My life has been a life of trouble and turmoil of change and
vicissitude; of anger and exultation; of sorrow and of vengeance. My
sorrows have all been for a slighted gospel, and my vengeance has been
wreaked on its adversaries. Therefore, in the might of Heaven, I will
sit down and write: I will let the wicked of this world know what I
have done in the faith of the promises, and justification by grace,
that they may read and tremble, and bless their gods of silver and gold
that the minister of Heaven was removed from their sphere before their
blood was mingled with their sacrifices.
I was born an outcast in the world, in which I was destined to act so
conspicuous a part. My mother was a burning and a shining light, in the
community of Scottish worthies, and in the days of her virginity had
suffered much in the persecution of the saints. But it so pleased
Heaven that, as a trial of her faith, she was married to one of the
wicked; a man all over spotted with the leprosy of sin. As well might
they have conjoined fire and water together, in hopes that they would
consort and amalgamate, as purity and corruption: She fled from his
embraces the first night after their marriage, and from that time forth
his iniquities so galled her upright heart that she quitted his society
altogether, keeping her own apartments in the same house with him.
I was the second son of this unhappy marriage, and, ere ever I was
born, my father according to the flesh disclaimed all relation or
connection with me, and all interest in me, save what the law compelled
him to take, which was to grant me a scanty maintenance; and had it not
been for a faithful minister of the gospel, my mother's early
instructor, I should have remained an outcast from the church visible.
He took pity on me, admitting me not only into that, but into the bosom
of his own household and ministry also, and to him am I indebted, under
Heaven, for the high conceptions and glorious discernment between good
and evil, right and wrong, which I attained even at an early age. It
was he who directed my studies aright, both in the learning of the
ancient fathers and the doctrines of the reformed church, and designed
me for his assistant and successor in the holy office. I missed no
opportunity of perfecting myself particularly in all the minute points
of theology in which my reverend father and mother took great delight;
but at length I acquired so much skill that I astonished my teachers,
and made them gaze at one another. I remember that it was the custom,
in my patron's house, to ask questions of the Single Catechism round
every Sabbath night. He asked the first, my mother the second, and so
on, everyone saying the question asked and then asking the next. It
fell to my mother to ask Effectual Calling at me. I said the answer
with propriety and emphasis. "Now, madam," added I, "my question to you
is: What is Ineffectual Calling?"
"Ineffectual Calling? There is no such thing, Robert," said she.
"But there is, madam," said I, and that answer proves how much you say
these fundamental precepts by rote, and without any consideration.
Ineffectual Calling is the outward call of the gospel without any
effect on the hearts of unregenerated and impenitent sinners. Have not
all these the same calls, warnings, doctrines, and reproofs, that we
have? And is not this ineffectual Calling? Has not Ardinferry the same?
Has not Patrick M'Lure the same? Has not the Laird of Dalcastle and his
reprobate heir the same? And will any tell me that this is not
Ineffectual Calling?"
"What a wonderful boy he is!" said my mother.
"I'm feared he turn out to be a conceited gowk," said old Barnet, the
minister's man.
"No," said my pastor, and father (as I shall henceforth denominate
him). "No, Barnet, he is a wonderful boy; and no marvel, for I have
prayed for these talents to be bestowed on him from his infancy: and do
you think that Heaven would refuse a prayer so disinterested? No, it is
impossible. But my dread is, madam," continued he, turning to my
mother, "that he is yet in the bond of iniquity."
"God forbid!" said my mother.
"I have struggled with the Almighty long and hard," continued he; "but
have as yet no certain token of acceptance in his behalf, I have indeed
fought a hard fight, but have been repulsed by him who hath seldom
refused my request; although I cited his own words against him, and
endeavoured to hold him at his promise, he hath so many turnings in the
supremacy of his power, that I have been rejected. How dreadful is it
to think of our darling being still without the pale of the covenant!
But I have vowed a vow, and in that there is hope."
My heart quaked with terror when I thought of being still living in a
state of reprobation, subjected to the awful issues of death, judgment,
and eternal misery, by the slightest accident or casualty; and I set
about the duty of prayer myself with the utmost earnestness. I prayed
three times every day, and seven times on the Sabbath; but, the more
frequently and fervently that I prayed, I sinned still the more. About
this time, and for a long period afterwards, amounting to several
years, I lived in a hopeless and deplorable state of mind; for I said
to myself, "If my name is not written in the book of life from all
eternity, it is in vain for me to presume that either vows or prayers
of mine, or those of all mankind combined, can ever procure its
insertion now." I had come under many vows, most solemnly taken, every
one of which I had broken; and I saw with the intensity of juvenile
grief that there was no hope for me. I went on sinning every hour, and
all the while most strenuously warring against sin, and repenting of
every one transgression as soon after the commission of it as I got
leisure to think. But, oh, what a wretched state this unregenerated
state is, in which every effort after righteousness only aggravates our
offences! I found it vanity to contend; for, after communing with my
heart, the conclusion was as follows: "If I could repent me of all my
sins, and shed tears of blood for them, still have I not a load of
original transgression pressing on me that is enough to crush me to the
lowest hell. I may be angry with my first parents for having sinned,
but how I shall repent me of their sin is beyond what I am able to
comprehend."
Still, in those days of depravity and corruption, I had some of those
principles implanted in my mind which were afterwards to spring up with
such amazing fertility among the heroes of the faith and the promises.
In particular, I felt great indignation against all the wicked of this
world, and often wished for the means of ridding it of such a noxious
burden. I liked John Barnet, my reverend father's serving-man,
extremely ill; but, from a supposition that he might be one of the
justified, I refrained from doing him any injury. He gave always his
word against me, and when we were by ourselves, in the barn or the
fields, he rated me with such severity for my faults that my heart
could brook it no longer. He discovered some notorious lies that I had
framed, and taxed me with them in such a manner that I could in no wise
get off. My cheek burnt, with offence, rather than shame; and he,
thinking he had got the mastery of me, exulted over me most
unmercifully, telling me I was a selfish and conceited blackguard, who
made great pretences towards religious devotion to cloak a disposition
tainted with deceit, and that it would not much astonish him if I
brought myself to the gallows.
I gathered some courage from his over-severity, and answered him as
follows: "Who made thee a judge of the actions or dispositions of the
Almighty's creatures--thou who art a worm and no man in his sight? How
it befits thee to deal out judgments and anathemas! Hath he not made
one vessel to honour, and another to dishonour, as in the case with
myself and thee? Hath he not builded his stories in the heavens, and
laid the foundations thereof in the earth, and how can a being like
thee judge between good and evil, that are both subjected to the
workings of his hand; or of the opposing principles in the soul of man,
correcting, modifying, and refining one another?"
I said this with that strong display of fervour for which I was
remarkable at my years, and expected old Barnet to be utterly
confounded; but he only shook his head, and, with the most provoking
grin, said: "There he goes! Sickan sublime and ridiculous sophistry I
never heard come out of another mouth but ane. There needs nae aiths to
be sworn afore the session wha is your father, young goodman. I ne'er,
for my part, saw a son sac like a dad, sin' my een first opened." With
that he went away, saying with an ill-natured wince: "You made to
honour and me to dishonour! Dirty bow-kail thing that thou be'st!"
"I will have the old rascal on the hip for this, if I live," thought I.
So I went and asked my mother if John was a righteous man. She could
not tell, but supposed he was, and therefore I got no encouragement
from her. I went next to my reverend father, and inquired his opinion,
expecting as little from that quarter. He knew the elect as it were by
instinct, and could have told you of all those in his own, and some
neighbouring parishes, who were born within the boundaries of the
covenant of promise, and who were not.
"I keep a good deal in company with your servant, old Barnet, father,"
said I.
"You do, boy, you do, I see," said he.
"I wish I may not keep too much in his company," said I, "not knowing
what kind of society I am in. Is John a good man, father?"
"Why, boy, he is but so so. A morally good man John is, but very little
of the leaven of true righteousness, which is faith, within. I am
afraid old Barnet, with all his stock of morality, will be a castaway."
My heart was greatly cheered by this remark; and I sighed very deeply,
and hung my head to one side. The worthy father observed me, and
inquired the cause, when I answered as follows: "How dreadful the
thought, that I have been going daily in company and fellowship with
one whose name is written on the red-letter side of the book of life;
whose body and soul have been, from all eternity, consigned over to
everlasting destruction, and to whom the blood of the atonement can
never, never reach! Father, this is an awful thing, and beyond my
comprehension."
"While we are in the world, we must mix with the inhabitants thereof,"
said he; "and the stains which adhere to us by reason of this mixture,
which is unavoidable, shall all be washed away. It is our duty,
however, to shun the society of wicked men as much as possible, lest we
partake of their sins, and become sharers with them in punishment.
John, however, is morally a good man, and may yet get a cast of grace."
"I always thought him a good man till to-day," said I, "when he threw
out some reflections on your character, so horrible that I quake to
think of the wickedness and malevolence of his heart. He was rating me
very impertinently for some supposed fault, which had no being save in
his own jealous brain, when I attempted to reason him out of his belief
in the spirit of calm Christian argument. But how do you think he
answered me? He did so, sir, by twisting his mouth at me, and remarking
that such sublime and ridiculous sophistry never came out of another
mouth but one (meaning yours) and that no oath before a kirk session
was necessary to prove who was my dad, for that he had never seen a son
so like a father as I was like mine."
"He durst not for his soul's salvation, and for his daily bread, which
he values much more, say such a word, boy; therefore, take care what
you assert," said my reverend father.
"He said these very words, and will not deny them, sir," said I.
My reverend father turned about in great wrath and indignation, and
went away in search of John, but I kept out of the way, and listened at
a back window; for John was dressing the plot of ground behind the
house; and I hope it was no sin in me that I did rejoice in the
dialogue which took place, it being the victory of righteousness over
error.
"Well, John, this is a fine day for your delving work."
"Ay, it's a tolerable day, sir."
"Are you thankful in heart, John, for such temporal mercies as these?"
"Aw doubt we're a' ower little thankfu', sir, baith for temporal an'
speeritual mercies; but it isna aye the maist thankfu' heart that maks
the greatest fraze wi' the tongue."
"I hope there is nothing personal under that remark, John?"
"Gin the bannet fits ony body's head, they're unco welcome to it, sir,
for me."
"John, I do not approve of these innuendoes. You have an arch malicious
manner of vending your aphorisms, which the men of the world are too
apt to read the wrong way, for your dark hints are sure to have one
very bad meaning."
"Hout na, sir, it's only bad folks that think sac. They find ma bits o'
gibes come hame to their hearts wi' a kind o' yerk, an' that gars them
wince."
"That saying is ten times worse than the other, John; it is a manifest
insult: it is just telling me to my face that you think me a bad man."
"A body canna help his thoughts, sir."
"No, but a man's thoughts are generally formed from observation. Now I
should like to know, even from the mouth of a misbeliever, what part of
my conduct warrants such a conclusion."
"Nae particular pairt, sir; I draw a' my conclusions frae the haill o'
a man's character, an' I'm no that aften far wrong."
"Well, John, and what sort of general character do you suppose mine to
be?"
"Yours is a Scripture character, sir, an' I'll prove it."
"I hope so, John. Well, which of the Scripture characters do you think
approximates nearest to my own?"
"Guess, sir, guess; I wish to lead a proof."
"Why, if it be an Old Testament character, I hope it is Melchizedek,
for at all events you cannot deny there is one point of resemblance: I,
like him, am a preacher of righteousness. If it be a New Testament
character, I suppose you mean the Apostle of the Gentiles, of whom I am
an unworthy representative."
"Na, na, sir, better nor that still, an' fer closer is the resemblance.
When ye bring me to the point, I maun speak. Ye are the just Pharisee,
sir, that gaed up wi' the poor publican to pray in the Temple; an'
ye're acting the very same pairt at this time, an' saying i' your
heart, 'God, I thank thee that I am not as other men are, an' in nae
way like this poor misbelieving unregenerate sinner, John Barnet.'"
"I hope I may say so indeed."
"There now! I tauld you how it was! But, d'ye hear, maister. Here
stands the poor sinner, John Barnet, your beadle an' servantman, wha
wadna change chances wi' you in the neist world, nor consciences in
this, for ten times a' that you possess--your justification by faith
an' awthegither."
"You are extremely audacious and impertinent, John; but the language of
reprobation cannot affect me: I came only to ask you one question,
which I desire you to answer candidly. Did you ever say to anyone that
I was the boy Robert's natural father?"
"Hout na, sir! Ha-ha-ha! Aih, fie, na, sir! I durst-na say that for my
life. I doubt the black stool, an' the sack gown, or maybe the juggs
wad hae been my portion had I said sic a thing as that. Hout, hout!
Fie, fie! Unco-like doings thae for a Melchizedek or a Saint Paul!"
"John, you are a profane old man, and I desire that you will not
presume to break your jests on me. Tell me, dare you say, or dare you
think, that I am the natural father of that boy?"
"Ye canna hinder me to think whatever I like, sir, nor can I hinder
mysel."
"But did you ever say to anyone that he resembled me, and fathered
himself well enough?"
"I hae said mony a time that he resembled you, sir. Naebody can mistake
that."
"But, John, there are many natural reasons for such likenesses, besides
that of consanguinity. They depend much on the thoughts and affections
of the mother; and it is probable that the mother of this boy, being
deserted by her worthless husband, having turned her thoughts on me, as
likely to be her protector, may have caused this striking resemblance."
"Ay, it may be, sir. I coudna say."
"I have known a lady, John, who was delivered of a blackamoor child,
merely from the circumstance of having got a start by the sudden
entrance of her negro servant, and not being able to forget him for
several hours."
"It may be, sir; but I ken this--an' I had been the laird, I wadna hae
ta'en that story in."
"So, then, John, you positively think, from a casual likeness, that
this boy is my son?"
"Man's thoughts are vanity, sir; they come unasked, an' gang away
without a dismissal, an' he canna' help them. I'm neither gaun to say
that I think he's your son, nor that I think he's no your son: sae ye
needna pose me nae mair about it."
"Hear then my determination, John. If you do not promise to me, in
faith and honour, that you never will say, or insinuate such a thing
again in your life, as that that boy is my natural son, I will take the
keys of the church from you, and dismiss you from my service."
John pulled out the keys, and dashed them on the gravel at the reverend
minister's feet. "There are the keys o' your kirk, sir! I hae never had
muckle mense o' them sin' ye entered the door o't. I hae carried them
this three and thretty year, but they hae aye been like to burn a hole
i' my pouch sin' ever they were turned for your admittance. Tak them
again, an' gie them to wha you will, and muckle gude may he get o'
them. Auld John may dee a beggar in a hay barn, or at the back of a
dike, but he sall aye be master o' his ain thoughts an' gie them vent
or no, as he likes."
He left the manse that day, and I rejoiced in the riddance; for I
disdained to be kept so much under by one who was in bond of iniquity,
and of whom there seemed no hope, as he rejoiced in his frowardness,
and refused to submit to that faithful teacher, his master.
It was about this time that my reverend father preached a sermon, one
sentence of which affected me most disagreeably. It was to the purport
that every unrepented sin was productive of a new sin with each breath
that a man drew; and every one of these new sins added to the catalogue
in the same manner. I was utterly confounded at the multitude of my
transgressions; for I was sensible that there were great numbers of
sins of which I had never been able thoroughly to repent, and these
momentary ones, by moderate calculation, had, I saw, long ago, amounted
to a hundred and fifty thousand in the minute, and I saw no end to the
series of repentances to which I had subjected myself. A life-time was
nothing to enable me to accomplish the sum, and then being, for
anything I was certain of, in my state of nature, and the grace of
repentance withheld from me--what was I to do, or what was to become of
me? In the meantime, I went on sinning without measure; but I was still
more troubled about the multitude than the magnitude of my
transgressions, and the small minute ones puzzled me more than those
that were more heinous, as the latter had generally some good effects
in the way of punishing wicked men, froward boys, and deceitful women;
and I rejoiced, even then in my early youth, at being used as a scourge
in the hand of the Lord; another Jehu, a Cyrus, or a Nebuchadnezzar.
On the whole, I remember that I got into great confusion relating to my
sins and repentances, and knew neither where to begin nor how to
proceed, and often had great fears that I was wholly without Christ,
and that I would find God a consuming fire to me. I could not help
running into new sins continually; but then I was mercifully dealt
with, for I was often made to repent of them most heartily, by reason
of bodily chastisements received on these delinquencies being
discovered. I was particularly prone to lying, and I cannot but admire
the mercy that has freely forgiven me all these juvenile sins. Now that
I know them all to be blotted out, and that I am an accepted person, I
may the more freely confess them: the truth is, that one lie always
paved the way for another, from hour to hour, from day to day, and from
year to year; so that I found myself constantly involved in a labyrinth
of deceit, from which it was impossible to extricate myself. If I knew
a person to be a godly one, I could almost have kissed his feet; but,
against the carnal portion of mankind, I set my face continually. I
esteemed the true ministers of the gospel; but the prelatic party, and
the preachers up of good works I abhorred, and to this hour I account
them the worst and most heinous of all transgressors.
There was only one boy at Mr. Witch's class who kept always the upper
hand of me in every part of education. I strove against him from year
to year, but it was all in vain; for he was a very wicked boy, and I
was convinced he had dealings with the Devil. Indeed, it was believed
all over the country that his mother was a witch; and I was at length
convinced, that it was no human ingenuity that beat me with so much
ease in the Latin, after I had often sat up a whole night with my
reverend father, studying my lesson in all its bearings. I often read
as well and sometimes better than he; but, the moment Mr. Wilson began
to examine us, my opponent popped up above me. I determined (as I knew
him for a wicked person, and one of the Devil's handfasted children) to
be revenged on him, and to humble him by some means or other.
Accordingly I lost no opportunity of setting the master against him,
and succeeded several times in getting him severely beaten for faults
of which he was innocent. I can hardly describe the joy that it gave to
my heart to see a wicked creature suffering, for, though he deserved it
not for one thing, he richly deserved it for others. This may be by
some people accounted a great sin in me; but I deny it, for I did it as
a duty, and what a man or boy does for the right will never be put into
the sum of his transgressions.
This boy, whose name was M'Gill, was, at all his leisure hours, engaged
in drawing profane pictures of beasts, men, women, houses, and trees,
and, in short, of all things that his eye encountered. These profane
things the master often smiled at, and admired; therefore I began
privately to try my hand likewise. I had scarcely tried above once to
draw the figure of a man, ere I conceived that I had hit the very
features of Mr. Wilson. They were so particular that they could not be
easily mistaken, and I was so tickled and pleased with the droll
likeness that I had drawn that I laughed immoderately at it. I tried no
other figure but this; and I tried it in every situation in which a man
and a schoolmaster could be placed. I often wrought for hours together
at this likeness, nor was it long before I made myself so much master
of the outline that I could have drawn it in any situation whatever,
almost off hand. I then took M'Gill's account book of algebra home with
me, and at my leisure put down a number of gross caricatures of Mr.
Wilson here and there, several of them in situations notoriously
ludicrous. I waited the discovery of this treasure with great
impatience; but the book, chancing to be one that M'Gill was not using,
I saw it might be long enough before I enjoyed the consummation of my
grand scheme: therefore, with all the ingenuity I was master of, I
brought it before our dominie's eye. But never shall I forget the rage
that gleamed in the tyrant's phiz! I was actually terrified to look at
him, and trembled at his voice. M'Gill was called upon, and examined
relating to the obnoxious figures. He denied flatly that any of them
were of his doing. But the master inquiring at him whose they were, he
could not tell, but affirmed it to be some trick. Mr. Wilson at one
time began, as I thought, to hesitate; but the evidence was so strong
against M'Gill that at length his solemn asseverations of innocence
only proved an aggravation of his crime. There was not one in the
school who had ever been known to draw a figure but himself, and on him
fell the whole weight of the tyrant's vengeance. It was dreadful; and I
was once in hopes that he would not leave life in the culprit. He,
however, left the school for several months, refusing to return to be
subjected to punishment for the faults of others, and I stood king of
the class.
Matters, were at last made up between M'Gill's parents and the
schoolmaster, but by that time I had got the start of him, and never in
my life did I exert myself so much as to keep the mastery. It was in
vain; the powers of enchantment prevailed, and I was again turned down
with the tear in my eye. I could think of no amends but one, and, being
driven to desperation, I put it in practice. I told a lie of him. I
came boldly up to the master, and told him that M'Gill had in my
hearing cursed him in a most shocking manner, and called him vile
names. He called M'Gill, and charged him with the crime, and the proud
young coxcomb was so stunned at the atrocity of the charge that his
face grew as red as crimson, and the words stuck in his throat as he
feebly denied it. His guilt was manifest, and he was again flogged most
nobly and dismissed the school for ever in disgrace, as a most
incorrigible vagabond.
This was a great victory gained, and I rejoiced and exulted exceedingly
in it. It had, however, very nigh cost me my life; for I not long
thereafter I encountered M'Gill in the fields, on which he came up and
challenged me for a liar, daring me to fight him. I refused, and said
that I looked on him as quite below my notice; but he would not quit
me, and finally told me that he should either lick me, or I should lick
him, as he had no other means of being revenged on such a scoundrel. I
tried to intimidate him, but it would not do; and I believe I would
have given all that I had in the world to be quit of him. He at length
went so far as first to kick me, and then strike me on the face; and,
being both older and stronger than he, I thought it scarcely became me
to take such insults patiently. I was, nevertheless, well aware that
the devilish powers of his mother would finally prevail; and either the
dread of this, or the inward consciousness of having wronged him,
certainly unnerved my arm, for I fought wretchedly, and was soon wholly
overcome. I was so sore defeated that I kneeled and was going to beg
his pardon; but another thought struck me momentarily, and I threw
myself on my face, and inwardly begged aid from heaven; at the same
time I felt as if assured that my prayer was heard, and would be
answered. While I was in this humble attitude, the villain kicked me
with his foot and cursed me; and I, being newly encouraged, arose and
encountered him once more. We had not fought long at this second turn
before I saw a man hastening towards us; on which I uttered a shout of
joy, and laid on valiantly; but my very next look assured me that the
man was old John Barnet, whom I had likewise wronged all that was in my
power, and between these two wicked persons I expected anything but
justice. My arm was again enfeebled, and that of my adversary
prevailed. I was knocked down and mauled most grievously, and, while
the ruffian was kicking and cuffing me at his will and pleasure, up
came old John Barnet, breathless with running, and, at one blow with
his open hand, levelled my opponent with the earth. "Tak ye that,
maister!" said John, "to learn ye better breeding. Hout awa, man! An ye
will fight, fight fair. Gude sauf us, ir ye a gentleman's brood, that
ye will kick an' cuff a lad when he's down?"
When I heard this kind and unexpected interference, I began once more
to value myself on my courage, and, springing up, I made at my
adversary; but John, without saying a word, bit his lip, and seizing me
by the neck threw me down. M'Gill begged of him to stand and see fair
play, and suffer us to finish the battle; for, added he, "he is a liar,
and a scoundrel, and deserves ten times more than I can give him."
"I ken he's a' that ye say, an' mair, my man," quoth John. "But am I
sure that ye're no as bad, an' waur? It says nae muckle for ony o' ye
to be tearing like tikes at one anither here."
John cocked his cudgel and stood between us, threatening to knock the
one dead who first offered to lift his hand against the other; but,
perceiving no disposition in any of us to separate, he drove me home
before him like a bullock, and keeping close guard behind me, lest
M'Gill had followed. I felt greatly indebted to John, yet I complained
of his interference to my mother, and the old officious sinner got no
thanks for his pains.
As I am writing only from recollection, so I remember of nothing
farther in these early days, in the least worthy of being recorded.
That I was a great, a transcendent sinner, I confess. But still I had
hopes of forgiveness, because I never sinned from principle, but
accident; and then I always tried to repent of these sins by the slump,
for individually it was impossible; and, though not always successful
in my endeavours, I could not help that, the grace of repentance being
withheld from me, I regarded myself as in no degree accountable for the
failure. Moreover, there were many of the most deadly sins into which I
never fell, for I dreaded those mentioned in the Revelations as
excluding sins, so that I guarded against them continually. In
particular, I brought myself to despise, if not to abhor, the beauty of
women, looking on it as the greatest snare to which mankind was
subjected, and though young men and maidens, and even old women (my
mother among the rest), taxed me with being an unnatural wretch, I
gloried in my acquisition; and, to this day, am thankful for having
escaped the most dangerous of all snares.
I kept myself also free of the sins of idolatry and misbelief, both of
a deadly nature; and, upon the whole, I think I had not then broken,
that is, absolutely broken, above four out of the ten commandments;
but, for all that, I had more sense than to regard either my good
works, or my evil deeds, as in the smallest degree influencing the
eternal decrees of God concerning me, either with regard to my
acceptance or reprobation. I depended entirely on the bounty of free
grace, holding all the righteousness of man as filthy rags, and
believing in the momentous and magnificent truth that, the more heavily
loaden with transgressions, the more welcome was the believer at the
throne of grace. And I have reason to believe that it was this
dependence and this belief that at last ensured my acceptance there.
I come now to the most important period of my existence--the period
that has modelled my character, and influenced every action of my
life--without which, this detail of my actions would have been as a
tale that hath been told--a monotonous farrago--an uninteresting
harangue--in short, a thing of nothing. Whereas, lo! it must now be a
relation of great and terrible actions, done in the might, and by the
commission of heaven. Amen.
Like the sinful king of Israel, I had been walking softly before the
Lord for a season. I had been humbled for my transgressions, and, as
far as I recollect, sorry on account of their numbers and heinousness.
My reverend father had been, moreover, examining me every day regarding
the state of my soul, and my answers sometimes appeared to give him
satisfaction, and sometimes not. As for my mother, she would harp on
the subject of my faith for ever; yet, though I knew her to be a
Christian, I confess that I always despised her motley instructions,
nor had I any great regard for her person. If this was a crime in me, I
never could help it. I confess it freely, and believe it was a judgment
from heaven inflicted on her for some sin of former days, and that I
had no power to have acted otherwise towards her than I did.
In this frame of mind was I when my reverend father one morning arose
from his seat, and, meeting me as I entered the room, he embraced me,
and welcomed me into the community of the just upon earth. I was struck
speechless, and could make no answer save by looks of surprise. My
mother also came to me, kissed, and wept over me; and, after showering
unnumbered blessings on my head, she also welcomed me into the society
of the just made perfect. Then each of them took me by a hand, and my
reverend father explained to me how he had wrestled with God, as the
patriarch of old had done, not for a night, but for days and years, and
that in bitterness and anguish of spirit, on my account; but, that he
had at last prevailed, and had now gained the long and earnestly
desired assurance of my acceptance with the Almighty, in and through
the merits and sufferings of his Son. That I was now a justified
person, adopted among the number of God's children--my name written in
the Lamb's book of life, and that no by-past transgression, nor any
future act of my own, or of other men, could be instrumental in
altering the decree. "All the powers of darkness," added he, "shall
never be able to pluck you again out of your Redeemer's hand. And now,
my son, be strong and steadfast in the truth. Set your face against
sin, and sinful men, and resist even to blood, as many of the faithful
of this land have done, and your reward shall be double. I am assured
of your acceptance by the word and spirit of Him who cannot err, and
your sanctification and repentance unto life will follow in due course.
Rejoice and be thankful, for you are plucked as a brand out of the
burning, and now your redemption is sealed and sure."
I wept for joy to be thus assured of my freedom from all sin, and of
the impossibility of my ever again falling away from my new state. I
bounded away into the fields and the woods, to pour out my spirit in
prayer before the Almighty for his kindness to me: my whole frame
seemed to be renewed; every nerve was buoyant with new life; I felt as
if I could have flown in the air, or leaped over the tops of the trees.
An exaltation of spirit lifted me, as it were, far above the earth and
the sinful creatures crawling on its surface; and I deemed myself as
an eagle among the children of men, soaring on high, and looking down
with pity and contempt on the grovelling creatures below.
As I thus wended my way, I beheld a young man of a mysterious
appearance coming towards me. I tried to shun him, being bent on my own
contemplations; but he cast himself in my way, so that I could not well
avoid him; and, more than that, I felt a sort of invisible power that
drew me towards him, something like the force of enchantment, which I
could not resist. As we approached each other, our eyes met and I can
never describe the strange sensations that thrilled through my whole
frame at that impressive moment; a moment to me fraught with the most
tremendous consequences; the beginning of a series of adventures which
has puzzled myself, and will puzzle the world when I am no more in it.
That time will now soon arrive, sooner than anyone can devise who knows
not the tumult of my thoughts and the labour of my spirit; and when it
hath come and passed over, when my flesh and my bones are decayed, and
my soul has passed to its everlasting home, then shall the sons of men
ponder on the events of my life; wonder and tremble, and tremble and
wonder how such things should be.
That strange youth and I approached each other in silence, and slowly,
with our eyes fixed on each other's eyes. We approached till not more
than a yard intervened between us, and then stood still and gazed,
measuring each other from head to foot. What was my astonishment on
perceiving that he was the same being as myself! The clothes were the
same to the smallest item. The form was the same; the apparent age; the
colour of the hair; the eyes; and, as far as recollection could serve
me from viewing my own features in a glass, the features too were the
very same. I conceived at first that I saw a vision, and that my
guardian angel had appeared to me at this important era of my life; but
this singular being read my thoughts in my looks, anticipating the very
words that I was going to utter.
"You think I am your brother," said he; "or that I am your second self.
I am indeed your brother, not according to the flesh, but in my belief
of the same truths, and my assurance in the same mode of redemption,
than which I hold nothing so great or so glorious on earth."
"Then you are an associate well adapted to my present state," said I.
"For this time is a time of great rejoicing in spirit to me. I am on my
way to return thanks to the Most High for my redemption from the bonds
of sin and misery. If you will join with me heart and hand in youthful
thanksgiving, then shall we two go and worship together; but, if not,
go your way, and I shall go mine."
"Ah, you little know with how much pleasure I will accompany you, and
join with you in your elevated devotions," said he fervently. "Your
state is a state to be envied indeed; but I have been advised of it,
and am come to be a humble disciple of yours; to be initiated into the
true way of salvation by conversing with you, and perhaps of being
assisted by your prayers."
My spiritual pride being greatly elevated by this address, I began to
assume the preceptor, and questioned this extraordinary youth with
regard to his religious principles, telling him plainly, if he was one
who expected acceptance with God at all, on account of good works, that
I would hold no communion with him. He renounced these at once, with
the greatest vehemence, and declared his acquiescence in my faith. I
asked if he believed in the eternal and irrevocable decrees of God,
regarding the salvation and condemnation of all mankind? He answered
that he did so: aye, what would signify all things else that he
believed, if he did not believe in that? We then went on to commune
about all our points of belief; and in everything that I suggested he
acquiesced, and, as I thought that day, often carried them to extremes,
so that I had a secret dread he was advancing blasphemies. He had such
a way with him, and paid such a deference to all my opinions, that I
was quite captivated, and, at the same time, I stood in a sort of awe
of him, which I could not account for, and several times was seized
with an involuntary inclination to escape from his presence by making a
sudden retreat. But he seemed constantly to anticipate my thoughts, and
was sure to divert my purpose by some turn in the conversation that
particularly interested me. He took care to dwell much on the theme of
the impossibility of those ever falling away who were once accepted and
received into covenant with God, for he seemed to know that in that
confidence, and that trust, my whole hopes were centred.
We moved about from one place to another, until the day was wholly
spent. My mind had all the while been kept in a state of agitation
resembling the motion of a whirlpool, and, when we came to separate, I
then discovered that the purpose for which I had sought the fields had
been neglected, and that I had been diverted from the worship of God by
attending to the quibbles and dogmas of this singular and unaccountable
being, who seemed to have more knowledge and information than all the
persons I had ever known put together.
We parted with expressions of mutual regret, and when I left him I felt
a deliverance, but at the same time a certain consciousness that I was
not thus to get free of him, but that he was like to be an acquaintance
that was to stick to me for good or for evil. I was astonished at his
acuteness and knowledge about everything; but, as for his likeness to
me, that was quite unaccountable. He was the same person in every
respect, but yet he was not always so; for I observed several times,
when we were speaking of certain divines and their tenets, that his
face assumed something of the appearance of theirs; and it struck me
that, by setting his features to the mould of other people's, he
entered at once into their conceptions and feelings. I had been greatly
flattered, and greatly interested by his conversation; whether I had
been the better for it or the worse, I could not tell. I had been
diverted from returning thanks to my gracious Maker for his great
kindness to me, and came home as I went away, but not with the same
buoyancy and lightness of heart. Well may I remember the day in which
I was first received into the number, and made an heir to all the
privileges of the children of God, and on which I first met this
mysterious associate, who from that day forth contrived to wind himself
into all my affairs, both spiritual and temporal, to this day on which
I am writing the account of it. It was on the 25th day of March, 1704,
when I had just entered the eighteenth year of my age. Whether it
behoves me to bless God for the events of that day, or to deplore them,
has been hid from my discernment, though I have inquired into it with
fear and trembling; and I have now lost all hopes of ever discovering
the true import of these events until that day when my accounts are to
make up and reckon for in another world.
When I came home, I went straight into the parlour, where my mother was
sitting by herself. She started to her feet, and uttered a smothered
scream. "What ails you, Robert?" cried she. "My dear son, what is the
matter with you?"
"Do you see anything the matter with me?" said I. "It appears that the
ailment is with yourself and either in your crazed head or your dim
eyes, for there is nothing the matter with me."
"Ah, Robert, you are ill!" cried she. "You are very ill, my dear boy;
you are quite changed; your very voice and manner are changed. Ah,
Jane, haste you up to the study, and tell Mr. Wringhim to come here on
the instant and speak to Robert."
"I beseech you, woman, to restrain yourself," said I. "If you suffer
your frenzy to run away with your judgment in this manner, I will leave
the house. What do you mean? I tell you, there is nothing ails me: I
never was better."
She screamed, and ran between me and the door, to bar my retreat: in
the meantime my reverend father entered, and I have not forgot how he
gazed, through his glasses, first at my mother, and then at me. I
imagined that his eyes burnt like candles, and was afraid of him, which
I suppose made my looks more unstable than they would otherwise have
been.
"What is all this for?" said he. "Mistress! Robert! What is the matter
here?"
"Oh, sir, our boy!" cried my mother; "our dear boy, Mr. Wringhim! Look
at him, and speak to him: he is either dying or translated, sir!"
He looked at me with a countenance of great alarm; mumbling some
sentences to himself, and then taking me by the arm, as if to feel my
pulse, he said, with a faltering voice: "Something has indeed befallen
you, either in body or mind, boy, for you are transformed, since the
morning, that I could not have known you for the same person. Have you
met with any accident?"
"No."
"Have you seen anything out of the ordinary course of nature?"
"No."
"Then, Satan, I fear, has been busy with you, tempting you in no
ordinary degree at this momentous crisis of your life?"
My mind turned on my associate for the day, and the idea that he might
be an agent of the Devil had such an effect on me that I could make no
answer.
"I see how it is," said he; "you are troubled in spirit, and I have no
doubt that the enemy of our salvation has been busy with you. Tell me
this, has he overcome you, or has he not?"
"He has not, my dear father," said I. "in the strength of the Lord, I
hope I have withstood him. But indeed, if he has been busy with me, I
knew it not. I have been conversant this day with one stranger only,
whom I took rather for an angel of light."
"It is one of the Devil's most profound wiles to appear like one," said
my mother.
"Woman, hold thy peace!" said my reverend father. "Thou pretendest to
teach what thou knowest not. Tell me this, boy: did this stranger, with
whom you met, adhere to the religious principles in which I have
educated you?"
"Yes, to every one of them in their fullest latitude," said I.
"Then he was no agent of the Wicked One with whom you held converse,"
said he: "for that is the doctrine that was made to overturn the
principalities and powers, the might and dominion of the kingdom of
darkness. Let us pray."
After spending about a quarter of an hour in solemn and sublime
thanksgiving, this saintly man and minister of Christ Jesus, gave out
that the day following should be kept by the family as a day of solemn
thanksgiving, and spent in prayer and praise, on account of the calling
and election of one of its members; or rather for the election of that
individual being revealed on earth, as well as confirmed in Heaven.
The next day was with me a day of holy exultation. It was begun by my
reverend father laying his hands upon my head and blessing me, and then
dedicating me to the Lord in the most awful and impressive manner. It
was in no common way that he exercised this profound rite, for it was
done with all the zeal and enthusiasm of a devotee to the true cause,
and a champion on the side he had espoused. He used these remarkable
words, which I have still treasured up in my heart: "I give him unto
Thee only, to Thee wholly, and to Thee for ever. I dedicate him unto
Thee, soul, body, and spirit. Not as the wicked of this world, or the
hirelings of a Church profanely called by Thy name, do I dedicate this
Thy servant to Thee: Not in words and form, learned by rote, and
dictated by the limbs of Antichrist, but, Lord, I give him into Thy
hand, as a captain putteth a sword into the hand of his sovereign,
wherewith to lay waste his enemies. May he be a two-edged weapon in Thy
hand and a spear coming out of Thy mouth, to destroy, and overcome, and
pass over; and may the enemies of Thy Church fall down before him, and
be as dung to fat the land!"
From the moment, I conceived it decreed, not that I should be a
minister of the gospel, but a champion of it, to cut off the enemies of
the Lord from the face of the earth; and I rejoiced in the commission,
finding it more congenial to my nature to be cutting sinners off with
the sword than to be haranguing them from the pulpit, striving to
produce an effect which God, by his act of absolute predestination, had
for ever rendered impracticable. The more I pondered on these things
the more I saw of the folly and inconsistency of ministers in spending
their lives striving and remonstrating with sinners in order to induce
them to do that which they had it not in their power to do. Seeing that
God had from all eternity decided the fate of every individual that was
to be born of woman, how vain was it in man to endeavour to save those
whom their Maker had, by an unchangeable decree, doomed to destruction.
I could not disbelieve the doctrine which the best of men had taught
me, and towards which he made the whole of the Scriptures to bear, and
yet it made the economy of the Christian world appear to me as an
absolute contradiction. How much more wise would it be, thought I, to
begin and cut sinners off with the sword! For till that is effected,
the saints can never inherit the earth in peace. Should I be honoured
as an instrument to begin this great work of purification, I should
rejoice in it. But, then, where had I the means, or under what
direction was I to begin? There was one thing clear, I was now the
Lord's and it behoved me to bestir myself in His service. Oh that I had
an host at my command, then would I be as a devouring fire among the
workers of iniquity!
Full of these great ideas, I hurried through the city, and sought again
the private path through the field and wood of Finnieston, in which my
reverend preceptor had the privilege of walking for study, and to which
he had a key that was always at my command. Near one of the stiles, I
perceived a young man sitting in a devout posture, reading a Bible. He
rose, lifted his hat, and made an obeisance to me, which I returned and
walked on. I had not well crossed the stile till it struck me I knew
the face of the youth and that he was some intimate acquaintance, to
whom I ought to have spoken. I walked on, and returned, and walked on
again, trying to recollect who he was; but for my life I could not.
There was, however, a fascination in his look and manner that drew me
back towards him in spite of myself, and I resolved to go to him, if it
were merely to speak and see who he was.
I came up to him and addressed him, but he was so intent on his book
that, though I spoke, he lifted not his eyes. I looked on the book
also, and still it seemed a Bible, having columns, chapters, and
verses; but it was in a language of which I was wholly ignorant, and
all intersected with red lines and verses. A sensation resembling a
stroke of electricity came over me, on first casting my eyes on that
mysterious book, and I stood motionless. He looked up, smiled, closed
his book, and put it in his bosom. "You seem strangely affected, dear
sir, by looking at my book," said he mildly.
"In the name of God, what book is that?" said I. "Is it a Bible?"
"It is my Bible, sir," said he, "but I will cease reading it, for I am
glad to see you. Pray, is not this a day for holy festivity with you?"