YEAR 1793
ON the first night of this year I dreamt a very remarkable dream, which,
when I now recall to mind at this distance of time, I cannot but think
that there was a case of prophecy in it. I thought that I stood on the
tower of an old popish kirk, looking out at the window upon the kirkyard,
where I beheld ancient tombs, with effigies and coats-of-arms on the wall
thereof, and a great gate at the one side, and a door that led into a
dark and dismal vault at the other. I thought all the dead that were
lying in the common graves, rose out of their coffins; at the same time,
from the old and grand monuments, with the effigies and coats-of-arms,
came the great men, and the kings of the earth with crowns on their
heads, and globes and sceptres in their hands.
I stood wondering what was to ensue, when presently I heard the noise of
drums and trumpets, and anon I beheld an army with banners entering in at
the gate; upon which the kings and the great men came also forth in their
power and array, and a dreadful battle was foughten; but the multitude
that had risen from the common graves, stood afar off, and were but
lookers-on.
The kings and their host were utterly discomfited. They were driven
within the doors of their monuments, their coats-of-arms were broken off,
and their effigies cast down, and the victors triumphed over them with
the flourishes of trumpets and the waving of banners. But while I
looked, the vision was changed, and I then beheld a wide and a dreary
waste, and afar off the steeples of a great city, and a tower in the
midst, like the tower of Babel, and on it I could discern, written in
characters of fire, “Public Opinion.” While I was pondering at the same,
I heard a great shout, and presently the conquerors made their
appearance, coming over the desolate moor. They were going in great
pride and might towards the city; but an awful burning rose, afar as it
were in the darkness, and the flames stood like a tower of fire that
reached unto the heavens. And I saw a dreadful hand and an arm stretched
from out of the cloud, and in its hold was a besom made of the hail and
the storm, and it swept the fugitives like dust; and in their place I saw
the churchyard, as it were, cleared and spread around, the graves closed,
and the ancient tombs, with their coats-of-arms and their effigies of
stone, all as they were in the beginning. I then awoke, and behold it
was a dream.
This vision perplexed me for many days, and when the news came that the
King of France was beheaded by the hands of his people, I received, as it
were, a token in confirmation of the vision that had been disclosed to me
in my sleep, and I preached a discourse on the same, and against the
French Revolution, that was thought one of the greatest and soundest
sermons that I had ever delivered in my pulpit.
On the Monday following, Mr. Cayenne, who had been some time before
appointed a justice of the peace, came over from Wheatrig House to the
Cross-Keys, where he sent for me and divers other respectable inhabitants
of the clachan, and told us that he was to have a sad business, for a
warrant was out to bring before him two democratical weaver lads, on a
suspicion of high treason. Scarcely were the words uttered when they
were brought in, and he began to ask them how they dared to think of
dividing, with their liberty and equality of principles, his and every
other man’s property in the country. The men answered him in a calm
manner, and told him they sought no man’s property, but only their own
natural rights; upon which he called them traitors and reformers. They
denied they were traitors, but confessed they were reformers, and said
they knew not how that should be imputed to them as a fault, for that the
greatest men of all times had been reformers,—“Was not,” they said, “our
Lord Jesus Christ a reformer?”—“And what the devil did he make of it?”
cried Mr. Cayenne, bursting with passion; “Was he not crucified?”
I thought, when I heard these words, that the pillars of the earth sank
beneath me, and that the roof of the house was carried away in a
whirlwind. The drums of my ears crackit, blue starns danced before my
sight, and I was fain to leave the house and hie me home to the manse,
where I sat down in my study, like a stupified creature, awaiting what
would betide. Nothing, however, was found against the weaver lads; but I
never from that day could look on Mr. Cayenne as a Christian, though
surely he was a true government-man.
Soon after this affair, there was a pleasant re-edification of a
gospel-spirit among the heritors, especially when they heard how I had
handled the regicides in France; and on the following Sunday, I had the
comfortable satisfaction to see many a gentleman in their pews, that had
not been for years within a kirk-door. The democrats, who took a world
of trouble to misrepresent the actions of the gentry, insinuated that all
this was not from any new sense of grace, but in fear of their being
reported as suspected persons to the king’s government. But I could not
think so, and considered their renewal of communion with the church as a
swearing of allegiance to the King of kings, against that host of French
atheists, who had torn the mortcloth from the coffin, and made it a
banner, with which they were gone forth to war against the Lamb. The
whole year was, however, spent in great uneasiness, and the proclamation
of the war was followed by an appalling stop in trade. We heard of
nothing but failures on all hands; and among others that grieved me, was
that of Mr. Maitland of Glasgow, who had befriended Mrs. Malcolm in the
days of her affliction, and gave her son Robert his fine ship. It was a
sore thing to hear of so many breakings, especially of old respected
merchants like him, who had been a Lord Provost, and was far declined
into the afternoon of life. He did not, however, long survive the
mutation of his fortune; but bending his aged head in sorrow, sank down
beneath the stroke, to rise no more.
[Picture: The Minister’s Daughter]