HIS CONVERSION.
And now I am come to that astonishing part of his story, the account of
his conversion, which I cannot enter upon without assuring the reader
that I have sometimes been tempted to suppress many circumstances of
it; not only as they may seem incredible to some, and enthusiastical to
others, but I am very sensible they are liable to great abuses; which was
the reason that he gave me for concealing the most extraordinary from
many persons to whom he mentioned some of the rest. And I believe it was
this, together with the desire of avoiding every thing that might look
like ostentation on this head, that prevented his leaving a written
account of it, though I have often entreated him to do it, as I
particularly remember I did in the very last letter I ever wrote him, and
pleaded the possibility of his falling amidst those dangers to which I
knew his valour might, in such circumstances, naturally expose him. I was
not so happy as to receive any answer to this letter, which reached him
but a few days before his death; nor can I certainly say whether he had
or had not complied with my request, as it is very possible a paper of
this kind, if it were written, might be lost amidst the ravages which the
rebels made when they plundered Bankton.
The story, however, was so remarkable, that I had little reason to
apprehend I should ever forget it; and yet, to guard against all
contingencies of that kind, I wrote it down that very evening, as I heard
it from his own mouth; and I have now before me the memoirs of that
conversation, dated Aug. 14, 1739, which conclude with these words,
(which I added that if we should both have died that night, the world
might not have lost this edifying and affecting history, or have wanted
any attestation of it I was capable of giving): "N.B. I have written down
this account with all the exactness I am capable of, and could safely
take an oath of it as to the truth of every circumstance, to the best of
my remembrance, as the colonel related it to me a few hours ago." I do
not know that I had reviewed this paper since I wrote it, till I set
myself thus publicly to record this extraordinary fact; but I find it
punctually to agree with what I have often related from my memory, which
I charged carefully with so wonderful and important a fact. It is with
all solemnity that I now deliver it down to posterity as in the sight
and presence of God; and I choose deliberately to expose myself to those
severe censures which the haughty but empty scorn of infidelity, or
principles nearly approaching it, and effectually doing its pernicious
work, may very probably dictate upon the occasion, rather than to smother
a relation, which may, in the judgment of my conscience, be like to
conduce so much to the glory of God, the honour of the gospel, and the
good of mankind. One thing more I will only premise, that I hope none who
have heard the colonel himself speak something of this wonderful scene,
will be surprised if they find some new circumstances here; because he
assured me, at the time he first gave me the whole narration, (which was
in the very room in which I now write,) that he had never imparted it
so fully to any living before; yet, at the same time, he gave me full
liberty to communicate it to whomsoever I should in my conscience
judge it might be useful to do it, whether before or after his death.
Accordingly I did, while he was alive, recount almost every circumstance
I am now going to write, to several pious friends; referring them at the
same time to the colonel himself, whenever they might have an opportunity
of seeing or writing to him, for a further confirmation of what I told
them, if they judged it requisite. They _glorified God in him_; and I
humbly hope many of my readers will also do it. They will soon perceive
the reason of so much caution in my introduction to this story, for
which, therefore, I shall make no further apology.[*]
[*Note: It is no small satisfaction to me, since I wrote this, to have
received a letter from the Rev. Mr. Spears, minister of the gospel at
Burntisland, dated Jan 14, 1746-7 in which he relates to me this whole
story, as he had it from the colonel's own mouth about four years after
he gave me the narration. There is not a single circumstance in which
either of our narrations disagrees, and every one of the particulars in
mine, which seems most astonishing, is attested by this, and sometimes in
stronger words, one only excepted, on which I shall add a short remark
when I come to it. As this letter was written near Lady Frances Gardiner
at her desire, and attended with a postscript from her own hand, this
is, in effect, a sufficient attestation how agreeable it was to those
accounts which she must often have heard the colonel give of this
matter.]
This memorable event happened towards the middle of July, 1719; but I
cannot be exact as to the day. The major had spent the evening (and if I
mistake not, it was the Sabbath) in some gay company, and had an unhappy
assignation with a married woman, of what rank or quality I did not
particularly inquire, whom he was to attend exactly at twelve. The
company broke up about eleven; and not judging it convenient to
anticipate the time appointed, he went into his chamber to kill the
tedious hour, perhaps with some amusing book, or in some other way. But
it very accidentally happened that he took up a religious book which
his good mother or aunt had, without his knowledge, slipped into his
portmanteau. It was called, if I remember the title exactly, _The
Christian Soldier, or Heaven taken by Storm_, and was written by Mr.
Thomas Watson. Guessing by the title of it that he should find some
phrases of his own profession spiritualized in a manner which he thought
might afford him some diversion, he resolved to dip into it; but he took
no serious notice of any thing he read in it; and yet, while this book
was in his hand, an impression was made upon his mind, (perhaps God only
knows how,) which drew after it a train of the most important and happy
consequences.
There is indeed a possibility, that while he was sitting in this
solitude, and reading in this careless and profane manner, he might
suddenly fall asleep, and only dream of what he apprehended he saw. But
nothing can be more certain than that, when he gave me this relation, he
judged himself to have been as broad awake during the whole time as he
ever was in any part of his life; and he mentioned it to me several times
afterwards as what undoubtedly passed, not only in his imagination, but
before his eyes.[*]
[*Note: Mr. Spears, in the letter mentioned above, where he introduces
the colonel telling his own story, has these words "All of a sudden
there was presented in a very lively manner to my view, or to my mind, a
representation of my glorious Redeemer," &c. And this gentleman adds, in
a parenthesis, "It was so lively and striking, that he could not tell
whether it was to his bodily eyes, or to those of his mind." This makes
me think that what I had said to him on the phenomena of visions,
apparitions, &c., (as being, when most real, supernatural impressions on
the imagination, rather than attended with any external object,) had some
influence upon him. Yet still it is evident he looked upon this as a
vision, whether it was before the eyes or in the mind, and not as a
dream.]
He thought he saw an unusual blaze of light fall on the book while he was
reading, which he at first imagined might happen by some accident in
the candle. But, lifting up his eyes, he apprehended, to his extreme
amazement, that there was before him, as it were suspended in the air,
a visible representation of the Lord Jesus Christ upon the cross,
surrounded on all sides with a glory; and was impressed as if a voice, or
something equivalent to a voice, had come to him to this effect, (for he
was not confident as to the very words). "Oh, sinner! did I suffer this
for thee, and are these the returns?" But whether this were an audible
voice, or only a strong impression on his mind equally striking, he did
not seem very confident, though, to the best of my remembrance, he rather
judged it to be the former. Struck with so amazing a phenomenon as this,
there remained hardly any life in him, so that he sunk down in the arm
chair in which he sat, and continued, he knew not exactly how long,
insensible, (which was one circumstance that made me several times take
the liberty to suggest that he might possibly be all this while asleep,)
but however that were, he quickly after opened his eyes, and saw nothing
more than usual.
It may easily be supposed he was in no condition to make any observations
upon the time in which he had remained in an insensible state, nor did
he, throughout all the remainder of the night, once recollect that
criminal and detestable assignation which had before engrossed all his
thoughts. He rose in a tumult of passions not to be conceived, and walked
to and fro in his chamber till he was ready to drop down in unutterable
astonishment and agony of heart, appearing to himself the vilest monster
in the creation of God, who had all his lifetime been crucifying
Christ afresh by his sins, and now saw, as he assuredly believed, by
a miraculous vision, the horror of what he had done. With this was
connected such a view of both the majesty and goodness of God, as caused
him to loathe and abhor himself, and to repent as in dust and ashes. He
immediately gave judgment against himself, that he was most justly worthy
of eternal damnation, he was astonished that he had not been immediately
struck dead in the midst of his wickedness, and (which I think deserves
particular remark) though he assuredly believed that he should ere long
be in hell, and settled it as a point with himself for several months
that the wisdom and justice of God did almost necessarily require
that such an enormous sinner should be made an example of everlasting
vengeance, and a spectacle as such both to angels and men, so that he
hardly durst presume to pray for pardon; yet what he then suffered was
not so much from the fear of hell, though he concluded it would soon be
his portion, as from a sense of that horrible ingratitude he had shown
to the God of his life, and to that blessed Redeemer who had been in so
affecting a manner set forth as crucified before him.
To this he refers in a letter dated from Douglas, the 1st of April 1725,
communicated to me by his lady,[*] but I know not to whom it was addressed.
His words are these: "One thing relating to my conversion, and a
remarkable instance of the goodness of God to me, _the chief of sinners_,
I do not remember that I ever told to any other person. It was this,
that after the astonishing sight I had of my blessed Lord, the terrible
condition in which I was proceeded not so much from the terrors of the
law, as from a sense of having been so ungrateful a monster to him whom I
thought I saw pierced for my transgressions." I the rather insert these
words, as they evidently attest the circumstance which may seem most
amazing in this affair, and contain so express a declaration of his own
apprehension concerning it.
[*Note: Where I make any extracts as from Colonel Gardiner's letters,
they are either from originals, which I have in my own hands, or from
copies which were transmitted to me from persons of undoubted credit,
chiefly by the Right Honourable the Lady Frances Gardiner, through the
hands of the Rev. Mr. Webster, one of the ministers of Edinburgh. This
I the rather mention, because some letters have been brought to me as
Colonel Gardiner's, concerning which I have not only been very dubious,
but morally certain that they could not have been written by him. I have
also heard of many who have been fond of assuring the world that they
were well acquainted with him, and were near him when he fell, whose
reports have been most inconsistent with each other, as well as contrary
to that testimony relating to the circumstances of his death, which,
on the whole, appeared to me beyond controversy the most natural and
authentic, from whence, therefore, I shall take my account of that
affecting scene.]
In this view it may naturally be supposed that he passed the remainder
of the night waking, and he could get but little rest in several that
followed. His mind was continually taken up in reflecting on the divine
purity and goodness; the grace which had been proposed to him in the
gospel, and which he had rejected; the singular advantages he had enjoyed
and abused; and the many favours of providence which he had received,
particularly in rescuing him from so many imminent dangers of death,
which he now saw must have been attended with such dreadful and hopeless
destruction. The privileges of his education, which he had so much
despised, now lay with an almost insupportable weight on his mind; and
the folly of that career of sinful pleasure which he had so many years
been running with desperate eagerness and unworthy delight, now filled
him with indignation against himself, and against the great deceiver, by
whom (to use his own phrase) he had been "so wretchedly and scandalously
befooled." This he used often to express in the strongest terms, which I
shall not repeat so particularly, as I cannot recollect some of them.
But on the whole it is certain that, by what passed before he left his
chamber the next day, the whole frame and disposition of his soul was
new-modelled and changed; so that he became, and continued to the last
day of his exemplary and truly Christian life, the very reverse of what
he had been before. A variety of particulars, which I am afterwards to
mention, will illustrate this in the most convincing manner. But I cannot
proceed to them without pausing to adore so illustrious an instance of
the power and freedom of divine grace, and entreating my reader seriously
to reflect upon it, that his own heart may be suitably affected. For
surely, if the truth of the fact be admitted in the lowest views in which
it can be placed, (that is, supposing the first impression to have passed
in a dream,) it must be allowed to have been little, if anything less
than miraculous. It cannot in the course of nature be imagined how such
a dream should arise in a mind full of the most impure ideas and
affections, and (as he himself often pleaded) more alienated from the
thoughts of a crucified Saviour, than from any other object that can be
conceived; nor can we surely suppose it should, without a mighty energy
of the divine power, be effectual to produce not only some transient
flow of passion, but so entire and permanent a change in character and
conduct.
On the whole, therefore, I must beg leave to express my own sentiments of
the matter, by repeating on this occasion what I wrote several years ago,
in my eighth sermon on regeneration, in a passage dictated chiefly by the
circumstantial knowledge which I had of this amazing story, and methinks
sufficiently vindicated by it, if it stood entirely alone, which yet, I
must take the liberty to say, it does not; for I hope the world will be
particularly informed, that there is at least a second that very nearly
approaches it, whenever the established church of England shall lose one
of its brightest living ornaments, and one of the most useful members
which that, or perhaps any other Christian communion, can boast. In the
mean time, may his exemplary life be long continued, and his zealous
ministry abundantly prospered! I beg my reader's pardon for this
digression. The passage I referred to above is remarkably, though not
equally, applicable to both the cases, under that head where I am showing
that God sometimes accomplishes the great work of which we speak,
by secret and immediate impressions on the mind. After preceding
illustrations, there are the following words, on which the colonel's
conversion will throw the justest light. "Yea, I have known those of
distinguished genius, polite manners, and great experience in human
affairs, who, after having out-grown all the impressions of a religious
education--after having been hardened, rather than subdued by the most
singular mercies, even various, repeated, and astonishing deliverances,
which have appeared to themselves as no less than miraculous--after
having lived for years without God in the world, notoriously corrupt
themselves, and labouring to the utmost to corrupt others, have been
stopped on a sudden in the full career of their sin, and have felt such
rays of the divine presence, and of redeeming love, darting in upon
their minds, almost like lightning from heaven, as have at once roused,
overpowered, and transformed them; so that they have come out of their
secret chambers with an irreconcilable enmity to those vices to which,
when they entered them, they were the tamest and most abandoned slaves;
and have appeared from that very hour the votaries, the patrons, the
champions of religion; and after a course of the most resolute
attachment to it, in spite of all the reasonings or the railleries, the
importunities or the reproaches of its enemies, they have continued to
this day some of its brightest ornaments; a change which I behold with
equal wonder and delight, and which, if a nation should join in deriding
it, I would adore as the finger of God."
The mind of Major Gardiner continued from this remarkable time, till
towards the end of October, (that is rather more than three months, but
especially the first two of them,) in as extraordinary a situation as one
can well imagine. He knew nothing of the joys arising from a sense of
pardon; but, on the contrary, for the greater part of that time, and with
very short intervals of hope towards the end of it, took it for granted
that he must in all probability quickly perish. Nevertheless, he had such
a sense of the evil of sin, of the goodness of the Divine Being, and of
the admirable tendency of the Christian revelation, that he resolved to
spend the remainder of his life, while God continued him out of hell, in
as rational and as useful a manner as he could; and to continue casting
himself at the foot of divine mercy every day, and often in a day, if
peradventure there might be hope of pardon, of which all that he could
say was, that he did not absolutely despair. He had at that time such a
sense of the degeneracy of his own heart, that he hardly durst form any
determinate resolution against sin, or pretend to engage himself by any
vow in the presence of God; but he was continually crying to him, that he
would deliver him from the bondage of corruption. He perceived in himself
a most surprising alteration with regard to the dispositions of his
heart; so that, though he felt little of the delight of religious duties,
he extremely desired opportunities of being engaged in them; and
those licentious pleasures which had before been his heaven, were now
absolutely his aversion. And indeed, when I consider how habitual all
those criminal indulgences were grown to him, and that he was now in the
prime of life, and all this while in high health too, I cannot but
be astonished to reflect upon it, that he should be so wonderfully
sanctified in body, as well as in soul and spirit, as that, for all the
future years of his life, he from that hour should find so constant a
disinclination to, and abhorrence of, those criminal sensualities to
which he fancied he was before so invincibly impelled by his very
constitution, that he was used strangely to think, and to say; that
Omnipotence itself could not reform him, without destroying that body,
and giving him another.[*]
[*Note: Mr. Spears expresses this wonderful circumstance in these
remarkable words "I was (said the colonel to me) effectually cured of all
inclination to that sin I was so strongly addicted to, that I thought
nothing but shooting me through the head could have cured me of it, and
all desire and inclination to it was removed, as entirely as if I had
been a sucking child, nor did the temptation return to this day." Mr.
Webster's words on the same subject are these "One thing I have heard the
colonel frequently say, that he was much addicted to impurity before his
acquaintance with religion, but that, so soon as he was enlightened from
above, he _felt the power of the Holy Ghost_ changing his nature so
wonderfully, that his sanctification in this respect seemed more
remarkable than in any other." On which that worthy person makes this
very reasonable reflection "So thorough a change of such a polluted
nature, evidenced by the most unblemished walk and conversation for a
long course of years, demonstrates indeed the power of the Highest, and
leaves no room to doubt of its reality." Mr. Spears says, this happened
in three days' time, but from what I can recollect, all that the colonel
could mean by that expression, if he used it, (as I conclude he did,) was
that he began to make the observation in the space of three days whereas,
during that time, his thoughts were so taken up with the wonderful views
presented to his mind, that he did not immediately attend to it. If he
had, within the first three days, any temptation to seek some ease from
the anguish of his mind, in returning to former sensualities, it is a
circumstance he did not mention to me, and by what I can recollect of
the strain of his discourse, he intimated if he did not express the
contrary.]
Nor was he only delivered from that bondage of corruption which had been
habitual to him for many years, but felt in his breast so contrary a
disposition, that he was grieved to see human nature, in those to whom he
was most entirely a stranger, prostituted to such low and contemptible
pursuits. He therefore exerted his natural courage in a very new kind of
combat, and became an open advocate for religion in all its principles,
so far as he was acquainted with them, and all its precepts, relating
to sobriety, righteousness, and godliness. Yet he was very desirous and
cautious that he might not run into extremes, and made it one of his
first petitions to God, the very day after these amazing impressions had
been wrought in his mind, that he might not be suffered to behave with
such an affected strictness and preciseness as would lead others about
him into mistaken notions of religion, and expose it to reproach or
suspicion, as if it were an unlovely or uncomfortable thing. For this
reason, he endeavoured to appear as cheerful in conversation as he
conscientiously could; though, in spite of all his precautions, some
traces of that deep inward sense which he had of his guilt and misery
would at times appear. He made no secret of it, however, that his views
were entirely changed, though he concealed the particular circumstances
attending that change. He told his most intimate companions freely that
he had reflected on the course of life in which he had so long joined
them, and found it to be folly and madness, unworthy a rational creature,
and much more unworthy persons calling themselves Christians. And he set
up his standard, upon all occasions, against principles of infidelity and
practices of vice, as determinately and as boldly as ever he displayed or
planted his colours, when he bore them with so much honour in the field.
I cannot forbear mentioning one struggle of this kind which he described
to me, with a large detail of circumstances, the first day of our
acquaintance. There was at that time in Paris a certain lady (whose name,
then well known in the grand and gay world, I must beg leave to conceal)
who had imbibed the principles of deism, and valued herself much upon
being an avowed advocate for them. The major, with his usual frankness,
(though I doubt not with that politeness of manners which was so habitual
to him, and which he retained throughout his whole life,) answered her
like a man who perfectly saw through the fallacy of her arguments,
and was grieved to the heart for her delusions. On this she briskly
challenged him to debate the matter at large, and to fix upon a day for
that purpose, when he should dine with her, attended by any clergyman he
might choose, whether of the Protestant or Catholic communion. A sense
of duty would not allow him to decline this challenge; and yet he had no
sooner accepted it, but he was thrown into great perplexity and distress
lest, being, as I remember he expressed it when he told me the story,
only a Christian of six weeks old, he should prejudice so good a cause by
his unskilful manner of defending it. However, he sought his refuge in
earnest and repeated prayers to God, that he who can ordain strength, and
perfect praise, out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, would graciously
enable him on this occasion to vindicate his truths in a manner which
might carry conviction along with it. He then endeavoured to marshal the
arguments in his own mind as well as he could; and apprehending that
he could not speak with so much freedom before a number of persons,
especially before such whose province he might seem in that case to
invade, if he had not devolved the principal part of the discourse upon
them, he easily admitted the apology of a clergyman or two, to whom
he mentioned the affair, and waited on the lady alone upon the day
appointed. But his heart was so set upon the business, that he came
earlier than he was expected, and time enough to have two hours'
discourse before dinner; nor did he at all decline having two persons,
nearly related to the lady, present during the conference. The major
opened it, with a view of such arguments for the Christian religion as
he had digested in his own mind, to prove that the apostles were not
mistaken themselves, and that they could not have intended to impose upon
us, in the accounts they give of the grand facts they attest; with the
truth of which facts, that of the Christian religion is most apparently
connected. And it was a great encouragement to him to find, that
unaccustomed as he was to discourses of this nature, he had an unusual
command both of thought and expression, so that he recollected and
uttered every thing as he could have wished. The lady heard with
attention; and though he paused between every branch of the argument, she
did not interrupt the course of it till he told her he had finished
his design, and waited for her reply. She then, produced some of her
objections, which he took up and canvassed in such a manner that at
length she burst into tears, allowed the force of his arguments and
replies, and appeared for some time after so deeply impressed with the
conversation, that it was observed by several of her friends; and there
is reason to believe that the impression continued, at least so far as to
prevent her from ever appearing under the character of an unbeliever or a
sceptic.
This is only one specimen among many of the battles he was almost daily
called out to fight in the cause of religion and virtue; with relation to
which I find him expressing himself thus in a letter to Mrs. Gardiner,
his good mother, dated from Paris the 25th of January following, that
is 1719-20, in answer to one in which she had warned him to expect such
trials: "I have (says he) already met with them, and am obliged to fight,
and to dispute every inch of ground. But all thanks and praise to the
great Captain of my salvation. He fights for me, and then it is no wonder
that I come off more than conqueror:" by which last expression I suppose
he meant to insinuate that he was strengthened and established, rather
than overborne, by this opposition. Yet it was not immediately that he
gained such fortitude. He has often told me how much he felt in those
days of the emphasis of those well-chosen words of the apostle, in which
he ranks the trial of cruel mockings, with scourgings, and bonds, and
imprisonments. The continual railleries with which he was received, in
almost all companies where he had been most familiar before, did often
distress him beyond measure; so that he several times declared he would
much rather have marched up to a battery of the enemy's cannon, than have
been obliged, so continually as he was, to face such artillery as this.
But, like a brave soldier in the first action wherein he is engaged, he
continued resolute, though shuddering at the terror of the assault; and
quickly overcame those impressions which it is not perhaps in nature
wholly to avoid; and therefore I find him, in the letter above referred
to, which was written about half a year after his conversion, "quite
ashamed to think of the uneasiness which these things once gave him." In
a word, he went on, as every resolute Christian by divine grace may do,
till he turned ridicule and opposition into respect and veneration.
But this sensible triumph over these difficulties was not till his
Christian experience had been abundantly advanced by the blessing of God
on the sermons he heard, (particularly in the Swiss chapel,) and on the
many hours which he spent in devout retirement, pouring out his whole
soul before God in prayer. He began, within about two months after his
first memorable change, to perceive some secret dawnings of more cheerful
hope, that vile as he saw himself to be, (and I believe no words can
express how vile that was,) he might nevertheless obtain mercy through
the Redeemer. At length (if I remember right, about the end of October,
1719) he found all the burthen of his mind taken off at once by the
powerful impression of that memorable scripture on his mind, Romans iii.
25, 26, "Whom God hath set forth for a propitiation through faith in his
blood, to declare his righteousness in the remission of sins,--that he
might be just, and the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus." He had
used to imagine that the justice of God required the damnation of so
enormous a sinner as he saw himself to be; but now he was made deeply
sensible that the divine justice might be not only vindicated, but
glorified, in saving him by the blood of Jesus, even that blood which
cleanseth us from all sin. Then did he see and feel the riches of
redeeming love and grace in such a manner as not only engaged him with
the utmost pleasure and confidence to venture his soul upon it, but even
swallowed up, as it were, his whole heart in the returns of love, which
from that blessed time became this genuine and delightful principle of
his obedience, and animated him, with an enlarged heart, to run the way
of God's commandments. Thus God was pleased (as he himself used to speak)
in an hour to turn his captivity. All the terrors of his former state
were changed into unutterable joy, which kept him almost continually
waking for three nights together, and yet refreshed him as the noblest of
cordials. His expressions, though naturally very strong, always seemed
to be swallowed up when he would describe the series of thought through
which he now passed, under the rapturous experience of that joy
unspeakable and full of glory, which then seemed to overflow his very
soul, as indeed there was nothing he seemed to speak of with greater
relish. And though the first ecstasies of it afterwards subsided into a
more calm and composed delight, yet were the impressions so deep and so
permanent, that he assured me, on the word of a Christian and a friend,
wonderful as it might seem, that, for about seven years after this, he
enjoyed almost heaven upon earth. His soul was so continually filled with
a sense of the love of God in Christ, that it knew little interruption,
but when necessary converse, and the duties of his station, called off
his thoughts for a little time. And when they did so, as soon as he was
alone, the torrent returned into its natural channel again; so that, from
the minute of awakening in the morning, his heart was raised to God, and
triumphing in him; and these thoughts attended him through all the scenes
of life, till he lay down on his bed again, and a short parenthesis
of sleep (for it was but a very short one that he allowed himself)
invigorated his animal powers, for renewing them with greater intenseness
and sensibility.
I shall have an opportunity of illustrating this in the most convincing
manner below, by extracts from several letters which he wrote to intimate
friends during this happy period of time--letters which breathe a spirit
of such sublime and fervent piety as I have seldom met with any where
else. In these circumstances, it is no wonder that he was greatly
delighted with Dr. Watts's imitation of the 126th Psalm, since it may be
questioned whether there ever was a person to whom the following stanzas
of it were more suitable:--
When God revealed his gracious name,
And changed my mournful state,
My rapture seemed a pleasing dream,
Thy grace appeared so great.
The world beheld the glorious change,
And did thine hand confess;
My tongue broke out in unknown strains,
And sung surprising grace.
"Great is the work," my neighbours cried,
And owned the power divine:
"Great is the work," my heart replied,
"And be the glory thine."
The Lord can change the darkest skies,
Can give us day for night,
Make drops of sacred sorrow rise,
To rivers of delight.
Let those that sow in sadness, wait
Till the fair harvest come!
They shall confess their sheaves are great,
And shout the blessings home.
I have been so happy as to get the sight of five original letters which
he wrote to his mother about this time, which do, in a lively manner,
illustrate the surprising change made in the whole current of his
thoughts and temper of his mind. Many of them were written in the
most hasty manner, just as the courier who brought them was perhaps
unexpectedly setting out, and they relate chiefly to affairs in which the
public is not at all concerned; yet there is not one of them in which he
has not inserted some warm and genuine sentiment of religion. Indeed it
is very remarkable, that though he was pleased to honour me with a great
many letters, and I have seen several more which he wrote to others, some
of them on journeys, where he could have but a few minutes at command,
yet I cannot recollect that I ever saw any one in which there was not
some trace of piety; and the Rev. Mr. Webster, who was employed to review
great numbers of them, that he might select such extracts as he should
think proper to communicate to me, has made the same observation.[*]
[*Note: His words are these: "I have read over a vast number of the
colonel's letters, and have not found any one of them, however short,
and writ in the most passing manner, even when posting, but what is
expressive of the most passionate breathings towards his God and Saviour.
If the letter consists but of two sentences, religion is not forgot,
which doubtless deserves to be carefully remarked, as the most
uncontested evidence of a pious mind, ever under the warmest impressions
of divine things."]
The major, with great justice, tells the good lady his mother, "that when
she saw him again she would find the person indeed the same, but every
thing else entirely changed." And she might easily have perceived it of
herself by the whole tenor of these letters, which every where breathe
the unaffected spirit of a true Christian. They are taken up sometimes
with giving advice and directions concerning some pious and charitable
contributions, one of which, I remember, amounted to ten guineas, though
as he was then out of commission, and had not formerly been very frugal,
it cannot be supposed he had much to spare; sometimes in speaking of
the pleasure with which he attended sermons, and expected sacramental
opportunities; and at other times in exhorting her, established as she
was in religion, to labour after a yet more exemplary character and
conduct, or in recommending her to the divine presence and blessing, as
well as himself to her prayers. What satisfaction such letters as these
must give to a lady of her distinguished piety, who had so long wept over
this dear and amiable son as quite lost to God, and on the verge of final
destruction, it is not for me to describe, nor indeed to conceive. But
hastily as these letters were written, only for private view, I will
give a few specimens from them in his own words, which will serve to
illustrate as well as confirm what I have hinted above.
"I must take the liberty," says he, in a letter dated on the first day of
the new year, or, according to the old style, Dec. 21, 1719, "to entreat
you that you would receive no company on the Lord's day. I know you have
a great many good acquaintance, with whose discourses one might be very
well edified; but as you cannot keep out and let in whom you please, the
best way, in my humble opinion, will be to see none." In another, of
Jan. 25, "I am happier than any one can imagine, except I could put him
exactly in the same situation with myself; which is what the world
cannot give, and no man ever attained it, unless it were from above."
In another, dated March 30, which was just before a sacrament day,
"To-morrow, if it please God, I shall be happy, my soul being to be fed
with the bread of life which came down from heaven. I shall be mindful
of you all there." In another of Jan. 29, he thus expresses that
indifference for worldly possessions which he so remarkably carried
through the remainder of his life: "I know the rich are only stewards for
the poor, and must give an account of every penny; therefore, the less I
have, the more easy will it be to give an account of it." And to add no
more from these letters at present, in the conclusion of one of them he
has these comprehensive and solemn words: "Now that He, who is the ease
of the afflicted, the support of the weak, the wealth of the poor, the
teacher of the ignorant, the anchor of the fearful, and the infinite
reward of all faithful souls, may pour out upon you all his richest
blessings, shall always be the prayer of him who is entirely yours," &c.
To this account of his correspondence with his excellent mother, I should
be glad to add a large view of another, to which she introduced him,
with that reverend and valuable person under whose pastoral care she was
placed--I mean the justly celebrated Doctor Edmund Calamy, to whom she
could not but early communicate the joyful news of her son's conversion.
I am not so happy as to be possessed of the letters which passed between
them, which I have reason to believe would make a curious and valuable
collection; but I have had the pleasure of receiving from my worthy
and amiable friend, the Rev. Mr. Edmund Calamy, one of the letters the
doctor, his father, wrote to the major on this wonderful occasion. I
perceive by the contents of it that it was the first, and, indeed, it is
dated as early as the 3d of August, 1719, which must be but a few days
after his own account, dated August 4, N.S., could reach England. There
is so much true religion and good sense in this paper, and the counsel
it suggests may be so reasonable to other persons in circumstances which
bear any resemblance to his, that I make no apology to my reader for
inserting a large extract from it.
"Dear Sir,--I conceive it will not much surprise you to understand that
your good mother communicated to me your letter to her, dated August 4,
N.S., which brought her the news you conceive would be so acceptable
to her. I, who have often been a witness to her concern for you on a
spiritual account, can attest with what joy this news was received by
her, and imparted to me as a special friend, who she knew would bear
a part with her on such an occasion. And, indeed, if (as our Saviour
intimates, Luke xv. 7, 10,) there is, is such cases, joy in heaven and
among the angels of God, it may be well supposed that of a pious mother
who has spent so many prayers and tears upon you, and has, as it were,
travailed in birth with you again till Christ was formed in you, could
not be small. You may believe me if I add, that I also, as a common
friend of hers and yours, and which is much more, of the Prince of Light,
whom you now declare you heartily fall in with in opposition to that of
the dark kingdom, could not but be tenderly affected with an account
of it under your own hand. My joy on this account was the greater,
considering the importance of your capacity, interests, and prospects,
which, in such an age as this, may promise most happy consequences, on
your heartily appearing on God's side, and embarking in the interest of
our Redeemer. If I have hitherto at all remembered you at the throne
of grace, at your good mother's desire, (which you are pleased to take
notice of with so much respect,) I can assure you I shall henceforth
be led to do it, with more concern and particularity both by duty and
inclination; and if I were capable of giving you any little assistance in
the noble design you are engaging in, by corresponding with you by letter
while you are at such a distance, I should do it most cheerfully. And
perhaps such a motion may not, be altogether unacceptable; for I am
inclinable to believe, that when some whom you are obliged to converse
with, observe your behaviour so different from what it formerly was, and
banter you upon it as mad and fanciful, it may be some little relief
to correspond with one who will take a pleasure in heartening and
encouraging you. And when a great many things frequently offer, in which
conscience may be concerned where duty may not always be plain, nor
suitable persons to advise with at hand, it may be some satisfaction to
you to correspond with one with whom you may use a friendly freedom
in all such matters, and on whose fidelity you may depend. You may,
therefore, command me in any of these respects, and I shall take a
pleasure in serving you. One piece of advice I shall venture to give you,
though your own good sense will make my enlarging upon it less needful--I
mean, that you would, from your first setting out, carefully distinguish
between the essentials of real religion, and those things which are
commonly reckoned by its professors to belong to it. The want of this
distinction has had very unhappy consequences from one age to another,
and perhaps in none more than the present. But your daily converse with
your Bible, which you mention, may herein give you great assistance. I
move also, that since infidelity so much abounds, you would not only, by
close and serious consideration, endeavour to settle yourself well in the
fundamental principles of religion; but also that, as opportunity offers,
you would converse with those books which treat most judiciously on the
divine original of Christianity, such as Grotins, Abbadie, Baxter, Bates,
Du Plessis, &c., which may establish you against the cavils that occur
in almost all conversations, and furnish you with arguments which, when
properly offered, may be of use to make some impression on others. But
being too much straitened to enlarge at present, I can only add, that if
your hearty falling in with serious religion should prove any hinderance
to your advancement in the world, (which I pray God it may not, unless
such advancement would be a real snare to you,) I hope you will trust
our Saviour's word, that it shall be no disadvantage to you in the final
issue: he has given you his word for it, Matt. xix. 29, upon which you
may safely depend; and I am satisfied none that ever did so at last
repented of it. May you go on and prosper, and the God of all grace and
peace be with you!"
I think it very evident from the contents of this letter, that the major
had not imparted to his mother the most singular circumstances attending
his conversion; and indeed there was something so peculiar in them,
that I do not wonder he was always cautious in speaking of them, and
especially that he was at first much on the reserve. We may also
naturally reflect that there seems to have been something very
providential in this letter, considering the debate in which our
illustrious convert was so soon engaged; for it was written but about
three weeks before his conference with the lady above mentioned in the
defence of Christianity, or at least before the appointment of it. And as
some of the books recommended by Dr. Calamy, particularly Abbadie and Du
Plessis, were undoubtedly within his reach, (if our English advocates
were not,) this might, by the divine blessing, contribute considerably
towards arming him for that combat in which he came off with such happy
success. As in this instance, so in many others, they who will observe
the coincidence and concurrence of things, may be engaged to adore the
wise conduct of Providence in events which, when taken singly and by
themselves, have nothing very remarkable in them.
I think it was about this time that this resolute and exemplary Christian
entered upon that methodical manner of living which he pursued through
so many succeeding years of life, and I believe generally, so far as the
broken state of his health would allow it in his latter days, to the very
end of it. He used constantly to rise at four in the morning, and to
spend his time till six in the secret exercises of devotion, reading,
meditation, and prayer, in which last he contracted such a fervency of
spirit as I believe few men living ever obtained. This certainly tended
very much to strengthen that firm faith in God, and reverent animating
sense of his presence, for which he was so eminently remarkable, and
which carried him through the trials and services of life with such
steadiness and with such activity; for he indeed endured and acted as
always seeing Him who is invisible. If at any time he was obliged to go
out before six in the morning, he rose proportionably sooner; so that
when a journey or a march has required him to be on horseback by four, he
would be at his devotions at furthest by two. He likewise secured time
for retirement in an evening; and that he might have it the more at
command, and be the more fit to use it properly, as well as be better
able to rise early the next morning, he generally went to bed about ten;
and, during the time I was acquainted with him, he seldom ate any supper
but a mouthful of bread, with one glass of wine. In consequence of this,
as well as of his admirably good constitution, and the long habit he had
formed, he required less sleep than most persons I have known; and I
doubt not but his uncommon progress in piety was in a great measure owing
to these resolute habits of self-denial.
A life anything like this could not, to be sure, be entered upon in the
midst of such company as he had been accustomed to keep, without great
opposition, especially as he did not entirely withdraw himself from all
the circle of cheerful conversation; but, on the contrary, gave several
hours every day to it, lest religion should be reproached as having made
him morose. He however, early began a practice, which to the last day of
his life he retained, of reproving vice and profaneness; and was never
afraid to debate the matter with any one, under the consciousness of
great superiority in the goodness of his cause.
A remarkable instance of this happened, if I mistake not, about the
middle of 1720, though I cannot be very exact as to the date of the
story. It was, however, on his first return to make any considerable
abode in England after this remarkable change. He had heard, on the other
side of the water, that it was currently reported among his companions
at home that he was stark mad--a report at which no reader who knows the
wisdom of the world in these matters, will be much surprised, any more
than himself. He concluded, therefore, that he should have many battles
to fight, and was willing to dispatch the business as fast as he could.
And therefore, being to spend a few days at the country-house of a person
of distinguished rank, with whom he had been very intimate, (whose name
I do not remember that he told me, nor did I think it proper to inquire
after it,) he begged the favour of him that he would contrive matters
so, that, a day or two after he came down, several of their former gay
companions might meet at his lordship's table, that he might have an
opportunity of making his apology to them, and acquainting them with the
nature and reasons of his change. It was accordingly agreed to; and a
pretty large company met on the day appointed, with previous notice that
Major Gardiner would be there. A good deal of raillery passed at dinner,
to which the major made very little answer. But when the cloth was taken
away, and the servants retired, he begged their patience for a few
minutes, and then plainly and seriously told them what notions he
entertained of virtue and religion, and on what considerations he had
absolutely determined that by the grace of God he would make it the care
and business of life, whatever he might lose by it, and whatever censure
and contempt he might incur. He well knew how improper it was in such
company to relate the extraordinary manner in which he was awakened,
which they would probably have interpreted as a demonstration of lunacy,
against all the gravity and solidity of his discourse; but he contented
himself with such a rational defence of a righteous, sober, and godly
life, as he knew none of them could with any shadow of reason contest. He
then challenged them to propose any thing they could urge, to prove that
a life of irreligion and debauchery was preferable to the fear, love and
worship of the eternal God, and a conduct agreeable to the precepts
of his gospel. And he failed not to bear his testimony, from his own
experience, (to one part of which many of them had been witnesses) that
after having run the widest round of sensual pleasure, with all the
advantages the best constitution and spirits could give him, he had never
tasted any thing that deserved to be called happiness, till he had made
religion his refuge and his delight. He testified calmly and boldly the
habitual serenity and peace which he now felt in his own breast, (for the
most elevated delights he did not think fit to plead, lest they should be
esteemed enthusiasm,) and the composure and pleasure with which he looked
forward to objects which the gayest sinner must acknowledge to be equally
unavoidable and dreadful.
I know not what might be attempted by some of the company in answer to
this; but I well remember that he told me that the master of the table, a
person of a very frank and candid disposition, cut short the debate, and
said, "Come, let us call another cause. We thought this man mad, and
he is in good earnest proving that we are so." On the whole, this
well-judged circumstance saved him a great deal of future trouble. When
his former acquaintances observed that he was still conversible and
innocently cheerful, and that he was immovable in his resolutions, they
desisted from further importunity; and he has assured me, that instead of
losing any one valuable friend by the change in his character, he found
himself much more esteemed and regarded by many who could not persuade
themselves to imitate his example.
I have not any memoirs of Colonel Gardiner's life, or of any other
remarkable event befalling him in it, from the time of his return to
England till his marriage in the year 1726, except the extracts which
have been sent me from some letters, which he wrote to his religious
friends during this interval, and which I cannot pass by without a more
particular notice. It may be recollected, that in consequence of
the reduction of that regiment of which he was major, he was out of
commission from Nov. 10, 1718, till June 1, 1724; and, after he returned
from Paris, I find all his letters during this period dated from London,
where he continued in communion with the Christian society under the
pastoral care of Dr. Calamy. As his good mother also belonged to the
same, it is easy to imagine it must have been an unspeakable pleasure to
her to have such frequent opportunities of conversing with such a son, of
observing in his daily conduct and discourses the blessed effects of that
change which divine grace had made in his heart, and of sitting down with
him monthly at that sacred feast where Christians so frequently enjoy
the divinest entertainments which they expect on this side heaven. I the
rather mention this ordinance, because, as this excellent lady had a very
high esteem for it, so she had an opportunity of attending it but the
very Lord's day immediately preceding her death, which happened on
Thursday, October 7, 1725, after her son had been removed from her almost
a year. He had maintained her handsomely out of that very moderate income
on which he subsisted since his regiment had been disbanded; and when she
expressed her gratitude to him for it, he assured her (in one of the last
letters she ever received from him) "that he esteemed it a great honour
that God put it into his power to make what he called a very small
acknowledgment of all her care for him, and especially of the many
prayers she had offered on his account, which had already been remarkably
answered, and the benefit of which he hoped ever to enjoy."
I apprehend that the Earl of Stair's regiment, to the majority of
which he was promoted on the 20th of July, 1724, was then quartered in
Scotland; for all the letters in my hand, from that time to the 6th of
February, 1726, are dated from thence, and particularly from Douglas,
Stranraer, Hamilton, and Ayr. But I have the pleasure to find, from
comparing these with others of an earlier date from London and the
neighbouring parts, that neither the detriment which he must suffer by
being so long out of commission, nor the hurry of affairs while charged
with it, could prevent or interrupt that intercourse with Heaven, which
was his daily feast, and his daily strength.
These were most eminently the happy years of his life; for he had
learned to estimate his happiness, not by the increase of honour, or the
possession of wealth, or by what was much dearer to his generous heart
than either, the converse of the dearest and worthiest human friends; but
by nearness to God, and by opportunities of humble converse with him, in
the lively exercise of contemplation, praise, and prayer. Now there was
no period of his life in which he was more eminently favoured with these,
nor do I find any of his letters so overflowing with transports of holy
joy, as those which were dated during this time. There are indeed in some
of them such very sublime passages, that I have been dubious whether I
should communicate them to the public or not, lest I should administer
matter of profane ridicule to some, who look upon all the elevations
of devotion as contemptible enthusiasm. And it has also given me some
apprehensions lest it should discourage some pious Christians, who, after
having spent several years in the service of God, and in humble obedience
to the precepts of his gospel, may not have attained to any such heights
as these. But, on the whole, I cannot satisfy myself to suppress them;
not only as I number some of them, considered in a devotional view, among
the most extraordinary pieces of the kind I have ever met with; but as
some of the most excellent and judicious persons I any where know, to
whom I have read them, have assured me that they felt their hearts in an
unusual manner impressed, quickened, and edified by them.