YEAR 1810
MY tasks are all near a close; and in writing this final record of my
ministry, the very sound of my pen admonishes me that my life is a burden
on the back of flying Time, that he will soon be obliged to lay down in
his great storehouse—the grave. Old age has, indeed, long warned me to
prepare for rest; and the darkened windows of my sight show that the
night is coming on, while deafness, like a door fast barred, has shut out
all the pleasant sounds of this world, and inclosed me, as it were, in a
prison, even from the voices of my friends.
I have lived longer than the common lot of man, and I have seen, in my
time, many mutations and turnings, and ups and downs, notwithstanding the
great spread that has been in our national prosperity. I have beheld
them that were flourishing like the green bay-trees, made desolate, and
their branches scattered. But, in my own estate, I have had a large and
liberal experience of goodness.
At the beginning of my ministry I was reviled and rejected; but my honest
endeavours to prove a faithful shepherd were blessed from on high, and
rewarded with the affection of my flock. Perhaps, in the vanity of
doting old age, I thought in this there was a merit due to myself, which
made the Lord to send the chastisement of the Canaille schism among my
people; for I was then wroth without judgment, and by my heat hastened
into an open division the flaw that a more considerate manner might have
healed. But I confess my fault, and submit my cheek to the smiter; and
now I see that the finger of Wisdom was in that probation, and it was far
better that the weavers meddled with the things of God, which they could
not change, than with those of the King, which they could only harm. In
that matter, however, I was like our gracious monarch in the American
war; for though I thereby lost the pastoral allegiance of a portion of my
people, in like manner as he did of his American subjects, yet, after the
separation, I was enabled so to deport myself, that they showed me many
voluntary testimonies of affectionate respect, and which it would be a
vain glory in me to rehearse here. One thing I must record, because it
is as much to their honour as it is to mine.
When it was known that I was to preach my last sermon, every one of those
who had been my hearers, and who had seceded to the Canaille meeting,
made it a point that day to be in the parish kirk, and to stand in the
crowd, that made a lane of reverence for me to pass from the kirk-door to
the back-yett of the manse. And shortly after, a deputation of all their
brethren, with their minister at their head, came to me one morning, and
presented to me a server of silver, in token, as they were pleased to
say, of their esteem for my blameless life, and the charity that I had
practised towards the poor of all sects in the neighbourhood; which is
set forth in a well-penned inscription, written by a weaver lad that
works for his daily bread. Such a thing would have been a prodigy at the
beginning of my ministry; but the progress of book-learning and education
has been wonderful since, and with it has come a spirit of greater
liberality than the world knew before, bringing men of adverse principles
and doctrines into a more humane communion with each other; showing that
it’s by the mollifying influence of knowledge the time will come to pass,
when the tiger of papistry shall lie down with the lamb of reformation,
and the vultures of prelacy be as harmless as the presbyterian doves;
when the independent, the anabaptist, and every other order and
denomination of Christians, not forgetting even those poor wee wrens of
the Lord, the burghers and anti-burghers, who will pick from the hand of
patronage, and dread no snare.
On the next Sunday, after my farewell discourse, I took the arm of Mrs.
Balwhidder, and with my cane in my hand, walked to our own pew, where I
sat some time; but, owing to my deafness, not being able to hear, I have
not since gone back to the church. But my people are fond of having
their weans still christened by me, and the young folk, such as are of a
serious turn, come to be married at my hands, believing, as they say,
that there is something good in the blessing of an aged gospel minister.
But even this remnant of my gown I must lay aside; for Mrs. Balwhidder is
now and then obliged to stop me in my prayers, as I sometimes
wander—pronouncing the baptismal blessing upon a bride and bridegroom,
talking as if they were already parents. I am thankful, however, that I
have been spared with a sound mind to write this book to the end; but it
is my last task, and, indeed, really I have no more to say, saving only
to wish a blessing on all people from on high, where I soon hope to be,
and to meet there all the old and long-departed sheep of my flock,
especially the first and second Mrs. Balwhidders.
FOOTNOTES.
{1} Dreghorn, Ayrshire, two miles from Irvine.
{9} Irvine, Ayrshire.
{17} Cognac.