found most edifying and refreshing; being carried through with a full gale, and using more piercing expressions than many others. The day before his death, the members of the presbytery of Irvine paid him a visit, whom he exhorted to be faithful to Christ and his cause, and to oppose the Service-book then pressed upon the church. "The bishop," said he, "hath taken my ministry from me, and I may say my life also'—for my ministry is dearer to me than my life." During his illness, besides many other gracious expressions, he said;—"I see Christ standing over Death's head, saying, 'Deal warily with my servant; loose thou this pin, then that pin; for his tabernacle must be set up again!' " A little before his departure, as his wife was sitting by his bedside, with his hand in hers, he recommended in prayer to God, the whole church of Ireland, the parish of Holyrood, his persecuted brethren, and his children; adding, at the same time, these words—"Lord, I recommend this gentlewoman to thee, who is no more my wife;"—and, with that he softly disengaged his hand from hers, and gently put it a little distance from him. At this she and several of those who were present burst into tears; but he endeavoured to comfort them with many heavenly expressions, and with the Lord's servant of old, "having served his own generation, by the will of God he fell asleep," and was gathered unto his fathers.

JAMES MITCHELL

THIS exemplary youth was the son of James Mitchell of Dykes, factor to the earl of Eglinton; a man of singular piety and godliness. The subject of this narrative was born about the year 1621; and, after receiving a liberal education, was sent to the university of St. Andrew's when very young; where his progress in literature was so rapid and sure, that by the time he had reached his eighteenth year, he had attained to the distinguished honour of Master of Arts.

Soon after this he returned to his father's house, where he remained for nearly two years and a half, pursuing his studies with unwearied diligence, and the Lord blessing his exertions with remarkable success. In these he was greatly assisted by the kindness of Mr. Robert Baillie, minister of Kilwinning, who lent him books, aided him by his counsel, and gave directions for the order of his studies.

About this time he was selected by lady Houston, to superintend the education of her eldest son at college; and in this employment he continued other two years and a half, during which time the Lord blessed his own studies exceedingly. Besides the marks of attention shown by Baillie, he was also particularly noticed by Mr. Dickson, then a professor in the university of Glasgow, and enabled to pass his trials for the ministry, with much satisfaction. Having obtained license to preach the gospel, he made his first public appearances in the parish of Kilwinning and Stevenston, where he made such an eminent display, as to call forth the gratitude of all who heard him, that the Lord had been pleased to call into his service, a man who gave such powerful indications of future usefulness.

In the end of Autumn, 1643, he returned to Glasgow with his pupil, and applied himself with untiring diligence, both to his own mental improvement, and that of the young man who had been placed under his charge. There he preached repeatedly, pleasing, both by his manner and doctrine, all who loved Christ and his cause and gospel. In confirmation of this, three of the excellent ministers of that period, Baillie, Dickson, and Ramsay, told his father that he had much reason to bless God for the eminent talents conferred upon his son, and for the gifts and graces so conspicuously bestowed upon him,—adding what was of far higher importance, that the Lord had in reality made a saving change upon his heart, and was dealing very graciously with his soul.

Mitchell had given himself much to prayer, and the study of the Scriptures, and reading therein was now become his delight; but the Lord having other thoughts concerning him, in a short time all these high expectations of him in the ministry were frustrated. By his extreme abstinence, indefatigable application to study without necessary bodily exercise, drinking too copiously of water, with other inattentions to bodily health, he contracted a disease, which soon after terminated his days. His body began to decay, for want of appetite, and his constitution very soon gave way. Dickson was extremely grieved at his condition, and took him to his own house for fifteen days, in the hope that his health might improve; but as there was no change for the better, he went to Houston, and remained as long there. The attentions of lady Houston and her daughter were very great; not only for the care he had bestowed upon his young scholar, but also for the rare gifts and graces which God had conferred upon him. Baillie was in London at the time. At length his father having sent for him, he returned home. After the first day of his journey, he remained all night with Ralston; and the laird of Ducathall being there, he accompanied Mitchell the rest of the way; because in consequence of his extreme weakness, it was frequently necessary for him to alight and rest, not being able to ride more than two miles at a time.

After he arrived at his father's house, he rose and dressed himself every day for fifteen days; but, after that, till the day of his death, which was ten weeks after, he was confined constantly to bed. During all that time, however, he experienced large measures of mercy and grace, both in body and soul. His body, from complete exhaustion, was reduced to that of a skeleton; but his countenance continued pleasant, comely, and well-coloured to the last. During the last five or six weeks of his life, he was attended by three or four persons, and sometimes more, at a time; but they never had reason to weary. On the contrary they were refreshed daily by the many wise, sweet, and gracious discourses that proceeded out of his month. His last words were these:—"Lord, open the gates that I may enter in!"—and, shortly after, his father asking what he was doing,—he lifted up his hands, and caused all his fingers to twirl. With this, in the presence of many honest neighbours, he yielded up his spirit, and went to his rest, a little after sunrise, on the 11th of June, 1643, being then only twenty-three years of age.

Thus, in the bloom of youth, did this amiable person end his earthly warfare, and enter into his heavenly inheritance,—a young man, but a ripe Christian; and, it was remarked, that three special gifts had been vouchsafed to him by his Divine Master; viz., a notable invention, a great memory, and a ready expression. Among other fruits of his meditation and industry, he drew up a model of preaching, which he entitled—"The Method of Preaching." Besides this, he left many other manuscripts; none of which, however, were ever published.

During his illness, Mitchell was possessed of all patience and submission, and never was heard to murmur in the least; but often thought his Master's time well worth waiting on. He was frequently much refreshed by seeing and hearing good and gracious neighbours, who came to visit him; so that he had little reason with Heman, to complain, "Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness."

Among other gracious sayings, he declaimed much against imprudent speaking, wishing it might be amended, especially in students and young ministers: as being but the froth and vanity of a foolish mind. He lamented the pride of many such in usurping a priority of place, which became them not, and exclaimed frequently against himself for his own practice; yet said he was in the strength of God brought to mortify the same. He frequently exhorted his parents to carry themselves to one another as the word of God required, and above all things to fear God, and delight in his word. He often said, that he dearly loved the Book of God, and sought them to be earnest in prayer, showing that it was an unknown thing, and a thing of another world, and that the influence of prayer behoved to come out of heaven; and that the spirit of supplication must be wrestled for, else all prayer would be but lifeless and natural. He mentioned, that being once with lady Houston, and some country gentlemen at Baglas, the spirit of prayer and supplication was poured upon him, in such a powerful and lively manner, two several days before dinner, that all present were much affected, and shed tears in abundance; and that yet at night he found himself so emptied and dead, that he durst not venture to pray any at all these two nights, but went to bed, and was much vexed and cast down, none knowing the reason. By this he was from that time convinced, that the dispensation and influence of spiritual and lively prayer came only from heaven, and from no natural abilities that were in man.

On one occasion, the laird of Cunningham coming to visit him, as he did frequently, he enumerated all the remarkable passages of God's goodness and providence towards him, especially since he began to grow weaker; in showing infinite mercy to his soul, tender compassion towards his body, patience and submission to his will without grudging, calmness of spirit without passion, solid and constant peace within and without! "This," said he, "is far beyond the Lord's manner of dealing with many of his dear saints; and now, Sir, think ye not that I stand greatly indebted to the goodness and kindness of God, who deals thus graciously and warmly with me every way?" After this he burst out in praise to God in a sweet and lively manner.

At another time, the laird being present, Mitchell looking out of his bed to the sun shining brightly on the opposite side of the house, said, "O what a splendour and glory will all the elect and redeemed saints have one day! and O! how much more will the glory of the Creator be, who shall communicate that glory to all his own; but the shallow thoughts of men are not able to conceive the excellency thereof."

Again, Mr. Macqueen being present, his father inquired at him wherein our communion with God stood? He said, "in reconciliation and peace with him, which is the first effect of our justification;" then, he observed, there is access and love to God, patience and submission to his will, &c.; then the Lord manifests himself to us, as Christ says himself, "Ye shall know that I am in the Father, and you in me, and I in you." And again, "He that loveth me, shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and manifest myself unto him."

One morning, to Hugh Macgavin and his father he said, "I am not afraid of death, for I rest on infinite mercy, procured by the blood of the Lamb." Then he spake as to himself, "Fear not, little flock, it is the Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom:" and then said, "What are these who are of this little flock? Even sinners. 'I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance."

Another morning, he said twice, "My soul longeth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning." At another time, perceiving his father weeping, he said, "I cannot blame you to mourn, for I know you have thought that I might, with God's blessing, have proved a comfortable child to you; but comfort yourself in this, that ere it be long, I will be at a blessed rest, and in a far better state than I can be in this life, free from sin and every kind of misery; and within a short time ye will follow after me. In the mean time encourage yourself in the Lord, and let not your mourning be like those who have no hope. What reason have I to bless God, who in mercy is timosly removing me from all trouble, and will make me as welcome to heaven as it I had preached forty years; for he knew it was my intention, by his grace to have honoured him in my ministry; and seeing he has accepted the will for the deed, what reason have I to complain?—for now I am willing and ready to be dissolved, and to be with Christ, which is best of all; wherefore, dear father, comfort yourself with this."

Concerning sin in the godly, his father said to him, "I am sure you are not now troubled with corruption, being so near death." He answered, "You are altogether deceived; for as long as my foot remaineth on this earth, though the earth were translated above the clouds, my mind would not be free of sinful notions." Some time before his death, he fell into fainting fits. About ten or twelve days before his dissolution, he fell into one, and was speechless for nearly an hour, so that none present had any hope that he would again recover; but in the mean time he was absorbed in divine contemplation. He began to recover at last, and his heart being enlarged, he opened his mouth with such lively exhortations as affected all present; and, directing his speech to his father, he said, "Be glad, Sir, to see your son, yea, I say your second son, made a crowned king!" To his mother also, he said, "Be of good courage, and mourn not for me, for ye will find me in the all-sufficiency of God;" and then exclaimed, "O death, I give thee a defiance, through Jesus Christ!" saying to the on-lookers, "Sirs, this will be a blithe and joyful good night!"

In the mean time Mr. Bell came in, and to him he said, "Sir, you are welcome as witness to see me fight out my last fight!" After this he fell quiet, and got some rest. Within two days, Mr. Bell having come to visit him again, he said, "O Sir, but I was glad the last night you were here, when I thought to be dissolved, that I might have met with my Master, and have enjoyed his presence for ever; but I was much grieved, when I perceived a little reviving, and that I was likely to live longer!" And to Mr. Gabriel Cunningham, he said, "O! how sweet a thing it were for a man to sleep to death in the arms of Christ." He had many other lively and comfortable speeches, which were not remembered; not a day passing during the time of his sickness, but the attendants were refreshed by him.

The night before his departure, he was sensible of great pain. Upon this he said, "I see it is true, we must enter into heaven through trouble, but the Lord will help us through it." Then he said, "I have great pain, but mixed with great mercy, and strong confidence." He called to mind the saying of John Knox on his deathbed, "I do not esteem that pain, which will be to me an end of all trouble, and the beginning of eternal felicity!" His last words were these: "Lord, open the gates that I may enter in!"

ALEXANDER HENDERSON

IT is to be regretted that no authentic account can be obtained of Henderson's parentage, birth and education. Tradition informs us, that he was but of humble birth, having been the son of a feuar, and born in a house, now demolished, between the villages of Lithrie and Brunton. The parish of Creich, in Fife, too, claims the honour of his birth; but the minister of that place, after much inquiry, and patient investigation into everything connected with Henderson's history, has not been able to come to such a conclusion, and the baptismal records of that parish do not extend further back than 1688, or 1668. Wodrow, in his memorial to Dr. Fraser, says—"He was born anno ——, of parents of good esteem, and descended from the family of Fordel, in Fife, an old family, and of good repute." The accurate and indefatigable biographer, Chambers, also, in writing upon this subject, says—"For my own part, I have not the least doubt but that Alexander Henderson was of the Fordel family." The Hendersons themselves, farther, claim kindred to the Covenanter, and have always been proud to name him as a cadet of their family. The accredited account, therefore is, that this was his origin, and we learn from his monumental inscription, that he was born in the year 1583.

That his parents had been in easy circumstances appears from the liberal education he received in his youth; and, it is farther obvious, that he was destined for one of the learned professions. Having made choice of the ministry, he was sent to the university of St. Andrew's, where he was matriculated in the college of St. Salvator, on the 19th of December, 1599. In 1603, he took the degree of Master of Arts; and in 1610, we find him a Professor, and also Questor of the Society of Arts.

At this period, his feelings were strongly in favour of episcopacy, and upon his admission to holy orders, he was presented by the archbishop to the parish of Leuchars,* in the presbytery of St. Andrew's; but his sentiments on religion being well-known, everything was done to obstruct his settlement. Accordingly, on the day appointed for his ordination, the parishioners met in a body to oppose his induction; and so violent was their determination, that although no actual attack was made upon the clergymen present, the church doors had been previously made fast inside, so that entrance could not be effected by that way. Henderson and his friends, however, were resolute; and having got in by a window, the solemnities of the day were gone through without further annoyance. But he was looked upon as an intruder—a hireling, and not the shepherd of the sheep, and his ministrations were consequently not attended by the great body of the people. This state of things, however, was not of long continuance; for in about two or three years after, a change began to take place in his mind. A desire to guide his people into the way of truth had begun to be more and more apparent; and before he was aware of it, he had fallen into the ranks of those who had been most opposed to him.

While Henderson's mind was in this unsettled state, a very remarkable incident occurred; which, though in itself apparently unimportant, evidently appears to have been heaven-directed.

Having heard of a communion in the neighbourhood, at which the famous Mr. Bruce, minister of Kinnaird, was to be an assistant, he went thither secretly; and not wishing to attract observation, placed himself in a dark corner of the church, where he might not be readily seen or known. Bruce, having come into the pulpit, paused for a little, as was his usual manner, a circumstance which excited Henderson's surprise; but it astonished him much more when he heard him read as his text, these very striking words, "He that entereth not in by the door, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a THIEF and a ROBBER;" which words, by the blessing of God, and the effectual working of the Holy Spirit, took such hold on him at that very instant, and left such an impression on his heart afterwards, that they proved the very first means of his conversion to Christ. Ever after he retained a great affection for Bruce, and used to make mention of him with marks of the highest respect.

Henderson now began to look upon the conduct of the prevailing party in the church with a different eye from what he had done formerly, when guided by a worldly spirit, and by views of ambition. He, however, judged it proper to give the existing controversy a deliberate investigation; the result of which was, that he found episcopacy to be unauthorized by the word of God, and inconsistent with the reformed constitution of the Church of Scotland. He did not long want an opportunity of publicly declaring his change of mind, and of appearing on the side of that cause which he had hitherto discountenanced. From the time that the prelatic government had first been obtruded upon the church, a plan had been laid to assimilate her worship also to the English model. After various preparatory steps, an Assembly was suddenly called at Perth, in the year 1618; in which, by the most undue influence, a number of superstitious innovations were authorized.* Among those ministers who had the courage to oppose these, and who argued against them with great force of truth, but without success, we find the name of Alexander Henderson of Leuchars.

In the month of August, 1619, he, with other two ministers, were called before the court of high commission at St. Andrew's, charged with composing and publishing a book proving the nullity of the Perth Assembly, and with raising a contribution to defray the expense of printing it. They appeared and answered for themselves with such wisdom, that the bishops could gain no advantage over them. They were therefore obliged to dismiss them with threatenings. From this period till the year 1637, it does not appear that he suffered much, although he continued to be watched with a jealous eye, and to be cramped in his exertions for promoting the cause of truth and holiness. The time which he spent, however, in this retirement, though obscure on the page of history, was not the least useful period of his life. Living sequestered in his parish, and excluded from taking any share in the management of the ecclesiastical affairs of the nation, he had leisure to push his inquiries into the extensive field of theology, and the history of the church, and to lay up those stores of knowledge which he afterwards had an opportunity of disseminating. The discharge of his pastoral duties furnished him with daily employment, and the success which attended his visitations yielded him the purest gratifications. Besides this, he met occasionally with brethren of the same mind, at fasts and communions, when they, by sermons and conferences, encouraged one another in adhering to the good old principles of the Church of Scotland, and joined in fervent supplications to God for the remedy of those evils under which they groaned. Livingstone mentions Henderson as one of those "godly and able ministers" with whom he became acquainted in attending these solemn occasions, between the years 1626 and 1630, "the memory of whom," says he, "is very precious and refreshing."

At length the time for delivering the Church of Scotland arrived. In 1636, a book of ecclesiastical canons was sent down from England, and in the course of the same year, a book of ordination. After some delay, the Anglo-Popish Liturgy, or Service-book, which was intended to complete the change, made its appearance. Had Scotland tamely submitted to this yoke, she might afterwards have sighed and struggled in vain for liberty. But the arbitrary manner in which these innovations were imposed, not less offensive than the matter of them, added to the dissatisfaction produced by former measures of the court and bishops, excited universal disgust, and aroused a spirit of opposition, which was not allayed, until not only the obnoxious acts were swept away, but the whole fabric of episcopacy, which, during so many years they had laboured to rear, was levelled with the dust. The tumult which was produced by the first reading of the Liturgy in Edinburgh, on the 23d of July, 1637,* has been variously related. Although Henderson had no share either in this, or in any cabal or plot—as his enemies have alleged,—he, from the first intimation of the projected change, expressed his disapprobation of them, and did not scruple, after their appearance, publicly to expose their dangerous tendency. While this endeared him to some, it irritated the ruling party against him, and was the occasion of his being singled out among the objects of prosecution, to deter others from imitating his example. The archbishop of St. Andrew's charged him and other two ministers, to purchase each two copies of the Liturgy, for the use of their parishes, within fifteen days, under pain of rebellion. Henderson immediately came to Edinburgh, and on the 23d of August, 1637, presented a petition to the privy-council for himself and his brethren, stating their objections, and praying for a suspension of the charge. To this petition, and others of a similar kind from different quarters of the country, the council returned a favourable answer, and transmitted to London an account of the aversion of the country to conformity.

Signing the Covenant.

From this time forward, Henderson took an active share in all the measures of the petitioners against conformity, and his prudence and diligence contributed not a little to bring them to a happy issue. They soon discovered his worth, and improved it by employing him in their most important transactions. After having been put off for some time with promises, the meetings of the petitioners were suddenly prohibited, by a proclamation from his majesty, under pain of rebellion. Alarmed by this procedure, and convinced that they could not confide in the court, they saw the necessity of adopting some other method for strengthening their union; and that to which they were directed was, both in a divine and human point of view, the most proper. They recollected, that formerly in a time of great danger, the nation had entered into a solemn covenant, by which they bound themselves to continue in the true Protestant religion, and to defend and support one another in that cause against their common enemies. They therefore agreed to renew this covenant, and a committee having been appointed to prepare a draught, it was read to the general body, and unanimously adopted. It was in substance the same with the National Covenant, which had been sworn to by all ranks, and ratified by all authorities in the kingdom during the preceding reign; but it was farther adapted to the corruptions which had been introduced since that period, and to the circumstances in which the covenanters were placed. On the 1st of March 1688, it was sworn with uplifted hands, and subscribed in the Grayfriars Church of Edinburgh* by thousands, consisting of the nobility, gentry, burgesses, ministers of the gospel, and commons, assembled from all parts of Scotland. "This memorable deed," says Mr. Laing, "of which it would be improper to forget the authors, was prepared by Alexander Henderson, the leader of the clergy, and Archibald Johnson, afterwards of Warriston, an advocate in whom the suppliants chiefly confided; and revised by Balmerino, London, and Rothes.

The covenant being thus agreed upon, and sworn to by all ranks in the land, the Marquis of Hamilton was sent by the king with a view to suppress it. After several conferences to little purpose, he at last told the supporters of that measure, that the book of canons and liturgy should be discharged, on condition they would yield up their covenant; which proposal not only displeased the covenanters, but made them even more vigilant to support and vindicate that solemn deed. Upon this, Henderson was again set to work, and in a short time favoured the public with sufficient grounds and reasons why they should not recede from any part of it.

Some time after this, the Tables† (as they were called) of petitioners, who were assembled at Edinburgh for carrying on the reformation, being sorry that the town and shire of Aberdeen (influenced by the persuasion of their doctors) stood out and opposed that work, sent some noblemen with Henderson, Dickson, and Cant, to see if they could reclaim them. But upon their arrival at Aberdeen, they were refused admission into any church; upon which, the three ministers resolved to preach in the earl of Marischal's close and hall, as the weather favoured them. Accordingly they preached by turns; Dickson in the morning, to a very numerous multitude; Cant at noon; and Henderson at night, to no less an auditory than in the morning; all of them using the strongest arguments for subscribing the covenant; which had such an effect upon the people, that, after worship was over, about 500 persons, some of whom were people of the best quality, subscribed.

And here one thing was very remarkable. While Henderson preached, the crowd being very great, there were some who mocked; and, among the rest, one John Logie, a student, even threw clods at the commissioners. It was remarked, however, that within a few days after, this person killed a young boy; and though at that time he escaped justice, yet he was afterwards taken, and executed, in 1644. Such was the fate of him who had been so forward in disturbing the worship of God, and mocking at the ambassadors of Jesus Christ.

In the same year, 1638, at the famous General Assembly, which met at Glasgow, the first which had been convened for a long period, Henderson, without one dissenting voice, was chosen moderator. Having by solemn prayer constituted the Assembly, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, he addressed the members in a neat and appropriate speech; and indeed throughout the whole of it, fully justified the good opinion which his brethren entertained of him. To his majesty's commissioner he behaved with the greatest respect, and at the same time with an independence and firmness which became the president of a free Assembly. His behaviour to the nobility and gentry, who were members, and to his brethren in the ministry, was equally decorous. His prudence and ability were put to the test on two occasions,—the premature dissolution of the Assembly by the royal commissioner, and the excommunication of the bishops. Of his conduct in these, it is proper to give some account.

Although the king had called the Assembly, it was not his design to allow them to proceed fairly to the discussion of ecclesiastical business, and to examine and rectify abuses. The Marquis of Hamilton, his majesty's commissioner, had instructions not to consent formally to any part of their procedure, and at a proper time to oppose the whole. On the other hand, the members considered themselves as a free Assembly, and were resolved to claim and exercise that liberty and power which they possessed, agreeably to the laws of the land, ratifying the presbyterian government, and the freedom of its judicatories. The declinature of the bishops having been read, at the repeated request of the commissioner, the Assembly were proceeding in course to vote themselves competent judges of the libels raised against them, when the commissioner interposed, and declared that if they proceeded to this, he could continue with them no longer, and delivered his majesty's concessions to be read and registered. After the clerk had read them, the moderator addressed his Grace in a grave and well-digested speech. But again on moving the question before them, the commissioner repeated, that in this case it behoved him to withdraw. "I wish the contrary from the bottom of my heart," said Henderson, "and that your Grace would continue to favour us with your presence, without obstructing the work and freedom of the Assembly." But after having in vain insisted on the moderator to conclude with prayer, the commissioner did, in his majesty's name, dissolve the Assembly, discharging them under the highest pains from continuing to sit longer.

Upon the commissioner's leaving the house, the moderator delivered an animating address to the Assembly, and reminded them of the divine countenance which had hitherto been shown to them in the midst of their greatest difficulties. At the opening of the next sederunt, he again addressed them, putting them in mind of the propriety of paying particular attention, in the circumstances in which they were then placed, to gravity, quietness, and order; an advice which was punctually complied with, throughout the whole of that long Assembly.

The Assembly having finished the processes of the bishops, agreed, at the close of their 19th sederunt, that the sentences passed against them should be publicly pronounced next day by the moderator, after a sermon to be preached by him, suitable to the solemn occasion. Accordingly, at the time appointed, he preached before a very large auditory, from Psal. 110:1. "The Lord said unto my Lord, Sit thou at my right hand, until I make thine enemies thy footstool." After narrating the steps which the Assembly had taken, and causing an abstract of the evidence against the bishops to be read for the satisfaction of the people, he, "in a very dreadful and grave manner," said one who was present, "pronounced the sentences of deposition and excommunication; the whole Assembly being deeply affected, and filled with the mingling emotions of admiration, pity, and awe."

On the day following, two petitions were given in, for liberty to transfer Henderson from Leuchars, the one to St. Andrew's, the other to Edinburgh; but to neither of these was he willing to agree, having already been nearly eighteen years minister of that parish. He pleaded that he was now to old a plant to take root in another soil; yet, after much contest betwixt the two parties for some days, Edinburgh carried it by seventy-five votes, very much against his inclination.—However, he submitted, on condition that, when old age should overtake him, he should again be removed to a country charge. At the conclusion of the Assembly, he addressed them in an able speech of considerable length. After desiring some members to supply anything which he had omitted, he concluded with prayer, singing the 133d psalm, and pronouncing the apostolical benediction. Upon which the Assembly rose in triumph. "We have now cast down the walls of Jericho," said Henderson when the members were rising:—"Let him that rebuildeth them beware of the curse of Hiel the Bethelite!"

In 1639, he was one of those commissioned for the church, to treat upon the articles of pacification with the king and his commissioners, in which difficult affair he behaved with great prudence and candour.

When the General Assembly, the same year, sat down at Edinburgh, August 12th, having been the former moderator, he preached to them from Acts 5:33. "When they heard that, they were cut to the heart, and took counsel to slay them." Towards the close of his discourse, he addressed John, earl of Traquair, his majesty's commissioner, in these words:—"We beseech your grace to see that Cæsar have his own, but let him not have what is due to God, by whom king's reign. God hath exalted your grace unto many high places, within these few years, and is still doing so. Be thankful, and labour to exalt Christ's throne. When the Israelites came out of Egypt, they gave all the silver and gold they had carried thence, for the building of the tabernacle; in like manner your grace must employ all your parts and endowments for building up the Church of God in this land." And to the members he said, "Right honourable, worshipful, and reverend, go on in your zeal and constancy; true zeal doth not cool, but the longer it burns the more fervent it will grow. If it shall please God, that by your means the light of the gospel shall be continued, and that you have the honour of being instrumental in a blessed reformation, it shall be useful and comfortable to yourselves and your posterity. But let your zeal be always tempered with moderation; for zeal is a good servant, but a bad master; like a ship that hath a full sail, but no rudder. We had much need of Christian prudence, for we know what advantage some have attempted to take of us this way. For this reason, let it be seen to the world, that Presbytery, the government we contend for in the church, can consist very well with monarchy in the state; and thereby we shall gain the favour of our king, and God shall get the glory." After this discourse, and calling the commissions, Traquair earnestly desired that Henderson might be continued moderator. Whether this was to promote his master's designs, or from a regard to Henderson's abilities, as the earl professed, is not certain; but the Assembly opposed the motion, as favouring too much the idea of a constant moderatorship, one of the first steps towards the introduction of Prelacy; and no man opposed it more than Henderson himself; so, it was overruled.

On the 31st of the same month, Henderson was also called upon to preach at the opening of the parliament, when he delivered an excellent discourse from 1 Tim. 2:1–3,* in which he treated in a masterly style, of the end, duties, and utility of magistrates.

In 1640, he was placed as Rector at the head of the university of Edinburgh, by the town-council of that city. They had now resolved that the office should be annual, with the view of rendering it more efficient. Nor had they any reason to repent of their choice. They empowered him to superintend all matters connected with the conduct of the principal and professors, the education of youth, the revenues, &c.; to admonish offenders, and, in case of obstinacy, to make a report to the town council. In this office, which he appears to have enjoyed, by re-election, to his death, he exerted himself sedulously to promote the interests of that learned seminary.

From the superintendence of this peaceful seat of literature, and from his pastoral functions, Henderson was again reluctantly called to take an active part in public affairs. The king, yielding to the importunate solicitations of the episcopal clergy, having refused, notwithstanding his promise at the late settlement, to ratify the conclusions of the Assembly and parliament, suddenly prorogued the latter, denounced the Scots as rebels, and prepared again to invade the country. But the success of the Scottish army, which entered England in August 1640, compelled him a second time to accede to pacific proposals; and a treaty to this effect was begun at Rippon, which in a short time after was transferred to London. Henderson was appointed one of the commissioners for this treaty, and on this occasion distinguished himself as the author of a very able paper, which was ultimately transmitted to the English parliament, in support of the Scottish commissioners for "unity of religion, and uniformity of church government, in the two kingdoms."

Indeed, during the whole time that he was in London, attending to the treaty, which was protracted through nine months, he was laboriously employed. Besides taking his turn with his brethren, who attended as chaplains to the Scottish commissioners, in the church of St. Antholine's, which was assigned to them as a place of public worship, he and they were often employed in preaching for the London ministers, both on sabbath and on other days. He prepared several tracts for the press, which were published without his name. The revisal of the most important papers of the Scottish commissioners was committed to him, before they were given in to the commissioners and parliament of England, and those which respected religion were of his own composition.

During his stay in London, he had a private conference with the king, the special object of which was to procure assistance to the universities in Scotland, from the rents formerly appropriated to the bishops. He was graciously received, and had reason to expect that his request would be complied with.

He returned to Edinburgh about the end of July, 1641. The General Assembly had met at St. Andrew's some days before; but as the parliament, which was sitting in Edinburgh, had sent to request them to remove to that place, for the convenience of those who were members of both, and as they wished that Henderson, who had not then returned from London, should act as moderator of this meeting, the members agreed that they should meet at Edinburgh on the 27th of July, and that the former moderator should preside till that time. Henderson had been chosen a member of this Assembly; but, as it was uncertain if he could be present, his constituents had elected Mr. Fairfoul to supply his place in case of his absence, and he had taken his seat at St. Andrew's. Upon Henderson's arrival, Mr. Fairfoul proposed to give place to him. This was keenly opposed by Calderwood, who insisted that his commission could not now be received; in which he was seconded by Henderson himself. But the Assembly sustained his commission, and although he declined the office of moderator, this also was, by a plurality of votes, laid upon him.

Henderson delivered to the Assembly a letter which he had brought with him, from a number of ministers in London and its vicinity, requesting advice from the Assembly respecting the opinions of some of their brethren who inclined to Independency, and popular government in the church. The Assembly gave him instructions to answer this letter. He also moved, that the Assembly should take steps for drawing up a Confession of Faith, Catechism, and Directory for Worship, in which England might afterwards agree with them; a motion which was unanimously approved of, and the burden of preparing them was laid upon the mover; liberty being at the same time given him, to abstain from preaching when he should find it necessary to attend to this interesting business, and to call in the aid of such of his brethren as he pleased. He declined the task as too arduous, but it was left upon him; and there can be little doubt, that this early appointment contributed to prepare him for giving assistance in that work, when it was afterwards undertaken by the Assembly at Westminster.

Previous to the conclusion of this Assembly, he petitioned for liberty to be removed from Edinburgh, in support of which he urged that his voice was too weak for any of the churches in town; that his health was worse there than in any other place, and that to keep him there was to kill him; besides that, in the act for his translation from Leuchars there was an expressive clause, which provided that he should have the liberty which he now craved. The Assembly were much perplexed by this petition. It was at last granted, however; but he either did not find it necessary, or was prevailed upon not to make use of the liberty which he obtained.

King Charles, having come to Scotland to be present at the parliament held at this time, attended on the forenoon of the sabbath after his arrival, at the Abbey Church, and heard Henderson preach from Rom. 11:36. "For of him, and through him, and to him, are all things: to whom be glory for ever. Amen." In the afternoon he absented himself; but Henderson having conversed with him respecting this, he afterwards gave constant attendance. Having been appointed his chaplain, Henderson performed family-worship in the palace every morning and evening, after the Scottish form. His majesty attended duly upon this service, and exhibited no symptom of dissatisfaction or scruple at the want of a liturgy; a circumstance which gave the Scots encouragement to expect that he would easily give way to the reformation of the English service. On the last day of the meeting of parliament, which it was the custom to hold with great solemnity, his majesty being seated on his throne, and the estates in their places, Henderson began with prayer; and the business being finished, he closed the meeting with a sermon. The revenues of the bishoprics being divided at this parliament, Henderson exerted himself on the occasion for the Scottish universities; and by his influence, what belonged to the bishopric of Edinburgh and priory, was, not without difficulty, procured for the university of that city. As a recompense for his own laborious and expensive services too, in the cause of the public, the emoluments of the chapel-royal, amounting to about 4000 merks a-year, were conferred upon himself.

Some of his friends were displeased with his conduct during this parliament, particularly in using means to screen from punishment some persons who had entered into engagements hostile to the late proceedings of the nation. Besides, reports injurious to his character, and the purity of his motives, were circulated; and, as is common in such cases, met with too easy belief. But one, who differed from him in opinion as to the measures in question, bears witness, that "his great honesty, and unparalleled abilities to serve this church and kingdom, did ever remain untainted." In the next Assembly, he made a long and impassioned apology for his conduct. He said, that certain things for which he had been blamed were done by the commissioners of the church, not by him; that what he had received from the king for his attendance upon a laborious charge was no pension; that he had as yet touched none of it; and that he was vexed with injurious calumnies. Having unburdened his mind, and received the sympathy of his brethren, with the assurance of their unshaken confidence in him, he recovered his cheerfulness.

During the year 1642, Henderson was employed in managing the correspondence with England respecting ecclesiastical reformation and union. The parliament of England, having abolished prelacy, requested that some divines should be sent from Scotland to assist in the Synod which they had agreed to call. Upon this the commission of the church met, and being authorized by the former General Assembly, appointed certain persons as commissioners, to be ready to repair to England as soon as it should be necessary. Henderson was one of these. He was averse to the appointment, protesting, that on his former journey he thought he should have died before he reached London; but he at last acquiesced, not without complaining that some persons were ready to impose heavy burdens upon him, and afterwards to invent or receive reports injurious to his character.

The dissensions between the king and parliament, which had now burst out into a civil war, for some time hindered this journey. Henderson was sincerely disposed to use every proper method for effecting a reconciliation, and joined with a number of leading men in an invitation to the queen to come to Scotland, with a view to promote a mediation,—a proposal which was rejected by the king. After this, he went in person to his majesty at Oxford, in company with the commissioners who were sent to offer the mediation of Scotland. The interview, however, produced no good effect. At first his majesty treated him with much attention, and strove to convince him of the justice of his cause; but as soon as he found that he did not acquiesce in his representation, his behaviour to him altered completely. He expressed high offence at the interest that the Scots took in the reformation of England, vindicated his employing papists in the army, and refused permission to the commissioners to proceed to London to treat with the parliament. They were forthwith insulted in the streets by the inhabitants of Oxford, and were even under apprehensions of their personal safety. While Henderson remained there, some of the academical divines wished to engage him in controversy, by proposing certain questions to him respecting church government; but he declined the dispute, and signified that his business was with the king. Upon his return to Edinburgh, the commissioners of the church expressed their entire satisfaction with his mission; and their judgment was approved by the next Assembly, who pronounced his conduct to have been "faithful and wise."

The Scots, being highly dissatisfied with the treatment which their commissioners had received at Oxford, soon after entered into a very close alliance with the parliament of England; in consequence of which Henderson was, afterwards, again sent to London.

In the mean time, however, upon his return he was chosen moderator to the General Assembly of 1643. This Assembly was rendered remarkable by the presence of the English commissioners, Sir William Armyn, Sir Harry Vane, Messrs. Hatcher and Darley, from the parliament; together with two ministers, Stephen Marshall, a presbyterian, and Philip Nye, an Independent.* These persons were commissioned to the General Assembly, craving their aid and counsel upon the emergent circumstances of both kingdoms; and in their presence the business of the Assembly was conducted by Henderson in his official capacity, with great dignity and decorum. He was among the first of those nominated as commissioners, to go up in return to the parliament and Assembly of England. In a little after, Henderson and Gillespie, with Messrs. Hatcher and Nye, set out for London, to have the Solemn League ratified there,—it having been agreed upon, that the union between the two kingdoms should be cemented by such a deed. They set sail from Leith on the 30th of August. The rest of the commissioners stayed behind, until it should be returned. Upon their arrival in London, where the Assembly of Divines were sitting, and to whom they were appointed to represent the state of the Church of Scotland, Henderson and his brethren received a warrant from the parliament to sit in the next, meeting. This warrant was presented by Henderson, upon which the Assembly sent out three of their number to introduce them. At their entry, Dr. Twisse, the president, rose and welcomed them in, name of the Assembly, and complimented them for the hazard they had undergone in the public cause, both by sea and land; after which, they were conducted to a place the most convenient in the house, which they kept ever after.

The Solemn League having been already approved of by the two houses of parliament, and this venerable Assembly, the members of the latter, with those of the House of Commons, convened in St. Margaret's, Westminster, upon the 25th of September; and having first sworn, afterwards subscribed it. Immediately before they proceeded to this solemn work, Henderson made a long speech, stating what the Scots had done, and the good they had received by such covenants; after which the covenant was read, article by article, from the pulpit, all persons standing uncovered, with their right hand lifted up in worship, and the solemnity of an oath. Two hundred and twenty-two members of parliament signed, as did also the divines of the Assembly and the Scottish commissioners.

During the three following years, he remained in London, and was unremittingly employed in assisting the Assembly in preparing the public formularies for the religious union between the three kingdoms, which had been sworn in the Solemn League. Being a stranger, and sustaining, with the rest of the commissioners from Scotland, a peculiar relation to the Assembly, he spoke but seldom in its debates. But when it was necessary to vindicate the principles of the Church of Scotland, and of the other reformed churches, from slanderous imputations, he did not keep silence. Mr. Nye, having one day undertaken to demonstrate, that the presbyterian mode of drawing a whole, kingdom under one national Assembly was formidable and pernicious to civil states and kingdoms,—Henderson, indignant at such language from one who had solemnly engaged to preserve the government of the Church of Scotland, with honest warmth repelled the charge. He remonstrated against the inflammatory tendency of such speeches, and showed that he had calumniated not only the Church of Scotland, but all reformed churches whatever. His wisdom was displayed in preserving harmony among the members of the Assembly, regarding measures which were requisite for the prosecution of the cause, which they had all solemnly sworn to promote. But while he exerted himself in reconciling differences which arose respecting subordinate steps of procedure, he steadily resisted every attempt to introduce principles contradictory to those of the Church of Scotland, and the other reformed and Presbyterian churches.

In the beginning of the year 1645, Henderson was appointed to assist the commissioners of the two parliaments, in the treaty between them and the king, at Uxbridge. The parliamentary commissioners were instructed to demand the abolition of episcopacy, and the ratification of the presbyterian government. The king's commissioners objected to the abolition of episcopacy, upon which it was agreed to hear the divines on both sides. Henderson opened the case, and brought forward such arguments as seemed most likely to bring the question to that speedy issue which the state of matters required. The debate lasted a considerable time; and although—as is common on such occasions—each party claimed the victory, yet in the judgment of those who must be allowed not to have been prejudiced in favour of the divine right of presbytery, Henderson, while he equalled the king's commissioners in learning, surpassed them far in modesty. The treaty having been broken off, he returned to London, and continued to assist the Assembly of divines in their labours.

Towards the close of this year, it was judged necessary that he, with some others, should go down to Scotland, to attempt to bring about a better correspondence among the nobility, who in consequence of the distresses of the country—occasioned by the ravages of the earl of Montrose—had fallen into disunion and animosities, which were fomented by the secret artifices of the court. But, just when they were ready to take their journey, Henderson was detained at the earnest request of the ministers and city of London, who represented the impropriety of his absence at that critical time, when certain questions upon which the uniformity between the kingdoms turned, were in dependence.

In the spring of 1646, the king's affairs being entirely ruined, he threw himself, without any previous notice, into the Scottish army, which retired with him to Newcastle. He had no sooner entered the town than he sent for Henderson. This was a critical moment. The only measure which promised settlement to the nation, and the restoration of the king to the exercise of his authority, was his speedy consent to the establishment of the Presbyterian Reformation. Henderson was judged the fittest person to deal with his majesty about the necessity of a speedy concurrence in it; and in these circumstances, notwithstanding his unfitness for the journey, he complied with the king's request, and arrived at Newcastle about the middle of May.

Although he received a welcome reception from his majesty, he soon perceived, not without deep concern, that he had been deceived as to his hopes of his compliance with the requisitions of parliament. Charles signified that he could not in conscience consent to the abolition of episcopacy, and proposed that Henderson should enter into a debate with some episcopal divines, of whose names he gave him a list, in his presence. This, however, Henderson declined, as what he had no authority to undertake, and what would be exceedingly prejudicial to his majesty's affairs. It was, therefore, agreed, that the scruples which the king entertained should be discussed in a series of papers, which should pass privately between him and Henderson. These continued from the 29th of May to the 15th of July. The papers are eight in number—five by his majesty, who was assisted in the dispute by Sir Robert Murray; and three by Henderson.

Most unfortunately for the king, and probably for the honour of Scotland, Henderson's constitution broke down at this critical period, under the crushing mental anxiety and actual bodily fatigue he had for years endured in the public service. He was a man by no means robust from the first, and his health had been but precarious from the time he was translated to Edinburgh. With a view to recover his strength, which had begun to sink while he was there, he petitioned the Assembly to be allowed to retire to the peace and purity of a country parish; but the state of parties both in England and Scotland would not admit of it. The first symptom that alarmed his friends was about the middle of June, 1645, when for several days he was confined to his bedroom by a languishing but not sharp attack of gravel. In about a fortnight after, the urinary passage was for a time altogether obstructed. "This," says Baillie, "feared me much; but now, blessed be God, he is well." Upon his return to Edinburgh, he was invited to dine with his good friend, Mr. Stewart (afterwards Sir James), subsequently Lord Provost of Edinburgh. He was extremely cheerful and hearty at table. After dinner was over, he asked Sir James if he had not observed him more than ordinarily cheerful. He answered, he was extremely pleased to find him so well as he was. "Well," said the other, "I am near the end of my race, hasting home, and there was never a school-boy more desirous to have the play than I am to have leave of this world; and in a few days (naming the time,) I will sicken and die. In my sickness I will be much out of ease to speak of anything, but I desire that you may be with me as much as you can, and you shall see all will end well." All fell out as he had foretold; and on the 19th of August, Henderson rested from all the toils of a useful and busy life.

On the testimony of several of his brethren, who visited him on his deathbed, he continued to manifest the strongest desire that the work of reformation should go on, in the same way it had done from the beginning. To himself, his death was a relief from sickness and sorrow; but to his friends, it was one of the sad presages of approaching evil.

Henderson's mortal remains were interred in the churchyard of St. Giles, near the grave of his fellow-reformer in the Scottish church. When this cemetery was converted into the Parliament Square, his body was removed to the Grayfriars, where it lies in the burial ground of the Henderson's of Fordel. His nephew, George Henderson, erected a suitable monument to his memory, which still stands entire on the south-west side of Grayfriars church.

So violent was the spirit of dissension in those days, that when the episcopal party got the ascendancy after the Restoration, they erased the inscription from the monument; but it has since been restored.

By Henderson's decease, the church and kingdom experienced a severe loss. His death was justly lamented by the Covenanters. Before the General Assembly, in 1647, Baillie pronounced the following tender eulogium, which cannot fail to be read with the deepest interest: "One of my dear colleagues (Henderson,) having been removed by death, may I be permitted to conclude with my earnest wish, that that glorious soul, of worthy memory, who is now crowned with the reward of his labours for God and for us, may be fragrant among us, so long as free and pure Assemblies remain in this land, which I hope will be till the coming of our Lord. You know he spent his strength, wore out his days, and breathed out his life, in the service of God and this church. This binds it on us and our posterity, to account him the fairest ornament, after Mr. John Knox, of incomparable memory, that ever the church of Scotland did enjoy."

He was the first of the clergy who struck the spark and kindled the train in the darkest period of episcopal supremacy; in defiance of dangers and difficulties innumerable, he overcame the powers of the bishops, when exerted in compelling presbyterians to use the Service Book; he restored to the nation the inestimable privilege of convening in General Assemblies; and he framed that constitution of our church which, almost unaltered, has blest and upheld it to this day. By his discriminating moderation in deliberative councils; by his penetration in discovering and suggesting the proper course; by his personal influence as a constant Moderator; and by the uprightness of his intentions and the kindness of his heart, he maintained the cause of his party, disarmed the rancour of his opponents, secured the friendship of the king, and sowed the first seeds of that civil and sacred liberty which was matured and confirmed by the Revolution in 1688.

Henderson was never married. By his testament, registered in the Edinburgh commissary court, he appears to have been possessed of considerable wealth, which, with the exception of some small legacies, he left to George Henderson, his brother's son, who attended him during the latter years of his life. With the exception of a great number of pamphlets, printed speeches, and sermons, composed during the bustle of an active life, he has left no standard works to hand down his great talents and worth to posterity; "But so long as the purity of our presbyterian establishment remains," says Dr. Aiton, "as often as the General Assembly of our church is permitted to convene—while the Confession of Faith, and Catechisms Larger and Shorter, hold a place in our estimation, second to the Scriptures alone—and till the history of the revolution during the reign of Charles I. is forgotten—the memory of ALEXANDER HENDERSON will be respected, and every presbyterian patriot in Scotland will continue grateful for the SECOND REFORMATION of our church, which Henderson was so instrumental in effecting."

GEORGE GILLESPIE

THIS eminent divine and author was the son of Mr. John Gillespie, some time minister of the gospel at Kircaldy. It is very probable that he was born about the year 1610 or 1611, as we find that in the year 1637, his celebrated work entitled "A Dispute against the English Popish Ceremonies," &c., was, by public proclamation, prohibited from being read, in consequence of having given offence to the episcopal party, who were then predominant in the nation; and, at that time Gillespie is said to have scarcely reached the twenty-fifth year of his age. It may also be supposed, that he received the rudiments of his education in his native parish, from which he appears to have been early removed to the university of St. Andrew's, where his progress is reported to have been such, as to bear off the palm from the greater part of his fellow-students.

His admission to the holy ministry was at a time when non-conformists found it impossible to be appointed to a charge, without the sanction of the bishops; and therefore it appears that he spent a few years, after receiving his license, in the capacity of probationer. It was at that time, when chaplain in the family of the earl of Cassilis, that he wrote the offensive publication to which we have alluded; and which, being of too corrosive a quality, could not be digested by the weak stomachs of the bishops. It is certain, also, that he was chaplain in the family of Viscount Kenmure, about the year 1634, as we have already mentioned, in the life of that distinguished nobleman.

After the lapse of a few years, however, he was at length ordained minister of Wemyss, in Fife, on the 26th April, 1638, being the first of that period who was admitted by a presbytery, without an acknowledgment of the bishops. Gillespie began now very prominently to exert himself in defence of Presbytery; and at the eleventh session of the memorable Assembly held at Glasgow, in 1638, he delivered a very learned and appropriate sermon from these words,—"The king's heart is in the hand of the Lord, as the rivers of water: he turneth it whithersoever he will." In this discourse, the earl of Argyle thought he encroached too nearly upon the royal prerogative, and admonished the Assembly very gravely upon the subject, which all took in good part, as appeared in a speech delivered by the moderator in support of the admonition.

At the General Assembly held at Edinburgh, in 1641, a call for Gillespie, from the town of Aberdeen, was laid upon the Assembly's table; but in this instance the lord commissioner and himself advocated his cause so well, that he was allowed to remain at Wemyss. His stay was not long, however; for the General Assembly in the following year, ordered him to be translated to the city of Edinburgh, where it appears he continued until the day of his death, which was about six years after.

Gillespie was one of the four ministers sent as commissioners from the Church of Scotland to the Westminster Assembly, in the year 1643; and there he proved himself to be a man of great parts and learning, debating with such perspicuity, strength of argument, and calmness of spirit, as few could equal, and none excel. Upon one occasion, at a time when both parliament and the Assembly were sitting, a long premeditated speech was delivered in favour of Erastianism, to which none of the brethren seemed prepared to reply. Gillespie having been urged by the Scots commissioners, rose and went over the harangue, in such a masterly manner, as to give a triumphant refutation to the whole; and what was most surprising was that though Gillespie seemed to have been employed in taking notes, during the delivery of the speech to which he made answer; yet those who sat next him declared, that when they looked into his note-book, they found nothing written, but here and there, "Lord, send light—Lord, give assistance—Lord, defend thine own cause!" etc.

Although all our Scots commissioners lent their aid in the first formation of our church's Catechisms, Confession of Faith, Directory for Worship, and Form of Church Government, which were afterwards revised and approved of by that Assembly, yet the assistance of no one was of greater service than that of Gillespie.*

"None (says one of his colleagues who was present,) in all the Assembly, did reason more pertinently than Gillespie; he is an excellent youth; my heart blesses God in his behalf." And when the passage, Acts 15:22, was adduced in support of the power of ordination, and a very animated debate followed,—"the very learned and accurate Gillespie," says Mr. Baillie, "a singular ornament of our church, than whom not one in the Assembly spoke to better purpose, nor with better acceptance to all the hearers, showed that the Greek word, by the Episcopals translated ordination, was truly choosing; and farther, that it imported the people's suffrages in electing their own office-bearers." Elsewhere he says of him, "We get good help in our Assembly debates of lord Warriston, an occasional commissioner, but of none more than the noble youth Gillespie. I admire his gifts, and bless God, as for all my colleagues, so for him in particular, as equal in these to the first in the Assembly."

After his return from the Westminster Assembly, he was employed in most of the public affairs connected with the church, until 1648, when he was chosen moderator of the General Assembly. In this Assembly several famous Acts were passed in favour of the covenanted work of reformation,—particularly that in reference to the unlawful engagement against England, at that time entered into by the duke of Hamilton, and those of the malignant faction. Gillespie was also one of those nominated by this Assembly, to prosecute the treaty of uniformity in religion with England; but in a short time after, his constitution gave way, and he died about the 17th of December following.

In a letter to Gillespie, when on his deathbed, Rutherford says, "Be not heavy, the life of faith is now called for; doing was never reckoned on your accounts, though Christ in and by you hath done more than by twenty, yea, a hundred grayhaired and godly pastors. Look to that word, Gal. 2:20, 'Nevertheless, I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.' "

During his life he was always firmly attached to the work of reformation, and continued so to the end. About two months before his decease, he sent a paper to the Commission of the General Assembly, in which he gave faithful warning against every sin and backsliding that he then perceived to be growing in church and state.

Thus died Gillespie, very little past the prime of life. He was an excellent theologian, a man of singular magnanimity, and one who possessed great freedom of expression. On every occasion in which he was called to exercise his ministerial function, he gave signal proofs of his high talents. No man's death, at that time, was more lamented than his; and such was the sense the public had of his merit, that the Committee of Estates, by an act dated December 20th, 1648, did, "as an acknowledgment for his faithfulness in all the public employments entrusted to him by this church, both at home and abroad, his faithful labours, and indefatigable diligence in all the exercises of his ministerial calling, for his Master's service, and his learned writings published to the world, in which rare and profitable employments, both for church and state, he truly spent himself, and closed his days, ordain, that the sum of one thousand pounds sterling should be given to his wife and children." Although the parliament, however, by their act dated June 8th, 1650, unanimously ratified the above resolution, and recommended to their committee to make the same effectual; yet Cromwell, having soon after usurped the reins of government, frustrated this pious design, as his grandson, the Rev. George Gillespie, minister of Strathmiglo, afterwards declared.

Besides "The English Popish Ceremonies," he wrote also "Aaron's Rod Blossoming," which, with his miscellaneous questions, first printed in 1649, clearly show that he was a man of most profound parts, learning, and abilities.

In his Latter Will he declared that the expectation of death did not shake him from the faith and truth of Christ which he had professed and preached; and it was his firm conviction, that the so-much-vilified covenant and reformation of the three kingdoms was of God, and would have a happy conclusion. He repented no forwardness nor zeal he had shown in promoting the glorious work: and prayed earnestly that there might be such a spirit in those of the nobility who stood up for the truth,—that they would take more of God's counsel, and lean less to their own reason and understanding." "But," he concludes, "if there be a falling back to the sin of compliance with malignant ungodly men, then I look for the breaking out of the wrath of the Lord, till there be no remedy."

JOHN M'CLELLAND

THE earliest notice we have of this strenuous supporter of Presbytery, and faithful servant of Christ, is, when he was employed as schoolmaster at a place called Newton, in Ireland. No account, either of his parentage, birth, or early education, seems to be on record. That his scholastic attainments, however, were of a respectable order, may be presumed from the circumstance of his having educated several young men for the university, who are said to have been very hopeful students. After having been engaged for some time in this humble occupation, he was taken upon trial for the ministry, by the presbytery of Down, and having been found duly qualified, was licensed to preach the everlasting gospel. It does not appear that he had ever been set apart to any particular charge in Ireland; but spent his time in itinerating within the bounds of the presbytery, until, his fidelity and zeal in the service of his Master having reached the ear of the bishops, he was by them deposed and excommunicated.

He was one of the few faithful brethren in that country, who, after their deposition and ejection from their livings, meditated a plan of emigration to New England, in 1636; but proving abortive in consequence of a storm which forced them to put back to Ireland, preached for some time through the counties of Down, Tyrone and Donegal, in private meetings; until, hunted and persecuted by episcopal tyranny, he was compelled in disguise to seek refuge in Scotland. About the year 1638, he was ordained minister of Kirkcudbright, where he continued to labour with great assiduity till the day of his death. During the whole of his incumbency in that parish, he discovered more than ordinary zeal, not only in testifying against the corruptions of the times; but by an unimpeachable walk and conversation, as one bent upon the advancement of all the interests of religion, in private as well as in public.

But even the peaceful demeanor and godly life of M'Clelland did not screen him from persecution; and from a quarter, too, from which other things might have been expected. Guthrie, them minister at Stirling, and afterwards bishop of Dunkeld, having heard of his extraordinary diligence in promoting personal and family religion, by encouraging fellowship-meetings, threatened to lay a complaint against him before the General Assembly of 1639; out of resentment, it was said, against the laird of Leckie, who was a strenuous supporter of such meetings. These private assemblages were at that time becoming very general throughout Scotland; and the leading members, sensible of the great good they had effected in the cause of Presbytery, and in cementing a union among the brethren—rather than that the matter should proceed any further—proposed that M'Clelland should, in his public ministrations, enforce the duty and necessity of family religion, and that he, Blair, and Livingstone, should preach against such meetings, and other abuses. Not one of these men, however, could be persuaded to comply; and therefore Guthrie made good his threat, by acutally tabling an accusation against all the three, before the Assembly of 1640, alleging that they were the sole supporters of the conventicles complained of. M'Clelland entered upon his defence with Christian heroism, and craved that a committee might be appointed to investigate the matter, and that the offenders might be censured, whether it should turn out to be the persons libelled, or their accusers. At this, Guthrie, the earl of Seaforth, and others of the coalition, were so much irritated, that for a time nothing could be heard in the Assembly, on account of the tumult and commotion which the libel had excited. The farther prosecution of the charge, however, seems to have dropped here.

M'Clelland is said to have been occasionally endued with a prophetic spirit,—and this assertion seems to have been gathered from some expressions he had at one time employed in one of his sermons,—viz.,—"That the judgments of England should be so great, that a man might ride fifty miles through the best plenished parts of England, without hearing a cock crow, a dog bark, or seeing a man's face;"—and, "that if he had the best land in all England, he would sell it for two shillings an acre, and think he had come to a good market."

Little more is known of this good man that may with certainty be relied on. After having faithfully discharged his duties as minister of Kirkcudbright, for nearly twelve years, and borne unwavering testimony against the unscriptural introduction and exercise of patronage, and for the perpetual obligation of the Solemn League and Covenant in these lands, he was called home to his Father's house, about the year 1650, to the full fruition of what he had before been gratified with only in vision. He was a man of a truly apostolic life, not knowing what it was to be afraid of any one in the cause of Christ; and he was admitted to nearer and more intimate communion with his divine Lord and Master, than generally falls to the lot even of the most sincere Christians. "The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him; and he will show them his covenant." His gracious and fatherly providence is ever towards them, working for, and taking care of them.

A little before his death he composed the following verses, breathing the most confident assurances of eternal life, through the righteousness that is in Christ Jesus:

Come, stingless Death, have o'er! lo! here's my pass,

In blood character'd by his hand who was,

And is, and shall be. Jordan, cut thy stream,—

Make channels dry! I bear my Father's name

Stamped on my brow. I'm ravished with my crown

I shine so bright. Down with all glory—down—

That world can give! I see the peerless port,

The golden street, the blessed soul's resort,

The tree of life,—floods, gushing from the throne,

Call me to joys. Begone, short woes, begone!

I live to die,—but now I die to live—

I now enjoy more than I could believe.

The promise me unto possession sends,

Faith in fruition; hope in vision ends.

DAVID CALDERWOOD

THIS eminent historian of the church, and sufferer for the cause of Christ, holds a prominent part in the annals of ecclesiastical biography. Of his early life and literary acquirements, however, we are unable to say more than that after having qualified himself for the ministry, and obtained license, he was appointed minister of Crailing, near Jedburgh. Here he preached the word of God for a considerable time, with great wisdom, zeal, and diligence; and as a wise harvest-man, brought in many sheaves into God's granary. But it being then a time when prelacy was greatly prevalent in the church, and faithful ministers were everywhere thrust out and silenced, he, with others, gave in their declinature in 1608, and thereupon took instruments in the hands of a notary-public, in presence of some of the magistrates and council of the town. Upon this information having been sent to James by the bishops, instructions were given to the council, to punish Calderwood and another minister with exemplary severity. Through the influence of the earl of Lothian with the chancellor, in favour of Calderwood, however, their punishment was mitigated to confinement within their own parishes.

Under this sad restriction was Calderwood detained a prisoner within his own parish, but he was afterwards summoned to appear before the high commission court at St. Andrew's, upon the 8th of July following. After his libel was read over and answered, the king said—"But what moved you to protest?" "A clause agreed to by the Lords of Articles," replied Calderwood. "But what fault had you to it?" said the king—"It cutteth off our General Assemblies," was Calderwood's answer. The king,—holding the protest in his hand—then challenged him for some words in the last clause of it; to which Calderwood responded,—"Whatsoever was the phrase of speech, they meant no other thing but to protest, that they would give passive obedience to his majesty, but could not give active obedience unto any unlawful thing which should flow from that article." "Active and passive obedience!" said the king. "That is, we will rather suffer than practice," said Calderwood. "I will tell thee, man," said the king, "what is obdience,—what the centurion said to his servants, 'To this man, Go, and he goeth, and to that man, Come, and he cometh; that is obedience!" Calderwood replied, "To suffer, Sire, is also obedience, howbeit not of the same kind: and that obedience was not absolute, but limited, with exception of a countermand from a superior power." "I am informed," said the king, "ye are a refractor; the bishop of Glasgow your ordinary, and bishop of Caithness the moderator, and your presbytery, testify ye have kept no order, ye have repaired to neither presbytery nor synod, and are no way conform." To this Calderwood replied, "I have been confined these eight or nine years; so my conformity or non-conformity in that point could not be well known." "Gude faith, thou art a very knave," said the king; "see these same false puritans, they are ever playing with equivocations!" His majesty then asked whether he would conform or not, if he were released,—to which Calderwood made answer, "I am wronged, in that I am forced to answer such questions, which are beside the libel." After this he was removed.

When again called in, it was intimated to him, that if he did not repair to synods and presbyteries between this and October, conform within that time, and promise obedience in all time coming, the bishop of Glasgow was to depose him. Calderwood then craved permission to say a few words to the bishops; which being granted, he spoke as follows: "Neither can ye suspend or deprive me in this court of high commission, for ye have no power in this court but by commission from his majesty; his majesty cannot communicate that power to you which he claims not to himself." At which the king shook his head, and said, "Are there not bishops and fathers in the church, persons clothed with power and authority to suspend, and depose?" "Not in this court," answered Calderwood. At these words there arose such a clamour in the court, that he was obliged to raise his voice, in order to be heard. At length the king asked him if he would obey the sentence? To which he replied, "Your sentence is not the sentence of the kirk, but a sentence null in itself, and therefore I cannot obey it." All mouths were then opened against him, reviling and calling him a proud knave; and some had even the audacity to shake him by the shoulders, in the most insolent manner, until at last he was removed a second time.

Being again brought in, the sentence of deposition was pronounced, and he was ordained to be committed to close ward in the tolbooth of St. Andrew's till further orders should be given for his banishment; upon which he was upbraided by the bishops, who said, that he deserved to be treated like Ogilvy, the Jesuit, who had been hanged for denying the king's power. When about to reply, the bishop of St. Andrew's said—"No answer!" and the secretary cast it in his teeth—"If ye will answer to anything, answer to your libel!" "I have answered to that long ago," said Calderwood; whereupon the king in a rage, cried, "Away with him!"—and upon this, lord Scone taking him by the arm, led him out, where they staid some time waiting for the bailiffs of the town. In the meantime Calderwood said to Scone, "My lord, this is not the first like turn that hath fallen into your hands!"—"I must serve the king," said Scone. To some ministers who were standing by, Calderwood said, "Brethren, ye have Christ's cause in hand at this meeting; be not terrified with this spectacle; prove faithful servants to your Master!" As the keys of the tolbooth could not be got at the time, Scone took him to his own house, until these could be found; and as they were walking along, Scone was thus accosted—"Whither with the man, my lord?"—"First to the tolbooth," said his lordship, "and then to the gallows!"

From the confusion and noise that took place when Calderwood was before the king, and from the suggestions made to him by some of his brethren, he was afraid that he had misunderstood his majesty; and therefore he signified the same to the king in writing,* stating that he had been so disturbed by those who were standing round him, that he thought his majesty meant no more than that he would acknowledge the sentence pronounced by the bishops.

Calderwood was committed a close prisoner, and the same afternoon an order was given to transport him to the tolbooth of Edinburgh. Upon this, he was delivered to two of the guard to be conveyed thither, although several persons offered to bail him, that he might not go out of the country. But no order of council could be had to that effect; for the king's intention was to keep him in close ward till a ship was ready to convey him first to London, and then to Virginia. Providence, however, had ordered otherwise; for in compliance with the prayer of several petitions in his behalf, he was liberated from prison, upon lord Cranstoun becoming security that he should depart out of the country.†

After this, he went with lord Cranstoun to the king at Carlisle, where the said lord presented a petition in his favour, to the effect that he might only be confined to his parish; but the king inveighed against him so much, that at last he repulsed Cranstoun with his elbow. Calderwood again insisted for a prorogation of the time of his departure till the end of April, because of the winter-season, that he might have time to get in his year's stipend. To this the king replied, "Howbeit he begged it were no matter, he would know himself better the next time; and for the season of the year, if he drowned in the seas, he might thank God that he had escaped a worse death." Cranstoun, however, being importunate for the prorogation, the king answered, I will advise with my bishops. In this way the time was protracted till the year 1619, that he wrote a book called Perth Assembly, when he was condemned by the council in December of that year;—but, as he himself says, neither the book nor the author could be found; for in August preceding he had embarked for Holland.

After the death of James, Calderwood returned to his native country, where he kept himself as retired as possible. His principal place of residence was at Edinburgh, where he exerted himself greatly in strengthening the hands of non-conformists, until after 1658, when he was admitted minister of Pencaitland, in East Lothian.

After that period he contributed very much to the carrying on of the covenanted work in Scotland; for first, he had an active hand in drawing up some excellent papers in which were contained the records of church policy betwixt 1576 and 1596, which were presented and read by Mr. Johnston, the clerk, to the General Assembly at Glasgow, in 1638; and then, by recommendation of the General Assembly of 1646, he was required to consider the order of the visitation of kirks, and trials of presbyteries, and to make report thereon to the next Assembly; and again, at the General Assembly of 1648, a further recommendation was given him, to make a draught of the form of visitation of particular congregations, against the next Assembly. He was also one of those appointed, with Mr. Dickson, to draw up the form of the Directory for the public worship of God, by the General Assembly of 1643.

After having both spent and been spent, with the apostle, for the cause and interest of Jesus Christ, while the English army lay at Lothian, during 1651, he went to Jedburgh, where he was taken ill, and died in a good old age. He was another valiant champion for the truth, who, in pleading for the crown and interest of Jesus Christ, knew not what it was to be intimidated by the face and frowns of the highest and most incensed adversaries.

Before he went to Holland, he wrote the book entitled, Perth Assembly. While in Holland, he wrote that learned work called Altare Damascenum, with other pieces in English, which contributed not a little to keep many straight in that declining period. After his return, he wrote his well-known history of our church as far down as the year 1625, of which the printed copy is only a short abstract of the manuscript; which, both as to style and manner is far preferable.

HUGH BINNING

THE subject of this memoir was the eldest son of John Binning of Dalvennan, and Margaret M'Kell, daughter of Matthew M'Kell, minister of Bothwell, and sister to Hugh M'Kell, one of the ministers of Edinburgh. Binning's father was possessed of no inconsiderable estate in the county of Ayr, which therefore enabled him to bestow upon his son a liberal education,—the happy effects of which became very early conspicuous; and it is pleasant to observe, that the magnanimity and genius which he then discovered, afforded his parents the delightful hope of his becoming, in the end, a useful and an honourable minister of the gospel. When at the grammar-school, he made such proficiency in the Latin language, and acquired such a knowledge of the Roman authors, as to outstrip all his class-fellows; nay, even those who were by far his seniors. He had an aversion to all juvenile sports and amusements; not from a gloomy or morose disposition; but from a conviction that time was too precious to be trifled with; and therefore, while the rest of the scholars were at play, he employed his time, either in secret communion with God, or in conference with religious people. Religion and religious exercises were his choice; and therefore, before others began seriously to think of their lost and undone state by nature, he enjoyed sweet familiarity with his Saviour, and lived in near communion with him. When he arrived at the thirteenth or fourteenth year of his age, he had attained to such experience in the ways of God, that the most judicious and tried Christians in the place confessed they were much edified, strengthened, and comforted by him; nay that he stimulated them to their religious duties, being sensible that they were far outrun by a mere youth.

Before he was fourteen years of age, he entered upon the study of philosophy in the university of Glasgow, in which he made such distinguished progress as to attract the notice both of the professors and his fellow-students; the latter of whom he left as far behind, as he had done his more youthful aspirants in the study of the classics. The abstruse depths of philosophy, which are the torture of a slow genius and weak capacity, he dived into without pain or trouble; by which means he was enabled to do more in one hour, than many could do in some days, by severe study and close application. Notwithstanding all this, he was never exalted above measure, but conducted himself with becoming humility and condescension; ever ready to aid those who solicited his help.

Having completed his course of philosophy, he took the degree of Master of Arts before he was nineteen years of age; after which he entered upon the study of divinity, with a view to serve God in the holy ministry, with a mind richly stored with the knowledge of the liberal sciences, and deeply impressed with the eternal importance of religion. At this time there happened to be a vacancy in the college of Glasgow, by the resignation of Mr. James Dalrymple of Stair, who had for some time been his teacher. And though Binning had been but lately his scholar, yet he was persuaded, after much entreaty, to stand candidate for the situation.

According to the usual custom, the masters of the college emitted a programme, and sent it to all the universities of the Kingdom; inviting such as had a mind to dispute for a profession of philosophy, to sist themselves before them, and offer themselves to compete for the preferment; giving assurance that, without partiality, the place should be conferred upon him who should be found most eminent in morals and learning.

The ministers of Glasgow, considering how much it was the interest of the church that well-qualified persons should be put into the profession of philosophy; and knowing that Binning was eminently pious, and of a bright genius, as well as of a solid judgment, had frequent conferences with him in order to induce him to enroll himself among the competitors. They had much difficulty in overcoming his modesty; but they at last prevailed upon him to declare his willingness to undertake the dispute before the masters. Besides Binning, there were other two candidates; one of whom had powerful interest with Dr. Strang, principal of the college; and the other was a scholar of great abilities. Binning, however, so acquitted himself in all parts of his trial, that in the opinion of the judges, he very far eclipsed his rivals; and as to the precise point of literature, cut off all shadow of a demur and pretence of difficulty as to the decision. However, though the Doctor and some of the Faculty could not pretend that their favourite candidate had an equality, much less a superiority in the contest; yet they argued, that the person they inclined to prefer, being a citizen's son, having a sufficient competency of learning, and being a person of maturer years, had greater experience than Binning could be supposed to have, and consequently better qualified to be a teacher of youth; besides, that Binning having been but very recently a fellow-student with those he was to be appointed to teach, it was not to be expected that the students would behave towards him with that respect and regard which should be paid to a teacher. To this, however, it was replied,—That Binning was such an accomplished scholar, so wise and sedate, as to be above all the follies and vanities of youth; and that what was wanting in years was made up sufficiently by his more than ordinary and singular endowments. Upon which a member of the faculty, perceiving the contest to be very keen, proposed a trial between the two candidates extempore, on any subject the judges should be pleased to prescribe. This put an end to the division between them; and those who had opposed Binning, not willing to engage their friend with such an able antagonist a second time, withdrew their objections.

He was not quite nineteen years of age when he was appointed regent and professor of philosophy; and though he had not time to prepare any part of his course systematically, having instantly to begin his class; yet such was the quickness and fertility of his genius, the tenaciousness of his memory, and the solidity of his judgment, that his dictates* to the scholars had a depth of learning, and perspicuity of expression, seldom equalled. He was among the first in Scotland that began to reform philosophy from the barbarous terms and unintelligible jargon of the schoolmen.

He continued in this profession three years, and discharged his trust so as to gain the general applause of the university. And this was the more remarkable, that having turned his thoughts towards the ministry, he carried on his theological studies at the same time, and made great improvements therein; for his memory was so retentive, that he scarcely forgot anything he had read or heard. It was easy for him to write out any sermon, after he returned from hearing it, at such length, that even the intelligent and judicious reader who had heard it preached, could scarcely find one sentence wanting.

During this period, he gave full proof of his progress and knowledge in divinity in a composition from 2 Cor. 5:14:† which he sent to a lady at Edinburgh for her private edification: who, having perused the same, and supposing it to be a sermon of some eminent minister in the west of Scotland, put it into the hands of the then provost of Edinburgh, who judged of it in the same manner. But when she returned to Glasgow, she found her mistake by Binning asking it from her. This was the first discovery he had given of his abilities in explaining the Scriptures.

At the expiration of the three years which he had spent as professor of philosophy, the parish of Govan, which lies adjacent to the city of Glasgow, and is within the bounds of that presbytery happened to be vacant. Before that time, the principal of the college of Glasgow was also minister of Govan.‡ But this being attended with inconveniences, an alteration was made; and the presbytery, having in view to supply the vacancy with Binning, took him upon trials; who, after having been licensed, preached there to the great satisfaction of the people. He was some time after called to be the minister of that parish. This call the presbytery sustained, and he entered upon trials for ordination, about the twenty-second year of his age, which he went through to the unanimous approbation of the presbytery, who gave their testimony to his fitness to be one of the ministers of the city upon the first vacancy; intending at the same time to recall him to the university, as soon as the divinity chair should be vacant.

Considering his age, he was a prodigy of learning; for, before he was twenty-six, he had such a large stock of useful knowledge, as to be called "philologist, philosopher, and excellent divine;" and he might well have been an ornament to the most famous and flourishing university in Europe. And this was the more surprising, considering his weakness and infirmity of body, not being able to read much at a time, or to undergo the fatigue of continual study; insomuch that his knowledge seemed rather to have been born with him, than to have been acquired by hard and labourous study.

Though naturally studious and intent upon fulfilling all his ministerial duties, he nevertheless turned his thoughts to marriage, and espoused Barbara Simpson, the excellent daughter of Mr. James Simpson, a minister in Ireland. Upon the day on which he was to be married, he went, accompanied with his friend and some others, among whom were several ministers, to a neighbouring country-congregation, upon the day of their weekly sermon. The minister of the parish delayed till their arrival, with the intention of procuring the assistance of some of the ministers whom he expected to be present; but all declining it, he tried to prevail on the bridegroom, with whom he succeeded. It was no difficult task to him to preach upon a short warning. After retiring a little to premeditate, and implore his Master's presence and assistance, (for he was ever afraid to be alone in this work,) he entered the pulpit immediately and preached from 1 Pet. 1:15. "But as he which hath called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation." And at this time he was so remarkably helped that all acknowledged that God was with him of a truth.

When the unhappy differences betwixt the resolutioners and protestors took place in the church, Binning adhered to the latter of these denominations. This distinction, however, proved of fatal consequence. He saw some of the evils of it in his own time, and being of a catholic and healing spirit, with a view to the cementing of differences, he wrote an excellent treatise on Christian Love, which contains many strong and pathetic passages, most apposite to this subject. He was no fomenter of faction, but studious of the public tranquillity. He was a man of moderate principles and temperate passions, never imposing or overbearing upon others, but willingly hearkened to advice, and always yielded to reason.

It was on Saturday, the 19th of April, 1651, that Cromwell came to Glasgow with the principal part of his army; and the next day he was present at sermon in the High Church, where he heard Robert Ramsay, John Carstairs, and James Durham. Their plain dealing, however, and freedom of speech in condemning him and his army for invading Scotland, not being at all to Cromwell's taste, he summoned these three and all the other clergymen of the city to a meeting in his own lodgings, that he might vindicate himself and his confederates from the charges which had been brought against them, and at the same time hear what his accusers had to advance in their own defence.

"At this conference, which appears to have been conducted with good temper on both sides," says Dr. Leishman, "they who spoke most on the part of the Scottish clergy, were Mr. Patrick Gillespie, principal of the University of Glasgow, and Mr. James Guthrie, minister of Stirling, who forfeited his life at Edinburgh, soon after the Restoration. On the other side, the principal speakers were Cromwell himself, and General Lambert, who, like many other of the parliamentary officers, was a preacher, as well as a soldier. Some of Cromwell's chaplains are also represented as having taken a share in the discussion, along with the Rev. Hugh Binning. Cromwell, it is said was struck with the fearlessness and ability of so young a minister. 'Who is that learned and bold young man?' said he. When he was told his name was Binning, he replied,' He has bound well. But,' he added, putting his hand at the same time to his sword, 'this will loose all again.' "

After he had laboured four years in the ministry, serving God with his spirit in the gospel of his Son, whom he preached, warning every man and teaching every man in great ministerial wisdom and freedom, that he might present every man perfect in Christ Jesus,—whereunto he laboured, striving according to his working, which wrought in him mightily,—he died of a consumption, when entering on the twenty-sixth year of his age, leaving behind him a sweet savour and an epistle of commendation upon the hearts of his hearers. While he lived, he was highly valued and esteemed, having been a successful instrument of saving himself and them that heard him; of turning sinners unto righteousness, and of perfecting the saints; and died much lamented by all good people, who had an opportunity of knowing him. He was a man of singular piety, of an humble, meek, and peaceful disposition, and a judicious and lively preacher. He was justly accounted a prodigy for his natural talents, his great proficiency in human learning, and an extensive knowledge of divinity; but he was too shining a light to shine long, burning so intensely that he was soon extinguished. Now, however, he shines in the kingdom of his Father, in a more conspicuous and refulgent manner, even as the "brightness of the firmament, and as stars for ever and ever."

The last sermons he preached were those on Rom. 8:14, 15. "For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God. For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father." He concluded the last of these discourses with a reflection on these words, We cry, Abba, Father."

He was buried in the churchyard of Govan, where Mr. Patrick Gillespie, then principal of the university of Glasgow, at his own proper charges, caused a monument to be erected for him, on which there is to this day the following inscription in Latin:

HIC SITVS EST MR. HVGO BINNINGVS;

VIR PIETATE, FACVNDIA, DOCTRINA

CLARVS; PHILOLOGVS, PHILOSOPHVS,

THEOLOGVS PÆSTANS; PRÆCO

DENIQVE EVANGELII FIDELIS

ET EXIMIVS. QVI E MEDIO RERVM CVRSV

SVBLATVS, ANNO ÆTATIS 26, DOM.

AVTEM 1653. MVTAVIT PATRIAM NON

SOCIETATEM, EO QVOD VIVVS CVM

DEO AMBVLAVIT. ET SI QVID VLTRA

IMQVIRAS, CÆTERA SILEO; CVM NEO

TV NEC MARMOR HOC

CAPIAT.*

He left behind him a disconsotate widow and an only son, called John after the grandfather, to whom the grandfather at his death left the estate of Dalvennan; but John having been engaged in the insurrection at Bothwell-bridge, anno 1679, it was forfeited, and he continued dispossessed of it till the year 1690; when, by the 18th act of parliament in the said year, the forfeitures and fines past since the year 1655, to the 5th day of November, 1688, were rescinded. His widow was afterwards married to a Mr. James Gordon, for some time a presbyterian minister at Comber, in Ireland. She lived to a great age, and died in the year 1694, at Paisley, in the shire of Renfrew, about four or five miles from Govan: which, when the people of that parish heard, the savoury memory they still had of their worthy pastor, made them desire the friends of the deceased to allow them to give her a decent and honourable burial, beside her former husband, undertaking to defray all the charges of the funeral,—which was done accordingly. And to this day Binning is mentioned among them with particular veneration.

The first of his works that were printed is entitled, "The Common Principles of the Christian Religion, clearly proved, and singularly improved; or a Practical Catechism, wherein some of the most concerning foundations of our faith are solidly laid down; and that doctrine which is according to godliness, is sweetly, yet pungently pressed home, and most satisfyingly handled." In the year 1670, another posthumous work was printed: it is entitled, "The Sinner's Sanctuary; being forty Sermons upon the Eighth chapter of the Epistle of John, Chap. 1st. and Chap. 2d, Verses 1, 2, 3." The last treatise that has been printed is, "Heart Humiliation, or Miscellany Sermons, preached upon some choice texts at several solemn occasions." There is also a valuable treatise upon Christian Love, consisting of several sheets written in a very small character,—it is divided into chapters; besides several sermons upon very edifying subjects, useful and profitable for our times. There is, likewise, a book publised under his name in 4to, consisting of fifty-one pages, with this title, "An Useful Case of Conscience, learnedly and accurately discussed and resolved, concerning associations and confederacies with idolaters, infidels, heretics, malignants, or any other known enemies of truth and godliness." But it is very much questioned by the most intelligent, if that book was really Binning's.

ANDREW GRAY

IN the biography of this illustrious young divine, there is an uncertainty regarding the exact period of his birth; but, calculating back from the date of a letter addressed by him on his deathbed to Lord Warriston, on the 7th day of February, 1656; and bearing in mind that he became a licentiate before he had completed his twentieth year, with two years and a half that he was incumbent in his first and only charge, it appears that he must have been born in the year 1633. Having been very early sent to school, he made such rapid progress, that in a comparatively short time he was qualified for entering the university—and there by the sprightliness of his genius, he made such proficiency both in scholastic learning and divinity, that before he was twenty years of age he was prepared to enter upon the holy office of the ministry.

From his very infancy he had studied the Scriptures; and like another young Samson, the Spirit of God began very early to move him; there being such a delightful solemnity in his early conversation, that what Gregory Nazianzen once said of the great Bazil might well be applied to him,—"That he held forth learning beyond his age, and fixedness of manners beyond his learning."

As an earthen vessel, being thus filled with heavenly treasure, he was quickly licensed to preach, and soon after received a call to be minister of the Outer High Church of Glasgow, although he had hardly arrived at the twentieth year of his age, and therefore considerably below that appointed by the constitution of the church, except in extraordinary cases.

No sooner had he entered into his Master's vineyard, than the people from all quarters flocked to hear his sermons,—it being their constant emulation who should be most under the refreshing drops of his ministry; insomuch that he and his learned colleague, Mr. Durham, were one time walking together in the choir, Mr. Durham, observing the multitude thronging into the church where Gray was to preach, and only a few going into his own, said to him, "Brother, I perceive you are to have a throng church to day."—To which Gray answered, "Indeed, Brother, they are fools to leave you and come to me."—"Not so," replied Durham, "for none can receive such honour and success in his ministry, except it be given him from heaven. I rejoice that Christ is preached, and that his kingdom and interest are gaining ground; for I am content to be anything, or nothing, that Christ may be all in all."

Gray had a remarkably singular gift in preaching, having much experience in the most mysterious points of Christian practice and profession; indeed, in handling all his subjects, whether doctrinal, or practical, being free from youthful pedantry and affectation of human learning, though of a truly classical genius and more than ordinary abilities, he outstripped many who had entered the Lord's vineyard before him. His mode of address was animated and rapturous, and well adapted to affect the hearts of his hearers; he was so helped to press home God's threatenings upon the consciences of his hearers, that his contemporary, Durham, observed "that many times he caused the very hairs of their heads to stand on end."

Among his other excellencies in preaching, this was none of the least, that he could so handle any subject as to make it acceptable to every taste, and intelligible to the meanest capacity. He had so learned Christ, that the great bent and aim of his preaching was, to make sinners acquainted with their dangerous state by nature, and to persuade them to believe, and lay hold of the great salvation.

By these singular gifts he was looked upon as a burning and a shining light in the church; but he was permitted to remain about two years only,—the Spirit of the Lord as it were lighting up a lamp into a sudden blaze, that was not to remain long in his church. In reference to this, in a preface to some of his sermons it is very pertinently observed,—"How awakening, convincing, and reproving, the example of this very young minister might be to many ministers of the gospel who have been long in the vineyard, but come far short of his labours and progress! God thinks fit now and then to raise up a child to reprove the sloth and negligence of many thousands of advanced years: and shows that he can perfect his own praise out of the mouths of babes and sucklings."

It has been said that Gray often longed for the 22d year of his age, having had a presentiment that he was then to rest from his labours, and by a perpetual jubilee enjoy his blessed Lord and Master for ever. And certain it is, that in his sermons we often find him ardently praying for the time when he might enter upon the possession of the heavenly inheritance, prepared for him before the foundation of the world.

Upon one occasion, when sailing to Dundee in company with Mr. Robert Fleming, minister of Cambuslang, he had a very narrow escape from a watery grave. This remarkable interference of Providence for his deliverance furnished him with a theme of gratitude, which he often improved in his after life.

Perhaps it may be asked,—what were Gray's sentiments concerning the public resolutions, seeing he entered the ministry about the third year after these resolutions took place? To this it is answered:—Whatever his contendings in public were, it is pretty well authenticated that he warmly opposed his colleague Durham, who was suspected of looking favourably upon these defections. His reply to Durham when on his deathbed, when asked what he now thought of these things, was conclusive: "I am of the same mind as formerly, and regret much that I have been so sparing in public against these resolutions,"—speaking at the same time so pathetically of their sinfulness, and the calamities they must induce, that Durham, contrary to his former practice, durst never after speak in defence of them.

But the time was now drawing nigh when the Lord was about to accomplish what his soul had most anxiously longed for. Having caught fever, he was for several days in great bodily suffering; but his mind was in a state of perfect quietude and serenity. And thus, in a very short time it was permitted to him to pass by death to the Author of life,—his soul taking flight at the early age of twenty-two, into the arms of his Saviour, whom he had served so faithfully in his day and generation.

He was a very singular and pious youth; and though he died young, he was old in grace, having done much for God in a short time. Both in public and private life, he possessed a high degree of every domestic and social virtue that could adorn the character of a Christian and a minister; being a loving husband,* an affable friend, ever cheerful and agreeable in conversation, and always ready to exert himself for the relief of those who asked and stood in need of assistance; whilst his uncommon talents not only endeared him to his brethren, but also to many others from the one extremity of the land to the other, who regarded and esteemed him as one of the most able advocates for the propagation and advancement of Christ's kingdom.

It is to be regretted that his dying words were not recorded. In the short but excellent letter, however, sent by him, a little before his death, to lord Warriston, he shows, that he not only had a more clear discovery of the toleration then granted by Cromwell, and the evils that would come upon the country for all these things, but also that he was most sensible of his own case and condition. This more especially appears from the conclusion of the letter, where he addressed his lordship thus: "Now, not to trouble your lordship, whom I highly reverence and my soul was knit to you in the Lord, but that you will bespeak my case to the great Master of requests, and lay my broken state before him who hath pled the desperate case of many, according to the sweet word in Lam. 3:56, 'Thou hast heard my voice; hide not thine ear at my breathing, at my cry.' This is all at this time from one in a very weak condition, in a great fever, who, for much of seven nights, hath sleeped little at all, with many other sad particulars and circumstances.

His well-known sermons are printed in several tracts. Those called Gray's Works are published in one volume octavo. In addition to the eleven sermons printed some time ago, was lately published a large collection, to the number of fifty-one, entitled his Select Sermons; in which only three of those formerly published for connexion's sake, and his letter to lord Warriston, are inserted. By this time, most, if not all, of the sermons ever preached by him are in print. His works praise him in the gates; and though they are free from the metaphysical speculations of the schools, yet it must be granted, that the excellencies of the ancient fathers and schoolmen all concentrate in them. His doctrine is clear and perspicuous; his reproofs weighty; and his exhortations very powerful; and though, according to the manner of the age in which he lived, they may seem deficient in connexion and correctness of style, yet these are more than counterbalanced by the pleasing variety and excellence of the truths they contain. Like the grateful odours of a profusion of flowers, or the delightful harmony of concordant sounds, they never fail to impart happiness to the renewed soul.

JAMES DURHAM

THIS very exemplary reformer was the eldest son of John Durham, Esq., of Easter Powrie, and lineally descended from the ancient and honourable family of Grange Durham, in the parish of Monyfeith, and shire of Angus—an estate now known by the name of Wedderburn. He is said to have been born about the year 1622; but all his biographers are silent regarding his early years, with the exception of an unanimous assent to his juvenile industry, as having been an apt and successful scholar.

It does not appear that he had any views to the ministry during his academical studies, as he left the university without graduating, and went to live as a private gentleman upon his country estate, where he married a daughter of the laird of Dantervie, who, with her mother, are said to have been very pious women. Through the prejudice of early education, he did not at that time look favourably upon the presbyterian form of church government.

Previous to his union with this excellent lady, although guilty of no flagrant and open violation of the law of God, yet he was much a stranger to vital religion, having merely a name to live, while he was actually dead in trespasses and sins. He had an early leaning towards Episcopacy; and therefore rested contented with an outward form of godliness, while he was destitute of the saving power thereof. But he was not to remain long in this state—the Spirit of God had marked him out for gracious purposes, and he was destined soon to take an active part in the cause of Presbytery.

His conversion, therefore, was effected by an incident somewhat remarkable. Being on a visit, along with his wife, to his mother-in-law, in the parish of Abercorn, in the county of Linlithgow, and it happening to be the time of the communion, he was through much persuasion, at the entreaty of his wife and mother, prevailed upon to go to church, upon the Saturday. The minister who officiated that day caught Durham's attention so effectually, that he felt much affected. No solicitations, therefore, were necessary to induce him to return upon the Sabbath. Having got up early in the morning, he repaired to church with his friends, when a sermon, preached by the Rev. Mr. Melville, was made instrumental, in the hand of the Spirit, for determining him to close with Christ, and accept the seal of the covenant, by complying with the Saviour's invitation, "Do this in remembrance of me!" Mr. Melville's discourse, upon that occasion, was from 1 Pet. 2:7,—"Unto you therefore which believe he is precious: but unto them which be disobedient, the stone which the builders disallowed, the same is made the head of the corner," &c. From that time Durham generally called Melville father when he spoke of him. After that he made religion his daily business, and cordially embraced Christ and his church as then established. Reading and meditation became his sole delight: and that he might enjoy these without molestation, he caused a private study to be built for himself, where he was often so serious in his application, that he frequently forgot the hours of meals, and sometimes did not even return an answer to the servant when sent to warn him.

By this mode of seclusion, he became not only an experimental Christian, but a very learned man; ready in debate, and perfect master of polemical divinity.* Such was also his reputation in the country, that he was frequently chosen arbiter by the people to settle any disputes that arose among them; and to his decision all bowed submissively. In this respect, the language of Job might well be applied to him—"Unto him men gave ear, and waited, and kept silence at his counsel.

During the civil wars, he took up arms, with many others of the gentlemen, for the cause of religion, and was chosen captain of a company. In this situation he might be esteemed another Cornelius, being a most devout man, and one who not only feared God with all his house, but even prayed with his company, and seriously exhorted them regarding the interest of their souls.

The circumstances of his call to the ministry was somewhat singular. When the Scots army were about to engage with the English, he thought it proper to call his company to prayer before the engagement; and as he began, Mr. David Dickson, then professor of divinity at Glasgow, coming past the army, and seeing the soldiers engaged in prayer, and hearing the voice of one praying, drew near, alighted from his horse, and joined with them. He was so much captivated by Durham's prayer, that he immediately after waited upon him, and solemnly charged him, that as soon as this should be over, he should devote himself to the ministry; because he judged the Lord called him to this. Although Durham was not at that time fully resolved to comply with Mr. Dickson's advice, yet two remarkable providences falling out immediately after, he was very soon induced to yield obedience—The first was, that in the engagement, his horse was shot under him, and he was mercifully preserved; the second, that in the heat of the battle, an English soldier, on the point of striking him down with his sword, but apprehending him to be a minister by his grave carriage, black cloth and band, which was then in fashion with gentlemen, asked him if he was a priest? To which Durham replied, I am one of God's priests;—and so his life was spared. Upon reflecting how wonderfully the Lord had thus saved him, and that his stating himself to be a priest had been the cause of his preservation, he at once resolved, in testimony of his grateful sense of the Lord's goodness, thenceforth to devote himself to His service in the holy ministry, if He should see meet to qualify him for the same.

In pursuance of this resolution, he soon after went to Glasgow, studied divinity under his respected friend, and made such proficiency, that he offered himself for trials in 1646, and was licensed by the presbytery of Irvine to preach the gospel. Next year, upon Mr. Dickson's recommendation, the session of Glasgow directed Mr. Ramsay, one of the ministers, to request Durham to come to town and preach. He accordingly came, and preached two sabbaths and one week-day; and the session being fully satisfied with his doctrine, and the gifts bestowed on him by the Lord for serving Him in the ministry, unanimously called him to Blackfriars' church, then vacant, to which he was ordained in November, 1647.

He applied himself to the work of the ministry with great diligence; but, considering that no man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life, he obtained leave to visit the place of his nativity to settle his worldly affairs. While there, however, he preached every sabbath. His first appearance was at Dundee, where he preached from Rom. 1:16,—"I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ;" the second, at Ferling, where he delivered an eloquent discourse from 2 Cor. 5:20,—"We then are ambassadors for Christ," &c.; next sabbath he intended to preach at Montrose; but receiving an express that his wife was dangerously ill, he returned to Glasgow, where in a few days, she, who had been the desire of his eyes, died. His Christian submission under this afflicting dispensation was very remarkable. After a short silence, he said to some about him, "Now, who could persuade me that this dispensation of God's providence was good for me, if the Lord had not said it was so?"—He was afterwards married to Margaret Muir, relict of Zachariah Boyd, minister of the Barony church of Glasgow.

In 1650, Mr. Dickson, professor of divinity, being called to the same office in the university of Edinburgh, the commissioners of the General Assembly, authorized to visit the university of Glasgow, unanimously invited Durham to succeed him. But before he was admitted to that charge, the General Assembly, persuaded of his eminent piety, steadfastness, prudence, and moderation, after mature deliberation, selected him, though then only twenty-eight years of age, to attend the king's family as chaplain. In this situation, though the times were extremely difficult, he acquitted himself so wisely and faithfully as to merit the approbation of all who observed him. Indeed, during his stay at court, such was his high Christian decorum, that levity was overawed in his presence. His great ambition was to have God's favour rather than that of great men, and he studied more to profit and edify their souls, than to please their fancies.

He continued in this office till the King returned to England, after which he resumed his professional labours. Towards the end of January 1651, the common session of Glasgow instructed Mr. Gillespie to write him, stating that Mr. Ramsay was officiating as professor of divinity, and urging his return to his charge; in consequence of which we find him present at the session in the beginning of April thereafter. Cromwell, being in Glasgow with his army at the time, went, first Lord's day, to church; and Durham, without the least intimidation, openly inveighed to his face against his unjustifiable invasion. Next day Cromwell sent for him, and said, he always thought he had been a wiser man than to meddle with public affairs in his sermons.—To which Durham answered, that it was not his practice, but he judged it both wisdom and prudence to speak his mind on that head, seeing he had the opportunity to do so in his presence.—Cromwell dismissed him very civilly, but desired him not to meddle with such subjects in future.

It would appear that Durham had withdrawn from Glasgow for some time after this; and therefore a letter was in August thereafter sent to him to come and preach; and in September, there being a vacancy in the Inner High Church by reason of the death of Mr. Ramsay, the common session gave him a unanimous call, with which the town council agreed. Accordingly, he was admitted minister of that church,—Mr. John Carstairs, his brother-in-law, being his colleague.

During the whole of his ministry he was distinguished for humility and self-denial; and being a person of the utmost sedateness of manner, he was seldom seen to smile—however, being once at dinner in a gentleman's family, along with Mr. William Guthrie, who was a very pleasant and cheerful companion, he was so far overcome as to laugh aloud at some of Mr. Guthrie's smart sayings. It being also the custom of the family to join in prayer after dinner, Mr. Guthrie was asked to offer up an address, which he did with such becoming solemnity, as to elicit from Durham the following brief eulogium,—"O William, you are a happy man; if I had been as merry as you have been, I could not have been in such a serious frame for prayer, for the space of forty-eight hours!"

Though he was very devout in every part of his ministerial work, he was especially so upon communion occasions. At these he endeavoured, through grace, to elevate his mind to such a divine frame, as befits the spirituality and high importance of the ordinance of the supper. Upon some of those sweet and solemn occasions, he spoke like one who had been in heaven, recommending the Saviour, making a glorious display of his free grace, and bringing the offer thereof so low, and pressing it so urgently, especially in a discourse from Mat. 22:4., that it was a wonder to sinners themselves how they could refuse to close with them.

His pacific turn of mind, and great moderation of spirit, appeared remarkably at the period when the church was grievously divided betwixt the revolutioners and protesters; and as he would never give judgment on either side, he used to say, "That division was far worse than either." He was equally respected by both parties; for, at the meeting of synod at Glasgow, when the different bodies met separately, each made choice of Durham for their moderator; but he refused to accept, until they would unite; which they did accordingly.

So weighty was the ministerial charge upon his spirit, that he used to say, if he were to live ten years longer, he would choose to live nine years in study, for preaching the tenth; and it was believed that his close study and application brought on the decay of which he died. During his last sickness, about a month before his death, he named as his successor, Mr. Veitch, then minister of Govan; but afterwards, when dying, in presence of the magistrates, ministers, and some others who waited on him, he named other three. This alteration led Mr. Carstairs to inquire the reason, after the rest were gone; to whom Durham in reply, said, "O brother, Mr. Veitch is too ripe for heaven to be transported to any church on earth; he will be there almost as soon as I,"—and this proved to be the case; for, Durham having died on the Friday following, Mr. Veitch preached the next Sabbath; and though he knew nothing of this, he told the people in the afternoon, it would be his last sermon to them; and the same night taking bed, he died next Friday morning about three o'clock, as Dr. Ruttray, who was present at both their deaths, declared.

When on his deathbed, Durham was under considerable darkness about his spiritual state, and said to Mr. John Carstairs—"Brother, for all that I have preached or written, there is but one Scripture I can remember or dare grip unto; tell me if I dare lay the weight of my salvation upon it—"Whosoever cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out." Mr. Carstairs answered, "You may depend upon it, though you had a thousand salvations at hazard." When drawing near his departure, and in great conflict and agony, he cried out in a rapture of holy joy, a little before he committed his soul to God, "Is not the Lord good? Is he not infinitely good? See how he smiles? I do say it, and I do proclaim it." Thus died that eminent saint, on Friday, the 25th of June, 1658, in the thirty-sixth year of his age, whose labours had always aimed at the advancement of religion, and whose praise is throughout all the churches, both at home and abroad. He was a star of the first magnitude, of whom it may be said without derogating from the merit of any, that he "had a name among the mighty."

His colleague, Mr. John Carstairs, in his funeral sermon, from Isa. 57:1, "The righteous perisheth, and no man layeth it to heart; and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come," gave him the following character:—"Know ye not that there is a prince among the pastors fallen, to-day! A faithful and wise steward, that knew well how to give God's children their food in due season; a gentle and kind nurse; a faithful admonisher and reprover; a skilful counsellor in all straits and difficulties; in dark matters he was eyes to the blind, feet to the lame, a burning and shining light in the dark world, an interpreter of the word, one among a thousand; to him men gave ear, and after his words no man spake again." Not only in the city, but also in the country, did his brethren in the presbytery allude to his death; and in particular, Mr. Veitch, whose death he had foretold, was forward amongst others, to pay a tribute to his character.

His learned and pious works, in which concentrate all the excellencies of the primitive and ancient fathers, are a Commentary on the Revelation; seventy-two Sermons on the fifty-third chapter of the Prophecy of Isaiah; an Exposition of the Ten Commandments; an Exposition of the Song of Solomon; his Sermons on Death; on the Unsearchable Riches of Christ; his Communion Sermons; Sermons on Godliness and Self-denial; a Sermon on a Good Conscience. There were lately a great many of his sermons in manuscript unpublished, viz., Three Sermons upon Resisting the Holy Ghost, from Acts 7:51; eight on Quenching the Spirit; five upon Grieving the Spirit; thirteen upon Trusting and Delighting in God; two against Immoderate Anxiety; eight upon the One Thing Needful; with a Discourse upon Prayer, and several other sermons and discourses. There is also a Treatise on Scandal, and an Exposition, by way of Lecture, upon Job, said to be his; but whether these, either as to style or strain, cohere with the other works of the laborious Durham, must be left to the impartial and unbiassed reader, to determine.

SAMUEL RUTHERFORD*

CONSIDERABLE doubt exists as to the birthplace and parentage of this celebrated divine. The most probable opinion, however, is that which has been stated by Wodrow, that he was sprung of poor and honest parents in Teviotdale.† Where he received his early education, has never been ascertained; but he seems to have given such indications of talent, as to have encouraged his parents in affording him an opportunity of still farther prosecuting his studies. Accordingly, in 1617, he was sent to the university of Edinburgh; and in four years, he obtained the degree of Master of Arts. At college, Rutherford distinguished himself among his fellow-students by his attainments, particularly in classical literature; so that in two years after he had received his degree in the arts, he was elected professor of humanity.

At the time when he was admitted a regent, the university, though it had only existed for forty years, had attained no small celebrity, and possessed, among its professors, some men of fame and of extensive scholarship. With such associates Rutherford entered upon his important duties with enthusiasm and energy; and there is little doubt he must have proved a most able and successful teacher. Of this, however, we have no certain information, as his connexion with the university appears to have terminated in the short space of two years.

In 1627, we find him settled as parish minister of Anwoth, in the stewartry of Kirkcudbright.* This appointment he obtained through Gordon of Kenmure, a gentleman distinguished in those days as the assiduous and active promoter of true religion, as far as his influence extended. At the period when Rutherford became minister of Anwoth, prelacy had so far gained the ascendency over presbyterianism, that although many secretly adhered to the principles of their fathers, the jurisdiction of bishops in Scotland was openly recognised and avowed. No minister could enter upon a charge without declaring his submission to all the conditions imposed by the bishop of the diocese within which the parish was situated. In the case of Rutherford, however, there seems to have been an exception; for, according to the statement of Mr. M'Ward, his friend and pupil, corroborated by Wodrow, he obtained full possession of all his rights and privileges as a parish minister, "without giving any engagement to the bishop."

The harmony which prevailed in the parish of Anwoth on the reception of Rutherford as their pastor was peculiarly gratifying to his mind, and afforded him the prospect of much comfort and usefulness: and in this respect his anticipations were more than realized. The people loved and revered him; they waited upon his ministry with regularity and evident profit; for, to use the words of his contemporary, Livingstone, "while he was at Anwoth, he was the instrument of much good among a poor ignorant people, many of whom he brought to the knowledge and practice of religion." The industry and zeal with which Rutherford discharged his important functions as a minister, are almost incredible. He was accustomed to rise every morning at three o'clock; the early part of the day was devoted to prayer, meditation, and study; and the rest to his more public duties, such as the visitation of the sick, and the catechising of the different families of his flock. "My witness is above," he says in one of his letters to his beloved people, "that your heaven would be two heavens to me, and the salvation of you all as two salvations to me."

The fame of Rutherford was not confined to his own parish, but extended also to the surrounding district. Multitudes came from all quarters to Anwoth on the Sabbath, and more especially on sacramental occasions, to listen to the faithful ministrations of this devoted minister of Christ. For a few years after he came to Galloway, his life was a scene of unclouded prosperity, of unbroken and uninterrupted peace. As a follower of Him who said, "In the world ye shall have tribulation," the pious Rutherford could not, and in reality did not, expect that such a state of things would always continue. Many were the trials which yet awaited him in this vale of tears: and ere long he began to feel that suffering of one kind or another is the portion of man, and more especially of the man who is to be distinguished by high attainments in the divine life, or extensive usefulness in the church of God. He was doomed to experience severe family distress and painful bereavements. His wife, after a tedious and protracted illness of thirteen months, died in June 1630, in less than five years after their marriage. Her children seem to have been cut off before her, so that Rutherford was left alone to lament his loss. To add to his distress, he had been seized—previously to the decease of his wife—with a fever which continued for thirteen weeks, leaving him, on his recovery, in such a state of debility as to suspend for a time his attention to his pastoral duties. Amid his accumulated sorrows, however, he endured as seeing him who is invisible, and knowing that in heaven he had an everlasting portion, which no time, no change, could destroy. And he derived no small consolation from the kindness and sympathy of lady Kenmure, the pious wife of Gordon of Kenmure, who had been recently raised to the peerage.

The intimacy which subsisted between Rutherford and the Kenmure family had been productive of much spiritual advantage to both parties; and on his death-bed, lord Kenmure appears to have been indebted, under the blessing of God, to this devoted minister for the clear views of divine truth which he was enabled to entertain, and the striking testimony which in his last moments he was privileged to bear to the saving power and efficacy of the gospel. Rutherford lamented the death of his patron in an elegiac poem, written in Latin; and in 1649 he published, "The Last and Heavenly Speeches, and Glorious Departure of John Viscount Kenmure;" a work in which the author gives a detailed account of the conferences which he held with that nobleman in reference to his spiritual and everlasting concerns. Rutherford now took a still greater interest than ever in the spiritual welfare of Lady Kenmure; and he continued to maintain a frequent correspondence with her on religious subjects throughout the whole of his life. One of the last letters, indeed, he ever wrote, was to this excellent lady. From the position which Rutherford held, as the most influential minister in the county within which he resided, his correspondence on public matters was very extensive. The age in which he lived was one of melancholy interest to the Church of Scotland. The attempt, first of James VI., and then of Charles I., to impose upon the Scottish Presbyterians the yoke of episcopacy, had been uniformly resisted, but with varied success; and though at the period to which we now refer, when Rutherford was located in Galloway, prelacy was triumphant in the country, yet he was well known to entertain opinions decidedly in favour of presbytery. And these sentiments, however opposite to the then ascendant party, he was far from concealing, but openly avowed them whenever an opportunity of doing so occurred. In any other individual than Rutherford, probably, such conduct would not have been tolerated. The high respect, however, in which he was held by men of all parties, and the tolerant spirit of bishop Lamb, who then presided over the diocese of Galloway, prevented, him from being subjected to the persecution which would have otherwise fallen to his lot. While thus permitted calmly to prosecute his ministerial duties, he published a very learned and elaborate work upon the Arminian controversy. Rutherford's sentiments were strictly Calvinistic, and the ability and logical tact with which he supported his own views, and refuted the arguments of his opponents, soon established his fame as a powerful controversialist and a sound divine. The estimation in which he was held in the neighbourhood of Anwoth was truly gratifying; and as a proof of it, we may mention that when Mr. Glendinning, minister of Kirkcudbright, had become unfit, from age and infirmities, to discharge efficiently the duties of his office, an application was made to Rutherford to accept of the situation. This offer, however, he conscientiously declined. "Great solicitation," says he, "is made by the town of Kirkcudbright, for to have the use of my poor labours among them. If the Lord shall call and his people cry, Who am I to resist? But without his seen calling, and till the flock whom I now oversee, be planted with one to whom I dare entrust Christ's spouse, gold nor silver, nor favour of men, I hope, shall not loose me."

Though thus unwilling to leave his affectionate flock, at Anwoth, his ministry among them was, in the mysterious arrangement of Providence, about to be interrupted for a time. In consequence of the death of bishop Lamb, in 1634, Thomas Sydserff,* bishop of Brechin, a man of Arminian principles, and of an intolerant character, was translated to the see of Galloway. No sooner had the new diocesan entered upon his office, than he proceeded to adopt the most arbitrary and unpopular measures. He erected a High Commission Court within his diocese, composed exclusively of his own dependents; and, before this court were forthwith summoned all who would not conform in every respect to the demands of prelacy. To Sydserff, the faithful pastor of Anwoth was peculiarly obnoxious; and as soon as possible, therefore, he was accused of non-conformity before a High Commission Court, held at Wigtown in 1636, and deprived of his ministerial office. The bishop was anxious to have this sentence confirmed by a court of the same kind held at Edinburgh, and there accordingly Rutherford was cited to appear, when, for three days, accusations of the most extravagant nature were preferred against him. With the undaunted fortitude of conscious integrity, he replied to their charges; but although the strongest influence was exerted in his behalf, and although the evidence was insufficient to convince any other than prejudiced minds, judgment was given against him. He was deposed from the pastoral office, and sentenced to be confined within the town of Aberdeen, during the king's pleasure.

The sentence passed upon this faithful servant of Christ, severe and unjust though it was, did not discourage him. He seems, on the contrary, to have been able, like the great apostle of the Gentiles, to "glory in tribulation." "I go to my King's palace at Aberdeen," said he; "tongue, and pen and wit, cannot express my joy." A short period only being allotted him between the passing of the sentence and the commencement of his term of imprisonment, he had no opportunity of returning to see his friends in Galloway. On his journey to "Christ's palace in Aberdeen," as he called it, he paid a visit to the Rev. David Dickson, minister of Irvine, a man of great piety and learning, who afterwards filled, with very high honour, the chair of theology in the college of Edinburgh. On entering the town which was appointed to be the place of his imprisonment, Rutherford was accompanied by a deputation of his people from Anwoth, who had travelled many miles to testify their sincere regard for their devoted pastor, who was now about to enjoy the exalted privilege of being "the Lord's prisoner." "In the world ye shall have tribulation, but in me ye shall have peace."

At this period, Aberdeen was the strong-hold of episcopacy and Arminianism. The most influential men, both clerical and lay, were violently opposed to Presbytery; and in these circumstances, Rutherford could not be expected to feel much comfort or happiness in their society. Gradually, however, the inhabitants began to take an interest in him as a persecuted servant of God. Such, at length, was the attention and kindness shown him by many respectable citizens of the place, that he was permitted to conduct religious services in their families. Intelligence of this fact soon reached the ears of the professors of the University and the ministers of the city, who thought it necessary to take steps for the diminution, if possible, of his influence. For this purpose, they denounced, from the pulpit, presbyterian principles, and challenged Rutherford to engage with them in public disputations. But all was unavailing; he became more popular and influential than ever, and his opinions spread among the people to an extent which, to his enemies, was quite alarming. In this dilemma, application was made to the legislature to have him either confined more strictly, or sent farther north than Aberdeen, or banished from the kingdom altogether.* The last expedient was adopted by the king, who despatched a warrant to Scotland for the banishment of Rutherford. With the greatest calmness and composure he looked forward to the prospect of banishment "Whither I go," said he, "I know not; but I am ready at the Lord's call." The Lord, however in his providence interposed, and, by a train of unexpected events, prevented the warrant from being ever carried into execution.

While imprisoned in Aberdeen, Rutherford felt deeply for his attached flock at Anwoth. Bishop Sydserff had attempted to thrust in upon them a minister, who, being both an episcopalian and an Arminian, was violently opposed by the people. They still regarded their former pastor as having been unjustly withdrawn from them, and they longed and prayed, therefore, for his return. This happy event, in the course of affairs, was at last accomplished.

It was during the struggle which presbyterians successfully made at this period to resist the innovations of prelacy, that Rutherford quitted his imprisonment at Aberdeen, and returned to the pastoral charge of his nock at Anwoth.* As had been judged necessary on former occasions of trouble in the Church, it was now deemed suitable by the presbyterians in different parts of the country to renew the National Covenant; and while this solemn ceremony was carrying forward at Glasgow, Rutherford preached in the High Church of that city, having been requested by the inhabitants to preside, preparatory to their subscribing that instrument.

In the General Assembly which was convened at Glasgow on the 21st. November, 1638, Rutherford, along with others who had incurred the censures of the High Commission Court, were called upon to explain the grounds on which they had been accused; and, after due deliberation, a decision was passed in favour of the persecuted ministers, and they were recognized as members of court. At this Assembly, one of the most memorable in the annals of the Scottish Church, prelacy was abolished, and the presbyterian constitution, even in its minutest details, fully re-established. The bishops were deprived of their power, and the greater number of them were excommunicated. In all the proceedings of this eventful period, Rutherford took a lively interest, rejoicing in the triumph of those principles which he had so long and so consistently advocated, and for which he had endured so many and severe privations.

Shortly after the meeting of the Glasgow Assembly, an application was made by the city of Edinburgh to the Assembly's Commission, to have Rutherford transferred from Anwoth to the metropolis, that he might have the opportunity of exercising his talents in a more important and extensive sphere. Another application, however, was made to have him appointed professor of divinity in the new college, St. Andrew's. The Commission preferred the latter situation. Petitions against his removal were presented from the county of Galloway, and from the parishioners of Anwoth, and he himself urged, in a respectful petition, his "bodily weakness and mental incapacity." All was unavailing; the interests of the church demanded his appointment, and the Commission therefore ordained that he should occupy a chair for which he was considered as preeminently qualified. He still, however, entertained hopes that the Assembly, at its next meeting, would refuse to confirm the decision of the Commission. In this, however, he was disappointed, and nothing remained for him but to submit calmly to his removal from his beloved people. The office which Rutherford was now called to occupy was one of the most useful and highly honourable to which he could have been promoted. He felt the responsibility connected with its duties; but after the deep distress he had experienced at Aberdeen on account of his "silent Sabbaths," he could not bear the thought of being deprived of the privilege of publicly proclaiming the gospel of Christ. On his earnest application, therefore, to the Assembly, they yielded to his wishes on this point, and appointed him colleague to Mr. Robert Blair, who had been recently translated from Ayr, to be one of the ministers of the town of St. Andrew's.

Rutherford at Aberdeen.

A few months subsequent to his translation to St. Andrew's, Rutherford entered a second time into the marriage relation, after a widowhood of nearly ten years. Having thus made provision for his domestic comfort, he continued to discharge his public duties, both in teaching and preaching, with unwearied assiduity and conscientiousness. For some time his situation was one of peculiar happiness and tranquillity; and it would have continued so, had not both he and his colleague felt themselves called upon to join their brethren in resisting the wishes of their people, who were exceedingly desirous that Mr. Andrew Affleck, the minister of Largo, should be chosen one of the ministers of St. Andrew's. The people, being disappointed of their object, began to cool in their attachment both to Rutherford and Blair, who, feeling that their usefulness would be injured by this alienation of the affections of their flock, applied to the Assembly for an act of transportability, as it was called, or the privilege of accepting a call to another charge, if such a call should be given them. The request was granted, and in a few weeks Rutherford was invited to become minister of West Calder, in the presbytery of Linlithgow. This call he gladly accepted, and his acceptance was ratified by the supreme court; but in consequence of the resistance of the university of St. Andrew's, the matter was prosecuted no further, and he still remained both in his professorship and ministerial charge.

In the public concerns of the church and the country Rutherford was deeply interested. Himself a conscientious admirer of Presbytery, he rejoiced in the complete establishment of the system in Scotland, and the increasing attachment to it which was manifested in England. To his principles he firmly adhered; and such was the confidence reposed in him by his brethren, that he was appointed by the Assembly one of the Scots Commissioners to the General Assembly of Divines, held at Westminster. On this important mission he remained in London four years, and by his talents and learning proved no small acquisition to the venerable Synod. In their discussions he and his fellow-commissioners took an ample share; and the result of their important deliberations was both gratifying to himself personally, and satisfactory to those over whose interests he had been deputed to watch. In drawing up the Directory for Public Worship, the Confession of Faith, the Larger and Shorter Catechisms, and the Form of Church Government, Rutherford was actively employed along with the other members of the Synod.

While in London, however, he did not limit his labours to the business of the Synod of Divines; he was also engaged in the preparation of various controversial as well as practical works, of a theological kind, which he published during that period. The only publication, not strictly in accordance with his profession as a divine, which he produced on this occasion, was one entitled "Lex, Rex,"—The Law and the King—which was intended as a reply to a book which had been published in support of absolute monarchy. Though thus busily occupied, however, he longed to return to his important duties at St. Andrew's, and the more so as his own declining health, as well as that of his wife, seemed to call for a removal to his native country. His distress, besides, had been still farther aggravated by the death of two of his children, in addition to two which he had lost a short time before leaving Scotland. In these circumstances he had made frequent applications to be released from his attendance in London. But, for a considerable time, it was not deemed expedient to comply with his request,—his presence at the Westminster Assembly being regarded as too important to be dispensed with. At length, however, the Assembly of 1647 permitted him to return home.

The able and efficient manner in which Rutherford discharged the high trust reposed in him, as one of the Commissioners to the Synod of Divines at Westminster, raised him higher than ever in the estimation of his countrymen; and accordingly, a few months after he had resumed his duties at St. Andrew's, he was appointed principal of the New College. The honour thus conferred on him brought him very little, if any, additional labour; it was a gratifying proof to him, however, that his merits, both as an author and a divine, were duly appreciated. In 1649, an attempt was made in the General Assembly to procure his transference to the Divinity Chair at Edinburgh; but this intention, as Baillie states, being "thought absurd," was laid aside. About the same time a university having been established at Harderwyck, in Holland, he was invited to occupy the chair of Divinity and Hebrew in that seminary. This invitation, as well as a similar application shortly after from Utrecht, he respectfully declined,—being unwilling to abandon the Church of Scotland, at a period when his services were so much required.

In prosecuting his laborious engagements at St. Andrew's, he still found time to publish several important works. The year after his return from London he produced a controversial work against the Antinomians, and in the year following, a Treatise in reply to Jeremy Taylor's "Liberty of Prophesying." In 1651, appeared his large work "On Providence," in opposition to the Jesuits, the Arminians, and the Socinians.

At this period, in consequence of the death of Charles I., who though he had been obliged to make concessions, was still at heart the inveterate enemy of Presbytery, considerable fears were entertained by the Scottish people, that under the government of his son, who, it was thought, would succeed him, their ecclesiastical privileges might be again abridged. Charles II. was crowned at Scone; and in passing through Fifeshire, before his coronation, the young king visited St. Andrew's, when Rutherford delivered before him an oration in Latin, dwelling chiefly upon the duty of kings. In the meantime, however, the Independents had acquired the ascendency, and England had become a republic. The events which followed during the usurpation of Cromwell, and onward to the Restoration, it is impossible in our limited space minutely to detail. Suffice it to say that in the proceedings of that stormy period Rutherford acted a very conspicuous part; and from the unflinching tenacity with which he maintained the opinions he had adopted, he was regarded by many of his brethren, more especially of the presbytery of St. Andrew's and the Synod of Fife, as actuated too strongly by party-spirit.

Amid all the commotions, however, in which he found himself involved, he published several valuable works on practical theology, as well as some productions of a controversial nature. The last work, of which he lived to superintend the publication, appeared in 1659, under the title of "Influences of the Life of Grace." with this piece of practical theology terminated the literary labours of a most erudite divine and accomplished scholar.

Though the life of Rutherford was now verging to its close, he lived long enough to see the commencement of one of the darkest periods in Scotland's ecclesiastical, and even her civil history. No sooner had the Second Charles been restored to his kingdom, than steps were taken for the overthrow of Presbytery in his northern dominions. This design he was not long in finding means of accomplishing, and that too in a quarter where it might have been least of all expected. The Scottish parliament, which convened on the 1st of January, 1661, invested the king with arbitrary power, recalled the Covenant, and abolished Presbytery; and by one deed, "the Act Rescissory," as it was termed, they annulled the decrees of all the parliaments which since 1638 had sanctioned the presbyterian system, or ratified the Solemn League and Covenant.

In such a state of things Rutherford could not expect to escape persecution in one shape or other. His work which he had published when in London, called "Lex, Rex," was ordered to be burnt by the hands of the common hangman; he was deprived of his offices both in the University and the Church; his stipend was confiscated; he himself was ordered to be confined to his own house; and cited to appear before the ensuing parliament on a charge of treason. Thus far they were permitted to harass this eminent servant of God; but their power could extend no further. His health, which had been rapidly declining, was now such, that he was quite incapable of obeying the citation to appear before the Parliament.

Knowing well that death could not be far distant, he proceeded to arrange all his affairs, that he might leave nothing undone which his friends or the Church expected from him. In his last sickness he bore ample testimony to the saving efficacy of that gospel which it had been always his delight to preach, and on the 19th of March, 1661, he yielded up his breath, about five o'clock in the morning, as he himself had foretold.*

ARCHIBALD CAMPBELL, MARQUIS OF ARGYLE

FROM his early years this illustrious nobleman was warmly attached to the presbyterian interest, and, during the whole of a laborious and useful life spent in the service of both church and state, he adhered firmly to his principles, until by the tyranny and treachery of Charles I., he was honoured with the crown of martyrdom. When the excellent Rutherford was brought before the High Commission Court for nonconformity, in 1638, Argyle interposed in his behalf; and through his intercession, also, with the bishop of Galloway, the worthy Earlston was released from the sentence of banishment to which he had been condemned for the same cause.

No sooner did the Reformation, commonly called the Second Reformation, begin to dawn, in 1637, than Argyle, though a privy counsellor, attended all the sittings of the memorable General Assembly held at Glasgow, in order to hear the debates concerning diocesan episcopacy, and the five Articles of Perth, and after the most patient attention, declared himself fully satisfied with all their decisions. From that period this noble peer began to distinguish himself by a concern for the Redeemer's cause and interest, to which he ever afterward continued faithful.

At that Assembly, his lordship, among other things, proposed an explanation of the Confession and Covenant, in which he wished the members to proceed with great deliberation, lest any should be brought under suspicion of perjury, who might have sworn in the same sense as he himself had done. This motion was taken in good part; and, at the breaking up of the Assembly, Mr. Henderson, the Moderator, observed, that the Assembly felt themselves highly honoured by the countenance that had been given to their deliberations by the noble lord, regretting that his lordship had not joined them sooner; but expressing a hope, at the same time, that God had reserved him for the best times, and would honour him both here and hereafter. Argyle remarked in reply, that the delay had not proceeded from any want of affection to the prosperity of religion, and the welfare of the country, but from a desire and hope that by staying with the court, he might have been able to bring about a redress of grievances. Seeing, however, that this could no longer be done without proving unfaithful to God and his country, he had resolved to do as he had done, and cast in his lot among the brethren.

In 1639, when the Covenanters were forced to take up arms in their own defence, and march toward the borders of England, under General Leslie, Argyle, being sent to guard the Western coast, contributed much by his activity and prudence to preserve peace in that quarter. He not only convened the country gentlemen, and bound them under security for that purpose; but raised and maintained, at his own charges, 400 men in the county of Argyle, whom he afterwards augmented to 900. With half of this small band he marched into Kintyre to watch the movements of the marquis of Antrim, and despatched the remainder to the head of Lorn, to look after Lochaber, and the Western isles; from whence he himself set out for Arran with a few pieces of artillery, and took possession of the castle of Brodick, which surrendered without resistance.

In the absence of the covenanting army, in 1640, he was again appointed to the same command, which he conducted no less successfully; taking prisoners eight or nine of the ringleaders of the malignant faction, whom he obliged to give bond for their better behaviour, for time to come. By these proceedings Argyle provoked the malice both of his own and the church's enemies, who from that time sought every opportunity to do him injury; and it was not long until the earl of Montrose took occasion to do so. Upon a certain occurrence, he publicly gave out that Argyle—when in company with the earl of Athol, and the other eight gentlemen who had been made prisoners by him the year before, for carrying arms against their country—had said before them all:—"That the parliament had consulted lawyers anent deposing the king, and had received for answer, that that might be done for three reasons; viz., desertion; invasion; and vendition; and that they once thought to have done it last session; but would certainly do it at the next." Montrose found a ready tool in James Stuart, commissary of Dunkeld, who at once subscribed to the veracity of the report; but Argyle declared his innocence, and immediately raised an action for falsehood against Stuart before the court of Justiciary. To avoid the sentence that would have followed upon his conviction, Stuart wrote to the earl, acquitting him of the charge, and acknowledging that he had fabricated the whole out of malice. Although Argyle's innocence was thus established, the court, nevertheless, thought it proper to proceed with the trial; and, the fact having been clearly proved against Stuart, sentence of death was pronounced against him; which awful punishment he underwent, expressing the deepest penitence and remorse for what he had done.

About the same time Charles, having quarrelled with his English parliament, revisited Scotland. To ingratiate himself anew with the nation, he attended the Scots parliament, and not only ratified all their procedure, both in their own defence, and in behalf of the national religion, but even elevated several of the nobles to higher titles of honour. Argyle was made first lord of the treasury; and, after acknowledging his great public services, the king, on the 15th November, 1641, delivered a patent to the lord Lyon King at Arms, who read it aloud, proclaiming his lordship "Marquis of Argyle, Earl of Kintyre, Lord Lorn," &c., which, having been finished, it was handed back to the king. Charles then with his own hands delivered it to Argyle, and was the first to salute him by his new title of Marquis. Not deficient in court etiquette, Argyle, in a very handsome speech, thanked his majesty for the honour he had conferred upon him, and assured his sovereign that he had raised him to a rank which he neither expected nor merited.

While parliament was still sitting, another plot, of a more deadly nature, was laid against the marquises of Hamilton and Argyle by a few of the nobility, who felt themselves piqued at the power, preferment, and influence, which these noblemen now had with the king. The chief actors in the conspiracy were the earl of Crawford, colonel Cochran, and lieutenant Alexander Stuart—nay it was insinuated that Charles himself was an accessory before the fact—and the agreement was that Hamilton and Argyle should be called for in the dead of the night to speak with the king. By the way they were to be arrested as traitors and handed over to earl Crawford, who was to be in waiting with a sufficient body of men: and it had been further concerted, that if any resistance was offered, the earl was to stab them at once; but if not, they were to be conveyed prisoners of war to a vessel in Leith Roads, where they were to be confined until they could be conveniently tried for treason. The plot, however, having been divulged prematurely, both of the noblemen, by the good providence of God, escaped the night previous, to a place of security about twelve miles distant. It tends not a little to strengthen the belief of the king's concurrence, that the whole of the conspirators were pardoned, merely upon their own petition.

In 1643 and the year following, the marquis was very actively engaged in forwarding the work of reformation; but while he was thus occupied, Montrose and some others of the royal party, having associated for the purpose of raising troops for the ting, thought thereby to divert Argyle's attention from the good work. Their intention was to oblige him to withdraw the Scottish forces from England, by making predatory incursions into the county of Argyle, which the earl of Antrim had undertaken to do, by sending over from Ireland a body of 10,000 men, under the command of one M'Donald, a Scotsman. A considerable army was accordingly sent, who committed many frightful ravages. To repel the invaders, therefore, the Committee of Estates ordered the marquis to raise three regiments of foot, and march northward without delay, which he very soon effected, taking a number of their principal chiefs prisoners, and dispersing the rest. Montrose, however, was still on the field, plundering and laying waste all over Argyleshire, and other places belonging to the Covenanters; and, although he was finally defeated by general Leslie, at Philiphaugh, yet M'Donald and his Irish barbarians returned in 1646, and burned and plundered the dwellings of the well-affected, to such an extent, that about 1200 of the ejected and houseless inhabitants assembled in a body under Acknalase, who brought them down to Monteith to live upon the disaffected in that part of the country. On their way thither, however, the men of Athol attacked them at Callender; and, being but poorly armed, a considerable number of them were slain. The rest made the best of their way to Stirling, where they were met by Argyle, who, commiserating their deplorable condition, led them into Dumbartonshire to live upon lord Napier, and others of the disaffected, till they should be better provided for. In the mean time he himself went over to Ireland, and, bringing home the remainder of the Scots forces, landed them in Argyleshire. M'Donald betook himself to the Isles, and from thence to Ireland, which put an end to hostilities in that part of the country.

In 1648, when the state became divided into two factions, the malignants were headed by the marquis of Hamilton, and the Covenanters were under the direction of Argyle. It may therefore be with safety concluded, that from the year 1643, the marquis was actively employed in promoting the civil and religious liberties of his country; and it is well known from what took place in 1649,—from the influence he had acquired in parliament, and from the successful measures he had used in restoring Charles II. to his throne and regal authority, that the affairs of the nation went on pretty smoothly, so long as the king continued to act upon his advice. No sooner, however, did the weak monarch transfer his favours to the opposite party, and install their nobles into places of power and trust, than the country became again one vast scene of confusion and bloodshed, which preyed heavily upon the mind of the worthy Argyle. Charles at the same time pretended a great deal of regard for the marquis; but how he performed the promises contained in the following letter, may be judged from the resentment he indulged ever after the marquis had the Christian magnanimity to reprove him for his immoralities.

This masterpiece of duplicity appears to have been written from St. Johnston (Perth), September 24th, 1650, and is as follows:—"Having taken into my consideration the faithful endeavours of the marquis of Argyle for restoring me to my just rights, I am desirous to let the world see how sensible I am of his real respect to me, by some particular favour to him. And particularly I do promise that I shall make him Duke of Argyle, a knight of the garter, and one of the gentlemen of my bedchamber, and this to be performed when he shall think fit. I do further promise to hearken to his counsel, whenever it shall please God to restore me to my just rights in England. I shall see him paid the 40,000 pounds sterling which are due to him. All which I do promise to make good upon the word of a king."

"C. R."

Charles was crowned at Scone on the 1st January, 1651, and the crown was placed on his head by the marquis. After prayer by Mr. Douglas, he was installed into the royal throne by the marquis also. For a time, too, the Usurper's forces were victorious in several engagements, and the king could no longer continue in Scotland with safety. He was, therefore, after Cromwell's success at Dunbar, obliged to return to England, leaving the marquis at Stirling. On the 3d of September following, his army having been completely routed at Worcester, the English overran the whole country; and the national representatives were forced either to succumb to Cromwell, or run the risk of enduring severe hardships. This submission Argyle had refused at Dumbarton, and therefore the Usurper's army marched into Argyleshire and other parts of the Highlands. Whilst Argyle was confined at Inverary by indisposition, one of Cromwell's officers—major Dean—walked into the room and presented a paper, informing the marquis that if he did not subscribe the same before the following day, he would be carried off prisoner. For several reasons, but particularly for his own and his tenants' safety, Argyle most reluctantly adhibited his signature. From the date of this circumstance may be traced the commencement of those sufferings which brought the marquis to the scaffold.

In the year 1660, soon after the king's restoration, Argyle set out for London, whither he arrived on the 8th of July, and without delay proceeded to Whitehall, anxious to pay his respects to a prince on whose head he had placed the crown, and in whose presence he might vindicate himself from many foul aspersions which had been very industriously conveyed to the royal ear. No sooner had Charles heard of Argyle's arrival, than, forgetting all his debts of gratitude, and former fair promises, he caused his lordship to be apprehended and conveyed to the Tower, where he was detained till the month of December, and then sent down to Scotland, in a ship of war, to abide his trial before parliament. On the 20th, the vessel arrived at Leith; and, next day, the marquis was marched along the streets of Edinburgh betwixt two of the town bailies, and lodged in the castle.

On the 13th of February following, Argyle was brought down from the castle in a coach, attended by three of the magistrates, and the town guard, and presented at the bar of the house; when Sir John Fletcher, the king's advocate, accused him in common form, of high treason, producing an indictment, and craving that it might be read. Before this should be done, Argyle asked permission to speak; but was refused. The indictment contained fourteen counts; the principal of which were:—"his entering into the Solemn League and Covenant with England; and his submission to Oliver Cromwell." After it had been read over, however, he was permitted to address the house, which he did with great effect, declaring that he had, consistently with his solemn oath and covenant, served his God, his king, and his country; and that not one of the accusations brought against him could be proved. It was to no purpose that he thus pleaded, because the parliament were determined to bring him in guilty; and therefore he was ordered to enter upon his defence on the 27th of the same month. At his special request, however, it was deferred until the 5th of March. On that day he delivered a most affecting speech before the lords of articles, and gave in a petition, recommending himself to the king's mercy, and entreating the parliament to intercede for him.

He was again brought before the parliament upon the 16th; but all that either he or his counsel could say had no weight with the members. In the beginning of May, witnesses were examined against him; and on the 25th he was brought to the bar of the house to receive sentence from his judges, which was to the following effect:—"That he was found guilty of high treason, and adjudged to be executed as a traitor—his head to be severed from his body at the cross of Edinburgh, upon Monday the 27th, and affixed on the same place where the marquis of Montrose's head had formerly been, and his arms torn before the parliament at the cross." At this awful crisis Argyle offered to speak; but the trumpets beginning to sound, he waited till they had finished, and then said,—"I had the honour to place the crown on the king's head; and now he hastens me to a better crown than his own!" After which, addressing himself to the speaker and members, he said:—You have the indemnity of an earthly king among your hands, and have denied me a share in that; but you cannot hinder me from the indemnity of the King of kings; and shortly you must be before his tribunal. I pray he mete not out such measure to you as you have done to me, when you are called to an account for all your actings, and this amongst the rest!"

After sentence he was conveyed to the common prison, where his lady was waiting for him,—upon seeing whom he said,—"They have given me till Monday to be with you, my dear, therefore let us make for it." The marchioness wept bitterly, and said twice,—"The Lord will require it," which drew tears from all present. "Forbear," said the marquis, "forbear! I pity them, they know not what they are doing,—they may shut me in where they please; but they cannot shut God out from me. I am as content to be here, as in the castle, and as content there as in the Tower of London, and as content in the Tower as when at liberty,"—and added, that he remembered a passage of Scripture quoted by an honest minister to him while in the castle, which he intended to put in practice,—"When Ziklag was taken and burnt, the people spake of stoning David; but he encouraged himself in the Lord."

During the short interval between his sentence and execution, he maintained the greatest serenity and cheerfulness, conversing pleasantly with several ministers who were permitted to visit him. The night before his execution he slept calmly; and on Monday morning, though much engaged in settling his affaire in the midst of company, he had at intervals much spiritual conversation, and was so overpowered by a sensible effusion of the Holy Spirit, that on one occasion he broke out into a rapturous exclamation:—"I thought to have concealed the Lord's goodness, but it will not do. I am now ordering my affairs, and God is sealing my charter to a better inheritance, and just now saying to me,—'Son, be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven thee.' "

Before going to the place of execution, he dined precisely at noon with a number of his friends, displaying great cheerfulness; after which he retired for a little. Upon his return, he said the Lord had again confirmed his promise, and said to him from heaven,—"Thy sins be forgiven thee!" Every countenance was suffused with tears but his own; but being at length overcome, they began to flow very copiously, when he said to Mr. George Hutcheson,—"I think His kindness overcomes me; but God is good, that he does not let out too much of it here, for I could not bear it. Get me my cloak and let us go."—Being told that the clock was kept back till one, till the bailies should come, he said, "They are far wrong," and immediately kneeled down and prayed before all present, in a very moving and heavenly strain. Scarcely had he finished, when the bailies sent for him. Calling for a glass of wine before he went, he continued standing in the same frame of mind, and having asked a blessing upon it, he said, "Now let us go, and God be with us!" Having taken leave of all who were not to accompany him, he said when going,—"I could die like a Roman, but choose rather to die like a Christian!" As he went down stairs, he called Mr. Guthrie to him, and after embracing him most tenderly, bade him farewell. "My Lord," said Mr. Guthrie, "God hath been with you of a truth; He is with you, and will be with you. Such is my respect for your lordship, that if I were not under sentence of death myself, I would cheerfully die for your lordship!" Thus parted these two martyrs on earth, to meet in heaven on the Friday following.

Argyle ascended the scaffold with an air of perfect serenity, and saluted all who were present. Mr. Hutcheson prayed, after which the Marquis addressed the spectators. When he had finished, Mr. Hamilton prayed, followed by Argyle himself; after which he prepared for the closing scene. To the executioner, he gave a napkin containing some money; to his sons-in-law, Caithness and Ker, his watch and some other things; to the earl of Loudon his silver pencase; and to Lothian a double ducat, and then threw off his coat. When going to the "Maiden,"* Mr. Hutcheson desired him to hold his "grip sicker," to which he replied, "I am not afraid to be surprised with fear!" The laird of Skelmorlie took hold of his hand, and found it perfectly steady. Then kneeling down with a sweet and solemn composure, after having prayed for a few moments, he gave the signal by lifting up one of his hands, and the Maiden instantly severed his head from his body. His head was afterwards fixed on the west end of the tolbooth, as a monument of the parliament's injustice, the king's infidelity, and Scotland's misery. The body was afterwards deposited in the family vault at Kilmun.

Thus died the marquis of Argyle, the first martyr to presbyterianism since the reformation from popery. All his biographers agree that he was a man of extraordinary piety, remarkable wisdom and prudence, and singular usefulness. In the great work of the Reformation he was the prime agent; and when a large portion of the nation yielded to the emergency, he stood almost alone, and never deserted the cause until he moistened with his blood the tree which his own hands had planted. In a word, says a learned writer, "He had piety for a Christian; sense for a counsellor, carriage for a martyr, and soul for a king." If ever any was, Argyle may, with strict propriety, be denominated a true Scottish Presbyterian.

JAMES GUTHRIE

THE name of this revered martyr will be held dear by Scottish presbyterians as long as a regard for pure and undefiled religion exists in the land. He is said to have been descended from the ancient family of Guthrie, and to have given very early proofs of his abilities as a scholar. When but a very young man he was appointed to teach philosophy in the University of St. Andrew's, where, by an unprecedented placidity of temper, he attracted the admiration of all who knew him. Having been educated in the profession of episcopacy, he for a time held out firmly against the simple forms of Presbytery, until, by his associating with Mr. Samuel Rutherford and others, and taking part in their weekly meetings for prayer and conference, he was so effectually weaned from his early predilections, as to be looked upon as a star of the first magnitude in the presbyterian church.

Having passed his trials in 1638, he was ordained minister of London, where he remained for several years. In 1646, he was one of the ministers appointed to attend king Charles at Newcastle; and also, during the intervals betwixt the General Assemblies, he was nominated in the commission to watch over the public affairs of the church. About three years after, he was removed to Stirling, where he continued till the Restoration, a faithful watchman upon Zion's walls,—"showing Israel their iniquities, and the house of Jacob their sins."

When the unhappy differences broke out between the resolutioners and protesters, he warmly espoused the cause of the latter; and, aided by his colleague, Mr. Bennet, preached openly against the abetters of the "Articles of Perth," as involving the land in conjunction with the malignant party. This was too much for the times; and they were consequently summoned to repair to Perth, on the 19th of February, 1651, to answer before the king and the Committee of Estates,—one of them, however, being indisposed, it was put off till the 22d, when both appeared, and lodged a protest,—bearing, that although they acknowledged the civil authority of the king, yet Guthrie had been accused by his majesty and his council for a point of doctrine maintained and discussed in a sermon, of which they were not the competent judges; and therefore he declined their jurisdiction, and appealed to the church. In consequence of the king's absence, however, judgment was deferred, and they were, in the mean time, confined to Perth and Dundee. On the 28th of February they lodged another protest, similar to the former, but couched in stronger language, and supported by many powerful arguments. Farther procedure was sisted against them for the present; but Guthrie's declining the king's authority at this time was made the principal charge against him some years after.

The king's affairs being now hopeless, an army was raised under the command of Middleton, into which Charles was to throw himself for protection. But his last defence lay in the Committee of Estates. The king had written to the protesters to lay down their arms, and the Committee had offered indemnity to all who would submit to his authority, while at the same time the Commission of Assembly were not wanting in energetic measures against those who had thus the hardihood to disturb the public peace. Guthrie, conceiving Middleton to have laid himself open to the highest ecclesiastical censure, is said to have proposed summary excommunication, and to have been supported by a majority of the Commission, as a solatium due to the church at such a critical juncture, when nothing but firm adherence to the principles of Presbytery could maintain her independence. He himself, therefore, was nominated as the fittest person to put in execution the sentence of the Commission, which he did from his own pulpit at Stirling. For certain reasons, however, which seemed sufficiently valid to the Commission, they afterwards released Middleton from the censure; but he never forgave Guthrie.

About this time he wrote several papers in favour of the protesters, for which and his former fidelity he was one of the three who were deposed by the pretended Assembly at St. Andrew's, in 1657. Such, indeed, had been the malice of the resolutioners, that they actually stoned him upon one occasion; because, upon the death of his colleague, Mr. Bennet, he would not accept one of their party. But he was no less opposed to Cromwell and his faction than he was to the malignants; for, at the time when the marquis of Argyle procured an equal hearing between the resolutioners and protesters, at London, in 1656, he so maintained the king's right, in opposition to the usurper's chaplain, as to excite the indignation of the Independents.

Not long after the Restoration, while Guthrie and a few of the faithful brethren who had met at Edinburgh were drawing up a petition to his majesty, they were all apprehended, and imprisoned in Edinburgh castle, with the exception of one who made his escape. Guthrie, however, was not suffered to remain there; but was conveyed to the castle of Stirling, where he was kept in close confinement until a short time before his trial, which took place on the 20th of February, 1661. When brought before the court, the chancellor informed him, that he was to be tried for high treason, as had already been certified in the copy of an indictment which had been served upon him, and which would now be read in his hearing. The counts in this indictment were:—"His contriving, consenting to and exhibiting before the Committee of Estates, a paper called the Western Remonstrance. 2. His contriving, writing, and publishing, that abominable pamphlet, called—The Causes of the Lord's Wrath. 3. His contriving, writing, and subscribing the paper called the Humble Petition of the twenty-third of August last 4. His convocating of the king's lieges, &c. 5. His declaring his majesty incapable to be judge over him, according to the protests and appeals presented by him to that effect at Perth. 6. Some treasonable expressions he was alleged to have uttered, at a meeting in 1650, or 1651. In refutation of all these charges, he delivered an admirable defence before the Parliament, not only in vindication of himself, but also laudatory of the noble cause for which he was suffering; after which he was ordered to remove.

Before retiring, however, he requested to be allowed a short time for consulting with his counsel, which was granted; and the 26th of the same month was appointed for entering upon his defence. It is said that in drawing up this document he very much surprised his counsel by the accurate knowledge of Scots law which he discovered, and by suggesting several things which would have escaped their notice.

Upon the 11th of April, the process against him was read in the house, upon which occasion also he delivered an affecting speech, which he concluded with the following moving appeal:—"My lords, in the last place, I humbly beg that—having brought so clear evidence from the word of God, so much divine reason and human laws, and so much of the common practice of the kirk and kingdom, in my defence; and being already cast out of my ministry, out of my dwelling and maintenance, myself and my family put to live on the charity of others, having now suffered eight months' imprisonment—your lordships would put no other burden upon me. I shall conclude with the words of the prophet Jeremiah,—'Behold, I am in your hands, do to me what seemeth good to you: I know, for certain, that the Lord hath commanded me to speak all these things; and that if you put me to death, you shall bring innocent blood upon yourselves, and upon the inhabitants of this city.'—My conscience I cannot submit, my lords; but this old crazy body and mortal flesh, I do submit, to do with it whatever ye will, whether by death or by banishment, or imprisonment, or anything else, only I beseech you to ponder well what profit there is in my blood. It is not the execution of me, or many others, that will extinguish the covenant and work of reformation since the year 1638,—my blood, bondage, or banishment, will contribute more for the propagation of these things, than my life or liberty could do, though I should live many years."

Although this speech had not the effect that might have been expected, it nevertheless made such a powerful impression upon not a few of the members, that they withdrew from the house, declaring that they would have nothing to do with the blood of such a righteous man. The earl of Tweeddale was the only person that spoke against putting him to death,—saying that banishment had been the severest censure laid upon preachers for their opinions, and yet Mr. Guthrie had been condemned to die." The day of his execution was not named till the 8th of May, when the parliament ordered him and William Gowan to be hanged at the Cross of Edinburgh, on the first of June, and Guthrie's head to be fixed on the Nether Bow, his estate to be confiscated, and his arms torn. Govan's head was to be placed upon the West Port. After he had received his sentence, he accosted the parliament thus: "My lords, let this sentence never affect you more than it does me, and let my blood never be required of the king's family!"

Between his sentence and execution, Guthrie enjoyed perfect composure and serenity of mind, and wrote a great many letters to his friends and acquaintances. His farewell letter to his wife, being written with the most dignified submission, and breathing the most ardent affection and cheerful resignation, we give entire:

"My heart,—Being within a few hours to lay down my life for the testimony of Jesus Christ, I do send these few lines as the last obedience of unfeigned and spotless affection which I bear unto you, not only as one flesh, but as a member with me of that blessed mystical body of the Lord; for I trust you are, and that God, who hath begun his good work in you, will also perfect it, and bring it to an end, and give you life and salvation. Whatever may be your infirmities and weakness, yet the grace of God shall be sufficient for you, and his strength shall be perfected in your weakness. To me you have been a very kind and faithful yoke fellow, and not a hinderer but a helper in the work of the Lord. I do bear you this testimony as all the recompense I can now leave you with:—In all the trials I have met with in the work of the ministry, these twenty years past, which have not been few, and those from aggressors of many sorts, upon the right hand and upon the left, you were never a tempter of me to dissent away from the living God, and from the way of my duty, to comply with an evil cause, or to hearken to the counsels of flesh and blood, for avoiding the cross, and for gaining the profit and preferment of a present world. You have wrought much with your hands for furnishing bread for me and my children, and were always willing that I should show hospitality, especially to those that bore the image of God. These things I mention, not to puff you up, but to encourage you under your present affliction and distress, being persuaded that God will have regard to you and to the children of my body, whom I leave to your care, that they may be brought up in the knowledge of the Lord. Let not your wants and weaknesses discourage you; there are power, riches, and abundance with God, both as to the things of the body and those of the soul; and he will supply all your wants, and carry you through. It is like to be a very trying time; but cleave you to God, and keep his way, without casting off your confidence. Fear not to be drowned in the depths of the troubles that may attend this land, God will hide you under his shadow, and keep you in the hollow of his hand. Be sober and of a meek spirit; strive not against Providence; but be subject to him who is the Father of spirits. Decline not the cross, but embrace it as your own; love all that love the Lord, and delight in their fellowship. Give yourself to prayer, and be diligent in reading the holy scriptures. Wait on the ordinances, and hold them in great esteem as the appointed means of God, for your salvation. Join together the exercise of piety and repentance, and manifest your faith in the fruits of sincere obedience and of a gospel conversation. Value your conscience above your skin. Be not solicitous, although you know not wherewith to clothe you and your children, or wherewith to dine; God's providence and promises are a true, rich, and never failing portion. Jesus Christ be all your salvation and all your desire! You I recommend to Him, and Him to you. My heart! I recommend you to the eternal love of Jesus Christ. I am helped of God, and I hope I shall be helped to the end. Pray for me, while I am here, and praise with me hereafter. God be with you! I am yours.

Edinburgh Tolbooth,

June 1st, 1661.

}

"JAMES GUTHRIE."

On the same day, it having been reported that he was to purchase his life by retracting something he had formerly said and done, he wrote and subscribed the following declaration:—

"These are to declare, that I do own the 'Causes of God's Wrath,' the 'Supplication at Edinburgh,' last August, and the accession I had to the 'Remonstrances,' and if any do think, or have reported, that I was willing to recede from these, they have wronged me, as never having any ground from me to think or report so. This I attest, under ray hand, at Edinburgh, about eleven o'clock, forenoon, before these witnesses:

ARTHUR FORBES,

JOHN GUTHRIE.

HUGH WALKER,

JAMES COWIE.

(Signed)

JAMES GUTHRIE."

Having settled all his worldly concerns, he dined with his friends with great cheerfulness, and called for cheese—of which he had been particularly fond, but had been dissuaded from the use of it, in consequence of being subject to the gravel—remarking that he was now beyond the hazard of that disease. After dinner was over, he retired by himself for some time; and returning with the most perfect composure and fortitude, he was immediately after conveyed, under a guard, from the tolbooth to the scaffold, which was erected at the cross. And here, so far from betraying any symptoms of fear, he rather expressed an anxiety for death. He spoke about an hour to the multitude with the same composure as if he had been delivering an ordinary discourse, concluding with the words of Simeon of old, "Now let thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation!"

Of his last speech and testimony he gave a copy to a friend, to be preserved for his son, and delivered to him when he came of age, as he was then only a child. Immediately before being turned over, he raised the napkin from his eyes, and cried aloud,—"The Covenants, the Covenants, shall yet be Scotland's reviving!"

In a few weeks after his execution, as Middleton's coach was coming down the Netherbow Port, several drops of blood fell upon it from the martyr's head, which all the art of man could not wash out. It was therefore found necessary to substitute a new cover.

Guthrie was the first minister who suffered death, at that period, for asserting the kingly prerogative of the Lord Jesus, in opposition to Erastian* supremacy. He was a man honoured by God to be singularly zealous and faithful in carrying on the work of reformation, in which he conducted himself with the most unswerving fidelity, under all chances and revolutions. His assiduity in promoting the king's interest in Scotland was uniform; and of this Charles himself was sensible; as may be learned from an expression he made use of, when informed of his death. "And what have you done with Patrick Gillespie?" inquired the king.—"He had so many friends in the house," was the reply, "that his life could not be taken!"—"Well, said his Majesty,—"if I had known you would have spared Gillespie, I would have spared Guthrie." In a word, Guthrie was a man adorned with almost every qualification, necessary to complete either the man or the Christian.

Besides the writings already noticed, he wrote a pamphlet against Cromwell, for which he suffered several hardships during the usurper's supremacy. The last sermon he preached at Stirling, from Mat. 14:22, entitled "A cry from the dead," with his Ten Considerations anent the Decay of Religon, were first published by himself, in 1660; and an authentic paper written and subscribed by himself upon the occasion of his being stoned by the resolution party, in 1656, for his accession to the call of Mr. Robert Rule to be his colleague, after the death of Mr. Bennet. He also wrote a treatise on Ruling Elders and Deacons, affixed to the last edition of his cousin Mr. William Guthrie's "Trial of a Saving Interest in Christ."

WILLIAM GOVAN

BIOGRAPHY seems to be silent concerning the birth and life of this worthy man, who suffered along with Mr. Guthrie. All that is known of him is, that in some writings he is styled Captain Govan, from which it has been concluded, that he was a soldier. The principal offence with which he was charged was, that of having deserted the king's standard at Hamilton, along with many others, at a time when the repeated victories obtained by Cromwell rendered all hope of further resistance unavailing. It was farther alleged against him, that he was on the scaffold when Charles I. was beheaded; but this he satisfactorily disproved by establishing an alibi.

Upon the scaffold he took a ring from his finger, and gave it to a friend, desiring him to carry it to his wife, and say to her that "he died in humble confidence, and found the cross of Christ sweet." He declared that "Christ had done all for him, and that it was by him alone he had been justified." Being desired to look up to Christ, he answered,—"He looketh down and smileth upon me." After which, haying ascended the ladder, he said,—"Dear friends, pledge this cup of suffering as I have done, before you sin; for sin and suffering have been presented to me, and I have chosen the suffering part." After the rope had been put round his neck, and adjusted, he said:—"Now I am near my last, and I desire to reflect upon no man. I would only mention one thing. The Commissioner and I went out to the battle field together for the same cause,—I have now the cord about my neck; and he is promoted to be his majesty's commissioner; yet for a thousand worlds I would not exchange lots with him. Praise and glory be to Christ for ever!"

After a short pause, and having prayed for a little, he gave the signal, and in a few moments was in possession of his crown. He was accounted a pious and good man, and was evidently a firm adherent to the presbyterian cause. His head was afterwards placed above the West Port, in the city of Edinburgh.

JOHN CAMPBELL, EARL OF LOUDON

THIS distinguished nobleman was heir to Sir James Campbell of Lawers, and husband of Margaret, countess of Loudon. At the coronation of Charles I., he was raised to the peerage, under the title of the earl of Loudon, along with several others of the Scottish nobility.

From his youth he was well affected to the presbyterian cause; and, about the year 1637, when the second Reformation began to dawn, he not only joined the Covenanters, but, when the General Assembly met at Glasgow, in November, 1638, he gave regular attendance, and was found to be of great service, both by his excellent advice, and the many eloquent speeches he delivered. When the dispute arose between the marquis of Hamilton, the king's commissioner, and some of the members, regarding the election of an Assembly clerk, Loudon, in name of the commissioners to the Assembly, gave in reasons of a very high and independent strain, why the lord-commisssioner and his assessors ought to have but one vote in the house, in opposition to the marquis, who insisted upon the contrary. These reasons were drawn out in such a masterly manner, that the earl of Traquair craved a copy, promising to answer them; but the reply never made its appearance. About the same time, too, he told the king's commissioner;—"That he knew of no other bond betwixt a king and his subjects, than religion and the laws; and, if these were violated, men's lives were not dear to them; that such fears were past with his party."

Galled to the heart to see that Presbytery was almost restored, and prelacy well nigh abolished, the king, with the advice of his bishops, immediately put himself at the head of an army, in order to reduce the Scots. They, however, having heard of his hostile intentions, were not a whit behind. Both armies marched towards the border; but, upon the approach of the Scots, the English became intimidated, and a truce was agreed upon. Commissioners having been appointed to treat on both sides, the Scottish army deputed Lord Loudon, who, on his knees, informed the king, "That their demand was only to enjoy their religion and liberties, according to the ecclesiastical and civil laws of the kingdom." To this Charles replied:—"That if that was all they desired, peace would soon be made;"—promising at the same time "that all ecclesiastical matters be decided by an Assembly; and civil matters by the parliament; which Assembly should be held once a year; and that on the 6th of August there should be a free General Assembly, when he himself would be present, and pass an Act of oblivion, to that effect." These preliminaries were subscribed by the commissioners on both sides, in the sight of both armies, at Kirks, near Berwick, on the 18th day of June, 1639.

The treaty, however, was but of short duration; for, at the instigation of the bishops, the king soon after caused the articles of peace to be burnt by the hangman, charging the Scots, at the same time, with violating the terms of agreement, although Loudon satisfactorily proved the contrary. Charles was far from being pleased at the freedom of speech which Loudon had used; but he was permitted to return home for the time.

In the meantime the General Assembly met at Edinburgh, on the 12th of August, and Mr. David Dickson was chosen moderator. Among other matters Henderson and Ramsay moved, that episcopacy was of human origin, and altogether an institution of man, when the earl of Traquair interrupted the discussion, and declared that he did not wish them to go into any dispute upon the subject; but merely to show how far episcopacy was contrary to the constitution of the Scottish church, Loudon most satisfactorily explained the Act of Assembly, 1580, which condemned the office of bishops, prior to the subscribing of the National Covenant, and observed that,—Episcopacy, having no warrant in the word of God, and Presbytery having that warrant, had been accordingly sworn in the National Covenant.

The parliament met on the same day on which the Assembly was prorogued; but entering upon business to which the king was altogether averse, Traquair managed matters so as to put a stop to all their proceedings. In this unpleasant state of affairs, Dunfermline and Loudon were sent to implore his majesty to allow them to proceed; but before these two noblemen reached the palace, orders were sent, discharging them in the king's name, from coming within a mile of the court, upon pretence that they had no warrant from his majesty's commissioner.

In the mean time the king prorogued the parliament till the second of June, 1640; and in that state the affairs of the nation lay over until January, 1641, when the parliamentary committee, having obtained leave to send up deputies to represent their grievances, pitched upon Dunfermline and Loudon, with Douglas of Cavers, and Mr. Barclay, provost of Irvine, for that purpose. His majesty received them with apparent courtesy, and even permitted them to kiss hands; but as they understood they were not to be honoured with a private audience, they craved a copy of Traquair's information to the English council; but were refused. On the 3d of March, however, this honour was granted them, when Loudon took occasion to inform the king, that his ancient and native kingdom was independent of any other judicatory, and solicited his majesty's protection in defence of religion, liberty, and the cause of the church. Concerning those who had misrepresented the Scots to Charles, his lordship said:—"If it please God for our sins to make our condition so deplorable as that our enemies may get the shadow of your majesty's authority to palliate their ends—as we hope in God they will not—then, as those who are sworn to defend our religion, our recourse must be to the God of Jacob for our refuge, who is the Lord of lords, and King of kings, by whom kings reign and princes decree justice. And if, in speaking thus—out of zeal for our religion, the duty we owe to our country, and in vindication of the heavy charge brought against us—we have said anything unadvisedly in the warmth of our attachment to the cause, we fall down at your majesty's feet, craving pardon, in all humility, for our freedom. But, in the present state of affairs, it is necessary that we distinguish between church and state,—between the ecclesiastical and civil power; both being materially one, and yet, formally, distinct in power, in jurisdiction, in laws, in bodies, in ends, in offices, and officers. For although the church and her ecclesiastic assemblies be formally different and distinct from parliament and civil judicatories; yet there is so strict and necessary a conjunction betwixt ecclesiastic and civil jurisdiction, betwixt religion and justice, that the one cannot properly exist and be preserved without the other,—and therefore they must stand and fall, live and die together." After having enlarged at considerable length upon the privileges of both, he concluded thus:—"That your majesty may be graciously pleased to command that the parliament proceed freely to determine upon the articles given in to them; and, whatsoever exceptions, objections, or informations, are made against any of the particular overtures, &c., we are most willing to receive the same in writing: and shall, in the same way, return our answers and humble desires."*

The Scots commissioners having appeared on the 11th of March, and produced their instructions, a good deal of conversation followed between the king and them; in course of which, archbishop Laud, who sat to the right of his majesty, was observed to treat them contemptuously, by instigating the king to tease them with questions altogether foreign from the nature of their commission. Upon this occasion, it seemed evident that nothing else had been intended by Traquair than to intrap the commissioners by his questions; but he was met at every point by arguments which he found impossible to overturn. Recourse was therefore had to the strong arm of despotic law, and the whole of the commissioners were taken into custody. The earl of Loudon was sent to the Tower for a letter alleged to have been written by him, and sent by the Scots to the French king, of the following tenor:—

"Sire,

"Your majesty being the refuge and sanctuary of afflicted princes and states, we have found it necessary to send this gentleman, Mr. Colville, to represent to your majesty the candour and ingenuity as well of our actions and proceedings, as of our inventions, which we desire to be engraven and written in the whole world, with a beam of the sun, as well as to your majesty. We therefore beseech you, Sire, to give faith and credit to him, and to all that he shall say on our part, touching us and our affairs. Being much assured, Sire, of an assistance equal to your wonted clemency heretofore and so often showed to the nation, which will not yield the glory of any other whatsoever, to be eternally,"

Sire,

"Your majesty's most humble, most obedient, and most affectionate Servant."

For information upon this important point, we are indebted to the author of "History of the Stuarts," who maintains that the letter was composed by Montrose, when the king was marching with a powerful army against Scotland; and that it was copied by Loudon, and subscribed by himself, Montrose, Rothes, Marr, Montgomery, Forrester, and General Leslie; but that it never was sent. The copy was without date, and without address; and having been judged inelegant French, the idea had been dropped. But it was enough for Traquair's sinistrous purposes, who, by some means or other had got possession of it; and the king's imbecile mind was not very difficult to rouse. The earl having been called before the council to answer to the charge, at once acknowledged the manuscript and signature to be his own; but stated at the same time, in defence, that all this had been done when his majesty was marching with a hostile army against his native country; and that, in these circumstances, they could think of one better qualified to act as their intercessor, and to whom the king would be more disposed to listen, than the French king,—being his majesty's own near relation: but that having been judged too late, the letter had never been so much as addressed, and therefore had not been sent, as both that and the want of a date would testify.

All was of no avail, and the earl was remanded to prison. Charles was determined that his life should be sacrificed, and that, too, in the most cowardly manner, without trial or conviction, and, by the hand of an assassin. Burnet, in his "Memoirs of the Duke of Hamilton," acknowledges that the king was advised to proceed capitally against Loudon; but Rusworth, an English historian, affirms that about three o'clock in the afternoon, the King sent his own letter to William Balfour, lieutenant of the Tower, commanding him to see the lord Loudon's head struck off, within the Tower, before nine the next morning. That his lordship might prepare for death, the lientenant gave him immediate notice of this command. Confident in the justice of his cause, the earl received the intimation with astonishing serenity and composure of mind. The lieutenant, at the same time, informed the marquis of Hamilton, and both immediately set off to the king, whom they found in bed. Scarcely had the warrant been named, when the king, suspecting their business, stopped them, and in a rage exclaimed,—"by G——d, it shall be executed!" The marquis, however, remonstrated with him upon the perfidiousness of his design, and laid before him the fatal consequences that might ensue, by alienating from him the nobility, from whom his own life might be in danger; and that Scotland, to a man, would immediately arm against him. Like a pettish babe foiled in its intention, the poor king demanded the warrant, and tore it in pieces,—dismissing the marquis and lieutenant somewhat unceremoniously. About the 28th of June, by the good providence of God, the noble lord obtained his liberty, after having been instructed to conceal his harsh treatment from his countrymen, and to use all his endeavours to dispose them to peace,—but another crisis was at hand. The Scots were resolute, and Charles evinced no disposition to give way. A new war, therefore, broke out, and the king put himself at the head of the army to suppress the Scots. They, however, were not tardy in their preparations, and accordingly pushed their way as far as Durham, with marked success. In all this Loudon acted no inconspicuous part. Through his endeavours the citizens of Edinburgh and other places cheerfully contributed money and other necessaries to carry on the war. The king's troops were defeated at Newburn, and he found himself reduced to the necessity of appointing commissioners to treat with the Scots. The meeting took place at Rippon, on the 1st of October, 1640, and the earls of Dunfermline, Rothes, and Loudon, with Messrs. Henderson and Johnston, were appointed commissioners on the side of the Scots. After agreeing to a truce for three months, the treaty was transferred to London. In addition to the former commissioners were now added Messrs Robert Blair, Robert Baillie, and George Gillespie, three of the brightest ornaments of the church, as chaplains to the three noblemen formerly nominated. Great hopes were entertained by the friends of the church in England, that something would now be done to restore peace to the suffering presbyterians, and they were not altogether disappointed.

In the following year, the king made another tour to Scotland to be present at a meeting of parliament, before which Traquair, Montrose, and some other violent nobles had been cited to appear, for stirring up strife between the king and his subjects, and for tampering with the Covenanters. Loudon, mindful of the recommendation given him by his sovereign the year before, interceded so warmly in behalf of some of the accused, that, for a time, suspicion went abroad that he had changed sides. Nothing, however, was farther from his heart. After the strictest scrutiny into his conduct and motives for such unprecedented liberality, the house declared that he had conducted himself faithfully and prudently in all his public appointments, and that he not only merited an act of approbation, but deserved besides to be rewarded by the Estates. With none of the Scots commissioners did the English act so generously as with the earl, and none of them, at any time, acted towards the king with such candour as he did. Once more, therefore, he was appointed to go to London with the newly revised treaty, subscribed by the lord-president and others. Soon after this, by the king's special will, the noble earl was appointed chancellor, much against his own inclination, and the solicitation of his friends, who would have had him nominated to the office of lord-treasurer. Accordingly, on the 2d October, 1642, his lordship was installed into office, when the great seal, which had been kept by the marquis of Hamilton for two years, was, with the mace, delivered to him out of his majesty's own hand, after having taken the oath of allegiance, and* de fideli administratione officii. As soon as this ceremony was over, he was placed in a seat at his majesty's feet, on the right of the lord-president, from which he immediately rose, and, falling upon his knee before the king, said:—"Promotion cometh neither from the east nor from the west, but from God alone. I acknowledge that I have received this from your majesty, as God's viceregent upon earth, and the fountain of all earthly honour in this kingdom, and I will endeavour to answer the expectation your majesty looks for, and to deserve the good will of this honourable house, in faithfully discharging what you both, without any merit on my part, have imposed upon me."—How altered the scene!—Only a few short months previous he had received from the sovereign the sentence of death, for the cause of Christ and his church; and now, by the same authority, he is intrusted with the helm of the highest affairs in the kingdom. True it is,—"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and before honour is humility."

Loudon began now to exert himself for the welfare of the church and nation; and, as the most expedient way to bring about a firm and lasting peace between the two kingdoms, he earnestly importuned Charles to call together his English parliament. In 1645, he was unremitting in his endeavours to establish that happy uniformity in doctrine, discipline and church government, which then took place; and, in the following year, he accosted the king in the following terms:—"The difference between your majesty and the parliament is grown to such a height, that, after many bloody battles they have your majesty, with all your garrisons and strongholds in their hands. They are in a capacity now to do what they will, in church and state; and some are afraid, and others unwilling to proceed to extremities, till they know your majesty's final resolution. Now, Sire, if your majesty refuse to assent to what is proposed, you will lose all your friends in the house and in the city, and all England will unite against you as one man—they will depose you, and establish another government—they will compel us to deliver up your majesty to them, and remove our arms out of England; and, upon your refusal, we shall be obliged to settle religion, and make peace without you, which will ruin your majesty and your posterity. We confess that the proposals are, in some points, not to our mind; but the only method for your majesty to adopt is, to consent to them at present. Your majesty may recover, in time of peace, all that you have lost in a time of tempest and trouble."

In 1648, he was again employed on a similar errand, but with no better success; and in the same year, in the month of June, he was attacked by the troops under the command of Calender and Middleton, when at a communion on Mauchline moor, with a handful of Covenanters, after these gentlemen had given him their promise to the contrary.

A new scene of affairs began to appear in 1650, and darker days than ever seemed to await the suffering church. Charles I. had been put to death—the Scots had recalled his son Charles II.—the malignants had got into place and power—and, under all these circumstances, Loudon felt it necessary to resign his offices, being unable to breathe in such a pestilential atmosphere. He had presided in parliament for nearly ten years, and, under God, had been instrumental in establishing, both in church and state, the purest reformation that had been ever wrought in any country under the New Testament dispensation. How he had been employed during Cromwell's usurpation we are not accurately informed; but it is probable, that like most of the gentlemen of the day, he lived in a state of comparative seclusion.

No sooner was the king restored to his paternal dominions, than persecution of the most violent nature began to rage; and it is therefore impossible to express the grief which this godly nobleman experienced, when he beheld not only the carved work of the sanctuary broken down, which he had had such an eminent hand in directing and building up; but when he found himself at the mercy of his sovereign for the part he had taken. He was well aware that next to the marquis of Argyle, he was the butt of the enemy's malice; for he had repeatedly applied for his majesty's good graces, and had been as often refused. Life began now to be a burden to him, and he longed to depart. He often exhorted his excellent lady to pray fast, that be might not see the next session of parliament, else he might follow his dear friend, the marquis of Argyle, and the Lord was pleased to grant his request; for he died at Edinburgh, on the 15th of March, 1652, before the convocation of parliament.

The merits of this excellent nobleman, renowned patriot, and faithful servant of the Lord Jesus Christ, far exceed human eulogy. With the exception of an error into which he was led through the influence of the earl of Lanark, his reputation was without blemish. But no sooner was his mistake pointed out to him, than he repented sincerely, and in the true spirit of Christian contrition subscribed an admonition to more diligent watchfulness, to which he ever after most religiously adhered. In the senate he was a consummate orator; in political, social, and domestic life, he was a safe pattern of imitation; and, as a member of the church of Christ, the honour of his divine Master was his chief aim and end. To the support of our ancient and admirable constitution, both in church and state, he invariably applied his excellent endowments, with such unwearied zeal, that he might not improperly be called the chief advocate, both for the civil and religious liberties of the people. What was wanting in the full measure of his own sufferings, was meted out for his son, James earl of Loudon, who died in exile at Leyden, for his attachment to the same glorious cause. And it is pleasant to remark here, that there are instances, not of an ancient date, of the same noble and independent spirit for civil and religious liberty, in that family of which JOHN, earl of Loudon was such a distinguished ornament.

ROBERT BAILLIE

THE subject of this brief but interesting memoir was a native of Glasgow. He was born in the year 1599, and was a lineal descendant of the Baillies of Jerviston, a member of the house of Carphin, and a branch of the ancient family of Lamington, all in the county of Lanark. By the mother's side he was descended from the well-known Gibsons of Durie. At the university of Glasgow, where he received his education, he is said to have been so remarkably studious, as to have acquired a knowledge of twelve or thirteen languages, and to have been capable of writing Latin with such classical purity and elegance, as would not have disgraced the age of Augustus.

After having completed the study of divinity, he received license from Archbishop Law, and soon after was presented to the living of Kilwinning by the earl of Eglinton. At the commencement of the Reformation, in 1637, he laboured under considerable doubts in regard to what party he should attach himself; but at length, after much meditation, reading, and prayer, he cordially embraced the doctrine and discipline of the Covenanters—and, being a man of a sound judgment, he was much employed in the business of the church. In 1638, he was chosen to represent the presbytery of Irvine in the memorable Assembly of that year, at Glasgow, where he conducted himself with great wisdom and moderation. He was also one of those who accompanied the army as chaplains, in 1639 and 1640, and was present during the whole time of the treaty begun at Rippon, and concluded at London. What mental enjoyment he experienced at that time may be best described in his own language:—"As for myself, I never felt my mind in a better temper than it was all that time, from my outset until my head was again homeward. I was one who had taken leave of the world, and had resolved to die in that service. I found the favour of God shining on me, and a sweet, meek, and humble, yet strong and vehement spirit, leading me along." In the year following he was sent to London to frame an accusation against archbishop Laud, for the innovations he had attempted to obtrude upon the church.

From Kilwinning he was translated to the chair of divinity in the college of Glasgow, about the year 1650. He, too, was one of the commissioners sent to Westminster to assist in framing the church standards; and so highly estimated were his services, that when that Assembly rose, the English parliament presented him with a testimonial of silver plate, with a suitable inscription, in consideration of his talents and integrity. This testimonial is said to be in possession of the family of Carnbroe.

By his first wife, Baillie had one son and four daughters; and by his second, one daughter, who was married to Walkinshaw of Barrowfield.

He lived upon the most friendly terms with the marquis of Argyle; the earls of Cassilis, Eglinton, Lauderdale, and Loudon; lord Balmerino, lord Warriston, and the chief men among the covenanting party; by which intercourse he obtained the most accurate knowledge of all public transactions. Through the interest of lord Lauderdale he succeeded to the principality of the college of Glasgow, upon the death of Mr. Patrick Gillespie; and, it is said, he was offered a bishopric about the same time. This, however, he refused, continuing firm in his adherence to Presbytery till the end of his life. In the biography prefixed to his Letters, the writer insinuates that his rejection of the offer arose chiefly from an aversion to differ from those with whom he had formerly lived in habits of intimacy; but a few extracts from one of his letters to lord Lauderdale, a short time before his death, will exhibit the matter in its true light:—"Having the occasion of this bearer, I tell you my heart is broken with grief, and I find the burden of the public weighty, and hastening me to my grave. What need you do that disservice to the king which all of you cannot recompense, to grieve the hearts of all your godly friends in Scotland, with pulling down all our laws at once, which concerned our church since 1633? Was this good advice, or will it thrive? Is it wise to bring back upon us the Canterburian times, the same designs, the same practices? Will they not bring on the same effects, whatever fools may dream?—My lord, you are the nobleman in all the world I love best, I esteem most. I think I may say I write to you what I please. If you have gone with your heart to forsake your covenant—to countenance the reintroduction of bishops and books, and strengthen the king by your advice in these things, I think you a prime transgressor, and liable among the first to answer for that great sin," &c. As a further refutation of such an insinuation, when the archbishop came to visit Baillie upon his deathbed, he would not even address him by the title of "My lord." Nay, so very seriously did he lay to heart the introduction of prelacy, that only a very few weeks before his death—May 1st, 1662—in a letter to a near relative, he says:—"The guise is now, the bishops will trouble no man; but the states will punish seditious ministers. This poor church is in the most hard taking that ever we have seen. This is my daily grief; this hath brought all my bodily trouble on me, and is like to do me more harm." In the month of July following, he departed this life, aged 63 years.

For his profound and general learning, accurate and solid judgment, Baillie may very justly be reckoned one of the great men of his time; but, alas! great and good as he certainly was, he showed himself not to be altogether capable of resisting the prejudice of human passion. To some of those worthy men to whom he ascribes the highest praise for their instrumentality in carrying on the work of reformation, betwixt the years 1638 and 1649, he afterwards imputes the most unworthy motives, when they became remonstrants; taking all the divisions and calamities that befell the church, the state, and the army, to proceed from the protesters not concurring with the party with whom he acted; whereas, to every reflecting mind it will appear to be exactly the reverse. The last ten years of his otherwise excellent history, published under the title of "Baillie's Letters," must therefore be received with extreme caution. Baille was of the party called resolutioners, and is even said to have composed some of the papers belonging to that body, in 1661; and, therefore, it is not to be wondered at, that the protesters could not bind their consciences to the arbitrary dictates or the opposite party. They could not lightly violate their solemnly sworn covenant by approving of the admission of such characters as Charles II., and his wicked faction, into the bosom of the church,—in defence of which covenant many of them faced the gibbet, suffered banishment, and endured imprisonment with all its attendant horrors; while it is well known that several hundreds of the resolutioners afterwards apostatized most shamefully, and even became violent persecutors of those who, for conscience' sake, were faithful unto the death.

In erudition, Baillie may, nevertheless, be very justly esteemed an honour to his country. Among his multitudinous writings may be mentioned his Scripture Chronology, written in Latin; his Canterburian Self-Conviction; his Parallel, or Comparison of the Liturgy with the Mass-Book; his Dissuasion against the Errors of the Times, besides his Historical Papers and Letters. He also wrote Laudensium, an article against Arminianism; a Reply to the Modest Inquirer, with other Tracts, and several Sermons on other occasions.

DAVID DICKSON

THIS intrepid servant of God was the only son of Mr. John Dickson, merchant in Glasgow, who was a feuar of some lands in the barony of Fintry, called the Kirk of the Moor, in the parish of St. Ninian's. He is said to have been born about the year 1583. His parents were several years married before his birth; and, being ardently devoted to religion, the subject of this memoir was early set apart for the ministry. It would appear that they had, afterwards, in a great measure, fallen from this resolution, until Providence visited their son with a severe fever, and brought to their remembrance the vow which they had formerly made. Upon his recovery, therefore, he was sent to resume his studies at the college of Glasgow.

After taking his degree of Master of Arts, he was appointed to teach philosophy in the University; at which time he, principal Boyd of Trochrigg, and Mr. Blair, were singularly felicitous in reviving piety among the youth, which, from the time that prelacy had been imposed upon the church, had fallen sadly into decay. In 1618, Dickson was ordained minister of Irvine, where he laboured with great fidelity for about twenty-three years.

Upon his first entrance to the ministry he had no great aversion to episcopacy; but after the "Five Articles of Perth" were passed, and he began to turn his mind seriously to the subject, the more he studied them, he was satisfied of their papistical origin. At length, after recovering from a dangerous illness, he gave open testimony to their sinfulness.

No sooner was archbishop Law informed of this, than he summoned Dickson to compear before the High Commission Court on the ninth of January, 1622. The archbishop told him that he had been ordered by the king to take cognizance why he had not obeyed the Perth Articles, and why he had been so active in endeavouring to prevent the legislature from enforcing the observance of these Articles. Dickson said, the chief reason why he did not obey them was, because he saw no reason wherefore they should be commanded; that in all matters which concern the worship of God, there must be a sufficient scriptural reason for the injunction of these; but, if not, a man might lawfully refuse to give obedience;—that he found he could not with a safe conscience yield compliance, and therefore he was ready, by the grace of God, to suffer whatever flesh and blood could do to him. After submitting with exemplary patience to a great many scurrilous taunts from the bishops, and being asked whether he would obey the king or not, he replied,—"I will obey the king in all things in the Lord!" "I told you so," said Law, "I knew he would answer with a limitation." Spottiswood, contemptuously staring him in the face, said,—"These men will talk of humility and meekness, and of the Spirit of God; but they are led by the spirit of the devil—there is more pride in you, than in all the bishops of Scotland. I hanged a Jesuit in Glasgow for the like fault."—Dickson very coolly replied,—"I am not a rebel; I stand here as the king's subject; all I demand is the benefit of the law, and the right of a subject; I crave no more!" After all they could advance, he continued inflexible; whereupon sentence of deposition was pronounced against him, and he was ordered to enter himself in ward, at Tureff, in the north, within twenty days. Dickson heard his sentence unmoved, and calmly replied—"The will of the Lord be done!—though you cast me off, the Lord will take me up,—send me whither ye will, I hope my Master will go with me; and as He has been with me, hitherto, he will be with his own weak servant still?"

He continued to preach, nevertheless, till the twenty days were expired; after which he began to prepare for his journey. But the Earl of Eglinton had prevailed upon the bishop of Glasgow to allow him to come and preach at Eglinton. In consequence, however, of the vast crowds that flocked to hear him from all quarters, he enjoyed that liberty only two months, when the bishop sent him another charge, and ordered him to repair without delay to his place of confinement.

After he had been for a considerable time in Tureff, where he was much employed in preaching the word, his friends prevailed upon the bishop of Glasgow to restore him to his flock, upon condition he would recall his declinature; and upon being invited, he accordingly came to Glasgow. To persuade him to compliance, however, was found impossible; although the conditions were so modified, as to require him merely to go to the bishop's house, and either lift the paper, or permit a friend to take it off the table, without even seeing the bishop; and thus, by so doing, he would be at liberty to return to Irvine. His honest soul spurned the idea, and he chose rather to go back to his confinement. And such was the testimony of the Spirit to his honourable conduct, that he had not proceeded above a mile out of town, when he experienced great joy, and a sense of the divine approbation, at the manner in which he had conducted himself.

Some time after, however, through the unwearied intercession of the earl of Eglinton, and the parishioners of Irvine, he was permitted to return and exercise his ministry until the king himself should challenge him. This took place about the end of July, 1623.

His labours in that parish were singularly blessed, and many, by his instrumentality, were brought to a knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus. Besides his own parishioners, many attended his ministry from other quarters, especially those who were under the tuition of the Spirit, and were labouring under concern about their spiritual and eternal welfare. The communions at Irvine, in Dickson's day, were seasons of great refreshing from the presence of the Lord; yet, in the exercise of genuine humility, he remarked,—"that the vintage of Irvine was not equal to the gleanings of Ayr in Mr. Welch's time. In addition to his public stated labours on Sabbaths, the evenings of that day were generally taken up in conversing with serious persons; in administering consolation to those who were labouring under doubt; and in affording direction to those who were seeking the way to Zion, with their faces thitherward. He had generally sermon on Monday too, which, being the weekly market, was numerously attended. It is remarkable, that although episcopacy was very prevalent at that time, serious practical religion flourished greatly among the presbyterians all over the west of Scotland.

From 1630 till 1637, Dickson's manse was a house of refuge to many of his poor persecuted brethren in the ministry; but especially to those unhappy men in Ireland, who, during that period, had been deposed, ejected, and hunted down like beasts of prey, by the Irish bishops.

In 1637, Dickson prevailed upon the presbytery of Irvine to petition for the suppression of the Service-Book, who, being joined by other three deputations from different quarters, laid the foundation of that happy change of affairs which soon afterwards took place; and, it is worthy of observation, that these four different bodies, unknown to each other, all met at the Council house door, upon the same errand. Dickson was one of the party sent to Aberdeen, to persuade that town and county to join in renewing the covenant—and there he came in contact with the learned doctors Forbes, Barrow, and Sibbald, the result of whose debates is well known. In the General Assembly, too, at Glasgow, in November, 1638, he signalized himself very remarkably, by a seasonable and judicious speech, when his majesty's commissioner threatened to leave the Assembly; and also by a most learned discourse against Arminianism at the eleventh sederunt, on the 15th of December.*

By this time the fame of his ministry, and his singular prudence, learning, and holy zeal, had spread so much among his brethren, that he was chosen, almost unanimously, moderator of the next Assembly, in 1639; on the tenth sederunt of which, a call from the city of Glasgow was presented to him; but partly, in consequence of his own unwillingness to accept, and the strenuous opposition of the earl of Eglinton and his own parishioners, and especially on account of his usefulness in that quarter, the Assembly thought it advisable to continue him in his charge. Not long after, however, he was removed to the divinity chair in that university, where he was particularly successful in training young men for the church; and where, for some time, he enjoyed the collegiate assistance of Mr. Patrick Gillespie, as minister of the High Church.

In 1643, the General Assembly nominated Dickson, Calderwood, and Henderson, as a triumvirate, to draw out a Directory for Public Worship—and four years after, when a deadly epidemic pervaded Glasgow, he found it necessary to remove, with the young people under his charge, to Irvine, which was uninfected. It was there the learned Durham passed his trials, and was earnestly recommended by the professor to the presbytery and magistrates of Glasgow; and by these two celebrated divines was composed "The Sum of Saving Knowledge," a small treatise which is generally bound up along with the Confession of Faith, &c.

About this time he was removed to the theological chair in the university of Edinburgh, where he soon after published his "Prælectiones in Confessionem Fidei,"† which he delivered to the students in Latin; but which is now translated into English. His assiduity in the metropolitan college was no less conspicuous that at Glasgow; and it is even said, that either here or in the Western University, he had under his tuition the greater part of the presbyterian clergymen, afterwards settled in the west, south, and east parts of Scotland, from 1640. He had also a principal share in the printed pamphlets betwixt the resolutioners and protesters, about the years 1650, and 1651. His own sentiments coincided with those of the resolutioners.

Dickson continued at Edinburgh, discharging his duties with great diligence and fidelity, until the unhappy reintroduction of episcopacy, upon the restoration of Charles II., when, for refusing the oath of supremacy, he and many others were turned out of their livings. From that period his constitution began to give way rapidly, induced by a depression of spirits, on account of the sufferings which he saw were preparing for the church.

Dickson was now encumbered with the cares of a family. He had married Margaret Robertson, daughter to Archibald Robertson of Stonehall, in the county of Lanark, by whom he had three sons; John, clerk to the exchequer court of Scotland; Alexander, professor of Hebrew, in the college of Edinburgh; and Archibald, who lived with his family afterwards in the parish of Irvine. In the month of December, 1662, when on his death-bed, he was visited by Mr. Livingstone, on his way to his place of exile, to whom he said, in answer to an interrogatory upon the state of affairs:—"That he was sure Jesus Christ would not put up with the indignities done to his work and people,"—and added, "I have taken all my good deeds and all my bad deeds, and have cast them together in a heap before the Lord, and have fled from both to Jesus Christ, and in him I have sweet peace!"—Having been very low for some days, he called all his family together, and addressed each of them individually; after which, having pronounced the apostolic blessing with great earnestness and solemnity, he lifted up his hands, closed his own eyes, and, without any struggle, or apparent pain, immediately expired in the arms of one of his sons. Like Jacob of old, he was gathered to his people in a good old age, being then upwards of 72 years.

Many memorable things are recorded of this excellent man, who was ever on the alert to promote his Master's work, whether "in season or out of season,"—one or two of which we may perhaps be excused for mentioning in this narrative.

Riding, upon one occasion, between Glasgow and Edinburgh, he was attacked by robbers, when, instead of giving place to fear for his personal safety, he, with the greatest self-command, addressed them regarding their immortal souls; and, it is said, was, under God, the happy instrument of their conversion.—Mr. James Mitchell, a very serious Christian, near Irvine, also, when speaking of the eminent gift which Dickson possessed for spiritual conversation, says of him:—"I happened once to travel from Glasgow to Falkirk, in company with Mr. Dickson; and having taken occasion, from the brightness of the day, to speak of the glories of heaven, he, after relating his own experiences, proceeded to show how men's own righteousness is often a bar in their way of believing the gospel of Christ, and to prove, from the first part of the epistle to the Romans, that nothing but justification, through the righteousness of Christ, was suited to our sinful and miserable state by nature,—that it was the only way to pacify our consciences and reconcile us to God, fill us with joy, promote our true sanctification of nature and life, and make us triumph over the accusations of Satan and the fears of death—O how his discourse, especially as I caused him repeat it, penetrated into my heart!"

His sermons were always replete with solid and edifying matter, very scriptural, and in a plain, homely style; bearing a strong resemblance to those of the celebrated Rutherford. It was said, that no minister of that day was so popular, except Mr. William Guthrie, of Fenwick, who at least equalled Dickson, if he did not go beyond him.

His works are numerous. The chief of these are, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews; on the Gospel of Matthew; on the Psalms of David; on the Epistles, in Latin and English; Prœlectiones in Confessionem Fidei, or Truth's Victory over Error; Therapeutica Sacra, or Cases of Conscience resolved, in Latin; and a Treatise on the Promises. He wrote also some short poems on pious subjects, viz., The Christian Sacrifice, and True Christian Love, intended as an addition to the Psalmody. Besides these he left several other works in manuscript:—Tyrones concionaturi; Summarium libri Isaiœ; Letters on the Resolutioners; Replies to Messrs. Gillespie and Guthrie; Non-separation from the well affected in the Army; Sermons at Irvine upon 1 Tim. 1:5; Precepts for the Daily Direction of a Christian, by way of Catechism; with a Compend of his Sermons upon Jeremiah and the Lamentations; and the first nine chapters to the Romans.

SIR ARCHIBALD JOHNSTON, LORD WARRISTON

COMPARATIVELY little is known of the early history of very many of our most distinguished reformers, until the strife of the times brought them into the arena of public contest; and so it is with the distinguished nobleman whose name we now introduce. The active part he took commenced about the beginning of the second Reformation, in 1638, when he and lord Balmerino were commissioned by the Covenanters, to present to the king a petition which they themselves had drawn, in opposition to the hostile measures which the earl of Traquair was persuading his majesty to adopt. The prayer of the petition having been refused, Charles caused Traquair to publish a proclamation at Edinburgh and Stirling, against all their requisitions; when Johnston—afterwards lord Warriston—protested against their proceedings, in his own name, and in those of sixteen noblemen, with a number of barons, private gentlemen, burgesses, and ministers. In the same year, the marquis of Hamilton published another declaration in the king's name, which was followed by another protest in the same place, which Johnston handed to his majesty's herald at the Cross of Edinburgh. Upon this occasion the earl of Cassilis stood forward in name of the nobility; Gibson of Durie in that of the barons; Fletcher provost of Dundee, appeared for the burgesses; and Kerr, minister of Preston, for the church. Johnston, to make the matter as secure and public as possible, took instruments in the hands of three notaries.

At the General Assembly, in the month of November of the same year, Johnston was unanimously elected clerk, in consideration of his former gratuitous services, when having taken the oath de fideli, he was admitted to all the rights, profits, and privileges, which that office had previously enjoyed. Having been thus installed, the moderator requested that all who had any Acts or books of former Assemblies, would put them into his hands; upon which the former clerk handed in two, containing Acts from 1592 to that of Aberdeen, in 1618; and Johnston produced five, containing documents sufficient for drawing up a history of the church from the beginning of the Reformation,—a circumstance which was at that time greatly valued by the Assembly and which has been the means of transmitting to posterity a faithful record of the tyrannous proceedings of the government of the day. In the same Assembly he was appointed procurator for the church. To him was intrusted the framing of all treaties and papers that concerned the church; and all printers were prohibited from publishing the same, without a license under his hand.

Enraged at these and other proceeding of the Assembly, the king advanced with an army towards the borders; and the Covenanters, not to be behind hand, did the same. The result of this meeting has been already detailed in the life of the earl of Loudon. To make amends for a slight, Johnston was raised to knighthood, in the parliament of 1641, at the time when Argyle was appointed to the treasury, and Loudon to the office of chancellor. At the same time he was nominated one of the lords of session, with an annual pension of £200.

During this and the following year, lord Warriston was appointed to several important offices. He was one of those selected to watch over the articles of peace between the two kingdoms, until the meeting of parliament; besides being one of the commissioners sent to London to negotiate with the English parliament, for sending assistance from Scotland to Ireland, immediately after the unhappy rebellion, in that country, which had shared in the general agitation.

In 1643, the General Assembly having met at Edinburgh, they, upon the motion of lord Warriston, emitted the following declaration, joining with the English parliament:—"1. They apprehended that the war was on account of religion. 2. That the protestant faith was in danger. 3. That gratitude for assistance, during the former Reformation, required a suitable return. 4. Because the churches of Scotland and England being embarked in one cause,—if one should be worsted, the other could not prosper. 5. That the prospect of uniformity between the two kingdoms, in discipline and worship, would strengthen the protestant interest, both at home and abroad. 6. That the present parliament had been friendly to the Scots, and might be so again. 7. That though the king had so lately established religion among them, according to their desire, yet they could not confide in his royal declaration, having so often found his promises and performances completely at variance." These declarations the estates held in good part, and suggested others as they saw it to be expedient.

In pursuance of this, upon the arrival of commissioners from the parliament and Assembly at Westminster, the General Assembly, by an Act of sederunt, commissioned five ministers, and three ruling elders, to repair to the kingdom of England, among whom was lord Warriston. His lordship not only used all diligence as a member of the Westminster Assembly, for bringing about uniformity of religion, in worship, discipline, and government; but also sat, for some time, as a member of the English parliament, concerting such measures as might tend to establish a firm and lasting peace between the two kingdoms. This, however, was afterwards brought against him as an act of high treason.

In 1646, he was appointed lord-advocate of Scotland, with the direction of the committee of London and Newcastle, and of the general officers in the army. He had been clerk to the General Assembly since 1638; but in 1650, when the Act of classes was repealed, and the malignants once more got into places of power and trust, lord Warriston took part with the protesters, and had a principal hand in managing their affaire. All his movements were now sedulously watched, and spies were set upon his actions wherever he went. A letter which he had written to an Assembly held at St. Andrew's, on the 18th of July, 1651, was suppressed; and though it was ascertained to have been delivered into the hands of the moderator, and by him opened in order to its being read, yet it could never afterwards be obtained, though called for upon several occasions, and at several diets.

For upwards of five years lord Warriston had now acted for the king's interest, and had both spoken and written against his countrymen taking office under the Usurper; yet, from a want of self-command, he himself was induced to accept the office of clerk-register, under Cromwell,—a step, however, which he continued to regret till the day of his death. Wodrow relates, that at the meeting held in Edinburgh, which sent him to London, he opposed it with all his eloquence, acquainting them with what was his weak side; and that, through the easiness of his temper, he might not be able to resist importunity—yet, after all, he was peremptorily named.

To account for his compliance, it may be observed:—His family was numerous; considerable sums of money were owing him, which he had advanced for the public service, besides several years' salary; and thus, no other door being open for his relief, he might be the more easily flattered into acquiescence. It was remarked, however, that he was generally sad and melancholy afterward, and that his worldly affairs did not flourish so well as before.

In 1660, Charles having been restored to his dominions while the marquis of Argyle was in prison, a royal mandate came down to apprehend Sir James Stuart, provost of Edinburgh, Sir Archibald Johnston of Warriston, and Sir John Chiesly of Carswell. Lord Warriston, however, escaped for a time, and therefore was summoned, by sound of trumpet, to surrender himself; and a proclamation was issued, offering £100 Scots for his person, discharging and prohibiting, at the same time, all persons from harbouring or concealing him, upon pain of treason. On the 10th of October following, he was declared a fugitive by the council, and on the 1st of February thereafter, an indictment was read against him, William Dundas, and John Hume in their absence. Warriston's estate was therefore declared to be forfeited, and public proclamation of the same was made at the Cross of Edinburgh. The principal counts in his indictments were:—"His pleading against Newton Gordon, when he had the king's express orders to plead for him,—assisting in the Act of the West Kirk,—drawing out, contriving, or consenting to, the paper called the Western Remonstrance, and the book called Causes of God's Wrath,—sitting in parliament as a peer in England, contrary to his oath,—accepting the office of clerk-register from the Usurper,—and, being president of the committee of safety when Richard Cromwell was laid aside."

"None of all these, however," says Wodrow, "were the real causes of this good man's sufferings. A personal prejudice and pique were at the bottom of all these bitter proceedings; for, the goodly freedom he took, in reproving vice, was what could never be forgotten or forgiven. I have an account of the holy freedom lord Warriston used, from a reverend minister who was his chaplain at that time, and took liberty to advise Warriston not to adventure upon it: yet this excellent person, having the glory of God and the honour of religion more in his eyes than his own safety, went on in his designed reproof, and could not, for a compliment, quit the peace he expected in his own conscience, be the event what it would, by disburdening himself. He got a great many fair words, and it was pretended to be taken well from my lord register; but, as he was told by his well-wishers, it was never forgot."

In the matter of compliance with Cromwell, lord Warriston was not alone,—the greater part of the nation being involved as well as himself. Many who had held office under Cromwell had been discharged by the court; but it was reserved for him and the marquis of Argyle,—stern reprovers of vice, and uncompromising friends of Presbytery,—to seal the testimony of Jesus with their blood.

After sentence of forfeiture and death had been passed against him, he went abroad, to escape the persecution of his enemies; but their malice pursued him; for, having been taken ill at Hamburgh, it was said that Dr. Bates, one of king Charles' physicians, administered poison to him, and took from him about sixty ounces of blood, with the intention of finishing his existence. The excellence of his constitution, however, triumphed over the murderous attempt; but his memory was ever after so much impaired, that he could not remember what he had either said or done, above the short space of a quarter of an hour.

His recovery, however, only whetted the appetite of his bloodthirsty enemies; for they caught him soon after, at Roanne, in France, whither he had gone unadvisedly. He was taken when engaged in prayer, by a person called Murray, whom the government had despatched in quest of him. In January, 1663, he was brought over prisoner, and committed to the Tower of London, where he was detained till the month of June, when he was sent down to Edinburgh to be executed. During his passage, his conduct was truly Christian; but his nephew, bishop Burnet, says, "He was so disordered both in body and mind, that it was a reproach to any government to proceed against him." The vessel arrived at Leith on the 8th of that month, and he was brought, from the tolbooth of Edinburgh, before the parliament, on the 8th of July.

While at the bar of the house, he discovered such weakness of memory and judgment, that all pitied him, with the exception of Sharp and the other bishops. Many of the members would have spared his life; but Lauderdale stirred up the house to get rid of him, by delivering a vehement speech, urging his speedy execution. Sentence was accordingly pronounced:—"That he be hanged at the Cross of Edinburgh, on the 22d of July, and his head placed on the Nether Bow, beside that of Guthrie." Warriston heard his sentence with meekness and composure; and, in return for the cruelty of his enemies, prayed that, whatever might befall himself, his best blessings might be on church and state, and on his majesty—and that God would give him honest and faithful counsellors.

During the whole of his imprisonment, his mind was in a tender and spiritual frame; and the nearer his death approached, his composure became the more conspicuous. The night previous to his execution he slept soundly, and in the morning he was full of consolation, expressing his assurance of being clothed in a long white robe, and of having put into his mouth a new song in praise of God and of the Lamb. Before noon he dined cheerfully, enraptured at the thought of being so near the end of his journey.

After having spent some time in secret prayer, he was taken from prison about two o'clock, attended by several of his friends in mourning, although he himself was full of holy cheerfulness and courage, and in perfect serenity of mind. As he drew near the scaffold, he called repeatedly to the people, "Your prayers, your prayers!" and having set foot on it, he said:—"I entreat you, quiet yourselves a little, till this dying man deliver his last speech among you!" He then begged of them not to be offended at his reading what he had to say; for his memory had almost entirely failed, in consequence of long sickness, and bad treatment from his physicians; after which he read his speech, first on one side of the scaffold, and then on the other; premising, that what he had intended to speak was not now in his power, as it had been taken from him; but hoping that the Lord would preserve it to be his Testimony.

After he had finished his solemn and affecting address, he prayed with great fervour and enlargement of soul; and, being as it were in an ecstasy, he began thus:—"Abba, Father! Accept this thy poor sinful servant, coming unto thee through the merits of Jesus Christ!" Having taken leave of his friends, he prayed again; after which he was assisted in ascending the ladder; calling aloud at the same time:—"Your prayers, your prayers! Your prayers I desire in the name of the Lord!" After he had reached the top of the steps, he cried again in a loud voice:—"I beseech you all who are the people of God, not to scare at suffering for the interest of Christ, or stumble at anything of this kind falling out in these days, but be encouraged to suffer for him; for, I assure you, in the name of the Lord, he will bear your charges." While the executioner was adjusting the rope upon his neck, he repeated the same words, adding:—"The Lord hath graciously comforted me!" and when the same functionary asked his forgiveness, he said:—"The Lord forgive thee, poor man!" and at the same time gave him some money, desiring him to do his duty, if he was ready; crying out:—"O pray, pray! Praise, praise, praise!" With these words he was thrown off, and died almost without a struggle, with his hands upraised towards heaven whither his soul ascended, to enjoy the beatific presence of his Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

After having hung for a little, he was taken down, and his head having been struck off, it was placed beside that of his dear friend and fellow-martyr, Mr. James Guthrie. Soon after, however, through the intercession of lieutenant-general Drummond, his son-in-law, it was taken down and interred with his body.

Thus lived and died the eminently pious and learned Lord Warriston, whose talents as an orator, both in the senate and on the bench, are too well known to require any encomium here. Prayer was his delight; and in that exercise he enjoyed sweet fellowship and communion with his God and Saviour. It was a frequent saying of his:—"I dare never question my salvation,—I have so often seen God's face in the house of prayer!" One of his biographers says concerning him:—"Although his memory and talents were for some time impaired; yet, like the sun at his setting, after having been for a while under a cloud, he shone forth most brightly and surprisingly, and so, in some measure, the more sweetly; for, on the morning of his martyrdom, he was under an effusion of the Spirit, as great, perhaps, as many since the days of the Apostles."

He was in the habit of keeping a regular diary, which is said to be still in the possession of his relations, in which is contained a valuable treasure, not only of Christian experience, but also of the political transactions of the times. In it he records his sure hope, that the church of Scotland would, after a series of sharp visitations, be at length delivered from all her sufferings.

JAMES WOOD

THERE seems to be nothing on record concerning this bright star of Presbytery, previous to the year 1651; soon after which, however, we find that he was made principal of the college of St. Salvador and St. Leonard, at St. Andrew's, and also one of the ministers of the city. As Wood favoured the views of the resolutioners, there was unfortunately some difference between him and Mr. Samuel Rutherford, at that time professor of theology in the new college; yet the latter had a very high esteem for him, as appears from a message he sent to Wood, when on his death bed: "Tell Mr. James Wood from me, I heartily forgive him all the wrongs he hath done, and desire him from me to declare himself the man he still is for the church of Scotland." Rutherford was not disappointed in him; for nothing could ever prevail upon him to comply with the tenets of episcopacy. On the contrary, he was grieved to the heart when he saw the apostasy and treachery of some of his acquaintances, with whom he had formerly taken sweet counsel; particularly that of the notorious Sharp, whom he styled Judas, Demas, and Gehazi.

The following anecdote is characteristic. Wood having come to Edinburgh to visit his brother-in-law, Mr. John Carstairs, who was in prison at the time, expressed a strong desire to get his eye upon Sharp. For this purpose he went, with a friend, to the shop of a Mr. Glen, where it was understood that Sharp would alight from his coach. Wood was not disappointed. In a short time commissioner Middleton's coach came up, in which was the archbishop, who, stepping out first, turned round and uncovered to receive Middleton; by which means Wood's curiosity was fully gratified. Eying him very narrowly, Wood burst forth with strong emotion:—"O thou Judas, apostate traitor, that hast betrayed the famous presbyterian church of Scotland to its utter ruin, as far as thou canst,—if I know anything of the mind of God, thou shalt not die the ordinary and common death of men!" And so it happened, about eighteen years after.

Wood continued in the undisturbed enjoyment of his principality, until 1663, when Sharp, unable to brook the idea of such a zealous friend of Presbytery being any longer so near him, caused him to be cited to appear before the council, to answer to certain charges alleged to have been brought against him. On compearing, he was interrogated how he came to be provost of the college of St. Andrew's; and, when about to reply, he was interrupted in an abrupt manner, and ordered to answer in a word. Regardless of such ungentleman-like conduct, he told them very coolly, that he had been invited by the faculty of the college, at the recommendation of Cromwell, "as some present very well knew," alluding to Sharp. This was quite enough,—he was immediately commanded to retire; but a short time only elapsed, when he was recalled, and told:—"That the lords of council, for the present, declared the said place to be vacant, and ordained and commanded him to confine himself within the city of Edinburgh, and not to depart thence till further orders." Wood merely replied, that he was sorry they had condemned him, without having been heard in his own defence, as he had not been guilty of any breach of law. This was Sharp Justice with a vengeance,—and in September following the miscreant took the office, with all its emoluments, into his own hands.

Upon the 30th of the same month, Wood presented a petition to the council, stating that his father was dangerously ill; that particular business required his immediate presence at St. Andrew's; and praying for permission to visit his father. The prayer of the petition was accordingly granted; with certification, however, that he should always return when called by the council.

About the beginning of the year 1664, his mortal career began to draw toward a close, and Sharp judged that a proper opportunity to injure his reputation among the presbyterians. Sharp visited him twice upon his death bed, when he was very low; and although Wood spoke very little to his visitor, and not a word about the state of public affairs, yet Sharp immediately spread a rumour:—"That Mr. Wood, being now under views of death and eternity, had professed himself very indifferent as to church-government, declaring the government of the church by Presbytery to be alterable at the pleasure of the magistrate." This impudent falsehood Sharp had even the audacity to lay before the court in writing. The report of this having reached Wood, he considered it fortunate that it had taken place before his death, having still an opportunity to give it the lie, which he himself dictated and subscribed, on the 2d of March, in presence of two witnesses and a public notary. This testimony was afterwards burnt by order of the High Commission. This unfortunate circumstance added much grief to all his other sorrows; but he could enjoy no peace of mind till he had vindicated himself from the foul calumny.

Being asked whether he called church-government a nicety, and, if he lived, he would abstract more from such niceties, he answered, "Fie, fie, never such a thing! I did indeed, that the bishop might not think that I was pursuing that controversy against them, say, I had a great business to think upon my salvation and peace with God at the stake; but I did not say, nor think, that presbyterian government was a nicety. I judge it to be a truth of God, an ordinance of Jesus Christ, a part of his visible kingdom, for which every Christian, as called to it, should suffer even unto death; and I would exhort them to it; for it is but little that we have suffered yet, and, if I were to live, I would, through the grace and power of God, account it my glory to lay down my life in defence of that truth. There is no man in the world that has more and stronger obligations on him, to stand to the maintenance of that government than I, wherein the Lord hath cleared me with a strong hand. I bless the Lord that hath made me understand the nature of his covenant, and gave me light in the point of justification, and helped me in some measure to hold out light therein to others, and cleared me in the controversy with the Independents, and this anent prelacy." He said, "he had said before, and said so still, that if ever he should come to be against presbyterian government, he might fear to meet God's everlasting wrath, and be made a spectacle to others." He said further, with much grave confidence, "God will give an outgate (meaning of the prelates), though they will say, it is impossible—and how should it come?—he can hiss for the bees, as beyond the river.

Having thus given publicity to his sentiments, he afterwards enjoyed great calmness and serenity of mind, frequently setting forth is sweet experiences, and the assurance he had of a blessed entrance being administered to him into Christ's kingdom in glory, which he obtained on the 15th of the same month.

Wood was among the brightest lights of the period in which he lived. He had, in a former part of his life, been colleague to Sharp; and, after the Restoration, he lamented much that he had been so long deceived by that ambitious man. It was also reported, that he greatly regretted his having taken part with the resolutioners.

Wodrow says that he left behind him a finished treatise, in manuscript, refuting the dogmas of Arminianism; and it is also known that he triumphantly asserted presbyterial government in opposition to the Independents. He has several other small works in print; but they are beginning now to get scarce.

WILLIAM GUTHRIE

THIS studious, learned, and justly celebrated servant of Christ, was born at Pitfrothy, in the county of Angus, in 1620. His father was proprietor of that estate, and a branch of the ancient family of Guthrie; and his mother was a daughter of the house of Easter Ogle. There were four sons besides himself, all of whom were ministers of the gospel; and all were eminent for their piety, and attachment to the cause of Presbytery.

The subject of this memoir gave early indications of an apt genius, by the progress he made in the Latin and Greek languages, which he studied at the university of St. Andrew's. He completed his course of philosophy under his uncle, Mr. James Guthrie, afterwards minister of Stirling, whose life we have already recorded. At college, Guthrie lodged in the same room with his uncle, and therefore enjoyed advantages superior to those of his class-fellows. His theology was studied under the direction of Mr. Samuel Rutherford. "Then and there," says Mr. Traill, "it pleased the Lord to call him by his grace, by the ministry of that excellent person. His conversion was begun with great terror of God in his soul, and completed with that joy and peace in believing which accompanied him through life. It was after this blessed change that he resolved to obey the call of God to serve him in the ministry of his gospel, which was thus given him by the Lord's calling him effectually to grace and glory. With this view he so disposed of his paternal estate, as not to be entangled with the affairs of the world, by making it over to the only brother, who had not been appointed to the cure of any particular parish."

Soon after having obtained his license, Guthrie left St. Andrew's, and became tutor to lord Mauchlin, eldest son to the earl of Loudon, in which situation he remained until appointed pastor to the parish of Fenwick, which at that time was disjoined from Kilmarnock. Having been appointed to preach at Galston, on a day preparatory to the celebration of the Lord's Supper, and a number of persons belonging to the newly erected parish being present, they were so much captivated by his discourses, that they immediately resolved to call him to be their pastor, which being very harmonious, he felt it to be his duty to accept. It is said that he, along with the people, made choice of the spot of ground on which the church was to be built, and that he preached within the walls before the edifice was completely finished.

Many were the difficulties and discouragements he had to encounter at the outset; yet through the divine blessing upon his labours, he was eminently successful in reforming the manners of the people. Many of them, indeed, were so unconcerned about religion as never to enter a place of worship; and the face of their pastor was altogether unknown by them. Numbers even refused his visits, and would not suffer him to enter their houses. Such was the state of Fenwick at the time this pious man entered upon his ministerial duties among them. But things did not remain long in that state; for, he had a happy art of winning souls to the Saviour. Disguised in the habit of a traveller, he frequently called at their houses in the evening, and asked lodgings, which he did not even obtain without much entreaty; but, when once admitted, he made himself a very agreeable guest, by his amusing and instructive conversation. One question always was,—how did they like their minister?—and when told that they did not go to church, he pressed them to go, and hear what he had to say. To some he even gave small sums of money to visit the house of God; and, before retiring to rest for the night, he was always solicitous to know if family worship was observed by them.

Upon one occasion, in a family where the duty had never been performed, he urged the goodman of the house to make the attempt; and, as this person's only objection was, that he could not pray, that he had never been in the habit of praying, and therefore could not, Guthrie was so very earnest in his entreaties to make trial, that the man cried out:—"O Lord, thou knowest that this man would have me to pray; but thou knowest I cannot pray!" This was sufficient,—Guthrie desired him to stop, saying, he had done enough, and immediately began himself, to the great wonder and edification of the family. When prayer was over, the mistress of the house said to her husband—"Surely this man must be a minister!" The people were overawed, and felt as if a charm had come over them. It was no difficult matter, under such feelings, to gain their compliance to appear in church on the following Sabbath. But, what was their surprise, when they saw that it was the minister himself who had been their guest, and who, in the guise of an humble peasant, upon their own hearth, had supplicated for them so many blessings.

Within his parish, too, there was a person who, instead of going to church on the Lord's day, betook himself to the fields with his dog and gun. Guthrie was determined to reclaim this man, and the effort was blessed. The minister asked him what reason he had for desecrating the Sabbath; and the answer he received was, that it was the most fortunate day in the week for that exercise. Guthrie asked him how much he could make by it; and, upon being told that he could at least realize half a crown, the good pastor at once told him that he would pay him that sum, if he would appear in church next Sabbath. After the congregation was dismissed, Guthrie told him that he would renew the bargain, if he would appear again, which the man consented to do. From that time afterward, he never failed to give regular attendance in the house of God; and, relieving the minister from his obligation, he felt to his sweet experience that godliness was of itself great gain. This man, ere long, became a member of the kirk-session, and ever after continued to live a godly and useful life.

Guthrie himself was fond of rural recreation, and took particular pleasure in angling, fowling, and curling. In these exercises he mingled much with his parishioners, which he always improved as seasons of religious instruction, in such a way, as never to give offence. "But," says a celebrated biographer, "as he was animated by a flaming zeal for the glory of his blessed Master, and a tender compassion for the souls of men; and as it was the principal thing that made him desire life and health, that he might employ them in propagating the kingdom of God, and in turning transgressors from their ways; so the very hours of recreation were dedicated to this purpose, which were so endeared to him, that he knew how to make his diversions subservient to the noble ends of his ministry. He made them the occasion of familiarizing his people to him, and introducing himself to their affections; and, in the guise of a sportsman, be gained some to a religious life, whom he could have had little influence upon in a minister's dress,—of which there happened some memorable examples."

After having been ordained for about a year, he married Agnes Campbell, daughter of David Campbell of Skeldon, in Ayrshire, a remote branch of the family of Loudon, by whom he had six children. Only two daughters outlived himself. Mrs. Guthrie was a lady of the most amiable qualities, who proved a very agreeable companion and comforter to her husband, for upwards of twenty years,—one faith, one hope, one baptism, and a supreme love to Jesus Christ, actuated both during the whole period of their union.

Not long after his marriage, Guthrie was appointed by the General Assembly to accompany the army, in the capacity of chaplain; but just as he was preparing to set out, he had a violent attack of gravel, to which he was occasionally subject. His amiable wife felt uneasy at the thought of his absence, and would have dissuaded him from compliance; but in this sudden chastisement she evidently saw the hand of the Lord, which made her resolve never again to interpose her will, when the service of his divine Master demanded her husband's acquiescence. In this campaign, upon the defeat of the party to which he was attached, he had a very narrow escape,—a circumstance, of which he ever after retained the most grateful remembrance. He was with the army again, at the time when the Usurper's forces were victorious at Dunbar, on the 3d of September, 1650. Rutherford, upon that occasion, dissuaded him strongly from taking part with Cromwell, saying:—"that his heart trembled to entertain the least thought of joining with these deceivers." Guthrie accordingly joined the remonstrants, and was chosen Moderator of that Synod at Edinburgh, after the public resolutioners had left them.

Such was Guthrie's pleasant and cheerful talent for conversation, that he was universally respected by the English officers, who all eagerly sought his acquaintance; but, although he indulged for a time, in harmless mirth, his courage and constancy in the service of his Great Master never for a moment forsook him. Upon all occasions he found himself able to repress the extravagancies of the English sectarians, and to curb that spirit of licentiousness, which, as the dominant party, they thought themselves entitled to indulge; a very remarkable instance of which took place at a communion, in Glasgow, celebrated by the Rev. Andrew Gray.—Several of the English officers had formed a design to put in execution the disorderly practice of promiscuous admission to the Lord's table, without previous information to the minister, and satisfying him as to their being worthy of the privilege. A rush was accordingly made by these gentlemen to occupy the seats; but, it being Guthrie's turn to dispense the elements, he, in the name of the Lord Jesus, addressed them as they were leaving the pews, with such solemn dignity and awe, that they were all confounded, and resumed their places without any further disturbance.

About the same time, while he was absent in Angus for a few weeks upon some private business, the Quakers took advantage of the occasion, and endeavoured to effect a settlement in his parish; but he returned to Fenwick before the infection had taken deep root, and recovered those who were in the greatest danger of being seduced.* He had made many calls to other parishes about this time, but no solicitation could make him leave Fenwick. He was fond of the retirement and recreations of a rural life; he loved his people, and he was loved by them in return; he had been honoured in bringing many among them into the kingdom of Christ, whose heavenly birth was the highest pleasure and brightest triumph of his life; and therefore he preferred the comparative obscurity of Fenwick to the most considerable localities in the nation; having no views to temporal aggrandizement.

In the year 1657, some person having got possession of a few stray notes of some sermons he had delivered from the 55th chapter of Isaiah, regarding the duty of personal covenanting; and having published these without his knowledge, under the title of "A clear, attractive, warning Beam of Light, from Christ the Sun of Light, leading unto himself," he was much dissatisfied, and therefore thought the only way to remedy the defect, and save his reputation, would be to revise the whole of these discourses. It was this circumstance that gave rise to that admirable treatise, "The Christian's Great Interest," which has been blessed to the souls of thousands. Guthrie was equally displeased at the title of the surreptitious work, and at the very imperfect and injudicious manner in which it had been got up; for, although it was published anonymously, he was the reputed author of it. Dr. Owen is reported to have said, upon one occasion, of "The Christian's Great Interest," when addressing himself to a minister of the church of Scotland:—"You have truly men of great spirits in Scotland,—there is, for a gentleman, Mr. Baillie of Jervis-wood, a person of the greatest abilities I almost ever met with; and, for a divine—taking out of his pocket a small gilt copy of Guthrie's treatise—that author I take to be one of the greatest divines that ever wrote. It is my vade mecum; I carry it and the Sedan New Testament still about with me. I have written several folios; but there is more divinity in it than in them all." It was translated into Low Dutch, and was so highly valued in Holland, that Mrs. Guthrie and one of her daughters met with very marked attention in that country on its account, upon their relationship to the author being made known. It was also translated into French and High Dutch, and into one of the Eastern languages, at the charge of the honourable Robert Boyle, a very distinguished patron of religion, learning, and Christian beneficence.

At the synod of Glasgow, in April 1661, after long debating about proper measures for the security of Presbytery, the matter being referred to a committee, Guthrie produced the draught of an address to parliament, in which a faithful testimony was given to the purity of our Reformation, in worship, doctrine, discipline and government, in terms remarkable both for their prudence and courage, which was approved, and transmitted to the synod. Some, however, of the resolution party, judging it inexpedient, afforded an opportunity of delay to those who intended to comply with episcopacy; and thus for the time got it suppressed.

About this time also, being the last time he was in company with his cousin, James Guthrie, he was observed to be rather melancholy,—when his friend, in order to rouse him, said:—"A penny for your thoughts, cousin!"—"There is a poor man at the door, give him a penny;" which having done, he replied:—"I'll tell you, cousin, what I am not only thinking of; but, what I am sure of, if I be not under a delusion. The malignants will be your death, and this gravel will be mine; but you will have the advantage of me. You will die honourably before many witnesses, with a rope about your neck, and I will die whining upon a pickle straw; and will suffer more pain before I rise from your table, than all the pain you will have in your death."

This was within a very short time of his cousin's death, who had been condemned to die on the first of June following, which public exhibition of suffering Guthrie had determined to visit, and would certainly have been present at, had not the kirk-session, by their earnest entreaties, prevailed upon him not to expose himself unnecessarily to the vengeance of his enemies. Guthrie, by the will of God, was permitted to remain in his charge, nearly four years longer than this, through the instrumentality of the earl of Eglinton, and chancellor Glencairn, who were unremitting in their intercessions for him; for he had been long marked out by the government as one who had been a sharper thorn in their side than many others. Very many of his brethren had been ejected by this time, and therefore vast crowds of people assembled at Fenwick every sabbath-day, from parishes at a great distance, that they might hear the words of everlasting truth; but particularly upon sacramental occasions. At these solemnities, so vast was the concourse, that communicants had to show their tokens to the door-keepers, before they could procure admission.

That period was the most distinguished, during the whole of his ministry, for remarkable outpourings of the Spirit,—great numbers having been converted to the truth, and all edified and built up in their most holy faith. He was at that time signally honoured to be an instrument of turning many to religious life, who had previously been dissolute profaners of God's holy name and ordinances; who, after his being taken from them, could never, without exultation of soul, and emotions of revived affection, think of their spiritual father, and the power of that victorious grace, which, in those days, triumphed so gloriously. For many years after, the people of Fenwick were regarded as more civilized and religious than those of most other parishes,—their spiritual pastor having fortified them so strongly in a zealous adherence to the purity of the Reformation, and warned them so faithfully of the defections that had taken place through the introduction of episcopacy, that none of them, even after his departure, ever yielded compliance. And it is not unworthy of our notice here, that the pious people in those districts were among the chief sufferers in the persecution which immediately followed. No part of Scotland was more distinguished for steadfast adherence to the cause of God and truth; and it is not perhaps too much to say, that the effects of Guthrie's ministry may be traced among these people, even at the present day. If anywhere in Scotland, it is in that district that samples may yet be found of what Presbyterians were in the days of Claverhouse and the Covenant.

Guthrie's extraordinary usefulness and popularity had now so much enraged the bishops against him, that the archbishop of Glasgow, in reply to the earl of Glencairn—soliciting that Guthrie might be overlooked in the general persecution—said:—"That shall not be,—it cannot be,—he is a ringleader and keeper up of schism, in may diocese!"—In consequence of this resolution, Guthrie was suspended from his office; but such was the awe upon the minds of the curates, for fear of meddling with that great and good man, that it was with difficulty one could be found to intimate the sentence of suspension. The curate of Cadder, however, was at length induced to undertake the commission, for the paltry promise of a reward of five pounds. Guthrie having got previous notice of what was going on, earnestly entreated his friends to offer no resistance to his deposition, assured that his enemies would make that a handle against him, to prosecute him continually for his former zeal and fidelity.

Accordingly Wednesday, July 20, was set apart as a day of solemn fasting and prayer; on which occasion Guthrie preached to the people from Hosea 13:9: "O Israel, thou has destroyed thyself; but in me is thine help!" From that text he laid before them, with great plainness and affection, their own sins and the sins of the land and age; and at the close of the sermon, intimated that he would meet with them again on the Sabbath following at an early hour. Between four and five in the morning the church was crowded to excess, when he addressed the congregation from the last clause of the verse, already mentioned:—"But in me is thine help." Upon this heartrending occasion, he directed his audience to the Great Fountain of help, when the gospel and gospel ministers should be taken from them, and took his leave by commending them to God, who was able to build them up, and help them in every time of need.

Upon the day appointed, the curate of Cadder came to Fenwick, with a party of twelve soldiers, and, by commission from the archbishop of Glasgow, discharged Guthrie from preaching any more in Fenwick; declared the church vacant, and suspended him from the exercise of his ministry. Having left his party without, the curate then stepped into the manse, and told Guthrie, that the bishop and committee, after much lenity shown towards him, had been constrained to pass the sentence of suspension, because he would not meet with his brethren in presbyteries and synods, and for his turbulence in the church; of which sentence he had been appointed to make public intimation, which he then did, by reading the commission under the hand of the archbishop of Glasgow.

To all this Guthrie replied:—"I judge it not expedient to say much in answer to what you have spoken; only, whereas you allege there has been much lenity shown towards me—be it known unto you that I take the Lord for party in that, and thank Him first. I look upon it as a door which God opened to me for preaching his gospel, which neither you nor any other man was able to shut, until it was given you of God. As to this sentence passed against me, I declare before these gentlemen—pointing to the officers of the party—that I lay no weight upon it, as it comes from you or those that sent you; although I respect the civil authority, who, by their law, laid the ground of the sentence against me. I declare I will not cease from the exercise of my ministry for all that sentence. As to the crimes with which I am charged—I did keep presbyteries and synods with the rest of my brethren; but I do not look upon those who now sit in these courts as my brethren, who have fallen from the truth and cause of God; neither do I judge those to be free and lawful courts of Christ that are now held in this kingdom. With regard to my turbulence, I know I am bidden follow peace with all men; but I know also I am bidden follow it with holiness; and since I could not obtain peace without prejudice to holiness, I thought myself obliged to let it go. As for your commission, Sir, to intimate this sentence,—I here declare, I think myself called by the Lord to the work of the ministry, for which I forsook the nearest relation in the world, and gave myself up to the service of the gospel in this place, having received an unanimous call from this parish, and having been licensed and ordained by the presbytery. I bless the Lord he has given me some success and seals of my ministry upon the souls and consciences of not a few who are gone to heaven, and of some who are yet on the way to it. And now, Sir, if you will take it upon you to interrupt my work among this people, I shall wish the Lord may forgive you the guilt of it: but I cannot but leave all the bad consequences that may fall out upon it, betwixt God and your own conscience. And here I do further declare before these gentlemen, that I am suspended from my ministry for adhering to the Covenants and word of God, from which you and others have apostatized."

Here the curate interrupted Guthrie, and said that the Lord had a work before that covenant had a being; and that they were the only apostates who adhered to the covenant:—"True," replied Guthrie, "the Lord had a work before that covenant had a being; but it is as true, that it has been more glorious since that covenant; and it is a small thing for us to be judged of you, in adhering to the covenant,—you who have so deeply corrupted your ways. As for you, gentlemen," turning to the soldiers, "I wish the Lord may pardon your countenancing this man in his business,"—to which one of these scoffingly replied, "I wish we may never do a greater fault!"—"Well!" answered Guthrie, "a little sin may damn a man's soul."

Guthrie here called for a glass of ale, and having asked a blessing, drank to the commanding officer, who, after having tasted, retired. But, to the curate he remarked,—that he apprehended some evident mark of the Lord's displeasure awaited him for what he was doing, and seriously warned him to prepare for some visitation of Providence coming upon him very soon; and says Mr. Wodrow:—"I am well assured he never preached any more after he left Fenwick. He reached Glasgow, but it is not certain that he reached Cadder, though but six miles from Glasgow. However, in a few days he died in great torment, of an iliac passion; and his wife and children all died in a year or thereby, and none belonging to him were left."

Before leaving Fenwick the curate repaired to the church, and intimated the bishop's sentence from the pulpit, after having harangued the soldiers for about a quarter of an hour; for they formed the whole of his audience, with the exception of a few children, who annoyed the curate not a little. In compliance with their minister's request, the parishioners were all quiet; although, if he had wished, they would have sacrificed their lives in defence of his rights.

It is generally believed that Guthrie never preached in Fenwick after this; but it is related, that upon a certain occasion, as he and a number of his parishioners were returning from Stewarton, whither they had gone to hear sermon, and understanding that they were not altogether satisfied with what they had heard, he proposed to go over the discourse himself, if they chose. All having assented, and seated themselves upon a verdant knoll, in the calm of a delightful summer evening, he rehearsed the greater part of the sermon, to their great joy and edification,—so much pleased were they at hearing that voice once more, which had so often thrilled their hearts with rapture.

He continued, however, in Fenwick, till the year 1665, when, upon the death of the brother to whom he had made over the paternal estate, he and his wife took their departure for Angus to look after the family affairs. But he had not been long there until he was attacked by a complication of maladies, which in about ten days wrought his dissolution. In the midst of his greatest sufferings, he said, "The Lord has been kind to me, notwithstanding all the evils I have done; and, I am assured, that though I should die mad, I shall die in the Lord. Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord at all times; but more especially when a flood of errors, snares, and judgments, are beginning or coming on a nation, church, or people!" So very excruciating were his bodily pains, that in order to afford him temporary relief, his friends were frequently obliged to hold down his head, and raise his lower extremities;—yet, amidst all these he was never heard to complain; but adored the measures of Divine Providence, saying—"It might have been worse." During his short intervals of cessation from bodily pain, he longed ardently for his dissolution, and often said how gladly he would make the grave his dwelling-place, when it should please God to bring his sufferings to a close. Death came at length to his relief in the house of his brother-in-law, Mr. Lewis Skinner, at Brechin, upon Wednesday, 10th October, 1665, in the 45th year of his age; and he was buried in the church of Brechin, immediately beneath the seats allotted to the estate of Pitfrothy.

"Guthrie," says Mr. Livingstone, "was a man of most ready wit, fruitful invention, and apposite comparisons, qualified both to awaken and pacify the conscience, straight and zealous for the cause of Christ, and a great light in the west of Scotland. In his doctrine he was as full and free as any man in Scotland had ever been; which, together with the excellency of his preaching gifts, so recommended him to the affection of his people, that they turned the corn-field of his globe into a little town, every one building a house for his family on it, that they might live under the drop of his ministry." Another writer says of him—"He was a burning and shining light; he converted and confirmed many thousand souls, and was esteemed the greatest preacher in Scotland. Indeed, he was accounted as well qualified for confirming those who were under exercise of soul, as almost any in his age, or any age we ever heard of. Many have made reflections on him because he left off his ministry, on account of the bishop's suspension. It is true that the authority of the Stuarts was too much the idol of jealousy to many of our worthy Scots reformers; for, we may well wonder that the nation did not rise up, as one man, to cut off those who had razed the whole of the presbyterian constitution; but the Lord, for holy and wise ends, saw meet to cut off those in power by another arm, after they had all been brought to the furnace together; although it might well have been seen," as Guthrie observed,—"that the civil power laid the foundation for the other."

Besides his admirable work—"The Christian's Great Interest," a few sermons, said to have been preached at Fenwick, from Matt. 19:24, &c., and Hosea 13:9, are still extant. The treatise on "Ruling Elders" affixed to the last edition of his works, is not his, but his cousin, Mr. James Guthrie's. A number of manuscripts, bearing a strong resemblance to his holograph, are still to be found.

ROBERT BLAIR

JOHN BLAIR of Windyedge, a younger brother of the ancient family of Blair, in the parish of Irvine, was the father of this Worthy; and his mother was Beatrix Muir, of the family of Rowallen. He was born in 1593. His father died when very young, leaving his mother with six children, of whom Robert was the youngest. She is said to have lived to the age of 100, and to have spent nearly the half of that time in a state of honourable widowhood.

Blair was sent to the university of Glasgow, when about 15 years of age, where he made such remarkable progress, both in the classics, and in philosophy, which he studied under his own brother William, that in a very few years after he was appointed to fill the chair which his brother had occupied, until he was settled minister of Dumbarton. Previous to his nomination to the professorship, however, he is said to have distinguished himself greatly as a teacher in the city, at which time he was brought to a saving knowledge of the truth, under the ministry of the celebrated Mr. Boyd of Trochrig, into whose hand, says Blair himself in his memoirs, the Lord had put the key of his heart, so that whenever he heard him, he profited much, Mr. Boyd having been sent to him as it were from God, to speak to him the words of eternal life.

In the summer of 1616, Blair entered upon trials for license, and, having passed honourably through, he was appointed to preach in the College Kirk on the Sabbath following. Upon that occasion he was told by some of his audience, that in his sermon the Lord had spoken to their hearts, which excited him even more to follow after the Lord. Not long after, he had for one of his hearers the famous Mr. Robert Bruce, and being anxious to know what that good man thought of his discourses, he received for answer:—"I found your sermon very polished and well digested; but there is one thing I missed in it, and that is, the Spirit of God,—I found not that!" From this Blair learned, that, to be a successful minister of Jesus Christ, something more is necessary besides talent and eloquence.

During the course of his professorship, a report having gone abroad that a new oath of a particular kind was to be exacted from the professor, he consulted Mr. Gavin Forsyth, one of his colleagues, what should be done in the matter. Forsyth replied,—"By my faith, I must live!"—"I wont swear by my faith," said Blair, "as you do; but truly I intend to live by my faith. You may choose your own way; but I will adventure upon the Lord." Some years after, Forsyth being reduced to great poverty, applied to the General Assembly for relief; and Blair, happening to be moderator at the time, could not help remarking on Iris former conduct. In a private conference with the unfortunate man, he recalled to his mind his former unhappy expression; but at the same time, with great tenderness, told him that he himself had been carried through by that faith, at which he had formerly scoffed.

Some time after this he was under deep mental exercise upon that saying in scripture, The just shall live by faith; the result of which, among other things, led him to remark, that it was no wonder that his not making use of faith for sanctification had occasioned an obstruction in the progress of holiness; and therefore he perceived that making use of Christ for sanctification, without directly employing faith to extract the same out of him, was like one seeking water out of a deep well, without a long cord to let down the bucket and draw it up again. "Then," said he, "was I like one that came to the store-house, but got my provision reached to me, as it were through a window. I had come to the house of mercy, but had not found the right door; by this discovery, however, I found a patent portal at which to go in, to receive provisions and furniture from Jesus Christ. Thus the blessed Lord trained me up, step by step, suffering many difficulties to arise, that more light from himself might flow in."

Soon after this, upon the resignation of principal Boyd, Dr. Cameron was called from France to preside over the university of Glasgow.; and being a staunch adherent to episcopacy, Blair was repeatedly urged by him to give in to the "Five Articles;" but he as frequently refused. The Doctor had his eye upon him ever after this; and the more so, because he had been repeatedly worsted by Blair, in public disputations, which galled the Doctor's scholastic pride not a little. Besides, having acted towards Blair, during his absence, in a manner far from being honourable, he foresaw that his future life, in connexion with a man of the Doctor's temper, would be everything but pleasant, he gave in his resignation, and left the university,—to the great regret of his brethren, the students, and people of Glasgow.

Although Blair had at that time calls from different parishes in Scotland, besides a very pressing solicitation to go to France, he accepted of an invitation to be minister of Bangor in Ireland. It is said that as he drew nigh that place he felt a powerful impression upon his mind, that the Dean of Bangor was sick, which, upon his arrival, he found to be the case. Mr. Gibson, the incumbent, invited Blair to officiate for him, which he did for three sabbaths, with so much acceptance to the people, and even to the Dean himself, that he told Blair he would be his successor in that place, exhorting him, at the same time, in the name of Christ, not to forsake the good way in which he had begun to walk. The Dean was no friend in his heart to episcopacy, of which he gave Blair frequent assurance on his deathbed, behaving towards him with the greatest kindness and attention. A little before his death he stretched out both his arms, and, drawing Blair towards him, blessed him in the most heavenly manner, which was so unlike his former general behaviour, that a bystander remarked:—"An angel is speaking out of the Dean's bed to Mr. Blair!" In a few days the Dean died, and Blair was settled in his place.

With regard to his ordination, the following singular fact is related. After Blair had told the bishop of the diocese his opinions regarding church government, and that ordination by one man did not accord with his principles; the bishop, having previously heard of his great talents and piety, observed:—"Whatever you account of episcopacy, yet I know you believe presbytery to have a divine warrant—will you not receive ordination from Mr. Cunningham and the adjacent brethren, and allow me to come in as a co-presbyter?"—Upon no other terms could the bishop be answerable to the government; and therefore Blair yielded compliance, and was accordingly ordained about the year 1623. It was a serious undertaking; for he had above 1200 persons of full age, besides children, who all stood in great need of instruction. Besides the stated duties of the Sabbath, he preached regularly twice a week; on which occasions he was greatly assisted, and made a blessed instrument of much good to the souls of many.

In the great work which afterwards took place at Six-mile Water, and other parts in the counties of Down and Antrim, Blair was very much distinguished, not only by his own ministry, but also by the great pains he took in stirring up others to similar diligence.

At the first celebration of the Lord's Supper in that place, when treating of the new covenant, his heart was greatly elated, which determined him ever after, in the observance of that ordinance, to have recourse to the same inexhaustible fountain of consolation; and, coming over to Scotland soon after,* he received no small assistance from Mr. Dickson, who had been restored to his flock at Irvine, and who was studying and preaching on the same subject. But he was not allowed to exercise his ministry for many years undisturbed; for, in the autumn of 1631, he and Mr. Livingstone were both suspended by the bishop of Down. Upon application, however, to archbishop Usher, their sentence was relaxed, and they were permitted to continue in their charge, until May of the following year, when they were finally deposed from the office of the holy ministry.

As the last resource in this distressing case, Blair undertook a journey to London, to represent to the court his own situation, and that of his persecuted brethren; but after waiting for a long time, he found there was very little hope of meeting king Charles, and therefore the time hung very heavy on his hands. One day, however, tired with waiting on the court, and labouring under deep despondency, after having engaged in solemn prayer, he walked out to Greenwich Park, and having ventured to ask of the Lord a sign by which he might be able to judge of his success,—it was most graciously revealed to him, that his wishes would ere long be realized. Very soon after this, then, he received a despatch from his majesty, not only granting the prayer of his petition; but, in a note to the deputy, on the margin, written with the king's own hand, were the words:—"Indulge these men, for they are Scotsmen!"

Upon his return to Ireland, he presented Charles' note to the deputy; but he paid no attention to it; wherefore he was compelled once more to have recourse to good archbishop Usher. The venerable old man shed tears because he felt himself unable to assist the suffering servants of God; however, through the kind interposition of lord Castlestuart, the king granted them six months, liberty. But, after all, in November, 1634, he was again cited before the bishop, and sentence of excommunication pronounced against him. Blair's spirit rose with the emergency, and, before the bishop's face, he summoned him to answer for his conduct before the tribunal of Jesus Christ. Upon this the bishop contemptuously appealed from the justice of God to his mercy; to which Blair very coolly replied:—"Your appeal is like to be rejected, because you act against the light of your conscience!"—and so it happened; for in a few months' after, the bishop was taken ill; and, labouring under great anguish of mind, he said to his physician one day, when inquiring how he felt:—"It is my conscience, man, it is my conscience?"—As might have been expected, the doctor's observation was:—"I have no cure for that!"—and, in a short time after, the bishop departed this life, to learn the issue of his appeal.

After his ejection, Blair continued to preach frequently in his own and some neighbouring houses, until the beginning of the year 1635, when he entered into the matrimonial state a second time, with Catharine, daughter of Hugh Montgomery of Busbie, in Ayrshire, then with his family in Ireland.

It has been already mentioned, that a number of the ejected presbyterian ministers in Ireland had formed a project of building a vessel to convey them to America, and that they actually accomplished this. A tremendous hurricane, however, rendered their scheme abortive, and they sought refuge in Scotland. Blair was one of these. Having continued about four months in Ireland, after the failure of the expedition, he and Mr. Livingstone, having received information, that they were about to be apprehended, immediately went on board a vessel bound for Scotland, where they landed in 1637. The principal scene of Blair's labours was about Irvine, and the surrounding country; but he went also occasionally to Edinburgh. Episcopacy being then powerfully regnant in the country, he accepted of a chaplainship in Col. Hepburn's regiment in the French service, a corps recently raised in Scotland, and with that officer he embarked at Leith. But the display of a military life was not at all suited to our Worthy's habits. The regiment was composed chiefly of wild Highlanders who were intolerant of reproof, and could not brook the idea of clerical discipline; and therefore, upon any reproof of Blair's, how grievous soever the offence, they made show of their weapons, and threatened to stab the good man. Such conduct as this at once determined him to abandon the service, and he was set ashore privately, without imparting his intention to any one. On this occasion he had a very narrow escape of his life; for, his foot having slipped, he would have fallen into the sea, had he not caught hold of a rope, by which he hung till he was relieved.

Blair's return was matter of great joy to his friends, and, in the spring of 1638 he was called to be fellow-labourer with Mr. Annan, at Ayr, to which charge he was inducted upon the 2d day of May following. His stay, however, was but short; for having, at the General Assembly of that year, vindicated himself in regard to his disputation with Dr. Cameron, while professor in the university of Glasgow, and also in the matter of his settlement in Ireland, he was by the supreme court appointed to St. Andrew's, where his splendid talents might be turned to better account. He, nevertheless, continued another year, not seeing his way clearly, as he expressed himself; but the Assembly of 1639, dissatisfied at this act of disobedience, ordered him to betake himself thither without delay.

Blair went over again to Ireland, after the rebellion in 1641,* with the permission of the General Assembly, who had been supplicated for a supply of ministers, to fill up the vacancies of those who had either fallen in battle, or had been otherwise deprived of their livings; and, at this time, he was no less laborious than formerly.

In 1643 he acted as one of the committee of the General Assembly who agreed to a Solemn League and Covenant betwixt Scotland and England; and in the end of the same year, when the Scots assisted the English parliament, he was appointed chaplain to the earl of Crawford's regiment; in which situation he continued until July, 1644, when the king's troops were defeated at Marston-moor;† after which he returned to his charge at St. Andrew's.

Blair opened the parliament and commission of Assembly, at Perth, in July, 1645; and, after having again preached before parliament, on the 27th—a day of solemn humiliation,—he rode out to the army, then encamped at Forgandenny, and preached to Crawford and Maitland's regiments. In that sermon he told them that their wickedness was notorious; and, though they had been victorious at Marston-moor, they would not be able to stand before a less formidable foe, if they did not repent, and turn to God. In about three weeks after, the greater part of Crawford's regiment was cut down at the unfortunate affair of Kilsyth.

After this defeat, Blair opposed all terms of accommodation with Montrose; saying that the Lord would look upon the affliction of his people—and so it turned out—for the Committee of Estates recalled General Leslie with 4000 foot and 1000 horse. Montrose by this time had received orders from the king to march southward, and oppose Leslie; but the latter, having surprised the royal army at Philiphaugh, totally routed Montrose, and put his army to flight,—the general himself having with difficulty made his escape. Among the prisoners taken in that encounter were Sir Robert Spottiswood, Nathaniel Gordon, and Andrew Guthrie, who were condemned to be executed on the 17th of January thereafter. With these gentlemen Blair was at great pains to bring them to a sense of their guilt; and with Sir Robert he so far succeeded, as to obtain from him a wish to be released from the sentence of excommunication under which he lay. With this Blair complied; but the other two, being bishops' sons, were not to be moved.—Mali corvi malum ovum.*

In the Assembly of 1646, Blair, who was moderator at the time, was one of those appointed to go to the king at Newcastle, and endeavour to convince him of the alarming bloodshed he had caused in the nation; and, if possible, to reconcile him to Presbytery and the Covenants. Among other things, the conversation having turned to popery, Blair asked his majesty if there were not abominations in that worship:—"Yes," replied Charles, "I take God to witness there are abominations in popery, which I so much abhor, that ere I consent to them, I would rather lose my life and my crown!" Upon this Blair urged him strongly to gratify the desires of his subjects,—but he refused. Blair's plain dealing with the king, however, impressed his majesty with a favourable opinion of his honest sincerity; but, unable to move Charles to compliance, he returned home to St. Andrew's, for the time.

Here, however, he was not permitted to remain long; for Mr. Henderson, the king's chaplain, having died in the interim, Charles immediately sent for Blair to supply the vacancy. In this also, Blair did not at once see his way clearly; but having consulted his friend Mr. Dickson, and recollecting how honourably his deceased brother had held fast his integrity, amid all the fascinations of a court, he accepted of his majesty's offer. Blair's diligence and fidelity, as chaplain to the household, were most exemplary,—praying every day in the presence-chamber before dinner and supper; lecturing once, and preaching twice, every Lord's day; besides preaching occasionally in St. Nicholas' church on other days; conversing much with the king; debating with him upon the forms of episcopacy; and pressing him, upon every proper opportunity, to accede to the just desires of his people.

After prayer, one day, the king asked him if it was warrantable to determine a controversy in prayer—as you have to-day declared the pope to be antichrist,—a point, concerning which divines are still at issue. Blair replied:—"Please your majesty, with me this is no controversy, and I am sorry it should be accounted so by your majesty; for it wag not so with your royal father!" Upon hearing this, the king was silent; for the authority of his father was of more weight with him, than that of any divine. After having performed the duties for a few months, he was permitted to visit his flock and family.

During the sitting of the next Scots parliament, Blair paid the king another visit at Newcastle, where he urged him with all the eloquence and arguments he could command, to subscribe the Covenants, and abolish episcopacy in England,—assuring him that every honest Scotsman would espouse his cause against his enemies. To this Charles replied,—that he was bound by his great oath to defend episcopacy in that church, and, rather than wrong his conscience, by violating his oath, he would lose his crown. Blair, knowing the form of words to be only, that he would maintain it to the utmost of his power, informed his majesty that he had not only done so; but, for such a length of time, and to such an extent, that he had now no power. All was unavailing, however; and therefore Blair took his departure for St. Andrew's with a heavy heart.

In 1648, when Cromwell made a descent upon Edinburgh, Messrs. Blair, Dickson, and James Guthrie, were deputed by the Commission of Assembly to wait upon the usurper, and endeavour to obtain his assent to a uniformity of religious worship in England; but Cromwell evaded the point in his usual manner, by smooth and adulatory speeches, frequently appealing to God as to the sincerity of his intentions. But Blair was not to be trifled with; he respectfully demanded an answer to three questions—What was his opinion of monarchical government?—What were his views of toleration?—and, What did he think of the government of the church? To the first, Cromwell said he was in favour of government by monarchy; to the second, that he was altogether hostile to toleration; and to the third:—"Eh, Mr. Blair! you article me too severely now,—you must pardon me, that I give you not a present answer to this!" Blair knew well the meaning of this evasion; for Cromwell bad formerly confessed that he was partial to that of Independence. When the deputation left Cromwell, Mr. Dickson observed. "that he was glad to hear that man speak no worse." "Ah!" said Blair, "you don't know him so well as I, or you would not believe one word he says; for he is a most egregious dissembler!"

In the contest between the resolutioners and protesters, Blair remained for the most part neutral; although, upon every occasion where he thought he could effect a pacification, he used all his influence and eloquence to reconcile differences; yet, both at St. Andrew's and at Edinburgh, where there was a strong muster on both sides, all his hopes were blasted, and every shadow of agreement vanished.

In this state did affairs continue till the year 1660, when, upon the death of Cromwell, the nation, weakened by internal dissensions, agreed to recall Charles II. to the throne. On this occasion, Blair once more made an attempt to bring about a reconciliation; but his endeavours were again frustrated, and a long and bloody persecution was the result.

In September, 1661, Sharp came to St. Andrew's, and the presbytery having been well assured of the double part he had been acting, and of the probability of his being made archbishop of St. Andrew's—ill at ease with such an Achan in their camp—commissioned Blair and another minister to wait upon him, and inform him of what had come to their knowledge. This these gentlemen did with so much plainness and fair dealing, that Sharp was never at ease till Blair was ejected.

Very soon after this, Blair, having taken occasion to preach from 1 Pet. 3:13;—"And who is he that will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is good?"—introduced into the discourse, the topics of suffering for righteousness' sake, and giving testimony to the Covenants and the work of Reformation, against the corrupt courses of the times. As might have been expected, Blair was summoned to appear before the council to answer for the sentiments to which he had given expression. The points upon which he was interrogated, were:—1. Whether he had asserted presbyterial government to be jure divino?—2. Whether he had asserted that suffering for it was suffering for righteousness' sake?—3. Whether in his prayers against popery he had joined prelacy with it?—Having answered in the affirmative, and expressed his sorrow that they should doubt his opinion upon these points, he was first confined to his chamber in Edinburgh; but afterwards, on account of his health, permitted to retire to Inveresk, about the middle of January, 1662, where he remained until October, enjoying amidst all his perplexities, much of the divine presence. Through the kindness of the chancellor, he then obtained liberty to go anywhere he chose, with the exception of St. Andrew's, Edinburgh, and the west country. He made choice of Kirkaldy; but, in consequence of an Act which was passed soon after—that no ousted minister should reside within twenty miles of an archbishop's see,—he was removed to Meikle Couston, in the parish of Aberdour, where he remained till his death.

At length, worn out with age and grief, he was taken ill on the 10th of August, 1666; but he was enabled to look forward to his approaching exit, with the composure and serenity of a believer in Jesus. Many and gracious were the edifying words with which he both strengthened and comforted the numerous friends who visited him upon his deathbed. Upon one occasion, when told of some severe acts of council, lately passed at the instigation of archbishop Sharp, instead of reproaching him, he prayed earnestly that the Lord would open his eyes, and give him repentance; and afterwards, in a conversation with Mrs. Rutherford said:—"I would not exchange situations with that man (Sharp) altho' all between us were red gold, and given me to the bargain!"

To his wife and children he spoke with the most affectionate seriousness; and after having solemnly blessed them, he addressed them one by one upon subjects of grave and eternal importance. To his son David he said, "I have again and again thought upon my former ways, and communed with my heart; and as for my public actings and carriage, in reference to the Lord's work, if I were to begin again, I would just do as I have done." He frequently repeated the 16th, 23d, and 71st psalms—the latter of which he used to call his own. About two days before his death, his speech began to fail so much that his words were but imperfectly understood; but to his wife, and some other attendants he was heard to say, that he rejoiced to suffer as a persecuted minister, adding, very energetically:—"Is it not persecution to thrust me from the work of the ministry, which was my delight, and hinder me from doing good to my people and flock, which was my joy and crown of rejoicing, and to chase me from place to place, till I am wasted with heaviness and sorrow, for the injuries done to the Lord's prerogative, interest, and cause?" These were among the last intelligible expressions he was heard to utter. At length death terminated all his earthly sufferings and sorrows, on the morning of the 27th of August, 1666.

He was buried in the churchyard of Aberdour, close by the wall, upon which was erected a small monument, with the following unostentatious inscription:—

Hic reconditæ jacent mortæ

Exuviæ D. Roberti Blair, S. S.

Evangelii apud Andreapolin

Prædicatoris fidelissimi. Obiit

Augusti 27, 1666, Aetatis suæ 73.*

Blair was a man of an excellent constitution; and, though of a majestically dignified mien, his deportment was humble, affable, and courteous. In all the private as well as public duties of his station, he was laborious, diligent, and unremitting; not only endearing himself to the people of his own parish and congregation; but to all the people of God in the district where he lived. In the church judicatories he bore a very distinguished character, not only for the quickness of his apprehension, but also for the clearness of his expositions, and the decision which he uniformly displayed in all matters of public concern.

At the time when the General Assembly resolved upon a new Exposition of the Bible, the portion assigned to Blair was the books of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes; but the former of these only he finished in the same year on which he died. He is said also to have cultivated, occasionally, a taste for poetry, and to have left behind him a few fugitive effusions, and some short epigrams on various subjects, which did no inconsiderable honour to the age in which he lived.

HUGH M'KAIL

ALTHOUGH all the historians of the age in which M'Kail lived narrate his sufferings and death, yet not one of them takes any notice of the place of his birth. We have it, however, from authority which has not been disputed, that he was born of pious and respectable parents, in the parish of Libberton, near Edinburgh; and that they very early dedicated him to the work of the ministry. As a scholar, he distinguished himself very highly; and as a student in divinity, he, at that early age, gave sure indications of becoming a talented preacher of the gospel.

Before he was twenty years of age, he became chaplain and tutor in the family of Sir James Stewart of Coltness, at that time lord provost of Edinburgh, a gentleman remarkable for his attachment to the cause of both civil and religious liberty. In this family M'Kail became acquainted with the marquis of Argyle, the earl of Loudon, lord Warriston, and many other kindred spirits, whose patriotic attachment to the cause of Presbytery he then imbibed, and continued afterwards to embrace with such ardour, as to make him willing to suffer the loss of all things in its defence.

But M'Kail's enjoyment of these happy scenes was but of short duration. The tyrannical overbearing of king Charles, and his irreconcilable aversion to the principles of the Covenant, urged on by a horde of popish incendiaries, led him soon after to overthrow the presbyterian church, as has been already more than once narrated. Although the family of Sir James had been friendly to the cause of the monarch in the days of his adversity, these things were all forgotten now, and he was involved in the general persecution. Having been induced to accompany his friend Sir John Chiesly of Carswell to Edinburgh castle, both of these gentlemen were then made prisoners by order of the government.*

In the winter of 1661, M'Kail, who still abode with the family of Coltness, offered himself for license before the presbytery of Edinburgh, and having gone through his probationary trials to their satisfaction, he obtained the ultimatum of his ambition,—viz., that he might preach "Christ, the power of God, and the wisdom of God, unto salvation."

From the last sermon which he delivered at that time, in the High Church of Edinburgh, from Song 1:7.,* may be dated the commencement of his sufferings. In this sermon he fearlessly showed that it was no new thing for the church to be involved in persecution; and, amplifying the subject, he said,—a Pharaoh on the throne, a Haman in the state, and a Judas in the church, had done the work in former times; and although in his allusion to Haman and Judas he made no application, yet Sharp and Lauderdale thought their portraits had been very accurately drawn; and therefore M'Kail was singled out as a very proper person to be put to silence.† Accordingly, a troop of dragoons soon after surrounded Coltness House, in the night time; but M'Kail, although he had little more than a moment's warning, escaped from his own bedroom to another, and was almost miraculously preserved. From thence he escaped to his father's house in the parish of Libberton, where he remained under concealment, till he found an opportunity to go to Holland, at that time the asylum of Scottish refugees. In that peaceful country, apart from the shaft of persecution, and the din and carnage of civil discord, he enlarged his stock of theological knowledge, by entering himself a student in one of the Dutch universities.

M'Kail returned to Scotland about the year 1664, or 1665; but found the state of the church much worse than when he went abroad. A set of ignorant, illiterate curates occupied the pulpits of the learned and godly ministers who had been ejected; and because they would not cease to proclaim the glad tidings of salvation, when and wheresoever they could find opportunity, had been forced to wander upon the mountains, and hide themselves in the lonely glens of the wildest fastnesses which the country afforded.

After his return, M'Kail lived for the most part at his father's house; but though his days were spent in seclusion, they were not allowed to pass in idleness. The sheep-walks and valleys were his resort for prayer and conference with those who were as sheep without a shepherd; and to such persons these were indeed times of refreshing,—many of whom testified that he had been with Jesus, advancing in knowledge and true holiness; and, these things having been reported to the curates, he became so much the more the object of their implacable malice. His native land, which had been once Beulah,—married to the Lord—had forsaken her God, and therefore M'Kail thought it a very befitting time for weeping, and fasting, and prayer. During one day in every week he poured out his soul to God in godly sorrow for his afflicted country; and it was observed, that always after such exercises, he was endowed with a large portion of divine grace and strength, to impart consolation to others, and to take comfort to himself, of which he soon after stood so much in need. The Spirit of God has not said in vain, that "the secret of the Lord is with them that fear him;" for, M'Kail had now an irradicable presentiment, that he would one day fall into the hands of his enemies, and die a martyr for the truth. The prospect of that event, however, in no way dismayed him; for, to the sweet experience of the "little flock" who were in the habit of meeting him in his place of retirement, he appeared as one coming from the wilderness, "like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, and all the powders of the merchant."

It was during the time he lived at his father's house, that the troubles in the west country were excited by the cruelties of Sir James Turner, who instigated his soldiers to acts of extortion and cruelty, unknown to, and unauthorized by, the council.* From motives which he himself afterwards details, M'Kail joined himself to those who then took up arms in defence of presbyterianism, and marched with them into Ayrshire. In this small army of undisciplined men, there were other ministers besides M'Kail, all eager in defence of the vilified cause. It was their intention to march to Edinburgh with their prisoner Turner, whose guilty conscience kept him in constant alarm for his life, which some would have had no objections that he should have been deprived of; but he was saved by Neilson of Corsack, a gentleman whom he had harassed above measure. Their route lay through a deep moss between Cumnock and Muirkirk, which they had to, traverse during a heavy rain. M'Kail was of a delicate constitution, and ill adapted for such a march in such weather: for, only a little before this, he had been confined to bed at Ayr, and was accompanying the party on horseback. Our limits will not permit us to detail the movements of the Covenanters, and their proceedings at Douglas, and Lanark, on their way to the metropolis, farther than that they renewed the Covenant at the latter place, after a very moving sermon by the Rev. Mr. Guthrie of Tarbolton. After the preacher had ended, the Covenants were read over, article by article; at the conclusion of each of which, the people lifted up their hands, and sware unto the Lord their God.—A writer of that period says:—"It will be hard to parallel such another company; so many together of sound judgment, true piety, integrity of heart, prudent zeal, undaunted courage and resolution, and with so small a mixture of persons of corrupt minds, profane conversation, and sinistrous ends; and, although we would not be prodigal of men's lives, especially of saints, when there are so few now to stand between the living and the dead; yet that simple act of renewing the Covenants gave more glory to God, and was a greater testimony and advantage to that covenanted cause, than (we hope) the loss of so many as tell in its support."

After leaving Lanark, they had a letter from Sir James Stewart, encouraging them to march forward to Edinburgh, and informing them who were ready to join them. By this advice, they were unintentionally led into new difficulties; for, while taking a hurried march by Bathgate, Sharp, alarmed at their approach, had caused all the gates of the city to be shut, and the passages guarded in such a way, that their friends were prevented from joining them, while Dalziel's army cut off all succour in the rear. Exhausted and faint, M'Kail was unable to proceed farther than the water of Almond, at Cramond; from which place as he was making the best of his way to Libberton, and passing through Braid's Crags, one Kennoway, an officer of dragoons, with another person, met him and made him prisoner.

Having been brought before the council at Edinburgh he was stripped and examined for letters, or other writings; but although none were found, he was committed to prison. Next day he was taken before the earl of Dumfries, lord Sinclair and others, and being interrogated concerning the rebellion, refused to reply to several of their questions; which induced the council to suspect he was possessed of some secrets he was unwilling to divulge.

On Thursday, November 29th, M'Kail was again examined. He acknowledged having been with the party in the west country; but, even this would not satisfy the council. They still imagined he could make some important disclosures; and to elicit them, that terrible instrument of torture, the Boot,* was laid before him, warning him, that he would certainly be subjected to it, if he did not make confession. Having still preserved silence, he was brought forward again; and, although the instrument was produced, reeking with the blood of Neilson of Corsack, the young martyr suffered them to do their worst, in torturing his limb beyond description. Nothing, however, could the agonizing pain extort. Before he received the last three strokes, he protested before God, that he had no disclosures to make, although all the joints in his body were subjected to the same usage. More he would not say than that the rising in Galloway was caused by the indiscretion of Sir James Turner.

Having suffered severely from the effects of the torture, he petitioned the council to delay proceedings against him. Two physicians and two surgeons were therefore appointed to visit him and report, which they did, confirming the bad state of his health; but the council allowed him only six days. In the mean time, Anne, duchess of Hamilton, and her mother-in-law, the marchioness of Douglas, wrote to the earl of Rothes in his favour, but their request was denied—and M'Kail, with other four, was brought before lord Renton, justice clerk; and Mr. Murray, advocate depute. The principal charges against M'Kail were, "that he had been at Ayr, Ochiltree, and Lanark, with the rebels, on horseback, with a sword," &c.

Having been permitted to speak to the indictment—although still very weak—he rose and addressed the court with great calmness; but at the same time with the most undaunted fortitude. He said that, from the conclusion of his indictment, and from what had happened to others, he looked upon himself as one appointed to die, and therefore he would candidly acknowledge that he was not ashamed of belonging to that afflicted, persecuted party, the Presbyterians. Adverting to the charge of rebellion, he said, that simple presence was his only accession to it; and that only by his own extrajudicial confession. Indeed, there was nothing against him but what he had himself admitted; and therefore the advocate depute, having again read over his confession to the court, without any farther inquiry referred the business entirely to them. The jury having been called, gave in their verdict by Sir William Murray of Newton, their chancellor.—"Finding Hugh M'Kail guilty of being with the rebels at several places, according to his own confession before the council."

The verdict being reported, his doom was pronounced, declaring and adjudging him to be taken, on Saturday, December 20th, to the market-cross of Edinburgh, there to be hanged on a gibbet till dead, and his goods and lands to be escheated and forfeited for his majesty's use. Upon hearing this sentence he said, "The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord." He was then carried back to the tolbooth, through the guards, the people making great lamentation for him. After he came to his chamber, he immediately addressed himself to God in prayer, with great enlargement of heart, in behalf of himself and those who were condemned with him. To a friend he afterwards said, "O how good news: to be within four days' journey of enjoying the sight of Jesus Christ!" and protested, "he was not so cumbered how to die, as he had sometimes been to preach a sermon." To some women lamenting for him, he said, "That his condition, though he was but young, and in the budding of his hopes and labours in the ministry, was not to be mourned; for one drop of my blood, through the grace of God, may make more hearts contrite, than many year' sermons might have done."

The same afternoon he supplicated the council for liberty to his father to visit him, which being granted, his father came next night, with whom he conversed a little concerning obedience to parents. After prayer, his father said to him, "Hugh, I called thee a goodly olive tree of fair fruit, and now a storm hath destroyed the tree and his fruit!"—to which M'Kail answered, "that his too good opinion of him afflicted him." His father replied, "He was persuaded God was visiting not his own sins, but his parents' sins, so that he might say, Our fathers have sinned and we have borne their iniquity,"—adding, "I have sinned; thou poor sheep, what hast thou done?" M'Kail answered with many groans, "That, through coming short of the fifth commandment, he had come short of the promise, that his days should be prolonged in the land of the living; and that God's controversy with his father was for overvaluing his children, especially himself."

Upon the 20th of December, through the importunity of friends more than his own inclination, he gave in a petition to the council, craving their clemency, after having declared his innocence; but it proved altogether ineffectual. During his abode in prison, the Lord was very graciously present with him, both in sustaining him against the fears of death, and by expelling the overcloudings of terror, that sometimes the best of men, through the frailty of flesh and blood, are subject to. He was also wonderfully assisted in prayer and praise, to the admiration of all the hearers; especially on Thursday night, when, being at supper with his fellow-prisoners, his father, and one or two more, he said somewhat cheerfully, "Eat to the full, and cherish your bodies, that we may be a fat christmas-pie to the prelates!" After supper, he broke forth into several expressions, both concerning himself and the church of God and at last used that exclamation in the last of Daniel, "What, Lord, shall be the end of these wonders?"

The last night of his life he proposed and answered several questions for strengthening his fellow-prisoners, such as:—How should he go from the tolbooth through a multitude of gazing people and guards of soldiers, to a scaffold and gibbet, and overcome the impression of all this? He answered, by conceiving a deeper impression of a multitude of angels, who are on-lookers; according to that scripture, "We are a gazing stock to the world, angels, and men;" for, the angels rejoicing at our good confession, are present to convey and carry our souls to Abraham's bosom; not to receive them, for that is Jesus Christ's work, who will welcome them to heaven himself, with the songs of angels and blessed spirits. What is the way for us to conceive of heaven, who are hastening to it, seeing the word saith, "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard," &c.? To this he answered, that the Scripture helps us two ways to conceive of heaven, 1. By way of similitude, as in Rev. 21, where heaven is held forth by the representation of a glorious city, &c. 2. By holding forth the love of the saints to Jesus Christ, and teaching us to love him in sincerity, which is the very joy and exultation of heaven.

The last words he spoke at supper were in the commendation of love above knowledge:—"O but notions of knowledge without love are of small worth, evanishing in nothing, and very dangerous!" After supper, his father having given thanks, he read the 16th psalm, and then said, "If there were anything in the world sadly and unwillingly to be left, it were the reading of the Scriptures. I said I shall not see the Lord in the land of the living; but this needs not make us sad, for where we go, the Lamb is the book of Scripture, and the light of that city; and there is life, even the river of the water of life, and living springs," &c. Supper being ended, he called for a pen, saying, it was to write his testament in which he ordered some few books he had to be delivered to several persons. He went to bed about eleven o'clock, and slept till five in the morning, when he rose and called for his companion, John Wodrow, saying pleasantly, "Up, John, for you are too long in bed; you and I look not like men going to be hanged to-day, seeing we lie so long!" After some short discourse, John said, "You and I shall be chambered shortly beside Mr. Robertson!" M'Kail answered, "John, I fear you bar me out, because you were more free before the council than I was; but I shall be as free as any of you upon the scaffold!" He then prayed with great fervency, pleading his covenant relation with God, and that they might be enabled that day to witness a good confession before many witnesses. His father then bade him farewell; to whom, after prayer, he said, his sufferings would do more hurt to the prelates, and be more edifying to God's people, than if he were to continue in the ministry twenty years. Desiring his father to leave him, and go to his chamber, he prayed earnestly to the Lord to be with him on the scaffold; for, "how to carry there is my care, even that I may be strengthened to endure to the end."

About two o'clock, afternoon, he was brought to the scaffold, with other five who suffered with him; where, in the opinion of all who formerly knew him, he had a fairer and more composed countenance than ever they had before observed. Being come to the foot of the ladder, he directed his speech to the multitude on the north, saying, "that as his years in the world had been but few, his words should not be many;" after which he delivered with a firm voice the subsequent speech and testimony which he had before written and subscribed.

He then sung a part of the 31st psalm, and prayed with such power and fervency, as caused many to weep bitterly; after which he gave away his hat and cloak. When he took hold of the ladder to go up, he said with an audible voice, "I care no more to go up this ladder, and over it, than if I were going home to my father's house!" Hearing a noise among the people, he called down to his fellow-sufferers, saying, "Friends and fellow-sufferers, be not afraid; every step of this ladder is a degree nearer heaven!"—and, having seated himself thereon, he said, "I do partly believe that the noble counsellors and rulers of this land would have used some mitigation of this punishment, had they not been instigated by the prelates; so that our blood lies principally at their door; but this is ray comfort now, that I know that my Redeemer liveth. And now I do willingly lay down my life for the truth and cause of God, the Covenants and works of Reformation, which were once counted the glory of this nation; and it is for endeavouring to defend this, and to extirpate that bitter root of Prelacy, that I embrace this rope,"—the executioner then putting the rope about his neck. Hearing the people weep, he said, "Your work is not to weep but to pray that we may be honourably borne through; and blessed be the Lord that supports me now. As I have been indebted to the prayers and kindness of many since my imprisonment and sentence, so I hope you will not be wanting to me now, in the last step of my journey, that I may witness a good confession; and that ye may know what the ground of my encouragement in this work is, I shall read to you from the last chapter of the Bible, my glory and reward, "Let him that is athirst come;" and here you see my welcome, "The Spirit and the bride say, Come." He then said, "I have still a word to say to my friends"—looking down the scaffold—"Where are you? You need neither lament nor be ashamed of me in this condition, for I make use of that expression of Christ, 'I go to your Father and my Father, to your God and my God,' to your King and my King, to the blessed apostles and martyrs, 'and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly of the first-born, to God the judge of all, to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant;' and I bid you all farewell, for God will be more comfortable to you than I could be, and he will be now more refreshing to me than you can be—Farewell, farewell, in the Lord!" Then the napkin being put over his face, he prayed a little, and, putting it up again with his hand, said he had a word more to say concerning what comfort he had in his death. "I hope you perceive no alteration or discouragement in my countenance and carriage; and as it may be your wonder, so I profess it is a wonder to myself; and I will tell you the reason of it. Besides the justice of my cause, this is my comfort, that when Lazarus died, the angels did carry his soul to Abraham's bosom; so that as there is a great solemnity here, a scaffold, a gallows, people looking out of windows; so there is a greater and more solemn preparation of angels to carry my soul to Christ's bosom. Again, this is farther my comfort, that it is to come to Christ's hand, and he will present it blameless and faultless to the Father, and then shall I be ever with the Lord. And now I leave off speaking any more to creatures, and begin my intercourse with God, which shall never be broken off.—Farewell father and mother, friends and relations;—Farewell the world and all delights;—Farewell meat and drink;—Farewell sun, moon, and stars;—Welcome God and Father;—Welcome sweet Jesus Christ, the Mediator of the new covenant;—Welcome blessed Spirit of grace, and God of all consolation;—Welcome glory;—Welcome eternal life;—and, Welcome death!"

McKail's Execution.

He then desired the executioner not to turn him off until he himself should put over his shoulders,—which, after praying a little within himself, he did, saying, "O Lord, into thy hands I commit my spirit, for thou hast redeemed my soul, O Lord God of truth!"—and thus, in the 26th year of his age, he died as he had lived in the Lord,—

'Shouting forth with his expiring breath,

The great Redeemer's praise. Triumphant leap'd

Into the monster Death's devouring jaws,

And made his hollow vaults, while passing through

With hallelujahs ring. Thus Stephen died."

His death was so much lamented by the spectators, that there was scarcely a dry cheek in all the streets and windows about the cross of Edinburgh, at the time of his execution. A celebrated historian gives him this character, that, "he was a youth of 26 years of age, universally beloved, singularly pious, and of very considerable learning. He had seen the world, and travelled some years abroad, and was a very comely and graceful person. I am told," said he, "that he used to fast one day every week, and had frequently, before this, signified to his friends his impression of such a death as he now underwent. His share in the rising was known to be but small; and when he spoke of his comfort and joy in his death, heavy were the groans of those present."

Meanwhile, Mackail's fellow-sufferers, being men of little education, who

"lived unknown,

Till persecution dragged them into fame,

And chased them up to heaven,"

spoke their last testimonies with such meekness and patience towards their enemies, with such greatness of soul, piety, and good sense, that they were an admiration to all. Those who knew them before were convinced that it was given them from on high what they should speak. John Wodrow; Michael Shields, an Englishman; John Wilson of Ayr; and Humphrey Colquhoun, were like men in the suburbs of heaven. Colquhoun called for his Bible, laid it on his wounded arm, and read from it apposite passages, to the astonishment of all. When they were taken in battle, they had the promise of life; but, to gratify the primate's rage and cruelty, they were put to death, contrary to all law; and, what is more, contrary to king Charles' order, that no more lives should be taken in the quarrel. Bishop Burnet had brought the king's order to this effect, to Sharp, as head of the council, who had connived at its being kept secret, till Mackail and his brethren were cut off.

JOHN NEVAY

JOHN NEVAY was licensed and ordained a minister in the time of Scotland's purest reformation, and settled at Newmills in the parish of Loudon. Besides his soundness in the faith, he was a man of remarkable piety in conversation, and great diligence in attending to all the parts of his ministerial function. In church-judicatories he was particularly zealous in contending against the several steps of defection, that were contrary to the work of reformation carried on in that period.

When the earl of Callendar and major-general Middleton were cruelly harassing the Covenanters, and well-affected people in the west of Scotland, because they would not join in the Duke of Hamilton's unlawful engagement in war against England, Nevay was one of those ministers who assembled at the celebration of the Lord's Supper at Mauchlin-moor, in June, 1648, where opposition in their own defence was made to Callendar and Middleton's forces, being attacked by them there upon the last day of that solemnity.* Besides, when the Assembly held at Edinburgh and St. Andrews, in 1651, approved and ratified the public resolutions for restoring the malignants to places of power and trust in judicatories and armies, Nevay was one of those who faithfully witnessed and protested against that unhappy course.

And, as a conclusion to the whole, when that chief of malignants, Charles II., was restored as king over these lands—in consequence of which the whole of our covenanted work of reformation, which for some time had flourished, began to be defaced and overturned—Nevay, being the earl of Loudon's chaplain, and very much esteemed by him, was Nov. 18, 1662, by order of the council, cited, with some others, to repair to Edinburgh, and appear before the council, on the 9th of December thereafter. He did not, however, compear until the 23d, when he was examined; and, upon his refusing the oath of allegiance, he was banished, in terms of the following bond:—

"I, JOHN NEVAY, minister of the gospel at Newmills, bind and oblige myself to remove forth of the king's dominions, and not to return under pain of death; and that I shall remove before the first of February; and that I shall not remain within the dioceses of Glasgow and Edinburgh in the mean time. Subscribed at Edinburgh, December 23.

"JOHN NEVAY."

Having taken leave of his old parishioners, with a sorrowful heart, he prepared for his journey, and went to Holland, where for some years he preached to such as would hear him; and yet all the while he displayed the affection of a dear and loving pastor to his old parishioners of Loudon, both by sending them sermons and letters, in which he not only exhorted them to steadfastness in midst of temptation, but even showed a longing desire to return to his native land and parish, as appears from a letter, written some time before his death, dated Rotterdam, October 22, 1668:*—"I can do no more than pray for you; and if I could do that well, I had done almost all that is required. I am not worthy of the esteem you have of me; I have not whereof to glory, but much whereof I am ashamed, and which may make me go mourning to my grave; but if you stand fast, I live. You are all my crown and joy in this earth, next to the joy of Jerusalem and her King, and I hope to have some of you my joy and crown in our Father's kingdom, besides those that are gone before us, and entered into the joy of the Lord. I have not been altogether ignorant of the changes and wars that have been amongst you—deep calling unto deep—nor how the Lord did sit on all your floods as King, and did give you many times some more ease than others; and you wanted not your share in the most honourable testimony that ever was given to the truth and kingdom of Christ in that land, since the days of Messrs. Patrick Hamilton, George Wishart, and Walter Mill, &c., martyrs."

That Nevay was no ordinary divine in his day, is fully evident, from an act of the General Assembly, in 1647; in which he was nominated one of four ministers, appointed to revise and correct Rouse's Paraphrase of David's Psalms in Metre,—of which he had the last thirty—and also that elegant Paraphrase of his upon the Song of Solomon, in Latin verse. Both of these show him to have been a man not only of profound judgment, but very rare and singular abilities.

Prefixed to the sermons of the Rev. James Borstius, an eminent Dutch divine, at Rotterdam, will be found two copies of Latin stanzas, signed, Joannes Nevius, Scotus; the former of which is a paraphrase of Isaiah 2:1–5, consisting of seventy-two lines, very creditable, indeed, to the piety and scholarship of the writer.

Nevay's son married Sarah von Brakel, whose poetical powers are favourably exhibited in her elegy upon a popular preacher, and a kind friend to the British refugees. In the year 1737, there was published at the Hague, the fourth edition of a small tract by Sarah Nevius, entitled, "The Devout Disciple taught by the Lord Jesus himself."

There are fifty-two sermons, or rather notes of sermons, of Nevay's published, upon the nature, properties, blessings, &c., of the Covenant of Grace, in 8vo.; thirty-nine sermons on Christ's Temptations, in manuscript, all of which were sent over from Holland, for the benefit of his old parishioners of Newmills.

JOHN LIVINGSTONE

THE subject of this memoir was born in 1603. He was son of Mr. William Livingstone, minister at Kilsyth, but afterwards removed to Lanark. He was nearly related to the house of Callendar. After having taught his son to read and write, he sent him to the Grammar school of Stirling, under Mr. Wallace, a pious and learned man, where he continued till summer 1617, when he returned home. In October following, he was sent to the college of Glasgow, where he remained four years. In 1621, he passed Master of Arts.

After this he lived with his father till he began to preach, during which time he observed the Lord's great goodness, that he had been born of parents who taught him the principles of religion as soon as he was capable of understanding anything. In his own historical account of his life, he does not remember either the manner or time, particularly, when the Lord first wrought upon his heart; only, when but very young, he would sometimes pray with feeling, and read the word with delight; but afterward often intermitted such exercises. He had no inclination for the ministry, till a year or more after he had passed his course at college, when he had a strong desire to study medicine, and go to France for that purpose; but his father refused to comply. About this time his father, having purchased some land in the parish of Kilsyth, caused the title-deeds to be drawn out in his son's name, proposing that he should marry and live there. Against this, however, he remonstrated, fearing it might divert him from his studies. In the midst of these straits, he resolved to set apart a day by himself to implore God for more special direction; and for this purpose he accordingly retired to Cleghorn wood, about a mile from Lanark, where, after much uneasiness regarding the state of his soul, he thought it was made out to him, that he behoved to preach Jesus Christ; which, if he did not, he should have no assurance of salvation. Upon this, laying aside all thoughts of other things, he betook himself to the study of divinity. He continued a year and a half in his father's house, studying and sometimes preaching; during which time he wrote all his sermons before he preached them, till one day, being to preach after the communion at Quodquhan, and having in readiness a sermon which he had preached elsewhere one day before, but perceiving several persons present who had heard him preach it, he resolved to choose a new text, writing only some notes of the heads he was to deliver; yet, he says, he found at that time, more assistance in enlarging upon these points, and more emotion in his own heart, than he had ever found before. He never afterwards wrote any more sermons, excepting only notes for the help of his memory.

About April, 1626, he was invited by Lord Kenmure to Galloway, in reference to a call to the parish of Anwoth; but some hinderance intervening, this design was laid aside. In the following autumn, he responded to another call from Torphichen; but this proved also unsuccessful.

After this he resided for some time with the earl of Wigton, assisting for the most part upon sacramental occasions, particularly at Lanark, Irvine, Newmills, and the Kirk of Shotts. He used to say that he experienced more of the divine presence, in preaching at the latter place, than at any other, and particularly refers to Monday, 21st June, 1630, the day after a communion, when, having spent the previous night in prayer with some pious Christians, he felt such freedom and enlargement of mind, as he had never experienced before. He had been visited with such misgivings of spirit, when reflecting upon his own weakness and unworthiness, and the expectations of the people, that he thought to have withdrawn privately, and declined the appointment; but fearing to distrust Him who has said:—"I will never leave thee nor forsake thee," he entered upon the duty, choosing for his text, Ezek. 36:25, 26:—"Then will I sprinkle clean water upon you, and ye shall be clean; from all your filthiness," &c. Here he was led out in such a melting strain, that, by the outpouring of the Spirit, a very perceptible change was wrought upon about 500 hearers, who could either date their conversion, or some remarkable confirmation, from that day.* He farther adds:—"Some little of that stamp remained on me the Thursday after, when preaching at Kilmarnock; but on the Monday following, preaching at Irvine, I was so deserted, that what I had meditated upon, written, and kept fully in memory, I could not get pronounced; which so discouraged me, that I resolved not to preach for some time,—at least at Irvine; but Mr. Dickson would not suffer me to go from thence, till I preached next Sabbath, which I did with some freedom."

Being at Irvine the same summer, he received an invitation from Clanniboy, to come to Ireland, in reference to a call from Killinchie; and, seeing no appearance of an appointment in Scotland, he went thither, and got a unanimous call from that parish. Here he laboured with the utmost assiduity among a people who had been both rude and profane before, but soon became the most experienced Christians in that part of the country. But he had not been above a year there until he was suspended by the bishop of Down. He remained under that sentence, until May, 1632; when, by the intercession of Lord Castlestuart, a warrant was granted by the king for his restoration.

Soon after, he married the eldest daughter of Mr. Bartholomew Fleming, a merchant in Edinburgh; but in little more than three years he was again deposed and excommunicated. Seeing no prospect of liberation either to ministers or professors, he embraced the resolution of going to New England with other ministers in the same situation; but the expedition proving unsuccessful, as we have already more than once narrated, he returned to Scotland, and took up his abode for a time with Mr. Dickson, at Irvine. His stay, however, was short, as he soon after took his departure for Edinburgh.

About the beginning of March, 1638, when the great body of the nation were about to renew their testimony, he was despatched to London with copies of the Covenant, and letters to friends; but he had been there only a few days, when the Marquis of Hamilton informed him that he had overheard the king say, Livingstone had come, but he would put a pair of fetters about his feet. Alarmed for his safety, he bought a horse and came home by St. Alban's and the western road. He was present at Lanark and other places when the Covenant was sworn; and, except at the Kirk of Shotts, as already noticed, he says, he never witnessed such emotions of the Spirit,—all the people so generally and willingly concurring; yea, thousands of persons all at once lifting up their hands, with the tears flowing from their eyes; so that, through the whole land, the people almost universally entered into covenant with God, for the reformation of religion against prelacy and its obnoxious ceremonies.

In 1638, Livingstone received a call both from Stranraer in Galloway, and Straiton in Carrick; but he referred the matter to Messrs. Blair, Dickson, Cant, Henderson, Rutherford, and his father; who, having heard both parties, advised him to Stranraer: to which charge he was admitted by the presbytery, upon the 5th of July, 1638, where he remained, in the faithful discharge of his ministry, until autumn 1648, when he was, by the nomination of the General Assembly, translated to Ancrum in Teviotdale. Here he found the people tractable; but so very ignorant, and some of them so very loose in their morals, that it was a long time before any competent number of them were brought to such a condition that he could venture to celebrate the Lord's Supper. By his diligence, however, through the grace of God not a few began to lay religion to heart.

In 1649, the parliament and church of Scotland sent commissioners to treat with the king at the Hague, in order to his admission; but they returned without satisfaction. However, in summer 1650, the parliament sent other commissioners to prosecute the foresaid treaty at Breda, when the commission of the kirk chose Messrs. Livingstone, Wood, and Hutcheson, ministers; with the Lords Cassillis and Brodie, as ruling elders, that, in name of the church they should present and prosecute their wishes. For several reasons Livingstone was very unwilling to comply; the chief of which was, he still suspected the king not to be right at heart in respect of the true presbyterian religion; observing, at the same time, that many in the kingdom were ready to receive the king home upon any terms; but he was at length prevailed upon by Messrs. Dickson, James Guthrie, and Patrick Gillespie, to yield compliance. After much conference and reasoning with his majesty at Breda, however, the commissioners were not like to come to any satisfactory conclusion. Livingstone observed that Charles still continued the use of the service-book and his chaplains, and frequently spent the night in balls and other public parties. This, with many other things, made him conclude there would be no blessing on that treaty; which, to his unspeakable grief, was at last concluded. Some time after, the king set sail for Scotland, but Livingstone refused to go on board with the party; and certainly would not have done so, but for the following stratagem. When lord Brodie and Mr. Hutcheson saw that they could not prevail upon him to come on board, they solicited him, before parting, to come into the ship at least, to speak of some urgent matters; which having done, the boat, in the mean time, that should have waited his return, made strait for the shore without him. The king now agreed with the commissioners to swear and subscribe the Covenants, National and Solemn League; but Livingstone, judging that such a rash and precipitate swearing of the Covenants would not be for the honour of the cause they were embarked in, did all he could to deter Charles and the commissioners from doing so until they came to Scotland. When, nothing, however, would dissuade the king from his purpose, compliance was granted; but Livingstone afterwards remarked, that the commissioners, nay, the whole kingdom—not even excepting the church—were highly culpable in restoring him to the government, without any real evidence of a change having been wrought upon his heart, and without a renunciation of his former principles, council, and company.

After they landed in Scotland, before taking leave of the king at Dundee, he took the liberty of advising Charles to avert the impending stroke ready to be inflicted by a victorious English army making rapid advances upon him, by issuing a public declaration in such a way as not to compromise his right to the crown of England; and, in the mean time, desist from prosecuting his title by fire and sword, until the storm should blow over, when the nation would be in a better mood for being governed. But Charles did not relish this motion, saying, he would not wish to sell his father's blood; which made Livingstone conclude, that his advice with regard to matters of state would meet with but little success. Another instance of this he met with in 1654, when he, with Messrs. Patrick Gillespie and Menzies, were called up by the protector to London, when Livingstone proposed that the heavy fines that had been imposed upon many in Scotland, which they were altogether unable to pay, should be taken off. Cromwell seemed to relish the suggestion very well; but when it was proposed to the council, they unanimously refused to listen to it.

While at London, preaching before the protector, Livingstone mentioned the king in prayer, at which some were greatly incensed; but Cromwell, knowing his influence in Scotland, said, "Let him alone; he is a good man; and what are we, poor men, in comparison of the kings of England?"

Some time after the General Assembly appointed Livingstone, and some other ministers, to wait upon the protector's army and the Committee of Estates then with it; but the fear and apprehension of what ensued, deterred him from going, and he went home until he got the sad news of the defeat at Dunbar. After this Cromwell wrote to him from Edinburgh, to come and speak with him; but he deferred compliance. It was during that winter the unhappy difference occurred between the resolutioners and protesters, and Livingstone saw it to be his duty to take part with the latter. He was present at their first meeting in the west, at Kilmarnock, and several other meetings afterwards; but not being satisfied with holding these meetings so often, and continuing them so long, which he imagined made the breach wider, he declined them for some time.

From that period till the year 1660, he devoted his time to the exercise of his ministry, when he was informed that the king had been recalled. He now clearly foresaw, that the overturning of the whole work of reformation would ensue, and that the situation of all who should adhere to the same would be perilous in the extreme. But when, in 1662, the parliament and council had, by proclamation, ordered all ministers who had been inducted since 1649, and had not kept the holiday of the 29th of May, either to own the prelates or remove, Livingstone foresaw more clearly, that the storm was ready to burst. At the last communion which he held at Ancrum, in October, he says, that after sermon on Monday, it pleased the Lord to grant him enlargement of mind, and freedom of utterance in a reasonably long discourse, anent the grounds and encouragements to suffer for the present controversy of the kingdom of Christ, in appointing the government of his house; after which he took his leave of that place, although he knew nothing of what was soon to follow.

After he had, like Elijah, eaten before a great journey—having communicated before he entered upon suffering—he heard, very soon, of the council's procedure against him, and about other twelve or sixteen who were to be brought before them. Before the summons could reach him, he went privately to Edinburgh, and concealed himself there for some time, until he could obtain certain information of the council's intention, whether they meant to take their lives, as they had done those of William Guthrie and others, or merely to send them into exile, as they had done with Messrs. McWard and Simpson. Finding that they intended only the latter, he therefore resolved to appear with the rest of his brethren. The 11th of December was the day fixed for their examination* before the council,—the decision of which was, that they required him to subscribe or take the oath of allegiance, which he, upon several solid grounds and reasons, refused. Sentence was therefore pronounced, that in forty-eight hours he should depart from Edinburgh, and go to the north side of the Tay; and, within two months depart out of all the king's dominions. He accordingly removed from Edinburgh to Leith; but thereafter, upon a petition, in regard of his infirmity, he obtained liberty to remain there until he should remove from Scotland. He petitioned also for a few days to visit his wife and children, but was refused; also for an extract of his sentence, but could not obtain it. In 1663, he went on board, accompanied to the ship by several friends, and in eight days reached Rotterdam, where he found the rest of the banished ministers. Here he had frequent opportunities of preaching to the Scots congregation at Rotterdam; and in December following, his wife, with two of his children, came over to him; but other five were left in Scotland.

About this time, upon a retrospect of his life, he observes, that the Lord had given him a body not very strong, and yet not weak; for he could hardly remember himself wearied in reading and studying, although he had continued seven or eight hours without rising, and also that there were but two recreations he was in danger of being mastered by. The first was hunting on horseback, to which he was very partial; although he had few opportunities of engaging in it, yet he found it very enticing; the other was singing in concerts of music, of which he had some knowledge, and took great delight. He says farther, that he was always short-sighted, and could not discern any person or thing afar off; but hitherto had found no occasion for spectacles, and could read small print as long, and with as little light almost, as any other. And, as to his constitutional temperament, he was generally soft and benevolent, averse to debates, rather given to caution than rashness, and too easy to be wrought upon;—and although he could not say what Luther affirmed of himself concerning covetousness, yet he could say he had been less troubled with secular cares, than many other evils. He was rather inclined to solitude than company; much troubled with wandering of mind and evil thoughts; in outward things, he was never rich; and although, when in Killinchie, he had not above four pounds sterling of stipend a-year, he was never in want.

He farther observes, that he could not remember any particular time of conversion, or ever being much either cast down or lifted up; only one night, in the Dean of Kilmarnock's, having been most of the previous day in company with some pious people from Stewarton, who were under that exercise of mind, when he went to bed under such heaviness, as he had never experienced before. During night, when fast asleep, he felt such a terror of the wrath of God upon him, that he thought himself in a most awful condition. It was instantly removed, however, but he thought it was said within his heart, "See what a fool thou art, to desire the thing thou couldst not endure!" In the pulpit he was sometimes much deserted and dejected, and again at other times graciously assisted. He has been heard to say that he never preached a sermon, except two, that he would be desirous to see in print; the first—says Wodrow—was the one at the Kirk of Shotts, as has been already noticed, and the other, that on a communion Monday, at Hollywood in Ireland. Upon both of these occasions he had spent the previous night in conference and prayer with some exemplary Christians, without any more than ordinary preparation; for, says his biographer, his style and manner of preaching were better adapted to ordinary hearers, than to a learned audience. Of the Hebrew, Chaldaic, and Syriac languages, he had a tolerable knowledge; but he never made any proficiency in Arabic.

He had as much of the French, Italian, Dutch, and Spanish languages, as enabled him to peruse their Bibles and some other books; and, such was the opinion the General Assembly entertained of his abilities, that they thrice urged him very earnestly to write a history of the Church of Scotland, from the Reformation in 1638; but he always declined the task. When in Holland, he spent the greater part of his time in translating the Bible into Latin from the original Hebrew; for which purpose he compared Pagnin's version with the original text, and with the later translations of Munster, the Tigurine, Junius, Diodati, and the English; but especially the Dutch, which he thought by far the most accurate translation.

Whether from his long sedentary habits or some other cause,—perhaps the growing infirmities of old age—he could not determine; but from the year 1664, he suffered so much from internal pain, that he could only walk abroad with difficulty. His hands, too, were so much paralyzed that he could scarcely write; otherwise, he blessed the Lord that he had found no great defection either in body or mind.

In this weak state he continued at Rotterdam till he was relieved from all his earthly sufferings, on the 9th of August, 1672. Among his last words were, "Carry my commendation to Jesus Christ, till I come there myself;" adding after a pause, "I die in the faith, that the truths of God, which he hath helped the Church of Scotland to own, shall be owned by him as truths so long as sun and moon endure; and I believe that Independency—though there be good men and well-meaning professors in that persuasion—will be found more to the prejudice of the work of God, than many are aware of. I have my own faults, as well as other men; but he made me always abhor shows. I have, I know, given offence to many, through my negligence; but I forgive, and desire to be forgiven." Not being able to speak much at a time, he said, after a short pause:—"I would not have people to forecast the worst; but there is a dark cloud above the Reformed Churches, which prognosticates a coming storm!"

There have been few whose labours in the gospel have been more remarkably blessed than Livingstone's: nay, it is doubtful, if any since the days of the apostles, can produce so many convincing and confirming seals of their ministry. Witness the Kirk of Shotts and Hollywood in Ireland, at which two places, about 1500 souls were either confirmed in the faith, or converted and brought to Christ.

Besides his letter from Leith, 1663, to his parishioners at Ancrum, are extant his Memorable Characteristics of Divine Providence, and a manuscript of his live, of which this memoir is a short abridgment. While in his Patmos in Holland, he finished his Latin Translation of the Old Testament, which was revised and approved of by Vossius, Essenius, and other eminent men of the age. Before his death, it was put into the hands of Luesden, to publish.

JOHN SEMPLE

The origin of this wonderful man is altogether unknown, and therefore no account can be given of his early life and habits. The first notice we have of him is from a manuscript of Mr. Gabriel Semple, minister of Jedburgh, a relation of his, in which the subject of this biography is represented as having acted in the capacity of precentor to one of the Scots ministers in Ireland,—supposed to be either Livingstone, Blair, or Cunningham. The circumstance which led to his call to the ministry is singular, as he is said to have been without a classical education; and consequently could not have been received as a student within any of the Universities.

About the time of which we write, and till a period much later, it was the practice for the congregation to assemble, on sabbath, a considerable time before the arrival of the minister, and join together in singing a psalm, which, not unfrequently, was lengthened out, almost to intolerance. Semple being engaged in this exercise one morning, and thinking that the minister was tarrying unusually long, felt an irresistible impulse to make some observations upon the psalm they had been singing, which, by the aid of the Spirit of God he was enabled to do, with great freedom and enlargement of mind. The ministers, whose names we have mentioned, having heard of this, and judging that Semple had an "unction from on high," immediately examined into his religious experience and scriptural qualifications; and, having satisfied themselves that he possessed a gift of edification, licensed him to teach and exhort in private. Semple, having obtained this liberty, began to take a wider circuit than was at first contemplated, collecting large audiences in barns and unoccupied houses, and was so very popular and successful, that he became the blessed instrument of converting many souls to God. But Providence had marked him out for a more enlarged and useful sphere; wherefore he left Ireland, and, coming over to Kirkcudbright, he there underwent a scrutinizing examination for the ministry. Soon after, he was called to Carsphairn, a newly constituted church and parish. The author of the manuscript says:—"I had frequent occasions to be at communions in that country, much countenanced by God,—at none more than Carsphairn; Mr. Semple always employed the most lively ministers he could find in the presbyteries of Dumfries or Galloway—he gave the sacrament twice a year; and as he had the choice of ministers, so the choice of people in Galloway and Nithsdale ordinarily repaired thither, even twenty or thirty miles off."

Semple was a man of strict morality and exemplary piety; and, as such, he was held in great veneration by all ranks of people. He was a great check upon the clergy, especially the indolent and worldly part of them, who were often much afraid of him. Coming once from Carsphairn to Sanquhar—about twelve miles distant—on a Monday morning after the sacrament there, the ministers being still in bed, got up in all haste, to prevent his reproof; but he, observing them putting on their clothes, said, "What will become of the sheep, when the shepherds sleep so long?—in my way hither, I saw some shepherds on the hills looking after their flocks," which, considering his age, and early journey, so many miles after he had preached the day before at home, had much influence on them, and made them somewhat ashamed.

He was one who very regularly attended church-judicatories, from which he was seldom absent, and that from a principle of conscience, so that hardly any circumstance could hinder him from his purpose; for, going one time to the presbytery of Kirkcudbright, twenty miles distant from Carsphairn, when about to ford the water of Dee, although he was told by some that it was impassable; yet he persisted, saying, "I must go through, if the Lord will; I am going about his work."—He entered the stream, and the strength of the current carrying him and his horse beneath the ford, he fell, but immediately standing upright in the water, he took off his hat, and prayed a word with great deliberation; after which he and his horse got safely out, to the admiration of all present.

He was also a man much given to secret prayer, and commonly retired to the kirk, for that purpose, before sacramental occasions, frequently setting apart Friday for wrestling with the Lord for his gracious presence on communion Sabbaths. He was often favoured with merciful returns, to the great comfort of both ministers and people; thereafter he also appointed a week day for thanksgiving to God.

As he was faithful and laborious in his Master's service, so he was also courageous and bold towards his fellow-men, having no respect of persons, but sharply reproving wickedness in the highest as well as in the lowest. He was so evidently a man of God, that the most wicked, to whom he was a terror, had a respect for him, and spoke favourably of one who wished well to their souls; so much so that at one time, some person of quality calling him a varlet, another person of the same rank, whom he had often reproved for his wickedness, being present, said, he was sure if he was a varlet, he was one of God's varlets. At another time, a certain gentleman, from whose house he was going home, sent one of his servants, on horseback, with a broadsword, and loaded pistols, to feign an attack upon him in a lonely place in the night-time,—the servant being ordered to do all he could to frighten him. The servant accordingly surprised him by holding a pistol to his breast, desiring him to deliver up his purse, under pain of being shot; but Semple, with much presence of mind, although he knew nothing of the stratagem, answered:—"It seems you are a wicked man, who will either take my life or my purse, if God gives you leave. As for my purse, it will not do you much service, though you had it; and for my life, I am willing to lay it down when and where God pleaseth; however, if you will lay aside your weapons, I will wrestle a fall with you for my life; which, if you be a man, you cannot refuse, seeing I have no weapons to fight with you."—After many threats on the part of the servant, though all in vain, he at length divulged the whole plot, and asked Semple if he was not afraid at first? Not in the least, answered Semple; for, although you have killed me, as I did not know but you might, I was sure to get the sooner to heaven.

Semple was one of the faithful protesters, in the year 1657, who were apprehended with Mr. James Guthrie, at Edingburgh, in August, 1660; and, after ten months' imprisonment in the castle, was brought before the council, who threatened him severely with death and banishment. But he answered with boldness:—"My God will not let you either kill or banish me; I will go home and die in peace, and my dust will lie among the bodies of my people." He was accordingly dismissed; and went home. When re-entering his pulpit, he said, "I parted with thee too easily before, but I shall hang by the wicks of thee now.'!

He was so much concerned for the salvation of his people, that, when on his deathbed, he sent for them, and preached to them with much fervency, showing them their miserable state by nature, and their need of a Saviour; with so much earnestness, expressing his sorrow to leave many of them as graceless as he had found them, that many wept very bitterly.

He died at Carsphairn, about the year 1677, being upwards of seventy years of age, in much assurance of heaven; often longing to be there, rejoicing in the God of his salvation; and, under great impression of dreadful judgments to come on these covenanted sinning lands, when scarce able to speak, he cried aloud three times, "A Popish sword for thee, O Scotland, England, and Ireland!"

JAMES MITCHELL

THE earliest account we have of this eminent man is, that he received the degree of Master of Arts, in 1656, in the University of Edinburgh, where he received his education for the ministry. Mr. Leighton, afterwards archbishop, was at that time principal, who, before conferring the degree upon the students, always tendered them the National and Solemn League and Covenant. These covenants Mitchell received with the most full assent of his will; satisfied they contained nothing but a brief compendium of the moral law, binding to the duties we owe to God and man, in our several stations, and taking the king's intent to be included therein. As a proof of his fidelity and loyalty, we may mention, that when others were swearing fealty to Cromwell, Mitchell took the oath of allegiance to the King; but, how he was repaid for his faithful adherence to the legal government the sequel will discover.

The name of this Worthy has become chiefly famous, for the bold, but unsuccessful attempt, which he made on the life of archbishop Sharp, with the view of ridding his country of a man, whom not only he, but thousands of the servants of God, considered as the greatest enemy the country had, to its political and religious liberty. Apart from this, however, altogether, the name of Mitchell deserves to be recorded for his sufferings in the cause of Reformation.

Having received a license to preach the gospel, very soon after the Restoration, he was, with the rest of his faithful brethren, reduced to many hardships and difficulties. It would appear he went to Galloway, about the year 1661, with a recommendation from Mr. Trail, one of the ministers of Edinburgh, introducing him to some pious ministers there, as a "good youth that had not much to subsist upon, and as fit for a school, or teaching gentlemen's children," there being no door of access then to the ministry, for him, or any one who held his principles, while prelacy was on the advance in Scotland.

But, whether he employed himself in teaching, or if he preached on some occasions, where he could have opportunity, we have no certain account. We find, however, he joined with that little faithful band, who rose in 1666; but he was not at the engagement at Pentland,* having been sent by Captain Arnot to Edinburgh, the day before, upon some necessary business, on that emergent occasion. However, he was excepted from the indemnity in the several lists made out for that purpose.

Soon after the unfortunate defeat at Pentland, Mitchell went out to Holland, from which country, after remaining about nine months, he returned, in company with some Dutchmen from Amsterdam, having a cargo of goods to dispose of.

His return was probably about the beginning of the year 1668, as it was during the summer of that year he made the attempt upon the life of Sharp. Mitchell, conceiving himself now excluded from all mercy or favour from the government, and not having yet laid down arms, and, taking the archbishop of St. Andrew's to be the main instigator of all the oppression and bloodshed of his faithful brethren, formed a resolution, in 1668, to despatch him. For this purpose, upon the afternoon of the 11th of July, he waited for Sharp coming down to his coach, at the head of Blackfriars' Wynd, in Edinburgh. Upon this occasion Sharp was accompanied by Honeyman, bishop of Orkney. When the archbishop entered, and had taken his seat, Mitchell stepped to the north side of the coach, and discharged a pistol loaded with three balls, in at the door—at the moment Honeyman was setting his foot in the boot, and, when reaching up his hand to step in, he received the shot in one of his wrists, and the primate escaped.

Upon this, Mitchell crossed the street with much composure, till he came to the head of Niddry's Wynd, where a man attempted to stop him; but upon Mitchell presenting a pistol, he let him go; after which he went down to the wynd, and up Stevenlaw's Close, where, entering a house, he changed his clothes, and came straight to the street, as being the place where he would be least suspected. A cry then arose that a man had been killed; upon which some replied, it was only a bishop, and all was soon quiet. Upon Monday, the 13th, the council issued a proclamation, offering a reward of five thousand marks to any that would discover the perpetrator, with pardon to accessories; but nothing more happened at that time.

Mitchell shifted the best way he could until the beginning of the year 1674, when he was discovered by Sir William Sharp, the bishop's brother; and, before Mitchell was aware, he caused a number of his servants, armed for that purposo, to apprehend and commit him to prison. On the 10th of February he was examined by the lord chancellor, lord register, and lord Halton; but he denied the assassination of the archbishop; however, being taken apart by the chancellor, he confessed that it was he who shot the bishop of Orkney, while aiming at the archbishop. This he did upon assurance of his life, given by the chancellor in these words:—"Upon my great oath and reputation, if I be chancellor, I will save your life." On the 12th, he was again examined before the council; but said nothing more than he had done before the committee. He was, however, remitted to the justice court to receive his indictment and sentence, which was,—to have his right hand struck off at the cross of Edinburgh, and his goods forfeited. This last part was not to be executed, till his majesty's pleasure; because, says lord Halton, in a letter to earl Kincardine, assurance of his life was given him upon his confession. However, he was, on the second of March, brought before the lords of justiciary, and indicted for being concerned at Pentland, and for the attempt on the archbishop of St. Andrew's; but he pleaded, Not Guilty, and insisted, that the things alleged against him should be proved.

The lords postponed the trial till the 25th, and in the mean time, the council passed an act (March 12), specifying "that Mr. James Mitchell confessed his firing the pistol at the archbishop of St. Andrew's upon assurance given him of life by one of the committee, who had a warrant from the lord commissioner and secret council to grant the same; and therefore he did freely confess, &c." In the said act it was declared, "that on account of his refusing to adhere to his confession, the promises made to him were void, and that the lords of justiciary and jury ought to proceed against him, without any regard to these." About the 25th he was brought before the justiciary again; but, as there was no proof against him, they, with consent of the advocate, deserted the diet, pro tempore, and he was remanded to prison.

Thus he continued until January 6th, 1676, when he was ordered to be examined before the council by torture, concerning his being in the rebellion, in the year 1666. Accordingly he was brought before them upon the 18th, about six o'clock P.M. Linlithgow, being preses, told him he was brought before them to see whether he would adhere to his former confession. He answered, "My lord, it is not unknown to your lordship, and others here present, that, by the council's order, I was remitted to the lords of justiciary, before whom I received an indictment at my lord advocate's instance, to which indictment I answered at three several diets; and the last diet being deserted by my lord advocate. I humbly conceive that, both by the law of the nation, and the practice of this court, I ought to have been set at liberty; yet notwithstanding, I was, contrary to law, equity, and justice, remanded to prison; and upon what account I am this night before you, I am ignorant." The preses told him, he was only called to see if he would own his former confession. He replied, "I know no crime I was guilty of, and therefore made no such confession." Upon this the deputy-treasurer said:—"The pannel is one of the most arrogant liars I have ever known." Mitchell replied, "My lord, if there were fewer of those persons you have been speaking of, in the nation, I should not be this night standing at this bar; but my lord advocate knows, that what is produced against me is not my confession." The preses then said, "Sir, we will make you confess."

On the 22d, he was again called before the court, to see if he would own his former confession, when a paper was produced, said to have been subscribed by him; but he would not acknowledge it. "You see what is upon the table," said the preses, pointing to the boot, "I will see if that will make you confess!" Mitchell replied, "My lord, I confess that by torture you may cause me to blaspheme God, as Saul compelled the saints; you may compel me to speak amiss of your lordships; to call myself a thief or a murderer, and then pannel me on it; but if you shall here put me to it, I protest before God and your lordships, that nothing extorted from me, by torture, shall be made use of against me in judgment, nor have any force in law against me, or any other person. But to be plain with you, my lords, I am so much of a Christian, that whatever your lordships shall legally prove against me, if it be truth, I shall not deny;—but, on the contrary, I am so much of a man, and a Scotsman, that I never held myself obliged by the law of God, nature, and nations, to be my own accuser." The treasurer depute said, he had the devil's logic, and sophisticated like him—ask him, whether that be his subscription? Mitchell replied, "I acknowledge no such thing."

Upon the 24th, they again assembled in their robes in the inner parliament house, when the boots and the executioner were again presented. Mitchell was once more interrogated; but still persisting, he was ordered to the torture; and, knowing that, after the manner of the Spanish inquisition, the more be confessed, either concerning himself or others, the more severe the torture would be to make him confess the more, he thus addressed the court:—"My lord, I have been now these two full years in prison, and more than one of them in bolts and fetters, which hath been more intolerable to me than many deaths, if I had been capable thereof; and it is well known, that some, in a shorter time, have been tempted to make away with themselves; but respect and obedience to the express law and command of God have made me undergo all these hardships, and I hope, this torture with patience also, that for the preservation of my own life, and the life of others, as far as lies in my power; and to keep innocent blood from your lordships' persons and families, which, by the shedding of mine, you would doubtless bring upon yourselves and posterity, and wrath from the Lord to the consuming thereof, till there should be no escaping; and now again I protest, as before. When you please, call for the man appointed for the work." The executioner having been called, he was tied in a two-arm chair, and the boot brought. The executioner asked which of the legs he should take; and the lords bade him take any of them. The executioner laying the left in the boot, Mitchell drew it out again, and said, "Since the judges have not determined, take the best of the two; for I freely bestow it in the cause;" and so put his right leg into the boot. After this the advocate asked leave to speak but one word; but, notwithstanding, he insisted at great length,—to which Mitchell answered, "The advocate's word or two has multiplied to so many, but my memory cannot serve, in the condition in which I am, to resume in particular; but I shall essay to answer the scope of his discourse:—Whereas he has been speaking of the sovereignty of the magistrate, I shall go somewhat further than he hath done, and own that the magistrate whom God hath appointed is God's depute; both the throne and the judgment are the Lord's, when he judgeth for God, and according to his law; and a part of this office is to deliver the poor oppressed out of the hand of the oppressor, and shed no innocent blood. And whereas the advocate has been hinting at the sinfulness of lying on any account; it is answered, that not only lying is sinful, but also a pernicious speaking of the truth is a horrid sin before the Lord, when it tendeth to the shedding of innocent blood—as in the case of Doeg. But what my lord advocate has forged against me is false; so that I am standing on my former ground, viz., the preservation of my own life, and the life of others, as far as lies in my power,—the which I am expressly commanded by the Lord of hosts."

Upwards of thirty questions were asked at him during his torture, of which the following are the most important:—"Are you that Mr. James Mitchell who was excepted out of the king's grace and favour? I never committed any crime deserving to be excluded.—Were you at the battle of Pentland? No.—Were you at Ayr; and did you join the rebels there? I never joined with any such.—Where were you at the time of Pentland? In Edinburgh.—When did you know of their rising in arms? When the rest of the city knew it.—When was that? When the messenger came from Dumfries, and Dalziel, with his forces, marched out at the West Port.—Where did you meet with James Wallace? I knew him not at that time.—Did you go out of town with Captain Arnot? No."

At the beginning of the torture, he said, "My lords, not knowing that I shall escape this torture with my life, therefore I beseech you to remember what Solomon saith, 'He who showeth no mercy shall have judgment without mercy.' And now, my lords, I do freely from my heart forgive you, who are sitting judges upon the bench, and the men who are appointed to be about this horrible piece of work, and also those who are vitiating their eyes in beholding the same; and I entreat that God may never lay it to the charge of any of you, as I beg God may be pleased for Christ's sake to blot out my sins and iniquities, and never to lay them to my charge here nor hereafter."

It is indeed true that Mitchell made a confession, upon the promise of his life; but the managers having revoked their promise, because he would not adhere to his confession before the justiciary, he was advised by some friends not too trust too much to that promise, and be his own accuser. "The reader must determine" (says Crook-shanks), "how far he was to blame now, in not owning his confession judicially, as they had judicially revoked the condition upon which the confession was made; and to put a man to torture for finding out things for which they had not the least proof, seems to be unprecedented and cruel; and to bring him to a farther trial, appears to be unjust. For, as another author has well observed,—That when a confession or promise is made upon a condition, and that condition is judicially rescinded, the obligation of the promise or confession is taken away, and both parties are in statu quo. Besides, when an open enemy perverts and overturns the very nature and matter of a discourse or confession, by leaving out the most material truths, and putting untruths and circumstances in their room, it no longer is the former discourse and confession; and when a person is brought before a limited judicatory, before whom nothing was ever confessed or proven, the person may justly stand to his defence, and put his enemies to bring in proof against him."

At the close of this examination, the executioner took down his leg from a chest on which it had been lying all the time in the boot, and set both on the ground; and then thrusting in the shafts to drive the wedges, began his strokes; at every one of which, Mitchell, when asked if he had any more to say, answered, No! At the ninth, he fainted through extremity of pain; upon which the executioner cried, "He is gone, my lords, he is gone!" He was then ordered to desist, and the lords walked away. After Mitchell had recovered a little, he was carried in the same chair to the tolbooth.

Mitchell continued in prison from this time till the beginning of next year, when he and Mr. Frazer of Brae were sent to the Bass,* where he remained till about the 6th of December, when he was again brought to Edinburgh, for trial; which came on upon the 7th of January, 1678. On the third of the same month, Sir George Lockhart and Mr. John Ellis were appointed counsel for the pannel; but Sharp was determined to have his life, and Lauderdale gave way to it. Sir Archibald Primrose furnished them with a copy of the council's act anent Mitchell; and a day or two before the trial, waited upon Lauderdale, who had been summoned along with lord Rothes, lord Halton, and Sharp. Primrose told Lauderdale, that he thought a promise of life had been given; but the latter denied it. Primrose wished that act of council to be looked into; but Lauderdale said he would not give himself the trouble.

When the trial came on, the proof rested mainly on his own confession—February 16, 1674—and many and long were the reasonings on the different charges in the indictment. Sir George Lockhart defended the prisoner with great learning, to the admiration of the audience, "that no extra-judicial confession could be allowed as evidence, and that his confession had been extorted from him under promise of life; but it was overruled." So tedious were the pleadings that the court adjourned over until the 9th,—a full report of which will be found in Wodrow's History.

The court having reassembled on the day appointed, lord Rothes, a crown witness, upon being shown Mitchell's confession, deponed that he was present and saw Mitchell subscribe the same, but that he gave him no assurance of his life; nor did he remember any warrant given by the council to his lordship to that effect. Halton and Lauderdale deponed much to the same purpose; but Sharp swore distinctly, that he knew the prisoner at the bar, at first sight, to be the person who shot at him; but that he either gave him assurance of life, or authorized any person to do so, was a false and malicious calumny—that he gave no other promise to Nichol Somerville, than that it was his interest to make a free confession. Somerville, however, Mitchell's brother-in-law, deponed, that the archbishop promised to him to secure his life, if he could induce him to confess. Sharp denied this, calling it a villainous lie; and Sir "William Paterson, Mr. John Vanse, and the bishop of Galloway, all swore in Sharp's favour,—it being dangerous for them to do otherwise.

At the close of the pleadings Mitchell produced a copy of an act of council issued against him on the 12th of March, 1674, in which the promise of an assurance of life was distinctly recognised; and requested that the original might either be produced, or the clerk permitted to furnish extracts; but this was also overruled on the ground of informality.

The jury were therefore enclosed, and ordered to return their verdict next afternoon, which they did; and Mitchell was brought in Guilty. Sentence was accordingly pronounced, "That Mr. James Mitchell be taken to the Grassmarket of Edinburgh, upon Friday, the 18th of January instant, betwixt two and four of the clock in the afternoon, and there hanged on a gibbet till he be dead, and all his moveables, goods, and gear, escheat, and in-brought to his majesty's use." No sooner did the court break up, than the lords found the act recorded, and signed by lord Rothes, the president of the council.—"This action," says Burnet, "and all concerned in it, were looked on by the people with horror; and it was such a complication of treachery, perjury and cruelty, as the like had not perhaps been known."

Two days after the sentence, orders came from court for placing Mitchell's head and hands on some public place of the city; but the sentence being passed, no alteration could be made. About the same time, his wife petitioned the council that her husband might be reprieved for some time, that she might see him and take her last farewell especially as it was not above twelve days since she had been delivered of a child, and at the time afflicted with a fever; but no regard was paid to it.

The Bass Knok in 1690.

Such was the end of this zealous and faithful servant of God, after four years' unrelenting persecution. That he was a truly pious man, notwithstanding the foul aspersions that were cast upon him by his enemies, all contemporary writers agree in maintaining, by his faithful contendings for the reformed and covenanted Church of Scotland. The attempt which he made upon the life of Sharp is the only act that stands in need of vindication. And, the reader cannot fail to have observed, that Mitchell looked upon himself as in a state of hostilities; and, considering Sharp as one of the chief instigators of the tyranny, oppression, and bloodshed, with which the country was then visited, he thought he had a right to take every opportunity of cutting him off, and the more especially, as no redress was to be found in the courts of justice. This, however, furnishes no plea for any private person taking it upon himself to avenge his wrongs, where access can be had to a lawful magistrate. Mitchell, in his own vindication, observes, "that the seducer, or adviser to a false worship, was to be put to death, and that by the hands of the witness." Such he considers to have been his own case; and remarks farther, "that the bishops would say what they did was by law and authority; but what he did was contrary to both;" and adds—"The king himself, and all the estates of the land, both were and are obliged, by the oath of God upon them, to extirpate the perjured prelates and prelacy; and, in doing so, to have defended one another with their lives and fortunes.—The Covenants," he continues, "were made upon these terms,—after supplications, remonstrances, protestations, and all other lawful means have been used to that effect—as the last remedy we took up arms; upon which condition, our nobility, and all the representatives of the nation, according to the National Covenant, and Solemn League and Covenant, gave to the king both the sword and sceptre, and set the crown upon his head; and he accordingly received them, and promised and swore by the ever living God, to use and improve them for the use aforesaid; and especially in order to the performing of this article, the extirpation and overthrow of prelacy."

While in prison, he emitted a most ample testimony, which is to be found in Naphtali, wherein he testifies against all profanity; and, as the cause of all his sufferings, quotes the words of Elijah,—"I have been very zealous for the Lord of hosts." In testifying against the givers and receivers of the indulgence, as an encroachment upon Christ's crown and prerogative, he protests before God, angels, and men, against all acts derogatory to the work of God and reformation; and also against all banishments, fines, and imprisonments, to which the people of God had been subjected for many years. When speaking of his own sufferings, he says:—"Now, if the Lord, in his wise and overruling providence, bring me to the close of my pilgrimage, the full enjoyment of my long looked for and desired happiness, let him take his own way and time in "bringing me to it. And, in the mean time, O thou, my soul! sing thou the song,—Spring thou up, O well of my happiness and salvation, of my eternal hope and consolation!—and whilst thou art burdened with the clog of this clay tabernacle, dig deep in it by faith, hope, and charity; and, with all the instruments that God hath given thee, dig in it by precepts and promises; dig carefully, and dig continually,—aye and until thou come to the head and source of the Fountain himself, from whence the water of life floweth. Dig till thou come to the assembly of the firstborn, where this song is most suitably sung to the praise and glory of the rich grace and mercy of the Fountain of life."—When speaking of his mortification to the world, and other Christian experiences, he says:—"Although, O Lord, thou shouldst send me in the back tract and tenor of my life, to seek my soul's encouragement and comfort from them; yet I have no cause to complain of hard dealing from thy hand, seeing it is thy ordinary way with some of thy people,—O God, my soul is cast down in me, from the land of Jordan, and the hill of Hermon,—yea, though last, he brought me to the banqueting-house, and made love his banner over me among the cold Highland hills beside Kippen, in November, 1673, he remembered his former lovingkindness to me; but withal, he spoke in my ear, that there was a tempestuous storm to meet me in the face which I behoved to go through, in the strength of that provision."—After reciting several texts of scripture, as consolatory to him in his sufferings, he concludes at last in the following words:—"And, seeing I have not preferred nor sought after my own things; but thy honour and glory; the good, liberty, and safety, of thy church and people,—although it be now misconstrued by many, yet I hope that thou, O Lord, wilt make thy light to break forth as the morning, and thy righteousness as the noon-day; and that shame and darkness shall cover all who are enemies to thy righteous cause. For thou, O Lord, art the shield of my head, and sword of my excellency; and mine enemies shall be found liars, and shall be subdued. Amen and Amen!"

The sentence must be put in execution, without delay; and accordingly, upon the 18th of January, he was taken to the Grassmarket of Edinburgh, where he sealed his adherence to the cause of the Reformation, with his blood—a victim to the most cruel persecution that ever stained the annals of any age or country.

COLONEL JAMES WALLACE

JAMES WALLACE, our next worthy, was a brave soldier and an eminent saint. He was descended from an ancient and influential family in Ayrshire. Auchans, in the parish of Dundonald, had long been the patrimonial seat of the Wallaces. The subject of this memoir entered the army early in life; and, by his bravery, and consistent deportment, rapidly rose to the rank of lieutenant-colonel. His brother officers in the parliamentary forces held him in great respect; and he was deservedly popular among the soldiers. In 1642, he belonged to the marquis of Argyle's regiment which was sent in that year to quell the troubles in Ireland. He was recalled in 1645, to oppose the victorious progress of Montrose, and shortly after he was taken prisoner at the battle of Kilsyth. When Charles the Second came to Scotland, in 1650, the parliament ordered two regiments of life guards to be imbodied, one of horse and the other of foot. In conformity with special instructions, these regiments were formed of the choicest troops. Lord Lorn was appointed colonel, and Wallace lieutenant-colonel of the foot regiment of guards. Our Worthy was present at the battle of Dunbar, so disastrous to the Scots, and he was a second time taken prisoner. Lord Lorn strongly recommended him to the notice of parliament for promotion, as well as an equitable compensation for great losses which he had sustained. It does not appear, however, that government ever rewarded his patriotic services, or indemnified his private loss.

Wallace lived in retirement after the Restoration, till the year 1666, when he came forth from his seclusion as the determined asserter of his country's liberties. He was placed at the head of the Presbyterian forces, who reluctantly had recourse to arms at the battle of Pentland.

"In accepting the dangerous post to which he was chosen," says Dr. M'Crie, "Wallace could be actuated only by the most disinterested motives. He had no private quarrel to revenge; he had given no personal offence to the government; and, as he was not involved in the circumstances which led to the first rising, he had no cause to be alarmed for his own safety. The prospects, when he first engaged in the design, were far from being flattering, especially to one of his knowledge and experience in military affairs, and he had it in his power to retire, as others did, after he reached the west, and saw the real state of those who were in arms. Nor was his conduct, during the short time that he commanded, discreditable to his military talents; especially when we take into consideration the small number of men which he had under him, the miserable manner in which most of them were equipped, and the want of inferior officers to conduct. 'Wallace himself was a gentleman godly and resolute; but such an undertaking was for a man of miracles.' By the line of march which he chose, he gave an opportunity to the friends of the cause, in the most populous counties, if they had been disposed, to join its standard. He prevented general Dalziel from obtaining that advantage which he sought, for attacking him during his march. If the government had been disposed to suppress the insurrection without bloodshed, he gave them an opportunity of accomplishing this by the moderate letter which he sent to the general of the royal forces. The ground which he chose on Rullion Green, and the disposition which he made of his men, was the very best, when he had to oppose an enemy three times the number of his own troops. By fighting at the time he did, instead of delaying, as he knew he could easily do, he provided for the better escape of his men, in the event of their being worsted; and, indeed, the loss actually sustained was less than it would in probability have been, if, without engaging, he had disbanded his army during the night. The battle of Pentland-hills was a well-fought field, not a disgraceful rout, like that which afterwards happened, under a very different leader, at Bothwell-bridge.

"On the loss of the battle, colonel Wallace left the field in company with Mr. John Welsh, and escaped the pursuit of the enemy. After riding to a sufficient distance, they turned their horses adrift, and slept during the remainder of the night in a barn. Having concealed himself for some time, Wallace at last got safely out of the kingdom. The battle of Pentland was fought on the 28th of November; and on the 4th of December, the privy council issued a proclamation prohibiting all persons from harbouring or corresponding with colonel Wallace, or any of those who had been in arms with him, under the pain of being treated as accessory to the late rebellion. On the 15th of August, Wallace, and six others who had absconded, were found guilty, and condemned to be executed as traitors, when they shall be apprehended, and all their lands and goods to be forfeited to his majesty's use. This sentence was ratified by parliament in 1669; but was rescinded at the Revolution."

For several years colonel Wallace was obliged to wander from one part of the continent to another for the sake of security. For the same reason he assumed the name of Forbes. In the year 1670, he was on the borders of Germany. When he thought the search after him had relaxed, he settled in Holland, taking up his residence at Rotterdam. Even there he was not permitted to remain unmolested. He attended the stated ministrations of Messrs. Robert MacWard and John Hog, of the Scottish Church in that city; and, to the joy of his expatriated clerical and lay brethren, Wallace was induced to undertake the office of elder. The congregation, however, was not to be long favoured with the acceptable services of colonel Wallace, and his beloved pastor Mr. MacWard. They, as well as Mr. John Brown, formerly minister of Wamphray, were obnoxions to Charles, who could not brook the idea that they should be comfortable and respected in the land of their adoption. It is notorious that the king, if he did not originate, heartily entered into every measure suggested for the annoyance or destruction of his nonconforming presbyterian subjects. It might have been thought, now that these good men had exiled themselves, that the active persecution would be stayed. But it was far otherwise. The British cabinet, we verily believe, never gave a greater proof of its weakness and implacability than it did in the present instance. Spurred on by Sharp, the king wrote a holograph letter to the States-General, entreating them forthwith to expel from the United Provinces, Robert MacWard, John Brown, and colonel James Wallace, whom he characterized as rebels, unworthy of the least countenance; and urging the States, if they had any respect for his request, to lose no time in complying with it. But the States-General, to their honour, were not to be hurried into an unjustifiable measure, merely to gratify the resentment of the king and his ministers. They properly viewed a compliance with the request of Charles as leading to encroachments on their prerogative, and accordingly enjoined their ambassador in London to acquaint his majesty, that the States-General did not feel at liberty to molest the individuals referred to, or, indeed, any one who, for similar reasons, sought refuge in the Netherlands. Neither did they wish to become the instruments of uncalled-for oppression in the hand of an English monarch, whose jurisdiction, they conceived, did not extend into foreign territories, and in whose unreasonable demands, especially, they respectfully, yet pointedly, declined acquiescing. Charles, however, was not so easily to be rebuffed. By his extreme urgency, and the extravagant colouring which he gave the whole affair, representing it as a matter that involved his personal safety, and the peace of the realm, the States were at length induced, as mediators, to devise some measure, in order, if possible, to pacify his majesty, and to convince the accused, that the Dutch government were exceedingly averse to interfere.

King Charles continued so to annoy the Dutch government, that the States, unwilling to incur his majesty's threatened displeasure, and even hostility, came to the following resolution on the 6th February, 1677:—"It is found good hereby to declare, that although the aforesaid three Scotsmen have not only not behaved and comported themselves otherwise than as became good and faithful citizens of these States, but have also given many indubitable proofs of their zeal and affection for the advancement of the truth, which their High Mightinesses have seen with pleasure, and could have wished that they could have continued to live here in peace and security. Considering the risks they run, however, and with what pressing earnestness his majesty had repeatedly insisted, by three several missives, and verbally through his envoy extraordinary, and with great reason apprehending a breach between his majesty and these States, as Sir William Temple has expressed himself on the subject in terms that cannot be mistaken, they feel themselves necessitated, in order to obviate so great an evil at this conjuncture, to cause the foresaid three Scotsmen to withdraw from this country; and that, consequently, notice shall be given to the foresaid James Wallace, Robert MacWard, and John Brown, in order that they may be able to avail themselves of the good intentions of their High Mightinesses, in having their effects properly disposed of before the 5th of March next; and for this end, an extract of this resolution of their H. M. shall be sent to the counsellors of the States of Holland, and West Friesland, in order that due notification may be given, and the foresaid Scotsmen may regulate their proceedings accordingly. They shall also find enclosed for their behoof, separate instruments ad omnes populos," &c.

The instrument referred to in the preceding decree, so far as related to colonel Wallace, was in these terms; and Messrs. MacWard and Brown had each one to the same purport:—

"The States General of the United Netherlands, to all and every one who shall see or read these presents, health.

"Be it known and certified, that James Wallace, gentleman, our subject, and for many years inhabitant of this State, lived among us highly esteemed for his probity, submission to the laws, and integrity of manners. And, therefore, we have resolved affectionately to request, and hereby do most earnestly request, the Emperor of the Romans, and all Kings, Republics, Princes, Dukes, States, Magistrates, or whomsoever else, our friends, and all that shall see these presents, that they receive the said James Wallace in a friendly manner, whensoever he may come to them, or resolve to remain with them, and assist him with their council, help, and aid; testifying that for any obliging, humane, or kindly offices done to him, we shall be ready and forward to return the favour to them and their subjects whensoever an opportunity offers. For the greater confirmation whereof, we have caused these presents to be sealed with our seal of office, and signed by the president of our assembly, and have ordered them to be countersigned by our first secretary, in our assembly, the sixth day of February, 1677."

The fact that the States refused the demand of king Charles, coupled with the above ample certificate in favour of those whom he bitterly accused, convincingly shows the extreme reluctance of the Dutch government to comply. But the report which Sir William Temple made to his court must not be omitted. His words are remarkable:—"This business hath been the hardest piece of negotiation that I ever yet entered upon here, both from the particular interests of the towns and provinces of Holland, and the general esteem they have of MacWard being a very quiet and pious man; but chiefly from the firm persuasion they have, of not being obliged to it by any bare letter of his majesty, without any sentence Having passed against them by which they are adjudged rebels and fugitives. And, on the contrary, after a sentence of banishment against MacWard and Brown, which, they say, is by all writers esteemed wholly to extinguish their subjection, and, consequently, his majesty's right of declaring them rebels after they are banished and become subjects to another state. But I found the king's honour so far engaged in this matter, by three several letters which must have been public, that I have left no sort of arguments unessayed with the prince, the pensioner, and deputies, both of the provinces and towns, to procure his majesty's satisfaction, and make it pass for a thing so necessary to despatch, that it hath taken up two long debates in the States of Holland these two days past, though their meeting was intended but for five days, and for no other business but the levies of moneys necessary for the campaign."

The Scottish kirk-session, at Rotterdam, recorded their unfeigned sorrow in being deprived of colonel Wallace, "the most painful and useful elder they had amongst them." Mr. MacWard retired to Utrecht, or its immediate neighbourhood, along with Mr. Brown and colonel Wallace. The colonel, who was particularly obnoxious to Charles, by reason of the active share which he took against the royal cause at Pentland, did not consider himself safe, even in the desirable society and prudent seclusion of his two clerical friends. He, therefore, reluctantly quitted them and hastened to a more secure concealment on the borders of France.

Colonel Wallace's name was continued on the sessional roll.* During his seclusion he addressed the subjoined letter, which throws light on his character and circumstances, to the widow of William Mure of Caldwell, then residing in Rotterdam:

"Elect lady, and ray worthy and dear sister,—Yours is come to my hand in most acceptable time. It seems that all that devils or men these many years have done (and that has not been little) against you, to daunt your courage, or to make you in the avowing of your Master and his persecuted interests to lower your sails, has prevailed so little, that your faith and courage is upon the growing hand, an evidence indeed as to your persecutors, of perdition, but to you of salvation and that of God. It seems when you at first by choice took Christ by the hand to be your Lord and portion, that you wist what you did; and that, notwithstanding of all the hardnesses you have met with in biding by him, your heart seems to cleave the faster to him. This says you have been admitted unto much of his company and fellowship. My soul blesses God on your behalf, who hath so carried to you, that I think you may take those words among others spoken to yon, 'You have continued with me in my afflictions: I appoint unto you a kingdom.' It seems, suffering for Christ, losing anything for him, is to you your gain. More and more of this spirit may you enjoy, that you may be among the few (as it was said of Caleb and Joshua) that follow him fully, among the over-comers, those noble overcomers mentioned, Revel. 2 and 3, among those to whom only (as picked out and chosen for that end) he is saying, 'You are my witnesses.' Lady, and my dear sister, I am of your judgment, and I bless his name that ever he counted me worthy to appear in that roll. It is now a good many years since the Master was pleased to even me to this, and to call me forth to appear for him; and it is true those forty years bygone, (as to what I have met with from the world,) I have been as the people in the wilderness; yet I may say it, to this hour, I never repented my engagements to him, or any of my ownings of him; yea these rebuts, to say so, I got from men were to me my joy and crown, because I know it was for his sake I was so dealt with; and this, it being for his sake, I was ready in that case (as Christ says) when men had taken me upon the one cheek, for his sake, to turn to them the other. Never was I admitted to more nearness, never was my table better covered than since I left Rotterdam. Let us take courage, and go on as good soldiers of Jesus Christ, enduring hardness. O for more faith! O for more faith among his people! As to this people, there is nothing to be seen in their way that is promising of any good; but on the contrary, O! I fear the Lord has given them up unto their own hearts' lusts. They do indeed walk in their own counsels. That same spirit of persecution, and these same principles, that are among you are here; but as God is faithful, they shall be all broken to pieces, and turned back with shame, that hate Zion. Wait but a little; they are digging the pit for themselves. The Lord hath founded Zion, and the poor of the people shall trust it. Let us mind one another. My love to all friends whom you know I love in the Lord. God's grace be with you, and his blessing upon your little ones, whom he hath been a father to. In him I rest. Yours as formerly,

"JA. WALLACE."

Colonel Wallace returned to Rotterdam in 1678; but, to the unspeakable grief of the congregation, died there at the close of the same year. In discharging the duties of ruling elder in the Scottish Church, he was beyond all praise. Like his divine Master he went about continually doing good; and the spontaneous testimonies borne to his patriotism, and his unwearied zeal for the furtherance of vital godliness among the flock over whom he jointly presided, entitle him to be held in grateful remembrance. The colonel rightly viewed the duties of an elder as involving obligations more sacred and binding than the world generally regards this ecclesiastical office as embracing. He studied, as every conscientious man will, who enters into a similar engagement, to attend to those apostolic injunctions which St. Paul has recorded for the direction of the successive overseers in the church of God. This excellent person expired in the arms of his tried friend, Mr. MacWard, who has given a particular account of the colonel's triumphant death in the following letter to the Rev. John Blackadder, minister of Troqueer:—"I doubt not but you have heard of the removal of worthy and great Wallace, of whom I have no doubt it may be said he hath left no man behind him in that church, minister nor professor, who hath gone through such a variety of tentations, without turning aside to the right hand or to the left. He died in great serenity of soul. He had lived abroad such an ornament to his profession, as he was not more lamented by us than by all the serious English and Dutch of his acquaintance, (who were many,) as having lost the man, who as a mean was made use of by the Lord to keep life amongst them; yea, the poor ignorant people of the congregation of Rotterdam, (besides the more serious and knowing amongst them,) bemoan his death, and their loss as of a father. And they have good reason; for I must say, he was the most faithful, feckful, compassionate, diligent, and indefatigable elder, in the work of the Lord, that ever I knew at home or abroad; and as for his care, solicitude, and concernedness, in the work and people of God, I may say, the care of all the churches lay more upon him than upon hundreds of us, so that the church of God hath lost more in the removal of that man than most will suffer themselves to believe. Only we who know it, have this to comfort ourselves, that the residue of the Spirit is with him who made him such, and that the Great Intercessor lives to plead his own cause, and the causes of his people's souls. I forgot to tell you, that when the cause for which he suffered was mentioned, when it was scarce believed he understood or could speak, there was a sunshine of serene joy looked out of his countenance, and a lifting up of hands on high, as to receive the confessor's crown, together with a lifting up of the voice with an Aha, as to sing the conqueror's song of victory. In a word, he fell asleep in the furnace, walking with the Son of God, and now his bones will rise up with the bones of the other great witnesses buried in a strange land, as a testimony against the wrong done to Christ, and the violence used against his followers by this wicked generation, whom the righteous Lord in his time, from him who sitteth upon the throne to the meanest instrument that hath put the mischiefs he framed into a law in execution, will make a generation of his wrath, of special wrath, which must answer and keep proportion unto the wrongs done to the Mediator."

JOHN WELWOOD

THIS intrepid servant of Christ was son of the Rev. James Welwood, sometime minister at Tindergarth, in the county of Dumfries, and brother to Messrs. Andrew and James Welwood, doctors of medicine in London. The subject of this brief narrative was born about the year 1649. After having gone through a regular course of training for the ministry, he received his license; but, on account of the turbulence of the times, it does not appear that he was ever ordained to any particular incumbency. Mention is indeed made of his having preached five or six times for his father, in the parish of Tindergarth. On these occasions his sermons are said to have been blessed with more marked effects of good among the people there, than had been discernible in the labours of his father during the whole course of his ministry.

Besides his eminent piety and faithfulness in preaching, Welwood was singularly fervent in pressing home the duties of the Christian life; and particularly, in instituting and encouraging fellowship and social meetings for prayer and conference, which he frequently attended himself. Upon one occasion, among many others, at New-house, in the parish of Livingstone, the night being far advanced, he said, "Let some one pray, and be short, that we may get to our apartments before it be light!" It happened, however, to be the turn of a person who excelled in the gift of prayer; and, before he was done, daylight had shone into the house. "James, James," said Welwood, "your gifts have the start of your graces!" and to the rest his counsel was:—"Be advised, all of you, not to follow him at all times, and in all things, otherwise there will be many outs and ins in your tract!"

In 1677, there was held an Erastian meeting of the actually indulged and non-indulged ministers, got up by the indulged party, in order, as they pretended, to bring about and establish a union between the parties; but rather, in reality, a conspiracy without the smallest semblance of honour, or veracity. Welwood, Mr. Cameron, and another minister, were called before the meeting, and threatened with deposition, for their freedom in preaching up separation from the actually indulged; but these men declined their jurisdiction, as being no lawful judicatory of Jesus Christ; composed as it was of men against whom they had lifted up a testimony. At this crisis, some of the indulged party waited upon Mr. Hog, who had not been at the meeting, to ask his advice regarding Welwood; to whom Mr. Hog returned the following laconic reply:—"His name is Welwood; but if you take the injudicious step of deposing him, he may perhaps turn out the Torwood in the end."

Soon after this, it would appear that Welwood had received a call from the parish of Tarbolton, in Ayrshire; or, to adopt the language of the dominant party of the day—"had intruded upon that parish and congregation." Information to that effect, says Wodrow, was lodged against him, before the council at Edinburgh, on the 1st of November, who immediately appointed lords Glencairn and Rothes to see that he was turned out and apprehended; but what was the result cannot now be learned, as Wodrow makes no farther mention of it. It has been ascertained, however, that he continued to preach; and the following are the principal gleanings that have been picked up.

When going to preach one Sabbath morning, the laird, on whose ground the tent had been erected, caused it to be removed, and set up on the property of another proprietor. Welwood having observed this, remarked very coolly,—that in a short time that same laird would not have a furrow of land that he could call his own:—"Let alone a little," said he, "and he will turn out in his true colours!"—and so it actually happened; for, having soon after been convicted of adultery, he became most contemptible and miserable, being, as was said at the time, one of York's four-pound papists.

About two years after this, perceiving the indications of a bright day about to dawn upon the persecuted church, he said to one William Nicholson, a native of Fife:—"Ye shall have a brave summer of the gospel this year; and for your further encouragement, even an old man or woman may live to see the bishops down, and yet the church not delivered: but ere all be done, we will get a few faithful ministers in Scotland. But keep still amongst the faithful mourning remnant that is for God; for there is a cloud coming on the church of Scotland, the like of which was never heard of; for the most part will turn to defection. But I see, on the other side of it, the church's delivery, with ministers and Christians, such as you would be ashamed to open your mouth before!"

Among his last public appearances, he preached at Boulterhall in Fife, from these words,—"Not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called;"* in which he wished that all the Lord's people, whom he had placed in stations of distinction both there and everywhere, would express their thankfulness, that the words not many were not not any, and that the whole of them were not excluded. Towards the close of the sermon, he said, "If that unhappy prelate, Sharp, die the death of all men, God never spoke by me." The archbishop had a servant, who, upon liberty from his master on Saturday night, had gone to visit his brother, who was a servant to a gentleman near Boulterhall. Next day he accompanied his brother to church, and Welwood, having observed a person with Sharp's livery, he desired him to stand up; for he had something to say to him. "I desire you," said he, "before all these witnesses, when thou goest home, to tell thy master, that his treachery, tyranny, and wicked life, are near an end; and his death shall be both sudden, surprising, and bloody; and as he hath thirsted after, and shed the blood of the saints, he shall not go to his grave in peace!" After he had returned home, the bishop asked the young man at supper if he had been at a conventicle; to which he replied, he had; and, having told his master the text, and several things connected with the discourse, he at length particularly delivered the message with which he had been intrusted. Sharp pretended to treat it lightly; but his wife said, "I advise you to take more notice of that; for I hear that these men's words are not vain words."

Soon after this Welwood went to visit Perth, where he lodged in the house of one John Barclay. This it appears was his last journey in the service of his Master. Being naturally of a delicate constitution, and having, previously, been exposed to many privations, added to a deep concern about the state of his soul and those of others; besides being greatly depressed in spirit on account of the afflicted state of the church, a gradual decay began to steal upon him in which he lingered until the beginning of April, when death relieved him of all his earthly cares and sufferings. During the time of his illness, so long as he was able to speak, he laid himself out for the good of souls. None but such as were looked upon to be friends to the persecuted cause knew that he was in town; and his practice was to call them in, one family after another, at different times, and discourse to them about their spiritual state. His conversation was convincing, edifying, and comforting. Many came to visit him; and, among the rest, one Ayton, younger of Inchdarney in Fife, a pious youth about eighteen years of age, to whom, on his giving him an account of the great tyranny and wickedness of prelate Sharp, Welwood said:—"You will shortly be quit of him: and he will get a sudden and sharp off-going; and you will be the first that will take the good news of his death to heaven!" This literally came to pass the May following.

About the same time, he said to another person who came to visit him:—"That many of the Lord's people should be in arms that summer for the defence of the gospel; but he was fully persuaded they would work no deliverance; and that, after the fall of that party, the public standard of the gospel should fall for some time, so that there should not be a faithful minister in Scotland, excepting two, to whom they could resort, to hear or converse with anent the state of the church; and they would also seal the testimony with their blood—that after this there should be a dreadful defection and apostasy; but God would pour out his wrath upon the enemies of his church and people, when many who had made defections from his way, should fall among the rest in this common calamity; but this stroke, he thought, would not be long; and, upon the back thereof, there would be the most glorious deliverance and reformation that ever was in Britain, after which the church should never be troubled any more with prelacy."

When drawing near his end, in conversation with some friends, he used frequently to communicate his own exercise and experience, with the assurance he had obtained of his interest in Christ; saying, I have no more doubt of my interest in Christ, than if I were in heaven already." At another time he said:—"Although I have been for some weeks without sensible comforting presence, yet I have not the least doubt of my interest in Christ: I have often endeavoured to pick a hole in my interest, but cannot get it done." On the morning of his death, when he observed the light of day, he said:—"Now eternal light, and no more night and darkness for me;" and, that night, he exchanged a weak body, a wicked world, and a weary life, for an immortal crown of glory, in that heavenly inheritance which is prepared and reserved for such.

The night after his death, the body was removed from John Barclay's house into a private room, belonging to one Janet Hutton, till his friends might consult about his funeral; that Barclay might not be put to trouble for concealing him. A report was quickly spread, that an intercommuned preacher had died in town, upon which the magistrates ordered a messenger to go and arrest the corpse. Next day, a considerable number of his friends, from Fife, came to town to attend his burial; but the magistrates would not suffer him to be interred in Perth. In support of their authority they ordered the town militia to be called out, and imprisoned John Bryce, boxmaster or treasurer to the guildry, for refusing to give out their arms. However, they at length gave his friends leave to carry the body out of town, and bury it beyond the precincts, in any place they chose; but any of the inhabitants who were observed accompanying the funeral, were imprisoned. After they had gone out of town, his friends sent two men to Drone, not far from Perth, to prepare a grave in the church-yard of that place. These men went to Mr. Pitcairn the minister—one of the old resolutioners—and desired the keys of the church-yard gate of the parish, but he refused to give them. They went over the wall, however, and dug a grave; and there repose in peace the ashes of this zealous servant of God.

Only one of his sermons has appeared in print, said to have been preached at Bogle's-hole, a farm in the upper ward of Lanarkshire, from the words of Peter,—"And if the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?"

It is said that a few of his religious letters to pious friends and acquaintances are yet extant, in manuscript; but nothing remarkable may now be expected, either in the writings of Welwood, or any of the succeeding Worthies. The times in which they lived were so peculiarly harassing, owing to the persecutions that were instituted against them, by being hunted from place to place, that they could neither find time nor opportunity for writing; and, not unfrequently, any small fragments they might from time to time have collected, having been intrusted to the hands of timid or false friends, were by them either destroyed or lost.

WILLIAM GORDON OF EARLSTOUN

WILLIAM GORDON of Earlstoun was son to the renowned reformer, Alexander Gordon of Earlstoun, and was lineally descended from the well known Alexander Gordon who entertained the followers of John Wickliffe, and who, having a New Testament in English, used to read it at their meetings at the wood of Airds, in the vicinity of Earlstoun. Having thus had the advantage of a religious education, he began very early to follow Christ. In 1637, Mr. Rutherford in his letters thus admonishes him:—"Sir, lay the foundation thus, and ye shall not soon shrink nor be shaken; make tight work at the bottom, and your ship shall ride against all storms,—if withal your anchor be fastened on good ground, I mean within the vail!" And indeed, by the blessing of God, he began, when quite a youth, to distinguish himself by his piety and religion, as well as by a firm attachment to Presbytery, and the covenanted work of Reformation; in which he continued steadfast and immovable, till he lost his life in the honourable cause.

What hand he had in public affairs, during Cromwell's usurpation, cannot now well be said; but we may suppose him to have been on the side of the remonstrants. The first public testimony he gave, after the restoration of Charles II., recorded in history, was about 1663, when some commissioners, appointed by the council to inquire into the opposition then made by the people to the settlement of curates at Kircudbright and Irongray—knowing Gordon's attachment to the presbyterian interest—were determined either to compel his acquiescence in settling an episcopalian incumbent in the parish of Dairy in Galloway, where, by the once established laws, he had some right in presenting; or, if he refused to concur, which they had every reason to suspect he would, to bring him to further trouble. Accordingly, the commissioners wrote him a letter in the following tenor:—"Finding the church of Dalry to be one of those to which the bishop hath presented an actual minister, Mr. George Henry, fit and qualified for the charge, and that the gentleman is to come to your parish this Sabbath next, to preach to that people, and that you are a person of special interest there, we do require you to cause this edict to be served, and the congregation to convene and countenance him, so as to be encouraged to prosecute his ministry in that place. Your loving friends and servants,

"LINLITHGOW,

GALLOWAY,

"ANNANDALE,

DRUMLANARK."

To this letter Earlstoun returned a very respectful answer, showing, upon solid reasons, why he could not comply with their unjust demand:—"I ever judged it safest to obey God, and stand at a distance from whatsoever doth not tend to God's glory, and the edification of the souls of his scattered people, of which that congregation is a part. And besides, my lords, it is known to many that I pretend to lay claim to the right of patronage of that parish, and have already determined therein, with the consent of the people, to a truly worthy and qualified person, that he may be admitted to exercise his gifts among that people; and for me to countenance the bearer of your lordships' letter, were most impiously and dishonourably to wrong the majesty of God, and violently to take away the Christian liberty of his afflicted people, and enervate my own right."*

This was just what they wanted; for, on the 30th of July following, "The lords of Council ordered letters to be directed, to charge William Gordon of Earlstoun to compear before them, to answer for his seditious and factious carriage:" in other words, his refusing to comply with prelacy; to hear the curates; and for favouring and hearing the ousted ministers. And farther, on November 24th of the same year,—"The council being informed that the laird of Earlstoun kept conventicles and private meetings in his house, do order letters to be directed against him, to compear before this council, to answer for his contempt, under pain of rebellion." All this, however, damped not the courage of this faithful confessor of Christ, in adhering to his persecuted gospel; but his enemies passed a still more severe and rigorous act against him, in which it was exhibited, that he had been at several conventicles—as they were pleased to call these meetings—where Mr. Gabriel Semple, a deposed minister, had preached in the woods of Corsack and Airds; and heard texts of scripture explained, both in his mother's and in his own house, by ousted ministers:—"And being required to enact himself to abstain from all such meetings in time coming, and to live peaceably and orderly, conform to law," he refused to do so. They therefore sentenced him to be banished, and to depart forth of the kingdom within a month, and not to return under pain of death; and, during that time to live peaceably, under the penalty of £10,000, or otherwise to enter his person in prison.

This sentence, however, it would appear, Earlstoun altogether disregarded,—and though we have no particular account of his future sufferings, we are certainly informed that he was subjected to many vexatious hardships. In 1667, he was turned out of his house, which was converted into a garrison for Bannatyne and his party. Almost every subsequent year brought with it fresh troubles, until the 22d or 23d of January, 1679, when he emerged out of them all, arrived at the haven of everlasting rest, and obtained his glorious reward, in the following manner.

Having some business to settle, perhaps with a view never to return, he was prevented from joining that suffering handful who were then in arms near Bothwell; but sent his son, who took part in the action. With all possible expedition he hastened to their assistance; but not having heard of the Covenanters' disaster, he was met near the field of battle by a party of English dragoons who were in pursuit of the sufferers. Like a valiant champion of Christ, he refused to surrender, or comply with their demands. He was therefore put to death upon the spot. His friends not being able to obtain his slaughtered body, and his son being among the fugitives, it was interred in the churchyard of Glassford, remote from the tombs of his ancestors. Although a pillar or monument was erected over his grave; "yet, neither "sculptured urn nor animated bust" pointed it out, because of the severity of the times.*

Thus fell a renowned Gordon; a gentleman of high and honourable attainments, devoted to religion and godliness, and an unyielding supporter of the presbyterian interest in that part of the country where he dwelt. It may very truly be said of him, that he lived a patriot, a Christian, a confessor; and died a martyr for the cause of Christ.

JOHN KING AND JOHN KIDD

NOTHING more seems to be known of these distinguished martyrs than a brief account of their sufferings, comprising the period between the years 1670 and 1679; and, it is very probable that their names might have been lost in oblivion, or at least passed over in comparative obscurity, had they not been thought worthy to seal their testimony with their blood. In the times of which we treat, hundreds, who suffered the loss of all things for the cause of Christ, are now altogether unknown, except in the imperfect traditionary chronicles of the families from which they were descended. Hundreds, too, finished their mortal pilgrimage in foreign climes, of whom no account was ever transmitted to the land of their birth; but the two eminent individuals, united in this brief memoir, will live on the page of history, so long as time endures.

The earliest account we have of King is, that he was for some time chaplain to lord Cardross, and that he was apprehended and committed to prison, in the year 1674; from which, however, he was liberated, upon a bond and security for 5000 merks, to appear when called. Next year he was again taken into custody, having been apprehended in Cardross house; but he was soon rescued by a few country people who had profited by his ministry. He was afterwards taken, a third time, near Hamilton, with about seventeen others, and marched to Evandale, where they were all retaken by the victorious Covenanters at Drumclog, whither they had been conveyed by Claverhouse. From that time he devoted himself to the service of his Master, by preaching to the persecuted party till their defeat at Both well. The circumstances attending his final capture are somewhat romantic; but as there is nothing improbable in the account, we give it upon the testimony of a person, who vouched for its accuracy:—"King having been on a visit to the laird of Blair, in the parish of Dalry, near Kilwinning, to whom he had been formerly chaplain, one Bryce Blair, a farmer, who had been groom there while King was in the family, came and desired a visit also. King went accordingly; and delivered a short discourse on the Saturday night following. On the Sabbath morning, a party of the enemy—said to be Crichton's dragoons—being in quest of him, two of them, in disguise, came to an old man feeding cattle near Blair's house, and asked him if he knew where that godly minister, Mr. King, was; for they were afraid he should be taken, as the enemy were in pursuit of him; and if they knew where he was they would secure him from them. The old man, overjoyed, cried, 'I'll run and tell him.' The men followed hard after, and, finding one of the family servants waiting on King and his servant's horses, they immediately dismounted; and, having driven their own horses into the standing corn, threatened the servant not to stir from the spot, upon pain of death. One of them immediately took his own saddle, and, putting it on King's horse, said, 'Many a mile I have rode after thee, but I shall ride upon thee now!'

"By this time the rest of the party had surrounded the house; and, King and his servant being in bed, they immediately commanded them to rise. While the servant was putting on his master's spurs, one of the soldiers damned him, saying, was he putting a spur on a prisoner? The servant replied he would put on what he pleased, for which he received a blow from the soldier, who, in his turn, was also assailed by one of his companions, with an oath, reproving him for striking a prisoner while offering no resistance. Thus King and the servant were both marched on for Glasgow, attended by one David Cumming, a native of the parish, as guide. For this man the party pressed a horse that they might get forward the more speedily; but they had not proceeded far, when the animal became quite furious and unmanageable, so that Cumming was obliged to dismount and walk the rest of the road. It is added, that the horse became quite calm and docile, at soon as he understood that he was on the way home." In reference to his apprehension, the following very striking account has also obtained currency:—"A party of English dragoons are said to have been there at the time, and one of them, on horseback, having called for some ale, drank to the confusion of the Covenanters. One of his companions having asked him at the stable-green port, where he was going, was answered,—'To carry King to hell.' But the wicked wretch had proceeded only a short way, in high merriment, when his carbine went off and shot him dead on the spot." "God shall shoot at them with an arrow: suddenly shall they be wounded."*

It would appear that Kid had been apprehended at the same time. Whether he had ever been ordained, or was only a probationer, there is no certain account. His presence, however, with the covenanted party, was deemed sufficient to infer the highest penalty of the law, and he was accordingly indicted along with King, for having been in the rebellion, and for having preached at field conventicles. They were both brought before the council at Edinburgh, on the 9th of July. King at once acknowledged that he had been with those who had taken up arms in defence of their rights; Kid confessed that he had preached in the fields; but only in two places where there were men in arms. Bath signed their confession, which was afterwards produced in evidence against them. Kid was again examined before the council, on the 12th, and put to the torture. It is said, indeed, that he was more than once in the boots, which he bore with exemplary patience and meekness. King was re-examined on the 16th before the court of justiciary, and Kid on the day following. On the 22d, they were served with indictments, and their trial came on upon the 28th. Counsel were allowed to appear in their defence; but no exculpatory proof was admitted. Immediately after their indictments were read, the king's advocate produced their confession in evidence, when, after the pleadings, and a petition in behalf of King had been read and refused, they were both brought in Guilty, and sentenced to be hanged at the market-cross of Edinburgh, on Thursday, the 14th of August, and to have their heads and right hands cut off, and disposed of at the pleasure of the council.

It was on the forenoon of this day that the king's act of indemnity was published; and, to grace the solemnity, these two noble martyrs, who were denied a share in it, were brought forth in the forenoon, for execution. It is related by an eyewitness, that as they approached the fatal spot, walking arm in arm, Kid, looking at his fellow-martyr with a cheerful countenance, said:—"I have often heard and read of a kid sacrifice!" Upon the scaffold they exhibited a very remarkable degree of magnanimous serenity, and submitted to their sentence with much placidity and joy—a joy with which none of their persecutors could intermeddle. Their heads were cut off on another scaffold prepared for the purpose.*

Thus ended the lives of these two worthy ministers and martyrs of Jesus Christ, after having owned their allegiance to Zion's King, and having given a faithful testimony against popery, prelacy, Erastianism, and for the covenanted work of Reformation in its different parts and periods.

JOHN BROWN

JOHN BROWN, the well-known author of several highly prized works on practical divinity, is the next Worthy that claims our respectful notice. Much obscurity hangs over his early history. His mother, an intelligent and pious person, had the honour to rank among her correspondents the famous Samuel Rutherford. In writing to Mrs. Brown from Aberdeen on the 13th March, 1637, Rutherford thus refers to the subject of this memoir, who was then a mere youth:—"I rejoice to hear your son John is coming to visit Christ, and to taste of his love. I hope he shall not lose his pains, or rue that choice. I had always, 'as I said often to you,' a great love to dear Mr. John, because I thought I saw Christ in him more than in his brethren. Fain would I write to him to stand by my sweet Master; and I wish you would let him read my letter, and the joy I have, if he will appear for, and side with my Lord Jesus." In another letter to a different correspondent, Rutherford also expresses himself as follows:—"Remember me to Mr. John Brown; I could never get my love off that man, I think Christ hath something to do with him."

On completing his academical studies, he was ordained minister of Wamphray, in the presbytery of Lochmaben. He was indefatigable in his pastoral labours in that parish, as well as throughout Annandale. He continued at Wamphray till after the restoration of Charles the Second. For the conscientious and bold stand which he made against the introduction of prelacy he was cruelly treated, and deprived of his benefice. On the 6th November, 1662, he was placed at the bar of the council, charged with "abusing and reproaching some ministers for keeping the diocesan synod with the archbishop of Glasgow, calling them perjured knaves and villains. He acknowledged that he called them false knaves for so doing, because they had promised the contrary to him. The council ordained him to be secured a close prisoner in the tolbooth till further orders."

In consequence of the severities to which he was subjected, by being confined in a damp cell during the winter of 1662, he was induced to send in a representation to the council, setting forth, "that he had been kept close prisoner these five weeks by-past, and seeing, that by want of free air and other necessaries, for maintaining his crazy body, he is in hazard to lose his life; therefore, humbly desiring warrant to be put at liberty, upon caution, to enter his person when he should be commanded." The lords of council "ordain the suppliant to be put at liberty forthwith of the tolbooth, he first obliging himself to remove and depart off the king's dominions, and not to return without license from his majesty and council, under pain of death." The alternative was a hard one, but rather than pine away in a dungeon, he chose to bid a last adieu to his beloved flock and his numerous friends in Scotland, and repair to Rotterdam, where several of his acquaintance had already taken refuge. Brown was allowed two months, from the 11th of December, to prepare for his final departure from his native country; and, in the spring of 1663, he landed on the continent. He resided partly at Utrecht and partly at Rotterdam. Though he preached frequently in both places, he was never admitted minister of any congregation abroad. In the year 1673, the English congregation at Middleburg, in Zealand, were desirous to have him as their pastor. He remained, however, at Rotterdam, where, in 1676, he was brought forward as a candidate along with his friend Mr. MacWard, when the Dutch government generously agreed that a second minister should be appointed for the Scottish Church in that city. Both candidates, being men of tried worth and ability, found strenuous supporters in the congregation. The consistory, by a majority of votes, elected Mr. MacWard.

Brown was extremely useful at Rotterdam. He assisted the ministers of the Scottish Church, not merely in the pulpit, but also in regularly visiting their people. For a while he peaceably enjoyed the Christian society of his expatriated brethren, and consoled by his printed writings and private letters, the dear friends among whom he now dwelt, as well as those whom he had been forced to leave behind. But this peace was soon broken in upon by the unworthy interference of King Charles. He insisted that the States General should remove from the United Provinces, colonel Wallace, John Brown, and Robert MacWard, because they were obnoxious to his Majesty. The States, with great reluctance, interposed in this delicate matter; and, as we have already fully stated in our Life of Colonel Wallace, persuaded rather than forced these three Worthies, to withdraw from Holland. This occurred in February, 1677. For a short period they were in Germany; but it was not long till they were permitted to recross the frontiers of Holland, and take up their abode in the vicinity of Utrecht.

Mr. MacWard, when corresponding with his session about a successor, thus speaks of Brown, who was at this time living with him in prudent retirement:—"The Lord hath suffered men to rob you of Mr. Brown, of whom I have confidence to say, for a conjunction of great learning, soundness in the faith, fervent zeal for the interests of Christ, and the souls of men, together with his unwearied painfulness while upon the brink of the grave, spending his life to give light to others, and laying out his great receivings for the vindication of precious truth; contradicted and blasphemed by adversaries, I know no minister alive (though the residue of the Spirit be with him) that would fill his room if he were removed; and, whatever particular churches or persons may think, Mr. Brown would be missed out of the church of God at this time, that the greatest men he left behind would count themselves obliged to mourn over that miss. Yea, whatever others may think, it is beyond debate with me, if our captivity were this day returned, that this Mr. Brown, now removed from the Scottish congregation of Rotterdam, would, by a General Assembly, be pitched upon to fill the most famous place in the Church of Scotland."

In the following year Brown returned to Rotterdam, and was received by his attached friends with open arms. His sojourn in this world was now drawing to a close. Having gone to Amsterdam on a visit, he died there in the month of September, 1679.

Of Brown it may with the greatest truth be affirmed, that his heart was in his work.* Deeply impressed with the responsibility of the ministerial office, it seemed ever his grand and primary aim, faithfully and affectionately to discharge its important duties. Rather than violate conscientious scruples, or relax in his firm adherence to the sacred cause, he willingly "suffered the loss of all things;" and, like numbers of his brethren equally minded, he meekly and cheerfully bore many indignities and privations, which a despotic prince, by means of fiend-like emissaries, cruelly delighted to inflict. The subjoined extract is from a sketch of his character which was written, immediately after his decease, by Mr. MacWard to a friend in Scotland:—†

"During all the space we were together in the country, I observed him, (his chamber being just above mine,) to be as much in prayer and communion with God as I ever observed any, yea, more, insomuch that my esteem for him grew above what it had been, though I had good cause. There was no minister now alive in the Church of Scotland, in the same class with him in my esteem and account of abilities, fixedness, faithfulness, and pure zeal according to knowledge; and to sum up all, I must say, alas!—the witness of the Church of Scotland; the man who withstood the present course of desertion; the man who, in resisting the adversaries of the truth of all sorts and sizes, was helped to do valiantly, and made able to do exploits for his God; the man who, while the archers, (his brethren, I mean, for they were the bowmen,) have sorely grieved him and shot at him and hated him, yet his bow abode in its strength, and the arms of his hands were made strong to his very grave; ay, by the hands of the mighty God of Jacob.—How hateful soever it may render us to such who hated a man so greatly beloved of his Lord and Master, to have the reasons of what I said rendered, yet as the Lord may, and I hope shall, prepare me to bear the load above the burden they have already laid upon my loins, so they must prepare themselves to hear these set before them. And, my friend, I give you warrant moreover to let as many know as you please, that however some were pleased to give it out that there was a difference and dryness betwixt us, (because many wish it, and would have it had been so,) yet it pleased the Lord to keep us, till death hath now made a separation, of the same sort and sentiments in all things relating to the public work and interest of Christ, yea, we were more so than ever."

Brown was famous for learning and faithfulness, warm zeal, and true piety. He was an able preacher; in controversy, he was acute, masculine, and strong; in history, plain and comprehensive; in divinity, substantial and correct; the first he discovers in his Latin work against the Socinians, and in his treatise De Causa Dei contra Anti-Sabbatarios, which is greatly valued by the learned. There is also a large manuscript history, entitled, Apologia pro Ecclesia, &c., anno Domini 1660, consisting of 1600 pages in 4to, which he gave to Mr. Charles Gordon, sometime minister at Dalmeny, to be by him presented to the first free General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, and which, accordingly, was presented to the General Assembly of 1692. Of this history, the Apologetical Relation seems to be an abridgment. His letters and other papers, particularly the history of the Indulgence, written and sent home to his native country, manifest his great and fervent zeal for the cause of Christ. And his other practical pieces, such as that on Justification; on the Romans; Quakerism the Way to Paganism; the Hope of Glory; and Christ the Way, the Truth, and the Life; the first and second parts of his Life of Faith; and Enoch's Testament opened up, &c.;—all evidence his solid piety, and real acquaintance with God and godliness.

The Dutch entertained a high opinion of Brown's theological attainments. Professors Leydecker and Spanheim, and Messrs. Borstius, á Brakel and Koelman, distinguished native divines, were his intimate friends; and, by their united and individual commendations and labours, were instrumental in extensively disseminating the able treatises on practical religion, written by Brown, during his exile. It is not our intention to analyze the numerous books of which he was the author. We may here mention, as not generally known, that several of his more popular writings were circulated in Holland, some years previous to being printed in the English language, by means of the translation of Mr. James Koelman, who obtained the manuscripts from the author, and rendered them into Dutch with extreme fidelity. We have seen seven editions of this foreign version of Brown's "Christ the Way, the Truth, and the Life," and different impressions of some of his other productions, which are still prized in Holland. This eminent person is repeatedly styled, in the register of the Scottish Church at Rotterdam, "a painful helper" in the cause of their divine Master. Did our limits permit, we would willingly dilate on his acknowledged erudition, and the ability and singular zeal by which he was distinguished both at Wamphray and Rotterdam. His memory let us devoutly cherish! By the grace of God he was what he was; and in studying the writings and life of Brown, we cannot fail to admire his enlightened piety, and earnestly desire to follow him as he followed Christ.*

HENRY HALL OF HAUGH-HEAD

THE subject of this brief memoir was a native of the parish of Eckford, in Tiviotdale. Having had a religious education, he began very early to mind a life of holiness, in all manner of godly conversation. In his younger years he was a most zealous opposer of the public resolutions that took place in 1651; insomuch that, when the minister of Eckford complied with that course, he refused to hear him, and went often to Ancrum to Mr. John Livingstone. After the restoration of Charles II., being harassed by the malicious persecutions of the curates and other malignants for his nonconformity, he was obliged to leave his native country and go to England, in 1665, where he made himself singularly useful in propagating the gospel, by instructing the ignorant, and procuring ministers to preach among the people, who, before his coming, were very rude and barbarous. In 1666, he was taken prisoner on his way to Pentland, to assist his covenanted brethren, and imprisoned with some others, in Cessford castle. By divine providence, however, he soon escaped, through the favour of his friend the Earl of Roxburgh, a relation of his, to whom the castle then belonged. He retired now to Northumberland, where, from that time till 1679, he lived, much beloved by all who knew him, for his care and anxiety in propagating the gospel of Christ in that country; so that his blameless life and conversation drew love, reverence, and esteem, even from his enemies. About 1678, the severity of the persecution in Scotland compelled many to wander about in Northumberland, as one Col. Struthers was violently pursuing all Scotsmen in those places. Haugh-head was present at the skirmish near Crookham, where Thomas Kerr of Hayhop, one of his nearest intimates, a gallant and religious gentleman, fell. Upon this he was obliged to return to Scotland, where he wandered up and down in the hottest of the persecution, mostly with Mr. Donald Cargill and Mr. Richard Cameron. During that time, besides his many other Christian virtues, he signalized himself by an ardent zeal in defence of the persecuted gospel in the fields. He was one of those four elders of the Church of Scotland, who, at the council of war at Shawhead-muir, June 18, 1669, were chosen, with Messrs. Cargill, Douglas, King, and Barclay, to draw up the "Causes of the Lord's Wrath against the Land," which were to be the causes of a fast on the day following. He had, indeed, an active hand in the most part of the transactions among the Covenanters at that time, as being one of the commanding officers in that army, from the skirmish at Drumclog, to their defeat at Bothwell-bridge.

After this, being forfeited, and diligently searched for and pursued, to eschew the violent hands of his indefatigable persecutors, he was forced to go over to Holland—the only refuge then of our Scots sufferers. But he had not remained there long, until his zeal for the persecuted interest of Christ, and his tender sympathy for the afflicted remnant of his covenanted brethren, who were then wandering in Scotland through the desolate caves and dens of the earth, drew him home again, choosing rather to undergo the utmost severity of the persecutors' fury, than live at ease in the time of Joseph's affliction; making the generous choice of Moses, who preferred to the momentary enjoyment of earthly pleasures, affliction with the people of God. Nor was he very much concerned about the riches of this world; for he hesitated not to give his ground to hold field-preachings on,* when few or none else would do it; for he was still a true lover of the free and faithful preached gospel, and was always against the Indulgence.

About a quarter of a year after his return from Holland, he was for the most part with Mr. Cargill, lurking as privily as they could about Borrowstounness, and other places on this and other side of the Firth of Forth. At last they were taken notice of by these two bloody hounds, the curates of Borrowstounness and Carriden, who soon smelled out Mr. Cargill and his companion, and presently sent information to Middleton, governor of Blackness castle, who was a papist. After consultation he commenced immediate pursuit, and having ordered his soldiers to follow him at a distance, in order to avoid suspicion, he with his man rode after them till they came to Queensferry; where, perceiving the house where they alighted, he sent his servant off in haste for his men, and after putting up his horse in another house, he came to them as a stranger, and, pretending a great deal of kindness to them both, requested the pleasure of having a glass of wine with them. After each had partaken of a glass and were in some friendly conference, the governor, wearying that his men came not up, threw off the mask, and laid hands on them, saying, they were his prisoners, commanding the people of the house in the king's name to assist; but they all refused except one Thomas George, a waiter, by whose assistance he got the gate shut. In the mean while, Haugh-head, being a bold and brisk man, struggled hard with the governor until Cargill got off; and after the scuffle, as he was going off himself, having got clear of the governor, Thomas George struck him on the head with a carbine and wounded him mortally. However, he got out; and by this time the women of the town, who were assembled at the gate to the rescue of the prisoners, conveyed him out of town. He walked some time on foot, but scarcely spoke, save only to cast some little reflection upon a woman whose interposition had prevented him from killing the governor,—an event which would have tended greatly to facilitate his escape. At last he fainted, and was carried to a country house near Echlin; and although surgeons were speedily brought, yet he never recovered the use of his speech afterward. Dalziel, living near by, was soon apprized of the circumstance, and came quickly with a party of the guards, and seized him; and, although every one saw the gentleman just dying, yet such was Dalziel's inhumanity, that he carried him to Edinburgh. But he died on the way thither, and made an end of his earthly pilgrimage to receive his heavenly crown. His corpse was carried to the Canongate tolbooth, where it lay three days without burial: and even then, though his friends convened for that end, it could not be granted. At last they caused him to be buried clandestinely in the night; for such was the fury of these limbs of antichrist, that after they had slain the witnesses, they would not suffer them to be decently interred, which is another lasting evidence of the cruelty of these times.

Thus this worthy gentleman, after he had in an eminent manner served his day and generation, fell a victim to prelatic fury. Upon him was found, when he was taken, a rude draught of an unsubscribed paper, afterwards called the Queensferry Paper; which the reader will find inserted at large in Wodrow's History, vol. ii. Appendix, No. 56; the substance of which is contained in Crookshank's History, and in the Appendix to the Cloud of Witnesses.

RICHARD CAMERON

THIS devoted Worthy was born in Falkland, in the shire of Fife, where his father was a merchant. He was of the episcopal persuasion at first; but after he had completed his course of learning, he was for some time thereafter schoolmaster and precentor to the curate of Falkland. He sometimes attended the sermons of the Indulged, as he had opportunity; but at last it pleased the Lord to incline him to go out and hear the field preaching; which the curates understanding, they endeavoured partly by flattery and partly by threats, and at last by more direct persecution, to make him forbear. But such was the wonderful working of the Lord by his powerful Spirit upon him, that having got a lively discovery of the sin and hazard of prelacy, he deserted the curates altogether; for no sooner was he enlightened anent the evil of prelacy, than he began more narrowly to search into the state of things, that he might know what was his proper and necessary duty. The Lord was pleased to discover to him the sinfulness of the Indulgence, as flowing from the ecclesiastical supremacy usurped by the king; and being zealous for the honour of Christ, he longed for any opportunity to give a testimony against the Erastian acknowledgment of the magistrate's usurped power over the church. This made him leave Falkland, and go to Sir Walter Scott of Harden, who attended the indulged meetings. Here he took the opportunity, notwithstanding of many strong temptations to the contrary, to witness in his station against the Indulgence. Particularly on Sabbath, when called to attend the lady to church, he returned from the entry, refusing to go that day; spending it in his chamber, where he met with much of the Lord's presence, as he himself afterwards testified, and got very evident discoveries of the nature of these temptations and suggestions of Satan, which threatened to prevail with him before; and upon Monday when he gave a reason to the said Sir Walter and his lady why he went not to church with them, he took occasion to be plain and express in testifying against the Indulgence in its origin and nature. After which, finding his service would be no longer acceptable to them, he went to the south, where he met with the Rev. Mr. John Welch. He staid some time in his company, and Mr. Welch finding him a man every way qualified for the ministry, pressed him to accept a license to preach: this, however, he for some time refused, because having obtained such clear discoveries of the sinfulness of the Indulgence, he foresaw that he would be required to testify explicitly against it, as he should have opportunity to preach the gospel in public. But the force of his objections being answered by Mr. Welch's serious solicitations, he was prevailed on to accept of a license from the ejected ministers, who were then preaching in the fields, and had not yet complied with the Indulgence. Accordingly he was licensed by Mr. Welch and Mr. Semple, at Haugh-head, in Tiviotdale, at the house of Henry Hall. Here he told them, he would be a bone of contention among them; for if he preached against a national sin among them, it should be against the Indulgences, and for separation from the Indulged.

After he was licensed, they sent him at first to preach in Annandale. He said, how could he go there? He knew not what sort of people they were. But Mr. Welch said:—"Go your way, Ritchie, and set the fire of hell to their tails?" He went, and the first day he preached upon that text:—"How shall I put thee among the children," &c. In the application he said, "Put you among the children, the offspring of robbers and thieves; many have heard of Annandale thieves!" Some of them got a merciful cast that day, and told it afterwards, that it was the first field-meeting that ever they attended; and that they went out of curiosity to see how a minister could preach in a tent, and people sit on the ground. After this, he preached several times with Mr. Welch, Mr. Semple, and others, until 1677, that he and Mr. Welwood were called before that Erastian meeting at Edinburgh, to be deposed, for their freedom and faithfulness in preaching against the sinful compliance of that time.

After this he preached at Maybole, were many thousands of people were assembled together, it being the first time that the sacrament of the Lord's Supper was there dispensed in the open fields.* At this time he used much more freedom in testifying against the sinfulness of the Indulgences, for which he was called before another meeting of the indulged in Galloway; and a little thereafter, he was again called before a presbytery of them, at Sundewall in Dunscore in Nithsdale. This was the third time they had designed to take his license from him. Here it was that Robert Gray, a Northumbrian, who suffered afterwards in the Grassmarket, in 1682, Robert Nelson, and others, protested against them for such conduct. At this meeting they prevailed with him to give his promise, that for some short time he should forbear such an explicit way of preaching against the Indulgence and separation from them who were indulged; which promise lay heavy on him afterwards, as will appear in its own proper place.

After giving this promise, and finding himself by virtue thereof bound up from declaring the whole counsel of God, he turned somewhat melancholy; and to pass the period of time specified by the promise in the end of the year 1678, he went over to Holland, where he conversed with Mr. MacWard, and others of our banished Worthies. In his private conversation and exercise in families, but especially in his public sermon in the Scots Kirk of Rotterdam, he was most refreshing to many souls. In this sermon he dwelt chiefly upon conversion, his text being:—"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." His sermon was both satisfying and agreeable to Mr. MacWard, Mr. Brown, and others, who had been sadly misinformed by the Indulged, respecting his character and mode of preaching; for in this instance he touched on no public matters in reference to the church, except in prayer, when lamenting the deplorable case of Scotland by defection and tyranny.

About this time Mr. MacWard said to him:—"Richard, the public standard is now fallen in Scotland; and, if I know any thing of the mind of the Lord, you are called to undergo your trials before us; therefore go home, and lift the fallen standard and display it publicly before the world; but before ye put your hand to it, go to as many of the field-ministers—for so they were yet called—as ye can find, and give them your hearty invitation to go with you; and if they will not go, go alone, and the Lord will go with you!"

Accordingly he was ordained by Mr. MacWard, Mr. Brown, and Roleman, a famous Dutch divine. When their hands were taken off his head, Mr. MacWard continued his still, and cried out:—"Behold all ye beholders; here is the head of a faithful minister and servant of Jesus Christ, who shall lose the same for his Master's interest, and shall be set up before sun and moon, in the view of the world!"

In the beginning of 1680, he returned to Scotland, where he spent some time in going to such ministers as had formerly kept up the public standard of the gospel in the fields, but all in vain; for the persecution after Bothwell was then so hot against all who had not accepted the Indulgence and indemnity, that none of them would venture upon that hazard except Donald Cargill and Thomas Douglas, who came together, and kept a public fast day in Darmeid-muir, betwixt Clydesdale and Lothian; one of the chief causes of which was the reception of the duke of York, that sworn vassal of antichrist, into Scotland, after he had been excluded from England and several other places Having met several times among themselves to form a declaration and testimony, they at last agreed upon one, which was published at the market-cross of Sanquhar, June 22, 1680; from which circumstance it is commonly called the Sanquhar Declaration. After this they were obliged for some time to separate one from another, and go to different corners of the land; and that not only upon account of the urgent call and necessity of the people, who were then in a most starving condition, with respect to the free and faithful preached gospel, but also on account of the indefatigable scrutiny of the enemy, who, for their better encouragement, had, by proclamation, offered 5000 merks for apprehending Cameron, 3000 for Mr. Cargill and Mr. Douglas, and 100 for each of the rest, who were concerned in the publication of the foresaid declaration.

After parting, Cameron went to Swine-knowe in New Monkland, where he had a most confirming and comforting day, upon that soul-refreshing text:—"And a man shall be a hiding place from the wind and a covert from the tempest; as rivers of water in a dry place; as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land." In his preface he said, he was fully assured that the Lord, in mercy to this church and nation, would sweep the throne of Britain of that unhappy race of the name of Stuart, for their treachery and tyranny, but especially their usurping the royal prerogatives of Christ; and this he was as sure of as his hands were upon that cloth; yea, and more sure, for he had that by sense, but the other by faith.

When he came to preach about Cumnock, he was much opposed by the Lairds of Logan and Horsecleugh, who represented him as a bad character and Jesuit. But yet some of the Lord's people, who had retained their former faithfulness, gave him a call to preach in that parish. When he began, he exhorted the people to remember that they were in the sight and presence of a holy God, and that all of them were hastening to an endless state of well or wo. One Andrew Dalziel who was in the house, it being a stormy day, cried out, "Sir, we neither know you nor your God!" Cameron, musing a little, said:—"You, and all who do not know my God in mercy, shall know him in his judgments, which shall be sudden and surprising in a few days upon you; and I, as a sent servant of Jesus Christ, whose commission I bear, and whose badge I wear upon my breast, give you warning, and leave you to the justice of God!" Accordingly, in a few days after, the said Andrew, being in perfect health, took his breakfast plentifully, and before he rose fell a vomiting, and vomited his heart's blood into the very vessel out of which he had taken his breakfast, and died in a most frightful manner. This admonishing passage, together with the power and presence of the Lord going along with the gospel dispensed by him, during the little time he was there, made the foresaid two lairds desire a conference with him; to which he readily assented. After which they were obliged to acknowledge that they had wronged him, and desired his forgiveness. He said, from his heart he forgave the wrongs they had done to him; but for those which they had done to the interest of Christ, it was not his to forgive, adding, that he was persuaded they would be remarkably punished for it. To the laird of Logan he said, that he should be written childless; and to Horsecleugh, that he should suffer by burning,—both of which afterwards came to pass.

Upon the fourth of July following, being eighteen days before his death, he preached at the Grass-water-side near Cumnock. In his preface that day, he said:—"There are three or four things I have to tell you this day, which I must not omit, because I will be but a breakfast or four-hours to the enemy some day or other shortly; and then my work and my time will both be finished. 1. As for king Charles II. who is now upon the throne of Britain, after him there shall not be a crowned king of the name of Stuart in Scotland.* 2. There shall not be an old Covenanter's head above ground, that swore these covenants with uplifted hands, ere ye get a right reformation set up in Scotland. 3. A man shall ride a day's journey in the shires of Galloway, Ayr, and Clydesdale, and not see a reeking house nor hear a cock crow, ere ye get a right reformation; and several other shires shall be little better. 4. The rod that the Lord will make instrumental in this, will be the French and other foreigners, together with a party in this land joining them; but ye that stand to the testimony in that day, be not discouraged at the fewness of your number; for, when Christ comes to raise up his own work in Scotland, he will not want men enough to work for him."

In the week following, he preached in the parish of Carluke, from these words, "Shall the prey be taken from the mighty, or the lawful captive delivered?" And the Sabbath following, at Hind-Bottom, near Crawfordjohn, he preached from these words, "Ye will not come to me that ye may have life." During sermon he was seen to weep, and the greater part of his hearers also, so that few dry cheeks were to be seen in the assembly. After this to the day of his death he for the most part kept his chamber door shut until night; for the mistress of the house where he staid, having been several times at the door, got no admission. At last she forced it up; and, finding him very melancholy, earnestly desired to know how it was with him. He said:—"That weary promise I gave to these ministers has lain heavy upon me, and for which my carcass shall dung the wilderness, and that ere it be long!" Being now near his end, he had such a large earnest of the Spirit, that longing for full possession of the heavenly inheritance, he seldom prayed in a family, asked a blessing, or gave thanks, but he requested patience to wait for the Lord's appointed time.

The last sabbath he preached was with Mr. Cargill in Clydesdale, from these words, "Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted on the earth." That day he said, he was sure that the Lord would lift up a standard against antichrist that would go to the gates of Rome, and burn it with fire, and that "blood" should be their sign, and "no quarter" their word; and earnestly wished that it might begin in Scotland. At their parting, they concluded to meet the second sabbath after this at Craigmead; but he was killed on the Thursday thereafter. And the sabbath following, Mr. Cargill preached in the parish of Shotts, from that text,—"Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?"

The last night of his life, he was in the house of William Mitchell of Meadowhead, at the water of Ayr, where, about twenty-three horse and forty foot had continued with him that week. That morning a woman gave him water to wash his face and hands; and having washed, and dried them with a towel, he looked at his hands, and laid them on his face, saying:—"This is their last washing, I have need to make them clean, for there are many to see them!" At this the woman's mother wept, when he said:—"Weep not for me, but for yourself and yours, and for the sins of a sinful land, for ye have many melancholy, sorrowful, and weary days before you."

The people who remained with him were in some hesitation, whether they should abide together for their own defence, or disperse and shift for themselves. But that day, being the 22d of July, they were surprised by Bruce of Earlshall; who having got command of Airley's troop and Strachan's dragoons, upon notice given him by Sir John Cochran of Ochiltree,* came furiously upon them about four o'clock in the afternoon, when lying on the east end of Ayr's-Moss. When they saw the enemy approaching, and no possibility of escaping, they all gathered round Cameron while he delivered a short prayer in which this expression occurred three times:—"Lord, spare the green, and take the ripe!" When ended, he said to his brother, with great intrepidity:—"Come, let us fight it out to the last; for this is the day that I have longed for, and the day that I have prayed for, to die fighting against our Lord's avowed enemies; this is the day that we will get the crown!" And to the rest he said:—"Be encouraged, all of you, to fight it out, valiantly, for all of you that fall this day I see Heaven's gates open to receive you."

But the enemy approaching, they immediately drew up eight horse, with Cameron on the right; the rest, with valiant Hackston on the left, and the foot in the centre; where they all behaved with much bravery, until overpowered by a superior number. At last, Hackston was taken prisoner, as will afterwards be more fully narrated. Cameron was killed on the spot, and his head and hands cut off by one Murray, and taken to Edinburgh. The headless body was thrown into a hole in Ayr's Moss. Upon a green hillock in the Moss, a simple tombstone marks his grave. Solemn recollections have often been elicited at Cameron's grave, and sublime expressions uttered on the hallowed spot. Here a little afterwards, did Peden sit down. He meekly raised his eyes to heaven, and ejaculated, "Oh to be wi Ritchie!" Peden, too, had his full share of troubles, and when these were over, his ashes at length reposed not far from Cameron's.

Cameron at Airsmoss.

His father being in prison for the same cause, they carried the head and hands to him, to add grief unto his former sorrow, inquiring if he knew them. Taking his son's head and hands, which were very fair—being a man of a fair complexion, like himself—he kissed them and said:—"I know, I know them; they are my son's, my own dear son's; it is the Lord; good is the will of the Lord, who cannot wrong me nor mine, but has made goodness and mercy to follow us all our days!" After which, by order of the Council, our Worthy's head was fixed upon the Nether-bow port, and his hands beside it, with the fingers upward.

Thus this valiant soldier and minister of Jesus Christ came to his end, after he had been not only highly instrumental in turning many souls unto God, but also in lifting up a faithful standard for his royal Lord and Master, against all his enemies, and the defections and sinful compliances of that time. One of his and Christ's declared enemies, when he looked at his head at Edinburgh, gave him this testimony:—"There's the head and hands of a man who lived praying and preaching, and died praying and fighting." And wherever the faithful contendings of the once famous covenanted church of Scotland are honourably made mention of, this, to his honour, shall be recorded of him.

After he was slain, there was found upon him a short paper, or bond of mutual defence, which the reader will find inserted in Wodrow's History, and in the Appendix to the Cloud of Witnesses. There are some few of his letters now published with Mr. Renwick's Collection of Letters, but the only sermon of his that appeared in print formerly, is the one preached at Carluke, entitled, Good News to Scotland, published in 1733. He wrote also in Defence of the Sanquhar Declaration, but we can give no account of its ever being published. Some more of his sermons have lately been given to the world.

DAVID HACKSTON OF RATHILLET

DAVID HACKSTON of Rathillet, in Fifeshire, is said in his younger years to have given no symptom of religious feeling, until it pleased the Lord, in his infinite goodness, to incline him to hear the gospel then preached in the fields, in consequence of which he became such a true convert, that after a mature deliberation upon the controverted points of the principles of religion in that period, he at last embarked himself in that noble cause, for which he afterwards suffered, with a full resolution to stand and fall with the despised, persecuted people, cause, and interest, of Jesus Christ.

Hackston does not seem to have distinguished himself by any public appearance, until the 3d of May, 1679, when we find him, with other eight gentlemen, going in quest of one Carmichael, who had been commissioned by the archbishop to harass and persecute all he could find in the shire of Fife, for nonconformity; but not finding him, when they were ready to drop the search, they providentially met with their arch enemy himself. So soon as they descried his coach, one of them said, "It seems that the Lord had delivered him into our hands;" and proposed that they should choose one for their leader, whose orders the rest were to obey. Upon this Hackston was chosen for their commander, but he refused, in consequence of a difference subsisting betwixt Sharp and him in a civil process, wherein he judged himself to have been wronged by the primate; which deed he thought would give the world ground to think it was out of personal pique and revenge. They then chose another, and came up with the coach, got the bishop out, and wounded him. When he fell to the ground, they ordered him to pray; but instead of that, seeing Rathillet at some distance,—having never alighted from his horse,—he crept towards him on his hands and his feet, and said, "Sir, I know you are a gentleman, you will protect me."—To which he answered, "I shall never lay a hand on you." At last he was killed; after which every one approved or condemned the action just as their inclination moved them. However, the deed was wholly charged upon him and his brother-in-law, Balfour of Kinloch, although he had no active hand in it.

About the latter end of the same month of May, that he might not be found wanting to the Lord's cause upon any emergency, Hackston, with some friends from Fifeshire, made common cause with a few Covenanters at Evandale, where, after the declaration, subsequently called the Rutherglen Declaration, had been drawn up by himself and Mr. Hamilton, he repaired along with Mr. Douglas to the market-cross of that same town, and upon the anniversary day, the 29th of May, where they extinguished the bonfires, and published the said testimony, they returned to Evandale, where they were attacked by Claverhouse, upon the first of June, near Dromclog. Hackston was on this occasion appointed one of the commanding-officers,—Mr. Hamilton being commander-in-chief, where he behaved with much valour and gallantry during that skirmish. After this, Hackston was a very useful instrument among that faithful remnant, to which his repeated protests against the corrupt and Erastian party bear witness. He had also an active hand in the most part of the public transactions among them, until that fatal day, the 22d of June, where he and his troop of horse were the last upon the field of battle at Bothwell-bridge.

But this worthy and religious gentleman being now declared a rebel to the king—though no rebel to Zion's King—and a proclamation issued out, offering a reward of 10,000 merks to any who could inform against, or apprehend, either him, or any of those concerned in the death of the archbishop of St. Andrew's, he was obliged to retire out of the way for about a year, during which time he did not neglect to attend the gospel in the fields, wherever he could hear it faithfully preached. But it could not be expected that this should continue long; and accordingly, upon the 22d of July, 1680, having been a few days with that little party, who attended Mr. Richard Cameron at Ayr's-Moss, they were surprised by Bruce of Earlshall, Airley's troop, and Strachan's dragoons.

Being commander-in-chief of that little band, when he saw the enemy approaching fast, he rode off, followed by the rest, for the purpose of securing proper vantage-ground; but seeing that this could not be obtained, they turned back, and drew up quickly, eight horse being on the right, and fifteen on the left, and the foot, who were but ill-armed, in the centre. He then asked if they were all willing to fight; and, receiving a favourable answer, both armies advanced. A strong party of the enemy's horse coming hard upon them, our horsemen fired, killing and wounding several of them, both horse and foot. Upon this they advanced to the enemy's very faces, where, after giving and receiving fire, Hackston being in front, and finding the horse behind him in disorder, galloped in among them, but escaped without any damage; however, being assailed by several, with whom he fought a long time, he at length stuck in a bog; when the foremost of them, one Ramsay, an old acquaintance, followed him in, and being on foot, they fought for some time with small swords, with but little advantage on either side. Closing at length, he was struck down by three of the dragoons, who, coming behind him, wounded him severely on the head. After this he was with the rest of the prisoners carried to the rear, where they gave them all the character* of brave, resolute men. He was next brought to Douglas, and from thence to Lanark, where Dalziel threatened to roast him alive for not satisfying him with answers. After which he and other three prisoners were taken to Edinburgh, where, by order of the council, they were received by the magistrates at the Watergate. Hackston was set on a horse's bare back, with his face backward, and the other three laid on a bar of iron, and carried up the street, with Mr. Cameron's head on a halbert before them, to the Parliament Close, where Hackston was taken down, and the rest loosed by the hands of the hangman.

He was immediately brought before the council, where his indictment was read by the chancellor, and himself examined; which examination, and his answers thereto, being elsewhere† inserted at large, it may suffice here to observe, that being asked if he thought the bishop's death murder? he told them, that he was not obliged to answer such questions; yet he would not call it so, but rather say, it was not murder. Being further asked, if he owned the king's authority, he replied:—"That though he was not obliged to answer, yet as as he was permitted to speak, he would say something to that;—1. That there could be no lawful authority but what was of God, and that no authority stated in a direct opposition to God, could be of God, and that he knew of no authority nor justiciary this day in these nations, but what were in a direct opposition to God, and so could neither be of God, nor lawful; and that their fruits were evincing it, because they were setting murderers, sorcerers, and such others, at liberty from justice, and employing them in their service, and making it their whole work to oppress, kill, and destroy the Lord's people." Bishop Paterson asked, "If ever Pilate and that judicature who were direct enemies to Christ, were disowned by him as judges?" to which he said, "he would answer no perjured prelate in the nation." Paterson replied, "He could not be called perjured, since he never took that sacrilegious covenant." Hackston answered, "That God would own that Covenant, when none of them were to oppose it." Notwithstanding these bold, free, and open answers, they threatened him with torture; but this he altogether disregarded.

Being brought again before the council on the 20th, his answers were much to the same purpose. The chancellor called him a vicious man: he replied, "that while he was so, he had been acceptable to him; but now, when otherwise, it was different." Being asked whether, "if set at liberty, he would own that cause with his blood," he answered, "that both their fathers had owned it with the hazard of their blood before him." Then he was called by all a murderer. He answered, "God should decide it betwixt them, to whom he referred it, who were the greatest murderers in his sight." Bishop Paterson's brother, in conference, told him, that the whole council found that he was a man of great parts, and also of good birth. Hackston said, for his birth he was related to the best in the kingdom, which he thought little of; and for his parts, they were very small; yet he trusted so much to the goodness of that cause for which he was a prisoner, that if they would give God that justice as to let his cause be debated, he doubted not to plead it with all that spake against it.

Upon the 27th he was taken before the court of justiciary, where he declined the king's authority as an usurper of the prerogative of the Son of God, whereby he had involved the land in idolatry, perjury, and other wickedness; and declined them, as exercising under him the supreme power over the church, usurped from Jesus Christ, and therefore durst not, with his own consent, sustain them as competent judges; regarding them as open and stated enemies to the living God, and competitors for his throne and power, belonging to him only.

On the 29th he was brought to trial, when the council, in a most unprecedented way, appointed the manner of his execution; for they well knew his judges would find him guilty. Upon Friday the 30th, being brought again before them, and asked if he had any more to say; he answered,—"What I have said I will seal." They then told him they had somewhat to say to him, commanding him to sit down and receive his sentence. He complied, but at the same time, told them they were all murderers; for all they had was derived from tyranny; and that these years bygone, they had not only tyrannized over the church of God, but also grinded the faces of the poor; so that oppression, perjury, and bloodshed, were to be found in their skirts.

Upon this he was removed from the bar, drawn backward on a hurdle to the place of execution at the cross of Edinburgh. None were suffered to attend him but two bailies, the executioner, and his servants. He was permitted to pray to God, but not to speak to the people. Having reached the scaffold, his right hand was struck off, and a little after his left; which he endured with great firmness and constancy. The executioner being long in cutting off the right hand, he desired him to strike on the joint of the left; which being done, he was drawn up to the top of the gallows with a pulley, and suffered to fall dawn from a considerable height upon the lower scaffold, three times, with his whole weight, and then fixed at the top of the gibbet; after which the executioner, with a large knife cut open his breast, and pulled out his heart before he was dead; for it moved when it fell on the scaffold. The monster then stuck his knife in it, and showed it on all sides to the people, crying, "Here is the heart of a traitor!" At last he threw it into a fire prepared for that purpose; and, having quartered his body, his head was fixed on the Nether Bow; one of his quarters, with his hands, at St. Andrew's; another at Glasgow; a third at Leith, and the fourth at Burntisland.—Thus fell this champion for the cause of Christ, a sacrifice to prelatic fury, to gratify the lust and ambition of wicked and bloody men. But Hackston's memory still lives;—though whether his courage, constancy, or faithfulness, had the pre-eminence, it is hard to determine.

ROBERT KER OF KERSLAND

THE subject of this brief memoir, having been born and educated in a very religious family, began early to discover more than an ordinary zeal for religion. His first public appearance was in 1666, about November 26, when he, Caldwell, and some others of the Renfrew gentlemen, gathered themselves together, and marched eastward to join colonel Wallace, and that little handful who renewed the Covenants at Lanark. Having heard that general Dalziel was by that time got betwixt them and their friends, they were obliged to dismiss. This could not escape the knowledge of the managers; for the laird of Blackstown, one of their own number, upon a promise of pardon informed against the rest, and ensured his own safety by accusing his neighbour.—But of this he had nothing to boast of afterwards.

Kersland was after this obliged to remove out of the way; and next year he was forfeited in his life and fortune, and his estate given to lieutenant-general Drummond of Cromlie, and his lands in Beith to William Blair of that Ilk; which estate they unjustly held till the Revolution.*

After this, to elude the storm he went over to Holland, and there chose to live with his family at Utrecht, where he had the advantage of hearing the gospel, and other excellent conversation. In that place he continued nearly three years. But his friends thinking it necessary that he should return home to settle some of his affairs,—if possible,—his lady arrived in the end of 1669, and himself soon after. To his unspeakable grief, however, he found, when he reached Edinburgh, that she was in bad health, in the house of a woman who was friendly to the sufferers. And though he lodged in a more private place, and used only to visit his lady in the evenings, one Cannon of Mardrogate, who had not altogether cast off the mask—at least his treachery and apostasy were not then discovered—having got notice of it, gave information to the chancellor. Orders were immediately procured from Lauderdale, who was then in town, to search that house, on pretence that Mr. Welch was holding conventicles in lady Kersland's chamber; but their design was for Kersland himself, as will afterwards appear. Accordingly a party came; and, finding no conventicle, were just about to retire, when one Murray from Mardrogate, receiving particular information that when any company came to the room, Kersland in the evening used to retire behind a bed; and, having a torch in his hand, provided for that end, said, he behoved to search the room; and, going straight behind the bed, brought him out and charged him to surrender his arms. Kersland told him he had no arms but the Bible, which was then in his hand,—a spectacle which was sufficient to condemn him in these times.—On parting with his lady she showed much calmness and composure, exhorting him to do nothing that might wound his conscience, out of regard to her or her children, and repeated that text of Scripture:—"No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God."

He was forthwith taken to the guard-house, and from thence to the Abbey, where a number of the council, that same night, were assembled for his examination. When brought before them, they asked him concerning the lawfulness of the appearing at Pentland; which he, in plain terms, owned to be lawful and what he thought duty; upon which he was immediately imprisoned. When going away, the chancellor upbraided him with what had passed betwixt him and his lady; but he bore it with great patience.

He was nearly three months prisoner in Edinburgh; after which he was sent to Dumbarton castle, where he was confined near a year and a half. He was afterwards ordered to Aberdeen, where he was kept close prisoner, without fire, for three months, in the dead of winter. From Aberdeen, he was brought to Stirling castle, where he was detained some years. He was a second time sent back to Dumbarton, and there kept till October 1677. During the severe sufferings to which Ker was subjected for a long series of years, his constancy remained unshaken. By the grace of God he was enabled to maintain his allegiance to Christ's persecuted cause, even to such a degree, that the utmost rigours of a prison could not extort from him a single complaint. Like Paul and Silas he sang praises to God amidst the gloom of his dungeon, assuring himself that God would at length work out his deliverance. It was therefore with a joyful heart he received orders at this time to remove to Irvine, and that he was to be permitted to take with him his family, who were then in Glasgow; but he was allowed only a short time to transport himself and family to that place.

In Glasgow he was waited upon by many friends and acquaintances, but on the very night he visited his family, after such a long and painful absence, when walking in company with lady Caldwell and her family, he was taken prisoner by a party of the town-guards and detained in custody till next day, when the commanding-officer would have set him at liberty, but durst not, till he had consulted the archbishop. Unfortunately the application was unfavourable, and he was immediately ordered to the tolbooth. The archbishop took horse soon after for Edinburgh; lady Kersland followed, if possible, to prevent misinformation.—In the mean time, a fire breaking out in Glasgow, the tolbooth being in danger, and the magistrates refusing to let out the prisoners, the well-affected people of the town got long ladders and set them free, and among the rest Kersland, after he had been eight years in confinement. After the bustle was over, he inclined, to surrender himself anew, but hearing from his lady of the archbishop's design, he kept under hiding all that winter.* In the spring and summer following, he joined himself to the persecuted ministers, heard the gospel preached in the fields, and attended communions, particularly that at Maybole. About the beginning of autumn, 1678, he returned to Utrecht, where he remained till the day of his death.

When near his departure, his dear acquaintance Sir Robert Hamilton being with him, and signifying to him that he might be spared as another Caleb to see the good land when the storm was over; he said to him among his last words, "What is man before the Lord?—yea, what is a nation?—as the drop of a bucket or the small dust in the balance; yea, less than nothing and vanity. But this much I can say in humility, that through free grace I have endeavoured to keep the post that God had assigned me. These fourteen years I have not desired to lift the one foot, before God showed me where to set down the other,"—and so, in a few minutes he finished his course with joy, and fell asleep in Jesus, November 14, 1680, leaving his wife and five children, in a strange land.

It would be superfluous to insist here upon the character of the thrice renowned Ker. It is evident to all that he was a man of a great mind, far above a servile and mercenary disposition.—He was, for a number of years, hurried from place to place, and guarded from prison to prison. All this, however, he endured with undaunted courage.—He lost a good estate for the cause of Christ; and though he got not the martyr's crown, yet he beyond all doubt obtained the sufferer's reward.

DONALD CARGILL

THE precise period of Cargill's birth is not exactly known, but it is supposed to have been about the year 1610. He was eldest son of a much respected family in the parish of Rattray. After he had been some time at school in Aberdeen, he went to St. Andrew's, where, having completed his course of philosophy, his father pressed him much to study divinity, in order for the ministry; but he, from conscientious motives, constantly refused, telling his father that the work of the ministry was too great a burden for his weak shoulders. But his father still continuing to urge him, he resolved to set apart a day for private fasting, to seek the Lord's mind therein. And after much wrestling with the Lord in prayer, the third chapter of Ezekiel, and chiefly these words in the first verse, "Son of man, eat that thou findest; eat this roll, and go speak unto the house of Israel," made a strong impression upon his mind, so that he durst no longer refuse his father's desire, but dedicated himself wholly to that office.

After this he got a call to the Barony church of Glasgow. It was so ordered by divine providence, that the very first text appointed him by the presbytery was these words in the third of Ezekiel, already mentioned, by which he was more confirmed, that he had God's call to the ministerial work. This parish had been long vacant, by reason of two ministers of the Resolution party, viz., Messrs. Young and Blair, having always opposed the settlement of such godly men as had been called by the people. In reference to Cargill's call, they were, however, in God's providence, much shaken in their former resolutions. Cargill, perceiving the light and unconcerned behaviour of the people under the word, was so much discouraged that he resolved to return home, and not accept the call. The ministers solicited him to stay, but in vain. When his horse was brought out, however, and he just going to begin his journey, a certain godly woman said to him, "Sir, you have promised to preach on Thursday, and have you appointed a meal for poor starving people, and will you go away and not give it? If you do, the curse of God will go with you." This so moved him, that he durst not go away as he intended; but sitting down, desired her and others to pray for him. So he remained and was settled in that parish, where he continued to exercise his ministry with great success, until that, by the unhappy Restoration of Charles II., prelacy was again restored.

Upon the 29th of May following, the day consecrated in commemoration of the said Restoration, Cargill having occasion to preach in his own church,—it being his ordinary week-day preaching,—an unusual throng of people came to hear him, imagining that he preached in compliance with the solemnity. They were soon undeceived, however; for, in entering the pulpit, he said, "We are not come here to keep this day upon the account for which others keep it. We thought once to have blessed the day wherein the king came home again, but now we think we shall have reason to curse it; and if any of you have come here in order to solemnize this day, 'we desire you to remove.' " And enlarging upon these words in the 9th of Hosea, "Rejoice not, O Israel," &c., he said, "This is the first step of our departing from God; and whoever of the Lord's people this day are rejoicing, their joy will be like the crackling of thorns under a pot; it will soon be turned to mourning; he—meaning the king—will be the most woful sight that ever the poor Church of Scotland saw;—Wo, wo, wo unto him, his name shall stink while the world stands, for treachery, tyranny, and lechery!"

This extremely enraged the malignant party against him, so that he was obliged to abscond, remaining sometimes in private houses, and sometimes lying all night without, yet never neglecting any proper occasion of private preaching, catechizing, visiting of families, and other ministerial duties. The churches being all vacated of Presbyterians by an act of council, 1662, Middleton sent a band of soldiers to apprehend Cargill, who for this purpose came to the church, but did not find him, he having providentially just stepped out of the one door a minute before they came in at the other; upon which they took the keys of the church door with them and departed. In the mean time the council passed an act of confinement, banishing him to the north side of the Tay, under the penalty of being imprisoned, and prosecuted as a seditious person,—but this sentence he disregarded.

In October, 1665, they made a public search for him in the city; of which receiving information, he took horse, and rode out of town. At a narrow pass of the way, he met a number of soldiers, one of whom asked him, "Sir, what o'clock is it?" Cargill answered, "It is six. Another of them knowing his voice, said, "That is the man we are seeking." Upon hearing this he put spurs to his horse and escaped.

For about three years he usually resided in the house of one Margaret Craig, a very godly woman, where he lectured morning and evening to such as came to hear him; and, though a strict search was still kept up, through the kindness of Providence he was enabled to avoid discovery. One sabbath, going to Woodside to preach, as he was about to mount his horse, having one foot in the stirrup, he turned about to his servant, and said, I must not go yonder to-day,—and in a little a party of the enemy came in quest of him; but missing their mark, they fell upon the people, by apprehending and imprisoning several of them.

At another time when a search was made for Cargill in the city, they came to his chamber, but found him not, he fortunately being in another house at the time. One day when preaching privately in the house of Mr. Callander, they came and surrounded the doors, but the people put him and another into a window, which they closed up with books. The search was so strict, that they searched the very ceiling of the house, until one of them fell through the lower loft. Had they removed but one of the books, they would certainly have found him. But the Lord so ordered that they did it not; for, as one of the soldiers was about to take up one of them, the maid cried to the commander, that he was going to take her master's books, and he was ordered to let them alone. Thus narrowly he escaped this danger.

Thus he continued until the 23d of November, 1667, that the council, upon information of a breach of his confinement, cited him to appear before them on the 11th of January thereafter. Being apprehended, he was brought before the council and strictly examined; but by the interposition of some persons of rank, however, his own friends, and his wife's relations, he was dismissed. He returned immediately to Glasgow, where he performed all the ministerial duties in his own church as formerly, notwithstanding the diligence of persecutors in searching for him.

Some time before Bothwell, notwithstanding the search made for him by the enemy, which was both strict and frequent, he preached publicly for eighteen Sabbath-days, to audiences consisting of several thousands, within little more than a quarter of a mile of the city of Glasgow; yea, so near it, that the psalms, when singing, were heard through several parts of it; and yet all this time uninterrupted.

At Bothwell, being taken by the enemy, and struck down to the ground with a sword, he saw nothing but present death, as he had already received several dangerous wounds in the head. One of the soldiers asked his name; he told him it was Donald Cargill; another asked him if he was a minister? he answered he was; whereupon he let him go. When his wounds were examined, he feared to ask if they were mortal, desiring in submission to God to live, judging that the Lord had yet further work for him to accomplish.

Some time after the battle at Bothwell, he was pursued from his own chamber out of town, and forced to go through several thorn hedges; but he was no sooner out than he saw a troop of dragoons just opposite to him. Back he could not go, soldiers being posted everywhere to catch him; upon which he advanced near to the troop, who looked at him, and he at them, until he got past. But, coming to a place of the water at which he intended to cross, he saw another troop standing on the other side, who called to him. Without making any answer he went about a mile up the water and escaped, preaching next Sabbath at Langside without any interruption. At another time, being in a house beset with soldiers, he went through the midst of them, they thinking it was the goodman of the house.*

Some time after the beginning of the year 1680, he retired toward the Firth of Forth, where he continued until that scuffle at Queensferry, where worthy Haugh-head was killed, and Cargill sorely wounded. But, escaping, he was found by a woman in a private place, to the south of the town, who tied up his wounds with her head-dress, and conducted him to the house of one Robert Ponton, in Carlowrie, where a surgeon dressed them. Mrs. Ponton gave him some warm milk and he lay in their barn all night. From thence he went to the south, and preached at Cairnhill, somewhere adjacent to London, in his blood and wounds; for no danger could stop him from going about doing good. His text was in Heb. 11:32.—"And what shall I more say, for time would fail me to tell of Gideon," &c. At night, some persons said to him, "We think, Sir, preaching and praying go best with you when your danger and distress are greatest." He said it had been so, and he hoped it would be so; the more that enemies and others did thrust at him that he might fall, the more sensibly the Lord had helped him; and then—as it had been to himself—he repeated these words, "The Lord is my strength and song, and has become my salvation."—in the 118th Psalm, which was the Psalm he sung upon the scaffold.

After this, Cargill and Mr. Richard Cameron met and preached together in Dermeid-moor, and other places, until Mr. Cameron was slain at Ayr's-moss; after which he went north, where, in the month of September following, he held a most numerous meeting at the Tor-wood, near Stirling, where he pronounced the sentence of excommunication against some of the most violent persecutors of that day, as formally as the state of things could then permit. Some time before this, it is said he was very reserved, and spoke very little in company;—only to some he said, he had a blast to give with the trumpet that the Lord had put in his hand, that would sound in the ears of many in Britain, and other places in Europe also. It is said* that no person knew what he was to do that morning, except Mr. Walter Smith, to whom he imparted the thoughts of his heart. When he began, some friends feared he would be shot. His landlord, in whose house he had been that night, cast his coat and ran for it. In the forenoon, he lectured on Ezek. 21:25, &c., and preached on 1 Cor. 5:13, and, having discoursed some time on the nature of excommunication, he proceeded to the sentence; after which, in the afternoon, he preached from Lam. 3:31, 32.—"For the Lord will not cast off for ever," &c.

The next Lord's day, he preached at Fallow-hill, in the parish of Livingstone. In the outset he said, "I know I am and will be condemned by many for excommunicating those wicked men, but condemn me who will, I know I am approved of by God, and am persuaded that what I have done on earth is ratified in heaven; for, if ever I knew the mind of God, and was clear in my call to any piece of my generation-work, it was that. And I shall give you two signs, that ye may know I am in no delusion. 1—If some of these men do not find that sentence binding upon them, ere they go off the stage, and be obliged to confess it, &c. 2.—If these men die the ordinary death of men, then God hath not spoken by me."†

About the 22d of October following, a long and severe proclamation was issued out against him and his followers, wherein a reward of 5000 merks was offered for apprehending him.—Next month, governor Middleton, having been frustrated in his design upon Cargill at Queensferry, laid another plot for him, by consulting one James Henderson there, who, by forging and signing letters, in the name of Bailie Adam in Culross, and some other serious Christians in Fife, for Cargill to come over and preach to them at the Hill of Beith. Accordingly Henderson went to Edinburgh with the letters, and, after a most diligent search, found him in the West Bow. Cargill being willing to obey the call, Henderson proposed to go before, and have a boat ready at Queensferry when they came; and, that he might know them, he desired to see Cargill's cloth, Mr. Skeen and Mr. Boig being in the same room. In the mean time he had Middleton's soldiers lying at Muttonhole, about three miles from Edinburgh. Mr. Skeen, Archibald Stuart, Mrs. Muir, and Marion Harvey, took the way before on foot,—Cargill and Mr. Boig being to follow on horseback. As soon as the former came up the soldiers spied them; but Mrs. Muir, suspecting treachery, returned and stopped Cargill and Mr. Boig, who fled back to Edinburgh.

After this remarkable escape, Cargill, seeing nothing but the violent flames of treachery against him, retired for about three months to England, where the Lord blessed his labours to the conviction and edification of many. In the time of his absence that delusion of the Gibbites arose, from one John Gib, sailor in Borrowstounness, who, with other three men, and twenty-six women, invented and maintained the most strange delusions. Some time after, Cargill returned from England, and was at no small pains to reclaim them, but with little success. After his last conference with them,* at Darngavel, in Cambusnethan parish, he came next sabbath, and preached at Kirkfieldbank wood, below Lanark, and from thence to London-hill, where he preached upon a fast-day, being the 5th of May. Here he intended only to have preached once, and to have baptized some children. His text was,—"No man that hath followed me in the regeneration," &c. When sermon was over, and the children baptized, more children came up; upon which his friends pressed him to preach in the afternoon, which he did, from these words,—"Weep not for me," &c. In the mean while the enemy at Glasgow getting notice of this meeting, seized all the horses in and about the town that they could obtain, and mounted in quest of him; and such was their haste and fury, that one of the soldiers, who happened to be behind the rest, riding furiously down the street called the Stock-well, at mid-day, rode over a female child, and killed her on the spot. Just as Cargill was praying at the close, a lad alarmed them of the enemy's approach. They having no sentinels that day, contrary to their usual custom, were thrown into sudden surprise; and, with the confusion, Cargill was running straight on the enemy, when Gavin Wotherspoon and others haled him to the Moss, to which the people had all fled. The dragoons fired hard upon them; but there were none either killed or taken that day.

About this time, some spoke to Cargill of his short sermons and prayers. They said, "O, Sir, it is long betwixt meals, and we are in a starving condition; all is good, sweet, and wholesome that you deliver, but why do you so straiten us?" He said, "Ever since I bowed a knee in good earnest to pray, I never durst preach, and pray with my gifts; and when my heart is not affected, and comes not up with my mouth, I always think it time to quit it. What comes not from the heart, I have little hope it will go to the hearts of others." Then he repeated these words in the 51st Psalm,—"Then I will teach transgressors thy way," &c.

From London-hill he took a tour through Ayrshire to Carrick and Galloway, preaching, baptizing, and marrying some people; but stayed not long until he returned to Clydesdale. He designed, after his return, to have preached one day at Tinto-hill, but the lady of St. John's Kirk circulated a report that it was to be at Home common. Being in the house of John Liddel, near Tinto, he went out to spend the Sabbath morning by himself; and, seeing the people passing by, he inquired the reason; and, being told, he rose and followed them for the space of five miles. Here he lectured on the 6th of Isaiah, and preached on these words, "Be not high minded, but fear," &c. This occurred in the heat of summer, and many people were assembled before his arrival, so he had just time to take the only refreshment he had got that day—a drink of water from a stream, handed to him in an old man's blue bonnet. Thus simply refreshed, he preached all day, and, in the course of his sermon, gave a most weary look to Tinto-hill, crying, "He feared many places of Scotland would yet be as waste as that dreary hill."

The next Sabbath he preached at the Benry-bridge, betwixt Clydesdale and West Lothian, and either in the parish of Carnwath or that of West Calder. There he lectured from Zechariah, chapter 3, on Joshua standing before the angel; and preached from Psalm 45:3, "Gird thy sword upon thy thigh, O thou most Mighty, with thy glory and thy majesty." From the Benry-bridge he went to Fife, and baptized many children, and preached only one Sabbath at the Lomond Hills, from which place he hastened back to Clydesdale, and came to the Benty-ridge in Cambusnethan, where were two friends sent from the societies in Galloway, to call him back there to baptize. The next Sabbath, after he went from the foresaid Benty-ridge, he preached at Auchingilloch. He then returned to preach his last sermon on Dunsyre common, between Clydesdale and Lothian, upon that text, Is. 26:20,—"Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast."

Some time that night, through the persuasion of Mr. Smith and Mr. Boig, he went with the lady of St. John's Kirk, as far as Covington-mill, to the house of one Andrew Fisher. In the mean time, James Irvine of Bonshaw, having got a general commission, marched with a party of dragoons from Kilbride, and next morning by sunrise, came to St. John's Kirk, when, after searching it, he proceeded for a similar purpose to the house of one Thomson, and then came to Covington-mill, and there apprehended Cargill, along with Mr. Smith and Mr. Boig. Having found them, the ruffian exclaimed, "O blessed Bonshaw! and blessed day that ever I was born! that has found such a prize! a prize of 5,000 merks for apprehending Cargill this morning!" They marched speedily to Lanark, where they were put in jail, until they got some refreshment, and then bringing them out in haste, procured horses and set the prisoners on their bare backs. Bonshaw tied Cargill's feet below the horse's belly, with his own hands, so very cruelly that Cargill looking down, said, "Why do you tie me so hard, your wickedness is great? You will not long escape the just judgment of God; and, if I be not mistaken, it will seize you in this very place:" which accordingly next year came to pass; for, having got this price of blood, one of his comrades, in a rage, ran him through with a sword at Lanark; and his last words were, "G——d d——n my soul eternally, for I am gone!"—Mischief shall hunt the violent man."

They came to Glasgow in haste, fearing a rescue of the prisoners and, while waiting at the tolbooth till the magistrates came to receive them, one John Nisbet, the archbishop's factor, said to Cargill in ridicule, three times over, "Will you give us one word more?"—alluding to an expression Cargill used sometimes when preaching;—to whom Cargill said with regret, "Mock not, lest your bands be made strong! The day is coming, when you shall not have one word to say, though you would." This also came quickly to pass; for, not many days after, he fell suddenly ill, and for three days his tongue swelled; and, though he was most earnest to speak, yet he could not command one word, and died in great torment, and seeming terror.

From Glasgow they were taken to Edinburgh, and, upon the 15th of July, they were brought before the council. Chancellor Rothes—being one of those whom he excommunicated at Torwood—raged against him, threatening him with torture and a violent death, to whom he said, "My lord Rothes, forbear to threaten me, for, die what death I will, your eyes shall not see it;" which accordingly came to pass, for he died the morning of the same day on which Cargill was executed.

When before the council, he was asked "if he acknowledged the king's authority," to which he replied, "that he denied the magistrate's authority as now established by act of parliament, and explanatory act." Being also examined anent the excommunication at Torwood, he declined to answer, as being an ecclesiastical matter, and they a civil judicatory. He owned the lawfulness of defensive arms, in cases of necessity, and denied that those who rose at Both-well, &c., were rebels; and, being interrogated anent the Sanquhar Declaration, he declined to give his judgment until he had more time to consider the contents thereof. He further declared he could not express his sentiments in reference to the killing of the bishop; but that the Scriptures say, upon the Lord's giving a call to a private man to kill, he might do it lawfully; and gave the instances of Jael and Phinehas. These were the most material points on which he was examined.*

While he was in prison, a gentlewoman who visited him, told him, weeping, "That these Heaven-daring enemies were contriving a most violent death for him; some, a barrel with pikes to roll him in; others an iron chair, red-hot, to roll him in," &c.; but he said, "Let you nor none of the Lord's people be troubled for these things, for all that they will get liberty to do to me, will be to knit me up, cut me down, and chop off my old head, and then fare them well; they have done with me, and I with them for ever."

Cargill was again brought before the council on the 19th, but refused to answer their questions, except anent the excommunication. There was some motion made to spare him, as he was an old man, and send him prisoner to the Bass during life; which motion being put to a vote, was, by the casting vote of the Earl of Rothes, rejected, who doomed him to the gallows, there to die like a traitor.

Upon the 26th he was brought before the justiciary, and indicted in common form. His confession being produced in evidence against him, he was brought in guilty of high treason, and condemned, with the rest, to be hanged at the cross of Edinburgh, and his head placed on the Nether Bow. When they came to these words in his indictment, viz., "having cast off all fear of God, &c.," he caused the clerk to stop, and, pointing to the advocate, Sir George M'Kenzie, said, "The man that hath caused that paper to be drawn up, hath done it contrary to the light of his own conscience, for he knoweth that I have been a fearer of God from mine infancy; but that man, I say, who took the Holy Bible in his hand, and said, It would never be well with the land, until that book be destroyed, &c., I say, he is the man that hath cast off all fear of God." The advocate stormed at this, but could not deny the truth thereof.

When he got his sentence announced by sound of trumpet, he said, "That is a weary sound; but the sound of the last trumpet will be a joyful sound to me, and all that will be found having on Christ's righteousness."

Being come to the scaffold, he stood with his back to the ladder, and desired the attention of the numerous spectators; and, after singing from the 16th verse of the 118th psalm, he began to speak to three sorts of people; but, being interrupted by the drum, he said with a smiling countenance, "Ye see we have no liberty to speak what we would, but God knoweth our hearts." As he proceeded, he was again interrupted. Then, after a little pause or silence, he began to exhort the people, and to show his own comfort in laying down his life, in the assurance of a blessed eternity, expressing himself in these words:—"Now, I am sure of my interest in Christ, and peace with God, as all within this Bible and the Spirit of God can make me; and I am fully persuaded, that this is the very way for which I suffer, and that he will return gloriously to Scotland; but it will be terrifying to many; therefore, I entreat you, be not discouraged at the way of Christ and the cause for which I am to lay down my life, and step into eternity, where my soul shall be as full of him as it can desire to be; and now this is the sweetest and most glorious day that ever mine eyes did see. Enemies are now enraged against the way and people of God, but ere long they shall be enraged one against another, to their own confusion." Here the drums did beat a third time. Then setting his foot on the ladder, he said, "The Lord knows I go on this ladder with less fear, and perturbation of mind, than ever I entered the pulpit to preach."—When up, he sat down and said:—"Now I am near the getting of the crown, which shall be sure, for which I bless the Lord, and desire all of you to bless him, that he hath brought me here, and made me triumph over devils, men, and sin. They shall wound me no more. I forgive all men the wrongs they have done to me; and I pray the sufferers may be kept from sin, and helped to know their duty." Then having prayed a little within himself, he lifted up the napkin and said, "Farewell all relations and friends in Christ; farewell acquaintances and earthly enjoyments; farewell reading and preaching, praying and believing, wanderings, reproach, and sufferings! Welcome Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; into thy hands I commit my Spirit!" Then he prayed a little, and the executioner turned him over as he was praying. Thus he finished his course, and the ministry that he had received of the Lord.

Take his character from Sir Robert Hamilton of Preston, who was his contemporary. He was affectionate, affable, and tender-hearted, to all such as he thought had anything of the image of God in them; sober and temperate in his diet, saying commonly, "It was well won that was won off the flesh;" generous, liberal, and most charitable to the poor; a great hater of covetousness; a frequent visitor of the sick; much alone, loving to be retired; but when about his Master's public work, laying hold of every opportunity to edify; in conversation, still dropping what might minister grace to the hearers; his countenance was edifying to beholders; often sighing with deep groans; preaching in season and out of season, upon all hazards; ever the same in judgment and practice. From his youth he was much given to the duty of secret prayer for whole nights together; wherein it was observed, that both in secret and in families, he always sat straight upon his knees, with his hands lifted up; and in this posture—as some took notice—he died with the rope about his neck.

Besides his last speech and testimony, and several other religious letters, with the lecture, sermon, and sentence of excommunication at Torwood, which are all published, there are also several other sermons, and notes of sermons, interspersed among some people's hands, in print and manuscript, some of which have been published. Yet if we may believe Walker in his "Remarkable Passages," who heard several of them preached, they are, however pathetic, far inferior to what they would have been, had they been corrected by the author himself.

WALTER SMITH

LITTLE more is known of the early history of this eminent scholar and Christian, than that he was son of Walter Smith in the parish of St. Ninian's, in Stirlingshire. Going over to Holland early in life, he studied some time under the famous Leusden, who had a great esteem and value for him, as being one both of high attainments and great experience in the serious exercise and solid practice of Christianity.

In 1679, we find that he made no mean figure among that little handful of the Lord's suffering remnant who rose in their own defence at Bothwell Bridge. He was both chosen clerk to the council of war, and also a commanding-officer among the Covenanters; and had the honour not only to witness and protest against the sinful compliance of that corrupt Erastian party that then foisted themselves in amongst them; but was also one of those three who were then appointed to draw up the "Causes of the Lord's Wrath" against the land, of which the "Hamilton Declaration" was to form the last cause, together, with a new Declaration which they intended to have published at that time; but although both of these were undertaken, yet they were never published.

After the overthrow and dispersion of the Covenanters at Bothwell, in which the Erastian party among them had no little hand, it appears that Smith went over for some time to Holland, where his stay seems to have been short; for we find him again with Mr. Cargill at Torwood, in September, 1680.

He had a longing desire to preach Christ and him crucified, and salvation through his name. Mr. Cargill had the same desire; and for that end, it is said, had written to two ministers to meet him at Cummerhead in Lesmahagow in Clydesdale; but ere that day came, the door was closed,—for they were in the enemy's hands. However, Smith followed the example of our blessed Lord and Saviour, in going about doing good, in many places, and to many persons, in spiritual edifying conversation, and was a singular example of true piety and zeal; which had more influence upon many than most part of the ministers of that day.

A little before his death, he drew up twenty-two rules for fellowship or society meetings, which at that time greatly increased from the river Tay to Newcastle, and which afterwards settled into a general and quarterly correspondence, that so they might speak one with another when they wanted the public preaching of the gospel, and appoint general fasting-days through the whole community, wherein their own sins, and the prevailing sins and defections of the times were confessed,—each society to meet and spend some time of the Lord's day together, when deprived of the public ordinances.

But he was now nigh the evening of both his life and his labours; for having been with Mr. Cargill when he preached his last sermon in Dunsyre Common, betwixt Clydesdale and Lothian, he was next morning apprehended at Covington-Mill by wicked Bonshaw, who had formerly traded in fine horses betwixt the two kingdoms. He was, with the rest of the prisoners, carried from Lanark to Glasgow, and from thence to Edinburgh, where, upon the 14th of July, he was brought before the council and asked, If he owned the king and his authority as lawful? He answered:—"I cannot acknowledge the present authority the king is now invested with, and the exercise thereof, being now clothed with a supremacy over the church." Being interrogated if the king's falling from the Covenant looses him from his obedience, and if the king thereby loses his authority?—he answered, "I think he is obliged to perform all the duties of the Covenant, conform to the word of God; the king is only to be obeyed in terms of the Covenant." Being further interrogated anent the Torwood excommunication, he declared, "he thought their reasons were just."

On the 19th, he was again brought before them, and interrogated if he owned the Sanquhar Declaration? It was then read to him, and he owned the same in all its articles, except that he looked not upon these persons as the formal representatives of the Presbyterian church, as they called themselves. And as to that expression, "The king should have been denued many years ago," he did not like the word denued, but said, "What the king has done justifies the people's revolting against him." As to these words where the king is called an usurper and a tyrant, he said, "Certainly the king is an usurper!" and wished he was not a tyrant.

Upon the 26th, he was with the rest brought before the Justiciary, where, being indicted in common form, their confessions were produced as evidences against them, and they were all brought in guilty of high treason, and condemned to be hanged at the cross of Edinburgh, upon the 27th, and their heads severed from their bodies; those of Messrs. Cargill, Smith, and Boig, to be placed on the Nether Bow, and the heads of the others on the West Port—all which was done accordingly.

After Cargill was executed, Smith was brought upon the Scaffold, where he adhered to the very same cause with Mr. Cargill, declared the same usurpation of Christ's crown and dignity, and died with great assurance of his interest in Christ, declaring his abhorrence of popery, prelacy, erastianism, and all other steps of defection. He went up the ladder with all signs of cheerfulness, and when the executioner was about to untie his cravat, he would not suffer him, but untied it himself; and, calling to his brother, he threw it down, saying, "This is the last token you shall get from me!" After the napkin was drawn over his face, he uncovered it again, and said, "I have one word more to say," and that is, "to all who have any love to God and his righteous cause, that they would set time apart, and sing a song of praise to the Lord; for what he has done for my soul—and my soul saith, To him be praise!" Then the napkin being let down, he was turned over praying, and died in the Lord, with his face resting upon Mr. Cargill's breast. These two cleaved to one another in love and unity in their life; and, between them, in their death, there was no disparity:—"Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided."

The now glorified Walter Smith was a man no less learned than pious, faithful, and religious. His old master, the professor of divinity at Utrecht in Holland, when he heard of his public, violent and bloody death of martyrdom, gave him this testimony; and, weeping, said in broken English, "O Smith! the great, brave Smith! who exceeded all that I ever taught. He was capable to teach many, but few to instruct him." Besides some letters, and the fore-mentioned twenty-two rules for fellowship-meetings, he wrote also twenty steps of national defection, all of which are now published; and if these, with his last testimony, be rightly considered, it will appear that his writings were inferior to few of the contendings of that time.

ROBERT GARNOCK

ROBERT GARNOCK was born in Stirling, and baptized by the faithful Mr. James Guthrie. In his younger years, his parents took much pains to train him up in the way of duty; but soon after the Restoration, the faithful ministers being turned out, curates were put in their places, and with them came ignorance, profanity, and persecution. Some time after this, Mr. Law preached at his own house in Monteith, and one Mr. Hutchison sometimes at Kippen. Having one Saturday evening gone out to his grandmother's house in the country, along with an uncle to a place called Shield-brae, and next Sabbath he accompanied him with great difficulty, being then but young, through frost and snow, and heard Mr. Law at Monteith preach a sermon, which, through the divine blessing, had a considerable influence upon his mind.—Thus he continued for a considerable time, to go out in the end of the week to hear the gospel, returning in the beginning of next week to Stirling; all this while, however, he did not let his parents know anything of the matter.

On one occasion, hearing a proclamation read at the cross, which announced that all who did not hear, or receive privileges from the curates, were to be severely punished. His mind was much troubled, and he hesitated whether or not he should go to a field-preaching that he heard was to be next Sabbath. But at last, however, he came to this resolution; saying that, the Lord inclined his heart to go, suggesting the following words: "Go for once, go for all, if they take thee for that which is to come. So I went there," continues he, "and the Lord did me good: for I got at that sermon, that which although they had rent me in a thousand pieces, I would not have said what I had said before. So the Lord made me follow after the gospel for a long time; and though I knew little then what I meant, yet he put it in my heart still to keep by the honest side, and not to comply with or join the enemies of one kind or another; yea, not to watch, ward, or strengthen their hands in any manner of way. When I was asked why I would not keep watch (or stand sentry) on the town, as it was commanded duty, I told them I would not lift arms against the work of God. If ever I carried arms it should be for the defence of the gospel."

He now became the subject of persecution, and was in consequence obliged to leave the town. Having learned his father's trade, which was that of a blacksmith, he went to Glasgow for some time, and followed his occupation. From Glasgow he returned home and from thence went again to Borrowstounness, where he had great debate, as he himself expresses it,—"about that woful indulgence: I did not know the dreadful hazard of hearing them, until I saw they preached at the hazard of men's lives. This made me examine the matter, until I found out that they were directly wrong, and contrary to Scripture, had changed their head, had quitted Jesus Christ as their head, and had taken their commission from men, owning that perjured adulterous wretch as head of the church; receiving their commission to preach in such and such places from him, and those bloody thieves under him."

From Borrowstounness he returned back to Falkirk, and thence home to Stirling, where he remained for some time under a series of difficulties; for after he got off when taken with others at the Shieldbrae, while he was making bold to visit Mr. Skeen, he was taken into the castle, and kept all night, and used very barbarously by the soldiers, and at eight o'clock next morning taken before the provost, who not being then at leisure, he was imprisoned till the afternoon. But by the intercession of one Colin M'Kenzie, to whom his father was smith, he was released without so much as paying the jailor's fee.—"I had much of the Lord's kindness at that time (says he), although I did not then know what it meant; and so I was thrust forth into my wandering again."

About this time he intended to go to Ireland; but being disappointed, he returned back to Stirling, where he was tossed to and fro for some time; and yet he remarks, he had some sweet times in this condition; particularly one night, when he was down in the Carse with one Baron Hendry. After this, heavy trials ensued to him from professors, because he testified against every kind of their compliance with the current of the times. Upon this account, he and the society-meeting of which he was a member, could not agree. This made him leave them, and go to one in the country, which he says, "were more sound in judgment, and of an undaunted courage and zeal for God and his cause; for the life of religion was in that society."

After this, he fell into another difficulty; for a proclamation being issued that all betwixt thirteen and sixty were to pay poll-money, his father was advised that if he would pay it he should be released; which, though a great temptation, he absolutely refused, telling his father plainly, who urged him to do it, that if one plack (or four pennies) could procure his freedom, he would not give it. His father offered to pay the money for him, to which he answered, that, if he did, he need never expect it back, or any consideration for it, from him. But for the result of the matter, hear his own words: "And, O! but the Lord was kind to me then; and his love was better than life. I was tossed in my wanderings and banishment with many ups and downs, till I came to Edinburgh, where I heard of a communion to be on the borders of England; and then I went to it. O let me bless the Lord, that ever trysted me with such a lot as that was, for the 20th, 21st, and 22d of April, 1677, were the three most wonderful days with the Lord's presence that ever I saw on earth! O but his power was wonderfully seen, and great to all the assembly, especially to me! O the three wonderful days of the Lord's presence at East-Nisbet in the Merse! This was the greatest communion, I suppose, these twenty years. I got there what I will never forget while I live. Glory to his sweet name, that ever there was such a day in Scotland. He was seen that day sitting at the head of his table, and his spikenard sending forth a pleasant smell. Both good and bad were made to cry out, and some to say, with the disciples, "It is good for us to be here." They would have been content to have remained there; and I thought it was a begun heaven to be in that place."

After this he returned home to Stirling, and got liberty to follow his employment for some time. But lo! another difficulty occurred; for while the Highland army was ordered west in the beginning of 1678, upon the town being called to arms, all excepting a very few obeyed. Garnock, however, refused; and, leaving the town with the other recusants, held a meeting. When he returned, his father told him he was passed for the first time, but it behoved him to mount guard to-morrow. He refused; his father was angry, and in order to induce compliance brought before him the practices of others. He told his father he would hang his faith upon no man's belt. On the morrow, when the drums beat to mount guard, being the day of his social meeting, he went out of town under a heavy load of reproach, even from professors, who did not scruple to say that it was not from principles of conscience he hesitated, but that he might have liberty to stroll through the country. Orders were given to apprehend Garnock; but at that time he escaped and wandered from one place to another, until the beginning of August 1678, when he came to Carrick communion at Maybole; and what his exercise was there, himself thus expresses:—"I was wonderfully trysted there; but not so as at the other. I went to the first table, and then went and heard worthy Messrs. Kid and Cameron preach at a little distance from the meeting, who never left the field till they sealed and crowned it with their blood. I cannot say but the Lord was kind to me there, on the day after, and on the fast day in the middle of the week after that, near the borders of Kilmarnock parish, where a division arose about the Indulgence, which to this day is never yet done away. After my return home, I was made to enter into covenant with him upon his own terms, against the Indulgence and all other compliances; and because through the Lord's strength I had resolved to keep my bargain and not join with them, it was said I had got new light; and I was much reproached, yet I got much of the Lord's kindness when attending the preached gospel in the fields, to which I would sometimes go twenty miles."

Having thus wandered to and fro for some time, he went to Edinburgh to see the prisoners, and then returned home to Stirling in the end of the week. Late on Saturday night he heard of a field-preaching; and seeing the soldiers and troopers marching out of town to attack the people who attended it, he made himself ready, and, with a few others, went towards the place,—the soldiers coming forward, he along with a few armed men and the minister took to a hill above Fintry, beside the Crags of Ballglass. Perceiving the enemy advance, this brave little band drew up in the best position that time and place would permit, and sung a psalm, which so alarmed the soldiers that, as they told afterwards, the very matches had almost fallen out of their hands. At last a trooper coming up ordered them to dismiss; but this they refused. This was repeated several times, till at last the captain of the foot came forward and gave them the same charge, which they also refused. Upon this he ordered a party of his men to advance and fire upon them, which they did once or twice. This little company returned it with much courage and precision, until the whole party, with the commanding-officer, consisting of forty-eight infantry and sixteen horse, fired upon this little handful, which he thinks amounted to not above eighteen that had arms, with a few women. After several fires were returned on both sides, one of the sufferers stepped forward and shot one side of the captain's periwig off, at which the foot fled; but the horsemen taking advantage of the rising ground surrounded this small party. They then fired at a young man, but missed him. However, they took him and some others prisoners. The rest fled. Garnock was hindermost, being the last on the place of action, and says, he intended not to have been taken but rather killed. At last one of the enemy came after him, on which he resolved either to kill or be killed rather than surrender,—snatching a pistol from one for that purpose. But another coming up to his assistance the dragoon fled off, and thus they escaped and stayed until the enemy were gone, who marched directly with their prisoners to Stirling.

After the fray was over Garnock hovered about till evening, and spoke with some friends and the minister, who dissuaded him all they could from going to Stirling. Being now approaching towards the eve of his pilgrimage, with Paul in another case when going up to Jerusalem, he could not be prevailed upon, and so went to town; when, entering in about one in the morning, he got into a house at the foot of Castlehill, and there left his arms with much difficulty. As he was near the head of Castlehill, he was apprehended and brought to the guard by two soldiers who were lying in wait for those who had been at the meeting, and thence brought before Lord Linlithgow's son, who asked him, "if he was at that preaching?" He told him, "he was at no preaching." Linlithgow's son said, "he was a liar." Garnock said "he was no liar;" and seeing ye will not believe me I will tell no more—prove the rest. Linlithgow said, "he would make him do it; but he answered, he should not. Then he asked his name, trade, and his father's name, and where he dwelt?—all of which he answered. Then he gave orders to keep him fast. At night he was much abused by the soldiers; some of those who had been wounded in the skirmish threatening him with torture, gagging in the mouth, &c., all which he bore with much patience. In the morning a serjeant came to examine him; but he refused him as a judge to answer to. At last the commanding officer came and examined him, if he was at that skirmish? He answered, "That for being there he was taken; and whether I was there or not, I am not bound to give you an account." So he went out, and in a little returned with the provost, who thought to surprise him by asking, "who of Stirling folk was there?" he answered, "That they were both your neighbours and mine;" and though he had been there, he might account him very imprudent to tell; for though he thought it his duty to ask, yet it was not his to tell or answer, and he thought he should rather commend him for so doing. After several other things anent that affair, he was commanded to be kept a close prisoner; and none, not so much as his father, allowed to speak to him; but he did not want company at that time, for, says he, "O but I had a sweet time of it! the Lord's countenance was better unto me than all the company in the world."

Upon the 13th of July, he was brought forth, and in company with about 100 more was taken from Stirling to Edinburgh, under a strong guard of soldiers, and put into the Grayfriars' church-yard, amongst the Bothwell prisoners. There he was more vexed, both by the enemy and his fellow-sufferers, than ever. A specimen of which is here given in his own words: "Some of my neighbours desired the bond; so they put it to me, but I refused. However, the most part of them took it. Nay, there were some of them supplicated for any bond. This made some of us conclude it was our duty to testify against it; which piece of employment was put upon me, against which some of the prisoners obtested. So I was rendered odious; but many a day the Lord was kind to me in that yard, and kept me from many a fear and snare; his love was sweet unto me. The men complained of us to the commanders, who sent for me and examined me on the bond and other things: they said I should be gagged, and every day I was vexed with them, until almost the whole prisoners petitioned for it.—And there was as good as seventy ministers sent into the yard to take it; and they said it was not a head to suffer upon: when they had done, they sent in two gentlewomen with the commission, and they set upon me. I told them, if every one of them had as much of it as I had, they would not be so busy to press it; for before this, the bloodly crew came to the yard, and called on me and asked if I would take the bond. I said, No. They said I would get no other sentence. So I was sore put to it: I would often have been at the doing of something; but the Lord would not suffer me. So, in his strength, I fought on and overcame. But O the cross was sweet and easy unto me! There needs none fear to venture on suffering in his way and strength. O happy days, that ever I was trysted with such a thing! My bargaining with lovely Jesus was sweet unto me. It is true, 'affliction for the present seems not joyous but grievous; but afterwards, it yieldeth the peaceable fruits of righteousness to those who are exercised thereby.'—I never knew the treachery of ministers, and their dreadful hypocrisy and double-dealing in the matters of God before that time, and I could never love them after that; for they made many a one rack their conscience in taking that bond. I was brought out of the yard, October 25th, with a guard of soldiers: when coming out one Mr. White asked if I would take the bond? I smiling said, No. He in the way of jeer said, I had a face to glorify God in the Grassmarket. So I bade farewell to all my neighbours, who were sorry; and White bade me take good night with them, for I should never see them more. But I said, My dear friends, take good heart; for we may meet again for all tins. So I was brought before their council-court. They asked, if I would take the bond,—I said, No. Some of them said, perhaps he does not know it; but Hatton said he knows it well enough. So one of them read it. I asked if they would have me subscribe a lie to take away life; for I never was in rebellion nor intended to be so. They said they would make another bond for me. I answered, they needed not trouble themselves, for I was not designed to subscribe any bond at this time.—Will you rise in rebellion against the king? I was not rising in rebellion against the king.—Will you take the bond, never to rise against the king and his authority? What is the thing you call authority?—They said, If they, the soldiers, or any other subject, should kill me, I was bound not to resist. I answered, That I will never do.—Is the bishop's death murder? I am a prisoner; and so no judge.—Is Bothwell Bridge rebellion? I am not bound to give my judgment in that.

"Then one of them said, I told you what the rebel rascal would say:—you will be hanged, Sir! I answered, you must first convict me of a crime. They said, you did excommunicate prisoners for taking the bond. I said that was not in my power; and moreover, I was not before them, and prove it if they were able. They said they would hang me for rebellion. I said,—You cannot; for if you walk according to your own laws, I should have my liberty. They said—Should we give a rebellious knave like you your liberty?—you should be hanged immediately. I answered,—That lies not yet in your power; so they caused quickly to take me away, and put me in the Iron-house tolbooth. Much more passed that I must not spend time to notice.

"So they brought me to the Iron-house to fifteen of my dear companions in tribulation; and there we were a sweet company, being all of one judgment. There serving the Lord, day and night, in singleness of heart, his blessing was seen amongst us; for his love was better than life. We were all with one accord trysted sweetly together; and O it was sweet to be in this company, and pleasant to those who came in to see us, until the indictments came in amongst us! There were ten got their indictments; six came off, and four got their sentence to die at Magus Moor. There were fifteen brought out of the yard, and some of them got their liberty offered, if they would witness against me; but they refused: so they all got their indictments; and all complied, save one, who was sentenced to die with the other four at Magus Moor.

In this situation he continued till November 13th, that he was by the intercession of some friends brought to the west galleries on the other side of the tolbooth, where he continued some time, till called again before some of the council; after which he was again committed to close prison for a time; till one night, being called forth by one of the keepers, one Mr. John Blair being present, accosted him thus, "Wherefore do you refuse the bond? He answered, I have no time for that matter. But out of that place, said Blair, you shall not go; for the Covenants and the 13th of the Romans bind you to it. I answered, No; they just bind me to the contrary. What if Popery should come to the land, should we bind ourselves never to defend the true religion? He said, We were loosed then. I said, No; Presbyterians are taken by their word, and they abide by it; and ere all were done, it should be a dear bond to them; as for my part, I would rather go to the Grassmarket, and seal it with my blood, &c." After he came down, the keeper of the tolbooth abused him in a very indiscreet manner, saying, that if there were no more men, he should be hanged; and that he was an ignorant fool; ministers nor men could not convince him; and ordered him to be detained in close custody, where he was again as much vexed with a company of bonders as ever; for they were not only become lax in principle but in duty also; so he roundly told them, "You are far from what you were in the Iron-house, before you took the bond; then you would have been up at duty by two or three in the morning; now you lie in bed till eight or nine in the day. They said, It is true enough; but said no more."

After these got their liberty, he was accompanied by some other prisoners, some of whom were kept in for debt. And then he says, he would have been up by four in the morning and made exercise amongst them three times a day. The Lord was kind to him at that time, and he resolved never to make any compliance; and in this he was made to "eat meat out of the eater, and sweet out of the strong;" but some gentlemen, prisoners for religion where he was before, prevailed with the keeper of the tolbooth to have him back to them about the beginning of 1680. But here the old temptation to compliance and tampering with the enemy was afresh renewed; for the ministers coming in to visit these, when they could do no more, they brought ministers to the room to preach, and make him hear them; which he positively refused. At last, they brought a minister, one of his acquaintance, him that should have preached that day he was taken. Hearing that he had made some compliance with the enemy, he would not go to the next room to hear him make exercise, till he knew the certainty of the matter. After which he came to another room, where they had some conference. A short hint of it is here subjoined. "He asked after my welfare, and if I was going out of prison? I told him I blessed the Lord for it, I was well and was not going out yet." After some conversation anent field-preachings, particularly one by worthy Mr. Cameron at Monkland, which he condemned, "he asked, Why I did not hear ministers? I answered, I desired to hear none but what are faithful; for I am a prisoner, and would gladly be in the right way, not to wrong myself. He said, Wherein are they unfaithful? I said, in changing their head, quitting the Lord's way, and taking on with Covenant-breakers, murderers of his people, &c. He said, How could you prove that? I said, Their practice proves it. He said, These were but failings, and these would not perjure a man; and it is not for you to cast off ministers; you know not what you are doing. I do not cast them off; they cast off themselves, by quitting the holding of the ministry of Christ:—How prove you that? The 10th of John proves it; for they come not in by the door. You may put me wrong; but I think, that in Gal. 1:6.—"I marvel that ye are so soon removed from him that called you." You may read that at your leisure, how Paul had not his gospel from men, nor by the will of men. He said,—Lay by these; but what is the reason you will not hear others? I said, I desire to hear none of these gaping for the indulgence, and not faithful in preaching against it."

After some conference anent Messrs. Cameron and Cargill, in which he said Mr. Cameron was no minister, and Mr. Cargill was once one, and had quitted it; that they received their doctrines from their hearers, who said, "You must preach such and such doctrines, and we will hear you;" to all which the martyr gave pertinent answers. He said, "Robert, do not think I am angry that you come not to hear me, for I desire not you, nor any of your faction to come and hear me, for I cannot preach to all your humours." I said, It was all the worse for that. He said none of these faults would cast off a minister; they were but failings, not principles. I said, I could not debate; but I should let any Christian judge, if it was no principle for a minister to hold Christ Head of the Church. I told him, that there was once a day I would have ventured my life at his back for the defence of Christ's gospel; but not now. And I was more willing to lay down my life now for his sweet and dear truths, than ever I was. He said, the Lord pity and help me; I said I had much need of it. And so he went away, and rendered me odious. This amongst other things made me go to God, and engage in covenant with his Son never to hear any of those who betrayed his cause, till I saw evidences of their repentance. And I would have been willing to have quitted all for that "chiefest among ten thousand."

Thus he continued till he says he got bad counsel from some of his friends to supplicate for his liberty; and they prevailed so far, as to draw up a supplication, and brought him to subscribe. But when they had got him to take the pen in his hand, "The Lord bade me hold," says he, "and one came and bade me take heed; so I did it not; for which I bless his holy name. But this lets me see there is no standing in me. Had it not been his free love, I had gone the blackest way ever one went."

Having now with pleasure heard somewhat of the life and exercises of Garnock, we come to notice his trial, death or martyrdom. He was brought before the council, October 1st, where he disowned the king's authority, refused them as his judges, and on the 7th was brought before the court of Justiciary, and indicted, "That he did before the council, on the 1st of October, decline the authority of the king and council, and called the king and council tyrants, murderers, perjured and mansworn, declaring it was lawful to rise in arms against them; and gave in a most treasonable paper, termed 'A Protestation and Testimony against Parliamenters;' wherein he terms the members of parliament idolaters, usurpers of the Lord's inheritance; and protests against their procedure in their hell-hatched acts: which paper is signed by his hand, whereby he is guilty of treason. And further, gave in a declaration to the council, wherein the said Robert Garnock disowns the king's authority and government, and protests against the council as tyrants. Therefore, &c." By such an explicit confession, his own papers being turned to an indictment, without any matters of fact against him, there was no difficulty of probation, his own protest and declinature being produced before the court of Justiciary and assize, to whom he was remitted. But before the assize were enclosed, Garnock and five others who were indicted with him, delivered a paper to the inquest containing a protestation and warning, wherein "they advise them to consider what they are doing, and upon what grounds they pass a sentence upon them. They declare they are no rebels; they disown no authority that is according to the word of God, and the Covenants the land is bound by. They charge them to consider how deep a guilt covenant-breaking is; and put them in mind they are to be answerable to the great Judge of all, for what they do in this matter; and say they do this, since they are in hazard of their lives and against them. It is a dangerous thing to pass a sentence on men merely because of their conscience and judgment, and only because they cannot in conscience yield to the iniquitous laws of men: that they are free subjects, never taken in any action contrary to the present laws; adding, that those whom they once thought should or would rule for God, have turned their authority for tyranny and inhumanity; and employ it both in destroying the laws of God, and murdering his people against and without law, as we ourselves can prove and witness when brought in before them. After two years' imprisonment, one of them most cruelly and tyrant-like, rose from the place of judgment, and drew a sword, and would have killed one of us; but Providence ordered it otherwise; however, the wound is yet to be shown. The like action was never heard or read of. After reminding them of David Finlay murdered at Newmills, Mr. Mitchell's case, and James Lermond, who was murdered after he was three times set at liberty by the assize, they added, that after such murders as deserve death, they cannot see how they can own them as judges, charging them to notice what they do; assuring them their blood will be heavy upon them; concluding with the words of Jer. 26:15; and charging them not to take innocent blood on their heads."

ROBERT GARNOCK.

ALEX. RUSSELL.

D. FARRIE.

PAT. FOREMAN.

JAMES STEWART.

G. LAPSLAY.

Subscribed at Edinburgh,

October 7, 1681.

}

Notwithstanding all this, they were brought in guilty, and sentenced to be executed at the Gallow-lee, between Leith and Edinburgh, upon the 10th instant,—Foreman's hand to be cut off before, and the heads and hands of the rest after death, and to be set upon the Pleasance Port.

What his deportment and exercises were at the place of execution, we are at a loss to describe; but, from what is already related of him, we may safely conclude, that through divine grace, his demeanour was truly noble and Christian. But that the reader may know somewhat of his exercises, temper, and disposition about that time, I shall extract a few sentences of his own words from his last speech and dying Testimony.

"I bless the Lord, that ever he honoured the like of me with a bloody gibbet and bloody windingsheet for his noble, honourable, and sweet cause. O will ye love him, Sirs? O he is well worth the loving, and quitting all for! O for many lives to seal the sweet cause with: if I had as many lives as there are hairs on my head, I would think them all little to be martyrs for truth. I bless the Lord, I do not suffer unwillingly nor by constraint, but heartily and cheerfully. I have been a long time prisoner, and have been altered of my prison. I was amongst and in the company of the most part who suffered since Bothwell, and was in company with many insnaring persons; though I do not question their being godly folk; and yet the Lord kept me from hearkening to their counsel. Glory, glory to his holy and sweet name! It is many times my wonder how I have done such and such things; but it is He that has done: He hath done all things in me; holy is his name. I bless the Lord I am this day to step out of time into eternity, and I am no more troubled, than if I were to take a match by marriage on earth, and not so much. I bless the Lord I have much peace of conscience in what I have done. O but I think it a very weighty piece of business to be within twelve hours of eternity and not troubled. Indeed the Lord is kind, and has trained me up for this day, and now I can want him no longer. I shall be filled with his love this night; for I will be with him in Paradise, and get a new song put in my mouth, the song of Moses and the Lamb: I will be in amongst the general assembly of the first-born, and enjoy the sweet presence of God and his Son Jesus Christ, and the spirits of just men made perfect; I am sure of it.

"Now my Lord is bringing me to conformity with himself, and honouring me with my worthy pastor Mr. James Guthrie: although I knew nothing when he was alive, yet the Lord hath honoured me to protest against popery, and to seal it with my blood: and he hath also honoured me to protest against prelacy, and to seal it with my blood. The Lord has kept me in prison to this day for that end. Mr. Guthrie's head is on one port of Edinburgh, and mine must go on another. Glory, glory to the Lord's sweet name, for what he hath done for me!

"Now I bless the Lord, that I am not, as many suspect me to be, thinking to gain heaven by my suffering. No, there is no attaining of it but through the precious blood of the Son of God. Now, ye that are the true seekers of God, and the butt of the world's malice, O be diligent and run fast, your time is precious; O make use of it, and act for God; contend for truth, stand for God against all his enemies; fear not the wrath of man, love one another, wrestle with God, mutually, in societies, confess your faults one to another, pray one with another, reprove, exhort, and rebuke one another in love; slight no commanded duty, be faithful in your stations, as you will be answerable at the great day of judgment, seek not counsel from men, and follow none further than they hold by truth.

"Now, farewell, sweet reproaches for my lovely Lord Jesus: though once they were not oyous but grievous, yet now they are sweet. And I bless the Lord for it, I heartily forgive all men for anything they have said of me: and I pray it may not be laid to their charge in the day of accounts: and for what they have done to God and his cause, I leave that to God, and their own conscience. Farewell all Christian acquaintance, father and mother, &c. Farewell sweet prison for my royal Lord Jesus Christ, now at an end. Farewell all crosses of one sort or another; and so farewell every thing in time, reading praying, and believing. Welcome eternal life, and the spirits of just men made perfect! Welcome Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; into thy hands I commit my spirit!"

Accordingly the foregoing sentence, in all its parts, was executed upon them all, except Lapslay, who got off.* And so they had their passage from the valley of misery into the celestial country above, to inhabit the land—"where the inhabitants say not, I am sick, and the people that dwell therein are forgiven their iniquities."

Thus ended Garnock in the flower of his youth; a young man, but old in experimental religion. His faithfulness was as remarkable as his piety, and his courage and constancy as both. He was inured to tribulations almost from his youth, wherein he was so far from being discouraged at the cross of Christ, that he, in imitation of the primitive martyrs, seemed rather ambitious of suffering. He always aimed at honesty; and, notwithstanding all opposition from pretended friends and professed foes, he was by the Lord's strength enabled to remain unshaken to the last; for, though he was nigh tripped, yet with the faithful man he was seldom foiled, never vanquished. May the Lord enable many in this apostate, insidious, and lukewarm generation, to emulate the martyr, in imitation of him who now inherits the promise,—"Be thou faithful unto the death, and I will give thee a crown of life!—"

ROBERT MACWARD

ROBERT MACWARD was a native of Glenluce in the south of Galloway. The time of his birth, and the condition of his parents, have unfortunately not been recorded with any degree of certainty. His circumstances, however, were such as enabled him to prosecute, without interruption, those preparatory studies, which his chosen profession as a minister of the everlasting gospel required him to pursue. Samuel Rutherford was professor of theology at St. Andrew's, when MacWard was enrolled there as a student of divinity in 1643; and by that eminent scholar and divine he was greatly beloved. He accompanied Rutherford in the capacity of private secretary, when the latter proceeded to London, as one of the Scottish Commissioners to the Westminster Assembly.

At this period it was no unusual thing for talented young men, before entering upon the stated exercise of their holy vocation, to be employed as regents in our universities. In the year 1650, MacWard was appointed regent or professor of Humanity in the ancient seminary of learning, of which his distinguished friend and patron, Rutherford, was Principal. This chair he occupied for a short period; for, in 1656 he succeeded the celebrated Mr. Andrew Gray as minister of the Outer High Church in Glasgow. It says much for the piety and talents of MacWard that he was, when yet so young, considered worthy to occupy that important charge. In this extensive sphere of usefulness he laboured with apostolic zeal for the space of five years; and by a conscientious discharge of his official engagements, gained an imperishable name for pastoral fidelity. While thus employed, he incurred the marked displeasure and hatred of the prelatic party, whose influence at court was now daily on the ascendant. A mind like that of MacWard, deeply imbued with Christianity, and strongly attached to Presbyterianism in all its simplicity, could ill brook the imperious dictates which were incessantly issuing, with the insidious design of depriving Scotland of its ecclesiastical polity. He timely and loudly raised his voice against those inroads which were making, under the sanction of the king, and which threatened, not merely the annihilation of presbytery, but the extinction of the religion of the land. For a sermon, preached in the Tron Church of Glasgow, February 1661, in which he bore public testimony to the "glaring defections of the times," he was arrested, carried to Edinburgh, thrown into prison, and indicted by his majesty's advocate "for sedition and treasonable preaching." The historian Wodrow has preserved the speech delivered by MacWard, when he answered the citation of parliament on the 6th of the following June. Before this tribunal he triumphantly defended his conduct. But he spoke to prejudiced judges, who, it is to be feared, regarded more the wish of their sovereign, than the unspeakable satisfaction and honour of passing an impartial verdict. By those invested with power, he was looked upon as a very dangerous person. This was quite sufficient to sway the justiciary lords, who passed what they doubtless thought a lenient sentence; decreeing, that he should leave the kingdom within half a year; be permitted to sojourn one month in Glasgow, and be entitled to the following year's stipend. Getting his matters settled as best he could, MacWard and his family embarked for Holland, and arrived at Rotterdam, where he met with a hearty reception. In his correspondence, much of which has happily been preserved, MacWard speaks in warm and grateful strains of the sympathy and attention shown him abroad. To lady Kenmure, relict of John Viscount Kenmure, with whom he seems to have kept frequent intercourse by letter, he says, "If your ladyship be desirous to have any account concerning my condition, know that I have met with much undeserved kindness. I am ashamed to call my lot a suffering lot, for He hath rather hid me from the storm than exposed me to trouble. I have occasion now and then to preach at Rotterdam, where we have one old Scots minister who is dissatisfied with the times."*

The minister here alluded to is Mr. Alexander Petrie, the ecclesiastical historian, who had been translated by the General Assembly in 1643, from the parish of Rhynd, to be the first pastor of the Scottish Church in Rotterdam. Besides having the use of Mr. Petrie's pulpit, MacWard's time was occupied in collecting and arranging the papers of his honoured preceptor Rutherford,—the first edition of whose "Religious Letters" was printed abroad under MacWard's editorship. After this our Worthy took up his abode at Utrecht. At that seat of learning, resorted to by students from distant kingdoms, more especially from Scotland, he made himself most useful to his young countrymen. With several of the professors, particularly Voetius and Nethenus, eminent theologians, he was on an intimate footing. In the English church of Utrecht he frequently preached; and its sessional records pleasingly show the consistent spirit of this Covenanter, in his noncompliance with some ecclesiastical forms, which he conceived Scripture did not enjoin, and which Presbytery, in its purest days, did not tolerate. MacWard, ever anxious to do good, complied with a request of the session to preach every Wednesday morning. This practice he continued till some of the elders complained that he did not, like Mr. Best the regular pastor, introduce the Lord's prayer in public worship, as also the liturgical forms translated into English, peculiar to the Dutch reformed church. The session, then composed of natives of England, Scotland, and Holland, were divided in opinion on the subject, and often had they "a large and earnest discourse about the use of the liturgy." In 1667, by plurality of voices, the elders, their pastor being absent, had "concluded and resolved, that henceforth no minister shall be admitted to preach in this congregation, that refuseth to say the Lord's prayer, and to use the forms of liturgy in the administration of baptism, the Lord's supper, confirmation of elders and deacons, and solemnization of marriage, according to the orders of the church." All this was clearly levelled at MacWard. As his name does not appear in the records of the Consistory, it is presumed that the captious elders carried their point, and that the English congregation in Utrecht was no longer edified by the searching discourses of this worthy man.

In the year 1668, he brought under the notice of Nethenus, professor of theology at Utrecht, the MS. of Rutherford against the Arminians. Nethenus undertook to superintend the printing, and, in the preface, he handsomely acknowledges his obligations to Messrs. MacWard and Livingstone, for the valuable assistance which they afforded him in his capacity of editor of this masterly refutation, which, it may be observed, for circulation among the learned, was written in the Latin language. MacWard was in London in 1668, but he returned to Holland without visiting Scotland. In 1669, he came to Scotland, and was united in marriage to the widow of provost Graham of Glasgow. On the demise of his friend Mr. John Livingstone in 1672, he once more visited his native country; and he finally left it for Holland in 1674, followed a short while afterwards by his wife, and her son. MacWard, on settling at Rotterdam, enjoyed the society of a greater number of banished Scottish ministers than was to be found at any other town in Holland. This may be accounted for from the circumstance of there being a vast concourse of presbyterians who had resorted thither, with the view of engaging in commercial pursuits, then most lucrative, which enabled them to enjoy the high satisfaction of relieving those of their countrymen who had left home for conscience' sake. Into the midst of this interesting society MacWard was now introduced; and daily converse with kindred spirits was refreshing to him in the extreme. In the year 1676, he was admitted one of the ministers of the Scottish Church in Rotterdam, as colleague to Mr. John Hogg. The particulars respecting this appointment we have already recorded in the Life of John Brown. That he should have been named to supply the newly created place of second minister, when men of such talent were numerous in Rotterdam, speaks volumes in his praise; and the selection was most honourable to the Scottish Consistory.

MacWard effected many important improvements. At his suggestion, a sessional meeting was held every Monday morning for religious purposes, and prayer for the success of the gospel at home and abroad. With him, also, originated the proposal to levy a small gratuity for the poor of the congregation, from every Scottish vessel arriving at Rotterdam. He successfully arranged matters, and got the owners and masters of ships readily to enter into his benevolent views. For this acceptable offering, which has been uninterruptedly and cheerfully continued to the present day, free church accommodation is granted to captains, mates, and sailors, who have distinct pews.

The services of MacWard were highly valued by the whole congregation, and by those trading to the port. He was, indeed, no ordinary man. His pious and becoming deportment, his anxiety to promote personal and family religion, endeared him to his flock; and from ship to ship, as well as from house to house, he statedly went, speaking of the things that pertained to the everlasting peace of his hearers. As might be expected, his addresses from the pulpit, energetic and truly affectionate, could not be heard with cold indifference, by a people for whose welfare he showed such concern. From the particulars given in the life of Col. Wallace and in that of Mr. Brown, our readers have already seen how MacWard was compelled to leave his people, through the influence of the English government, and also how honourably the Dutch authorities acted in this matter, even whilst they mildly enjoined our countrymen to withdraw from Holland for a season. The Scottish church in Rotterdam had the greatest cause to lament this constrained decision of the States, as they were thus to lose the justly appreciated services of three excellent men. The mournful intelligence was communicated at a meeting of the Consistory, held on the 1st of February, 1677, as thus appears from the records:—"It was there signified to them by Mr. Robert MacWard, minister, that there was come an order from the States-General, that he, Mr. John Brown, and Mr. Wallace, behoved to remove from this place, and out of the Seven Provinces belonging to the said States, with all possible diligence; which ordinance so resolved, was imposed upon them, doubtless from the court of England. At which the session being very much grieved, thereby to be deprived of their faithful, painful, and pious preacher, and of such another also, who every Lord's day was an helper in the work of the Lord, and likewise of the most painful and useful elder they had amongst them; which sad and dreadful stroake they could not look upon, but as a signal and eminent token of the Lord's high displeasure against this congregation, for the manifold sins and grievous provocations thereof; but especially for their unfruitfulness and barrenness under the many waterings and powerful means of grace not only of them, but of many other faithful, able, and painful ministers of the gospel, formerly removed by death, whose labours in the gospel had been very successful elsewhere; so that by the very heavy stroake, added to all the former, they could not but foresee, in all probability, that the Lord hereby intended to forsake this place, and to extinguish utterly the light of the gospel therein; which, taking to their consideration, they judged it their duty to be deeply humbled before the Lord, in deprecating the fierceness of his wrath, and earnestly to plead with him for mercy and pardon, and not utterly leave and forsake some small remnant in this place, and to continue with the congregation, the other faithful and painful minister, till the Lord in his mercy and good providence should reduce and bring back these others, now unjustly banished from them. The which Mr. MacWard, they do still own and avouch to be their minister, and the said Mr. Wallace their elder, notwithstanding of any Act or Ordinance now past out against them, as aforesaid, procured by the means of wicked and malicious instruments and enemies to the truth and power of godliness in the court of England, so as they are bound before God, and hold as a duty incumbent upon them, to receive and embrace them with all cordial affection, and brotherly affection in the work of the Lord, whensoever he, in his providence, shall be pleased to take off this restraint, and bring them back to this place again." Mr. MacWard promised to use his best efforts that the Scottish congregation should continue to enjoy its full complement of ministers, and that his place should be filled as speedily as possible, with an able and a zealous labourer in the vineyard. At this meeting, the last at which he presided, MacWard had the satisfaction of congratulating the Session on the establishment—principally effected by his own exertions—of an English school under their auspices, and of formally introducing the newly elected teacher. This school exists to the present day, under the immediate patronage of the Scottish Consistory, who have had many gratifying proofs of its utility; and it has afforded gratuitous instruction to several who have remarkably prospered in life, and have attributed their success, under a gracious Providence, to the benefits which they derived from an attendance at this little seminary. Before leaving MacWard partook of the Lord's Supper with his people, and addressed them on this unusually solemn occasion. On the morning of Sabbath, February 25th, 1677, he preached a farewell discourse, "being to remove the 27th instant, as he did, to the great grief of all truly godly in the place." The letters written by MacWard, at Utrecht, in reference to the supply of the vacancy at Rotterdam, breathe an excellent spirit, and evince an uncommon degree of real piety. The Session had empowered him to fix upon any minister belonging to the Church of Scotland, whom he might regard qualified to succeed him; and agreed, besides, to abide by his decision. Mr. John Carstares (father of Principal Carstares), and Mr. James Kirkton, the ecclesiastical historian, were pressingly invited in succession; but they having declined, Mr. Robert Fleming, who had been minister of Cambuslang, accepted the letter of nomination. Mr. MacWard instantly made the Session acquainted with the happy result of the application. Mr. Fleming, a person of tried worth, and of great Christian experience, was admitted as the colleague of Mr. John Hogg, on the 30th December, 1677. The Scottish church in Rotterdam flourished under Fleming and his son; and, in passing, we may be allowed to observe, that as the oldest branch of the Church of Scotland, on the Continent of Europe, it still flourishes, both in point of numbers and respectability.

MacWard returned to Rotterdam in 1678. Colonel Wallace died in his arms; and he was likewise called upon to witness the departure "to a better country," of many of his expatriated brethren. Yet he bore these trials with the composure and resignation of a Christian. He repined not at the doings of his heavenly Father, but patiently awaited the solemn hour when he too should be ushered into their blissful society. Nor did Providence design that he should tarry long behind them. In his last illness, he requested to be carried out, that he might see a comet which then appeared. On beholding this "sign in the heavens," which in those days was generally regarded as a sure presage of the "distress of nations," MacWard, it is said, blessed the Lord, that he was about to close his eyes, and was not to witness what was threatening to befall his native country. It has been well remarked, that few were then aware, that the revolutions of a comet are as regular as those of the moon, though its orbit may be so large as to admit of its appearance only once in hundreds of years.

MacWard died at Rotterdam in the month of December, 1681. A half-length original portrait of him (from which the print in our work is accurately taken), has been preserved in the session-house of the Scottish Church in Rotterdam. His eyes were hazel coloured; his complexion was ruddy; and his long auburn hair fell in natural ringlets on his shoulder. MacWard left a widow, who resided alternately at Utrecht and Rotterdam. He had a son, of whose subsequent history, however, we are unable to furnish any notice. Among the Wodrow MSS. in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, no fewer than seventy original letters addressed by MacWard to various eminent persons have been preserved. Into these precious documents we have occasionally dipped; and, whilst we have been much gratified by the perusal, we have regretted that some of the epistles, breathing such a heavenly spirit, should not, long ere now, have been brought before the Christian public. Several of MacWard's works were given to the world during his lifetime, and some were printed long after his decease. Condensation is no distinguishing feature in his style. With a heart full of his subject, and earnestly desirous to impress every reader with the vast importance of salvation, he seems fearful lest, in his direct appeals to the conscience, he may have omitted any consideration which might happily induce even a solitary individual immediately to choose God as his portion. This is one of the causes, we apprehend, which gives to the writings of MacWard, and many of our old divines, much of that verbosity, which the present generation so loudly deprecates. But whilst we declaim against a vitiated taste, and with some reason denounce the unnecessary subdivisions, and involved sentences of a former age, there is, it is to be feared, ground for suspecting that we run into an opposite extreme. The searching simplicity of gospel statement is too frequently sacrificed at the shrine of taste. Those touching remonstrances with the sinner; that apt scriptural quotation and allusion, which carried conviction to the understanding, and powerfully affected the heart, are not now so often met with; and it may be, are sometimes purposely kept back in order to secure the short-lived approbation of the world. MacWard sought not the applause of men. Like every conscientious minister, he hesitated not to publish, whether from the pulpit or the press, the whole counsel of God. He knew that this might bring upon him the sneer of the profane, but derision and persecution he was willing to endure, and did endure without a murmur in the cause of his Divine Master.

When Koelman was engaged rendering into the language of Holland the works of John Brown, Hugh Binning, and other Scottish authors, MacWard usually furnished him with a preliminary essay, or a biographical notice. MacWard's "Alarm to Preachers in Times of Defection," a small work which was never published in English, but was translated into Dutch by his friend Koelman, was an awakening address. His "Poor Man's Cup of Cold Water, ministered to the Saints and Sufferers for Christ in Scotland," was received with avidity, and was esteemed as a timely and consoling draught by the Presbyterians, "who were amidst the scorching flames of the fiery tryal." To these may be added, "Banders Disbanded," and the "True Nonconformist," an acute controversial work, written in reply to bishop Burnet. He has been, by some, erroneously represented as the author of "Naphtali;" which was written by Mr. James Stirling, minister of Paisley, assisted by Sir James Stewart of Good-trees.

CAPTAIN JOHN PATON

JOHN PATON was born at Meadowhead in the parish of Fenwick and shire of Ayr. He practised the art of husbandry till near the state of manhood. Accounts differ as to the way and manner in which he at first entered upon his military career. Some say he enlisted as a volunteer and went abroad to Germany, where for some heroic achievement at the taking of a certain city, he was advanced—probably by Gustavus Adolphus king of Sweden—to a captain's post, and that when he returned home, his appearance had undergone such a change, that his parents scarcely knew him. Other accounts bear that he was with the Scots army or militia, who went to England in January 1643–4, and was at the battle of Marston Moor, at which place it is said, that in consequence of swallowing some bad drink, an asthmatical disorder was contracted, which continued ever after; but whether this is the case or not, it is certain that he must have returned very soon to Scotland; for we are told that, in 1645, when the several ministers in the western shires were called out to take the lead of their own parish militia, to oppose Montrose's insurrection, he was called out by Mr. William Guthrie, and appointed a captain; on which occasion he behaved with much gallantry. Among the Covenanters, particularly upon their defeat at Kilsyth, an event took place, of which we may give the following account.

Montrose, having on the 2d of July obtained a victory over the Covenanters, crossed the Forth, and, upon the 14th, encamping at Kilsyth, near Stirling, encountered the Covenanters' army on the following day, which was there under the command of lieutenant-general Baillie. At the first onset, some of Montrose's Highlanders, going too far up the hill, were surrounded by the Covenanters and nearly defeated; but Lord Airly, then an old man, being sent from Montrose with fresh supplies, the Covenanters were obliged to give way, and were by the enemy driven back into a standing marsh or bog, where they could neither fight nor flee. In this exigency, one of the captain's acquaintance, when sinking, cried out to him for God's sake to help; but when he turned round he was nowhere to be seen; for he had sunk in the marsh, where he could never be found afterwards. Upon this disaster, the swiftest of the Covenanters' horse got to Stirling; but the foot were mostly killed on the spot, and in the pursuit which, according to some historians, continued for the space of fourteen miles, the greater part of the Covenanters' army was either drowned or cut off.

In this extremity, the captain, as soon as he could get free of the bog, with sword in hand made the best of his way through the enemy, till be had got safe to the two colonels, Hacket and Strachan, who all three rode off together; but they had not gone far till they were encountered by about fifteen of the enemy, all of whom they killed except two who escaped. When they had gone a little farther, they were again attacked by about thirteen more, and of these they killed ten, so that only three of them could make their escape. But, upon the approach of eleven Highlanders more, one of the colonels said in a familiar dialect, "Johnie, if thou dost not somewhat now, we are all dead men." To whom the captain answered, "Fear not; for we will do what we can before we either yield or flee before them." They killed nine of them, and put the rest to flight.

About this time the Lord began to look upon the affliction of his people. For Montrose having defeated the Covenanters five or six different times, the Committee of Estates began to bethink themselves, and for that end saw cause to recall general Leslie, with 4000 foot and 1000 dragoons, from England. To oppose him, Montrose marched southward, but was shamefully routed by Leslie at Philiphaugh, upon the 13th of September. Many of his forces were killed and taken prisoners, and he himself escaped with much difficulty;* after which Mr. William Guthrie and captain Paton returned to Fenwick.

Thus matters continued till the year 1646, when there arose two factions in Scotland, headed by the duke of Hamilton and the marquis of Argyle. The one party aimed at bringing down the king to Scotland, which was opposed by the other. They, however, continued to levy troops, in consequence of which the duke marched to England with a powerful army. In the mean time, major-general Middleton came upon a handful of the Covenanters who had assembled to celebrate the Lord's Supper at Mauchline, when, notwithstanding a solemn promise to the contrary, he made an attack upon the worshippers on the Monday following. Although Paton's men acted only on the defensive, it is said that the captain slew eighteen of the enemy with his own hand.

But the duke and his army being defeated, and Argyle afterwards beheaded, the English following up the victory, Cromwell entered Scotland with his men, in consequence of which the engagers were not only made to yield, but were quite dispersed. After this some of the stragglers came west for the purpose of plunder, and, taking up their residence for some time, in the moors of London, Eaglesham, and Fenwick, the captain was again made to bestir himself. Taking a party of Fenwick men, he went in pursuit, and found some of them at a house in that parish called Lochgoin, where he so affrighted them, though no blood was shed, that giving their promise never to molest or or trouble that house, or any other place in the bounds again, under pain of death, they went off without further molestation.

Charles I. being beheaded, January 30, 1649, and Charles II. called home from Breda, 1650, upon notice of an invasion from the English, the Scotch Parliament appointed a levy of 10,000 foot and 3000 horse, to be instantly raised for the defence of the king and kingdom, with whom it was necessary that the captain should again take the field; for his military skill had now rendered him universally popular.

Cromwell having entered Scotland in July, 1650, had several skirmishes with the Scotch army, till the latter were, upon the 3d of September, totally routed at Dunbar. After this the Act of classes being repealed, both church and state began to act in different capacities, and to look as suspiciously on one another as on the common enemy. There were in the army, on the protestors' side, colonels Kerr, Hacket, and Strachan, and of inferior officers, major Stuart, captain Arnot, brother to the laird of Lochridge, captain Paton, and others. The contest came to such a crisis, that the colonels Kerr and Strachan threw up their commission and came to the west with some other officers: many of whom were esteemed the most religious and best affected in the army. They proceeded to give battle to the English at Hamilton, but were defeated.

The Scotch army, being no longer able to hold out against the English, shifted about, and went to England; when about the end of August, 1651, Worcester surrendered to them. The English army, however, followed hard and totally routed them upon the 3d of September, which forced the king to retreat from the kingdom. After this the captain returning home, took the farm of Meadow-head, where he was born, and married one Janet Lindsay, who did not long survive the union. And here the excellences of his Christian life in a private station were as distinguished as those which he exhibited while a soldier in the camp; for, sitting under the ministry of that faithful man, Mr. William Guthrie, he became a member of his session,—a station which he held till that bright and shining light was extinguished by Charles II., who was now on the throne; wreathing the yoke of supremacy and tyranny about the neck of both church and state, till matters came to such a pass that in the year 1660, upon some insolence committed in the south and west by Sir James Turner, a number of people rose under the command of Barscob, and other gentlemen from Galloway, in self-defence. Several parties from the shire of Ayr joined them, commanded by colonel James Wallace from Achans; captain Arnot with a party from Mauchline; Lockhart of Wicketshaw, with a party from Carluke; major Lermount, with a party from above Galston; Neilson of Corsack, with a party from Galloway; and captain Paton, who now took the field again, with a party of horse from London, Fenwick, and other places. Being assembled, they went eastward, renewing the covenants at Lanark; from thence they went to Bathgate, then to Collington, and so on till they came to Rullion, near Pentland hills, where, upon that fatal day, November 28th, they were attacked by general Dalziel and the king's forces. At their first onset, captain Arnot and a party of horse fought a party of Dalziel's men with good success; and after him another party made the general's men fly; but, upon their last encounter, about sunset, Dalziel, who had suffered so many repulses, advanced the whole left wing of his army upon colonel Wallace's right, where, having scarcely three weak horses to receive them, they were obliged to give way. Here captain Paton, who was all along with captain Arnot in the first encounter, behaved with great courage and gallantry. Dalziel, knowing him in the former wars, advanced upon him himself, thinking to take him prisoner. Upon his approach, each presented his pistol, when, upon their first discharge, captain Paton perceiving the ball glance down upon Dalziel's boots, and knowing what was the cause, put his hand into his pocket for a small piece of silver he had there for the purpose, and put it into his other pistol. But Dalziel, having his eye on him in the mean time retreated behind his own man, who by that means was slain. The colonel's men being flanked in on all hands by Dalziel's men, were broken and overpowered in all their ranks; so that the captain and other two horsemen from Fenwick were surrounded, five men deep, by the general, through whom he and the two men at his back had to make their way, when there was almost no other on the field of battle, having in this encounter stood nearly an hour.

So soon as Dalziel perceived him go off, he commanded three of his men to follow hard after him, giving them marks whereby they should know him. They no sooner came up with the captain, before whom was a great slough out of which three Galloway men had just drawn their horses. They cried aloud "what would they do now?" Paton answered, "what was the fray?" He saw only three men coming upon them; and then causing his horse to jump the ditch, he faced about, and with his drawn sword in his hand, stood still, till the first coming up, endeavoured to make his horse jump over also. Upon which, he with his sword* clave his head in two, and his horse being marred, fell into the bog, with the other two men and horse. He told them to take his compliments to their master, and tell him he was not coming this night; and so came off, and got safe home at last.

After this, the Covenanters were reduced to many hardships, particularly such as had been any way accessary to the rising at Pentland, so that they were obliged to resort to the mountain fastnesses, and other desolate and solitary places. The winter following, Paton and about twenty others had a very remarkable deliverance from the enemy.—Being assembled at Lochgoin, upon a certain night, for fellowship and godly conversation, they were miraculously anticipated or prevented by a repeated dream of the enemy's approach, by the old man of the house, who had gone to bed for some rest on account of his infirmity, and that just within as much time as enabled them to make their escape, the enemy being not a mile from the house. After they got off the old man rose up quickly, and met them with an apology for the circumstance the house was then in, (it being but a little after daybreak,) and nothing at that time was discovered.

About this time, Paton sometimes remained at home, and sometimes in such remote places as could best conceal him from the search of his persecutors. He married a second wife, one Janet Millar from Eaglesham (whose father fell at Bothwell-bridge,) by whom he had six children, who continued still to possess the farms of Meadowhead and Artnock in tack, until the day of his death.

He was also one who frequented the pure preached gospel wherever he could obtain it, and was a great encourager of the practice of carrying arms for the defence thereof, which he took to be a proper mean in part to restrain the enemy from violence. But things growing still worse and worse, new troops of horse and companies of foot being poured in upon the western shires, on purpose to suppress and search out these field-meetings, which occasioned their rising again in 1679; while, by these unparalleled severities, they were, with those of whom the apostle speaks, "destitute, afflicted, and tormented, of whom the world was not worthy; and they wandered in deserts, and in mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth." Heb. 11:37, 38.

The suffering remnant, under the command of Mr. Robert Hamilton, having got the victory over Claverhouse on the 1st of June, 1676, at Drumlog in Evandale, in which skirmish there were about thirty-six or forty of that bloody crew killed, went on the next day for Glasgow in pursuit of the enemy: but returning back without success, on the 3d of June they formed themselves into a camp, and held a council of war. On the 4th they met upon Kyperidge; and on the 5th they went to commissary Fleming's park, in the parish of Kilbride; by which time Paton, who all this time had not been idle, came to them with a body of horsemen from Fenwick and Galston; and many others joined them, so that they were greatly increased.

They had hitherto been of one heart and one mind; but a certain party of horse from Carrick came to them, with whom were Mr. Welch, and some other ministers who favoured the indulgence; after which they never succeeded, but were finally defeated at Bothwell-bridge, upon the 22d of June following.

The protesting party were not for joining with those of the Erastian side, till they should declare themselves for God and his cause, against every defection whatever; but Welch and his party found out a way to get rid of such officers as they feared most opposition from; for orders were given to Rathillet, Haugh-head, Carmichael, and Smith, to go to Glasgow to meet with Messrs. King and Paton, which they obeyed. When at Glasgow, King and Paton led them out of town, as they supposed for the purpose of preaching; but, upon being asked where they were going, they replied that, according to orders which King and Paton had privately received, they were to go and disperse a meeting of the enemy at Campsie. Upon going thither, they found they were disappointed, it being only a stratagem to get free of King and the rest of the faithful officers.

These trusty officers were Mr. Hamilton, General Hackston of Rathillet, Hall of Haugh-head, Captain Paton in Meadow-head, John Balfour of Kinloch, Mr. Walter Smith, William Carmichael, William Cleland, James Henderson, and Robert Fleming. Their ministers were Messrs. Donald Cargill, Thomas Douglas, John Kid, and John King; for Mr. Richard Cameron was then in Holland. Henry Hall of Haugh-head, John Paton in Meadow-head, William Carmichael, and Andrew Turnbull, were ruling elders of the Church of Scotland.

Thus the protesting party continued to struggle with the Erastian, until that fatal day, June 22, when they were broken and made to flee before the enemy. The captain at this time was made a major: and some accounts bear, that the day preceding he was made a colonel. Mr. Wilson when writing upon that affair, says, that he supposes John Paton, Robert Fleming, James Henderson, and William Cleland, were chosen to be colonels of regiments; however, as he did not enjoy this place long, we find him still afterwards continued in the character of captain John Paton.

The sufferers were now exposed to new hardships, and none more than captain Paton, who was not only declared rebel by order of proclamation, but also a round sum was offered for his head, which made him be more hotly pursued. A little after Bothwell, the captain had a most remarkable escape and deliverance from his bloodthirsty enemies, of which the following account may be given.

The captain with a few more being one night quartered in the forementioned house of Lochgoin,* with James Howie, who was one of his fellow-sufferers,—at which time one captain Inglis, with a party, lay at the dean of Kilmarnock's, who sent out parties on all hands to see what they could apprehend—and that night a party being sent out in quest of some of the sufferers, came to Meadowhead, and from thence went to another remote place in the moors of Fenwick, called Croilburn; but finding nothing there, they went next to Lochgoin, as apprehending they would not miss their design there; and that they might come upon this place more securely, they sent about five men with one sergeant Rae, by another way, whereby the main body could not come so well up undiscovered.

The sufferers had watched all night, which was very stormy, by turns, and about daybreak, the captain, on account of his asthmatical disorder, went to the far-end of the house for some rest. In the meanwhile, one George Woodburn went out to make observations, from which he was but a little time returned, when on a sudden, sergeant Rae came to the inner door of the house, and cried out, "Dogs, I have found you now!" The four men took to the spence,—James and John Howie happening to be then in the byre among the cattle. The wife of the house, one Isabel Howie, seeing none but the sergeant, cried to them to take the hills and not be killed in the house. She took hold of Rae, as he was coming boldly forward to the door of the place in which they were, and ran him backward out of the outer door of the house, giving him such a hasty turn, as made him lie on the ground. In the mean time, the captain being alarmed, got up, put on his shoes, though not very hastily, and they got all out before the rest of the party came up. The sergeant fired his gun at them, which one John Kirkland returned. The bullet passed so near the sergeant, that it took off the knot of hair on the side of his head. The whole crew being alarmed, the captain and the rest took the way for Eaglesham moors, and they followed. Two of the men ran with the captain, and other two staid by turns, and fired back on the enemy, the enemy firing on them likewise; but by reason of some wetness their guns had got in coming through the water, they were not so ready to fire, which helped the others to escape.

When they had pursued him some time, John Kirkland turned, and stooping down on his knee, aimed so well, that he shot a Highland sergeant through the thigh, in consequence of which the sufferers gained ground. Being now come to the moors of Eaglesham, the four men went to the heights, in view of the enemy, and then caused the captain, who was now old, to take another way by himself. At last he got a mare upon the field, which he took the liberty of mounting, that he might the more readily escape; but before he was aware, a party of dragoons made their appearance. Paton was a most conspicuous object; for he wanted his shoes, and was riding without a saddle; however, he passed by them very slowly, and got off undiscovered; and at length, giving the mare her liberty, he went to another of his lurking-places. All this happened on a Monday morning; and on the morrow these persecutors returned, and plundered the house, drove off the cattle, and left almost nothing remaining.*

About this time, the captain met with another deliverance; for, having a child removed by death, the incumbent of the parish, knowing the time when the corpse was to be interred, gave notice to a party of soldiers at Kilmarnock, to come up and take him at the burial of his child. But some persons present at the burial persuaded him to turn back, in case the enemy should come upon them at the church-yard; which accordingly he did, when he was but a little distant from the church.

He was also a great succourer of those sufferers himself, in so far as his circumstances could admit,—several of his fellow-companions in the tribulation and patience of Jesus Christ resorting at certain times to him; such as worthy David Hackston of Rathillet, Balfour of Kinloch, and Mr. Donald Cargill; and it is said, that Mr. Cargill dispensed the sacrament of baptism to twenty-two children in Paton's barn* at Meadowhead, some time after the engagement at Bothwell-bridge.†

Not long before his death, about the beginning of August, 1684, he came to the house of one Robert Howie in Floack, in the parish of Mearns,—formerly one of his hiding places,—where he was by five soldiers apprehended before he or any one in the house were aware. He had no arms, yet the indwellers there offered him their assistance if he wanted it. Indeed, they were in a condition to have rescued him; yea, he himself, once in a day, could have extricated himself from double that number; but he said it would bring them to further trouble, and as for himself, he was now become weary of his life, being so hunted from place to place; and being now well stricken in years, his hidings became the more irksome. He was not afraid to die; for he knew well that whenever he fell into their hands, this would be the case, and he had now got time to think of it for many years; for his interest in Christ, of that he was sure. They took him to Kilmarnock, but knew not who he was—taking him for some old minister or other; till they came to a place on the highway called Mooryeat, where the goodman of that place seeing him in these circumstances, said, Alas! captain Paton are you there? and then to their joy they knew who they had got into their hands. He was carried to Kilmarnock, to Ayr, and then back to Glasgow, and soon after to Edinburgh.

It is reported as a fact, that general Dalziel met him here, and took him in his arms, saying, "John, I am both glad and sorry to see you. If I had met you on the way before you came hither, I should have set you at liberty; but now it is too late. Be not afraid, I will write to his majesty for your life." The captain replied, "You will not be heard." Dalziel said, "Will I not? If he does not grant me the life of one man, I shall never draw a sword for him again!" And it is said that, having spoken some time together, a man came and said to the captain, You are a rebel to the king. To whom he replied, "Friend, I have done more for the king that perhaps thou hast done." Dalziel said, "Yes, John, that is true!"—perhaps he meant at Worcester—and he struck the man on the head with his cane, till he staggered, saying, he would teach him better manners than to use a prisoner so. After this and more reasoning, the captain thanked him for his courtesy, and they parted.

His trial was not long delayed. Mr. Wodrow says, that, on April 16, the council ordered a reward of £20 sterling to Cornet Lewis Lauder for apprehending John Paton, who had been a notorious rebel these eighteen years. He was brought before the Justiciary, and indicted for being with the rebels at Glasgow, Bothwell, &c. The advocate, ex superabundanti, passed his being at Pentland and insisted on his being at Bothwell. The Lords found this libel relevant; and for probation they refer to his own confession before the council;—John Paton, in Meadow-head in Fenwick, that he was taken in the parish of Mearns, in the house of Robert Howie in Floack, and that he haunted ordinarily in the fields and moors, confesses that he was moved by the country people to go out in the year 1666, and commanded a party at Pentland; confesses that he joined with the rebels at Glasgow, about eight days before the engagement, and commanded a party at Bothwell, &c. The assize had no more to cognize upon, but his own confession, yet brought him in guilty. The Lords condemned him to be hanged at the Grassmarket of Edinburgh, on Wednesday, the 23d of April. But, by other accounts, he was charged before the council for being a rebel since the year 1640; his being an opposer of Montrose; his being at Mauchlinemoor, &c.

He was prevailed on to petition the council, upon which he was respited to the 30th, and from that to May 9th, when he suffered according to his sentence. And no doubt Dalziel was as good as his word; for it is said, that he obtained a reprieve for him from the king; but on its coming to the hands of bishop Paterson, it was kept up by him till he was executed; which enraged the general not a little. It seems they had a mind to spare him; but as he observed in his last speech, the prelates put an effectual stop to that. In the last eight days of his life he got a room by himself, that he might more conveniently prepare for death; which was a favour at that time granted him above many others.

What his conduct or deportment at the place of execution was, we are now at a loss to know; only it is believed it was becoming such a valiant servant and soldier of Jesus Christ,—an evidence of which we have in his last speech and dying testimony.

Thus another gallant soldier of Jesus Christ came to his end; the actions of whose life, and demeanour at death, do fully indicate that he was of no rugged disposition, as has been by some asserted or these our late sufferers; but rather of a meek, judicious, and Christian conversation, tempered with true zeal and faithfulness for the cause and interest of Zion's King and Lord. He was of a middle stature,—as accounts bear—strong and robust, somewhat fair of complexion, with large eyebrows. But what enhanced him more was, courage and magnanimity of mind, which accompanied him upon every emergent occasion; and though his extraction was but mean, it might be truly said of him,—that he lived a hero, and died a martyr.

ROBERT BAILLIE OF JERVISWOOD

DISTINCT altogether from the sufferings he endured, Mr. Baillie of Jerviswood is justly entitled to the remembrance of posterity, on account of his highly respectable rank, and his distinguished talents and virtues. He was born of an ancient and honourable family—a family long known as the supporters of civil and religious liberty; and of this family he proved himself, for the time, no unworthy representative. The testimony of some of his most illustrious contemporaries proves him to have been one of the best men and greatest statesmen of his time.

This, however, so far from blunting the sword of persecution, or defending him from its stroke, only pointed him out as an object the more proper, because the more prominent, for the malice and fury of those who, in the period referred to, were waging war against liberty and religion. That he fell a sacrifice, indeed, to persecuting intolerance, and died a martyr to the principles of Reformation, to his zeal against popery, and arbitrary power, there is not the least reason to doubt.

In common with many others of his rank and station, he had long been an object of suspicion to the reigning party. His family had frequently been harassed and disturbed by parties of soldiers, despatched in pursuit of presbyterians. And in short it appeared that a pretext was all that was wanting, to bring this excellent man to trouble, and even to death. Such a pretext was unfortunately at length given, by his generous interference in behalf of a distressed and persecuted relative, the Rev. Mr. Kirkton.

Being in Edinburgh in June, 1676, and hearing that Mr. Kirkton was illegally arrested, and without a warrant, by a captain Carstairs, one of the most devoted instruments of the then administration, he thought it his duty to interpose for his rescue. For this he was immediately called before the council, and upon giving them an account of the affair would have been immediately saved from all farther trouble on account of it, but that the infamous Sharp declared, that if Carstairs were not supported, and Jerviswood made an example of, there would be no prosecuting of the fanatics. On the next council day, therefore, Jerviswood was fined £500, and kept four months in prison before he was released.

He was not again molested till August, 1684, when he was prosecuted for being concerned in the Rye-house Plot. He had gone to England, some time after his late prosecution, and had taken a part in the plans which were proposed by the patriots of that country, to emancipate Britain from the galling despotism under which it lay. By what means he was discovered and apprehended we have not ascertained. Certain it is, however, that he then appeared in a dying condition; and had the commissioners spared him only a few weeks longer, they would have escaped the indelible blot of inhumanity which adheres to them, as having brought him to a violent and ignominious death. He was carried to the bar in his night-gown, attended by his sister, who sometimes gave him cordials; and not being able to stand was obliged to sit. His indictment bore, in general, his carrying on a correspondence to debar his royal highness, the king's only brother, from the right of succession. He was ordered to purge himself by oath, which he refused. The court fined him in £6000. It might have been thought that when he was fined in this large sum he had received his final sentence; but he was still kept shut up in prison, and denied all attendance and assistance. Bishop Burnet tells us, that the ministers of state were most earnestly set on Baillie's destruction, though he was now in so languishing a condition, that if his death would have satisfied the malice of the court, it seemed to be very near. He further says, that all the while he was in prison, he seemed so composed and cheerful, that his behaviour looked like the reviving of the spirit of the noblest of the old Greeks or Romans, or rather of the primitive Christians, and first martyrs in those best days of the church. But the duke, who was then commissioner, was not satisfied with all this, so he was brought before the council on the 23d of December, to be tried capaitlly. Here it is needless to enter into a minute detail of the trial. Suffice it to say that every means was resorted to, whether legal or not, to ensure his conviction, an object which it was not difficult to accomplish before such judges. Among other things, the deposition of Mr. William Carstairs—not the captain Carstairs formerly mentioned,—which was given by him after an hour's torture by the thumbkins,* and which he expressly provided should not be employed in proof, was nevertheless pled against him. When Mackenzie, the king's advocate, had done with his charge, Baillie made a most impressive answer. Among other things he said, "There is one thing which vexes me most extremely, and wherein I am injured to the utmost degree, and that is, for a plot to cut off the king and his royal highness, and that I sat up all nights to form a declaration to palliate or justify such a villany. I am in probability to appear in some hours before the tribunal of the great Judge; and in presence of your lordships, and all here, I solemnly declare, that I was never prompted or privy to any such thing, and that I abhor and detest all thoughts and principles for touching the life of his sacred majesty, or his royal brother." Then looking directly to Mackenzie, he said, "My lord, I think it very strange you charge me with such abominable things; you may remember when you came to me in prison, you told me such things were laid to my charge, but you did not believe them. How then, my lord, came you to lay such a stain upon me with so much violence? Are you now convinced in your own conscience, that I am more guilty than before?—you may remember what passed betwixt us in the prison." The whole audience fixed their eyes upon the advocate, who was in no small confusion, and said, "Jerviswood, I own what you say; my thoughts then were as a private man, but what I say here, is by the special direction of the privy council;" and pointing to Mr. William Paterson the clerk, added, "He knows my orders." Jerviswood replied, "Well, if your lordship has one conscience for yourself, and another for the council, I pray God forgive you; I do." Then turning to the justice-general he said, "My lord, I trouble your lordship no further."

Next morning, the 24th of December, the Jury brought him in guilty; and the lords condemned him to be hanged at the market-cross of Edinburgh, between two and four o'clock that afternoon, his head to be cut off and fixed on the Netherbow port, and his body to be quartered; one of the quarters to be put on the tolbooth of Jedburgh, another on that of Lanark, a third on that of Ayr, and a fourth on that of Glasgow. When the sentence was passed, he said, "My lords, the time is short, the sentence is sharp, but I thank my God who hath made me as fit to die as you are to live." He was then sent back to his apartment in the prison, and, leaning on the bed, he fell into a rapture at the assured prospect of a blessed eternity. Being asked after a short silence how he did, he answered, "Never better, and, in a few hours, I shall be well beyond all conception. They are going to send me in pieces and quarters; they may hack and hew my body as they please, but I know assuredly nothing shall be lost, but that all these my members shall be wonderfully gathered, and made like Christ's glorious body!" During the few hours he had to live, his carriage and behaviour were most becoming and Christian. At his execution he was in the greatest serenity of soul possible, for a person on this side of heaven, though extremely low in body. He was not able to go up the ladder without support;—when on it he began to say, "My faint zeal for the protestant religion has brought me to this:"—but the drums interrupted him. He had prepared a speech to be delivered at the scaffold, but was hindered; however, he left copies of it with his friends; and we insert some hints from it. "As for my principles with relation to government," said he, "they are such as I ought not to be ashamed of, being consonant to the word of God, and Confession of Faith of the Reformed churches. I die a member of the Church of Scotland, as it was constituted in its best and purest times. I bless God this day I know in whom I have believed, and to whom I have committed my soul as a faithful keeper. I know I am going to my God, and my chief joy. My soul blesseth God, and rejoiceth in him, that death cannot separate between me and my God. I leave my wife and children upon the compassionate and merciful heart of my God, having many reiterated assurances that God will be my God, and the portion of mine. I bless and adore my God, that death for a long time hath been no terror to me, but rather much desired; and that my blessed Jesus hath taken the sting out of it, and made the grave a bed of roses to all that have laid hold on him by faith which worketh by love. I have had sharp sufferings for a considerable time, and yet I must say to the commendation of the grace of God, my suffering time hath been my best time; and when my sufferings have been sharpest, my spiritual joys and consolations have been greatest. Let none be afraid of the cross of Christ; his cross is our greatest glory: wo be to them that are instrumental to banish Christ out of the land! And blessed are they who are instrumental by a gospel conversation, and continual wrestling with God, to keep Christ in the nation; he is the glory of a land, and if we could but love him, he would not part with us. Wo be to them that would rather banish Christ out of the land than love him! God pour out his Spirit plenteously on his poor remnant, that they may give God no rest till he make Jerusalem the joy and praise of the whole earth. I have no more time; but they who love Christ, I hope have minded me in my affliction, and do mind me now, and will mind my wife and children. I go with joy to Him who is the joy and bridegroom; to Him who is the Saviour and Redeemer of my soul. I go with rejoicing to the God of my life, to my portion and inheritance, to the husband of my soul. Come, Lord!"

The character of this gentleman was very high. Dr. Owen, who was acquainted with him, said to a friend, "you have truly men of great spirits in Scotland,—there is for a gentleman, Mr. Baillie of Jerviswood, a person of the greatest abilities I ever met with." And, said Bishop Burnet, giving an account of him, "thus a learned and worthy gentleman, after twenty months' hard usage, was brought to such a death, in a way so full, in all the steps of it, of the spirit and practice of the courts of the inquisition, that one is tempted to think that the steps taken in it were suggested by one well studied, if not practised in them.

JOHN BROWN OF PRIESTHILL*

THE farm of Priesthill is situated in the parish of Muirkirk, and district of Kyle, in Ayrshire; and about a hundred and sixty years ago, was possessed by John Brown, commonly called the Christian Carrier.

His house, which stands to this day, is on the brow of a hill, behind which rises an extensive tract of heath, moss-hags, and rocks, some of which command a view of several counties. The house is of stone and lime, and is covered with heather. The inside must have been comfortable according to the taste of the time; and John Brown had it respectably furnished for a person of his rank. But wealthy farmers and graziers of the present day would scarcely call it comfortable. It had no grate; the fire was burned on the floor; and having no openings in the wall, the smoke rose tardily to the chimney-top. Yet dark and smoky as it was, many had found it a little sanctuary; not only for refuge, but for God's presence.

Though simple in their habits and furniture, the inhabitants of these wild districts were well informed; even their children took an interest in everything that was going on in Scotland, and read the same books as their fathers did.

John was only a boy when upwards of three hundred ministers were deposed, in one day, by Charles the Second; because they, in conscience, could not, or would not, submit that the Church should be lorded over by bishops. He often described the distress that prevailed in the country on that occasion, and the anguish and weeping throughout the churches, on the sabbath their ministers preached their farewell sermons. It was heart-rending to part with such men, so remarkable for grace, and eminent for gifts; many of them learned, and all of them singularly dear to their people. "None of them were scandalous, insufficient, or negligent, and the fruits of their ministry were everywhere conspicuous. One might have travelled many miles without hearing an oath; and could rarely lodge in a house where God was not worshipped. Iniquity, ashamed, hid its head. But what a dreadful reverse was felt when prelacy was introduced by arbitrary means! It was like king Saul's change, a bad spirit after a good."

The whirlwind of persecution carried the seeds of salvation where the influence of the Reformation had not reached. The Scottish border, proverbial for freebooters or robbers, felt the divine effects of the banished ministers.* They were there harbored without fear or dread of laws, and kindly entertained. The inhabitants of the heath-covered moors and the distant isles of the sea were made glad, and blossomed as the rose. Thus, the scattering of the ministers made new inroads upon Satan's kingdom. The gospel flourished, though driven from temples made with hands. Many date their conversion from the glad tidings they heard in these wilds, saying with the Psalmist, "Lo! we heard of thee at Ephratah, we found thee in the field of the wood."

It was from these banished ministers that John received his superior education. He was intended for the Church, had not an uncommon difficulty of expressing his sentiments to strangers prevented him from prosecuting his studies. But what was strange, in prayer he was gifted in an extraordinary measure. In such scriptural language did he pour forth his soul, and, at the same time, with such variety, fluency, and affection, that he appeared like one superhuman. Many have a gift of prayer whose lives bespeak them far from the kingdom of heaven. Such was not Priesthill. His actions with men were just and prudent; so much so, that he was intrusted, when a very young man, with the produce of the neighbouring shepherds, to carry to market and dispose of, and bring back what they required in return. In this capacity he got the name of the Christian Carrier, and was often the first that brought them tidings of the mischief that was framed by law against the Presbyterians.

He was merely a youth at the rising of Pentland; and, not having been either at the battle of Drumclog or Bothwell, he could evade with ease the ensnaring questions that every traveller was required to answer; by which means he passed to and fro unmolested,—although he did not attend the curate of Muirkirk, who was a silly, easy creature, and did not make so many complaints of his parishioners as some did.

John's good education was not lost. Besides being a source of enjoyment to himself, it was a benefit to the youth for miles around him, who were then much neglected. To counteract the bad example of the wicked who then walked on every side, when vile men were high in place, every Monday night he met with these young persons, and instructed them from the Bible and the Confession of Faith. In summer they assembled in a sheep-bught, and in winter they formed a circle around a large fire of peat and cannel-coal, that blazed in the middle of the spence-floor. The effects of the substantial information these rustics got, is felt to this day in that neighbourhood. Our Worthy was not alone in this good work; David and William Steel were helpmates.

It was about the year 1680, that Priesthill got acquainted with Isabel Weir, in the parish of Sorn; she was a very superior woman, though her disposition was the very reverse of his; she was lively and jocular, and could cheer up his grave countenance till he was as animated as herself. She saw him often; for he had frequently business to transact with her father, when he passed to and from Ayr. They often talked of Zion's trouble; and what was remarkable, when he sought her in marriage, he told he felt a foreboding in his mind that he would one day be called to seal the Church's testimony with his blood.

After this, the Indulged ministers had gone so far in the course of defection, that the more conscientious sufferers had none they could hear, after the death of Cameron and Cargill. They resolved to form themselves into societies, to meet quarterly, of members delegated from their weekly prayer-meetings. The second of these quarterly meetings took place at Priesthill, February, 1682, where they made a contribution to send a young man to Holland, to be licensed as preacher to them. The fruits of this brought forward Mr. Renwick, of glorious memory.

About two months after this, Priesthill was married by Mr. Peden, Who happened to be in Kyle baptizing children. The marriage took place in a glen near the house. When Isabel and her company arrived at the spot, they were surprised at the assembly gathered. Mr. Peden welcomed her and said:—"These are to be witnesses of your vows; they are all friends, and have come at the risk of their lives to hear God's word, and to countenance his ordinance of marriage."

John had, by a former wife, a little girl about five years of age, who, on the morning after his marriage, lifted the latch of the spence-door, and finding Isabel alone, said, while she covered her face shyly with her arm, "They say ye are my mother!" "What if I should be your mother?" replied Isabel. "Naething, but if I thought ye were my mother, I would like to come in aside you a wee," said Jennie, with artless simplicity. "I hope I will be your mother, my bairn, and that God will give me grace to be so, and that you will be a comfort to me and your father." And she proved so. When but a child she was a help and pleasure to them. She would watch her father's return, and as soon as she saw his pack-horse* at a distance, coming along the bent, she would announce the joyful tidings. Then the gudewife hasted, and made ready his milk porridge, had them dished, covered with a clean cloth, and warm water to wash his weary feet, a blazing fire, and a clean hearth; and she and Janet would go out and welcome him home, and help him off with his horse's load.

The domestic peace and comfort of Priesthill are talked of even to this day. Many anecdotes are told, and one among the rest that illustrates the precept of hospitality to strangers; for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. The second year after his marriage, one night in the beginning of winter, John had gone to a neighbour's house; the family at home were preparing the wool of their flocks for hodden-gray cloth, to sell at Lawrie's fair in Hamilton. The shepherd carded the black and white wool together, for the women to spin; Janet and the herd-boy were teasing for the carder; the gudewife sat nursing her first-born son at one side of the fire, when the dog, which lay at full length at the other, started up and ran to the door, barking at the approach of a stranger. Isabel thought it would be her husband returned, and was about to rise to meet him. Janet and the herd were almost as soon at the door as the dog, and calling to him, "Whisht, Collie, whisht, you mu'na speak to the unco man." The herd caught the dog in his arms, and returned with him into the house, while Janet followed, leading a stranger, first looking to her mother for encouragement, and then to her guest. She led him to her father's chair with a courtesy that seemed to give rise to strong emotions in his heart.

The stranger was young in years, of a little stature, and fine fair countenance; but he was pale with fatigue and sickness. His shoes were worn out; a shepherd's plaid hung round him, seemingly for disguise; for by his dress and speech he seemed of a superior rank. While the servants gazed on him, the gudewife did not know whether she should welcome him as a sufferer, or consider him as a spy; so she left Janet to perform the kind offices which the stranger required, while she lulled her boy to sleep, by singing a verse of an old song.

While the gudewife sang, the stranger's face brightened up, and he more cheerfully accepted the child's endearing attentions, who placed him in the warmest corner, helped him off with his dripping plaid, imitating all the kind offices she had seen her mother perform to her father, to the no small amusement of the rest of the family. On the stranger it had a different effect. He burst into tears, and cried, "May the blessing of him that is ready to perish rest upon you, my dear bairn! Surely God has heard my cry, and provided me a place to rest my head for a night. O that I had in the wilderness a lodging-place of wayfaring men, that I might leave my people and go from them: for they be an assembly of treacherous men."

Just as he had finished, Priesthill entered. He gazed on him, and with great deference bade him welcome to his house. "Do you know me?" said the stranger. "I think I do," said John. "It was in this house that the Societies met that contributed to send you to Holland, and now I fear they have not received you—at least some of them—as they ought." "Their reproach has not broken my heart," said Mr. Renwick,*—for it was he, though he was not named before the family,—"but the excessive travelling, night-wanderings, unseasonable sleep, frequent preaching in all weathers, especially in the night, has so debilitated me, that I am unfit often for my work."

Every one of the family now strove to do him some kindness. The shepherd brought him clean hose and shoes; the herd his new night-cap; the lasses left their wheels and washed his feet; the gudewife prepared him a warm supper, while little Janet, worn out, was fast asleep at his side.

In those days, hospitality was with many in reality what it ought to be, purely exercised for God's glory, and without display of grandeur. The motives were like silver tried; it was at the risk of all, even life. Hence the joy of such pure intercourse was sweet beyond description. As iron sharpeneth iron, so doth the face of man his friend. Renwick and Priesthill talked of the sufferings of the Church, her testimony, her covenanted cause, and her ultimate triumph. Yes, they had more comfort in the faith that Christ would one day be Head over all things, King of kings, and Lord of lords, than the wicked have, when corn and wine do most abound.

Soon after Mr. Renwick left Priesthill, his followers and he published their Apologetic Declaration. Mr. Renwick was at first averse to the measure, but at last agreed.

The society that met at Priesthill was soon broken up. John Wilson, and John Smith, of Lesmahagow, were shot by colonel Buchan and the laird of Lee, in February, 1685. John Brown of Blackwood, in the same parish, was shot in the beginning of March following, by lieutenant Murray, after the promise of quarter.

After this, Priesthill could not continue his business of carrier, though he had no hand in the Apologetic Declaration. His opinion—and his conduct was consistent with it—was, that he ought to live as in an enemy's country, and without sin. Yet he was often obliged to betake to the high lands of Kyle and of Lanarkshire, and to bear the chilling cold of March and April winds, with the more bitter blast of persecution.

On one of those days, when driven from his home, he fled for refuge to a deep ravine, or moss-hag, that had been formed by the current of a water-spout, carrying, shrubs, soil, moss, and all before it, to the dale land beneath, leaving a frightful chasm, amidst a vast field of heath. Its deep mossy sides made it inaccessible to strangers; only the neighbouring husbandmen knew where the brackens hid the rocks, whose shelvy sides conducted to the bottom. In the sides of this natural alley were dens and caves, sufficient to hide a large company. In one of these Priesthill intended to spend the day in prayer, and had begun to pour out his soul in the words of Lamentations 3:40, and downward, when a sweet sound reached his ear, that seemed to proceed from another part of the moss-hag.

"It is the hallowed sound of praising God, and by some fellow-sufferers;" said John, as he rose from his knees to search them out; and to his no small joy found out David and William Steel, his neighbours, and Joseph Wilson, from Lesmahagow, in the cleft of a rock that jutted half-way into the ravine. David Steel had a narrow escape the day before this. When just about to begin the morning worship, one cried out, "There is the enemy coming!" He arose with the Bible under his arm, and, without knowing what he was about, went into the byre, and laid himself down in an empty cow-stall, putting the Bible on his breast. His wife, equally unconscious, turned over him a heap of bedding, just as the soldiers entered the place. They stabbed the straw where he lay, but the Bible received the point of the sword, and they left the house without finding their victim. William Steel's house was near at hand, and was also searched. His wife had locked him in her clothes-press. After they searched every place without success, and had left the house, a soldier returned, and said to the gudewife, "Mistress, next time you hide, hide better; part of your husband's coat is locked without your press;" and with these words he left her, to join his company. After he was gone, to her amazement she found it as the soldier had said.

William Steel, who escaped death from the persecutors, and lived many years after the Revolution, said often, if ever there was a time in his life that he would wish to enjoy over again, it was that in which he suffered persecution; especially that day and night he spent in the moss-hag.

Among the last of the needy adventurers of Charles II.'s reign, who could swim through the blood of their more conscientious countrymen to favour and emolument, was Graham of Claverhouse. "He was descended from the house of Montrose, and was educated in France, the best school for dissolute manners and cruelty. He fought against the French in the Low Countries, under the Prince of Orange, but being refused the command of one of the Scottish regiments then in the Dutch service, he left it in disgust and came over to England. His dissolute manners and vivacity soon got him notice at court, and the command of a party of Highlanders." His first appearance on the stage of Scotland's tragedy was in 1678, taking free quarters for himself and men in the house of Gilbert M'Michen, in New Glenluce; and when they went off, besides what they consumed, they took with them three horses, worth ten pounds each. In every succeeding appearance he may be marked as rising in cruelty and exaction.

Charles being now dead, James, duke of York, required such instruments to compel submission to his system of cruelty. Having now thrown off the mask, the suspicion of the Reformers, that Prelacy was to be handmaid to the introduction of Popery in Scotland, was verified. For that purpose he enlarged the commission of Claverhouse, and created him viscount of Dundee.

"The measure of fixing garrisons of soldiers through the south and west counties, as if Scotland had been invaded by a foreign enemy, was the beginning of many cold-blooded murders in the field. One of these garrisons was fixed at Lesmahagow." Claverhouse came unexpectedly there, late on the last night of April, 1685, and having heard of John's piety and non-conformity, by six o'clock next morning he was at Priesthill,—a proof how he thirsted after the blood of such men.

As usual, John had risen with the dawn, and had offered up the morning sacrifice. After worship, the good man went to the hill to prepare some peat-ground; the servants were also out, but at some distance, when Claverhouse surrounded the helpless man with three troops of dragoons, and brought him down to his own house. He left his implements of industry with great composure, and walked down before them, more resembling a leader than a captive.

Meanwhile Janet had alarmed her mother by telling her that a great many horsemen were coming down the hill with her father. "The thing that I feared is come upon me; O give me grace for this hour!" said her mother, hastily taking up her boy, and wrapping him in her plaid, and taken Janet by the hand, she went on to meet her foes, praying in secret as she went.

The leisurely way of examining persons by law, in which there was some semblance of justice, was now departed from. Claverhouse simply asked him why he did not attend the curate, and if he would pray for king James? He said he acknowledged only Christ as supreme Head of the Church, and could not attend the curates, because they were placed there contrary to His law.

Upon hearing this, Claverhouse said:—"Go to your prayers, for you shall immediately die," which he did in such a manner as filled the troops with amazement. On his family it had a different effect. His wife, who was great with child, with another in her arms, and Janet at her side, stood while he prayed "that every covenanted blessing might be poured upon her and her children, born and unborn, as one refreshed by the influence of the Holy Spirit, when he comes down like rain upon the mown grass, as showers upon the earth."

When Claverhouse could bear his prayers no longer, and had succeeded after interrupting him twice with the most blasphemous language, to raise him from his knees, John said to his wife:—"Isabel, this is the day I told you of before we were married;" and added, with his usual kindness, "you see me summoned to appear in a few minutes before the court of heaven, as a witness in our Redeemer's cause, against the ruler of Scotland. Are you willing that I should part from you?" "Heartily willing," said she, in a voice that spoke her regard for her husband, and her submission to the Lord, even when he called her to bow before His terrible things. "That is all I wait for; O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where will be thy victory?" said John, while he tenderly laid his arms around her, kissed her and her little boy, and lastly Janet, saying to her:—"My sweet bairn, give your hand to God as your guide, and be your mother's comfort!" He could add no more; a tide of tenderness overflowed his heart. At last he uttered these words, "Blessed be thou, O Holy Spirit, that speaketh more comfort to my heart than the voice of my oppressors can speak terror to my ears!" Thus, when the Lord brought his witness to be tried, he discovered such a magnanimity, that, as he fell, he conquered his persecutors.

John Brown of Priesthill.

If, in the Christian's life, there is a light that discovers the spots of the wicked; so, in the martyr's heroic grappling with death, there was a heat that scorched past enduring. It was doubtless under this feeling that Claverhouse ordered six of his dragoons to shoot him, ere the last words were out of his mouth; but his prayers and conduct had disarmed them from performing such a savage action. They stood motionless. Fearing for their mutiny, Claverhouse snatched a pistol from his own belt, and shot him through the head. * * * And, while his troops slunk from the awful scene, he, like a beast of prey that tramples and howls over a fallen victim, insulted the tender-hearted wife, while she gathered up the shattered head, by taunting jeers; "What thinkest thou of thy husband now, woman?" "I ever thought meikle good of him," said she, "and now more than ever." He, seeing, her courage, said, "It were but justice to lay thee beside him." She replied, "If ye were permitted, I doubt not your cruelty could go that length; but how will ye answer for this morning's work?" With a countenance that belied his words, he answered, "To men I can be answerable, and as for God I will take him in my own hands." Thus saying, he hastily put spurs to his horse, and left her with the corpse. She tied up his head with her napkin, composed his body, covered it with her plaid, and, when she had nothing further to do or contend with, sat down on the ground, drew her children to her, and wept over her mangled husband.

The mourners of Priesthill did not long want friends. The report of the foul deed circulated rapidly, creating dismay and abhorrence. Who now could think themselves safe, when John Brown was thus treated, who was not otherwise obnoxious to government than in not attending a curate several miles distant? The first who arrived on the spot was David Steel's wife, one well fitted to comfort in the most trying dispensation. She ran up to the group, and throwing her arms around them, saluted Isabel thus, "Wow, woman! and has your master been taken from your head this day; and has God taken you and your children under his own care, saying, 'I will be a husband to the widow, and a father to the fatherless?' No wonder though ye were overcome and astonished at his doings." This salutation aroused and strengthened the widow. She remembered the words of Mr. Peden, and she arose from the ground to search out the linen he had warned her to prepare. About this time David Steel, and William Steel with his wife, arrived, and assisted Isabel to bring in and wrap up the precious dust. All was done, while the silence of death reigned over the household.

As was said of the proto-martyr Stephen, devout men carried him to his burial. In like manner was John Brown carried forth and laid in his grave, on the very spot where he fell.

The poor widow of Priesthill and her children did inherit the earth and had a name long after that of her oppressors was not.—About fifty years ago a gentleman, riding to Edinburgh, fell into conversation with a respectable-looking countrywoman on the road, and learning that she was a grand-daughter of John Brown, he on that account made her ride behind him into the city. So much was the memory of the Christian Carrier respected. And what was a proof of the harmony of his family, she could not tell whether she was of the first or second wife's children. None of them now reside at Priesthill; but their house stands, and the broad flat stone that covers the Martyr's grave, is shown, with this inscription:—

In death's cold bed, the dusty part here lies

Of one who did the earth as dust despise:

Here in this place from earth he took departure;

Now he has got the garland of the martyr.

Butcher'd by Clavers and his bloody band,

Raging most rav'nously o'er all the land,

Only for owning Christ's supremacy,

Wickedly wrong'd by encroaching tyranny.

Nothing how near so ever he to good

Esteem'd, nor dear for any truth his blood.

JOHN NISBET OF HARDHILL

JOHN NISBET was born about the year 1627. He was the son of James Nisbet, and lineally descended from one Murdoch Nisbet in Hardhill, who, about the year 1500, joined those called the Lollards of Kyle. When a persecution arose against them, he fled over the seas, carrying with him a copy of the New Testament in manuscript. Some time after, he returned home, digged a vault below his own house, into which he often retired; there serving God, reading his new book, and instructing such as had access to him.

When somewhat advanced in years, Nisbet, having the advantage of being tall, athletic and well formed in person, of a bold and daring spirit, went abroad and joined the army, which was of great use to him afterwards. Having spent some time in foreign countries, he returned to Scotland, and swore the covenants, when King Charles, at his coronation, swore them at Scoone, in 1650. After this, Nisbet leaving the army came home and married one Margaret Law, who proved an excellent wife, by whom he had several children; three of whom survived himself, viz., Hugh, James, and Alexander.

In the month of December, 1688, his wife died on the eighth day of her sickness, and was buried in Stonehouse churchyard. This behoved to be done in the night, that it might be concealed; because no one would do it, save such as were under hidings during the day. The curate obtaining knowledge of it, threatened to raise the body, burn it, or cast it to the dogs; but some of the persecuted party sent him a letter, assuring him that if he touched these graves, they would burn him and his family, and all he had; so he forbore.

Nisbet early applied himself to the study of the Holy Scriptures, which, through the grace of God, was so effectual, that he not only became well acquainted with the most interesting parts of practical religion, but also attained no small degree of knowledge in points of principle, which proved of unspeakable advantage to him in the after part of his life, in maintaining the testimony of that day.

He married again, and entered upon the farm of Hardhill, in the parish of London, in which station he behaved with much discretion and prudence. No sooner did prelacy and erastianism appear on the field, in opposition to our ancient and laudable form of church-government, at the restoration of Charles II., than he joined the Presbyterians. Having, in 1664, got a child baptized by one of the ejected ministers—as they were then called—the incumbent or curate of the parish was so enraged, that he declared his resolution from the pulpit, to excommunicate Nisbet next Lord's day. But behold the Lord's hand interposed here; for before that day came the curate was in eternity.

This gentleman, being always active for religion, and a great encourager of field-meetings, was, with the rest of Christ's faithful witnesses, obliged to go without the camp bearing his reproach. When that faithful remnant assembled together, and renewed the covenant at Lanark, 1666, his conscience summoned him out to join them in that particular circumstance: which being known, and threatened for such an action, he resolved to follow these persecuted people, and so kept with them in arms till their defeat, upon the 28th of November, at Pentland hills, at which fight he behaved with great courage and resolution. He fought till he was so wounded that he was stripped for dead among the slain; and yet such was the providence of God that he was preserved.

He had espoused Christ's cause by deliberate choice, and was indeed of an excellent spirit; and, as Solomon says, "more excellent than his neighbour,"—his natural temper was likewise noble and generous. As he was travelling through a moor, on a snowy day, one of his old neighbours, who was seeking sheep, met him, and cried out, "O Hardhill, are you yet alive? I was told you were going in a pilgrim's habit, and that your bairns were begging; and yet I see you look as well as ever!" Then taking out a rix-dollar, he offered it to him. Nisbet seeing this, took out a ducat, and offered it to him, saying, "I will have none of yours, but will give you if you please; for you may see that nothing is wanting to him that fears the Lord, and I would never have thought that you—calling him by his name—would have gone so far with the enemies of God, as to sell your conscience to save your gear, &c. Take warning, H., go home and mourn for that, and all your other sins, before God; for, if mercy do not prevent, you will certainly perish." The poor man thanked him, put up his money, and went home. After this remarkable escape he returned home, where probably he continued till the year 1679. His fame for courage, wisdom, and resolution, among the sufferers, when that party, who were assembled near London-hill to hear the gospel, June 1, came in view of an engagement with Claver-house, who attacked them that day at Drumclog, caused him to be sent for by one Woodburn in the Mains of London, to come to their assistance. But before they got half-way they heard the platoons of the engagement, and the action was just terminating as they arrived. Upon their approach, Hardhill—for so he was commonly called—cried to them to jump the ditch, and get over upon the enemy, sword in hand; which they did with so great resolution and success, that in a little they obtained a complete victory over the enemy, in which Hardhill had no small share, by his vigorous activity in the latter end of that skirmish.

The suffering party, knowing now that they were fully exposed to the rage and resentment of their bloody persecuting foes, resolved to abide together; and for that purpose sent a party to Glasgow in pursuit of the enemy, among whom was Hardhill. After which, he continued with them, and was of no small advantage to the honest party, till that fatal day, June 22d, that they fled and fell before the enemy at Bothwell Bridge. Here, says Wodrow, he was a captain, if I mistake not. And, being sent with his party, along with those who defended the bridge, he fought with great gallantry, and stood as long as any man would stand by him, and then made his retreat just in time to escape.

After Bothwell he Was denounced a rebel, and a large reward offered to such as would apprehend him. At which time the enemy seized all that he had, stripped his wife and four children, turning them out of doors, whereby he was brought to the condition of those mentioned in Heb. 11:38: "They wandered about in deserts and in mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth." Thus he lived for near the space of five years, suffering all manner of hardships, not accepting deliverance, that he might preserve to himself the free enjoyment of the gospel, faithfully preached in the fields. And, being a man of a public spirit, a great observer of fellowship meetings—alas! a duty too much neglected—and very staunch upon points of testimony, he became very popular among the more faithful part of our sufferers, and was by them often employed as one of their commissioners to their general meetings, which they had established some years before, that they might the better understand the mind of one another in carrying on a testimony in that broken state.

One thing very remarkable was—on the Sabbath night (being that day week before he was taken,) as he and four more were travelling, it being very dark, no wind, but a thick small rain—behold! suddenly the clouds clave asunder towards east and west, over their heads, and a light sprang out beyond that of the sun, which lasted about the space of two minutes. They heard a noise, and were much amazed, saying one to another, What may that mean? but Nisbet returned no answer, only uttering three deep groans. One of them asked him, what it might mean? He said, "We know not well at present, but within a little we shall know better; yet we have a more sure word of prophecy, unto which we would do well to take heed;" and then he groaned again, saying, "As for me, I am ready to live or to die for him, as He in his providence shall call me to it, and bear me through in it; and although I have suffered much from prelates, and false friends, these twenty-one years, yet now, I would not for a thousand worlds I had done otherwise; and if the Lord spare me, I will be more zealous for his precious truths; and if not I am ready to seal his cause with my blood, for I have longed for it these sixteen years, and it may be I will ere long get it to do. Welcome be his will, and if he help me through with it, I shall praise him to all eternity!" This made them all wonder, he being a very reserved man; for, although a strict observer of the Sabbath, a great examiner of the Scripture, and a great wrestler in prayer, yet so little was he accustomed to refer to his own case, that few knew how it was with him, until he came to prison.

All this and more could not escape the knowledge of the managers, as evident from Earlston's answers before the council, 1683; and we find, that one of the articles that John Richmond suffered for, at the cross of Glasgow, March 19, 1684, was his being in company with Nisbet. This made the search after him and other sufferers more desperate. Whereupon, in the month of November, 1683, having retired, amongst other of his lurking-places, to a certain house called Midland, in the parish of Fenwick, where were assembled for prayer and other religious exercises, on a Saturday night, other three of his faithful brethren, viz., Peter Gemmel, a younger brother of the house of Horsehill, in the same parish; George Woodburn, a brother of the Woodburns, in the moors of London; and one John Fergushill from Tarbolton. Upon notice that Lieutenant Nisbet and a party of colonel Buchan's dragroons were out in quest of the wanderers—as they were sometimes called,—they resolved on the Sabbath morning to depart. But old John Fergushill, not being able to go by reason of some infirmities, they were obliged to turn back with him, after they had gone a little way from the house, and were the same day apprehended,—the way and manner of which, with his answers both at Ayr and before the council at Edinburgh, as they stand in an old manuscript given in his own hand, while he was their prisoner, is as follows:—

"First, when the enemy came within sight of the house—we seeing no way of escape—John Fergushill went to the far end of the house, and the other two and I followed. And ere we were well at the far end of the house, some of the enemy were in the house. And then, in a little after, they came and put in their horses and went to and fro in the house for more than an hour; and we four still at the far end of the house; and we resolved with one another to keep close till they should just come on us; and if it had pleased the Lord to have hid us there, we resolved not to have owned them; but if they found us out, we thought to fight, saying to each other, it was death at length. They got all out of the house, and had their horses drawn forth; but in a little they came back,* tittling one to another; and at last cried for a candle to search the house with; and came within a yard of us, with a light in their hand. According to our former resolution, we resisted them, having only three shots, and one of them misgiving, and they fired about twenty-four at us; and when we had nothing else, we clubbed our guns, till two of them were quite broke, and then went in grips with some of them; and when they saw they could not prevail, they all cried, to go out and set fire to the house. Upon which we went out after them, and I received six wounds in the going out. After which, they getting notice what I was, some of them cried out to spare my life, for the council had offered 3000 merks for me. So they brought me towards the end of the yard, and tied my hands behind my back, having shot the other three to death. He that commanded them scoffingly asked me, What I thought of myself now? I smiled, and said, I had full contentment with my lot; but thought that I was at a loss, that I was in time, and my brethren in eternity. At which he swore, he had reserved my life for a further judgment to me. When we were going towards Kilmarnock, the lieutenant,—who was a cousin of my own,—called for me; and he and I went before the rest, and discoursed soberly about several things. I was free in telling him what I held to be sin, and what I held to be duty; and when we came to Kilmarnock tolbooth, he caused slack my hands a little, and inquired if I desired my wounds dressed; and, at the desire of some friends in the town, he caused bring in straw and some clothes for my friend John Gemmel† and me to lie upon, but would not suffer us to cast off our clothes. On Monday, on the way to Ayr, he raged against me, and said that I had the blood of the three men on my head that were killed yesterday; and that I was guilty of and the cause of all the troubles that were come on the poor barony of Cunningham, first and last. But when we came near the town, he called me out from the rest, and soberly asked me, What he should say to the superior officers in my behalf? I told him, that if the Lord would keep me from wronging truth, I was at a point already in what he put me to, as to suffering. When we first entered the tolbooth of Ayr, there came two, and asked some things at me, but they were to little purpose. Then I was taken out with a guard, and brought before Buchan. He asked me, 1. If I was at the conventicle? I told him, I looked upon it as my duty. 2. How many armed were there? I told him, I went to hear the gospel preached, and not to take up the account of what men were there. 3. Where away went they? I told him, It was more than I could tell. 4. Do you own the king? I told him, while he owned the way and work of God, I thought myself bound both to own and fight for him; but when he quitted the way of God, I thought I was obliged to quit him. 5. Will you own the duke of York as king? I told him, I would not; for it was both against my principles and the laws of the nation. 6. Were you clear to join with Argyle? I said, No. He held me long, and spake of many things. We had the muster through hands, popery, prelacy, presbyterianism, malignants, defensive and offensive arms, there being none in the room but he and I. I thought it remarkable that all the time from Sabbath to this present, I had and have as much peace and quietness of mind as ever in my life. O help me to praise him! for he alone did it. Now, my dear friends and acquaintances, cease not to pray for me while I am in the body; for I may say I fear nothing but that through weakness I wrong the truth. And my last advice is, that ye be more diligent in following Christian duties. Alas! that I was not more sincere, zealous, and forward, for his work and cause in my day. Cease to be jealous one of another, and only let self-examination be more studied; and this, through his blessing, shall open a door to more of a Christian soul exercise, and keep away vain jangling.

"When I came to Edinburgh, I was the first night kept in the guard-house. The next night I was brought into their council-house, where were present lords Perth, Linlithgow, and one bishop Paterson, with several others. They first said to me, that they looked upon me as one acquainted with all that was done amongst these rebellious persons; therefore the lords of his majesty's privy council would take it as a great favour, if I would be free in telling them what I knew that might most conduce to the peace and security of the nation. I told them, that when I came to particulars I should speak nothing but truth, for I was more afraid to lie than to die; but I hoped they would be so far Christians as not to bid me tell anything that would burden my conscience. They then began thus:—1. What did ye in your meetings? I told them, we only sung a part of a psalm, read part of the Scriptures, and prayed time about. 2. Why call ye them fellowship and society meetings? I wonder why ye ask such questions, for these meetings were called so when our Church was in her power. 3. Were there any such meetings at that time? There were in some places of the land. 4. Did the ministers of the place meet with them in these? Sometimes they did, and sometimes they did not. 5. What mean you by your general meetings, and what do ye at them? While I was thinking what to answer, one of themselves told them more distinctly than I could have done; and jeeringly said, looking to me, When they have done, then they distribute their collections. I held my peace all the time. 6. Where keep ye these meetings? In the wildest moors we can think of. 7. Will you own the king's authority? No. 8. What is your reason—you own the Scriptures and your own Confession of Faith? That I do with all my heart. 9. Why do ye not own the king's authority?—naming several passages of Scripture, and that in the 23d chapter of the Confession. There is a vast difference; for he being a Roman Catholic, and I being not only brought up in the Presbyterian principles from my youth, but also sworn against Popery. 10. What is that to you, though he be popish, he is not bidding you be a papist, nor hindering you to live in your own religion? The contrary does appear; for we have not liberty to hear a gospel sermon, but we are taken, put to the hardest sufferings, and killed. They said it was not so, for we might have the gospel, if our wild principles would Suffer us to hear it. I said they might say so, but the contrary was well known through the land; for ye banished away our faithful ministers, and thrust in such as live rather like profligates than like ministers, so that poor things neither can nor dare join with them. 11. Are ye clear to join with Argyle? No. Then one of them said, Ye will have no king but Mr. James Renwick; and asked, if I conversed with any other minister upon the field than Mr. Renwick. I told them, I conversed with no other; and a number of other things passed that were to little purpose.

"This is a true hint of any material thing that passed betwixt them and me. As for their drinking of healths, never one of them spoke of it to me; neither did any of them bid me pray for their king; but they said that they knew I was that much of a Christian that I would pray for all men. I told them I was bound to pray for all; but prayer being instituted by a holy God, who is the hearer of prayer, no Christian could pray when every profligate bade him; and it was no advantage to their cause to suffer such a thing.

"How it may be afterwards with me I cannot say; for he is a free sovereign, and may come and go as he pleases. But this I say, and can affirm, that he has not quarrelled with me since I was a prisoner, but has always waited on to supply me with such consolation and strength as my necessity required; and now, when I cannot lay down my own head, nor lift it without help, yet of all the cases I ever was in I had never more contentment. I can now give the cross of Christ a noble commendation. It was always sweet and pleasant, but never so sweet and pleasant as now. Under all my wanderings, and all my toilings, a prison was so terrifying to me that I could never have been so sure as I would have been. But immediately after my apprehension, he so shined on me, and ever since, that he and his cross are to me far beyond whatever he was before. Therefore, let none scare or stand at a distance from their duty for fear of the cross; for now I can say from experience, that it is as easy, yea, and more sweet, to lie in prison in irons, than it is to be at liberty. But I must forbear at present."

Upon the 26th, he was ordered by the council to be prosecuted before the justiciary. Accordingly, on the 30th, he was before the justiciary, and arraigned, his own confession being the only proof against him, which runs thus:—"John Nisbet of Hardhill, prisoner, confesses, when examined before the council, that he was at Drumclog, had arms, and made use of them against the king's forces; that he was at Glasgow; and that he was at a field meeting within these two months, betwixt Eaglesham and Kilbride," &c.; which being read, he adhered to, but refused to subscribe it. The jury brought him in guilty, and the lords sentenced him to be executed at the Grassmarket, December 4, betwixt two and four in the afternoon, and his lands, goods, and gear, to be forfeited to the king.

It was inserted by the council in his confession, that the reason why he could not join with Argyle was, that one Cleland told him that Argyle and his party were against all kingly government. Mr. Wodrow thinks this false, and that it was only foisted in by the clerk of the council—it not being the first time that things of this nature had been done by them. But he happens to have been in a mistake here; for in one of Hardhill's papers, in MS., left behind him in way of testimony, he gives this as the first reason for his not joining with Argyle; and the second was to the same purpose with what Mr. Wodrow has observed, viz., because the societies could not espouse his declaration, as the state of the quarrel was not concerted according to the ancient plea of the Scottish Covenanters, and because it opened a door to a sinful confederacy.

His sentence was accordingly executed; he appeared upon the scaffold with a great deal of courage and Christian composure, and died in much assurance, and with a joy which none of his persecutors could interfere with. It was affirmed by some who were present at his execution, that the scaffold or gibbet gave way and came down, which made some present flatter themselves that, by some laws in being, he had saved his life, as they used to say in such cases. But behold a disappointment here, for he behoved not to escape so, for to this end he was born. Immediately all was replaced, and the martyr executed.

ALEXANDER PEDEN

ALEXANDER PEDEN was born in the parish of Sorn, in the shire of Ayr. After he had finished his university curriculum, he was for sometime employed as schoolmaster, precentor, and session-clerk, to Mr. John Guthrie, minister of the Gospel at Tarbolton.

A little before the Restoration, he was ordained minister at New Luce in Galloway, where he continued for about the space of three years, until thrust out by the violence and tyranny of the times. On the afternoon of the Sabbath previous to his leaving the parish, he preached from Acts 20:32. "And now, brethren, I commend you to the word of his grace," and continued his discourse till night. When he closed the pulpit door, he knocked three times very hard on it, with his Bible, saying thrice,—"I arrest thee, in my Master's name, that none ever enter thee, but such as come in by the door as I have done;" and no one entered it, till after the Revolution it was opened by a Presbyterian.

About the beginning of the year 1666, a proclamation was emitted by the council against him and several of the ejected ministers, wherein he was charged with holding conventicles, preaching, and baptizing children, at Ralstoun in Kilmarnock, and at Castlehill in Craigie parish, where he baptized twenty-four children. But upon his nonappearance at this citation, he was next year declared a rebel, and forfeited both life and fortune.

After this, he joined that faithful party, which, in the same year, was dispersed at Pentland hills; and with them he came the length of Clyde, where he had a melancholy view of their end, and parted with them there. Afterwards, when one of his friends said to him, "Sir, you did well that left them, seeing you was persuaded that they would fall and flee before the enemy," he was offended and said, "Glory, glory to God, that he sent me not to hell immediately, for I should have stayed with them, though I should have been cut in pieces."

In the same year he met with a very remarkable deliverance. For, while riding in company with Mr. Welch, and the laird of Glerover, they met a party of the enemy's horse. The laird fainted, fearing they should be taken; Peden seeing this, said, "Keep up your courage and confidence, for God hath laid an arrest on these men that they shall do us no harm." When they met they were courteous, and asked the way. Peden went off the way, and showed them the ford of the water of Titt. When he returned, the laird said, "Why did you go? you might have let the lad go with them." "No," said he, "They might have asked questions of the lad, which might have discovered us; but, as for me, I knew they would be like Egyptian dogs; they could not move a tongue against me, my time not being yet come."

He passed his time sometimes in Scotland, and sometimes in Ireland, until June, 1673, when he was by major Cockburn taken in the house of Hugh Ferguson of Knockdew, in Carrick, who had constrained him to stay all night. Peden told him it would be a dear night's quarters to them both; accordingly they were both carried prisoners to Edinburgh. There the said Hugh was fined in 1000 merks for reset, harbour, and converse with him. Sometime after his examination, Peden was sent prisoner to the Bass.

One day, as he was walking on the rock, some soldiers were passing by, and one of them cried, "The devil take him." He said, "Fy, fy! poor man, thou knowest not what thou art saying; but thou shalt repent that." At which he stood astonished, and went to the guard distracted, crying out for Peden, saying, "The devil would immediately come and take him away." Peden came, and conversed and prayed with him, and next morning came to him again, and found him in his right mind, under deep convictions of great guilt. The guard being to change, they commanded him to his arms, but he refused; and said, "He would lift no arms against Jesus Christ, his cause, and his people; I have done that too long." The governor threatened him with death to-morrow by ten o'clock. He confidently said, three times over, "That though he should tear him in pieces, he should never lift arms that way." About three days after, the governor put him forth of the garrison, setting him ashore. And he, having a wife and children, took a house in East Lothian, where he became a singular Christian.

Peden was brought from the Bass to Edinburgh, and was sentenced, in December, 1678, along with other sixty prisoners for the same cause, to be banished to America, never to be seen again in Scotland, under pain of death. After this sentence was passed, he often said, "That that ship was not yet built that should take him or these prisoners to Virginia, or any other of the English plantations in America." When they were on shipboard in the roads of Leith, there was a report that the enemy were to send down thumbkins to keep them in order; on which they were much discouraged. He went above deck, and said, "Why are you so much discouraged? you need not fear, there will neither thumbkins nor bootkins come here; lift up your hearts, for the day of your redemption draweth near: if we were once at London, we will all be set at liberty," &c. In their voyage thither they had the opportunity of seizing the commander of the ship, and escaping, but did not choose to avail themselves of it without his advice. He said, "Let all alone, for the Lord will set all at liberty in a way more conducive to his own glory, and our own safety." Accordingly, when they arrived, the skipper who received them at Leith, being to carry them no farther, delivered them to another, to carry them to Virginia, to whom they were represented as thieves and robbers. But when he came to see them, and found they were all grave sober Christians, banished for Presbyterian principles, he would sail the sea with none such. In this confusion, the one captain refusing to receive them, and the other not choosing to retain them on account of the expense, they were set at liberty. Some say the captain got compliments from friends in London. Others assure us, that they got off through means of the Lord Shaftesbury, who was always friendly to the Presbyterians. However, it is certain they were all liberated at Gravesend, without any bond or imposition whatever. And, in their way homeward, the English showed them no small degree of kindness.*

After they were set at liberty, Peden staid at London, and other places of England, until 1679, when he came to Scotland. On that dismal day, the 22d of June, when the Lord's people fell and fled before their enemies at Bothwell Bridge, he was sixty miles distant, being near the border, where he kept himself retired until the middle of the day, when some friends said to him, "Sir, the people are waiting for sermon, it being the Lord's day." To whom he said, "Let the people go to their prayers; for me, I neither can nor will preach any this day; for our friends are fallen and fled before the enemy at Hamilton, and they are hashing and hagging them down, and their blood is running down like water."

After this, in the year 1682, he married that singular Christian, John Brown, at his house in Priesthill, in the parish of Muirkirk in Kyle, to one Isabel Weir. After marriage, he said to the bride, "Isabel, you have got a good man to be your husband, but you will not enjoy him long: prize his company, and keep linen by you to be his winding-sheet, for you will need it when you are not looking for it, and it will be a bloody one," which sadly came to pass in the beginning of May, 1685.

In the same year, 1682, he went to Ireland again, and coming to the house of William Steel in Glenwhary, in the county of Antrim, he inquired at Mrs. Steel if she wanted a servant for thrashing of victual. She said, they did; and asked what his wages were a-day and a-week. He said, the common rate was a common rule. To which he assented. At night he was put to bed in the barn with the servant-lad, and that night he spent in prayer and groaning. On the morrow he thrashed with the lad, and the next night he spent in the same way. The second day the lad said to his mistress, "This man sleeps none, but groans and prays all night; I can get no sleep with him; he thrashes very well, and not sparing himself, though I think he has not been used to it; and when I put the barn in order, he goes to such a place, and prays for the afflicted Church of Scotland, and names so many people in the furnace." He wrought the second day; his mistress watched, and overheard him praying as the lad had said. At night she desired her husband to inquire if he was a minister; which he did, and desired him to be free with him, and he should not only be no enemy to him but a friend. Peden said, he was not ashamed of his office, and gave an account of his circumstances. But he was no more set to work, or to lie with the lad. He staid some considerable time in that place, and was a blessed instrument in the conversion of some, and the civilizing of others.

Before he left Ireland, he preached in several places, particularly one time in 1685, where he made a most clear discovery of the many hardships his fellow-sufferers were then undergoing in Scotland; and of the death of Charles II,—the news of which came not to Ireland till twenty-four hours thereafter.

After this he longed to be out of Ireland; both from a fearful apprehension of that dismal rebellion that broke out there about four years after, and from a desire he had to take part with the sufferers of Scotland. Before his departure from thence, he baptized a child to one John Maxwell, a Glasgow man, who had fled over from the persecution.

After he and twenty Scots sufferers came aboard, he went on deck and prayed—there not being then the least wind—where he made a rehearsal of times and places when and where the Lord had helped them in the day of their distress, and now they were in a great strait. Waving his hand to the west, from whence he desired the wind, he said, "Lord, give us a loof-full of wind; fill the sails, Lord, and give us a fresh gale, and let us have a swift and safe passage over to the bloody land, come of us what will." When he began to pray the sails were hanging all straight down, but ere he ended, they were all blown full, and they got a very swift and safe passage over. In the morning, after they landed, he lectured, ere they parted, on a brae-side: in which he had some awful threatenings against Scotland, saying, "The time was coming, that they might travel many miles in Galloway, Nithsdale, Ayr, and Clydesdale, and not see a reeking house, or hear a cock crow;" and further added, "My soul trembles to think what will become of the indulged, backslidden, and upsetting ministers of Scotland; as the Lord lives, none of them shall ever be honoured to put a right pin in the Lord's tabernacle, nor assert Christ's kingly prerogative as Head and King of his Church."

After his arrival in Scotland, in the beginning of the year 1685, he met with several remarkable deliverances from the enemy. One time, fleeing from them on horseback, he was obliged to ride a water, where he was in imminent danger. After having crossed, he cried, "Lads, do not follow me, for I assure you, ye want my boat, and so will drown; and consider where your landing will be;" which affrighted them from entering the water. At another time, being also hard pursued, he was forced to take a bog and moss before him. One of the dragoons being more forward than the rest, run himself into that dangerous bog, where he and the horse were never seen more.

About this time he preached one Sabbath night in a sheep-fold, the hazard of the time affording no better. That night he lectured upon Amos 7:8, "And I will set a plumb line in the midst of my people, the house of Israel," &c. In this lecture, he said, "I'll tell you good news. Our Lord will take a feather out of Antichrist's wing, which shall bring down the duke of York, and banish him out of these kingdoms. And there shall never a man of the house of Stuart sit upon the throne of Britain, after the duke of York, whose reign is now short, for their lechery, treachery, tyranny, and shedding the precious blood of the Lord's people. But, oh! black, black, will the days be that will come upon Ireland! so that they shall travel forty miles, and not see a reeking-house, or hear a cock crow." When ended, he and those with him lay down in the sheep-house, and got some sleep; and early next morning went up a burn side, and spent a long time in meditation. When he came back he sung the 32d psalm, from the 7th verse to the end; and then repeated that verse,—

"Thou art my hiding place, thou shalt

From trouble keep me free;

Thou with songs of deliverance

About shalt compass me:"

Saying, "These and the following are sweet lines, which I got at the burn-side this morning, and will get more to-morrow; and so will get daily provision. He was never behind any who put their trust in Him, and we will go on his strength, making mention of his righteousness, and of his only." He met with another remarkable deliverance; for the enemy coming upon him and some others, they were pursued by both horse and foot a considerable way. At last, getting some little height between them and the enemy, he stood still, and said, "Let us pray here; for if the Lord hear not our prayers, and save us, we are all dead men." Then he began, saying, "Lord, it is thy enemy's day, hour, and power, they may not be idle. But hast thou no other work for them, but to send them after us? Send them after to whom thou wilt give strength to flee, for our strength is gone. Twine them about the hill, Lord, and cast the lap of thy cloak over old Sandy, and thir puir things, and save us this one time; and we'll keep it in remembrance, and tell it to the commendation of thy goodness, pity, and compassion, what thou didst for us at such a time." And in this he was heard; for a cloud of mist intervened immediately betwixt them; and, in the mean time, a post came to the enemy, to go in quest of Mr. Renwick, and a great company with him.

At this time it was seldom that Peden could be prevailed on to preach; frequently answering and advising people to pray much, saying, "It was praying folk that would get through the storm; they would yet get preaching, both meikle and good, but not much good of it, until judgment was poured out to lay the land desolate."

In the same year, 1685, being in Carrick, John Clerk of Muirbrook, being with him, said, "Sir, what think you of this time? Is it not a dark and melancholy day? Can there be a more discouraging time than this? He said, "Yes, John, this is a dark discouraging time, but there will be a darker time than this; these silly graceless creatures, the curates, shall go down: and after them shall arise a party called Presbyterians, but having little more but the name; and these shall, as really as Christ was crucified without the gates of Jerusalem on Mount Calvary bodily, I say, they shall as really crucify Christ, in his cause and interest in Scotland; and shall lay him in his grave, and his friends shall give him his winding-sheet, and he shall lie as one buried for a considerable time: O! then, John, there shall be darkness and dark days, such as the poor Church of Scotland never saw the like, nor ever shall see, if once they were over; yea, John, they shall be so dark, that if a poor thing would go between the east sea-bank and the west sea-bank, seeking a minister to whom they would communicate their case, or tell them the mind of the Lord concerning the time, he shall not find one." John asked, where the testimony should be then? He answered, "In the hands of a few, who would be despised and undervalued of all, but especially by those ministers who buried Christ; but after that he shall get up upon them; and at the crack of his winding-sheet, as many of them as are alive, who were at the burial, shall be distracted and mad with fear, not knowing what to do: then, John, there shall be brave days, such as the Church of Scotland never saw the like; I shall not see them, but you may."

About this time, as he was preaching in the day-time in the parish of Girvan, and being in the fields, one David Mason, then a professor, came in haste, trampling upon the people to be near him. At which he said, "There comes the devil's rattle-bag, we do not want him here." After this, the said David became officer and informer in that bounds, running through, rattling and summoning the people to their unhappy courts for non-conformity; at which he and his family got the name of the devil's rattle-bag. Since the Revolution, he complained to his minister that he and his family got that name. The minister said, "Ye well deserved it; and he was an honest man that gave you it: you and yours must enjoy it: there is no help for that."

His last sermon was preached in the Collimwood, at the water of Ayr, a short time before his death. In the preface before this sermon, he said, "There are four or five things I have to tell you this night; 1st, A bloody sword, a bloody sword, a bloody sword, for thee, O Scotland, that shall pierce the hearts of many. 2dly, Many miles shall ye travel, and see nothing but desolation and ruinous wastes in thee, O Scotland. 3dly, The most fertile places in thee shall be as waste as the mountains. 4thly, The women with child shall be ript up and dashed in pieces. And, 5thly, Many a conventicle has God had in thee, O Scotland; but, ere long, God will make a conventicle that will make Scotland tremble. Many a preaching has God bestowed on thee; but, ere long, God's judgments shall be as frequent as these precious meetings, wherein he sent forth his faithful servants to give faithful warning of the hazard of thy apostasy from God, in breaking, burning, and burying his covenant, persecuting, slighting, and contemning the gospel, shedding the precious blood of his saints and servants. God sent forth a Welwood, a Kid, a King, a Cameron, a Cargill, and others to preach to thee; but, ere long, God shall preach to thee by fire and a bloody sword. God will let none of these men's words fall to the ground, that he sent forth with a commission to preach these things in his name." In the sermon, he further said, that a few years after his death, there would be a wonderful alteration of affairs in Britain and Ireland, and Scotland's persecution should cease; upon which every one would believe the deliverance was come, and, consequently, would fall fatally secure; but you will be all very far mistaken, for both Scotland and England will be scourged by foreigners, and a set of unhappy men in these land taking part with them, before any of you can pretend to be happy, or get a thorough deliverance; which will be a more severe chastisement than any other they have met with, or can come under, if once that were over.

After much wandering from place to place, through Kyle, Carrick, and Galloway, his death drawing near, he came to his brother's house, in the parish of Sorn, where he was born, where he caused them to dig a cave, with a willow-bush covering the mouth thereof, near to his brother's house. The enemy got notice, and searched the house narrowly several times, but him they found not. While in this cave, he said to some friends,—1st, "That God would make Scotland a desolation. 2dly, There would be a remnant in the land whom God would spare and hide. 3dly, They would be in holes and caves of the earth, and be supplied with meat and drink; and when they came out of their holes, they would not have freedom to walk for stumbling on dead corpses. And, 4thly, A stone cut out of the mountain would come down; and God would be avenged on the great ones of the earth, and the inhabitants of the land, for their wickedness: and then the church would come forth in beauty and glory, as a bride adorned for her husband. And he wished that the Lord's people might be hid in their caves, as if they were not in the world: for nothing would do until God appeared with his judgments." And withal gave them this sign, "That if he be but once buried, they might be in doubt, but if oftener than once they might, be persuaded that all he had said would come to pass; and earnestly desired them to take his corpse out to Airsmoss, and bury him beside Richie—meaning Mr. Richard Cameron—that he might have rest in his grave, for he had got little during his life. But he said, bury him where they would, he would be lifted again; but the man who would first put hands to his corpse, four things would befall him:—1st, He would get a great fall from a house. 2dly, He would fall into adultery. 3dly, In theft, and for that he should leave the land. 4thly, Make a melancholy end abroad for murder." All which came to pass. This man was one Murdoch, a mason by trade, but then in the military service; being the first man who put his hands to his corpse.

Peden had for some time been too credulous in believing the obliquous misrepresentations of some false brethren concerning Mr. James Renwick, whereby he was much alienated from him; which exceedingly grieved Mr. Renwick, stumbled some of his followers, and confirmed some of his adversaries, who boasted that now Peden was turned his enemy. But now, when dying, he sent for him. Mr. Renwick came to him in all haste, and found him lying in a very low state. When he came in, he raised himself upon his elbow, with his head on his hand, and said, "Are you the Mr. James Renwick there is so much noise about?" He answered, "Father, my name is James Renwick, but I have given the world no ground to make any noise about me, for I have espoused no new principles or practices, but what our reformers and Covenanters maintained." He caused him to sit down, and give him an account of his conversion, principles, and call to the ministry. All which Mr. Renwick did, in a most distinct manner. When ended, Peden said, "Sir, you have answered me to my soul's satisfaction; I am very sorry that I should have believed any such evil reports of you, which not only quenched my love to, and marred my sympathy with you, but made me express myself so bitterly against you, for which I have sadly smarted. But sir, ere you go, you must pray for me, for I am old, and going to leave the world." This he did with more than ordinary enlargement. When ended, Peden took him by the hand, and drew him to him, and kissed him, saying, "Sir, I find you a faithful servant to your Master; go on in single dependence upon the Lord, and ye will get honestly through, and clear off the stage, when many others who hold their heads high, will lie in the mire, and make foul hands and garments." And then he prayed that the Lord might spirit, strengthen, support, and comfort him in all his duties and difficulties.*

Peden at Cameron's Grave.

"A little before his death, he said, "Ye will all be displeased where I will be buried at last; but I charge you not to lift my corpse again." At last, one morning early he left the cave, and came to his brother's door. His brother's wife said, "Where are ye going? the enemy will be here.' He said, "I know that." "Alas! Sir," said she, "what will become of you? you must go back to the cave again." He said, "I have done with that, for it is discovered; but there is no matter; for, within forty-eight hours, I will be beyond the reach of all the devil's temptations, and his instruments in hell and on earth, and they shall trouble me no more." About three hours after he entered the house the enemy came, and not having found him in the cave, searched the barn narrowly, casting the unthrashed corn, went through the house, stabbed the beds, but entered not into the place where he lay. And within forty-eight hours after this, he closed his pilgrimage, and became an inhabitant of that land where the weary are at rest, being beyond sixty years of age.

He was buried in the laird of Auchinleck's isle, but a troop of dragoons came and lifted his corpse,† and carried it two miles, to Cumnock Gallows-foot, after he had been forty days in the grave, where he lies buried beside other martyrs.

Thus died Alexander Peden, so much famed for his singular piety, zeal, and faithfulness, and indefatigableness in the duty of prayer; but especially who exceeded all we have heard of in latter times, for that gift of foreseeing and foretelling future events, both with respect to the church and nation of Scotland and Ireland, and particular persons and families, several of which are already accomplished. A gentleman, when speaking in his writings of Peden, says, "Abundance of this good man's predictions are well-known to be already come to pass."* And although these things are now made to stoop or yield to the force of ridicule, and the sarcasms of the profane, and the fashions of an atheistical age and generation; yet we must believe and conclude with the Spirit of God, that the secrets of the Lord both have been, are, and will be, with them who fear his name.

JOHN BLACKADDER

JOHN BLACKADDER was a lineal descendant, and the only representative of the house of Tulliallan. After he had gone through his course of classical learning, he was ordained minister of the gospel at Troqueer, in the neighbourhood of Dumfries. Being nominated by the unanimous voice of the people, he received ordination from the presbytery of Dumfries, and was admitted to his benefice, June 7th, 1653.

No sooner had Blackadder commenced his labours, than his first exertions were directed to the suppression of vice and profanity,—a work rendered the more difficult, as it was necessary in the present case to begin with the eldership, who appear, through complete indolence, to have suffered all proper discipline to fall into disuse. This accomplished, Blackadder made next an effort on his parishioners; and, as he found them completely ignorant on the matter, he commanded the Session Records to be produced. After this, he appointed teachers, who were instructed at once to reason with heretics, and to expound the Scriptures to those whose intellectual faculties were naturally weak. His own Sabbath discourses had chiefly for their object the instruction of his hearers in the elementary parts of religion. In addition to this he had weekly sermons, which, though addressed especially to converts, became soon so popular, that, not only his own people, but we are told several honest and godly persons from other parishes, flocked to hear him. He catechised the parish once every half-year, and formed a plan with two of his brethren, Mr. Welch of Irongray, and Mr. Johnstone of Lochrutton, of visiting on certain occasions, the parishes of each other. The presbytery, when the proposal was made, agreed to it at once. The united labours of these brethren were attended with considerable success. Indeed, the happy effects of Blackadder's labours were soon visible in the altered lives and conduct of a great many of his parishioners. Two years had scarcely elapsed, when, over all the parish, there prevailed an exemplary regularity in the performance of the duties of private and public worship. Religious knowledge increased, and household prayer was almost universally attended to. Blackadder was very attentive in his visitation of sick persons, and, indeed, all who laboured under any distress, whether of body or of mind. The proper discharge of this duty appeared to him one of the most difficult and delicate parts of his work. To suit himself to the different tempers and circumstances of men—to preach to the conscience—to warn the sinner of his peril—and to unfold the promises of divine grace, appeared to him to require no ordinary prudence. Blackadder was rather reserved in his usual intercourse with his people, and he seldom consented, though always asked, to attend parties at feasts, marriages, or baptisms.

In this manner, Blackadder continued faithfully to discharge his official duties, until, with a number more of eminent ministers, he was ejected from his charge by the infamous act of Glasgow, 1662. This act was preceded by several encroachments, which were fitted to excite suspicion and alarm on the part of the ministers. On this occasion, Blackadder stood manfully at his post: and for three Sabbaths previous to his final ejectment, he testified from the pulpit against the abuses and enormities of the age. It so happened that the last Sabbath was the one set apart in Edinburgh for the consecration of the new bishops, and Blackadder is said to have entered his protest against the ceremony before the congregation.

When the parliament met, the first of their proceedings, which gave general dissatisfaction, was the ratification of the act in question. Against it the Dumfries Presbytery protested, as being utterly at variance with all the previous practices and laws of the church. But, on other grounds, the act was quite objectionable, as it virtually condemned as rebellious all the acts of the General Assembly for the last twenty years. When news of the proceedings of the Presbytery of Dumfries had reached Edinburgh, the commissioner immediately despatched a military force to that town, with orders to place the whole sacred court under arrest. Accordingly, a troop of fifty horse, under a certain captain Scott, arrived at Dumfries on Monday evening, but found that several of the ministers, aware of their intentions, had already fled. Among these were the two ministers of Dumfries, Mr. Campbell and Mr. Henderson. Blackadder had, in their abscence, been requested by the magistrates to supply their place, and had actually commenced, when the military arriving, he judged it prudent to desist, not choosing to bring a stranger congregation into difficulties by any rash expression that might escape his own lips. On Monday, an order was sent round to all the clergy within the bounds, to present themselves before the commissioner, and march next day as prisoners to Edinburgh. As this proved rather inconvenient, Tuesday being appointed for the meeting of presbytery, his lordship was graciously pleased to postpone the time of their departure till Wednesday. Four gentlemen of the guard waited upon them after dinner for the purpose of ascertaining their minds relative to their intended journey. The brethren politely offered them wine, and though the invitation was complied with, yet, fearing a tumult, the captain requested that next morning by ten o'clock, they would, in as private a manner as possible, leave the town. They complied with this request; and, when within half-a-mile of Edinburgh, they were desired to ride in before the commander, who appears to have been afraid of popular clamour had he ventured to treat them as prisoners. With this proposal the ministers appear to have agreed. Next day they were brought before the court, and after a few interrogatories, were allowed to return to their own parishes,—a favour which it seems was procured to Blackadder by some of his friends. Here, however, Blackadder was not long permitted to remain. By the severe orders of the court he was soon obliged to leave his charge, which he accordingly did on the last Sabbath of October, after taking farewell of his sorrowing and affectionate people in a pathetic and energetic discourse.

From Troqueer Blackadder removed to Glencairn, ten miles distant, in the beginning of October, 1662. As the parish was quite sequestered, he had great hopes that the persecuting party would allow him to remain unmolested; and, accordingly after residing there for about three months, he resumed his public duties, and in February, 1663, he ventured back to his old parish, where he visited, catechised, and lectured privately. The consequence of this was, that letters of council were directed against him, and about a dozen of his confederates, namely, Welch, Semple, Arnot, and Peden, for performing a number of acts connected with the ministerial function. The consequence was, that he resolved forthwith to depart the country;* and, as Edinburgh seemed to offer the likeliest opportunity for concealment, he determined to direct his steps thither, and, accordingly, in a short time became a resident, along with his family, in that ancient capital. Procuring a private lodging in the Canongate, he there spent the remainder of the winter, being disabled from preaching by a severe illness. He attended, however, during the following summer, a number of private meetings in the Grassmarket, being joined by about seven or eight ministers from Nithsdale in Galloway.

The defeat at Pentland hills interrupted these conventicles. Blackadder was at that time in Edinburgh, and had it not been for the unfavorable accounts which he received of the state of the Covenanters' army, would assuredly have joined them on that occasion. During the murderous executions which followed the engagement, Blackadder had an opportunity of extending his humanity to his suffering countrymen in the south. In September, 1668, under the auspices of a milder administration, Blackadder was invited to preach and dispense ordinances in various parishes in the west of Scotland. In Dunlop, he baptized forty-two children in one house; and in the manse of Newmills, eleven. Similar duties were performed by him at Eaglesham,—always at night, for fear of discovery. The new administration was much more liberal than the former, in consequence of which, for more than a year, he was permitted to preach in Edinburgh. In January, 1669, he received a second and pressing call to the west, in consequence of which he went to Fenwick, on January 28, and preached there a public discourse, being the first which the people of the place had listened to from any of the persecuted ministers, since the battle of Pentland. Here his labours were so great, and his exertions for the spiritual benefit of the people so unremitting, that his health suffered materially. Being advised by the physicians to try the benefit of the mineral waters at Newmills, he went there annually for seven years, remaining generally about the space of six weeks. The same year he went over to Fife, where he staid a few days in Strathmiglo, and preached to numerous crowds, who flocked from all quarters to hear him.

Government began to take alarm at these conventicles; ministers were forbidden to officiate at them under pain of final imprisonment, and the military were called out to carry into effect the rigorous enactments of the court. Among the first armed conventicles, as they were called, was that kept by Blackadder at Beith-hill, on the 18th of June, 1670. Though he foresaw the risk which he ran, yet love to the souls of men made him encounter all hazards. He requested Mr. Dickson, who willingly consented, to assist him on the occasion.

Exaggerated reports of this conventicle spread over all the country. The two ministers were summoned to appear before the council, August 11; but failing to answer the citation, they were denounced, and put to the king's horn. Blackadder concealed himself in Edinburgh; but a strict search being instituted, he was compelled to fly to the Merse, where he remained until the tumult subsided, when he again showed himself; and, resuming his public ministrations, he preached at Mordington, and several other parishes. In the spring of 1671, he visited Borrowstounness, and the neighbourhood. Feeling rather indisposed, he intended to keep himself private; but early on Sabbath morning, lady Hilderstone's house, where he had taken up his residence, was surrounded by vast crowds of people, who insisted upon his coming out to address them. For this meeting, lady Hilderstone, her son, and many of the people, were severely fined. All this, however, could not abate the ardour of the people from favouring field-preaching. Scarcely three weeks after the meeting at Hilderstone, Blackadder preached at the Black Dub at Livingstone. He left Edinburgh early in the morning, and returned the same evening. His reason for doing this was to prevent the people from being brought into trouble on his account, which certainly would have been the case had the rumour gone abroad that he was harbouring among them. Sentence of outlawry was this year passed upon him, but this did not discourage him from still continuing to preach the gospel. Accordingly, we find him, about the end of summer, addressing a vast assemblage of people near Lillies-leaf, in Roxburghshire. In the same year also, he frequently dispensed the sacrament of the supper in the open fields.* The communions principally noted, and most numerously attended, were four, viz., Kirkcudbright, Irongray, Carrick, and East Nisbet, in the Merse. Next year, 1678, Blackadder was invited to preach at Devon in, Fife; and in July, the same year, he held a meeting near Culross, about a mile from Blairhole, the ancient residence of his ancestors. Afterwards, he was invited to preach at Caitloch, where he found a large assembly had collected. A short account of what took place here is given in the life of Mr. Welch. Blackadder seems to have been employed only in the table services. He was, however, engaged on the Monday following. On the Sabbath previous to the meeting at Drumclog, he ventured to preach at Falamoor in Livingstone. A severe rheumatism confined him for a month afterwards to his room, during which time the battle of Bothwell Bridge was fought; in consequence of which he could not be implicated as having any personal share in it. Indeed, he appears to have had considerable doubts as to the propriety of the risings which were on that occasion suppressed. He did not, however, in the least, shrink from the discharge of his duty, and immediately after the act of indemnity and indulgence, which permitted conventicles to be held in private houses, he still persevered in his own practice of preaching publicly in the open air. These meetings raised a great outcry; but Blackadder, nothing daunted, was found next week preaching at lord Torphichen's with greater boldness than before. The kirk was within hearing, where the curate was haranguing to sixteen persons. From thence he went to Borrowstounness, where the meeting was dispersed by the soldiers from Blackness, and he himself nearly taken. After this, Blackadder preached at Kirkaldy, Galawater, and Livingstone.

About the end of May, 1680, he resolved on a voyage for Holland, as his eldest son was about to commence the study of medicine at Leyden; and during his stay at Rotterdam, which lasted fifteen weeks, he preached every Sabbath. About the end of September he returned to Scotland again; and, what is very remarkable, arrived in Edinburgh on the very day that Mr. John Dickson was sent prisoner to the Bass.

We find him in January, 1681, visiting Troqueer, at the request of his old parishioners, and preaching at a great variety of places, which it would be too tedious to mention, both on his way thither and on his return to Edinburgh. He concluded his public labours in East Lothian about ten days before he was apprehended. The circumstances which attended his capture and examination, are as follows:—On Tuesday morning, April 5, the party came to his house before he arose. His daughter and servant were up. About five or six o'clock one knocked softly at the hanging gate; she opened the door, and it proved to be Johnston, the town-major, with a party at his back, who came into the hall, and asked if there were any strangers in the house. She said, No. Yet he came to the chamber where her father was lying, putting the end of his staff to the side of the curtain, and then went up stairs to the gallery, where the minister used to stay, and found only his son lying in the bed, and came down again to the chamber, saying to the minister's wife, "Mistress, desire your husband to rise." He, looking forth out of the bed, said, "How now, Major, is that you; I am not surprised, but where is your order?" The other said, "You are only to rise and come down to a friend in the Canongate." "Well," said the minister, "if I were dressed, I am ready." Meantime he spoke quietly to his men to wait on the prisoner. But he himself stept forth and went quickly to Dalziel in the Canongate. After he returned, the minister calling for a drink, sought a blessing, and caused give them all to drink, and went forth; his wife being very sickly, yet behaved more quietly than he could have believed. The major took him down the Cowgate, himself on the one hand, and the minister's son Thomas on the other, the party following, and brought him to Dalziel's lodgings, near the foot of the Canongate. The major went first, the minister following, Dalziel himself opening the door. The major told him he had brought the prisoner; Dalziel bade him take him to the guard. The minister stepping up stairs, said, "May I speak a little?" At which he rudely raged, "You, Sir, have spoken too much; I would hang you with my own hands over that outshot." He knew not yet who he was, nor what was laid to his charge till afterward, as the minister perceived by a strange alteration of his calmness to him when he came to the court at twelve o'clock.

The minister, finding him in such ill-mood, turned about, and came away with the major, who put him not in the common guard. At eleven o'clock, he was brought before the common council, when the following questions were proposed:—Chan. Are you a minister? A. I am. Chan. Where, and how long since? A. At Troqueer, in Galloway, since 1653. Chan. Did you excommunicate the king; or was you at Torwood at that time? A. I have not been at Torwood these four years. Chan. But what do you think of it; do you approve of it? A. Though I be as free to answer to that as well as to all the former; yet I must tell you I came here to give account of my judgment to no man; therefore, seeing that this is an interrogating of me about my thoughts, I humbly beg to be excused. Produce a libel, and I'll endeavour to answer it as I can. [On this point he was repeatedly interrogated by the chancellor and advocate, but to no purpose.] Chan. But do you approve of taking the king's life, and condemning him in soul and body? A. No, I do not, and no good man will. Chan. But you have preached in the fields; that is, on moors and hill-sides? A. I place no case of conscience, or make any difference betwixt preaching in houses or in the fields. Chan. You know, and no doubt have seen, the laws discharging such preaching? A. My lord, no doubt I have, and I am sorry that there ever should have been laws and acts made against preaching the gospel. [After this the chancellor rose, and went forth with the other two, it being near one o'clock, their dinner hour.]

On the morning of the second day's examination, he sent his son Thomas to tell colonel Blackadder, who went and informed general Dalziel better what he was. After that Dalziel was most calm, and far from the temper he was in before.

Chan. Have you not been in Fife sometimes, and kept conventicles there? A. No doubt, my lord, I have been several times in Fife. Chan. I suppose I be little obliged to you in Fife, as I hear? A. As I can put little obligation on a person of such quality, so I know as little wherein I have disobliged your lordship.

At two o'clock on Wednesday, captain Maitland, who was on guard, told the prisoner that he was to carry him up to the council at three, and desired him to be ready. When he came to the Parliament Close, the captain sent four soldiers to wait on the prisoner in an outer room, till he should be called. He was not called, however, but sent his son Thomas to inquire what word was concerning him; who answered, he believed he was sentenced to the Bass.

Tomb of Blackadder.

This sentence was accordingly carried into execution. On April 7, 1681, Blackadder was conveyed from Castleton in an open boat to the Bass, where, about five in the afternoon, he was delivered to the governor.

Blackadder continued in this prison for about four years; after which his health suffered so severely from the ungenial air of the place, as to endanger his life. His friends solicited liberty for him to be brought to Edinburgh. This, however, was not granted; and he was merely allowed to change his place of residence to Dunbar or Haddington prison, as he might choose. Meanwhile, his distemper, it appears, had increased, and gave symptoms of fatal termination, which being again represented to the council, he was at last permitted to come to the town of Edinburgh. The order came too late, for Blackadder had already died. He was subsequently buried in the churchyard of North Berwick, where a handsome tombstone still marks his grave, containing the following epitaph:—

Blest John, for Jesus sake, in Patmos bound,

His prison Bethel, Patmos Pisgah found:

So the blessed John, on yonder rock confined,

His body suffered, but no chains could bind

His heaven-aspiring soul; while day by day,

As from Mount Pisgah's top, he did survey

The promised land, and view'd the crown by faith

Laid up for those who faithful are till death.

Grace form'd him in the Christian Hero's mould—

Meek in his own concerns—in's Master's bold;

Passions to Reason chained, Prudence did lead;

Zeal warm'd his breast, and reason cool'd his head.

Five years on the lone rock, yet sweet abode,

He Enoch-like enjoyed, and walk'd with God;

Till, by long living on this heavenly food,

His soul by love grew up too great, too good

To be confined to jail, or flesh and blood.

Death broke his fetters off, then swift he fled

From sin and sorrow; and, by angels led,

Enter'd the mansions of eternal joy;—

Blest soul, thy warfare's done, praise, love, enjoy!

His dust here rests till Jesus come again,—

Even so, blest Jesus, come, Come, Lord. Amen.

JAMES RENWICK

JAMES RENWICK was born in the parish of Glencairn in Nithsdale, February 15, 1662. His parents, though not rich, were yet exemplary for piety. His father, Andrew Renwick, a weaver by trade, and his mother, Elizabeth Corsan, had several children before James, who died young; for which, when his mother was giving forcible expression to her sorrow, her husband used to comfort her with declaring, that he was well satisfied to have children, whether they lived or died, young or old, providing they might be heirs of glory. This, however, did not satisfy her: for in her prayers to God, she entreated for a child that might not only be an heir of glory, but might live to serve him in his generation; whereupon, when James was born, she took it as an answer of prayer, and regarded herself as lying under manifold engagements to dedicate him to the Lord.

After James had learned to read the Bible, when about six years old, the Lord gave him some tokens of future grace, training him in his way, exercising him with doubts and debates above childish apprehension, about the Maker of all things, how all things were made, and for what end; and with strange suppositions of so many invisible worlds, above and beneath, with which he was transported into a train of musing, and continued in this exercise for about the space of two years, until he, by prayer and meditation on the history of the creation, came to a thorough belief that God made all things, and that all which he made was very good. And yet after he came to more maturity, he relapsed to a deeper labyrinth of darkness about these foundation truths, and was so assaulted with temptations of atheism, that being in the fields and looking to the mountains, he said, "If these were all devouring furnaces of burning brimstone, he would be content to go through them all, if so he could be assured there was a God." Out of which he emerged, through grace, into the sweet serenity of a settled persuasion of the being of a God, and of his interest in him.

From his younger years he was remarkable for obedience to his parents, whose orders, if they had spoken of putting him to any trade, he would cheerfully have complied with; yet his own taste was decidedly literary, until Providence at last saw proper to gratify him, by raising friends who were so enamoured of his hopeful disposition, that they took him to Edinburgh, and earnestly promoted his education. When he was ready for the university, they encouraged him to engage in teaching the sons of the gentry for mutual improvement; this kind of society, however, as usually happens, enticed him, with others, to spend too much of his time in gaming and recreations. This was the reason that some who knew him not took occasion to reproach him in after years, with profanity and flagitiousness, which his nature ever abhorred. When his time at the college drew near an end, he evinced such a tenderness of offending God, &c., that upon his refusal of the oath of allegiance then tendered, he was denied his share of the public solemnity of laureation with the rest of the candidates, but received it privately at Edinburgh. After which he continued his studies, attending on the then private and persecuted meetings for gospel-ordinances for a time.

But upon a deplorable discovery of the unfaithfulness of the generality even of nonconformist ministers, he was again for some time plunged in the deeps of darkness, doubting what should be the end of such backsliding courses: until, upon a stricter search after such ministers as were most free from these defections, he found more light, and his knowledge of the iniquity of these courses augmented, and his zeal increased. And being more confirmed, when he beheld how signally the faithful ministers were owned of the Lord, and carried on the stage with great steadfastness, faith, and patience, especially after the death of that faithful minister and martyr, Mr. Donald Cargill, at whose execution he was present, July 27, 1681, he was so moved, that he determined to embark with these witnesses in that cause for which they suffered; and he was afterwards so strengthened and established in that resolution, getting instructions about these things in and from the word, so sealed with a strong hand upon his soul, that all the temptations, tribulations, trials, oppositions, and contradictions he met with from all hands to the day of his death, could never afterwards in the least unsettle his faith.

On the strength of these conclusions, and upon grounds of Scripture and reason, he, in October, 1681, accordingly held a meeting with some of these faithful witnesses of Christ, and conferred about the testimonies of some other martyrs lately executed, which he was very earnest always to gather and keep on record, refreshing them greatly, by discourse, in which he showed how much he was grieved and offended with those who heard the curates, pleaded for cess-paying, and defended the owning of the tyrant's authority, and how sad it was to him that none were giving a formal testimony against these things. In the end he added, "That he would think it a great ease to his mind to know and be engaged with a remnant that would singly prosecute and propagate the testimony against the corruptions of the times to the succeeding generations, and would desire nothing more than to be helped to be serviceable to them."

At his first coming among them, he could not but be taken notice of; for, while some were speaking of removing the bodies of the martyrs lately executed at tie Gallowlee, Renwick was very forward to promote it; and when those who adhered to the testimony, as revised by Messrs. Cameron and Cargill, towards the end of 1681, began to settle a correspondence for preserving union, understanding one another's minds, and preventing declensions to right or left-hand extremes, and agreed on emitting that declaration published at Lanark, January 12, 1682, Renwick was employed proclaiming it, but had no hand in the penning thereof, otherwise it might have been more considerately worded than what it was; for, though he approved of the matter of it, yet he always acknowledged there were some expressions therein rather unadvised.

After publishing this declaration, the next general meeting—finding themselves reproached, and informed against both at home, and abroad in foreign churches, as if they had fallen from the principles of the Church of Scotland—thought it expedient to send the laird of Earlstoun to the United Provinces to vindicate themselves from these reproaches, and to crave that sympathy which they could not obtain from their own countrymen. This at length, through mercy, proved so encouraging to them, that a door was opened to provide for a succession of faithful ministers, by sending some to be fitted for the work of the ministry there. Accordingly, Renwick, with some others, went thither. His comrades were ready, and sailed before, which made him anxious to follow.

When he went over, he was settled at the University of Groningen, where he plied his studies so hard, and with such success, that, from the necessities of his friends in Scotland, who were longing for his labours, and his own ardent desire to be at the work, in a short time he was ready for ordination. To hasten this, his dear friend Mr. Robert Hamilton, who merited so much of those who reaped the benefit of Renwick's labours afterwards, applied to one Mr. Brakel, a godly Dutch minister, who was much delighted at first with the motion, and advised it should be done at Embden; but this could not be obtained, because the principal man there who was to have the management of the affair, was in his judgment Cocceian. Whereupon, Mr. Hamilton solicited the classes of Groningen to undertake it; which they willingly promised to do, and, calling for the testimonials of Renwick, and the rest who went over at that time, Renwick's was produced—being providentially in readiness when the others were wanting—and though in a rude dress, were sustained. The classes being convened, they were called in and had an open harangue, wherein open testimony was given against all the forms and corruptions of their church; at which they were so far from being offended, that, after a solemn consideration of their cause, they declared it was the Lord's, and cost what it would, though all the kings of the earth were against it, they would go through with it. They all three should have passed together, but upon some discontent arising, the other two were retarded. It was the custom of the place, that every one that passes must pay twenty guilders for the use of the church; but the classes jointly declared that they would be at all the charges themselves.

The next difficulty was, that, being told it was impossible for any to pass without subscribing their Catechism, and observing that their forms and corruptions are therein justified, Renwick resolutely answered, "He would do no such thing, being engaged by a solemn covenant to the contrary." This was like to spoil all; but at last they consented that he subscribe the Confession and Catechism of the Church of Scotland,—a practice never before heard of in that land; which was accepted. On the day of ordination, Renwick was called in a very respectful way. After spending some time in, prayer, the examination began, which lasted from ten in the morning to two o'clock in the afternoon. Then his friends, who were attending in the church, were called in, amongst whom was his honoured friend Mr. Hamilton, and another elder of the Church of Scotland, to be witness to the laying on of the hands; which, after the exhortation, they performed with prayer, the whole meeting melting in tears; and thereafter, he had a discourse to the classes. With this solemnity the classes were so much affected, that at dinner, to which he and his friends were invited, the preses declared the great satisfaction all the brethren had in Renwick; that they thought the whole time he was before them, he was so filled with the Spirit of God, that his face seemed to shine; and that they had never seen or found so much of the Lord's Spirit accompanying any work as that. But no sooner were these difficulties over, than others of a more disagreeable aspect began to arise, which, if they had appeared but one day sooner, might have stopped the ordination, at least for a time. On the very next day, Mr. Brakel told them, that a formal libel was coming from the Scottish ministers at Rotterdam, containing heavy accusations against the poor society-people in Scotland, which they behoved either to vindicate, or else the ordination must be stopped; but this being too late as to Renwick, it came to nothing at last.

After his ordination, he was very desirous of improving his talents for the poor persecuted people in Scotland; and having received large testimonials of his ordination and learning—particularly in the Hebrew and Greek tongues—from the classes, and finding a ship ready to sail, he embarked at the Brill; but, waiting some days upon a wind, he was so discouraged by some profane passengers pressing the king's health, that he was forced to leave that vessel, and take another bound for Ireland. A sea-storm compelled them to put in to Rye harbour in England, about the time when there was so much noise of the Ryehouse plot, which created him no small danger; but, after many perils at sea, he arrived safe at Dublin, where he had many conflicts with the ministers there, anent their defections and indifference; and yet in such a gaining and gospel-way, that he left convictions on their spirits of his being a pious and zealous youth, which induced them to assist him in procuring a speedy passage to Scotland. In this passage he had considerable dangers, and a prospect of more, as not knowing how or where he should come to land, all ports being then so strictly observed, and the skipper refusing to let him go till his name was given up. But yet at last he was prevailed on to give him a cast to the shore, where he began his weary and uncertain wanderings—which continued with him till he was apprehended—through an unknown wilderness, amongst unknown people, it being some time before he could meet with any of the societies.

In September, 1683, he commenced his ministerial work in Scotland, taking up the testimony of the standard of Christ where it was fixed, and had fallen at the removal of the former witnesses, Messrs. Cameron and Cargill, which, in the strength of his Master, he undertook to prosecute and maintain against opposition from all hands.

In the midst of these difficulties, he was received by a poor persecuted people, who had lost all their worldly means of enjoyment, for the sake of the gospel. His first public meeting was in a moss at Darmead, where, for their information and his own vindication, he thought it expedient not only to let them know how he was called to the ministry, and what he adhered to, but also to unbosom himself about the perplexing questions of the time, particularly concerning ministers' defections, showing whom he could not join with, and his reasons for so doing; and, in the end, told them on what grounds he stood.

After this, many other attempts were made, not only by the profane, but even by many professors; some saying, he had excommunicated all the ministers in Scotland, and some after they were dead; whereas, he only gave reasons why he could not keep communion with them in the present circumstances. Others said, that he was no Presbyterian, and that his design was only to propagate schism. But the truth was, he was professed witness against all the defections of Presbyterians from any part of their covenanted work of reformation. Again, other ministers alleged he was a Sectarian, Independent, or Anabaptist, or they knew not what. But when he had sometimes occasion to be among them, in and about Newcastle and Northumberland, they were as much offended as any at his faithful freedom in discovering the evil of their way, and declared that they had never met with such severe dealing from any Presbyterian before him.

But the general outcry was, that he had no mission at all. Others slandering him, that he came only by chance, at a throw of the dice; with many other calumnies, refuted by the foregoing relation.

On the other hand, some gave out that he and his followers maintained the murdering principles and the delirious and detestable blasphemies of Gibb; all which shameless and senseless fictions he ever opposed and abhorred. Yea, some ministers, more seemingly serious in their essays to prepossess the people against him, said, "That they had sought and got the mind of the Lord in it, that his labours should never profit the Church of Scotland, nor any soul in it," assuring themselves he would break, and bring to nothing, him and them that followed him ere it were long; comparing them to Jannes and Jambres, who withstood Moses. All which reproaches he was remarkably supported under, and went on in his Master's business, while he had any work for him to do.

In the mean time, the noise that went through the country concerning him, attracted the notice of the council; and, being enraged at the report of his preaching in the fields, they raised a, hotter and more cruel persecution against him than had ever been the case before respecting any one man in the nation. For, having publicly proclaimed him a traitor and rebel, they proceeded to pursue his followers with all the rigour that hellish fury and malice could suggest or invent; and yet the more they opposed, the more they grew and increased.

In 1684, his difficulties from enemies, and discouragements from friends opposed to him, and manifold vexations from all hands, began to increase more and more; yet, all the while, he would not intermit one day's preaching, but was still incessant and undaunted in his work. This made the ministers inform against him, as if he had intruded upon other men's labours; alleging, that when another minister had engaged to preach in a place, he unexpectedly came and preached in the same parish. They instanced one time near Paisley; in which case he went upon a call from several in that bounds, without knowing whether there was such a minister in that country. It is confessed, that he had sometimes taken the churches to preach in, when either the weather, instant hazard at the time, or respect to secrecy and safety, did exclude from every other place. But, could this be called intrusion, to creep into the church for one night, when they could not stand, nor durst they be seen without?

This year, in prosecution of a cruel information, the soldiers became more vigilant in their indefatigable diligence to seek and hunt after him: and from them he had many remarkable deliverances: particularly in the month of July he had one when he was going to a meeting; a countryman, seeing him wearied, gave him a horse for some miles to ride on, they were surprised by lieutenant Dundas and a party of dragoons. The two men with him were taken and pitifully wounded. He escaped their hands, and went up Dungavel hill; but was so closely pursued—they being so near that they fired at him all the time—that he was forced to leave the horse, losing thereby his cloakbag, with many papers. Seeing no other refuge, he fled, in their sight, towards a heap of stones, where, for a little moment, getting out of their sight, he found a hollow place into which he crept; and committing himself by earnest ejaculation to God, in submission to live or die; and also believing, that he should be reserved for greater work, that part of Scripture often coming into his mind, Psalm 6:8, "Depart from me all ye workers of iniquity," together with these words, Psalm 91:11, "For he shall give his angels charge," &c. In the mean time, the enemy searched up and down the hill, yet were restrained from looking into that place where he was. Many such sore and desperate chases he and those with him met; some continuing whole nights and days without intermission, in the wildest places of the country, for many miles together, without so much as a possibility of escaping the sight of those who pursued them.

This year (September 24), letters of intercommuning were issued out against him, commanding all to give him no reset or supply, nor furnish him with meat, drink, house, harbour, or anything useful to him; and requiring all sheriffs to apprehend and commit to prison his person, wherever they could find him; by virtue of which the sufferers were reduced to incredible straits, not only in being murdered, but also from hunger, cold, harassings, &c.; in which perplexity, being neither able to flee, nor fight, they were forced to publish an apologetical representation of the approved principles and practices, and covenant-engagements of our Reformers, and to enforce and reduce to practice that privilege of extraordinary executing of judgment, on the murdering beasts of prey, who made a daily trade of destroying innocents. When this declaration was first proposed, Renwick was somewhat averse to it, fearing the sad effects it might produce; but, considering the necessity of the case would admit of no delay, he consented, and concurred in the publication thereof. Accordingly it was fixed upon several market-crosses and parish-church doors, November 8, 1684.

After the publication of this declaration, rage and reproach seemed to strive which should show the greatest violence against the publishers and owners of it. The council published a proclamation for discovering such as own, or will not disown it; requiring that none above the age of sixteen travel without a pass, and that any who would apprehend any of them should have 500 merks for each person; and that every one should take the oath of abjuration; whereby the temptation and hazard became so dreadful that many were shot instantly in the fields; others, refusing the oath, were brought in, sentenced and executed in one day; yea, spectators at executions were required to say, whether these men suffered justly or not. All which disastrous effects Renwick, with a sad and troubled heart, observed, and was often heard to say, that he wished from his heart the declaration had never been published.

Neither was the year 1685 anything better. For it became now the enemy's greatest ambition and emulation who could destroy most of those poor wandering mountain-men—as they were called—and when they had spent all their balls, they were nothing nearer their purpose than when they began; for the more they were afflicted, the more they grew. "The bush did burn, but was not consumed, because the Lord was in the bush."

Charles II. being dead, and the duke of York, a professed Papist, proclaimed in February, 1685, Renwick could not let go this opportunity of witnessing against that usurpation of a papist upon the government of the nation, and his design of overturning the covenanted work of Reformation, and introducing popery. Accordingly, he and about 200 men went to Sanquhar, May 28, 1685, and published that declaration, afterwards called the Sanquhar Declaration.

In the mean time, the earl of Argyle's expedition taking place, Renwick was much solicited to join with them. He expressed the esteem he had of his honest and laudable intention, and spoke very favourably of him, declaring his willingness to concur, if the quarrel and declaration were rightly stated; but, because it was not concerted according to the ancient plea of our Scottish Covenants, he could not agree with them; which created him a new series of troubles and reproach, and that from all hands, and from none more than the indulged.

In 1686, Renwick was constrained to be more public and explicit in his testimony against the designs and defections of the time; wherein he met with more contradictions and oppositions from all hands, and more discouraging and distracting treatment, even from some who once followed him: and was much troubled with letters of accusation against him from many hands. One of the ministers that came over with Argyle wrote a very vindictive letter against him: which letter he answered at large. He was also traduced, both at home and abroad, by one Alexander Gordon, who sometimes joined with that suffering party; but by none more than one Robert Cathcart, in Carrick, who wrote a scurrilous libel against him, from which Renwick vindicated himself in the plainest terms. But this not satisfying the said Robert Cathcart, he did, in the name of his friends in Carrick, and the shire of Wigton, though without the knowledge of the half of them, take a protest against Renwick's preaching or conversing within their jurisdiction; giving him occasion, with David, to complain, "They speak with vanity, their heart gathereth iniquity; yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, hath lifted up his heel against me."

Notwithstanding all former obloquies he sustained from all sorts of opposers, he had one faithful and fervent wrestler on his side, Mr. Alexander Peden; and yet, a little before his death, these reproachers so far prevailed with him, as to instigate him to a declared opposition against Renwick; which not only contributed to grieve him much, but was also an occasion of stumbling to many* others of the well-affected, and to the confirmation of his opponents. Nevertheless, he continued to traverse the country, preaching, catechising, and baptizing; travelling through Galloway, where he had to encounter a most insolent protestation given in against him, by the professors between Dee and Cree, subscribed by one Hutchison: a paper which he read over at a public meeting in that bounds, after a lecture from Psalm 15, and a sermon from Song 2:2., informing the people what was done in their name, making several animadversions thereon, as having a tendency to overturn several pieces of our valuable Reformation; exhorting them, if there were any who concurred therein, that they would speedily retract their hand from such an iniquity.

Shortly after this, while his work was increasing daily on his hand, and his difficulties multiplying, his labours were diminished by the help of Mr. David Houston from Ireland, and Mr. Alexander Shields, which was very refreshing to him, as it furnished him with an answer to those who said, that he neither desired to join with another minister, nor so much as to meet with any other for joining. The first was already confuted; and, as for the other, it is well known how far he travelled both in Scotland and England, to meet with ministers for a coalescence, which they superciliously refused. He once sent a friend for that purpose to a minister of great note in Glendale in Northumberland; but he peremptorily refused. At a previous time, in the same country, happening to be in a much respected gentlewoman's house, where providentially Dr. Rule came to visit, Renwick, in another room, overheard him forbidding her, by many arguments, to entertain or countenance him if he should come that way. Upon this he sent for the Doctor, and informed him that the same person was in the house, and that he wished to converse with him on that head; but this he refused.

After this, one informed against him to the ministers in Holland, who returned back with Mr. Brakel's advice to Renwick and others; but as it relished of a gospel spirit, not like that of his informers, it was no way offensive to him. Mr. Roelman, another famous Dutch divine, and a great sympathizer once with Renwick and that afflicted party, by their information turned also his enemy, which was more weighty to him that such a great man should be so credulous; but all these things never moved him, being fully resolved to suffer this and more for the cause of Christ.

In 1687 a proclamation was issued, February 12, tolerating the moderate Presbyterians to meet in their private houses to hear the indulged ministers, while the field-meetings should be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of law. A second proclamation was given, June 28, allowing all to serve God in their own way, in any house. A third was emitted, October 5, declaring that all preachers and hearers at any meetings in the open fields should be prosecuted with the utmost severity that law would allow; and that all Dissenting ministers who preach in houses should teach nothing that should alienate the hearts of the people from the government; and that the privy-counsellors, sheriffs, &c., should be acquainted with the places set apart for their preaching. This proclamation, it seems, was granted as an answer to an address for the toleration given in, in name of all the Presbyterian ministers, July 21, 1687.

Upon this, Renwick found it his duty not only to declare against the granters, but also against the accepters of this toleration; warning also the people of the hazard of their accession to it. At this the indulged were so incensed, that no sooner was their meeting well settled than they began to evince their malignity, by calling him an intruder, a Jesuit, a white devil going through the land carrying the devil's white flag; and asserting that he had done more hurt to the Church of Scotland than its enemies had done these twenty years. To render him odious, they also circulated papers through the country, as given under his hand.

Yet, though he was not only the butt of the wicked, but the scorn of professors also, who were at their ease, he still continued at his work, his inward man increasing more and more, when his outward man was much decayed; and his zeal for fulfilling his ministry, and finishing his testimony, increasing the more, the less peace and accommodation he could find in the world. At the same time he became so weak that he could not mount or sit on horseback, and behoved to be carried to the place of preaching.

In the meantime, the persecution against him was so furious, that in less than five months after the toleration, fifteen most desperate searches were made for him. To encourage which, a proclamation was made, October 18, offering a reward of £100 sterling to any one who would bring in the persons of him and some others, either dead or alive.

In the beginning of 1688, being now approaching the limits of his course, he ran very fast, and wrought very hard, both as a Christian and as a minister. Having for some time had a design to emit something by way of testimony against both the granters and accepters of the toleration that might afterwards stand on record, he went towards Edinburgh; and on his way, at Peebles, very narrowly escaped being apprehended. While at Edinburgh he was uneasy till he got that delivered, which, with the concurrence of some others, he had drawn up in form; and, upon inquiry, hearing that there was to be no presbytery nor synod of tolerated ministers for some time, he went to Mr. Hugh Kennedy, who he heard was moderator, and delivered a protestation into his hands; and then, for several reasons, emitted it in public as his testimony against the toleration.

From thence he went to Fife, and preached several Sabbaths, and, upon the 29th of January, delivered his last sermon at Borrowstounness. Then he returned to Edinburgh, and lodged in a friend's house in the Castlehill, who dealt in uncustomed goods; and wanting his former circumspection—his time being come—one John Justice, a waiter, discovered the house that very night; and hearing him praying in the family, suspected who it was, attacked the house next morning, February 1, and, pretending to search for smuggled goods, they got entrance; and when Renwick came to the door, Mr. Justice challenged him in these words, "My life for it, this is Mr. Renwick!" After which he went to the street, crying for assistance to carry the dog Renwick to the guard.

In the meantime, Renwick and other two friends essayed to make their escape at another door, but were repelled by the waiters. On this he discharged a pistol, which made the assailants give way; but as he passed through them, one with a long staff hit him on the breast, which doubtless disabled him from running. Going down the Castle-wynd, towards the head of the Cowgate, having lost his hat, he was taken notice of, and seized by a fellow on the street, while the other two escaped.

He was taken to the guard, and there kept some time.—One Graham, captain of the guard, seeing him of a little stature, and comely youthful countenance, cried, "What! is this the boy Renwick that the nation hath been so much troubled with?" At the same time, one bailie Charters coming in, with great insolence accused him of licentious practices, which he replied to with deserved disdain. Then he was carried before a quorum of the council; and when Graham delivered him off his hand, he was heard to say, "Now, I have given Renwick up to the Presbyterians, let them do with him what they please." What passed here could not be learned.

He was committed close prisoner, and laid in irons; where, as soon as he was left alone, he betook himself to prayer to his God, making a free offer of his life to him, requesting for through-bearing grace, and that his enemies might be restrained from torturing his body; all which requests were signally granted, and by him thankfully acknowledged before his execution.

Before he received his indictment, he was taken before the chancellor, into the viscount of Tarbet's lodging, and there examined concerning his owning the authority of James VII., the cess, and carrying arms at field-meetings, and delivered himself with such freedom and boldness as astonished all present. The reason why he was interrogated anent the cess was, that a pocket-book was found about him, in which were the notes of two sermons he had preached on these points which he owned. There were also some capitals in the same book; and because the committee was urgent to know these names, partly to avoid torture, and knowing they could render the persons no more obnoxious, he ingenuously declared the truth of the matter, which ingenuity did much allay their rage against him; and being asked by the Chancellor, What persuasion he was off He answered, Of the Protestant Presbyterian persuasion. Again, How it came to pass he differed so much from other Presbyterians, who had accepted of the toleration, and owned the king's authority? and what he thought of them? He answered, He was a Presbyterian, and adhered to the old Presbyterian principles, principles which all were obliged by the covenant to maintain, and were once generally professed and maintained by the nation from 1640 to 1660, from which they had apostatized for a little liberty, they knew not how long, as you yourselves have done for a little honour. The chancellor replied, and the rest applauded, That they believed that these were the Presbyterian principles, and that all Presbyterians would own them as well as he, if they had but the courage. However, on February 3, he received his indictment upon the three foresaid heads, viz., disowning the king's authority, the unlawfulness of paying the cess, and the lawfulness of defensive arms. All which he was to answer on February 8. To the indictment was added a list of forty-five, out of which the jury was to be chosen, and a list of the witnesses to be brought against him.

After receiving his indictment, his mother got access to see him, to whom he spoke many savoury words. And on Sabbath, February 5, he regretted that now he must leave his poor flock; and declared, "That if it were his choice—he could not think of it without terror—to enter again into, and venture upon, that conflict with a body of sin and death; yet, if he were again to go and preach in the fields, he durst not vary in the least, nor flinch one hair-breadth from the testimony, but would look on himself as obliged to use the same freedom and faithfulness as he had done before. And in a letter, on February 6, he desired that the persons whose names were deciphered might be acquainted with it; and concludes, "I desire none may be troubled on my behalf, but rather rejoice with him, who with hope and joy is waiting for his coronation hour." Another time, his mother asked him how he was; he answered, he was well; but that since his last examination he could scarcely pray. At which she looked on him with an affrighted countenance, and he told her, he could hardly pray, being so taken up with praising, and ravished with the joy of the Lord. When his mother was expressing her fear of fainting, saying, "How shall I look upon that head and those hands set up among the rest on the port of the city?" He smiled, telling her, she should not see that; for, said he, I have offered my life unto the Lord, and have sought that he may bind them up; and I am persuaded that they shall not be permitted to torture my body, nor touch one hair of my head farther. He was at first much afraid of the tortures; but now, having obtained a persuasion that these were not to be his trials, through grace he was helped to say, "That the terror of them was so removed, that he would rather choose to be cast into a caldron of boiling oil, than do anything that might wrong truth." When some other friends were permitted to see him, he exhorted them to make sure their peace with God and to study steadfastness in His ways; and when they regretted their loss of him, he said, "They had more need to thank the Lord, that he should now be taken away from these reproaches,* which had broken his heart, and which could not otherwise be wiped off even though he should get his life, without yielding in the least."

Monday, February 8, he appeared before the justiciary, and when his indictment was read, the justice-clerk asked him, If he adhered to his former confession, and acknowledged all that was in the libel? He answered, "All except where it is said I have cast off all fear of God: that I deny; for it is because I fear to offend God, and violate his law, that I am here standing ready to be condemned." Then he was interrogated, If he owned authority, and James VII. to be his lawful sovereign? He answered, "I own all authority that hath its prescriptions and limitations from the word of God; but cannot own this usurper as lawful king, seeing, both by the word of God such an one is incapable to bear rule, and likewise by the ancient laws of the kingdom, which admit none to the crown of Scotland, until he swear to defend the Protestant religion; which a man of his profession could not do." They urged, Could he deny him to be king? Was he not the late king's brother? Had the late king any children lawfully begotten? Was he not declared to be his successor by act of parliament? He answered, "He was no doubt king de facto, but not de jure; that he was brother to the other king, he knew nothing to the contrary; what children the other had he knew not: but from the word of God, that ought to be the rule of all laws, or from the ancient laws of the kingdom, it could not be shown that he had, or ever could have any right." The next question was, If he owned, and had taught it to be unlawful to pay cesses and taxations to his majesty? He answered, "For the present cess, enacted for the present usurper, I hold it unlawful to pay it, both in regard it is oppressive to the subject, for the maintenance of tyranny, and because it is imposed for suppressing the gospel. Would it have been thought lawful for the Jews, in the days of Nebuchadnezzar, to have brought every one a coal to augment the flame of the furnace to devour the three children, if so they had been required by that tyrant?"

Next they moved the question, If he owned he had taught his hearers to come armed to their meetings, and in case of opposition, to resist? He answered, "It were inconsistent with reason and religion both to do otherwise: you yourselves would do it in the like circumstances. I own that I taught them to carry arms to defend themselves, and resist your unjust violence." Further, they asked, If he owned the note-book, and the two sermons written therein, and that he had preached them? He said, "If ye have added nothing, I will own it; and am ready to seal all the truths contained therein with my blood."—All his confession being read over, he was required to subscribe it. He said, "He would not do it, since he looked on it as a partial owning of their authority." After refusing several times, he said, "With protestation, I will subscribe the paper as it is my testimony, but not in obedience to you."

Then the assizers were called in by fives,* and sworn; against whom he objected nothing; but protested, "That none might sit on his assize that professed Protestant or Presbyterian principles, or an adherence to the covenanted work of Reformation." He was brought in guilty, and sentence passed, That he should be executed in the Grassmarket, on the Friday following. Lord Linlithgow, justice-general, asked, if he desired longer time! He answered, "It was all one to him; if it was protracted, it was welcome; if it was shortened, it was welcome; his Master's time was the best." Then he was returned to prison. Without his knowledge, and against his will, yea, after open refusing to the advocate to desire it, he was reprieved to the 17th day, which gave occasion to severals to renew their reproaches.

Though none who suffered in the former part of this dismal period spoke with more fortitude, freedom, and boldness than Renwick, yet none were treated with so much moderation. The lenity of the justiciary was much admired beyond their ordinary; for they admitted him to say what he pleased, without threatening and interruption, even though he gave none of them the title of lord except Linlithgow, who was a nobleman by birth. And though his friends—which was not usual after sentence—were denied access, yet both Papists and Episcopalians were permitted to see him. Bishop Paterson often visited him; nay, he sought another reprieve for him, which would easily have been granted, had he only petitioned for it. The bishop asked him, Think you none can be saved but those of your principles? He answered, "I never said nor thought that none could be saved except they were of these principles; but these are truths which I suffer for, and which I have not rashly concluded on, but deliberately, and of a long time have been confirmed, that they are sufficient points to suffer for." The bishop took his leave, declaring his sorrow for his being so tenacious, and said, "It had been a great loss he had been of such principles, for he was a pretty lad." Again, the night before he suffered, he sent to him, to signify his readiness to serve him to the utmost of his power. Renwick thanked him for his courtesy, but knew nothing he could do, or that he could desire.

Mr. M'Naugbt, one of the curates, made him a visit in his canonical habit, which Renwick did not like. The curate among other things asked his opinion concerning the toleration, and those that accepted it. Renwick declared that he was against the toleration; but as for them that embraced it, he judged them to be godly men. The curate leaving him, commended him for one of great gravity and ingenuity. Dalrymple, the king's advocate, came also to visit him, and declared that he was sorry for his death, and that it should fall out in his short time. Several popish priests and gentlemen of the guard, with some of the tolerated ministers, were permitted to converse with him. The priest, at leaving him, was overheard saying, he was a most obstinate heretic; for he had used such freedom with him, that it became a proverb in the tolbooth at the time, "Begone, as Mr. Renwick said to the priests."

Several petitions were written from several hands, of the most favourable strain that could be invented, and sent him to subscribe, but all in vain; yea, it was offered to him, if he would but let a drop of ink fall on a bit of paper, it would satisfy: but he would not. In the mean time, he was kept so close that he could get nothing wrote. His begun testimony which he was writing was taken from him, and pen and ink removed.

On Tuesday the 14th, he was brought before the council, on account of the informatory vindication; but what passed there cannot be learned, farther than their signifying how much kindness they had shown him, in that they had reprieved him without his application, a thing never done before. He answered with extraordinary cheerfulness, rejoicing that he was counted worthy to suffer shame for the name of his Master. A friend asking him, How he was? he said, Very well; and he would be better within three days. He told his mother, That the last execution he was witness to, was Robert Gray's: and that he had a strong impression on his mind that he should be the next: and often said, He saw need for his suffering at this time; and that he was persuaded his death would do more good than his life for many years could have done. Being asked, What he thought God would do with the remnant behind him? he answered, It would be well with them; for God would not forsake nor cast off his inheritance.

On the day of his execution, the chief jailor begged that, at the place of execution, he would not mention the causes of his death, and would forbear all reflections. Renwick told him, That what God would give him to speak, that would he speak, and nothing less. The jailor told him that he might still have his life, if he would but sign t at petition which he offered him. He answered, That he never read in Scripture, or in history, where martyrs petitioned for their lives, when called to suffer for truth, though they might require them not to take their life, and remonstrate the wickedness of murdering them; but in the present circumstance he judged it would be found a receding from truth, and a declining from a testimony for Christ.

His mother and sisters having obtained leave to see him, after some refreshment, in returning thanks, he said, "O Lord, thou hast brought me within two hours of eternity, and this is no matter of terror to me, more than if I were to lie down in a bed of roses; nay, through grace, to thy praise, I may say I never had the fear of death since I came to this prison; but from the place where I was taken I could have gone very composedly to the scaffold. O! how can I contain this, to be within two hours of the crown of glory!" He exhorted them much to prepare for death; "For it is," said he, "the king of terrors, though not to me now, as it was sometimes in my hidings; but now let us be glad and rejoice, for the marriage of the Lamb is come, and his wife hath made herself ready. Would ever I have thought that the fear of suffering and of death could be so taken from me? But what shall I say to it? It is the doing of the Lord, and marvellous in our eyes. I have many times counted the cost of following Christ, but never thought it would be so easy; and now who knows the honour and happiness of that, 'He that confesseth me before men, him will I confess before the Father?' " He said many times, "Now I am near the end of time, I desire to bless the Lord; it is an inexpressibly sweet and satisfying peace to me that he hath kept me from complying with enemies in the least." Perceiving his mother weep, he exhorted her to remember, that they who loved anything better than Christ, were not worthy of him. "If ye love me, rejoice that I am going to my Father, to obtain the enjoyment of what eye hath not seen," &c. Then he went to prayer, wherein he ran out much in praise, and pleaded much in behalf of the suffering remnant; that the Lord would raise up witnesses that might transmit the testimony to succeeding generations, and that the Lord would not leave Scotland; asserting, with great confidence of hope, that he was strengthened in the hope of it, that the Lord would be gracious to Scotland.

At length, hearing the drums beat for the guard, he fell into a transport, saying, "Yonder the welcome warning to my marriage; the bridegroom is coming; I am ready, I am ready." Then taking his leave of his mother and sisters, he entreated them not to be discouraged; for, ere all were done, they should see matter of praise in that day's work. He was taken to the low council-house, as was usual, where, after his sentence was read, they desired him to speak what he had to say there. He said, "I have nothing to say to you, but that which is written in Jer. 26:14, 15, 'As for me, behold, I am in your hand,' " &c. He was told that the drums would beat at the scaffold all the time, and, therefore they desired him to pray there; but he refused, and declared he would not be limited in what he would say, and that he had premeditated nothing, but would speak what was given him. They offered him any minister to be with him; but he answered, "If I would have had any of them for my counsellors or comforters, I should not have been here this day. I require none with me but this one man"—meaning the friend that was waiting upon him.

He went from thence to the scaffold with great cheerfulness, as one in a transport of triumphant joy, and had the greatest crowd of spectators that has perhaps been seen at any execution; but little was heard, on account of the beating of the drums all the time without intermission, from his first ascending the scaffold until he was cast over. Yet, from the friends and others permitted to attend him, there were some of his last words collected.

When he went first unto the scaffold, some forbade him to speak anything; because the people could not hear; which he took no notice of. There was a curate standing at the side of the scaffold, who, tempting him, said, "Own our king, and we shall pray for you." He answered, "I will have none of your prayers: I am come to bear my testimony against you, and such as you are." The curate said, "Own our king, and pray for him, whatever you say against us." He replied, "I will discourse no more with you; I am within a little to appear before him who is King of kings, and Lord of lords, who shall pour shame, contempt, and confusion, upon all the kings of the earth who have not ruled for him."

Then he sang Psalm 103, read Rev. 19; then prayed, commending his soul to God through the Redeemer, and his cause to be vindicated in his own time; and appealed to the Lord if this was not the most joyful day he ever saw in the world, a day that he had much longed for. He insisted much in blessing the Lord in honouring him with the crown of martyrdom, an honour which the angels were not privileged with, being incapable of laying down their lives for their princely Master. He complained of being disturbed in worshipping God: but, said he, "I shall be above these clouds; then shall I enjoy thee, and glorify thee, without interruption, or intermission, for ever."

Here they made him desist, and go up the ladder, where he prayed, and said, "Lord, I die in the faith that thou wilt not leave Scotland, but that thou wilt make the blood of thy witnesses the seed of thy church, and return again and be glorious in our land. And now, Lord, I am ready; the bride, the Lamb's wife, hath made herself ready." The napkin being tied about his face, he said to his friend attending, "Farewell; be diligent in duty, make your peace with God through Christ. There is a great trial coming. As to the remnant I leave, I have committed them to God. Tell them from me not to weary nor be discouraged in maintaining the testimony, and the Lord will provide you teachers and ministers; and when he comes, he will make these despised truths glorious in the earth." He was turned over, with these words in his mouth, "Lord, into thy hands I commend my spirit, for thou hast redeemed me, Lord God of truth."

Thus died the faithful, pious, and zealous Renwick, on the third day over the 26th year of his age, a young man, and a young minister, but a ripe Christian, and renowned martyr of Christ, for whose sake he loved not his life unto the death, by whose blood, and the word of his testimony, he overcame, and thus got above all snares and sorrow, and, to the conviction of many that formerly reproached him, was as signally vindicated of, as he was in his life shamefully reproached with, all the aspersions, obloquies, and calumnies, that were cast upon him for prosecuting that testimony for truth, which now he sealed with his blood, in such a treasure of patience, meekness, humility, constancy, courage, burning love, and blazing zeal, as did very much confound enemies, convince neutrals, confirm halters, comfort friends, and astonish all.

He was of stature somewhat low, of a fair complexion, and, like another young David, of a ruddy and beautiful countenance. Most men spoke well of him after he was dead; even his murderers, as well as others, said, they thought he went to heaven. Malignants generally said, he died a Presbyterian. The viscount of Tarbet, one of the counsellors, one day in company, when speaking of him, said, "That he was one of the stiffest maintainers of his principles that ever came before them. Others we used always to cause one time or other to waver, but him we could never move. Where we left him, there we found him. We could never make him yield or vary in the least. He was the man we have seen most plainly and pertinaciously adhering to the old way of Presbyterian government, who, if he had lived in Knox's days would not have died by any laws then in being." He was the last that on a scaffold sealed his testimony for religion, liberty, and the covenanted work of Reformation in Scotland.

ACCOUNT OF THE RISING WHICH ENDED IN THE DEFEAT AT PENTLAND. ANNO 1666

ON Monday, the 12th of November, it fell out that (M'Lellan of) Barscobe, and other three, who had been sometime under hiding, adventured to come down from the hills to a little town called the Clachan of Dalry, where four of Turner's men were quartered. It was early in the forenoon; for, hunger, and lying in the cold rain, had brought them from the mountains. They came into an alehouse, and called for breakfast; and while taking it, there was a cry in the town, that the four soldiers had bound an old man in his own house, and were threatening to strip him naked, and set him on a hot gridiron, because he could not pay his church fines; which when they heard, they were necessitated to leave their breakfast, and go to the house; where finding the man bound, they called to the soldiers, "Why do ye bind the old man?" They answered, "How dare you challenge?" Some of the company offering to loose him, the soldiers drew on them with their swords; and one of Barscobe's company shot a pistol loaden with tobacco stopple, which wounded one, and made him fall. The soldiers violently assaulting, some others were wounded, and all four surrendered themselves prisoners. This report soon reached Balmaclellan, where a party with a minister were at prayer, who, fearing to be involved, seized sixteen of Sir James' men that were quartered in the neighbourhood. Having once embarked, fear made them proceed; as Turner, they knew, would make terrible reprisals. They resolved to be beforehand with him, and to surprise him and his garrison at Dumfries. They sent private advertisement through the country, that all who were ready should come in companies to Irongray kirk, on Wednesday night, that they might enter Dumfries by daybreak. Ere they could muster, the sun was up; and it was ten o'clock before they got to Dumfries. They approached without giving the least surprise. Turner and his men were so secure, they had not even a watch or sentinel at the bridge that leads from Galloway to the town. They were fifty horse, provided with cloaks girded over their shoulder for fighting, and about two hundred foot. Marshalled in order, they came to the Bridgend of Dumfries, their commander riding before. The horse marched into the town; the foot stayed without. Corsack and Robinson, with other two, were to ride up quickly to Turner's quarters, the rest of the party to follow at a little distance. When the four came to the foot of the stair, and foregainst the window where Turner lodged, he was in bed; but hearing a noise of horse, he came running on the alarm, to the window, in his night-gown. Seeing Corsack, with others, he cries, "Quarters, gentleman; for Christ's sake, quarters: there shall be no resistance." Whereupon Corsack, a meek and generous gentleman, cried to him, "If you come down to us, and make no resistance, on the word of a gentleman you shall have quarters." While they were speaking, the commander comes up, and seizing Turner, presented a pistol, or carabine, to have shot him; but Corsack interfered, saying, "You shall as soon kill me; for I have given him quarters." So he forbore.

A party was sent up to search his rooms, and bring down his papers and trunks, which were much emptied, he having before sent the money he had exacted in oppression, to Glasgow, as I heard say, in some loads. They brought himself down stairs in his night-gown, night-cap, drawers, and socks, and set him on a little beast barebacked, with a halter on the beast's head, and carried him towards the cross; where, to show their loyalty, they drank the king's health. Parties were sent here and there to apprehend the rest of the soldiers, one of whom only was killed. Then they carried him through the town, out at the Nether-port, and a space down the river, to a green, by Nithside, over against the kirk of Troqueer, he being all along in a great panic, expecting they were going to hang him up with great solemnity. After a little consultation, they returned with him in the same posture to his quarters, and bade him to make ready to go with them. They warned all the inhabitants to bring the arms they had to the cross, and there they were dealt out among the foot. In the afternoon, they marched him and other prisoners towards the west country, uncertain what was to be the issue of this sudden adventure.

During all this time there was no appearance of stir among all the gentlemen and noblemen in the country to assist or oppose them; so, in the afternoon, they marched with him and the rest of their prisoners the length of the kirk of Glencairn, where most of them kept guard, and sent some from them to advertise some in the west country of what was done there, that they must be in readiness at their coming up. However, they were in great perplexity, getting so little increase to their company, by reason the country could not be ready, being so surprised. After they had met with some out of a few parishes in the west, they came to the town of Lanark, where it is said, they must have been near 2,000, the greatest they had, and there they solemnly renewed the Covenant, after some word of exhortation by several; Dalziel, with his men, being on the one side of the water. It is said, they had the best opportunity there to have fought, and their men were most resolute. This was on Monday before Pentland; but, shunning that opportunity, they resolved to march, and did march that night, to the parish of Bathgate, being in expectation there to meet with a recruit. However, that night being both dark and stormy, with wind and rain, and the march far (about twenty miles), many wandered and fell off. When they came to Bathgate, there had been a company of gentlemen met, who, upon hearing their approach, fled hard into Linlithgow, alarming them with great fear. On the morrow, being Thursday, they marched toward Collington, where they kept guard, and quartered some places thereabout. That night, some Lothian gentlemen fell upon a house where some of them were, shot in at the windows, and killed one of them. But after that alarm, the country people getting to their horses pursued them near to Edinburgh.

After this, being anxious what to do in that sad posture, the enemy following, and all the country appearing as their enemies, they resolved to march back toward Galloway and Nithsdale, and came the length of Pentland hills, five or six miles from Edinburgh, where they drew up to refresh themselves a little. This meantime, a party of the Life Guards being commanded off Dalziel's army appeared among the hills about eleven o'clock of the day, against which the countrymen commanded forth a party of their horse, which encountering with them, put them to the flight, and killed some. Here Mr. Andrew M'Cormick and Mr. John Crookshanks were killed, on the country people's side.

When this was past, they might have had time to march forward; for, it is said, for three hours' time the body of Dalziel's army did not appear: however, they staid till they saw them appear. Dalziel's men sent forth a party of their horse, and the countrymen sent forth a party of theirs, and after some little conflict, Dalziel's men did run; the other pursued them near to their body, and then also retired to their body, which stood on the knowe. After this, a greater party on the other wing, from Dalziel's army, did advance, the rest following. The countrymen had resolved to draw forth their men both on the right and left wing; but only those on the left had engaged with the enemy, and did again give them enough to do on that hand, but were not so readily seconded by those on the right hand. Being thronged and overpowered with multitudes, they were forced to wheel and run, the enemy having broken their right wing ere they were back; so they all fled. About forty-five of the countrymen were killed on the place, and about one hundred taken prisoners, and brought into Edinburgh that night. In providence, the night fell on ere the conflict was ended, which was made a mean of the country people's escaping.

The prisoners were examined that night before the council. Some of them who were designed to die presently were put in the tolbooth. The rest were shut within the west end of St. Giles's kirk, called Haddock's Hold; where many, being wounded, died of their wounds. Strong guards of the townsmen were appointed to watch that place every night. However, by some honest woman's carefulness, in God's providence, several of them were stolen out in disguise, now and then, till at length a way was found to get Haddock's Hold broken, so that all escaped after they had lain there about a quarter of a year, and no noise was made to search for them again; so that they, with others who had escaped, lurked in Edinburgh till summer. While in prison, they were kindly entertained by the town's people, as also after their escape.

As for the rest of the history of this sad disaster, and the executions of those who suffered, with their excellent speeches, I refer to that book called Naphtali; which particularly sets down their names. I shall only notice that it was greatly wondered, that such a poor inconsiderable party of countrymen, so badly armed as they were, so outwearied with cold, travel, and hunger, should ever have engaged such a formidable enemy; there being scarce 900 of them, and engaged against 8000 horse and foot, besides a great multitude, attendants of noblemen and gentlemen in the country, all well armed with all manner of furniture, for war offensive and defensive; and yet, not only in the morning, but twice in the afternoon, they both faced them and resolutely fought, till they were able to do no more, being oppressed with multitudes. It is not known what number of Dalziel's men fell that day; but those who stood on the hill, when the second party charged the enemy, and chased them into the body,—some honest men, I say, who stood among the rest and saw it, affirm, they saw many empty horses run into the body of Dalziel's army.

All this time Turner remained in their hands, and was conducted along with them, under an escort of sixteen horsemen, as they were not master of a single prison, or garrison, in all Scotland. On the evening of the battle he made his escape,—by making a covenant with his keepers, that if they preserved his life at that time he should preserve theirs in case of the King's forces' victory:—a service which he afterwards attempted, but could not accomplish. It is also to be noted, that that people was little given to revenge; that, though they had been much provoked by that cruel tyrant, yet, when they got him in their hands, they did not so much as offer him a stroke, but took him prisoner, and gave him fair quarters wherever they travelled.

Account of the Rising which originated the Battle of Drumclog, and ended in the defeat at Bothwell-bridge. Anno 1679

From what has been already related in this work, we may easily form a judgment of the dismal state of the nation on account of the arbitrary proceedings of those who had the management of affaire, and the causeless severities which many innocent people endured.

The rigorous and military execution of the sanguinary laws, now in force, could not but exasperate those who were by this means robbed of their liberty and property, and of everything that was dear and valuable, especially as oppressions of every kind were still increasing. All legal methods of address were cut off from the poor suffering people. What then could they do? Surely one may think, that it was incumbent upon them to fall upon measures for getting from under the feet of their cruel oppressors; for who would choose to continue in misery, if they could by any lawful justifiable method, extricate themselves from it? They were most averse to take arms, until they were forced to it in their own defence. And though they were obliged to have recourse to this expedient, yet they never desired to have an opportunity of making use of it; but, being declared rebels on this account, they were constrained to persevere in it, till the fury of the persecutors drove them to the rising we are now to give an account of.

When they found that small meetings were more exposed to danger than greater assemblies, they altered their method, and resolved to assemble in one meeting, in those places which they apprehended stood in most need of the gospel, and where they might meet together with the greatest safety. They who thus assembled were generally those who were averse to the indulgence, and the accepters of it; and many of them came armed. The orders given to the soldiers, and the severe laws made on account of the Primate's death, tended to increase their numbers; but the divisions occasioned by the unhappy indulgence were of great disadvantage to them, and at last proved their ruin.

The numbers of the persecuted party on the occasion we refer to being considerably augmented, Mr. Robert Hamilton, brother to the Laird of Preston, and some others, moved that something might be done as a testimony against the iniquity of the times. Accordingly, after serious consideration and prayer, they resolved to continue to hear the gospel, notwithstanding all the dangers to which they might be exposed, and to publish to the world their testimony to the truth and cause which they owned, and against the sins and defections of the times. In consequence of this resolution, the said Mr. Hamilton, together with Mr. Thomas Douglas, one of the preachers, and about eighty armed men, were pitched upon to go to some public place to publish their declaration, and burn the papers mentioned in it. They judged that the 29th of May was the most proper time for putting this into execution. Accordingly, on the afternoon of that day, they came to Rutherglen, a small royal burgh two miles from Glasgow, where they extinguished the bonfires,* put their resolution in practice, and affixed a copy of their Declaration to the market-cross.

When this Declaration was published, Mr. Hamilton and the rest retired from Rutherglen towards Evandale and Newmills. This affair made a great noise both at Glasgow and Edinburgh. Graham of Claverhouse (afterwards Viscount of Dundee,) having unlimited powers to kill and destroy all he found in arms, came suddenly upon the town of Hamilton on Saturday afternoon, the 31st of May, and in the neighbourhood seized Mr. John King, and about fourteen others, who were not in arms, nor had anything laid to their charge. They who escaped, and some who joined them in order to rescue Mr. King, repaired to the meeting, which they heard was to be at London-hill next day, expecting assistance from thence.

Meanwhile Claverhouse, having likewise intelligence of that meeting, and resolving to disperse it, marched early from Hamilton on Sabbath morning the first of June, 1679, and carried his prisoners with him, bound two and two, his men driving them before them like so many sheep. Public worship was begun by Mr. Douglas when they were informed of Claverhouse's approach. Upon this, all who were armed, resolved to leave the meeting, face the soldiers, and if possible relieve the prisoners. Accordingly, about 40 horse and 150 or 200 foot came up with Claverhouse and his party near Drumclog, and after a short and close engagement defeated them, and rescued the prisoners. Claverhouse had his horse shot under him, and narrowly escaped; above 20 of the soldiers were killed, and several taken prisoners, whom they released upon their being disarmed. The countrymen lost not above two or three.†

THE BATTLE OF DRUMCLOG

"IT was on a fair Sabbath morning, 1st June, A.D. 1679, that an assembly of Covenanters sat down on the heathy mountains of Drumclog. We had assembled not to fight, but to worship the God of our fathers. We were far from the tumult of cities,—the long dark heath waved around us; and we disturbed no living creatures, saving the pees-weep (tee-wit or lapwing,) and the heathercock. As usual, we had come armed. It was for self-defence. For desperate and ferocious bands made bloody raids through the country, and, pretending to put down treason, they waged war against religion and morals. They spread ruin and havoc over the face of bleeding Scotland.

"The venerable Douglas had commenced the solemnities of the day. He was expatiating on the execrable evils of tyranny. Our souls were on fire at the remembrance of our country's sufferings and the wrongs of the church. In this moment of intense feeling, our watchman, posted on the neighbouring height, fired his carabine, and ran toward the congregation. He announced the approach of the enemy. We raised our eyes to the minister. 'I have done,' said Douglas, with his usual firmness.—You have got the theory,—now for the practice; you know your duty; self-defence is always lawful. But the enemy approaches.' He raised his eyes to heaven and uttered a prayer—brief and emphatic—like the prayer of Richard Cameron, 'Lord, spare the green, and take the ripe.'

"The officers collected their men, and placed themselves each at the head of those of his own district. Sir Robert Hamilton placed the foot in the centre, in three ranks. A company of horse, well armed and mounted, was placed, along with another small squadron, on the left. These were drawn back, and they occupied the more solid ground; as well with a view to have a more firm footing, as to arrest any flanking party that might take them on the wings. A deep morass lay between us and the ground of the enemy. Our aged men, our females, and children, retired; but they retired slowly. They had the hearts and the courage of the females and children in those days of intense religious feeling and of suffering. They manifested more concern for the fate of relatives, for the fate of the church, than for their own personal safety. As Claverhouse descended from the opposite mountain, they retired to the rising ground in the rear of our host. The aged men walked with their bonnets in hand. Their long grey locks waved in the breeze. They sane a cheering psalm. The music was that of the well-known tune of The Martyrs; and the sentiment breathed defiance. The music floated down on the wind. Our men gave three cheers as they fell into their ranks. Never did I witness such animation in the looks of men. For me, my spouse and my little children were in the rear. My native plains, and the halls of my father, far below, in the dale of Aven, were full in view from the heights which we occupied. My country seemed to raise her voice—the bleeding church seemed to wail aloud. 'And these,' I said, as Clavers and his troops winded slowly down the dark mountain's side, 'these are the unworthy slaves, and bloody executioners, by which the tyrant completes our miseries.'

"Hamilton here displayed the hero. His portly figure was seen hastening from rank to rank. He inspired courage into our raw and undisciplined troops. The brave Hackston, and Hall of Haugh-head, stood at the head of the foot soldiers, and re-echoed the sentiments of their chief. Burley and Cleland had inflamed the minds of the horsemen on the left, to a noble enthusiasm. My small troop on the right needed no exhortation; we were a band of brothers, resolved to conquer or fall.

"The trumpet of Clavers sounded a loud note of defiance—the kettle-drum mixed its tumultuous roll—they halted—they made a long pause. We could see an officer with four file conducting fifteen persons from the ranks to a knoll on their left. I could perceive one in black: it was my friend King, the chaplain of lord Cardross, who had been taken prisoner by Clavers at Hamilton. 'Let them be shot through the head,' said Clavers, in his usual dry way, 'if they should offer to run away.' We could see him view our position with great care. His officers came around him. We soon learned that he wished to treat with us. He never betrayed symptoms of mercy or of justice, nor offered terms of reconciliation, unless when he dreaded that he had met his match; and even then, it was only a manœuvre to gain time, or to deceive. His flag approached the edge of the bog. Sir Robert held a flag sacred; had it been borne by Clavers himself, he had honoured it. He demanded the purpose for which he came. 'I come,' said he, 'in the name of his sacred majesty, and of colonel Grahame, to offer you a pardon, on condition that you lay down your arms, and deliver up your ringleaders.'—'Tell your officer,' said Sir Robert, 'that we are fully aware of the deception he practises. He is not clothed with any powers to treat, nor was he sent out to treat with us, and attempt a reconciliation. The government against whom we have risen, refuses to redress our grievances, or to restore to us our liberties. Had the tyrant wished to render us justice, he had not sent by the hands of such a ferocious assassin as Claverhouse. Let him, however, show his powers, and we refuse not to treat; and we shall lay down our arras to treat, provided that he also lay down his. Thou hast my answer.—'It is a perfectly hopeless case,' said Burley, while he called after the flag-bearer—'Let me add one word by your leave, General. Get thee up to that bloody dragoon, Clavers, and tell him that we will spare his life, and the lives of his troops, on condition that he, your Clavers, lay down his arms, and the arms of these troops. We will do more: as we have no prisons on these wild mountains, we will even let him go on his parole, on condition that he swear never to lift arms against the religion and the liberties of his country.' A loud burst of applause re-echoed from the ranks; and, after a long pause in deep silence, the army sung the following verses of a psalm:

'There, arrows of the bow he brake;

the shield, the sword, the war,

More glorious thou than hills of prey,

more excellent art for.

Those that were stout of heart are spoil'd,

they slept their sleep outright;

And none of those their hands did find

that were the men of might.'

"When the report was made to Claverhouse, he gave the word with a savage ferocity, 'their blood be on their own heads. Be No quarters the word 'this day.' His fierce dragoons raised a yell, and 'No quarters' re-echoed from rank to rank, while they galloped down the mountain's side. It is stated that Burley was heard to say, 'Then be it so—even let there be No quarters—at least on my wing of the host. So God send me a meeting,' cried he aloud, 'with that chief under the white plume. My country would bless my memory, could my sword give his villanous carcass to the crows.'

"Our raw troops beheld with firmness the approach of the foemen; and at the moment when the enemy halted to fire, the whole of our foot dropped on the heath. Not a man was seen to remain down, when the order was given to rise and return the fire. The first rank fired, then kneeled down, while the second fired. They made each bullet tell. As often as the lazy rolling smoke was carried over the enemy's heads, a shower of bullets fell on his ranks. Many a gallant man tumbled on the heath. The fire was incessant. It resembled one blazing sheet of flame, for several minutes, along the line of the Covenanters. Clavers attempted to cross the morass, and break our centre. 'Spearmen! to the front,'—I could hear the deep-toned voice of Hamilton say—'Kneel, and place your spears to receive the enemy's cavalry; and you, my gallant fellows, fire—God and our country is our word.' Our officers flew from rank to rank. Not a peasant gave way that day. As the smoke rolled off, we could see Clavers urging on his men with the violence of despair. His troops fell in heaps around him, and still the gaps were filled up. A galled trooper would occasionally flinch; but ere he could turn or nee, the sword of Clavers was waving over his head. I could see him, in his fury, strike both man and horse. In the fearful carnage, he himself sometimes reeled. He would stop short in the midst of a movement, then contradict his own orders, and strike the man, because he could not comprehend his meaning.

"He ordered flanking parties to take us on our right and left. 'In the name of God,' cried he, 'cross the bog, and charge them on the flanks, till we get over this morass. If this fail, we are lost.'

"It now fell to my lot to come into action. Hitherto we had fired only some distant shot. A gallant officer led his band down to the borders of the swamp, in search of a proper place to cross. We threw ourselves before him. A severe firing commenced. My gallant men fired with great steadiness. We could see many tumbling from their saddles. Not content with repelling the foemen, we found our opportunity to cross, and attack them sword in hand. The captain, whose name I afterwards ascertained to be Arrol, threw himself in my path. In the first shock, I discharged my pistols. His sudden start in his saddle, told me that one of them had taken effect. With one of the tremendous oaths of Charles II. he closed with me. He fired his steel pistol. I was in front of him;—my sword glanced on the weapon, and gave a direction to the bullet, which saved my life. By this time, my men had driven the enemy before them, and had left the ground clear for the single combat. As he made a lounge at ray breast, I turned his sword aside, by one of those sweeping blows, which are rather the dictate of a kind of instinct of self-defence than a movement of art. As our strokes redoubled, my antagonist's dark features put on a look of deep and settled ferocity. No man who has not encountered the steel of his enemy in the field of battle, can conceive the looks and the manner of the warrior, in the moments of his intense feelings. May I never witness them again!—we fought in silence. My stroke fell on his left shoulder; it cut the belt of his carabine, which fell to the ground. His blow cut me to the rib, glanced along the bone, and rid me also of the weight of my carabine. He had now advanced too near to me, to be struck with the sword. I grasped him by the collar. I pushed him backward; and with an entangled blow of my Ferrara, struck him across his throat. It cut only the strap of his headpiece, and it fell off. With a sudden spring, he seized me by the sword-belt. Our horses reared, and we both came to the ground. We rolled on the heath in deadly conflict. It was in this situation of matters that my brave fellows had returned from the rout of the flanking party, to look after their commander. One of them was actually rushing on my antagonist, when I called him to retire.* We started to our feet. Each grasped his sword. We closed in conflict again. After parrying strokes of mine enemy which indicated a hellish ferocity, I told him my object was to take him prisoner; that sooner than kill him, I should order my men to seize him. 'Sooner let my soul be brandered on my ribs in hell,' said he, 'than be captured by a Whigamore. No quarter is the word of my Colonel, and my word. Have at thee, Whig—I dare the whole of you to the combat.' 'Leave the madman to me—leave the field instantly,' said I to ray party, whom I could hardly restrain. My sword fell on his right shoulder. His sword dropped from his hand. I lowered my sword, and offered him his life. 'No quarter,' said he, with a shriek of despair. He snatched his sword, which I held in my hand, and made a lounge at my breast. I parried his blows till he was nearly exhausted; but gathering up his huge limbs, he put forth all his energy in a thrust at my heart. My Andro Ferrara received it, so as to weaken its deadily force; but it made a deep cut. Though I was faint, with loss of blood, I left him no time for another blow. My sword glanced on his shoulder, cut through his buff coat, and skin, and flesh; swept through his jaw, and laid open his throat from ear to ear. The fire of his ferocious eye was quenched in a moment. He reeled, and falling with a terrible clash, he poured out his soul, with a torrent of blood, on the heath. I sunk down insensible for a moment. My faithful men, who never lost sight of me, raised me up.—In the fierce combat, the soldier suffers most from thirst. I stooped down, to fill my helmet with the water which oozed through the morass. It was deeply tinged with human blood, which flowed in the conflict above me. I started back with horror; and Gawn Witherspoon bringing up my steed, we set forward in the tumult of the battle.

"All this while, the storm of war had raged on our left. Cleland and the fierce Burley had charged the strong company sent to flank them. These officers permitted them to cross the swamp, then charged them with a terrible shout. 'No quarter,' cried the dragoons. 'Be No quarter to you, then, ye murderous loons,' cried Burley; and at one blow he cut their leader through the steel cap, and scattered his brains on his followers. His every blow overthrew a foeman. Their whole forces were now brought up, and they drove the dragoons of Clavers into the swamp. They rolled over each other. All stuck fast. The Covenanters dismounted, and fought on foot. They left not one man to bear the tidings to their Colonel.

"The firing of the platoons had long ago ceased, and the dreadful work of death was carried on by the sword. At this moment, a trumpet was heard in the rear of our army. There was an awful pause; all looked up. It was only the gallant Captain Nisbet, and is guide, Woodburn of Mains: he had no re-enforcements for us, but himself was a host. With a loud huzza, and flourish of his sword, he placed himself by the side of Burley, and cried, 'Jump the ditch, and charge the enemy.' He and Burley struggled through the marsh. The men followed as they could. They formed, and marched on the enemy's right flank.

"At this instant Hamilton and Hackstone brought forward the whole line of infantry in front. 'God and our Country,' re-echoed from all the ranks. 'No quarter,' said the fierce squadrons of Clavers. Here commenced a bloody scene.

"I seized the opportunity this moment offered to me of making a movement to the left of the enemy to save my friend King and the other prisoners. We came in time to save them. Our swords speedily severed the ropes which tyranny had bound on the arms of the men. The weapons of the fallen foe supplied what was lacking of arms; and with great vigour we moved forward to charge the enemy on the left flank. Claverhouse formed a hollow square—himself in the centre; his men fought gallantly; they did all that soldiers could do in their situation. Wherever a gap was made Clavers thrust the men forward, and speedily filled it up. Three times he rolled headlong on the heath, as he hastened from rank to rank, and as often he remounted. My little band thinned his ranks. He paid us a visit. Here I distinctly saw the features and shape of this far-famed man. He was small of stature, and not well formed; his arms were long in proportion to his legs; he had a complexion unusually dark; his features were not lighted up with sprightliness, as some fabulously reported; they seemed gloomy as hell; his cheeks were lank and deeply furrowed; his eye-brows were drawn down, and gathered into a kind of knot at their junctions, and thrown up at their extremities; they had, in short, the strong expression given by our painters to those on the face of Judas Iscariot; his eyes were hollow; they had not the lustre of genius, nor the fire of vivacity; they were lighted up by that dark fire of wrath which is kindled and fanned by an internal anxiety, and consciousness of criminal deeds; his irregular and large teeth were presented through a smile, which was very unnatural on his set of features; his mouth seemed to be unusually large, from the extremities being drawn backward and downward—as if in the intense application to something cruel and disgusting; in short, his upper teeth projected over his under lip, and, on the whole, presented to my view the mouth on the image of the Emperor Julian the Apostate.—In one of his rapid courses past us, my sword could only shear off his white plume and a fragment of his buff coat. In a moment he was at the other side of his square. Our officers eagerly sought a meeting with him. 'He has the proof of lead,' cried some of our men—'Take the cold steel, or a piece of silver.' 'No,' cried Burley; 'it is his rapid movement on that fine charger that bids defiance to anything like an aim in the tumult of the bloody fray. I could sooner shoot ten heathercocks on the wing, than one flying Clavers.' At that moment Burley, whose eye watched his antagonist, pushed into the hollow square. But Burley was too impatient. His blow was levelled at him before he came within its reach. His heavy sword descended on the head of Clavers' horse, and felled him to the ground. Burley's men rushed pell-mell on the fallen Clavers, but his faithful dragoons threw themselves upon them, and by their overpowering force drove Burley back. Clavers was, in an instant, on a fresh steed. His bugleman recalled the party who were driving back the flanking party of Burley. He collected his whole troops to make his last and desperate attack. He charged our infantry with such force that they began to reel. It was only for a moment. The gallant Hamilton snatched the white flag of the Covenant, and placed himself in the fore-front of the battle. Our men shouted 'God and our Country,' and rallied under their flag. They fought like heroes. Clavers fought no less bravely. His blows were aimed at our officers. His steel fell on the helmet of Hackston, whose sword was entangled in the body of a fierce dragoon who had just wounded him. He was borne by his men into the rear. I directed my men on Clavers. 'Victory or death,' was their reply to me. Clavers received us. He struck a desperate blow at me, as he raised himself with all his force in the saddle. My steel cap resisted it. The second stroke I received on my Ferrara, and his steel was shivered to pieces. We rushed headlong on each other. His pistol missed fire—it had been soaked in blood. Mine took effect. But the wound was not deadly. Our horses reared. We rolled on the ground. In vain we sought to grasp each other. In the melé, men and horses tumbled on us. We were for a few moments buried under our men, whose eagerness to save their respective officers, brought them in multitudes down upon us. By the aid of my faithful man, Gawn, I had extricated myself from my fallen horse; and we were rushing on the bloody Clavers, when we were again literally buried under a mass of men; for Hamilton had by this time brought up his whole line, and he had planted his standard where we and Clavers were rolling on the heath. Our men gave three cheers, and drove in the troops of Clavers. Here I was borne along with the moving mass of men; and, almost suffocated, and faint with the loss of blood, I knew nothing more till I opened my eyes on my faithful attendant. He had dragged me from the very grasp of the enemy, and had borne me into the rear, and was bathing my temples with water. We speedily regained our friends; and what a spectacle presented itself! It seemed as if I beheld an immense moving mass heaped up together in the greatest confusion. Some shrieked, some groaned, some shouted, horses neighed and pranced, swords rung on the steel helmets. I placed around me a few of my hardy men, and we rushed into the thickest of the enemy in search of Clavers; but it was in vain. At that instant his trumpet sounded the loud notes of retreat; and we saw on a knoll Clavers borne away by his men. He threw himself on a horse, and without sword, without helmet, he fled in the first ranks of the retreating host. His troops galloped up the hill in the utmost confusion. My little line closed with that of Burley's, and took a number of prisoners. Our main body pursued the enemy two miles, and strewed the around with men and horses. I could see the bareheaded Clavers in front of his men, kicking and struggling up the steep sides of Calder-hill. He halted only a moment on the top to look behind him, then plunged his rowels into his horse, and darted forward; nor did he recover from this panic till he found himself in the city of Glasgow."

"And, my children," the Laird would say, after he had told the adventures of this bloody day, "I visited the field of battle next day; I shall never forget the sight. Men and horses lay in their gory beds. I turned away from the horrible spectacle. I passed by the spot where God saved my life in the single combat, and where the unhappy Captain Arrol fell. I observed that, in the subsequent fray, the body had been trampled on by a horse, and his bowels were poured out. Thus, my children, the defence of our lives, and the regaining of our liberty and religion, has subjected us to severe trials. And how great must be the love of liberty, when it carries men forward, under the impulse of self-defence, to witness the most disgusting spectacles, and to encounter the most cruel hardships of war!"

The country people after this action resolved, since they could not separate without evident hazard, to keep together till they saw how matters would turn out. They marched that night to Hamilton, whilst Claverhouse escaped to Glasgow, and alarmed the soldiers there. Next day, Mr. Hamilton, and those who joined them in their march, being too much flushed with their success, marched to Glasgow, and entered the town about ten o'clock; but after six or eight were killed, and two or three wounded, they were obliged to quit the place, and retire to Hamilton, where they pitched a sort of camp.

Such was the inhumanity of the soldiers, that seven dead bodies lay on the street from eleven in the forenoon till night; and when they were taken into houses to be dressed for their burial, the soldiers came and stripped them of their dead-clothes; nay, when they permitted them to be buried, none durst appear to perform this service but women, whom, notwithstanding, the soldiers attacked, cutting the palls with their swords. When the women used their plaids for palls, the soldiers took their plaids from them. In short, they were obliged to set the coffins in the alms-house, near the High Church, where they continued till the soldiers left Glasgow.

Early on the 3d of June, the council met, and having received a false account of these transactions, issued a proclamation against the rebels, as they called them. The council issued another proclamation, ordering the militia to rendezvous, and to join and act with the regular forces, under severe penalties; and, ordering all the heritors and freeholders to attend the king's host, made all preparations they judged necessary for suppressing the rebellion, as it was termed.

On the same day, lord Ross, and the officers in Glasgow, finding that the gathering of the country people still increased, marched with the forces to Kilsyth, and carried with them in carts some of the wounded countrymen, who fell into their hands; and on the 6th were joined by the earl of Linlithgow at Larbertmuir; but being falsely informed that the west country array was 8,000 strong, they wrote to the council, that it was the general sense of the officers, that his majesty should be applied to for assistance from England.

Meanwhile, matters were so managed at court, that the duke of Monmouth was pitched upon to command an army for suppressing the insurrection. When the council received the news of this, they, on the 15th, wrote to court, and proposed that Dalziel might be made lieutenant-general under the duke.

The success which the countrymen met with at Drumclog, gave opportunity to many to join them from all quarters, considering the necessity there was to assist them in this extremity, and that they themselves were liable to the same danger from their enraged enemies. They never, as Mr. Wodrow thinks, exceeded 4,000, though Echard would have them to be 17,000 when they were routed at Bothwell; but then many were but ill armed, and it was their loss that they had not officers who understood the art of war.

When the king's forces left Glasgow, Mr. Welch and several others came thither from Carrick, and interred the bodies of those who had been killed in the late attempt, together with the heads of the sufferers for Pentland. They had showed the like kindness to the heads and hands of those which had been set up at Kilmarnock, Irvine, and Ayr, and were well received by the good people everywhere as they marched along.

It being agreed upon to publish a declaration to the world, showing the reasons of their conduct, Mr. Hamilton, who took upon him the command, Mr. Douglas, Mr. Cargil, and some others, were of opinion that the indulgence should be condemned in it. This, however, was opposed by Mr. Welch, the laird of Kaitloch, and others; but Mr. Hamilton and his adherents being more numerous, the following general declaration was agreed to by the majority:—

"We, who are here providentially convened in our own defence, for preventing and removing the mistakes and misapprehensions of all, especially of those whom we wish to be and hope are friends, to declare our present purposes and endeavours to be only in vindication and defence of the true reformed religion in its profession and doctrine, as we stand obliged thereunto by our national and Solemn League and Covenants, and that solemn acknowledgment of sins, and engagement to duties, made and taken in the year 1648, declaring against popery, prelacy, Erastianism, and all things depending thereupon."

At another meeting, Mr. Hamilton, and those of his sentiments, moved, that they might observe a day of fasting and humilation before they should be engaged with the enemy. They who were of different sentiments with Mr. Hamilton would not agree to his reasons of humiliation, and so no fast was kept. Thus divisions broke this little army, before they were broken by the enemy.

When the cause of their appearing and continuing in arms came to be considered at a meeting of the officers, which they called a council of war, Mr. Hamilton and his adherents were for having it stated upon the footing of the Rutherglen Declaration; but they who favoured the indulgence proposed, that the king's authority should be expressly owned, according to the third article of the Solemn League and Covenant. Against this it was argued, that, as they had made no declaration against him, so they must be excused, and not urged to declare positively for him; especially as he was now in a stated opposition to the interest of Christ, and had, upon the matter, declared war against his people, and all the present opposition, cruelty, and persecution in Scotland, for redress of which they were now appearing, were carried on in his name. The Covenants, they said, only bound them to him in the preservation and defence of the true religion, and the liberties of the kingdoms; but the king had actually overturned the true religion, set up prelacy and Erastianism, ruined the covenanted work of reformation, invaded the liberties of the kingdom, persecuted to the death the assertors of both, and plainly broke the conditions of government sworn at his coronation. To this it was answered, That, in 1638, the Assembly and Covenanters owned the king's authority, though he had declared war against them; That this method of throwing off the king's authority would obstruct the redress of their grievances, and frustrate the design of their appearance. But here the reader must observe, that Mr. Hamilton and his adherents proposed no declaration against the king's lawful authority; they only would not positively mention him or his interest in the declaration: and it is certain, that what they asserted, concerning the king's opposition to the true religion, &c., was fact. How far their inference was just, must be left with the reader. However, they who opposed Mr. Hamilton and his adherents so far prevailed, as on the 13th of June to get a declaration published at Glasgow, called the Hamilton Declaration, wherein the king's interest is expressly asserted. The reader may easily see, that this little army must have laboured under great disadvantages from their divisions, when the enemy was coming upon them.

Here it will be proper to return to the king's army. The army under the command of the earl of Linlithgow, being cantoned about Edinburgh, came on the 17th, to Kirkhill-park, belonging to lord Cardoss, who suffered much at this time by the soldiers. On the 18th, the duke of Monmouth came to Edinburgh, and was admitted a privy-counsellor. On the 19th, he went to the army, and marched slowly towards Hamilton. Next day, he sent to the council, complaining that their march was retarded for want of provisions, which were accordingly sent him. But some think the reasons of his Grace's slow motions were, because he expected some application to be made to him by those now in arms.

On the 20th, the council received a letter from the king, approving of their proceedings, and requiring that they should prosecute the rebels with fire and sword, and all other extremities of war. These orders our managers were ready enough to obey; and accordingly they transmitted a copy of his majesty's letter to the duke, whose army then lay within two miles of the Kirk of Shotts, and was about ten thousand strong, which was more than twice the number of those they had to deal with.

There were, at this time, pains taken to dispose those in arms to lay before the duke their grievances, with professions of loyalty to the king; but their discords still increasing did much damage; for, as the time of action approached, their numbers decreased before the king's army came up. When they heard of Monmouth's arrival, a motion was made to model their army, and pitch upon such officers as were best skilled in military affairs. About this time, a person unknown came into one of their meetings with a paper, as he said, from some ministers and others, which they earnestly desired all might sign. The tenor of it was, "We the officers of the Presbyterian army, do hereby declare, That we have no intention or design to overturn the government, civil or ecclesiastical, whereunto we are solemnly sworn by our national and Solemn League and Covenant; and that it is our judgment and opinion that all matters now in controversy be forborne and referred to be determined by their proper judicatories, viz., a free and unlimited parliament, and a lawful General Assembly." But both these proposals were dropped for a time.

On Saturday the 21st, the officers met, and their debates ran higher than ever, though the king's forces were almost in view. At this meeting it was urged, that all places in the army should be declared vacant, and officers harmoniously chosen, that so they might be entirely united in the time of action. Mr. Hamilton, and those of his way of thinking, declared their willingness, on condition of the right stating of the quarrel. Upon this, the indulgence was again brought upon the carpet, and the dispute was carried to such a pitch that Mr. Hamilton, John Paton, William Carmichael, Andrew Turnbull, and some others, left the meeting. Those who remained made choice of a new preses and clerk, and entered upon business; but were unwilling to nominate officers when so many had withdrawn. However, being acquainted with Monmouth's willingness to receive applications from them, and that being an affair which could admit of no delay, they unanimously voted a supplication to his Grace, wherein, alter giving a general account of their grievances, they prayed that some of their number might have liberty, under safe conduct, to come and lay before him their grievances and requests.

On Sabbath the 22d, the duke and his army were come to Bothwell-muir, and their advanced guards to Bothwell town, about a quarter of a mile from the bridge. The countrymen lay encamped on the south of the river Clyde in Hamilton-muir, and had an advanced party ready to dispute the passage at Bothwell-bridge, if the king's army should attempt it.—Early that morning, Mr. David Hume, the Laird of Kaitloch, and some say Mr. John Welch in disguise, went to the duke with the supplication. They had easy access, and, besides the supplication, prayed, "That they might be allowed the free exercise of religion, and to attend gospel ordinances dispensed by their own faithful Presbyterian ministers without molestation; that a free Parliament and a free General Assembly, without the clogs of oaths and declarations, should be allowed to meet for settling affairs both in church and state; and that all those who now are or have been in arms should be indemnified." The duke heard them patiently, but refused to treat with them till they had laid down their arms, and submitted to the king's mercy. He sent them back to their friends, and ordered them to bring an answer in half an hour at farthest. In short, when the commissioners came to the army, they renewed their debates, and so no answer was returned.

The king's troops in the meantime had leisure to plant their cannon; and lord Livingston began the attack on the bridge with the foot guards. The countrymen stood their ground for nearly an hour, and defended the bridge with great gallantry. Hackston of Rathillet, of their commanders, showed a great deal of bravery upon the occasion; but their ammunition failing them, and not being properly supported, they were obliged to quit the bridge where their main strength lay. Upon this, the duke ordered the whole army to pass the bridge with the cannon before them, and soon after the whole west country army was routed.

THE BATTLE OF BOTHWELL BRIDGE

It is well known, that after the disastrous event now to be described, when the ranks of the patriotic Whigs were broken by overwhelming forces, and while Dalziel and Clavers swept the south and west of Scotland like the blast of the desert, breathing pestilence and death—the individual wanderers betook themselves to the caves and fastnesses of their rugged country. This was their situation chiefly from the year 1680 to the Revolution. The Laird also spent his days in seclusion; but still he fearlessly attended the weekly assemblies in the fields, for the worship of Almighty God. What had he to fear? What more could be lose? His estate had been confiscated. His wife and babes stript by the life-guards of the last remnant of earthly comfort which they could take away; and himself doomed as an outlaw, to be executed by the military assassins when taken. He became reckless of the world. "I have lived," said he in anguish, "to see a Prince twice, of his own choice, take the oath of the covenants to support religion and the fundamental laws of the land. I have lived to see that Prince turn traitor to his country, and, with unblushing impiety, order these covenants to be burnt by the hands of the executioner. I have seen him subvert the liberty of my country, both civil and religious. I have seen him erect a bloody inquisition. The priests, imposed on us by tyranny, instead of wooing us over by the loveliness of religion, have thrown off the bowels of mercy. They occupy seats in the bloody Council. They stimulate the cruelties of Lauderdale, M'Kenzie, and York. Their hands are dipped in blood to the wrists. This Council will not permit us to live in peace. Our property they confiscate. Our houses they convert into barracks. They drag free men into chains. They bring no witnesses of our guilt. They invent new tortures to convert us. They employ the thumb-screws and bootkins. If we are silent, they condemn us. If we confess our Christian creed, they doom us to the gibbet. If we offer a defence, a judge rises from the bench, and with his naked sword wounds us. Not only our sentence, but the manner of our execution is fixed before our trial. In our last moments they command the kettle-drum to beat one continued roll; and when a strong sense of injustice extorts a complaint against our barbarous treatment, a military servant of the Council strikes the dying man in his last moments;* and, as if this sanguinary process were too slow in exterminating us, I have seen Charles Stuart let loose a brutal soldiery on us—on us who recalled him from exile, and who placed the crown on his head. He has murdered our men, our wives, and our children. We have, indeed, formally renounced this tyrant, by declaring war against him; but we have hitherto failed in the attempt to rouse the energies of our sleeping country. It is sunk into a deadly slumber. It has hitherto permitted the tyrant to keep us under martial law. Clavers is our judge, his dragoons are the executioners; and these savages do still continue to employ even the sagacity of bloodhounds to hunt us down.—My soul turns away from these loathsome spectacles. They have cut in pieces the friends and companions of my youth. M'Kail, Kid, and King, are no more. Cameron fell bleeding at my side. Hackston they have butchered. My father, Cargil—they could not spare even thee! Nor thee, dear young Renwick! Brown fell by the bloody Clavers, at the feet of his wife and crying babes. I have seen my friends, and those in whose veins my blood ran, fall in the ranks on bloody Bothwell, as the golden flowers of the meadow beneath the mower's hand. I have seen the greedy axe of the inhuman executioner mangle the limbs of my dearest friends. I have seen the minions of tyranny perform their disgusting service of transporting and suspending, as on shambles, the bleeding limbs of the martyrs. I have seen the hammer of the barbarians fix the heads of my companions on thy walls, O bloody Edinburgh! And oh! disgusting spectacle! I have seen these forms, once dear to my soul as the light of heaven, become naked and bleached bones, under the rain and sun. I have lived to see the dreadful effect of civil war. The frequent butcheries in the field and on the scaffold have rendered men callous. The ghastly heads and mangled quarters are set up before the mob. Mothers and children daily feast their eyes with the spectacle; even delicate females roll their eyes over them without a shudder. Our sufferings are not felt, for the human bosom has lost its feelings.—O God of my fathers! bend in mercy thine eyes on my bleeding country—and on thy weeping Kirk! Shall these men spread havoc without bounds? Shall our blood stream in torrents? Shall the Stuarts and their slaves bind these chains on the neck of our country and of thy Kirk for ever!"

The laird while he was uttering these words, had thrown himself on his knees. His arms were stretched forward and upward; his long hair, grey, not by age, but by labours and sorrow, descended on his shoulders; his eyes lighted up by hope, in the midst of despondency, were fixed on heaven; and the tears streaming over his sunburned cheeks, fell in large drops from his beard on his girdle.

At this moment his brother John entered with looks which betrayed unusual anxiety. "My brother," said he, "you must resume these weapons, which your studious habits have thrown into the corner. Praying must give way to fighting now. A trooper advances at full speed, and he is followed by a dark column. We have not even time to fly."—The mind of the Laird, like those of the rest of the wanderers, always brightened up at the approach of danger. "I guessed some such tidings from that tragedy face of yours," said he. "Our perils are so great that they do not allow us time to vent our complaints," added he, as he girded on his sword and put on his helmet.

"Let us reconnoitre—What do I see? but one trooper. And that motley crowd is a rabble—not a troop. That trooper is not of Clavers' band; nor does he belong to Douglas—nor to Inglis—nor to Strachan's dragoons. He waves a small flag. I can discover the scarlet and blue color of the Covenanter's flag.—Ha! welcome you, John Howie of Lochgoin.*—But what news?—Lives our country?—Lives the good old cause?"—"Glorious news," exclaimed Howie; "Scotland for ever! She is free. The tyrant James has abdicated. The Stuarts are banished by an indignant nation.—Orange triumphs. Our wounds are binding up.—Huzza! Scotland and King William, and the Covenant for ever!"

The Laird made no reply. He laid his steel cap on the ground, and threw himself on his knees; he uttered a brief prayer, of which this was the close: "My bleeding country, and thy wailing Kirk, and my brethren in the furnace, have come in remembrance before thee. For ever lauded be thy name." "Hasten to the meeting at Lesmahagow. Our friends behind me, you see, have already set out," said Howie. And he set off with enthusiastic ardour to spread the news.

"These news," said the Laird, after a long pause, while his eyes followed the courser over the plains of Aven—"these news are to me as life from the dead. Our martial toils have not been unprofitable, nor has our blood been shed in vain. We have at last roused our sleeping country—we have saved her—we have gained our civil and religious liberties. I feel a fresh vigour poured into my nerves. I feel already the full glow of liberty. I feel that I am a free man, and no tyrant's slave. The Parliament and the Assembly will, I trust, set all things right again. My forfeiture shall be restored, and my wife and babes shall surround me in the domestic circle; and, brother John—what is no small affair—I shall now have a respite—far from the horrid din of war—quietly to finish that work, over which I have literally trimmed the midnight lamp, with my sword and musketoon lying before me. Gawn Witherspoon," said the Laird, in a higher tone, "call my moss-headed hostler, and let us have our horses. I have a mind to meet my old friends at Lesmahagow. And then, when serious business is despatched, we can take Bothwell field on our return. It will yield me at least a melancholy pleasure to visit the spot where we fought, I trust, our last battle against the enemies of our country, and of the good old cause."

Serious matters of church and state having been discussed at the public meeting, the brothers found themselves, on the fourth day, on the battie ground of Bothwell.

"On that moor," said the Laird, after a long silence—and, without being conscious of it, he had, by a kind of instinct natural enough to a soldier, drawn his sword, and was pointing with it—"On that moor the enemy first formed under Monmouth. There, on the right, Clavers led on the life-guards, breathing fury, and resolute to wipe off the disgrace of the affair of Drumclog. Dalziel formed his men on that knoll. Lord Livingston led the van of the foemen. We had taken care to have Bothwell Bridge strongly secured by a barricade, and our little battery of cannon was planted on that spot below us, in order to sweep the bridge. And we did rake it. The foemen's blood streamed there. Again and again the troops of the tyrant marched on, and our cannon annihilated their columns. Sir Robert Hamilton was our commander-in-chief. The gallant General Hackston stood on that spot with his brave men. Along the river, and above the bridge, Burley's foot and captain Nisbet's dragoons were stationed. For one hour we kept the enemy in check; they were defeated in every attempt to cross the Clyde. Livingston sent another strong column to storm the bridge. I shall never forget the effect of one fire from our battery, where my men stood. We saw the line of the foe advance in all the military glory of brave and beautiful men—the horses pranced—the armour gleamed. In one moment nothing was seen but a shocking mass of mortality. Human limbs and the bodies and limbs of horses were mingled in one huge heap, or blown to a great distance. Another column attempted to cross above the bridge. Some threw themselves into the current. One well-directed fire from Burley's troops threw them into disorder, and drove them back. Meantime, while we were thus warmly engaged, Hamilton was labouring to bring down the different divisions of our main body into action; but in vain he called on colonel Cleland's troop—in vain he ordered Henderson's to fall in—in vain he called on colonel Fleming's. Hackston flew from troop to troop—all was confusion; in vain he besought, he entreated, he threatened. Our disputes and fiery misguided zeal, my brother, contracted a deep and deadly guilt that day. The Whig turned his arm in fierce hate that day against his own vitals. Our chaplains, Cargil, and King, and Kid, and Douglas interposed again and again. Cargil mounted the pulpit; he preached concord; he called aloud for mutual forbearance. 'Behold the banners of the enemy,' cried he; 'hear ye not the fire of the foe, and of our own brethren? Our brothers and fathers are falling beneath their sword. Hasten to their aid. See the flag of the Covenant. See the motto in letters of gold—CHRIST'S CROWN AND THE COVENANT. Hear the voice of your weeping country. Hear the wailings of the bleeding Kirk. Banish discord. And let us, as a band of brothers, present a bold front to the foemen. Follow me, all ye who love your country and the Covenant. I go to die in the fore-front of the battle.' All the ministers and officers followed him—amidst a flourish of trumpets—but the great body remained to listen to the harangues of the factious. We sent again and again for ammunition. My men were at the last round. Treachery, or a fatal error, had sent a barrel of raisins instead of powder.* My heart sunk within me while I beheld the despair on the faces of my brave fellows, as I struck out the head of the vessel. Hackston called his officers to him. We threw ourselves around him. 'What must be done?' said he, in an agony of despair. 'Conquer or die,' we said, as if with one voice. 'We have our swords yet. Lead back the men then to their places, and let the ensign bear down the blue and scarlet colours. Our God and our Country be the word.' Hackston rushed forward. We ran to our respective corps—we cheered our men, but they were languid and dispirited. Their ammunition was nearly expended, and they seemed anxious to husband what remained. They fought only with their carabines. The cannons could no more be loaded. The enemy soon perceived this. We saw a troop of horse approach the bridge. It was that of the life-guards. I recognized the plume of Clavers. They approached in rapid march. A solid column of infantry followed. I sent a request to captain Nisbet to join his troop to mine. He was in an instant with us. We charged the life-guards. Our swords rung on their steel caps. Many of my brave lads fell on all sides of me. But we hewed down the foe. They began to reel. The whole column was kept stationary on the bridge. Clavers' dreadful voice was heard—more like the yell of a savage than the commanding voice of a soldier. He pushed forward his men, and again we hewed them down. A third mass was pushed up. Our exhausted dragoons fled. Unsupported, I found myself by the brave Nisbet, and Paton, and Hackston. We looked for a moment's space in silence on each other. We galloped in front of our retreating men. We rallied them. We pointed to the general almost alone. We pointed to the white and to the scarlet colours floating near him. We cried, 'God and our Country.' They faced about. We charged Clavers once more—'Torfoot,' cried Nisbet, 'I dare you to the fore-front of the battle.' We rushed up at full gallop. Our men seeing this, followed also at full speed. We broke the enemy's line, bearing down those files which we encountered. We cut our way through their ranks. But they had now lengthened their front. Superior numbers drove us in. They had gained entire possession of the bridge. Livingston and Dalziel were actually taking us on the flank. A band had got between us and Burley's infantry. 'My friends,' said Hackston to his officers, 'we are last on the field. We can do no more. We must retreat. Let us attempt, at least, to bring aid to those deluded men behind us. They have brought ruin on themselves and on us. Not Monmouth, but our own divisions have scattered us.'

"At this moment one of the life-guards aimed a blow at Hackston. My sword received it—and a stroke from Nisbet laid the foeman's hand and sword in the dust. He fainted and tumbled from his saddle. We reined our horses, and galloped to our main body. But what a scene presented itself here! These misguided men had their eyes now fully opened on their fatal errors. The enemy were bringing up their whole force against them. I was not long a near spectator of it; for a ball grazed my courser. He plunged and reared—then shot off like an arrow. Several of our officers drew to the same place. On a knoll we faced about—the battle raged below us. We beheld our commander doing everything that a brave soldier could do with factious men against an overpowering foe. Burley and his troops were in close conflict with Clavers' dragoons. We saw him dismount three troopers with his own hand. He could not turn the tide of the battle, but he was covering the retreat of these misguided men. Before we could rejoin him, a party threw themselves in our way. Kennoway, one of Clavers' officers, led them on. 'Would to God that this was Grahame himself,' some of my comrades ejaculated aloud. 'He falls to my share,' said I, 'whoever the officer be.' I advanced—he met me. I parried several thrusts. He received a cut on the left arm; and the sword, by the same stroke, shore off one of his horses' ears; it plunged and reared. We closed again. I received a stroke on the left shoulder. My blow fell on his sword arm. He reined his horse around, retreated a few paces, then returned at full gallop. My courser reared instinctively as he approached. I received his stroke on the back of my Ferrara; and by a back stroke, I gave him a deep cut on the cheek. And before he could recover a position of defence, my sword fell with a terrible blow on his steel cap. Stunned by the blow, he bent himself forward—and, grasping the mane, he tumbled from his saddle, and his steed galloped over the field. I did not repeat the blow. His left hand presented his sword; his right arm was disabled; his life was given to him. My companions having disposed of their antagonists, (and some of them had two a-piece,) we paused to see the fate of the battle. Dalziel and Livingstone were riding over the field, like furies, cutting down all in their way. Monmouth was galloping from rank to rank, and calling on his men to give quarter. Clavers, to wipe off the disgrace of Drumclog, was committing fearful havoc. 'Can we not find Clavers,' said Haugh-head.—'No,' said Captain Paton, 'the gallant colonel takes care to have a solid guard of his rogues about him. I have sought him over the field; but I found him, as I now perceive him, with a mass of his guards about him.' At this instant we saw our general, at some distance, disentangling himself from the men who had tumbled over him in the melé. His face, and hands, and clothes, were covered with gore. He had been dismounted, and was fighting on foot. We rushed to the spot, and cheered him. Our party drove back the scattered bands of Dalziel. 'My friends,' said Sir Robert, as we mounted him on a stray horse, 'the day is lost! But—you, Paton; you, Brownlee of Torfoot, and you, Haugh-head—let not that flag fall into the hands of these incarnate devils. We have lost the battle, but, by the grace of God, neither Dalziel nor Clavers shall say that he took our colours. My ensign has done his duty. He is down. This sword has saved it twice. I leave it to your care. You see its perilous situation.' He pointed with his sword to the spot. We collected some of our scattered troops, and flew to the place. The standard-bearer was down, but he was still fearlessly grasping the flag staff, while he was borne upright by the mass of men who had thrown themselves in fierce contest around it. Its well known blue and scarlet colours, and its motto, CHRIST'S CROWN AND COVENANT, in brilliant gold letters, inspired us with a sacred enthusiasm. We gave a loud cheer to the wounded ensign, and rushed into the combat. The redemption of that flag cost the foe many a gallant man. They fell beneath our broadswords; and, with horrible execrations dying on their lips, they gave up their souls to their Judge.

"Here I met in front that ferocious dragoon of Clavers, named Tam Halliday, who had more than once, in his raids, plundered my halls; and had snatched the bread from my weeping babes. He had just seized the white staff of the flag. But his tremendous oath of exultation, (we of the covenant never swear)—his oath had scarcely passed its polluted threshold, when this Andro Ferrara fell on the guard of his steel, and shivered it to pieces. 'Recreant loon!' said I, 'thou shalt this day remember thy evil deeds.' Another blow on his helmet laid him at his huge length, and made him bite the dust. In the melé that followed, I lost sight of him. We fought like lions—but with the hearts of Christians. While my gallant companions stemmed the tide of battle, the standard, rent to tatters, fell across my breast. I tore it from the staff, and wrapt it round my body. We cut our way through the enemy, and carried our general off the field.

"Having gained a small knoll, we beheld once more the dreadful spectacle below. Thick volumes of smoke and dust rolled in a lazy cloud over the dark bands mingled in deadly fray. It was no longer a battle, but a massacre. In the struggle of my feelings I turned my eyes on the general and Paton. I saw, in the face of the latter, an indescribable conflict of passions. His long and shaggy eyebrows were drawn over his eyes. His hand grasped his sword. 'I cannot yet leave the field,' said the undaunted Paton; 'with the general's permission, I shall try to save some of our wretched men beset by those hellhounds. Who will go?—At Kilsyth I saw service. When deserted by my troop, I cut my way through Montrose's men, and reached the spot where colonels Halket and Strachan were. We left the field together. Fifteen dragoons attacked us. We cut down thirteen, and two fled. Thirteen next assailed us. We left ten on the field, and three fled. Eleven Highlanders next met us. We paused and cheered each other. "Now, Johnny," cried Halket to me, "put forth your metal, else we are gone." Nine others we sent after their comrades, and two fled.*—Now, who will join this raid?' 'I will be your leader,' said Sir Robert, as we fell into the ranks.—We marched on the enemy's flank. 'Yonder is Clavers,' said Paton, while he directed his courser on him. The bloody man was, at that moment, nearly alone, hacking to pieces some poor fellows already on their knees disarmed, and imploring him by the common feeling of humanity to spare their lives. He had just finished his usual oath against their 'feelings of humanity,' when Paton presented himself. He instantly let go his prey, and slunk back into the midst of his troopers. Having formed them, he advanced: we formed and made a furious onset. At our first charge his troop reeled. Clavers was dismounted.—But at that moment Dalziel assailed us on the flank and rear. Our men fell around us like grass before the mower. The buglemen sounded a retreat. Once more in the melé I fell in with the general and Paton. We were covered with wounds. We directed our flight in the rear of our broken troops. By the direction of the general I had unfurled the standard. It was borne off the field flying at the sword's point. But that honour cost me much. I was assailed by three fierce dragoons; five followed close in the rear. I called to Paton,—in a moment he was by my side. I threw the standard to the general, and we rushed on the foe. They fell beneath our swords; but my faithful steed, which had carried me through all my dangers, was mortally wounded. He fell. I was thrown in among the fallen enemy. I fainted. I opened my eyes on misery. I found myself in the presence of Monmouth—a prisoner—with other wretched creatures, awaiting in awful suspense, their ultimate destiny.".…

Thus the rebellion at Bothwell, as it was called, was suppressed. There cannot be any just account given of the number of the slain, because they were murdered up and down the fields as the soldiers met them. It was reckoned that 400 were killed, and 1200 surrendered prisoners on the muir, who were not only disarmed and stripped almost naked, but made to lie down flat on the ground, and not suffered to change their posture. If any of them so much as raised himself, he was shot dead in an instant. There had been a much greater slaughter, had it not been for the duke, and the interest of several noblemen and gentlemen at that time with his Grace. Nevertheless, great were the severities used by the soldiers, as the following glaring instances will evince:—Mr. William Gordon of Earlstoun, having his affairs to settle, could not join the country army, but sent his son, Mr. Alexander, before, who was in the action. Mr. William, not knowing of the disaster of the west country army, and riding as quickly as he could to join them, was met by a party of English dragoons, and, refusing to surrender, was killed on the spot. His friends could not get him buried with the rest of his family, and therefore he lies interred in the church-yard of Glassford. A pillar was erected over his grave, but no inscription was suffered to be upon it. Mr. (afterwards Sir) Alexander Gordon narrowly escaped, by means of one of his tenants, who, knowing him as he rode through Hamilton after the defeat, made him dismount, put his horse furniture into a dunghill, and obliged him to put on women's clothes, and rock the cradle, by which means he was preserved.

Several were murdered in cold blood by the soldiers, that same day, on the road near Hamilton. They were going to hear sermon in the camp, and had no arms, not knowing that the soldiers had got over the river, particularly James Scouller and Gavin Semple in the parish of Glassford, John Browning, Robert Stobo, William Hamilton, Robert Steil, William Pate, and Archibald Dick, from the parish of Evandale, and Robert Findlay in that of Stonehouse. Next day, Arthur Inglis in Cambusnethan, reading his Bible in a furrow, was supposed to be a whig by the soldiers who happened to perceive him, and therefore one of them fired from a distance, but missed him. The good man looked about, and not offering to move, the soldiers came and clave him through the skull, and so despatched him; and indeed they scarcely spared any they met with near the field of battle.

Dreadful were the consequences of this fatal action; and had it not been for Monmouth's lenity, they had been much greater; for some of the officers proposed to burn Glasgow, Hamilton, and the country round Bothwell-bridge; but the general rejected the proposal with indignation. Most of the gentlemen in the western shires were brought to trouble. Sir Thomas Stuart of Coltness, son to Sir James Stuart, who was provost of Edinburgh, was obliged to retire to Holland, orders being issued for apprehending him, though neither he nor any of his servants were there.

Dalziel's commission to be lieutenant-general came down on the day of battle. The Laird of Lundin brought the first news of the action to the council, who immediately sent despatches to Lauderdale, and wrote to colonel Struthers in Northumberland, to secure the borders, stop and imprison the rebels, and give what orders he thought proper to accomplish this end.

The prisoners taken at Bothwell, among whom was Mr. John Kid, were sent to Edinburgh. In their journey they were generally tied two and two, made a gazing-stock in the places through which they passed, and exposed to the cruel mockings of the profane, who said, "Where is now your God? Take him up now, and Mr. Welch, who said you should win the day;" though Mr. Welch never said any such thing. When they came to Edinburgh, the council ordered the magistrates to put them into the Inner Gray-friars' church-yard, with proper sentinels over them, viz., twenty-four to guard them at night, and eight in the day-time. The officers were to keep a list of the sentinels, that, if any of the prisoners should escape, the sentinels should throw the dice, and answer body for body. The officers were to be accountable for the sentinels, and the town of Edinburgh for the officers. These orders were put in execution, and the prisoners were all carried to the place appointed, except a few who were put in prison, and continued in that enclosure near five months, mostly in the open air. Here they generally stood all day, and lay all night on the cold ground, without any other accommodation; and, if any of them, in the night-time, had raised their heads for a little ease, the soldiers were sure to fire at them. It would be endless to recount all their hardships, and with what difficulty persons were allowed to bring them any necessary provisions, and how the women were insulted and abused by the soldiers. It was esteemed a singular favour that some huts made of deals were set up for them a few weeks before they were brought out of this place.

On the 26th, a proclamation was issued against the rebels, as they called them. Many names were inserted in this proclamation, and among others, that of Mr. John King. The two brothers of the earl of Galloway were also named in it; but the council afterwards declared they had made it appear that they were not in the rebellion.

This proclamation made way for the soldiers to commit many cruelties through the country. A great many parties were dispersed through the west and south, but none were so noted for their barbarities as Claverhouse, and those under his command. Accordingly, upon any frivolous information, they attacked the houses of those whom they pretended had been in the rising, especially through the shire of Ayr, which had suffered so much the last year by the Highland host.

Claverhouse, marching into Galloway, with some English dragoons, scarcely made any distinction between those who had been at Bothwell and others, seized all the horses they could find, plundered the houses, particularly in the parishes of Carsphairn, Balmaclellan, and Glencairn; ravages, murder, and the most atrocious barbarities marking his progress.

Soon after this, the duke of Monmouth published a pardon and indemnity to all tenants and subtenants who had been at Bothwell, in case they submitted themselves against such a day. There was likewise a bond required of the heritors in the west country, obliging themselves to use their utmost for securing those who did not accept of this favour. But as few of the tenants chose to venture themselves into the hands of the magistrates at that time, so the heritors chiefly concerned refused the bond. On the 6th, the duke took his leave of the council, and in two or three days returned to England.

Account of the Skirmish at Airsmoss, 1680*

We, getting notice of a party out seeking us, sent two on Wednesday night, late, to know their motion, and lay on a moor side all night. On Thursday, about ten hours, we went to take some meat, and sent out other two, and desired them to consult with the former two, who had not come to us, but were lying down to sleep. They all four returned and told us it was unnecessary to send any for intelligence, they having secured it. Whereupon, after we had gotten some meat, we came to a piece of grass and lay down, and presently we were all alarmed that they were upon us, and so making ready, we saw them coming fast on, and that about three or four hours in the afternoon, and each one resolving to fight, I rode off to seek a strength for our advantage, and being desired by a countryman to go into such a place for the best strength, I went and they followed; but coming to it I found we could go no farther, and so turning and drawing up quickly, eight horse on the right hand with R. D., and fifteen on the left with me, there being no more, the foot not being forty, and many of them ill-armed,—in the midst, I asked all if they were willing to fight, who all said, Yes; especially J. G. The enemy, whom I took to be above an hundred and twelve, well armed, and horsed, advanced fast, and sent first about twenty dragoons, on foot, to take the wind of us; which we seeing, sent a party on foot to meet them, and the rest of us advanced fast on the enemy, a strong body of horse coming hard on us; whereupon, when we were joined, our horse fired first, and wounded and killed some of them, both horse and foot.

Our horse advanced to their faces, and we fired on each other. I being foremost, after receiving their fire, and finding the horse behind me broken, rode in amongst them, and went out at a side, without any wrong or wound. I was pursued by severals, with whom I fought a good space; sometimes they following me, and sometimes I following them. At length my horse bogged, and the foremost of theirs, which was David Ramsay, one of my acquaintance. We both being on foot, fought with small swords, without advantage of one another; but at length closing, I was stricken down with three on horseback behind me, and received three sore wounds on the head, and so falling he saved my life, which I submitted to. They searched me, and carried me to their rear, and laid me down, where I bled much,—where were brought severals of their men sore wounded. They gave us all testimony of being brave resolute men. What more of our men were killed I did not see, nor know, but as they told me after, the field was theirs. I was brought toward Douglas. They used me civilly, and brought me drink out of an house by the way. At Douglas, Janet Clellan was kind to me, and brought a chirurgeon to me, who did but little to my wounds, only staunching the blood.

Next morning, I was brought to Lanark, and brought before Dalziel, Lord Ross, and some others, who asked many questions at me: but I not satisfying them with answers, Dalziel threatened to roast me; and, carrying me to the tolbooth, caused bind me most barbarously, and cast me down, where I lay till Saturday morning, without any, except soldiers, being admitted to speak to me, or look my wounds, and give me any ease whatsoever. And next morning they brought me and John Pollock, and other two of us, near two miles on foot, I being without shoes, when the party which had broken us at first, received us. They were commanded by Earshall. We were horsed, civilly used by them on the way, and brought to Edinburgh about four in the afternoon, and carried about the north side of the town, to the foot of the Canongate, where the town magistrates were who received us; and setting me on a horse with my face backward, and the other three bound on a goad of iron, and Mr. Cameron's head carried on a halbert before me, and another head in a sack, which I knew not, on a lad's back; they carried us up the street to the Parliament close, where I was taken down, and the rest loosed.

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MONERGISM BOOKS

The Scots Worthies, by John Howie, Copyright © 2020

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Table of Contents

Life of John Howie

Introduction

Patrick Hamilton

George Wishart

Adam Wallace

Walter Mill

James Stuart, Earl of Moray

John Knox

George Buchanan

John Erskine of Dun

Robert Rollock

John Craig

David Black

John Davidson

Andrew Melville

William Row

Patrick Simpson

Andrew Duncan

John Scrimgeour

John Welch

Robert Boyd

Robert Bruce

Josias Welch

John Gordon, Viscount Kenmure

Robert Cunningham

James Mitchell

Alexander Henderson

George Gillespie

John M'Clelland

David Calderwood

Hugh Binning

Andrew Gray

James Durham

Samuel Rutherford

Archibald Campbell, Marquis of Argyle

James Guthrie

William Govan

John Campbell, Earl of Loudon

Robert Baillie

David Dickson

Sir Archibald Johnston, Lord Warriston

James Wood

William Guthrie

Robert Blair

Hugh M'Kail

John Nevay

John Livingstone

John Semple

Colonel James Wallace

John Welwood

William Gordon of Earlstoun

John King and John Kid

John Brown

Henry Hall of Haugh-head

Richard Cameron

David Hackston of Rathillet

Robert Ker of Kersland

Donald Cargill

Walter Smith

Robert Garnock

Robert MacWard

Captain John Paton

Robert Baillie of Jerviswood

John Brown of Priesthill

John Nisbet of Hardhill

Alexander Peden

John Blackadder

James Renwick

Account of the Rising which ended in the defeat at Pentland. Anno 1666

Account of the Rising which originated the Battle of Drumclog, and ended in defeat at Bothwell Bridg

Account of the Skirmish at Airsmoss, 1680