PRINCETON, N. J. 
 
 BV 4900 .M23 1855 
 MacFarlane, John, 1807-1874 
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 NIGHT LAMP. 
 
' Tlie Scriptures are the well -furnished dispensatory of all sovereign 
 remedies — the rich magazine of all true comforts — the complete armoury 
 of all spiritual weapons, and the unerring compass to guide to the haven 
 of glory.' — FisnEK. 
 
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THE NIGHT LAMP: 
 
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 THE MEANS BY WHICU SPIRITUAL DARKNESS WAS DISPELLED 
 FROM THE DEATH-BED OP 
 
 AGNES MAXWELL MACEAELANE, 
 
 Rev. JOHN MACFARLANE, LL.D. 
 
 Author of Hiding Place, Mountains of the Bible, &c. 
 
 THY WORD IS A LAMP UNTO MY FEET.— Psalm csix. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 WILLIAM S. & ALFRED MARTIEN, 
 
 144 Chestnut Street. 
 
 1855. 
 
i\ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 About eighteen years ago, the Diary was written from 
 which these Memorials are now compiled. During 
 the long period of his Sister's illness, the Author took 
 regular notes of what passed between them. After her 
 death, he prepared from these a manuscript memoir 
 of the dying scene for the sole benefit of the relatives. 
 It never was his intention that other eyes should see, 
 or other ears should hear of it. The document, how- 
 ever, found its way out of the relative circle ; copies 
 of it were also taken ; and the Author became anxious 
 lest some indiscreet but well-meaning friend might 
 give it still farther publicity. Under this impression 
 he did eveiythiiig in his power to prevent its circula- 
 tion ; and though he has been often and urgently 
 entreated to give it to the world, he never feh at 
 hberty to do so, chiefly for two reasons, viz., the cir- 
 cumstance that the subject of the Memoir was so 
 nearly related to him, and the necessarily conspicuous 
 
 place which he himself occupies in the narrative. 
 
 a 2 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 It SO happened that in the course of last summer, 
 the original manuscript returned to him, after an 
 absence of some years. He re-perused it, and was 
 strongly impressed that it was his duty to re-compose 
 it for publication. He decided on doing so, and the 
 present work is the result. His reigning motive has 
 been to do good by this humble instrument to the 
 souls of many, especially of the young and thought- 
 less, who, while they have a ' name to live, are in 
 reality dead.' This motive has been powerful enough 
 to overcome his original dislike to publication, though 
 for the same reasons still, he makes the venture with 
 considerable reluctance. 
 
 The reports of the death-bed exercises are taken 
 almost verbatim from the Author's memoranda. The 
 instances in which he has found it necessaiy (rather 
 than leave any part of the nan*ative unintelligible) to 
 draw upon recollection or conjecture, are so few as to 
 be unworthy of specification. Had the idea of future 
 publication been in his mind when he daily recorded 
 what passed in the sick chamber, he could have 
 enriched the work much beyond any value that it may 
 be thought to possess. As it is, he lays it at the feet 
 of the blessed Redeemer, with the fervent prayer that 
 
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. Y\\ 
 
 he would be pleased to advance, by means of it, his 
 o^\ni glory in the spiritual well-being of immortal 
 souls. 
 
 Glasgow, Middleton House, 
 December, 1850. 
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 The Author is thankful to the ' God of all grace ' for 
 the favoiu* which has been sho^^^l to this work — tlie 
 rehgious public having called for a Second Edition 
 within little more than four months from the ap- 
 pearance of the first. His mind is now at rest as to 
 the propriety of his decision — tardy it may have been 
 — to publish this narrative. The verdict as to its 
 usefulness has been unanimous, and with this he 
 ought to be, and is content. It is his fervent prayer 
 that it ma}' be still further honoured, to comfort the 
 disconsolate, to strengthen the feeble, to startle the 
 self-deceived, and above all, to guide the young to the 
 ' Good Shepherd,' who has promised to ' gather the 
 lambs with his arms, and caiT}' them in his bosom.' 
 
yiii PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDIl lOX. 
 
 So fai' as he has observed, two exceptions of impor- 
 tance have been taken to the Memou'. The first has 
 respect to the conversion of his sister on her death- 
 bed, and some think that this great change must have 
 passed upon her at an earher period. This was pre- 
 cisely his own opinion for a long time, and indeed 
 he has nowhere in the narrative (so far as he is aware) 
 asserted the opposite. It is now, however, a growing 
 conviction in his mind, from all he can recollect of her 
 life, that she was not 'in Christ Jesus' till the period 
 at wliich she herself constantly affirmed she had been 
 ' born again.' And it is to this feature of the book 
 that he would invite the serious attention of the young 
 christian professor, as perhaps the most useful one of 
 the whole. The second exception refers to the opinion 
 he has expressed on novel-reading. Notwithstanding 
 the high respect which he feels towards some who have 
 pronounced his views on this subject as ' belated and 
 childish bigotry,' he cannot forego them. No doubt 
 the novels of the present day are a great improvement 
 upon those of a former generation ; still, in a work de- 
 signed to influence the young, the Author repudiates 
 the idea of giving even the slightest mark of approba- 
 tion to a class of books which are for the most pai't 
 
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. ix 
 
 written for the mere amusement of the idle <and the 
 frivolous. It is one thing to say that Dr Chalmers 
 and Robert Hall might at a time peruse a volume of 
 Scott, or Bulwer, or Dickens, and a very chfferent 
 matter altogether to advise the young to such a 
 practice. ' If any youth,' says Maurice D wight in 
 his book on 'reading fictitious and impure works,' 
 ' would stand before the world "an honest man, the 
 noblest work of God," he must draw on higher and 
 pxu'er sources than works of fiction, and graduate in a 
 better school of morals than that to which the novelist 
 or the tragedian invites him.' With the folio Vv'ing ex- 
 cellent remarks of his esteemed friend the Rev. Dr 
 Mackelvie, the author entirely coincides : ' The mind 
 takes its complexion in part from the books with which 
 it has been conversant in early life. . . . Many 
 persons are alive to the dangers of bad company, who 
 are insensible to those which flow from bad books, and 
 many books are bad in their tendency which are not 
 bad in their materials.' * 
 
 1st June, 1851. 
 
 * Memoir of Rev. James Hay, D.D. 
 
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION. 
 
 With the exception of a few verbal alterations, this 
 edition is the same as that which preceded it. 
 
 It may be of vise to call the attention of the 
 reader to the references which the Author has made 
 to his new work, ' The Hiding Place,' and wherein 
 are to be found more full and satisfactory explanations 
 of the subjects of the death-bed colloquies in this 
 volume. In the ' Memoir ' itself it would have been 
 improper to have discussed at length either doctrinal 
 or experimental topics. But if the anxious mquii'er 
 Avish complete and connected views of these, he will 
 find them in 'The Hiding Place,' and especially 
 in those chapters of that work which are specially 
 referred to in this edition of ' The Night Lamp.' 
 
 1st March, 1853. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. — Ancestral Piety. 
 
 Page 
 
 Maternal faith and triumph in Death — Celestial visitations to dying 
 believers — Dr Gordon — A Child — The Minister's daughter — 
 Supernatural revelations to saints on their death-beds not un- 
 scriptural nor uncommon, _------! 
 
 Chapter II. — The Pastor's Death. 
 
 Paternal piety and grief — Letters to Captain Husband — Letters of 
 consolation from Dr Lawson, Dr Dick, Dr Henry Belfrage, Dr 
 Wardlaw, and Dr John Brown — Death and character of Dr 
 Husband — Mr Brown of Inverkeitbing — Death-bed testimonies 
 of Agnes' Father, __-._--- 20 
 
 Chapter III. — Early Nurture and Admonition. 
 
 Hereditary friendship — A scene in the Manse at Dunfermline with 
 the Orphans— Eai'ly days of Agnes — Novel reading — The Wa- 
 verley Novels — Last night in tlie Manse — Removal to Edinburgh 
 — Residence at Lougridge — Education there— Progress — Return 
 to Dunfermline, - - - - - - - -57 
 
 Chapter IV. — The Farewells of Life. 
 
 Education prosecuted — Death of Mrs Dewar — Visit to Mrs Aber- 
 crombie in Edinburgh — Goes to the boarding establishment of 
 Miss "White— Sisterly love — Death of her sister-in-law — Ex- 
 tracts from Agnes' Correspondence — Visits Rew in Perthshire — 
 Scenery there — Visits the Author at Kincardine — Returns to 
 Luscar House — Attentions to a sick brother — Becomes a mem- 
 ber of the Church — Importance of this step — Pre-requisites — 
 Goes to Edinburgh — Correspondence — Her love of society — 
 Anonymous Letter — Estimate of her by a young ft-iend — Her 
 last visit to Dunfermline — Commencement of her illness, - 87 
 
 Chapter V. — The Valley of the Shadow of Death Entered. 
 
 First interview on her sick-'bed with the Author — First alarm of 
 relatives — The duty of informing the dying of their situation 
 — Painful attempt at this — A failure — The young heart not 
 easily alarmed — The first use of the ' Night Lamp ' — Her an- 
 xious thoughts — Her fears — Her unbelief— Efforts to dispel them 
 unsuccessful — Divine decrees — Neander — Serious conversations — 
 The sin against the Holy Ghost — Increasing uneasiness both of 
 body and mind, -.-.._.. 128 
 
xn CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter VI. — The Rise of Faith. 
 
 Page 
 
 Solicitude about her conversion — A hope that it had taken place — 
 Sabbath in the sick chamber — Her hymns — Her first alarms 
 about Death — Interviews with Dr Halley of Troy, and Mr Brown 
 of Inverkeithing — Her melancholy thoughts — Conversations with 
 her Brother — Death contemplated with less aversion — UnbeUef 
 giving way — Faith rising — Preparation for Death now begun in 
 earnest — Her Conversion, - - - - - - -168 
 
 Chapter VII. — The Growth of Grace. 
 
 Interview with friends — Calmness of mind in the midst of solemn 
 work — Peaceful anticipation of Heaven — Conversations with her 
 Brother — The precious blood of Christ — Anecdote of her Father 
 — Second interview with Dr Halley — Mrs Cunningham's account 
 of her interviews with Agues, -____. 204 
 
 Chapter VIII. — The Fruits of Peace. 
 
 A series of Conversations with the Author on important subjects, 
 evidencing her progress in spirituality and heavenly-mindedness 
 — Her great and increasing sufferings — Her beautiful patience — 
 A dark cloud comes — Dr Halley 's last interview with her— Her 
 love of devotion — She wearies for her translation — Takes pleasure 
 in reading out of Willison — Peculiarities in her death-bed work, 229 
 
 Chapter IX. — The Assurance of Hope. 
 
 No sameness in religion — Evident in the experiences of dying saints 
 — Illustrated in Agnes — Her godly jealousy — Conversations with 
 the Author — Love of Praj^er — Reminiscences of Dr Belfrage at 
 the Lord's table — Her weakness greatly increases — Symptoms of 
 Death — Her Hope sure and steadfast — One little cloud — Dissi- 
 pated by the ' Night Lamp ' — Great sufferings — Desires to know 
 what may be the time of her departure— The full assurance of 
 her hope— Dying ecstasies — A parting scene, _ . _ 256 
 
 Chapter X. — Death and the Grave. 
 
 Simplicity the character of Agnes' dying testimony — God's won- 
 derful goodness- -Her last Sabbath on earth — Sublime scene 
 — Farewell interview with her eldest Brother— Her latest testi- 
 mony — Her last day— Her last moment — Mr Brown of luver- 
 keithing's visit after her Death — Removal of the body to Dun- 
 fermline--The Scenery by the way — Crossing at Queensfei-ry 
 by Moonlight -Interment in the Abbey Cemetery — Concluding 
 reflections, ---______ 296 
 
THE 
 
 NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Ancestral ^tetg. 
 
 ' But a gentler death 
 A christian never died. Methought her soul 
 Faded in light, even as a glorious star 
 Is hidden 'mid the splendours of the morn.' 
 
 John Wilson. 
 
 It was evening — a serene evening in the month of 
 May, 1816 — and it was at the ancient town of Dun- 
 fermline, in Fifeshire, and within the bed-chamber of 
 a dying lady, that the following affecting and sublime 
 scene occurred. On the 7th of May, she had given 
 birth to her seventh son. There was joy beneath the 
 roof-tree of her happy mansion. Suddenly that joy 
 was turned into mourning. Her physicians pro- 
 nounced the case hopeless ; and about ten o'clock, on 
 the night of Monday the 13th, she took farewell of 
 her family and friends. Her parting with the chil- 
 dren was one of those touching scenes which, though 
 
2 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 indescribable, can never be forgotten. Already had 
 she given her last embrace to her seven boys ; and 
 now her only daughter, a sweet-looking child of about 
 five years of age, was raised to receive the kiss and 
 the blessing of a dying mother. Heaven is hearing 
 that silent prayer — the name of the lovely child is 
 now registering in the Lamb's book of life — and when 
 a few years have fled away, the answer to the prayer 
 will be seen pouring forth in those streams of holy joy 
 which refresh the soul, in earnestly working out its 
 own salvation. 
 
 'And now,' feebly uttered this christian mother, 
 ' I know that God will provide for these dear infants. 
 I SEE IT — I BELIEVE IT ; for God hath said it.' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear Grace,' replied the Eev. Dr Hus- 
 band, a venerable old man, her father, who stood 
 beside her pillow : ' the Lord will provide.' * 
 
 ' I mean so, father,' said the lady. 
 
 ' Your dear Redeemer,' he added, ' will, I hope, 
 shield you from every danger, and conduct you safely 
 to your heavenly Father's bosom.' 
 
 ' Yes — O yes ! ' and at intervals she repeated the 
 assent — her mind evidently being taken up with the 
 remark, and her faith appropriating it. 
 
 She had already one daughter in heaven. The 
 death of that child had exceedingly grieved her hus- 
 band. Her own heart was likewise smitten with a 
 sadness peculiar to a mother's sorrow for the death of 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' pp. 59-63. 
 
ANCESTRAL PIETY. 3 
 
 an infant ; but with her natural strength of mind, and 
 her deep piety, she had been enabled to suppress her 
 own tears, in order to wipe away his. He had often, 
 in her hearing, said that this bereavement had added 
 a new attraction to heaven ; and when alluding to the 
 beatitudes of that unseen world, he would eloquently 
 dwell on the ecstacy of parents meeting there with 
 those dear children who had gone before them. 
 
 ' I am not without hopes,' she said, in reference to 
 this, ' of meeting with my dear mother and my dear 
 little Margaret in heaven. Ah ! Mr Macfarlane will 
 envy me that.' 
 
 There was no time to reply. The last moment Avas 
 at hand. Her features, but now pale and languid, 
 assumed an unearthly beauty. Her eye, but now 
 dull and heavy, was lighted up as from some invisible 
 glory. Her voice, but now scarcely audible, took on 
 strength and distinctness of tone. The weeping circle 
 around her stood in silent awe. 
 
 ' What do I see ? ' she exclaimed — ' O, what do 
 I see r 
 
 They looked upwards, as she did, but they saw 
 nothing. 
 
 ' Wings ! Wings ! Wings !' she added, with a 
 most heavenly expression in every feature. 
 
 They that were of the earth dared not yet to speak. 
 
 'Fly! Fly! FlyM' said the expiring conqueror : 
 ' O why is his chariot so long in coming ? — wh}' 
 tarry the wheels of his chariot *? ' 
 
4 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' Do you mean angels, Grace ? Do you see them? ' 
 inquired Dr Husband. 
 
 ' Yes,' she replied : ' angels to conduct me safely 
 liome !' 
 
 Having thus spoken, she teas not; for the Lord 
 took her. 
 
 This was the closing scene in the life of the mother 
 of her whose death-bed work is to be described in 
 the following pages. The only daughter over whom 
 this mother breathed that latest pra3'er was Agnes 
 Maxwell Macfaelane, who was born in Dun- 
 fermline, Fifeshire, 5th February, 1811. 
 
 It must be admitted that, in the scene described. 
 Death appears stripped of his terrors. This lady had 
 lived the life of fiith. From her earliest years she 
 gave evidence of her conversion to God. As the 
 much-loved daughter of one christian minister, she 
 had enjoyed, in the manse at Dunfermline, every holy 
 privilege both of intellectual and spiritual improve- 
 ment. As the wife of another minister — her father's 
 colleague and successor — she had adorned and digni- 
 fied not only the happy precincts of her own sweet 
 home, but that large and influential circle of society 
 wdiich at that period, in the West of Fife, continued to 
 be attached to the church over which the illustrious 
 Ralph Eeskine presided to the period of his death. 
 Her days had passed away amid scenes of unpretend- 
 ing but genuine godliness. Of the seed of the 
 righteous, she had received the blessing that is pro- 
 
ANCESTRAL PIETY. f) 
 
 mised to them ; and among the ' followers of them 
 who, through faith and patience, were inheriting the 
 promises,' she had never been withdrawn from the 
 influence of their simple piety, and had never been 
 exposed to the blighting and dangerous examples of a 
 religious profession without religious principles. Holv 
 and venerable ministers of God — with not a few of 
 whom that countrj-side was then marvellously blessed 
 — had been her chosen and chief associates. She had 
 sat from a girl at their feet. She had been taught 
 her theolog}' from their lips. She had drunk dee[) 
 into their spirit, and followed them ' in the regenera- 
 tion.' And now, when she had to die, though compa- 
 ratively young — she was only a few years above thirty 
 — she met the last enemy with perfect composure. 
 She had nothing to do but to die. Her understanding 
 was strengthened with ' the sincere milk of the 
 word' — her heart was God's — her husband and her 
 children were his too, by her own cheerful deed of 
 surrender; and her hope had fixed the anchor idthin 
 the veil. She, therefore, knew no fear— yea, rather, 
 as it appears, she was made the recipient of per- 
 fect peace, and died ' more than a conqueror, through 
 Him that loved her,' and ' whom, having not seen, she 
 loved.' 
 
 And who were these whom she so distinctly recog- 
 nised as her soul was departing ? She told her father 
 that she saw angels; and angels they surely were. 
 She was not in delirium ; she was iiot even in that 
 
6 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 half-dreamy state bordering upon it, in which some 
 expire. Her intellect always strong, was never so 
 clear and collected as at that moment ; and her 
 natural feelings, which she had power to control and 
 regulate beyond most mothers, in such affecting cir- 
 cumstances, were never more at her command. The 
 mere sentimentalism in religion was her abhorrence ; 
 andif there was anything else which she more strictly 
 guarded herself against, it was religious ostentation or 
 display. The proper inference is, that even before 
 the last breath is drawn, celestial visions may be some- 
 times granted to dying saints. On no other principle 
 can the enraptured- looks, triumphant language, and 
 direct, intelligent addresses, with wdiich some emi- 
 nently godly persons have left this world, be interpreted. 
 The sublime antecedents of christian martyrdom afford 
 numerous illustrations of this. Such a privilege was 
 granted to the leader in that noble cloud of witnesses. 
 Immediately before Stephen ' fell asleep,' it is said 
 in the Acts of the Apostles, ' He, being full of the 
 Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly into heaven, and 
 saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right 
 hand of God, and said. Behold, I see the heavens 
 opened, and the Son of man standing on the right 
 hand of God ! ' What one saint could see in his ex- 
 piring scene, others may be permitted to behold ; and 
 there is much probability in the idea, that though, in 
 general, silence be imposed on the lips of dying be- 
 lievers, their souls are sustained in the solemn hour by 
 
ANCESTllAL PIETY. 7 
 
 * bread from heaven,' of which weeping survivors have 
 no conception, not even the suspicion. 
 
 The graphic account recently given to the world of 
 the death-bed of Dr Gordon, of Kingston-upon-Hull, 
 may with much propriety be referred to as an affect- 
 ing illustration. Just as he was expiring, Mr Hall, 
 his accomplished biographer, relates : ' He appeared 
 no longer conscious of what took place around him. 
 
 He gazed upwards, as in a rapt vision 
 
 As we watched in silent wonder and praise, his 
 features, which had become motionless, suddenly 
 yielded, for a few seconds, to a smile of ecstacy which 
 no pencil could ever depict, and which none who wit- 
 nessed it can ever forget. And when it passed away, 
 still the whole countenance continued to beam and 
 brighten, as if reflecting the glory on which the 
 soul was gazing. . . . We saw as much as 
 raortiil eye could see of the entrance of a soul into 
 glory. Nothing more could have been given us but 
 the actual vision of the separate spirit and its angelic 
 convoy. This glorious spectacle lasted for about a 
 quarter of an hour, increasing in interest to the last, 
 during which the soul seemed pouring itself from 
 the frail tenement which had imprisoned it into the 
 embrace of its Lord. The breathing now became 
 shorter and shorter ; then, after a long pause, one last 
 gentle heaving of the chest, and without a struggle, 
 at two o'clock the soul had fled.' * 
 
 * The Christian Philosopher Triumphing over Death, etc. By 
 Newman Hall, B. A. London: J. Snow. 1850. 
 
8 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Such like was a scene that was witnessed early on 
 a beautiful summer morning, in June, 1844. The 
 sufferer was a most beautiful child, of six years of age.* 
 She had given unequivocal evidence of sanctifica- 
 tion even from the womb. She knew and loved the 
 Saviour — she had heard of heaven — and nothing gave 
 her so much delight as when, at her own repeated 
 request, the Bible descriptions of that glorious abode 
 were read to her. She knew she was dying, and had 
 no fears, nay, no reluctance to leave this world — she 
 rather longed to ' depart, and be with Christ, which 
 is far better.' Her strength of mind and her exercise 
 of faith were, considering her age, wonderful; and the 
 sweetness and gentleness of her disposition were 
 at the same time most melting. On the Sabbath 
 evening, a few hours before she died, her relatives 
 stood around the sofa where she lay, thinking the last 
 struggle had come — she herself thought so — and hav- 
 ing noticed their grief, she threw out her little hands 
 to them all, and said, with perfect but solemn com- 
 posure of manner, 'Good bye!' and then she shut 
 her eyes, and turned her head away. A few hours 
 after this, about three o'clock in the morning, they 
 again surrounded her couch. The sun had just risen, 
 and was gilding with his beams the tops of the lofty 
 mountains of Argyllshire, and the surface of the 
 waters on the picturesque bay of Rothesay ; the mild 
 and subdued light of morn was fi*om these reflected 
 * Jessie Burns Macfarlane, daughter of the Author. 
 
ANCESTRAL PJETY. 9 
 
 upon the countenance of the dying gid. But only 
 for a brief period. Tliat natural refulgence faded 
 away, and in its place came such an expression of 
 countenance as could only exist in connection with 
 some celestial objects which had then become visible to 
 her. She uttered no words ; but for a while, whether 
 she was ' in the body or out of the body,' they could not 
 tell. And thus this lovely child of heaven went home. 
 Recently conversing with an excellent clergyman 
 of the Church of Scotland, whose parish lies on 
 the shores of one of those romantic Highland lochs 
 for which the Scottish west coast is remarkable, he 
 told the wiiter that some time ago an interesting 
 daughter of his had closed her life in a most remark- 
 able manner. Though delicate, she was not under- 
 stood to be dying, and being only about twelve years 
 of age, it was hoped that debility would give way to 
 strength, and that early promises of good would be 
 fulfilled in the maturity of age. One afternoon she 
 suddenly awoke, as was thought, from a refreshing 
 sleep — surprise was pictured on every feature of her 
 sweet countenance, and she gazed around as if she had 
 unexpectedly found herself in a new world. ^Mother,' 
 she exclaimed, 'do you see no change on my face? Is 
 there nothing peculiar about my looks?' 'No,' replied 
 the astonished parent: 'Why do you ask?' 'Because,' 
 said the child, ' I have just been in one of the most 
 beautiful places I ever beheld, and have seen some of 
 
 the most glorious and beautiful beings ! — O, I cannot 
 
 a2 
 
10 THE NIGHT LAMP. ' 
 
 describe where I have been, and what I have looked 
 upon ! Tell me, mother, is there no change on my 
 face ? Surely there must be.' Being told that there 
 was none, she became calm and silent for a time, and 
 then she burst forth with an exclamation : ' There — 
 there it is again — I see it again, dear mother — I see 
 these beautiful beings again — they are coming !' — and 
 so she died. 
 
 It does violence to some of the finest feelings 
 and most sacred sentiments of the clu'istian heart, 
 to interpret these mysteries as the results of mor- 
 bid functions, either in the body or in the mind. 
 There is, indeed, such an excrescence as rhapsody 
 in religion ; and, after a season of prolonged afflic- 
 tion, where there is an extremely sensitive and 
 nervous constitution, with a small breadth of under- 
 standing, and that understanding but partially im- 
 pregnated with vital truth, it is very apt to appear. 
 But this is an imbecility which cannot be charged 
 against such cases as the above. These belong to a 
 class of death-bed experiences which may not be a 
 very large one, but which has, so far as the writer's 
 observation goes, not yet obtained that serious notice 
 to which it is undoubtedly entitled from the fearers 
 of God, when chronicling the happy and peaceful 
 end of matured and triumphing faith. They cer- 
 tainly occur every now and then, but are studiously 
 hid from public observation, lest their disclosure should 
 be set down to the ebullitions of surcharged grief, or 
 
ANCESTRAL PIETY. 11 
 
 the weak partialities of bereaved affection. IIow 
 strange that about the truly pious there should be 
 such a backwardness to promulgate these startling 
 facts, and to submit to holy analysis these singular 
 phenomena ! IMen of science and enthusiastic philo- 
 sophers are not so shy nor so slow to proclaim the 
 appearance of any remarkable data in the objects 
 of their study. They do not fear the world's disdain, 
 and, with all sound thinking persons, they get the 
 credit of being earnest investigators of truth. Nov,-, 
 the christian philosophy may expose itself to the 
 sneers of the world ; but it ought to be as far above 
 the fear of these, as it is independent of its deceitful 
 compliments and polluting touches. It is, however, 
 perhaps to the unnatural suspicions and detractions 
 of the over-cautious within the professional pale of 
 the church, that we are to trace this aversion to 
 publish and defend these supernatural spectacles, as 
 being something truly and literally among the privi- 
 leges of superior saintship. How applicable to this, 
 as it is to many hundred things, is the saying of our 
 Lord : ' The children of this world are in their 
 generation wiser than the children of light ! ' There 
 are comparatively cold and stoical natures even among 
 the regenerated and theological, upon which the nar- 
 ratives of lofty faith and seraphic emotions which dis- 
 tinguished the death-bed work of such men as Payson 
 and the Janeways fall, only to produce a self-com- 
 placent judgment unfavourable to the intellectual 
 
12 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 vigour of these admirable men. It is said of them 
 that they have been great but susceptible and weak- 
 minded persons, and that, in the midst of their swell- 
 ing imaginations, their reason has been the dupe of a 
 momentary fanaticism. Tiiis is an earthly and sinful 
 mode of accounting for the impressive peculiarities of 
 unusual heavenly-mindedness and its celestial accom- 
 paniments. Such uncharitableness among religious 
 people has been very baneful to the interests and ad- 
 vancement of true piety. Certainly great caution 
 ought to be exercised in the opinions formed of death- 
 bed phenomena ; but, at the same time, the fear of 
 canonising the fanatic should not cause us to do de- 
 spite to the Holy Spirit of God, and to call that com- 
 mon and unclean which he hath wrought and sancti- 
 fied. The standard of a christian's dying duty has 
 been lowered, from this over-timidity about admitting 
 the genuineness of that august and glorious fellowship 
 which some have claimed before death with the in- 
 visible spii'its of another world. Great things are 
 promised to great faith, and we ought to expect them — 
 suflPering disappointment if they should not appear, and 
 filled with joy and gi'atitude if they should. ' Jesus 
 answered and said to Nathanael, Because 1 said unto 
 thee, I saw thee under the fig-tree, believest thou? 
 thou shalt see greater things than these. And he saith 
 unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Hereafter ye 
 shall see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending 
 and descending upon the Son of Man.' Special and 
 
ANCESTRAL PIETV. 13 
 
 eminent blessings are declared to be in readiness for 
 the children of God when they are called to the 
 last conflict. And why should we doubt their beini; 
 conferred 'just in the last distressing hour^ Is it 
 not written, ' And it shall come to pass, that at even- 
 ing time it shall be light ;' ' I will be thy God and 
 thy Gitide even unto death ;' and 'when thou passest 
 through the waters I will be with thee, and through 
 the rivers, they shall not overflow thee : when thou 
 walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, 
 neither shall the flame kindle upon thee?' Such 
 scriptures as these not only justify vis in expecting, 
 but entitle us to prepare for wonderful scenes and 
 sayings in the chamber where the good man encoun- 
 ters the king of terrors. 
 
 There is another world. We have there two classes 
 of celestial and devoted friends — the one is divine, the 
 other created. From the former the children of light 
 derive all their spiritual nourishment and growth in 
 grace. The Father takes them under the shadow of 
 his wings, and tenderly cherishes them there. The 
 Son adorns them in the robe of his righteousness, and 
 teaches them confidence and hope. The Holy Ghost 
 takes up his abode in their hearts, and sanctifies them 
 wholly in soul, body, and spirit. Having from the 
 moment of their second and new birth, up to this the 
 hour of their departure, accompanied them through 
 all their pilgrimage, and blessed them with every 
 spiritual blessing, it is not surprising that their en- 
 
14 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 trance into the kingdom should be occasionally pre- 
 ceded by such divine revelations as must give to their 
 last hours unearthly grandeur — 
 
 ' They see a form tliat others cannot see, 
 And bear a voice that others cannot hear.' 
 
 Then, from the other class, angels and the spirits 
 of the just made perfect, we may calculate upon 
 not only personal attendance, but cheering and sub- 
 stantial support. The angels are the ministering 
 spirits of the heirs of salvation : they serve these heirs 
 during the entire period of their minority, and never 
 leave them nor forsake them. Each saint has at 
 least one guardian angel ; and when he is about 
 to pass through the swellings of Jordan, a num- 
 ber of these benevolent beings may be gratified 
 by conveying the disciple of the cross to the other 
 side, and joining in the hallelujahs wherewith the 
 august coronation is celebrated. The highest honour 
 God can put upon the angels, is to permit them 
 thus to comfort and protect his saints in the most 
 solemn and critical period of their existence. Placed 
 as we know every one of them to be, under our divine 
 Redeemer's authority, and especially to be employed 
 by him in the accomplishment of his work of mercy 
 to mankind, it is difficult to conceive of the possibility 
 of their ever being put into such service, if not at the 
 periods and in the circumstances referred to. Besides, 
 the honours which were paid to the Head when he 
 
ANCESTRAL PIETY. 15 
 
 was upon the earth, and more especially when he arose 
 from it and ascended to lieaven, are to be shared with 
 him by his members. Even upon the same throne at 
 last are they together to sit and reign for ever and 
 ever. Pope has beautifully embodied this idea in 
 these well-known lines : — ■ 
 
 ' Hark ! they whisper, — angels say, 
 
 " Sister spirit, come away." 
 What is this absorbs me quite, 
 Steals ray senses, shuts my sight, 
 Drowns my spirit, draws my breath ; 
 Tell me, ray soul, can this be death ? 
 
 ' The world recedes— it disappears I 
 Heaven opens on my eyes ; my ears 
 
 With sounds seraphic ring. 
 Lend, lend tour wings I I mount ! I fly ! 
 ' grave ! where is thy victory ? 
 
 death ! where is thy sting ? ' 
 
 Believers are at death made perfect in holiness, and 
 fully ' meet to be partakers of the inheritance of the 
 saints in light.' There is nothing, however, in this 
 most consolatory doctrine that is inconsistent with 
 supernatural privileges. On the contrary, seeing that 
 their sanctification has been progressing from the day 
 of their effectual calling, and that they are now on 
 the very threshold of celestial perfection, it is probable 
 that the holy agencies of their Redeemer may be 
 employed, and in a way which could not with pro- 
 priety be employed till now, for the purpose of accom- 
 
16 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 plisliing their assimilation to the image of God, and 
 thus rendering them fit to dwell before his unveiled 
 presence. In no other authenticated case than that 
 of the apostle Paul have the raptures of the third hea- 
 vens been enjoyed, and the subject of them permitted 
 to remain longer among men. When these have been, 
 on a similar scale, permitted to others, their translation 
 almost immediately, or at no great distance of time, 
 followed. It seems to be but little of what they see and 
 hear that they are able or are allowed to tell. The rule 
 with regard to such mysteries is, that ' it is not lawful 
 to man to utter them.' Hence Lazarus, who was raised 
 from the dead, and Paul, who was caught up to the 
 third heavens, never broke the seal of silence that was 
 imposed on their lips ; and others who liave enjoyed 
 similar visions on somewhat smaller scales, have been 
 equally mute. So soon as these had passed before 
 their mind's eye, and they had indicated the disposi- 
 tion to exclaim concerning them, they were taken 
 away to that place where alone it is lawful to make 
 them the subject of communication ! These foresights 
 and foretastes having served their purjjose, in the 
 strength they infused, and in the joys they imparted, 
 and the last impression having been made by the Holy 
 Spirit of God with his seal, they were pronounced to be 
 ready, and were forthwith proclaimed to be glorified. 
 Entertaining such views, on such scriptural grounds, 
 we are prepared to expect supernatural scenes at the 
 death-beds of eminently pious individuals. What 
 
ANCESTRAL PIETY. 17 
 
 useful pui'poses to them these angelic friends may 
 serve, immediately after death, we do not know, but it 
 is easy to conceive of their ineffable value to the souls 
 of the dying. Opened, as we believe their eyes to be, 
 and enlightened as their souls become, when approach- 
 ing eternity, we cannot realise their raptures, whether 
 expressed or not, when these glorious forerunners of 
 their immortality hover about and around their 
 couches. So far as is known to us, such ' angel 
 visits are few and far between.' It is likely, however, 
 that they are much more frequent than grieving by- 
 standers are aware of. If christians had more intense 
 love, and more of the full assurance of faith, and if 
 death-bed work were preceded on a larger scale by a 
 great deal more of the 'prayers and fasting' to which 
 our Lord has annexed most illustrious privileges, then 
 imposing and heavenly spectacles, bright and raptu- 
 rous triumphs, might more frequently characterise the 
 last exercise of saintship in the Valley of Baca. The 
 more perfectly spiritual, self-denied, and useful to 
 Christ the previous life has been, the more likely are 
 such "scenes to be repeated and abound. Even faith, 
 small as a grain of mustard-seed, can remove moun- 
 tains, and faithfulness over a feio things may receive 
 a great recompense of reward. To great faith, then, 
 and to faithfulness over many things, may be, and 
 shall be granted, what ' eye hath not seen nor ear 
 heard,' and this, too, even while the conquering hero 
 is still on the field, and before he has made his 
 
18 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 entrance into glory. What a powerful encourage- 
 ment is this to a life of holy consecration to God — of 
 cheerful renunciation of the world, and all its sinful 
 honours and pleasures, and of undeviating and perse- 
 verincp attachment to Him who lived and died for us 
 — who has for us abolished death — who has hallowed 
 for us the grave — for us prepared yon magnificent 
 high path to glory, and those bright and beautiful 
 crowns which are never to fade away ! 
 
 Victims of imagination ! creatures of a visionary 
 theology ! dupes of an amiable imbecility ! — these are 
 the taunts that come most consistently from such as 
 sit in the chair of the scorner. But far from me and 
 from my friends be that dwarfish faith which, because 
 it labours with its appropriate shortsightedness to re- 
 connoitre the small territory that lies adjacent to its 
 molehill, pronounces the claims of others to larger and 
 more sublime comprehensions, to be the distorted or 
 discoloured pictures of a spiritual opthalmia. Truly 
 we may say, of those who thus opine, that ' there are 
 more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of 
 in their philosophy.' Christian reader ! if yod" can 
 realise some of the infinite glory that exists on the 
 other side of the thin veil that separates us from eter- 
 nity, doubt not of the possibility of such revelations to 
 expiring believers. Remember wdiat a price has been 
 paid for them — what pity and long-suffering have been 
 manifested towards them — what intense love Jesus 
 has for them — what profound interest they awaken 
 
ANCESTRAL PIETY. 19 
 
 in celestial bosoms at such moments — and with what 
 sinless impatience their grand escape from all the evils 
 of time and sin may be regarded by benevolent spirits, 
 and your surprise must be, not that any of them 
 should die thus, but that so many of them die so un- 
 interestingly as they do. Ponder, moreover, the many 
 scriptures that tell of the pledged presence of God 
 himself, when they come to die, especially such pro- 
 mises and declarations as the following : — ' Thine eyes 
 shall see the King in his beauty; they shall behold the 
 land that is afar off ' — 'In all their affliction he was 
 afflicted, and the angel of his presence saved them' — 
 ' The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him, 
 and he will show them his covenant' — ' The angel 
 of the Lord encamps round about them that fear 
 him, and delivereth them' — 'I will bring the blind 
 by a way that they knew not ; I will lead them in 
 paths that they have not known ; I will make dark- 
 ness light before them, and crooked things straight' — 
 'For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to 
 keep thee in all thy ways ; they shall bear thee up in 
 their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.' — 
 Meditate devoutly on these and kindred passages, and 
 faith in the doctrine advanced may speedily become 
 strong, and fill your heart with joy and hope. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 STijf Pastor's ©eat^. 
 
 ' Year chases year, decay pursues decay, 
 Still drojjs some joy from withering life away ; 
 New forms arise, aod different views engage, 
 Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, 
 Till pitying nature signs the last release, 
 And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.' 
 
 Dr Johnson. 
 
 The death of Agues' mother well nigh overwhelmed 
 the surviving parent, the Rev. James Macfarlane, 
 of Queen Anne Street Church, Dunfermline. He 
 was eminently a man of God; but, while great in 
 the integrity and uprightness of saintship, he was of 
 exceedingly tender and affectionate dispositions. To 
 the hundreds, it may almost be said thousands * of 
 hearers, who sat under his ministry from Sabbath to 
 Sabbath, he had often been the instrument of 'giving 
 beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, and the 
 garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness ;' but now, 
 when the heaviest of all strokes fell upon himself, he 
 
 * His capacious church could seat nearly two thousand persons, and 
 it was generahy crowded. 
 
THE PASTOli'S DEATH. 21 
 
 was for a season like one stunned. He knew tlie ap- 
 propriate consolations, and could address them to him- 
 self; but, alas ! without that felt relief which is their 
 designed result. At the same time, Mr Macfarlane Avas 
 not without his supports. In a letter written on the 
 day after his bei'eavement, he was enabled thus to ex- 
 press himself to his brother-in-law. Captain Husband, 
 who was at that time with his regiment at AVoolwich : 
 'O that you had been present at the affecting scene! I 
 am persuaded you would have learned something that 
 would have done good to your precious soul. She 
 loved you much, as I believe you loved her. She has 
 left me another dear little boy, besides those with 
 whom you are already acquainted. O, how aflFecting 
 to think of being bereaved of its mother so soon ! 
 Shall I tell you, my dear John, of her excellences ? 
 No: you know many of them, but not all — she had 
 qualities of which none knew but myself. None had 
 access to witness many of her devotional exercises but 
 me, and even from me she sometimes wished to con- 
 ceal them. Eemember, my dear John, that religion 
 is " the one thing needful." Let neither arms, nor 
 politics, nor amusements, nor gay society, nor any- 
 thing else make you overlook it. Had you witnessed 
 the death-bed scene of your beloved sister — the most 
 affecting I ever witnessed, or probably ever shall wit- 
 ness — you would have seen the excellence of religion — 
 you would have seen how triumphantly a christian can 
 die. We have every reason to conclude that she died 
 
22 TUE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 in the full hope of a happy immortality ; and this could 
 not have been the case had she not been religious. 
 What a treasure I have lost — lost for ever, as to this 
 world ! But I know that she and I shall meet again 
 in the better world, never more to part. Let us ever 
 then keep in view death and eternity. Everything 
 else is trifling. When we come to a death-bed, how 
 contemptible will this world, with all its pleasures and 
 grandeurs, appear to us ! Let nothing, then, tempt 
 you to neglect religion. I am sure, were your loving 
 sister permitted now to address you, she would press 
 this upon you with an earnestness which you would 
 be incapable of resisting. I knew her sentiments 
 respecting you well. They were all those of a sister. 
 I could say much more, but my feelings at present 
 forbid me. Ah ! how shall I do without her ? The 
 Lord knows. The funeral is to be on Friday, at two 
 o'clock. It would have been extremely desirable to 
 have had your company, but this is impossible. Think 
 you of the sad procession from my house to the 
 church-yard, and sympathise with my poor, distressed, 
 tortured heart. Farewell.' 
 
 In his correspondence with some of his clerical 
 brethren, at the time of Mrs Macfarlane's death, her 
 husband unburdened his mind in all the confidence of 
 christian friendship ; and many valuable letters of con- 
 solation he received in return. It is for the pur- 
 pose of introducing a few of these, as precious gems 
 of consolation, that any reference has been made 
 
THE pastor's death. 23 
 
 to the soiTOws of his heart. Some of these admirable 
 men have long since met him in heaven, and two yet 
 remain witii ns, and burning and shining lights in the 
 church of Christ all will admit them to be. The first 
 letter is from the Rev. Dr Lawson, of Selkirk, the 
 professor of divinity for many years to the Secession 
 Church of Scotland, and one of the most learned men 
 of his times, as well as one of the most prudent, most 
 sagacious, and most meek : — 
 
 'Selkirk, \8(k May, 1816. 
 
 'My Dear Friend, — What shall I say, to ease 
 your afflicted mind ? All 3^our friends sympathise most 
 tenderly with you — the best of all friends is afflicted in 
 your afflictions, although I am afraid He is not pleased 
 with the overflowings of your grief. Yon have not 
 been able to observe, so well as you wish, the gracious 
 precept enforced by the gracious doctrine which you 
 find in 1 Thess. iv. 14-18, and John xiv. 15, 16. 
 
 ' I am not surprised that you think you could sup- 
 port the sight and converse of one so deservedly dear 
 to you.* But think again. Would she not inter- 
 mingle her words of tenderness with reproofs too 
 wounding to your spirit ? Might she not speak to this 
 
 * To understand part of this letter, it is proper to state that Mr Mac- 
 fiirlaue had previously hinted to Dr Lawson his belief in the possibility 
 of his partner's spirit being permitted still to take an interest in him ; 
 and that if she were to address him even for a few minutes, and give 
 him some information about the eternal world, it would not at all 
 affright but rather console him. under the trials of time. 
 
24 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 effect : " Why do you weep so sore for an event that 
 crowns my happiness ? Have you not often told me, 
 that you loved me as you love yourself? and yet you 
 cannot but know, that my gain ten thousand times 
 exceeds your loss. I loved you dearly, but I loved 
 Christ better ; and do you mourn like one that can 
 find no comfort, because I am now with him in Para- 
 dise ? The chief attraction of my love to you was 
 your love to my Lord. But are you not now showing 
 that you bestowed too large a portion of your love 
 upon your wife, and need to be put in mind, by 
 divine Providence, of the necessity of guarding your 
 heart against the common evil of giving too large a 
 proportion of your affections to a creature of the dust? 
 I have lost my life in bringing one of your children 
 into the world. But does not the gain immensely 
 exceed the loss ? My prayers for the child, when on 
 earth, were not lost. It is a great addition to my 
 happiness in being with Christ — to have the hope that 
 the dear creatures, whom I was the means of brinn-ing 
 into existence, are one day to be with me, to behold 
 the beauty of my Saviour and theirs. Even that 
 stroke which separated me from them will contribute 
 to the happy event. They will not bear the thought 
 of being for ever separated from their beloved mother. 
 They will love that Saviour who so graciously received 
 her to be with himself in Paradise. I doubt not that 
 the event which you deplore so bitterly will bring 
 advantages to yourself far overbalancing the pain. It 
 
THE pastor's death. 25 
 
 will excite your ardour, iu running the race set before 
 you. It is one of the events that work together for 
 promoting your progress towards that better country 
 where I now dwell, and from which you would not 
 be so unkind as to bring me back, were it in your 
 power." 
 
 ' There were many years between the time when 
 Joseph was lost to his father, and the time when he 
 again set his eyes on him. Yet the meeting was a 
 good recompense for his years of sorrow. How much 
 richer will be the recompense of your griefs, when 
 you again meet with your beloved partner, to dwell 
 with her not a few years, but for ever ! Perhaps the 
 distressing thought may suggest itself to you, What 
 if I should never be admitted to the pleasant land into 
 which nothing that defiles can enter ! But the same 
 grace that was sufficient for our departed friends is 
 sufficient for us. They could not have obtained an 
 entrance into heaven, if they had not been washed 
 from their impurities in that fountain which stands 
 open for us also. 
 
 ' You will not think that the loss of your earthly 
 treasure gives you any reason to call in question the 
 loving-kindness of our Redeemer. We have reason 
 to think that he did not preserve his own mother fi'om 
 the affliction of widowhood ; yet she never said, " He 
 saves others from such cruel affliction — why was he 
 so unkind to me ? " 
 
 ' One of the best ways of preserving our minds 
 
26 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 from being harassed by unquiet thoughts, is to employ 
 them on useful subjects. These the scriptures will 
 supply to you in great plenty. The christian will not 
 perish in the day of his affliction, for the law^ of God 
 is his delight. I I'eckon it a pleasure and advantage 
 frequently to commit small portions of scripture, in 
 the original, to my memory. Blessed will we be, 
 amidst all that we suffer in this world, if we can 
 meditate day and night in the law of the Lord. 
 
 '■ I feel much for my dear friend, Mr Husband ; but 
 I know that he will seek his consolation from the 
 source where it will most easily be found. When he 
 compares the dealings of God towards his own family 
 with his dealings towards those of some of his bre- 
 tlu'en, he may be tempted to think with you, that he 
 is the man who hath seen affliction. But it will soon 
 occur to him, that others have had as much reason to 
 mourn as he, and that none of us have such heavy 
 burdens to bear of the kind as Jacob and David. My 
 best compliments to him and to all your friends. 
 May God enable them to bear their share in the 
 affliction as christians ought to do ! Those things are . 
 best for us that will be found best in another world. 
 
 ' You will probably put your children that are read- 
 ing in mind of some passages of scripture that are 
 likely, in present circumstances, to make a happy 
 impression upon them — as Psalm xxvii. 10; 2 Tim. 
 i. 5 ; Proverbs iv. 3-9. I believe the instructions 
 that our departed sister gave, and would have given 
 
THE pastor's death. 27 
 
 to her children, were such in effect as Solomon re- 
 ceived from his mother and his father. 
 
 ' May God spare them to you, and grant them all 
 grace to walk in the steps of their mother and grand- 
 mother, that they may not he for ever separated from 
 them ! And may you for ever enjoy those consola- 
 tions which the lapse of time cannot take away ! — I 
 am, ever your aflFectionate friend, 
 
 ' Geo. Lawson.' 
 
 The next letter is from the late Rev. Dr Dick, of 
 Glasgow, the most accomplished theologian of his 
 age, and DrLawson's successor in the chair of divinity. 
 It is addressed to Dr Husband, and has some of the 
 characteristics of its eminent author : — 
 
 ' Glasgow, May 21, 181G. 
 *My Dear Sir, — I received your letter before 
 I left Edinburgh, containing the intelligence of Mrs 
 Macfarlane's death ; and I sincerely sympathise with 
 you all on this melancholy occasion. For a little 
 time, as the accounts were more favourable, we flat- 
 tered ourselv^es with the hope that she might recover. 
 But God had otherwise determined. Your feelings 
 at the loss of a daughter I know by experience ; and 
 I can conceive the pain which Mr Macfarlane must 
 suffer, by being bereaved of one with whom he had 
 connected himself for life, and whose common senti- 
 ments and interests, and the strong ties of affection, 
 
28 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 had rendered dear to him as himself. To him this 
 death is no ordinary trial, left as he is with a young 
 and numerous family, without a mother to care for 
 them. How do I and all her friends pity them ! and 
 how apt are we to wish that this calamity had not 
 befallen him ! But such a wish is vain, and when 
 calmly considered, worse than vain. It is not to 
 chance that we must impute the breach which has 
 been made in his family and yours ; it is not the 
 deed of a man, whom we might condemn for the 
 abuse of his power, or of a demon, whom we might 
 execrate for his malignity. It is the work of God, 
 who should be revered, because he is just and wise ; 
 and loved, because he is good, even when he corrects 
 us with the heaviest strokes of his rod. Even heathens 
 have delivered the doctrine of implicit resignation to 
 the will of Providence in admirable strains ; but it is 
 christian philosophy which alone can teach it in per- 
 fection, and impress its lessons upon the heart, leading 
 the suiferer to bless God for his losses as well as his 
 gains, in the full confidence that the former will 
 ultimately prove as beneficial as the latter. When 
 eternity shall pour its light upon the dark scenes of 
 time, the whole series of events will appear a uniform 
 dispensation of love to the righteous ; and those which 
 were most suspected will be found to be the most 
 important, and the happiest in their consequences. It 
 were well if we could now believe what we hope, ere 
 long, to see. We should, then, be patient and even 
 
THE pastor's death. 29 
 
 thankful in tribulation, knowing that all things are 
 working together for onr good. 
 
 'With the topics of consolation contained in the 
 scriptures your are well acquainted. 1 rejoice to learn 
 that while you and your friends must severely feel 
 this loss, you have no cause to sorrow as those who 
 have no hope. Your departed daughter is in peace ; 
 and you would not wish her to return to a world of 
 trouble and vanity. She lived long enough, as she 
 was ready for heaven. The difterence of a few years 
 seems much to us, wlien we look forward through the 
 dreary blank caused by the desolating hand of adver- 
 sity ; but it will appear as nothing, when the time is 
 past, and we join our friends in the blissful regions 
 where death and sorrow are unknown. While we 
 bless God for our friends who remain with us, we 
 should bless him for those also who have finished 
 their course, and entered into rest. 
 
 ' It was not in my power to attend the funeral, as I 
 was under the necessity of returning to Glasgow. I 
 could not find time to write to you before I left 
 Edinburgh. Remember me to Mr Macfarlane, and 
 tell him that I wish him the support and consolations 
 of religion on this trying occasion. Mrs Dick joins 
 me in expressions of sympathy, and begs to be remem- 
 bered to yourself and also to Mrs Husband, to whom 
 be so good as to present my compliments. — I am, my 
 dear Sir, yours truly, 
 
 * J. Dick.' 
 
30 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 The third letter is from the pen of the late Rev. 
 Dr Henry Belfrage, of Falkirk, and breathes all 
 the sweetness and piety of that voluminous writer and 
 distinguished christian : — 
 
 Talkikk, J1/a^21, 1816. 
 
 ' My Dear Sir, — I received Mr Dewar's letter on 
 Thursday ; and the mournful intelligence of the death 
 of Mrs Macfarlane afflicted us all very much. I felt 
 a strong ^vish to attend the funeral ; but as I had to 
 preach at Denny on Saturday, and to assist at the 
 dispensation of the Lord's Supper there on Sabbath, 
 it was not in my power to be with you. Since I 
 heard of the melancholy event, you have been often 
 in my thoughts ; and it has been and is my earnest 
 wish that you may receive all that support from 
 Heaven which is necessary under such a bereavement 
 as yours. The consolations of the gospel have, I 
 trust, been applied to your heart by the Holy Spirit 
 so seasonably and effectually, that the floods of great 
 waters swelling to the brim have not overwhelmed 
 your soul. Sweet is that confidence in the care and 
 love of Christ which has so often, in the house of 
 mourning, repressed the dark suggestions of fear and 
 sorrow. The task that now devolves on you is indeed 
 arduous; but the God whom you serve will make 
 your strength equal to your days, and will spare you 
 for forming your children to the spirit and ^■irtues of 
 their mother, and for carrying to the heart of sorrow 
 
THE pastor's death. 31 
 
 the consolations which have supported your own. 
 The heart feels relieved in ministerino; to the welfare 
 of those whose happiness was the care of our departed 
 friends, and who in their last moments placed them in 
 our hands. Thus we fulfil their joy, and glorify Him 
 who chastens us for our profit. 
 
 ' It was with much interest that I learned from Mr 
 Dewar what good hope, through grace, supported 
 your amiable partner in death; and this must be to 
 you a strong consolation. The piety which in her 
 appeared so amiable, from the gentleness and humility 
 which marked every ex^^ression of it, yielded her in 
 her last hour a joy which should preserve her friends 
 from sorrowing as those who have no hope, and the 
 memory of which we ought all to cherish, as a blessed 
 evidence of the power of religion. 
 
 ' I am sensible that the imperfect manner in which 
 I have offered my humble condolence requires an 
 apology, but I hope 3'ou will receive it as an expression 
 of my regard. 
 
 ' !My sisters join with me in condolence with 
 ]VIr and Mrs Husband, and Mr Dewar; and that 
 you and your friends may be blessed by the kindest 
 expressions of the Redeemer's sympathj^, is my 
 earnest wish. — I am, my dear Sir, yours most 
 sincerely, 
 
 ' Henry Belfrage.' 
 
 The two remaining; letters are from the Eev. Dr 
 
32 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Wardlaw, of Glasgow, and the Rev. Dr John 
 Brown, of Edinburgh, who still survive, full of years, 
 and full of honours :^ 
 
 •Glasgow, il/ay 19, 1816. 
 ' Lord's-day Evening. 
 
 'My Dear Sir, — It cannot surely be an inappro- 
 priate part of the exercises of a Lord's-day evening, 
 to soothe the spirit of an afflicted christian friend by 
 assurances of sympathy and condolence. O my dear 
 brother, when I try, in imagination, to make your case 
 ray own, my heart bleeds for you. I cannot speak to 
 you from experience ; and this qualification of a com- 
 forter you do not wish me to possess. But I know the 
 heart both of a husband and a father : — I know that 
 both the conjugal and the paternal affections are felt 
 by you in all their glowing ardour ; — and that the cup 
 which you are now made to drink is one of the bitter- 
 est that God can mingle for mortal man. Yet even 
 in this cup there is sweetness. All the inexpressibly 
 tender and endearing recollections of the christian 
 excellences of your departed wife ; the evidences of 
 her interest in the Saviour, and the comfortable 
 assurance of her being " present with the Lord," 
 where there is "fulness of joy, and pleasure for ever- 
 more ;" the delightftd " prospect of seeing her again, 
 where the blessed inhabitants " neither marry nor are 
 given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in 
 heaven :" — the conviction founded on the word of 
 
THE pastor's death, 33 
 
 your lieavenly Father, that the cup is mixed by 
 wisdom that cannot err, faithfulness that cannot fiiil, 
 and lov^e that cannot change : — these, and such con- 
 siderations, which are famihar to your mind, will lead 
 you to say, with your gracious Redeemer and Lord, 
 " The cup which my Father hath given me shall I 
 not drink it?" Oh ! how pleasing when the bonds of 
 the gospel are superinduced upon the ties of nature ! 
 When Death dissolves the latter, he has no power to 
 sever the former. It is true, that this double union 
 makes the pang of separation, in one view, the more 
 violent, inasmuch as it rendered the previous inter- 
 course the more endearing. But Avhile this thought 
 makes the heart bleed the more profusely, it soothes 
 and saddens while it grieves ; it binds up, and softens 
 and heals the very wound which it inflicts. We need 
 ties to a better world more than to this. God has 
 dissolved a tie to earth, and made it a tie to heaven. 
 He has given you an additional interest in your 
 heaveidy Father's house ; which you will now contem- 
 plate as the place of your beloved partner's rest and 
 joy. For although the chief reason of our attachment 
 to heaven should be, that there " Jesus sitteth at the 
 right liand of God," that there " we shall be for ever 
 witii the hordC yet surely we neither can nor ought 
 to feel callous to the interest in heaven which David 
 expressed when he said, " I shall go to him ;" — and, 
 if we be duly impressed with the inconceivable supe- 
 riority of heaven to earth, in glory and felicity, what 
 
 b2 
 
34 THE NIGHT LASIP. 
 
 he added will be matter of comfort to us too : " He 
 shall not return to me" How can we find in our 
 hearts to wish, that our christian friends should 
 "quit those blissful realms, and royalties above," to 
 descend again to the frailties and infirmities, the 
 cares and anxieties, the vanities and sufferings, 
 the imperfect and mingled joys, of this " valley of 
 tears % " 
 
 ' My dear friend, loe can do no more than thus say 
 to one another, — " We feel for you." — But there is 
 another, who can do more ; — wdio assures us of his 
 tender sympathy, — and while he is " touched with 
 the feeling of our infirmities," " perfects his strength 
 in our weakness." To Him, and to that grace of his 
 which is sufiicient for you, I affectionately commend 
 you, with your heavy and interesting charge : — in all 
 of whom may God give you all the joy of a christian 
 father ! 
 
 ' My aged and worthy Sire, who has not now sight 
 sufficient to express the feelings of his heart on paper 
 himself, has charged me to assure you of his tenderest 
 sympathy, and of your not being forgotten in his in- 
 tercessions at the throne of divine grace : — and also to 
 express his heartfelt condolence with Mr Husband, as 
 he has had experience also of a father's sorrow. In 
 this I beg to be most cordially joined. — Other friends 
 enter into these feelings of condolence, and none more 
 warmly than the beloved partner oi my pilgrimage, 
 whose interest in the mournful event is peculiarly 
 
THE pastor's DEATH. 35 
 
 lively, from the remembrance of former intimacy and 
 youthful friendship. 
 
 ' Believe me, my dear Sir, yours very affectionately, 
 
 ' Ealph Wardlaw.' 
 
 'BiGGAR, 13^// July, 1816. 
 ' My Dear Sir, — I owe you a debt of gratitude 
 for your very kind epistle, — a debt which, if I cannot 
 repay, I shall be at all times ready to acknowledge. 
 I have, as you may well believe, frequently thought 
 of you of late with feelings of tender sympathy, and 
 had resolved, previously to the receipt of your letter, 
 to send you the little book which accompanies this, as 
 a slight testimony of my fellow-feeling with you, as 
 " my brother and companion in tribulation." There 
 is probably no sentiment in it Avith which your mind 
 has not been long familiar, and scarcely any to which 
 it has not been lately forcibly directed. But I diall 
 have my reward if its perusal beguile a few moments 
 of your loneliness, and be happy indeed if it in any 
 measure conduce to the alleviation of your grief and 
 the restoration of your tranquillity. The affliction 
 with which an infinitely wise and good Providence 
 has been pleased to visit us, is, as you justly remark, 
 perhaps the severest of an earthly kind with which we 
 could have been visited. I have certainly lost one of 
 the most valuable wives with whom any man ever was 
 blessed ; and from all that I have heard of Mrs Mac- 
 farlane, I have no reason to think your bereavement 
 
36 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 less afflictive than my own. The cup that has been 
 poured out to us is indeed a bitter one — "the worm- 
 wood and the gall." But let us not forget that the 
 hand of infinite wisdom, and, I hope, also of infinite 
 kindness, mingled the draught ; and bitter as it is, it 
 is not without its tempering and even sweetening in- 
 gredients. He who put it into our hands had an 
 indisputable, and, I would fain add, an undisputed 
 right to do so ; and it must be our own fault if it does 
 not conduce to our spiritual improvement, and our 
 final salvation. It will be well if the cutting off those 
 channels through which, for a series of years, so much 
 of the divine kindness has flowed to you and me, and 
 flowed so regularly and abundantly, that we were in 
 great danger sometimes of mistaking the stream for 
 the spring, — it will be well if the drying them up lead 
 us more directly to the great source of blessedness, the 
 Fountain of Good, ever full and ever flowing. 
 
 ' Like you, my dear Sir, I derive abundant consola- 
 tion, from my firm persuasion, founded not on a few ex- 
 pressions in the view of death, though even these were 
 very satisfactory, but on an even course of christian con- 
 duct — an active doing, and a patient sufiering, of the 
 will of God, — that the event so painful to me has been 
 infinitely advantageous to my dearest earthly friend ; 
 and it is, I trust, my earnest wish, my determined 
 resolution, and my humble hope, that, following her 
 as she followed Christ, in faith and humility, patience 
 and charity, I will go to her, as she cannot return to 
 
THE pastor's death. 37 
 
 me. I see notliiiig inconsistent with the letter of 
 scripture, and I see much consonant with its spirit, 
 as well as with the soundest deductions of reason, and 
 the best feelings of regenerated humanity, in the idea 
 suggested by you of the probable interest which de- 
 parted saints have in the happiness of those whom 
 they have left behind them. I am apt to think that, 
 with regard to the locality of departed spirits, we not 
 only necessarily think confusedly, but frequently' think 
 wrong. We are not improbably in the midst of the 
 invisible state, and only need our eyes opened, like the 
 prophet's servant, to behold its realities. We have no 
 reason to think that dissolution in any way destroys those 
 modes of thinking and feeling to which the person was 
 habituated during life. The general frame of thinking 
 and feeling in the renewed mind receives no alteration, 
 except that arising from prodigious improvement, pro- 
 bably flowing from obtaining freedom at once from all 
 the drawbacks which originate in our material constitu- 
 tion in its present state. In this case, it is reasonable 
 to suppose that every worthy attachment will continue, 
 increased probably in its ardour, as well as refined 
 from all its imperfections, and freed from all anxiety, 
 in consequence of more enlarged views of the divine 
 providential procedure, and a perfect confidence in 
 the wisdom and goodness of God. We know that the 
 spirits of the just made perfect are leayyiXoi — like to, 
 equal with, angels ; we know that the angels are 
 ministering spirits, sent forth to minister to them who 
 
38 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 are heirs of salvation. I cannot help thinking that, 
 from the greater fitness of spirits, who have themselves 
 experienced the temptations and sorrows of life, to 
 suggest consolation and direction to the mind of a 
 distressed saint, than angels, who, however benevolent, 
 know nothing of the sympathy learned by suffering, 
 there is a probability of their being thus employed in 
 the merciful dispensation of an infinitely wise govern- 
 ment. And sure, my dear Sir, your dearest Grace 
 and my dearest Jane must be strangely altered, if, in 
 consistency with the divine will, they could do so, 
 should they not do what lies in their power to alle- 
 viate our distresses and to promote our comfort. But 
 whatever there may be in this, we have " the sure 
 word of prophecy," that if we, like them, live and die 
 in the Lord, we will in a few short years meet again, 
 never, never to part ; and, in the meantime, we are 
 sure that their Lord and ours does not regard our 
 sufferings with indifference, and will make all things 
 work together for our good. 
 
 ' I have great reason to be thankful, that the Pro- 
 vidence who took tlie daughter kindly spared the 
 mother. Mrs Ninnno is a great comfort to me, and 
 an unspeakable advantage to my poor motherless 
 children. I feel exceedingly for you in this point of 
 view. But I know that God can supply all you need, 
 according to his riches in glory, through Christ Jesus ; 
 and I pray that he may make all grace abound 
 towards you. Lfrs Nimmo unites with me in most 
 
THE pastor's death. 39 
 
 affectionate condolence. Remember me kindly and 
 respectfully to Mr Husband ; and believe me to be, 
 yours, with esteem and affection, 
 
 ' John Broavn. 
 
 From his revered colleague in the ministry and 
 father-in-law, the Rev. Dr Husband, he at this season 
 derived unspeakable comfort. Dr Husband excelled 
 as a comforter. A man of acute and lofty intellect, 
 and of highly refined feelings, he handled with much 
 dexterity those precious truths of the Bible, to which, 
 at the same time, he had given the full assurance of 
 his own faith. If any earthly relationship could have 
 made up for the loss Mr Macfarlane had sustained, in 
 the society and sympathy of this venerable christian, 
 that loss was repaired. None was more sensible of 
 his inestimable worth, in this and in many other re- 
 spects, than his son-in-law. During the long term of 
 their joint pastorate, about thirty-six years, they had 
 never had one unpleasant or jarring scene ; and when 
 the aged senior pastor died, on the 17th of May, 
 1821, Mr Macfarlane found that his ties to life were 
 broken. He thus writes to Captain Husband : — 
 
 ' Dunfermline, bth Feb., 1822. 
 
 ' My Dear John, — I have never heard from you 
 
 since you left Dunfermline, but once, which was after 
 
 informing you of the heaviest loss I ever sustained in 
 
 this world. I wrote you a few months afterwards, 
 
40 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 when the Lord was pleased to add to my former loss, 
 by bereaving me of my dear boy, AValter; but you 
 made no reply to my letter, at least I received none. 
 This I felt as rather unkind, especially when expres- 
 sions of kindness were likely to be valued. It can 
 serve no end to tell you what were my determinations 
 under this disappointment. The very kind and feel- 
 ing manner in which you expressed yourself in your 
 last letter to your brother James, respecting one 
 whose memory is and ever will be dear, very dear 
 to me, has determined me to forget grievances. A 
 recent affliction — the heaviest I have ever met with 
 (one excepted) in the course of my pilgrimage througli 
 this weary wilderness — makes me think lightly of 
 some other afflictions, and constrains me now to write 
 you. Your father's death has bereaved us of one 
 who was very dear to us all, and was a bond of union 
 among us. His departure has left a most dismal 
 blank in our society — we all feel it and lament it. 
 But on whom, think you, is it likely to make the most 
 lasting impression ? I mean no reflection upon any, 
 when I say that I apprehend it is upon myself. He 
 was to me a wise counsellor, a prudent reprover, and 
 a kind friend. He tenderly loved my young ones, as 
 surviving parts of her whom he highly valued, and 
 had good reason to value, for she almost adored him. 
 Had he been spared for a few years, my boys and 
 girl would have felt the advantage of one who sincerely 
 interested himself in their welfare. Of this advantasre 
 
THE pastor's death. 41 
 
 they are now bereaved, for ever bereaved ; and I must 
 struggle alone to bring tliem on in life. James and 
 William will, I hope, soon do for themselves. The 
 other five must, for a considerable number of years, 
 have their dependence on me. When I say this, I 
 am far from overlooking the dependence which we all 
 have on God. It will be good for us if the bereave- 
 ments we meet with in life lead us to a more entire 
 dependence on Him in whom we live, and move, and 
 have our being. I am now well advanced in life, and 
 may lay my account with soon taking my leave of it. 
 Were it not for the sake of my young ones, I have 
 very little to attach me to life. My old and best 
 friends are dropping away, one after another. I find 
 myself almost left alone. May God teach me so to 
 number my days, that I may apply my heart unto 
 wisdom ! It is a vastly serious matter to die ! It 
 decides our fate for eternity. Our. lot beyond it must 
 be happiness or misery, unalterable and unending.' 
 
 The death of Dr Husband made a deep and lasting 
 impression on his surviving colleague, now advanced 
 in years, and bending down under trials and infirmi- 
 ti^. Shortly afterwards Mr Macfarlane published a 
 memoir of Dr Husband, in which he pays the follow- 
 ing high and just tribute to his character : — 
 
 ' As a preacher, Dr Husband possessed a sound 
 understanding, and a quick and lively apprehension of 
 
42 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 mind. His discourses were always solid and judicious, 
 the result of mature thought and great diligence. The 
 language in which he expressed them was particularly 
 neat and accurate. He never offered to God that 
 which cost him nothing, or satisfied himself with 
 sudden and loose compositions. His discourses, with 
 very few exceptions, were fully written out. His 
 manner in the pulpit was not showy, but serious and 
 interesting, engaging the attention, and affecting the 
 hearts of his audience. His methods were simple, and 
 generally textual. All pomp and ostentation in the 
 pulpit he mortally hated, and carefully exemplified in 
 his own manner the very opposite. At times he would 
 indulge in unfolding the terrors of Sinai, but his 
 favourite theme was the gospel of Christ ; and he had 
 a peculiar dexterity in showing the connection between 
 the law and the gospel, and the influence which the 
 one had upon the -other. His knowledge of human 
 nature, and his singular discrimination of human 
 character, enabled him to make his instructions bear 
 with peculiar aptitude upon the prevailing dispositions 
 of his hearers, whether in the way of reproof and 
 correction, or of encouragement and consolation. He 
 never affected a vain ostentation of learning or wit in 
 his sermons, but chose to appear as one who was in 
 good earnest himself, and intent upon doing good to 
 the souls of men. In a word, he was a workman that 
 needed not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word 
 of truth. 
 
THE pastor's death. 43 
 
 ' His talents for managino; ecclesiastical causes weru 
 uncommon : his mind enabled him readily to compre- 
 hend them ; he considered them with impartiality ; 
 his reasonings were forcible, and conducted, when the 
 subjects under deliberation were important and inter- 
 esting, with very considerable powers of eloquence. 
 This feature in his character will be readily attested 
 by his co-presbyters, who have witnessed the active 
 interest he took in the subjects under discussion, and 
 will long remember the able assistance he gave for 
 bringing them to an amicable termination. While he 
 saw and felt the necessity of maintaining the just 
 authority of ecclesiastical decisions, he was averse to 
 the having that authority unnecessarily interposed, 
 and always wished the government of the church to 
 be conducted with lenity and moderation. His pru- 
 dence was often seen in conducting an affair of 
 difficulty, or managing a debate of consequence ; in 
 foreseeing probable difficulties, and finding out proper 
 expedients, in which he was often singularly happy. 
 
 'His dispositions were highly social, and no man 
 enjoyed a friend with a greater relish, or was better 
 qualified to communicate a reciprocal pleasure. He 
 had an uncommon dexterity in hitting on those topics 
 which are proper for general conversation, and saying 
 those things which are calculated to entertain and to 
 please. He was quick in discerning whatever was im- 
 proper in others, and was careful to avoid everything 
 of the kind in his own behaviour. There was a polish 
 
44 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 and politeness in his manner, which made him agree- 
 able to all with whom he had intercourse, and qualified 
 him to be the companion and delight of the higher 
 ranks of society, in which he never forgot the sanctity 
 of the clerical character, and the respect that was due 
 to the religion of the gospel. He was particularly 
 cautious in his expressions, when remarking on the 
 character and conduct of other men. He was a lover 
 of good men, and a friend of mankind. He detested 
 rash and censorious reflections upon characters, and 
 discouraged sitting in judgment upon the hearts and 
 states of others; he would no more have slandered a 
 fellow-christian, than he would have cheated and 
 oppressed him. The writer of this memoir was often 
 delighted in hearing him check, especially in young 
 people, illiberal and ill-natured observations respecting 
 the character and deportment of those about whom 
 they conversed ; here his maxim was, " Speak evil of 
 no man." 
 
 ' High as his attainments were, he had a natural 
 diffidence and distrust of himself; he was always ready 
 to receive information from any quarter, and paid a 
 great deference to the judgment and reasons of others. 
 He loved peace, he studied peace, he cultivated peace, 
 and was ready to make considerable sacrifices for the 
 sake of peace. To methods of violence and wrath, he 
 had a natural, — a strong aversion. He was peculiarly 
 distinguished for tenderness of mind, and in all his ways 
 was careful not to violate the rights of conscience. 
 
THE pastor's death. 45 
 
 ' In all schemes of liberal improvement and bene- 
 volence, he was uncommonly active and persevering. 
 Nothing of this kind, that was consistent with his 
 official character, was ever attempted in Dunfermline, 
 in which he did not take a decided part. In forming 
 and managing bible and missionary societies, schemes 
 for the support and comfort of the poor, etc. etc., he 
 was skilful, active, and unwearied. Here his loss in 
 Dunfermline will be sensibly and deeply felt ; his solid 
 judgment, his uncommon capacity of distinguishing 
 the differences of things, and discerning the true 
 state of matters under consideration, rendered him 
 extremely useful. Such was the ardour and activity 
 of his disposition, that he was not easily tired or soon 
 discouraged by the difficulties attending attempts at 
 improvement. He was truly a man of public 
 spirit. 
 
 ' His piety was uniform, — was a steady, regular 
 course of serious regard to God, without the least 
 tincture of or tendency to enthusiasm, notwithstanding 
 some natural warmth and eagerness of temper. His 
 religion pervaded every part of his conduct in public 
 and private life, at home and abroad. It was his study 
 ever to act as seeing Him who is invisible. 
 
 ' His afflictions he endured with exemplary patience 
 and resignation, and he-afforded satisfactory evidence 
 that he died in the faith and hope of that gospel 
 which he had long and faithfully preached. In his 
 last illness he repeatedly declared, "that he had 
 
46 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 strong consolation, loithout fear, in the hope set before 
 him." After recoverino; a little from a severe nervous 
 affection, he lifted up his eyes, and fixing them on his 
 colleague, who stood by him, he said, with much 
 emphasis, " The Lord be with you." On another 
 occasion, the same individual' sitting by and watching 
 his motions, heard him utter a groan, which led him 
 to inquire whether he wanted anything. He looked 
 up, and said, " I was thinking on these words of the 
 prophet, ' Glorify ye the Lord in the fires.' " When 
 it was remarked, " Well, Sir, I hope you are doing 
 so ; you are acquiescing in the will of God under your 
 afflictions, and in so doing you are glorifying God," 
 he replied, " I wish to do it." 
 
 ' On the Sabbath, ten days before his death, when 
 very much distressed, his son remarked to him, " You 
 have had very few Sabbaths like this, father." 
 " True," said he, " but there remaineth a rest for the 
 people of God. O to have a well-grounded hope of 
 that rest !" On another occasion his son said, " I 
 wish I could relieve you, father." In answer to this 
 he said with much feeling, " I believe you would, 
 James, but vain is the help of man ; my trust is in 
 the name of the Lord." At another time the same 
 relation remarked to him, that Paul had arrived at a 
 high attainment when he said, " For I am persuaded, 
 that neither death, nor life," etc. (Rom. viii. 38, 39.) 
 With considerable energy he said, " O yes, glorious 
 triumph ; glorious triumph !" Many other passages of 
 
THE pastor's death. 47 
 
 scripture were, at intervals, repeated by him in a 
 manner which plainly showed the delight he liad in 
 them, and the comfort he derived from them. But 
 such was the nature of his complaint, that he was 
 unable for some days before his death to utter almost 
 a word. This was peculiarly distressing to his rela- 
 tives and friends ; but such was the will of Him over 
 whose ways we have no control. It was remarked by 
 one who constantly attended him, that he had never 
 seen death approach any individual so gradually. 
 The king of terrors seemed to approach him with 
 steps imperceptible, even to the anxious observers who 
 surrounded him. At last, however, on the 17th of 
 May, he inflicted the stroke which parted his soul from 
 his body, which, there is no doubt, has winged its way 
 to the mansions of eternal rest, where it associates with 
 the spirits of the just, in the vision and fruition of God, 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. "Mark the perfect 
 man, and behold the upright : for the end of that man 
 is peace.'' Who can be so insensible as not to exclaim, 
 " Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my 
 last end be like his?'" 
 
 Mr Macfarlane siarvlved this affliction only about 
 two years. The last charm of life to him had fled. In 
 the winter of 1823 he endured a great amount of 
 bodily suffering, and that with much christian 
 patience. This chapter shall be closed with a brief 
 account of some of his death-bed scenes and sayings : — 
 
48 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 At his bed-side, one afternoon shortly before his de- 
 cease, and after a season of spiritual darkness had 
 been endured, sat the Rev. Ebenezer Brown, of In- 
 verkeithing — a singularly devout man, and a most 
 eloquent gospel preacher for nearly half a century.* 
 He had come up to Dunfermline, for the last time, 
 to pray with, and say farewell to his friend. It 
 was a solemn and affecting interview. For nearly 
 forty years they had lived in the most hallowed 
 bonds of friendship. They loved each other ' with 
 pure hearts fervently.' They were knit together, 
 as were Jonathan and David ; and to Mr Brown 
 the prospect of his friend's death was oppressively 
 painful. It was when Mr Brown was on his death- 
 bed, about thirteen years afterwards, that he narrated 
 the scene referred to, to the compiler of these notices, t 
 As far as memory is serviceable, the following is a sub- 
 stantially correct account of what was then communi- 
 cated. After some conversation about the solemnity 
 of death, and the perfect safety of the believer when 
 subjected to its stroke, Mr Brown, while he lay tran- 
 quil as a sleeping infant on his bed of pain, thus ex- 
 pressed himself: — 
 
 ' Sir, I loved your father. He was a good man, 
 a powerful preacher of Jesus and his cross, and a 
 feithful minister. We were long associated, in this 
 
 * Son of the well-known John Brown, of Haddington, author of 
 the Self-Interpreting Bible, and other valuable works, 
 t Mr Brown died at Inverkeithing in March, 1836. 
 
THE pastor's death. 49 
 
 part of the country, in the ser\dce of om* Lord ; and 
 many happy, happy days we spent together, especially 
 at oiu* sacramental commmiion seasons. Often, often 
 — yea, not a day passes over me, but I think of him 
 and Dr Husband, and Mr Greig of Lochgelly, and 
 Mr Hadden of Limekilns.* But they are all gone ; 
 and I have been, as it were, alone ever since they left 
 this world. I shall join them soon now.' 
 
 ' You formed, indeed, a lovely and attached brother- 
 hood,' was the reply ; ' and sweet was the counsel you 
 took together. You saw my father on his death-bed, 
 did you not, Mr Brown V 
 
 'Yes, Sir, I did. I saw him frequently; and I 
 will never forget my last interview A\ith him.' 
 
 ' Do you think you could repeat it V 
 
 ' I can,' replied Mr Brown. ' We had been con- 
 versing about the days of old, and the scenes and 
 fi-iends of other years; and his whole heart seemed 
 full of the delightful theme, when some of yom- 
 brothers entered the room. When first anticipating 
 death, his anxiety about you all, and your ftiture lots 
 in this world, were agonising. I asked him if he was 
 now relieved of cares about his childi-en, so soon to be 
 left orphans ? He said at once, " I am : my anxieties 
 are clean gone. I have cast ever}^ one of them 
 upon God, and have no fear whatever but that 
 they shall be provided for. The God of their grand- 
 father and then* father will not forsake them. I 
 
 * Members of tLe Presbytery of Dunfermline along with Mr Brown. 
 C 
 
50 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 have no wish that any of them shall be rich or great 
 in this world. My prayer for them is, that they all 
 may be good, and like Obadiah, ' fearers of the Lord 
 from their youth.' Theii- future condition in life never 
 gives me one uneasy thought — it never even intnides 
 itself upon my reflections. When father and mother 
 have forsaken them, the Lord ^\\\\ take them up." ' * 
 
 After some pause, this aged and d^dng Apollos 
 continued his narrative : — 
 
 ' I was desirous to hear Mr Macfarlane once more 
 declare the foundation of his hope, and asked him if j 
 on looldng back on his long and useful life, he was 
 conscious of any degree of reliance for his oAvn salva- 
 tion upon his sendees to the Redeemer, as a minister 
 of the New Testament ? I shall never forget either 
 his reply or the manner in which it was given. 
 Hitherto, from his gTeat sufferings, he had spoken in 
 a somewhat feeble tone ; but now he raised himself in 
 bed, as if his strength had returned, and, with a loud 
 voice, which reminded me of his best days, he said : 
 '' No, ]Mr Brown. No : God forbid that I 
 
 SHOULD GLORY, SAVE IN THE CrOSS OF OUR LORD 
 
 Jesus Christ. I am indeed a poor sinful crea- 
 ture ; but the righteousness, the GLORIOUS, 
 THE perfect, the INESTIMABLE, THE MATCHLESS, 
 THE EVERLASTING RIGHTEOUSNESS OF ChRIST, IS 
 THE FOUNDATION OF MY HOPE, THE SOURCE OF MY 
 JOY, THE OBJECT OF MY GLORY, AND SHALL BE THE 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' pp. 67-72, 
 
THE pastor's death. 51 
 
 THEME OF MY SONG THROUGHOUT EVERLASTING 
 AGES. Yea, WORTHY IS THE LaMB THAT WAS 
 SLAIN, TO RECEIVE HONOUR AND GLORY IN MY 
 SALVATION." ' * 
 
 During tlie season of spiritual darkness to which 
 reference has been made, he never failed to use the 
 Word of God ; and it was by the use of it that his 
 soul again rejoiced in the smile of his Father's face. 
 To Mr Brown he remarked : ' It is the word of God 
 alone that can support under trouble, and the grace of 
 God alone which can keep the wounded spirit from 
 despau'.' And to another friend he added : ' I am 
 determined to rest upon a fomidation that shall bring 
 me to heaven ; and there I place all my hope.' 
 
 ' How have you passed the night f inquired a near 
 relative, a httle before his death. 
 
 ' Very poorly,' he replied. ' No sleep — no sleep ; 
 I have had a sore night of it. But I have been amply 
 compensated for it all, by bemg allowed to contem- 
 plate in peace the Lamb of God, who taketh away the 
 sin of the world. O, I sincerely wish that all my 
 fi'iends, all my enemies, all manldnd had such a view 
 of the atoning Lamb of God as I have this night ob- 
 tained !' t 
 
 ' Father,' said one of his sons, who devoted himself 
 dm'ing the whole mnter to the watchftilness and 
 fatigues of a parent's death-bed — 'Father, do you 
 want anything?' 
 
 * See 'The Hiding Place,' pp. 122-132. f Ibid, pp. 232-237. 
 
52 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' O yes,' was the striking reply : ' I want the par- 
 don of my many sins, the sanctification of my heart, 
 God's blessing here, and the enjoyment of him here- 
 after for ever.' 
 
 ' What shall I do V he exclaimed, under a severe 
 spasm of pain; but instantly checking himself, he 
 added, ' What can I do but just trust in God T 
 
 ' O that I had "svings like a dove,' he aftenvards 
 said, ' that I might fly hence, and be at rest, even to 
 the bosom of my redeeming Lord and Sa"s^our !' 
 
 Again : ' I have many kind fi'iends where my lot 
 is cast; and the kindness sho^vn me by them may 
 make me averse to leave this world. But have I 
 not relations and fiiends in the other world, far 
 dearer to me than any that remain ; and why should 
 I be reluctant to go to them V And then he added, 
 ' I am afraid I am too much influenced in my desire 
 to depart by the hope of meeting my dear friends in 
 gloiy.' 
 
 ' Ever since I was capable of exercising reason,' he 
 said to his beloved friend, Mr Brown, ' God hath 
 been good, marvellously good to me ; but T have been 
 a most perverse, ignorant, and rebellious creature.' 
 
 'But though goodness and mercy,' replied Mr 
 Brown, ' have followed you all the days of your life, 
 that is a small matter, when compared A\'ith being an 
 eternal monument of redeeming love.' 
 
 ' That is a pleasing prospect,' replied the dying 
 pastor. ' But I ha^e no hope in anything in me, or 
 
THE pastor's deatu. 53 
 
 done by me. On the finished righteousness of Christ 
 alone I rest.' 
 
 On taking farewell, till they should meet in glory, 
 the last words he uttered to the venerable Brown 
 were these : ' Pray for me, Mr Brown, that I may 
 be spiritually-minded. Ah ! the enemy suggests 
 thoughts about the merest trifles.' The promise was 
 given ; and they saw each other no more. 
 
 Shortly before he expired, and after a severe spas- 
 modic attack, he said to his son : 'Ah, James, it is a 
 serious thing to die !' And as the sord was departing, 
 he closed his testimony and his life ^vith these words : 
 ' The time of my departure is at hand.' 
 
 His death occiuTcd on the afternoon of the 10th 
 of April, 1823, and his mortal remains were placed 
 beside those of his lamented wife, in the Abbey 
 church-yard, and near* to the honoured grave where 
 are interred his predecessors in office — Ralph Erskine, 
 Mr Smith, and Dr Husband. On the afternoon 
 of the follomng Sabbath, the fmieral sermon was 
 preached to a large and mourning congregation of 
 about three thousand persons, by another of his co- 
 presbyters — a man of vast attainments in the science 
 of true gospel, and who, for profundity of thought 
 and weight of judgment in di\ine things, might have 
 been termed the Howe or Flavel of his time. This 
 was the Rev. Da^dd Greig, of Lochgelly, who followed 
 his friend in a few months after this to the kingdom 
 of heaven. 
 
54 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 These records of the holy hves and death-bed scenes 
 of the parents and friends of the youthful subject of 
 the following Memorials must now be closed. By 
 their penisal, the reader has been detained from the 
 prmcipal subject of this volume ; but before he has 
 gone through its pages, he may discover enough to 
 justify the detention. They are designed to sen'e as 
 an appropriate introduction to the unveiKng of a 
 death-bed work, which, by all who witnessed it, was 
 considered unusually solemn and instructive. They 
 will help to account for any peculiarity about the 
 style of converse in the dying chamber, and for what 
 othenvise, in the views and exercises of the sufferer, 
 her counsellors and her comforters, might be mistaken 
 for the fruit of evanescent impressions, or the hasty 
 decisions of weak, though amiable partiality. De- 
 scended as she was fi'om parents of such mifeigned 
 faith, and surrounded as she had been by a class of 
 friends of like piety, there shoiild be no sru'prise if we 
 find her, when placed in the fuhiess and freshness of 
 youth, upon a bed of suffering and of death, meetmg 
 the king of ten*ors at the fii'st mth the shudders of 
 natui'e, and aftenvards with the triumphs of faith. 
 We have sometimes accounts of peaceftil latter ends, 
 when no relative religion, either foregone or existent, 
 serves in any way to accomit for it. This does not 
 detract from thefr genuineness or interest. It is easy 
 for the intellig'ent christian, who understands that the 
 smritual in religion is not and cannot be inherited 
 
THE pastor's death. 55 
 
 from forefathers, to accoiuit for its existence and its 
 fruits in eminent converts. At once he traces it to 
 the so^'ereignty of Him who ' ^Adll have mercy upon 
 whom he will have mercy.' At the same time, to see 
 the piety of the parent re-appearing in the child, is an 
 interesting and useftd spectacle. It teaches us the 
 value of a holy parentage — it impressively illustrates 
 the covenant faithfulness of Jehovah, as descending 
 from sire to son, and gives encouragement to those 
 who have offspring, to believe in God and also in 
 Chiist, for their OAvn and for their children's sake. 
 Though not necessarily hereditary^ godliness may be 
 perpetuated in families, through the di^ine blessing 
 \m. the pious example, the careful tuition, and the 
 effectual, fervent prayers of parents who fear God. 
 How sadly do they mistake who are exceedingly keen 
 to amass mere earthly treasui*e for their children ! 
 They may or they may not succeed. If they do not, 
 they discover their folly when it is too late to try the 
 experiment of religion ; and even if they do, they are 
 either removed fi'om the AA'orld without the o-ratifica- 
 tion of seeing the use to which the sweat of their 
 brow is applied, or else they endiu'e the agony of 
 Avitnessing the profits of a lifetime's labour sacrificed 
 on the altars of vanity, or in the shambles of vice. 
 Wealth without piety is the goldbeater's leaf spread 
 over the mouth of hell. Piety, even AAithout wealth, is 
 the steep and rugged, it may be, but the safe ascent 
 to lieaven. Better far it is for parents to secure 
 
56 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 spiritual blessings for their cliilclren by consecrating 
 tliem to, and training them tip for God. To leave to 
 them a fortune may be the transmission of a curse; 
 and in a few years hence they may be seen forsaken 
 and begging their bread. But to have cast them by 
 faith upon the mercy and care of Jehovah, may be 
 followed not only by a competence or superfluity in 
 this world, but by the blessings of his salvation and 
 the ^dgilance of his providence. The eminently godly 
 men referred to in the prececUng pages exemplified aU 
 this upon a grand scale. Living by faith themselves, 
 they committed by faith their offspiing to God ; and 
 none of then* descendants, it is hoped, will behe his 
 faithfulness, or do despite unto his covenant. This 
 was indeed the result of the use they made of heaven. 
 They had no doubt of there being such a place, 
 and they had respect unto it and its recompense of 
 reward. The hope of inheriting it raised them far 
 above the love of this present world, and not only 
 made them feel and act as ' heirs of God, and joint- 
 heh's with Clu'ist,' but disposed them to care nothing 
 about the temporal compared mth the sj^iritual opu- 
 lence of their descendants. For this they longed, 
 and laboured, and prayed ; and this, we hope, shall be 
 the happiness of then- offspring. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 CBarlg Nurture anli ^tJtnonitton. 
 
 ' Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade — 
 
 Apt emblem of a vh-tuous maid — 
 
 Silent and chaste, she steals along, 
 
 Far from the world's gay, busy throng ; 
 
 With gentle, yet prevailing force, 
 
 Intent upon her destined course ; 
 
 Graceful and useful all she does, 
 
 Blessing and blest where'er she goes.' 
 
 ('OWPER. 
 
 On an afternoon, a few days subsequent to the events 
 recorded in the preceding chapter, a singularly vene- 
 rable-looking old gentleman was seen walking up the 
 approach to the manse of the deceased pastor. His 
 step was slow, his eye was tearful, and his whole 
 demeanour told of a mind sadly meditative of scenes 
 and objects which the old and sombre-looldng dwell- 
 ing-house before him seemed to recall. The snow- 
 white locks that flow^ed down his neck — the deep and 
 holy aspect which many and grave experiences had 
 given to a face of perfect symmetry — the look of 
 heavenly contemplation that came fi'om a dark but 
 
 exquisitely-benevolent eye — and the gentle stoop of 
 
 c2 
 
58 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 what had been a somewhat tall and commanding form, 
 told of a good old age and a good old discipleship. 
 As he passed through the gate, his eye first glanced 
 at the spacious and remarkable edifice, the chm'ch, 
 A^dthin whose walls so often he had heard, and so often 
 himself preached the glorious gospel. His heart gave 
 way within him as he reflected on the pulpit now 
 vacant — his former fi'iends, the co-pastors, with whom, 
 dm'ina; a lone; and lovelv, thouo-h in some measm'e 
 
 O O t^ 7 CD 
 
 afflicted, hfe, he had enjoyed a holy fellowship, being 
 now gathered to their fathers; but, as the thought 
 pressed upon him of his own coming departure fi'om 
 tliis world of soitow, and of his soon rejoining them in 
 the realms of bHss, the consolations of hope chased 
 away the shades of grief fi'om his view. As he neared 
 the manse, however, his usual serious expression re- 
 sumed its place. He thought of the happy days he 
 had passed A^-ithin its walls, ^Wth a cu'cle of clu'istian 
 associates, of whom he was one of a veiy few momm- 
 ing survivors. There they had often asseijibled — not 
 for the mere pm*pose of ordinaiy pastime, or formal 
 visitation, but for taking sweet coiuisel together upon 
 matters ' touchino; the Kmo- ' — for talldno- ^\'itli each 
 other by the way of the wondei-ftil works of the Lord — 
 and for singuig together, as they always did before 
 parting, the psalm, or hymn, or spmtual song that 
 extolled the praises of redeeming love. But these 
 loved forms were now invisible ; these devotions were 
 now reposing in the solemn chambers of memor^^; and 
 
EAULY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. 59 
 
 these voices were now sounding the Gospel Hallel in 
 the celestial temple. As he thus endured the nisli of 
 affecting, of almost subduing recollection, the old 
 man raised his hands, as his vront was, and Avith 
 a quick glance of his eye upwards, registered a 
 prayer above. And now the youth who had been 
 watching from a parlour window the coming of the 
 beloved man of God, opened the hall door, and 
 admitted him to what proved his last inter\aew, in 
 that old habitation of piety, with the orphans of his 
 deceased friend, and especially with her whose l)ricf 
 stoiy of hfe and latter end we are to review. 
 
 IIa\an£r seated himself on the sofa, the Rev. Mr 
 Brown of Inverkeithing (for it was he) requested that 
 the fami'ly should be called into his presence. Witli 
 the exception of two, who had returned, after the 
 fimeral of their father, to Edinbm'gh, all the children 
 appeared and sat before him. He told them that he 
 had come up to Dunfermhne to see the siuwivors of 
 one now in gloiT — to shed his tears of s}anpathy 
 wdth then' tears of orphan sorrow; — that he had 
 loved their father — felt his death a great loss to him- 
 self — and the want of his society and counsel a blank 
 which could not in this life be filled up ;— that it be- 
 came them to be thaidvful to God for having had such 
 a parent ; and now that father and mother had for- 
 saken them, to be sure that they claimed for tlieir 
 father that God who had promised never to leave nor 
 forsake any that clung to him as their j)rotector and 
 
60 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 provider. With his ordinary deep, impressive, and 
 musical voice, he then repeated the charge of King 
 David to Solomon his son : ' And thou, Solomon, my 
 son, know thou the God of thy fathers, and serve him 
 with a perfect heart and with a Availing mind ; for the 
 Lord searcheth all hearts, and understandeth all the 
 imaginations of the thoughts. If thou seek him, he 
 will be found of thee ; but if thou forsake him, he will 
 cast thee off for ever.' Having continued for some 
 time in thus exhorting and comforting his weeping 
 young friends, he concluded his address to them with 
 this fine sentiment. It is given to the reader from 
 recollection, but it is substantially, and as nearly as 
 possible verbally, as JSIi' Bro^^^l uttered it. Children 
 who have parents in the eternal world would do well to 
 ponder, and submit to be taught by its affecting and 
 eloquent appeal : ' And now, my dear childi'en, I have 
 no doubt that you are sorrowing for the loss you have 
 sustained; and sometimes the recollections of your 
 worthy father mil come upon you so as to sadden and 
 perhaps distress you, especially when you remember 
 how often you neglected his counsels, and grieved his 
 heart by yoiu' misconduct or disobligingness. I dare 
 say, ere now, you vdW have thought it to yoiu'selves, 
 that, if you but had him back again, or if you had to 
 live over again the time you were pmdleged to enjoy 
 his care and love, you would watch his every look, 
 anticipate his every wish, and be ready to fulfil his every 
 command — delighted to please huu, and anxious to 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. <U 
 
 avoid eveiy word and action tliat might afflict him. 
 You will no doubt, also, be thinldng that it would be 
 a great gratification to you if you again had it in your 
 power to make him happy. Now, this is what I -wish 
 to impress upon you, and I hope you will never forget 
 it : Though yoiu- father be dead, and is never to re- 
 turn to you, you can even yet add to his happiness. 
 You ask me, Hoio is this ? Well, I read in my Bible 
 that "joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that re- 
 penteth." Repent you, then, of your sins, and be 
 lioly, fearing God, keeping his commandments, be- 
 lieving in and losing the Lord Jesus ; and you are 
 certain, even here, to please yom' departed parent. In 
 heaven, they have perfect sympathy with all that goes 
 on upon earth connected viith their Redeemer's glory ; 
 and it cannot be othenvise than that, in the conver- 
 sion and piety of those near and dear to them in this 
 world, the spirits of yoiu' beloved friends above should 
 take a very deep and intense interest.' 
 
 Ha^^ng gathered the family aroiuid the throne of 
 gi'ace, and placed them underneath the wings of the 
 Angel of the Covenant, this last of that christian 
 band, whose Ha'cs had, for half a century, distilled 
 as the dew the influences of christian faith and 
 manners over all that neighbourhood, closed his 
 earthly intervievvS "u-ith the family. Dming the few 
 years that he survived, individuals of them occa- 
 sionally met with him ; but death, the breaker up of 
 so many ties, soon dispersed them in the world, 
 
62 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 and tliej never all met again beneath that hallowed 
 roof-tree. There Avas one, however, in the little group 
 that sat at his feet during the scene referred to, to 
 whom, as an only daughter, he paid marked attention, 
 and over whom he tenderly yearned. Agnes heard 
 his parting counsels that day ; and it is thought these 
 left an impression which, for a length of time, at 
 least, she felt and owned. The next time we see them 
 together shall be in far more affecting circumstances. 
 It has been akeady stated, that at the time of her 
 mother's death, Agnes was about six years of age. 
 From that event up to the death of her father, she 
 had continued under the paternal roof, an object 
 of special interest to the surviving parent and all 
 her mother's friends. Lively and quick fi'om child- 
 hood, open, frank, generous in her dispositions, and 
 withal decidedly superior in her natui'al and acquired 
 attainments to most of her companions, she was re- 
 marked by those who knew her as an interesting and 
 promising girl. If her father can be said to have had 
 a partiality for one above another, she was that one, 
 though, at the same time, he was careful not to allow 
 this partiality to injure either her or her brothers. His 
 heart closed in upon his merry, clever, and engaging 
 child, when, at any time, the claims of the only 
 daiighter of her mother came down upon him in their 
 touching power. But his heart was large enough for 
 them all, and for each child there was a room of affec- 
 tion in it and to spare. Agnes was never what is 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. G3 
 
 called a spoiled or })etted cliild. Among her .brothers 
 she was "veiy much one of themsehes, and though 
 not what is called a ' romp,' she was necessarily con- 
 strained to share vnih them in theu* proper gambols 
 and sports, ha\dng in these generally ceded to her the 
 gxatification of her peculiar will. Without knowing 
 of it, she gradually imbibed a veiy good-natiu'ed ex- 
 pectation that her ^^dshes should not be disregarded ; 
 and thus she acquu-ed a place and a power in their 
 affections which she never lost, and which she con- 
 tinued more and more to deserve. 
 
 Her education was, after her mother's death, mainly 
 supermtended by her father, and her proficiency was 
 at least equal to her opportmiities. The approbation 
 of her several teachers was apparent both ft'om the 
 premiums with which her diligence was rewarded, 
 and from tlieu' readiness afterwards to do justice to her 
 eagerness and aptitude to learn. No doubt the loss 
 of her mother at such an interesting age was a draw- 
 back on many accounts, and, from what was after- 
 wards discovered, she must have felt that loss not a 
 little. However willing and anxious, no one can 
 supply a mother's place, especially to a daughter in 
 pupilage. At an early period, her constitution indi- 
 cated that delicacy which requii'ed maternal care. As 
 she grew up, and, strictly speaking, had no home of 
 her ovm, she became aware of her need of female 
 spnpathy; and there is reason to fear that, from her 
 extreme delicacy of feelmg, her health did not obtain 
 
64 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 that watchfulness which might have suggested reme- 
 dies in time to have warded off the approaches of the 
 destroyer. Rather then complain, or be the cause of 
 trouble to any of those dear families among whom she 
 occasionally lived, she preferred to suffer and to pine 
 in secret over those constitutional infirmities which, 
 when concealment was no longer possible, drew from 
 her a reluctant disclosiue. 
 
 In the manse at Dunfermhne she enjoyed, during 
 her father's Hfe, the most ample means of a sound 
 religious culture. From a child she was trained up 
 ' to walk in the way she should go.' The scriptures 
 were presented to her not merely to be committed to 
 memoiy, but to be understood, believed, and obeyed. 
 Her Sabbaths were spent either in the house of God, 
 mider the impressive ministrations of her grandfather 
 and father, or in the tranquil and improving exercises 
 of domestic piety. Her reading was select ; and what- 
 ever taste she might afterwards acqvure for books of a 
 light and questionable character, it was not within the 
 precincts of the manse that such a taste was formed 
 or such a practice was sanctioned. The literatm'e of 
 that sacred abode was distinguished by its instructive 
 and useful properties, and consisted either of that 
 strictly religious cast which powerfully aids in the 
 formation of godliness, or improves the mind alike in 
 what is substantial and poUte. Perhaps there might 
 be one exception to this general rule. About this 
 time there was great and general excitement upon the 
 
EAKLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. G5 
 
 subject of Avliat were called the ' Waverley Novels.' 
 The ' Great UnkiioAvii,' as the author of these won- 
 derful productions was then designated, had struck 
 out an entu'ely new path for himself, and imparted 
 a charm and novelty to works of fiction which 
 fascmated for a time all classes of society. The 
 sickening and demoralising state of the preceding 
 school had begmi to cloy the public appetite, and to 
 confine the lovers of romantic nonsense to silly women 
 and still sillier men. But when the classic and bril- 
 liant, the national and historic fictions of Scott 
 appeared, the whole brood of panderers to the 
 morbid cra^dno- for such emasculating works retired 
 fi'om the arena, and resigned to him the undis- 
 puted possession of the wizard's throne. And a 
 powei*fal spell it must have been that he wielded for 
 a while. Perhaps never before was it heard of, and 
 never since has it been known, that mere novel-read- 
 ing became popular among that class of society re- 
 markable for its regard for the sobrieties of tiiith in 
 opposition to the figments of poetical or prosaic genius. 
 Everybody seemed to be under the impression that it 
 was no sin to be acquainted with the works of the 
 author of Waverley ; and not a few, even among seri- 
 ous thiaking people, considered it a mark of bad taste 
 not to have perused them. The father of Agnes — him- 
 self an admirer of the productions of fine genius, and 
 withal a hearty lover of eveiytliing national, particu- 
 larly if it breathed the air of his native Highlands — 
 
QQ THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 submitted to the universal mania, and received into 
 his fjxmily these celebrated productions of his illustri- 
 ous comitrjauan. If ever novel-reading became inno- 
 cuous, and could be justified, it was certainly now. 
 At the same time, it is pleasant to have it to state, 
 that ere long the sting of the serpent was discovered 
 — the poison of the dainty chahce was detected, and 
 the spell of the enchanter's wand was broken. Up to 
 the jDublication of ' Old Mortahty ' — in other respects 
 the most marvellous effort of Scott's genius — no alarm 
 was taken ; but when, in that work, the character of 
 the Scotch Covenanters was held up to ridicule in 
 profane caricatures, and the glorious and divine cause 
 for which our forefiithers fought, bled, and died, was 
 misrepresented and maligned, good men threw fi*om 
 them with shrinldng disgust the impious defamations. 
 From that day ISIr Macfarlane read no more of them, 
 and uttered, on every convenient opportunity, his 
 hearty chsapprobation. If, after this, any amiable 
 regard for these fictions remained among rehgious 
 people, it was almost entirely removed by the power- 
 ful and mianswerable re^dew of the obnoxious pub- 
 lication, by Dr M'Crie, the learned biogi'apher of 
 Knox. 
 
 It is to be regretted that parents should run 
 the risk of appearing to sanction novel-reading be- 
 fore their childi-en. In the case of those whose 
 rehgious principles are confirmed, and who may 
 quickly take the alann on the discoveiy in such 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADx^IOXITIOX. 67 
 
 books of what is likely to iiijiu^e either morals or 
 piety, it is comparatively easy to cast aside the ob- 
 noxious volume, and, it may be, to abandon for ever 
 the habit. But it is veiy different with the young in 
 general. Then- minds are seldom on the alert for 
 what is ethically wrong in the pages of a fascinating 
 fiction ; they are proverbially veiy susceptible of im- 
 pressions which outlive the period of juvenility, and 
 reluctantly, if ever, surrender a passion fed upon the 
 luxiu'ious in fancy, for a principle enforced by the 
 rigid in truth. And yet how common is the 
 practice of novel-reading among parents, and of 
 com'se among the yomig ! That the mere ' lovers 
 of pleasm-e' should indulge in such a sin, may not 
 be wondered at ; but how so many professing ' lovers 
 of God' should do so, is much to be deplored. 
 Dismal and disastrovis have been the results to 
 many a hopeful child. In respect of novel-reacUng 
 and some other habits, such as card-playing, attend- 
 ing theatres, ball-rooms and race-com'ses, there seems 
 to be an impression among many who consider them- 
 selves pious, that these occupy a kind of neutral 
 ground between the moral and the vicious, and ought 
 not to be considered as a test of character, or a 
 prohibition from privilege. Among the indeterminate 
 evils, as moralists describe them, they may be placed ; 
 but certainly they mil not be practised by any who 
 are determined to be rehgious. The tnily earnest 
 eschew ysAih. as much fear ' the shaking off, the slow 
 
68 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 and insensible graduation ' of what constitutes virtue 
 or \dce, as they do the determinate iniquity itself. Dr 
 William Symington has well observed, in his admir- 
 able essay on the amusements of youth, that, even ' in 
 reference to such indeterminate evils, we can seldom if 
 ever be at a loss to bring some great established Bible 
 principle to bear upon them.' * This is true of novel- 
 reading. The novel, strictly so called, is substantially 
 immoral. For what has been tenned rehgious novels, 
 something better may be said ; but of the class as a 
 whole it is easy to prove that their tendency is not 
 good. They are never the handmaids of ^-ital godli- 
 ness ; and even such of them as claim to be the 
 pleaders of morality, miserably fail of their object, 
 and often stultify or destroy the special vii'tue which 
 they pretend to exalt and protect. They never 
 address man as a fallen, guilty, and immortal being. 
 They uniformly give false impressions and views of 
 life, and commission then' devourers into this plain, 
 matter-of-fact world, to be \dctims of disappomtment 
 or spectacles of indecision. They help to make and 
 keep thousands among the silliest and most useless of 
 manldnd and womanldnd. They consume, for the 
 most ignoble of ends, hours and years of precious 
 time, never to be redeemed. They are the proper and 
 peculiar food of worldly and ungodly luinds, and 
 ridicide the plain and wholesome nom'ishment which 
 
 * Lectures to Young Men by Ministers of various Denominations, 
 p. 97. 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. 69 
 
 sober-mindedness requii'es. Tliey create a strong 
 disrelish for the word of God, and for books that 
 speak to man in the spmt of ' the Law and of the 
 testimony.' They are sad coolers to the fervency of 
 devotion, if they do not entirely indispose for its holy 
 exercises ; and, in one word, they stand in the way of 
 the conversion of the soul, by occupying and gi'atify- 
 ing its attention far away from those parts and paths 
 th.at kindle spmtual concern, and lead to the inquiry, 
 ' What must I do to be saved 1 ' There never was an 
 eminently pious man a novel-reader. 
 
 For these reasons, Mr Macfarlane regretted that he 
 had ever admitted Sir Walter Scott's novels into his 
 famih^ ; and, on the occurrence referred to, he vetoed 
 them altogether. But the taste for them had been 
 formed in his daughter's mind, and long after he had 
 left her alone in this world, did she squander time and 
 opportunities in the indulgence; not that she ever was 
 what is understood to be a novel-reader, but that she 
 had a lildng to works of that class ; and occasionally, 
 as it came in her way, the romance or the ch'ama was 
 found Ipng upon her table. This is mentioned, that 
 faithfulness may be maintained in the naiTative of her 
 life and death ; and it will, with other things, help to 
 account for her ha\'ing, in the midst of so many 
 jiowei'fttl incentives to vital religion, continued up to 
 her death-bed in an unconverted state. As the in- 
 terest of the subsequent chapters tiu'ns mainly upon 
 this view of her character, attention is requested to 
 
70 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 it, and to other kindred observations that may be 
 made. 
 
 So long as her father Kved, Agnes continued 
 under his watchful and affectionate control. She was 
 ardently attached to him, and made it her business, 
 though as yet a mere gu'l, to contribute to his com- 
 fort. Nor was her effort ineffectual. He ever saw in 
 her the image of one whose memory neither time nor 
 vicissitude could dislodge fi'om his heart ; and, from 
 her opening buds, he luxuriated in the hope of enjoy- 
 ing her matiu'ed excellences as the shades of even 
 descended on his path. While there was nothing 
 remarkable in her natural or educational acquire- 
 ments, nor even in her religious characteristics, neither 
 was there anything to diminish the affectionate delight 
 of a fond parent in an amiable daughter. He died 
 when she was only in her thirteenth year ; and, had 
 it pleased God to have prolonged his hfe, she might, 
 as far as appearance went, have at an earlier period 
 become decidedly pious. 
 
 Immediately after her father's death, in April, 1823, 
 Agnes ceased to have a home in Dunfennlme. The 
 manse where she had seen so many happy days, heard 
 so many memorable oracles, and marked so many of 
 the goings out and the comings in of God-fearing 
 men, must now be left, that the stranger may take 
 possession. The day of her departure was a melan- 
 choly one. Too young to reahse the loss entailed by 
 such a change, and too inexperienced to afflict her 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. 71 
 
 soul witli the anticipation of future trials, she was 
 not unreasonably cast down. But she was far 
 from being unconcerned. The dying scene of a 
 beloved parent was too fresh in her recollection, 
 and the associations of merry childhood and open- 
 ing life were too touching to be resigned mthout 
 a sigh. On the evening before she departed, she 
 was alone in her bed-room, from the windows of 
 which she looked do^sai upon the towers of the old 
 Gothic Abbey, where was lying the precious dust 
 of her parents, and upon the sacred and less ostenta- 
 tious ethfice where she had been dedicated to God, 
 and had become acquainted with the glad tidings 
 of salvation. And were her meditations this even- 
 ing of a decidedly pious character? If she her- 
 self be the judge, they were not. In afterwards 
 alluding to this, or similar incidents in her life, she 
 invariably characterised them as made up rather of 
 impulses springing fi-om affecting reminiscences than 
 of religious thoughts and exercises. Perhaps she 
 judged severely. To know that she was bidding a last 
 farewell to the scenes of her happy childliood, and 
 about to enter upon a chapter in the history of her life, 
 not one Hne of which even her lively fancy could trace, 
 was of itself, independently altogether of the question 
 of religious principles, fitted to give rise to melancholy 
 forebodings. How eloquent and pathetic are these 
 allusions of Dr Chalmers to this hardship of the 
 children of the manse, when death has taken from 
 
72 THE NIGHT LAMP, 
 
 them him whose toil was their substance, and wh^ose 
 ])rayers were their inheritance : — 
 
 ' When the sons and the daughters of clerg}Tnen are 
 left to go, they know not whither, from the peaceful- 
 ness of their father's dwelling, never were poor outcasts 
 less prepared, by the education and the habits of former 
 years, for the scowl of an unpitying world ; nor can I 
 fimu'e a drearier and more aifectina; contrast than that 
 which obtains under the blissful secuiity of then' earher 
 days, and the dark and unshielded condition to wliich 
 the hand of Pro^ddence has now brought them. It is 
 not necessary, for the pru'pose of awakening your 
 sensibilities on this subject, to dwell upon every one 
 circumstance of distress which enters into the suffer- 
 ings of this bereaved family ; or to tell you of the 
 many friends they must abandon, and the many 
 charms of that peaceful neighbourhood which they 
 must quit for ever. But when they look abroad, and 
 survey the innumerable beauties wliich the God of 
 nature has scattered so profusely around them — when 
 they see the sun throw its unclouded splendoiu's over 
 the whole neighboui'hood — when, on the fair side of 
 tlie year, they behold the smiling aspect of the comitiy, 
 and at every footstep they take, some flower appears 
 in its loveliness, or some bu'd offers its melody to de- 
 light them — when they see quietness on all the hills, 
 and eveiy field glowing in the pride and luxmy of 
 vegetation — when they see summer throwuig its rich 
 garment over this goodly scene of magnificence and 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. 73 
 
 glory, and think, in the bitterness of their souls, 
 that this is the last smnmer which they shall ever 
 witness smiling on that scene, which all the ties of 
 habit and of affection have endeared to them — when 
 this thought, melancholy though it is, is lost and over- 
 borne in the far darker melancholy of a father torn 
 from their embrace, and a helpless family left to find 
 their way unprotected and alone tlu'ough the lower- 
 ing futurity of this earthly pilgrimage, — do you 
 wonder that their feeling hearts should be ready to 
 lose hold of the promise, that He who decks the lily 
 fair in floweiy pride, will guide them in safety through 
 the world, and at last raise all who believe in Him to 
 the bloom and the vigoiu' of immortality ? " The 
 flowers of the field, they toil not, neither do they spin, 
 yet yom' heavenly Father careth for them ; and how 
 much more careth He for you, O ye of little faith ! " ' 
 It was when regarded fi'om the confines of eternity, 
 that Agnes entertained severe and perhaps just im- 
 pressions of her early histoiy ; and it is possible that 
 the contrast which she was enabled then to discover 
 between the mere pensiveness of a dreamy melancholy, 
 and the grander and more severe work to which God, 
 in the prospect of death, appointed her, may have 
 induced that godly jealousy of herself, which disposed 
 her to conclude that her Christianity had been only ' in 
 name,' and not 'in deed and in truth.' It seems, how- 
 ever, quite consistent with wdiat for a time w^ere with 
 her cherished emotions, to classify her feelings in now 
 
74 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 bidding farewell to beloved scenes and objects rather 
 with the sentimental than the spiritual. This was the 
 vein through which she allowed those feelings to flow-, 
 and there might indeed be a kind of pleasure in which 
 they hixuriated. It Avas, however, most unsatisfactoiy ; 
 for while it enticed her mind away from the unromantic 
 but instructive reflection Avhicli genuine piety would 
 have prompted, it indisposed her for entering upon her 
 future lot with that sober-mindedness which was neces- 
 sary to reconciliation with the will of God, and to the 
 perfomiance of the new duties in society to which she 
 was })roceeding. Hence she lost the opportunity — the 
 precious opportmiity — which on such an evening was 
 afforded her of drawing nearer to the God of her 
 fathers, of pleaduig his covenant engagements, and of 
 making herself over to Him in whom ' the fatherless 
 findeth mercy.' She stood in need at this time of a 
 wise, a pious, and a s}Tinpathising female friend — and 
 there was, no doubt, such at her command; but, as 
 she afterw^ards told, she had no inclination to vaabosom 
 herself to any one, and felt a kind of satisfaction in 
 brooding over what she then considered the severities 
 of her lot. Allusion is here made to this peculiarity 
 in what might be termed her rehgious temperament, 
 because it must account for some traits of character 
 and conduct yet to be exliibited. We may date from 
 this time, her occasional proneness to indulge in rather 
 moody ^-iews of life, and to invest her condition in 
 society with the chilling idea of solitariness, combined 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. 75 
 
 with dependence. Slie knew that her father's means 
 had been too hmited to enable him to leave a com- 
 petence for the education and support of herself and 
 brothers ; and that thoiTgh his tender consideration 
 of her peculiar claims upon him had provided so far 
 for her own maintenance during the years of her 
 minority, yet there stretched out before her a long, 
 blank, undefined existence, to be endured rather 
 than enjoyed, either as a debtor to the Idndness of 
 relatives, or, as it might turn out, an inmate in the 
 house of the stranger. She allowed herself to meditate 
 too much on this feature in her lot ; and thus accus- 
 tomed her mind to di-ink from the miscellaneous 
 cup of hope and fear, of pride and poverty, rather 
 than from the coolmg, cheering, strengthening wells 
 of salvation. She was consequently often thirsting 
 and never satisfied — often grave, and seldom joyftil — 
 often depressed and unsusceptible of consolation. 
 This account of Agnes is no doubt somewhat ante- 
 dated, and more properly describes her mental and 
 moral state a few years subsequently; but it was 
 now that this peculiar bias in her feelings and 
 thoughts was made. It ^^as in this state of feeling 
 that she left Dunfermhne and went to Edinburgh ; 
 and the melancholy thoiTglitfulness of this evening's 
 exercise spread itself gradually tlu'ough her mind, 
 though she was careftJ, in all the families where 
 she resided, to keep it in subjection, and as much 
 as possible out of view. 
 
76 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Dm-ing her residence in the Scottish metropoHs, 
 she prosecuted her education with dihgence ; and, as 
 she kneAV not what God might yet have in store for 
 her, she selected the best of teachers, and the most 
 useful and elegant of the branches which young 
 females of her class in society, and of her prospects, 
 usually attend. Her progress was satisfactory; but 
 her spirits were somewhat low, and she, for various 
 reasons, requested her father's trustees to remove her 
 to some other seminary, where she might combine the 
 intellectual mth the religious, and the ornamental 
 with the useful. She had been far from happy in 
 Edinbm'gh diuing the winter and spring of 1824. It 
 was her first experience of the homeless and the orphan 
 condition ; and she had not yet learned that necessaiy, 
 difficidt, and divine lesson which Paid acquii*ed, of 
 beino; content in whatsoever situation she might be. 
 Perhaps it is expecting too much of a girl of fourteen 
 years of age, and in her cu-cumstances, that she should 
 all at once settle down into tranquil resignation to 
 such a change ; but certainly had she been by this 
 time genuinely pious, though she might not have 
 brought her lot to her mmd, she might have brought 
 her mind to her lot. Whatever might be her chief 
 reasons, she earnestly desired a change ; and, accord- 
 ingly, in autimm, ] 824, she was sent to Longridge 
 manse, in the southern part of Linhthgowshu'e, to be 
 under the care and tuition of the amiable and accom- 
 plished daughters of the late venerable and Kev. Jolm 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADIIONITICN. 77 
 
 Brown of Whitburn. To lier this was not only a 
 pleasing but an im})ortant change. It commenced a 
 new era in her bnef hfe. She was now once more — 
 not at home in the sense of the word which Avas most 
 endearing to her, but assuredly as much so as it was 
 possible to be, away from one's own paternal habita- 
 tion. The scenes and exercises of her native manse 
 Avere reproduced. In the patriarchal demeanour of 
 ^Ir BroAvn, and his solicitude for the spiritual im- 
 proA^ement of all beneath his roof, she felt herself 
 again among familiar and beloA^ed domestic arrange- 
 ments; in the tender care of Mrs BroAA'n she aa^s 
 made to IuioaA', what she may be said not to liaAe 
 known for a long time — a mother's affection ; in the 
 A-aluable instruction of the Misses Brown she met Avith 
 more than mere teaching — they made her feel as if 
 she were one of the family, and superintended her 
 education from generous and ardent attachment to 
 herself — while from the other young ladies, her felloAA- 
 boarders in the seminary, she drcAA' so much sj^inpatliA' 
 and kindly interest to herself, that she thought for a 
 season her happiness was complete ; and most a s- 
 suredly, if it had depended solely on the affectionate 
 treatment she receiA^ed from the family at Longridge, 
 complete it must lia\"e been, as far as, in such a AA-oi'ld 
 as this, pure blessedness can be enjoyed. But the 
 tendency to sadness of feeling was not remoA'ed. Ba' 
 and by it returned ; and though she confessed that 
 the days she passed there were among the happiest 
 
78 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 she had ever known, she still was conscious of a want 
 which no earthly goodness could siipply. She was not 
 yet pious. 
 
 The local situation of Loncn.'idcpe is not of itself fitted 
 to induce cheerfulness, nor does it contribute materials 
 to engage the young heart. The manse and chui'ch 
 stand alone on the high lands of a veiy miinteresting 
 and unpictviresque country. For miles and miles 
 around, the eye is scarcely ever relieved, in siu-vey- 
 ing the almost treeless waste, by a single object of 
 interest ; and the few hmnble cottagers in the adjacent 
 hamlet were just sufficient to remind them that the 
 inhabitants of the manse were not the only hmnan 
 beings in the world. A pleasing and somewhat sin- 
 gular stir and hum, on the return of the weekly Sab- 
 bath, alone intruded upon the monotony of the scene. 
 In sun^e}ang the neiglibovu'hood fi*om the heights of 
 Longridge, one could scarcely believe that there was 
 population enough to occupy the vestiy of a chui'ch ; 
 and yet, long before the hour fixed for public worship 
 had struck, straggling groups of farmers, shepherds, 
 cottars, and children, w^ere seen coming up to the 
 house of the Lord from eveiy direction, some on foot, 
 others on horseback, and not a few in such humble 
 rural conveyances as they could afford to employ. 
 Before the minister was in the pulpit, the chiu'ch was 
 crow^ded. And well it might. John Beowt^ was 
 the preacher ! — a name revered to this hour in every 
 house and cot, and possessing still an influence favour- 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. 79 
 
 able to evangelical life and doctrine over that large 
 district of country ; and not only so, but wherever he 
 went to preach the gospel of God, he left behind him 
 a savoiu* of holiness which was truly edifying. The 
 son of the great and good Brown of Haddington, he, 
 no doubt, was indebted to his father's celebrity for not 
 a little of the respect in wliich he was held ; but the 
 beautiful simplicity and piu'ity of his own life, the 
 rich and marrow doctrines which his lips proclaimed, 
 the valuable works wliich he published or edited, and 
 the fervent zeal he manifested in the various benevo- 
 lent and christian movements of his time — for he was 
 \^athal a man of public-spiritedness and activity — 
 secured for him an amount of reverence, and love, 
 and influence, which in our times, upon the whole, 
 is somewhat rare. Perhaps there might be more sucli 
 like examples of venerated and beloved clerg}anen, if 
 there were amongst their order more of what may be 
 called living to and with God, and less of what we 
 characterise as living in and for the world. 
 
 Agnes seemed to have enjoyed these Sabbaths ex- 
 ceedingly ; and there can be no doubt that the Holy 
 Spirit employed them, and their precious means of 
 rehgious improvement, for her ultimate, if not her 
 present spiritual good. For nearly two years she had 
 not enjoyed a regular attendance on the christian 
 ministry' — and at her age, this was indeed a loss ; 
 but now, regularly as eveiy Sabbath dawned, cUd she 
 go up to the courts of the Lord ' with the multitude 
 
80 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 that kept holiday.' With Mr Brown's pulpit instmc- 
 tions she was satisfied, and often dehghted. She 
 was in the habit of taking notes of his sermons, and 
 of readinfj them over in the evenuio- to members of 
 the family and her favourite companions. Her 
 general conduct and industry secured the marked 
 approbation of the Misses Bro\\ai ; but this, with other 
 semblances of a pious turn of mind, most of all en- 
 deared her to them. The writer once ^dsited Long- 
 ridge while Agnes was there, and w^as told by the 
 family that she excelled her companions in her ready 
 and retentive recollection of the discoui'ses she heard, 
 and that on every Sabbath evening she was pre- 
 pared to give a good account of the preacher's per- 
 formances. A solitary but prized specmien of her 
 diligence and aptitude in this respect remains — a very 
 interesting compendium of a discourse to wliich she 
 had listened from the Rev. Dr Smith of Biggar (the 
 excellent and able son-in-law of ISIr Brown), from 
 these words m Isaiah xxxii. 2 : ' And a man shall 
 be as an hiding-place from the A\dnd, and a covert 
 from the tempest ; as rivers of waters in a dry place ; 
 as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land,' — 
 precious words, which in after years and tiying scenes 
 she remembered, and which were sweet and refresh- 
 ing to her as ' cold water to a thirsty soul.' 
 
 From her esteemed teachers she now received the 
 elements of the best education. Her progress was not 
 rapid nor striking, but sru'e and conservative ; and her 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. 81 
 
 friends had every reason to be satisfied ^vith tlie semi- 
 nary and its sviccessfiil superintendents. Her behaviour 
 in this family was uniformly proper, and even contri- 
 buted to its comfort and enjoyments. The barrenness 
 of the lo.cality, Avhich so circumscribed their out-door 
 exercise and pleasm'es, quickened the appetite for 
 in-door pastime, and hence every element that added 
 to the domestic happiness was gratefully and perhaps 
 miduly appreciated. It might have been so with 
 respect to the esteem in which Agnes was held. 
 Wlien sufficiently on her guard against the pensive 
 habit of which her look gave indication when her 
 mind w\as not diverted from itself, and which was at 
 once laid aside when her interest was excited by 
 anything striking or unusual, she would become one 
 of the liveliest and most amusing of companions. 
 Indeed, the most of her acquaintances considered her 
 to be miiformly of this disposition : hence the forma- 
 tion at Longridge of some youthfal female friendships, 
 which she retained while she lived. Mention may 
 be made specially of one sweet and lovely girl who 
 quickly followed Agnes to an early grave. This 
 was Miss Lockhart Fairbafrn Bro^vn, the adopted 
 daughter of the late Dr Thomas Browai of Dalkeith. 
 Then' love for one another was ardent, and their 
 correspondence in after life evinced that it had been 
 founded in sincere admiration of each other. Miss 
 Brown's quahties were not dazzling, but they were 
 
 substantial. Her piety was not ostentatious, but it 
 D 2 
 
82 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 was genuine. Her accomplishments were not super- 
 ficial, and, though not numerous, prepared her for 
 adorning that station in society in which she moved. 
 Agnes and she clung to each other as sisters, while 
 they lived, and when the call to die was given to the 
 one, the other came oft to weep, and comfort, and 
 pray with her. Agnes was first in glory, but Lock- 
 hart seems to have been first 'in Christ.' She too, 
 however, is now also in glory, being suddenly called 
 to the 'home of the righteous' when in the hey-day 
 of hope, and on the eve of her marriage. ' They 
 are as a sleep : in the morning they are like grass 
 which groweth up. In the morning it flourisheth 
 and groweth up ; in the evening it is cut down and 
 withereth.' 
 
 It was dm'ing Agnes' residence at LongTidge that 
 symptoms of that constitutional weakness appeared 
 which ultimately cut short her life. From what she 
 subsequently said, there is reason to fear, that fi:'om 
 motives alike modest and dehcate, she concealed much 
 that ought to have been told, and even continued to 
 do so till within a year or less of her death. Thus, 
 when dying, she told her aunt, Mrs Dewar, ' that she 
 had all her life been subject to bondage through fear of 
 death ' — that she had passed many days and nights in 
 sore bodily pain, and had sometimes anticipated an 
 early death as not improbable. Dimng her occasional 
 ailments at Longridge, she received every possible 
 attention from the affectionate family there, which 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. 83 
 
 greatly alleviated her trials. But advantage Avas also 
 taken of her complaint to fix her mind on religious 
 subjects, and the necessity of repentance towards Gotl, 
 and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ. The ques- 
 tion arises, then, had any saving and spiritual change 
 now come upon her soul ? Had these chastisements of 
 her heavenly Father, along with the devout and holy 
 discipline and teaching of the manse, been blessed for 
 her conversion to God *? Was Agnes as yet pious ? 
 The ISHsses Brown considered her to be so. She bore 
 her afflictions so meekly and patiently — she discharged 
 her religious duties so cheerfully and regularly — she 
 conducted herself in the family with so much christian 
 courtesy and obligingness, and in general so consis- 
 tently with what was wished and expected of, as well 
 as promised by liei", that it never occuiTed to them 
 to question it. There is reason, however, to douljt 
 the accuracy of their estimate. Agnes herself be- 
 lieved she had not been pious — that she was then 
 and there in an unpardoned, vuiconverted state. 
 Alas ! it is often rather hastily concluded with regard 
 to young people who die at last happily, that their 
 hearts must have been, if not all along, yet early, 
 opened by the Lord. It is difficult in general to 
 decide upon the reality of conversion ; but there is 
 much reason for cau.tion in judging of its having been 
 of long existence, merely because the death-bed scenes 
 indicate the presence and power of saving faith. It 
 would certainly have been a pleasant duty to have re- 
 
84 THE NIGHT LA3IP. 
 
 corded here tlie existence of, and to have given Agnes 
 credit for, piety even from an earlier period of lier 
 life ; but the truth must not be sacrificed for any con- 
 sideration, especially when, as it shall be seen, there are 
 in reserve indications of a worldly and gay temper in 
 her yet to be noticed. True, some may be disposed 
 to say that the judgment here adopted is uncharitable, 
 perhaps censorious and som' ; and others may insinuate 
 that if amiability of manners, and propriety of actions, 
 and external conformity to rehgion, based on extensive 
 and acciu'ate knowledge of Bible truths, do not prove 
 the existence of piety, to not a few who take the 
 credit of it must that credit be denied. Possibly, too, 
 it may be thought that the memoirs of many young 
 ladies who have died, as they tell, ' in the faith,' con- 
 tain rash conclusions, and embalm in then' glowing 
 pages mere natural amiableness for spiritual regenera- 
 tion, placing in their niches the jDolished marbles of 
 moral philosophy instead of the ' li'vdng stones' of the 
 Holy Ghost. If the pubhcation of this Memoir shoidd 
 do nothino- more than direct attention to this dan<Ter 
 of mistaking, in the intensity of bereaved grief, the 
 chastened tone and gentle manners of a life that pre- 
 cedes an early death, for ' peace with God,' and for the 
 ' nund that was in Christ Jesus,' the laboiu- given to 
 its preparation cannot be in vain. And if the pemsal 
 of its pages quicken to self-examination and behe%dng 
 prayer the young, who are fancying themselves con- 
 verted rather from negative than positive evidence — 
 
EARLY NURTURE AND ADMONITION. Hf) 
 
 rather from their doing no evil than their doing much 
 if any good — rather from their own merits, than from 
 personal union to, and interest in mediatorial right- 
 eousness — in that case there will be reason to rejoice 
 that these lines have fallen to some ' in pleasant 
 places,' and found for them a ' goodly heritage.' May 
 God in mercy grant it ! 
 
 Ha\'ing remained for about three years in Long- 
 ridge, Agnes retm'ned to her native towai in 1827, in 
 every respect improved, except in the matter of health. 
 She was received and welcomed into the house of her 
 uncle, Dr Dewar, to be for some time under his pro- 
 fessional care. Often chd she bless God for such a 
 friend, not merely because of his high and deserved 
 eminence as a physician, but because of his affectionate 
 and successfrd efforts, not only to benefit her health, 
 but to inform and enrich her mind. He and her 
 aunt were to her as father and mother, and to her 
 dying hour did she hold them in her heart of 
 hearts. They deserved, and they received her grati- 
 tude. She was tinily a most thankfril creature, and 
 even to services of small importance she rendered 
 wai'm returns. 
 
CHAPTER lY 
 
 E])z JarciBElls of Etfe. 
 
 ' My God, I would not long to see 
 My fate with curious eyes — 
 What gloomy lines are writ for me, 
 Or what bright scenes may rise. 
 Thy providence unfolds the hook, 
 And makes thy counsels shine; 
 Each opening leaf and every stroke 
 Fulfils some deep design.' 
 
 Watts. 
 
 Foe. a time after Agnes' return to Dunfermline it was 
 considered prudent to forbid severe application to her 
 favourite branches of study. Her proficiency, indeed, 
 in these respects was at least equal to what is usually 
 deemed a solid education. But though it had not 
 been so, the state of her health determined the ques- 
 tion. Under the family roof of Dr and Mrs DeAvar 
 she was, besides, placed in cu'ciunstances alike favour- 
 able to bodily, intellectual, and religious improvement. 
 The medical skill of her uncle, ere long, restored her 
 to the enjojanent of orchnaiy health, while his accom- 
 plished mmd, scientific and hterary pui'suits, and 
 elegant taste, Avith which she every day came into 
 
THE FArJiAVELLS OF LIFE. 87 
 
 contact, kept alive Avitliin her the desire after know- 
 ledge, and greatly contributed to her mental riches 
 and general information. None could be a better 
 judge of what class of books were best fitted to fui- 
 nisli her wath the most useful knowledge ; and the 
 inteUigent conversation with which, in mornmo; or 
 evening houi's, he unifonnly improved his presence 
 with his family, was an excellent addition to this 
 domestic mode of enriching all who could appreciate 
 and use the privilege. Her aunt, too, was in this 
 same respect of great advantage to her. Of a soundly- 
 educated and well-cultivated mind, with fine natural 
 taste and hereditary talent, Mrs Dewar was admu*ably 
 qualified to superintend the training of her interesting 
 niece. Nor was it amono- the least of the advantages 
 Agnes now enjoyed, that, Avhile useful knowledge was 
 here imparted, ' the most excellent knowledge of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ' was considered and enforced as of 
 supreme worth. To her amit, Agnes was deeply in- 
 debted for a fine exemplification of imostentatious 
 piety, and a most judicious mode of teaching its prin- 
 ciples, and directing attention to its temporal and 
 eternal rewards. Of this she was very sensible, and 
 spoke of her obligations when the only return she 
 could make was to breathe most fervent prayers 
 for a blessing on her and hers. That truly excellent 
 lady, very soon after the death of Agnes, rejoined 
 her in heaven. To her also was appointed a long- 
 course of suffering, endured with most touching re- 
 
88 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 signation, and distinguished by the highest degree, 
 if not of an assui'ed certainty, of a strong and in- 
 tellectual faith. Unlike her sister, (the mother of 
 Agnes,) who died so triumphantly, Mrs Dewar met 
 death with impressive solemnity, prepared for it 
 with holy earnestness, and at last bowed her head 
 to its stroke, trusting. Let us be thankful that 
 our acceptance with God at length does not depend 
 on om" triumphing, but on oiu* confiding in the 
 cross. It is nowhere Miitten that they are blessed 
 who triumph, but it is often Avritten, 'Blessed is 
 every one that trusteth.^ The gospel of the matter 
 is this, ^ He wlio helieveth shall he saved f and the 
 Saviour himself admits that his disciples may be (not 
 should be) of ' little faith ; ' nay, that there even may 
 be faith of the size of 'a grain of mustard-seed.' 
 D}dng clu'istians should therefore be taught to depend 
 for comfort upon their trust in the atonement of 
 Cln-ist ; and such comfort is of itself sufficient to im- 
 part that 'peace of God which passeth all under- 
 standing.' 
 
 Excepting occasional visits to Edinburgh, and part of 
 a winter which she passed there, attending some of the 
 higher branches of education, she sojourned during 
 the most part of the inten-al between this and 1829 
 among her relatives in Dunfennline. Having recruited 
 greatly in health, she about this time received and ac- 
 cepted a kind in%atation to pay a ^'isit to Mrs Aber- 
 crombie, wife of the late well-known author and 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 89 
 
 eminent physician, Di* John Abercrombie. Bet^v{>en 
 tliat lady and Agnes' fiither a long ancfintimate friend- 
 ship had existed. She was a native of Dunfermhne, 
 and had been brought up under the ministry of Dr 
 Husband and Mr Macfarlane. Mrs Abercrombie and 
 Mr Macfarlane con-esponded frecpiently as friends, 
 and this privilege he prized as one of his chief earthly 
 enjoyments. She constituted him, while he lived, the 
 almoner of her substantial charities to such aged and 
 infirm servants of her deceased parents as had survived 
 them, and stood in need of help ; and whenever any 
 painful case came in his way, he had only to apply to 
 her, and he never applied in vain. After Mi* Mac- 
 farlane's death, Mrs Abercrombie contmued her re- 
 gards for his family, and more especially interested 
 herself in his daughter. During her sojourn in 
 York Place, Agnes participated in the elegant and 
 useftil instructions which her own daughters were then 
 receiving. She gained their respect, especially the 
 sincere friendship of one of them, which was after- 
 wards affectionately manifested at the bedside of the 
 dying oq^han. Of Dr Abercrombie's kind and valu- 
 able interest in her, there will be occasion afterwards 
 to speak. 
 
 Having finished this visit, she entered the educa- 
 tional establishment of Miss White, Albany Street, 
 Edinburgh, where she exerted herself to great advan- 
 tage, and made rapid progress. She never forgot the 
 kind attentions which she received, and remembered 
 
90 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 the period of h^j* residence in this seminary with cor- 
 dial gratitude. This year's appHcation in Edinburgh, 
 however, again brought on a tlireateninff of her for- 
 mer complaints, and she had to apply once more to 
 her native air, and her kind physician. Her eldest 
 brother had by this time taken up his residence in 
 Dunfermline, and with him she resided for the greater 
 part of 1830. It was now that the ■v\i'iter, for the 
 first time since the family had quitted the manse, en- 
 joyed her society. For six months there was between 
 them uninterrupted intercoui'se, and, with the excep- 
 tion of the closing months of her existence, this was 
 the most interesting period of his associations with 
 her. Throughout that winter he was busily engaged 
 in preparing for ordination to the christian ministry. 
 To this event she looked forward with lively interest, 
 as it was arranged that she should then take up her 
 permanent abode with him in the manse of Kincar- 
 dine. A gleam of hope now dawaied u.pon her mind, 
 that at length she should have a home to her content 
 and at her command. The effect upon her spirits 
 was most exhilarating. It formed the fi'equent topic; 
 of conversation during the long dark nights of that 
 winter, and as the time of settlement there drew 
 near, her tendency to sadness was apparently over- 
 come. In her brother's preliminary studies and pre- 
 parations for orchnation she manifested the most 
 affectionate concern, encouraging him by her happy 
 anticipations, and aiding him in every way by which 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 91 
 
 she could alleviate the anxieties consequent upon 
 such an important prospect. Conversation upon the 
 sacred responsibilities of the pastoral office was not 
 imfrequent, and but for what afterwards occui'red, the 
 frame of her mind might have been pronounced alike 
 devotional and sanctified. With an occasional jocular 
 remark on her sharing with him in some of the minis- 
 terial work of his expected charge, she did not conceal 
 her deep earnestness in making herself acquainted 
 with such duties as in that situation she might with 
 propriety discharge. In this she was quite sincere. 
 She looked forward with pleasure to such offices of 
 love as superintending the Sabbath school, visiting the 
 afflicted and mom-ning, and preparing all those delicate 
 acts of female benevolence after which a generous 
 nature pants. 
 
 There was one with whom at this time she held 
 sweet intercourse, and for whom she cherished a 
 sister's affection. Her brother in Dmifermline, with 
 whom she hved, had recently been married, and for 
 his amiable lady she at once prepared a place in her 
 warm heart. Ah'eady, however, had 'the worm in the 
 bud' appeared in her interesting sister-in-law. She 
 was dpng, and she knew it not. Agnes feared that 
 an early grave was to be her appointment ; and though 
 she carefully concealed her apprehensions, she never 
 omitted opportmiities of commending religion as ' the 
 one thing needful.' This Avas another school to which 
 her heavenly Father sent her, that in it she might 
 
92 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 learn such lessons as were after all to be required by 
 herself on a death-bed, before they were practised by 
 the object of her present solicitude. How beautiful 
 and tender is the care of Providence ! She thought 
 of the soul of her sister, and was at the same time 
 laying up treasure for her own. Agnes had lain in 
 her grave only six weeks when her beloved com- 
 panion was placed by her side. It was after a day and 
 diu"ing a night of sore trouble, preceded by many days 
 and nights of weariness, borne \\'ith much christian 
 patience and meekness, that this yomig mother said, 
 ' All my hope is in Jesus,' and then calmly fell 
 asleej) in his bosom : ' They were lovely and pleasant 
 in their lives, and in their death they Avere not 
 divided.' 
 
 It has been noticed that Amies was sometimes of a 
 pensive habit of mind, which occasionally passed into 
 a kind of melancholy, musing about herself and her 
 future lot. Her trust in the God of her fiithers was not 
 yet of that calm and tranquil character which contri- 
 butes to the peace of the fatherless ; she was now and 
 then tossed to and fi'o with fears about, not her 
 spiritual, but her earthly lot ; and as she was very 
 reserved upon that subject, the state of her feelings 
 imparted considerable thoughtfulness, and even an air 
 of absence, to her otherwise winning and expressive 
 face. Occasionally, however, in her letters to one of 
 her brothers, she hinted at the subject, but always 
 very delicately, though sufficiently intelligible to him. 
 
THE FAREAVELLS OF LIFE. 93 
 
 ' I send you,' she whites in one letter, ' your gloves. 
 They are as neat as I can make them, but a double 
 seam never looks veiy well. I am sorry I have stuck 
 the drawing Avhich I was domg for you, and will be 
 oblio;ed to beo;in another. The faces are so small, I 
 doubt if I will be able to catch the expression. I may 
 make a pretty enough picture, however. I have never 
 received the long letter you promised me. I think you 
 might send it. I am just going off to Eew, to spend 
 a few weeks with dear Isabella, at which I am Aeiy 
 much delighted. She is the dearest friend I have on 
 earth. I "will tell you of my happiness when I return, 
 though I may be disappointed in this expectation, as 
 lam in every other. If I had only good health, I would 
 be happy in being independent. I don't think I ever 
 can be happy otherwise. The Doctor thinks I may 
 ])e quite clear of my complaints in a year or two. I 
 sincerely hope so — then I may be happy ! ' In another 
 she AATites, ' I am astonished you never write to me. 
 When I was at Longi-idge, you had fewer opportunities 
 than now, and you "wrote to me oftener. I can't tell 
 you how I weary to hear from you wliile here in Dun- 
 fermlme ; but you have always something or other to 
 do rather than attend to me. I will never forget, how- 
 ever, the happy afternoons I have spent in yom- house 
 in Howe Street. These were the happiest days I ever 
 had, or, I dare say, ever shall have. How I would 
 value an afternoon now, when I might have you for 
 an hour or two to myself uninteiTupted ; but I need 
 
94 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 not wish for Avhat I cannot get. Yet I would feel 
 happier if you would only write me oftener. Though 
 I am a bad correspondent, you know not the pleasure 
 I draw from yoiu' epistles, however short. Excuse 
 this rhapsody ; I cannot help it. I am inclined to 
 throw it into the fire and -uTite another, but I tliink it 
 unfair to conceal even the tlioughts of the moment 
 from so near and dear a fr'iend. Give my love to 
 George and Andrew. Kind love with me is not a tiling 
 of course ; you must tell them.' 
 
 From rather melancholy moods Agnes got entu'ely 
 free when she found herself at home in the house of 
 her friends. This was the case especially when she 
 resided for any length of time at B,ew, in Perthshire, 
 where dwelt Mi's Gillespie, her cousin, and who had, 
 from the day of her mother's death to that of her 
 father's, taken the charge of the manse, and had, in- 
 deed, done all but a mother's part to the children of 
 her venerated micle. Here Agnes let loose all her 
 natural flow of warm and generous feeling. The 
 retirement of the place was a pleasing change to her, 
 and its natru^al beauties were transcendently grand. 
 The gorgeous scenery, indeed, which lay stretched out 
 before her far and near, when she stood on the brow 
 of the hill on which the farm-house of E-ew is built, is 
 scarcely to be equalled even in Perthshire. In the 
 valley is to be seen and heard the rapid flow of the 
 river Teith, unsurpassed in the Highlands for its 
 pictm-esque course and shady banks. Immediately on 
 
THE FAKE WELLS OF LIFE. 95 
 
 tlie right is the fine ruin of the castle of Doiine, on 
 which, 
 
 ' Dim with the mist of years, 
 Grey flits tlie shade of power,' — 
 
 in contrast with the sweet and tasteful chiu'ch and 
 manse of her own and her father's fi'iend, Dr Mac- 
 kerrow, of Bridge of Teith, which stand on the oppo- 
 site side of the stream. In the far west appear the 
 great and sublime outlines of the Trossachs, made im- 
 mortal by the poetic genius of the author of the ' Lady 
 of the Lake.' In the foreground, beyond the fair 
 demesne of Blair Dru.mmond, rises that wonder of the 
 world, ' a craig in a carse,' the seat of the Craigforth 
 family ; slowly passing which is the river Forth, whose 
 channel is there broadened and deepened by the tribu- 
 taries of the Teith and Allan waters ; while in tlie 
 distance beyond are lifted up, in all theu' gi'andem*, the 
 towers and battlements of the castle and town of Stir- 
 ling. ]\Iany a time and oft she sat with her work or her 
 book upon the table-land at Hew, and revelled in this 
 grand and imposing panorama, chunking in those 
 great and impro\ ing thoughts which spring from the 
 devout contemplation of God as the Creator. She 
 knew that his msdom, and power, and goodness 
 called all into being ; but there is no proof that then 
 she could say, ' My Father made them all.' In the 
 dwelling at Eew, also, she had constantly before her 
 one of the best specimens of the old Scotch Covenan- 
 
96 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ter, in the simple-minded but pious farmer, the hus- 
 band of lier cousin. She used to advert to his regular 
 religious habits — austere enough some might think 
 them — and made it her boast that, when the psalm to 
 the good old tune of ' Martyrs' rose from his domestic 
 altar with the rising orb of day, she made it her object 
 to form one of the worshipping group even at such 
 an early hour. Her family partialities, too, were 
 pleasingly gratified by visiting, as slie occasionally did, 
 Erin, the birth-place of her father, and the scenes of 
 his early life, which were all in the neighbourhood. 
 Yes, at Rew she was indeed cheerful and even buoy- 
 ant in spirits ; and for this reason, so rare in her short 
 life, the writer records her associations with it. This 
 was her last ^dsit to that lovely spot ; and deeply did 
 her kind friends who tenanted it, and all their house- 
 hold, feel her departure. Her absence created a blank 
 which could not be supplied. As she di'ove off, the 
 tear was in the eye of her ' dear Isabella ; ' and the 
 somewhat eirie prayer of the venerable man was sent 
 up for a blessing upon her from the ' orphan's stay.' 
 
 One level}" Sabbath morning in August of the same 
 year (1831), a young lady, apjiarently in the bloom of 
 health, was seen riding alone upon the high road 
 between the sea-girt little town of Culross and Kin- 
 cardine-upon-the-Forth. The sun, unclouded, cast 
 his glowing beams upon the waters of that noble river. 
 The fields were ripe unto the harvest. The merry 
 lark was singing in the air. Nature, so profuse in 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 97 
 
 that romantic neighbourhood of all that can gratify 
 the most fastidious lovers of her charms, seemed to the 
 eye and ear of Piety to have assumed a gayer dress, 
 and to have prepared her most bewitching music in 
 homage to the hallowed day. The fair rider evidently 
 enjoyed the scene ; and, as the sound of the first Sab- 
 bath bell rose from the old church spire far down upon 
 the beach, and was wafted along the thickly-wooded 
 and steep demesnes of the ancient Abbey of Culross, 
 she was aroused from her meditations, and, giving the 
 bridle to her pony, she fleetly galloped along the road, 
 till she emerged from the woods that skirt the lands of 
 Tulliallan Castle. Here she moderated her pace, and 
 beheld in admiration the magnificent landscape that 
 burst upon her view. At this part of the road there 
 is a sudden and gradual descent to the village of Kin- 
 cardine, and few can pass that way without being 
 arrested for a while to survey the scene. Towards 
 the south-west lies the fair carse of Falkirk, with its 
 fertile fields and numerous mansions. The Forth 
 here loses its appropriate term, 'the Frith,' and 
 now assumes its river aspect. Gradually narrowing 
 as the eye looks to the west, its waters are now seen 
 in serpentine folds to roll in most picturesque wind- 
 ings among rich and cultivated plains, till they are 
 lost behind the stately battlements of the castle of 
 Stirling, and in the still more remote and sublime 
 recesses where Benledi and Benlomond rear their 
 cloud-kissing peaks. The whole panorama is closed 
 
98 T[IE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 in upon the north by the beautiful and extensive 
 range of tlie Ochil mountains, which only decline 
 towards the vales of Perthshire to allow the rise 
 and reign of the sterner Grampians. On another 
 day, and with no instant care pressing upon her mind, 
 the young equestrian could not have contented her- 
 self with a cursory glance over such a ma}) of natui'e's 
 glorious works. Her sketch-book would have been 
 used to enrich its pages with the different views. She 
 was, however, evidently occupied otherwise. Her eye 
 rested on the village at her feet — it searched out one 
 particular spot, where its chvirch modestly rises above 
 the humble dwellings of its inhabitants — and then and 
 there a bright gleam of joy played over her expressive 
 countenance, and up to heaven ascended a prayer, 
 lioly and fervent as ever passed from christian maiden's 
 heart. The remaining mile was quickly coursed, and 
 she entered the villafre. 
 
 The morning hymn has been sung, and the morn- 
 ing prayer has been offered within the dwelling of one 
 of the pastors. He has retired to the garden, and in its 
 sacred seclusion he niminates the messages of mercy 
 which are that day to be delivered to the flock, of 
 whose souls, but a few months ago, he was solemnly 
 ordained to be the shepherd and bishop. The work 
 is as yet new to him, and laborious are his efforts to 
 provide the weekly bread for his people, that they 
 may ' gi'ow in grace.' Unexpectedly, a servant 
 aimounces to him that a lady on horseback is at 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 99 
 
 the gate. Sui'[)rised by such an unexpected and 
 unwonted call, he leaves the garden, and is startled 
 by the hearty salutations of his sister. It was Agnes ! 
 She had, during that summer, been residing with 
 her aunt, Mrs Dewar, at Luscar House, a beauti- 
 ful smnmer residence in Fifeshire, a few miles to the 
 west of Dunfermline. Having ascertained that Kin- 
 cardine was within an easy home's ride, she had 
 that morning resolved to worship in her brother's 
 church. It was in vain that her aunt and others 
 remonstrated with her not to go, or, if she must, 
 not to go alone. Entreaty was useless ; she had set 
 her mind upon it, and before they were aware, she 
 was mounted and away. It appeared to him strange 
 then ; it appeared to him stranger that day twelve 
 months. It was her first, and it proved her last — her 
 farewell visit to him. On the same day of August, in 
 the following year, she died ; and she had come but 
 to look upon that anticipated home, and to hear for 
 once in that sanctuary her brother's voice proclaiming 
 the oi'acles of God. Had the veil been withdrawn, and 
 the winding up of the year been disclosed, it would 
 not have been for either of them such a happy occa- 
 sion. The text and the subject of that afternoon's 
 meditations sadly corresponded with the solemn work 
 which a year afterwards was appointed to them both. 
 The sermon was founded upon these words in Psalm 
 xxxvii. : ' Mark the perfect man, and behold the up- 
 right : for the end of that man is peace.' Though her 
 
100 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 morning's ride had brought on a severe headache, she 
 attended divine service forenoon and afternoon, and 
 thus by a providential arrangement, she received warn- 
 ing and instruction against tlie day of her own de- 
 cease. The evening of that Sabbath was appropriated 
 to sacred reading and conversation ; they thought and 
 said to each other, that soon thus they should together 
 be employed, and they regarded this as the forerunner 
 and foretaste of many happy, holy days and evenings 
 of the Lord in that beautiful place. It was not, how- 
 ever, all unmingled joy. Whether it was from the 
 effects of her headache, or whether from some sadden- 
 ing anticipations of what was at hand, cannot be told, 
 but as the evening advanced, she became pensive, and 
 less disposed to converse. When silence was occa- 
 sionally broken, the topics alluded to were the days of 
 childhood, the dying scenes of parents, her subsequent 
 homeless and often cheerless years, and the necessity 
 of religion to a peaceful latter end. Upon this last 
 subject she was more inclined to be a listener than a 
 speaker ; and lier remarks were such as to reflect upon 
 her own sincerity in making a christian profession. 
 She retired early to rest, being somewhat overcome 
 with the extra fatigues of the day. On the forenoon 
 of Monday she took leave of the spot to which she 
 expected ere long to return for permanent residence. 
 Her brother accompanied her so far on the road to- 
 wards Luscar House, and they parted. She had come 
 to his manse according to a long ]iromise ; but her visit 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 101 
 
 was short, and it was never repeated. He remembers 
 still his melancholy feelings as, from the heights above 
 the village, he stood watching the progress of Agnes 
 as she cantered along, occasionally turning round to 
 salute him, till an abrupt turning in the road hid her 
 from his view. What a mercy it is that we do not 
 know 'what a day may bring forth!' How foolish, 
 amid such an everlasting succession of vicissitudes, 
 for sinful, mourning man to desire a vision of the 
 future ! Let him only have his wish for one moment, 
 and speedily would he pray to have the impression 
 effaced from his memory. Deep wisdom and bound- 
 less pity lie in these words of our Lord : ' Take there- 
 fore no thought of the morrow, for the morrow shall 
 take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient 
 
 UNTO THE DAT IS THE EVIL THEREOF.' * 
 
 Pier abode at Luscar was a happy providence for 
 Agnes. Her health was improved. As she daily 
 rambled among its finely-wooded and undulating 
 scenery, her spirits became joyful, and to all the out 
 and i/i-door exercises of the country she devoted herself 
 with unusual cheerfulness and vigour. It now seemed 
 that her bodily infirmities had taken flight, and that a 
 long season of good and even robust health was before 
 her. The imddy cheek, the mirthfid eye, the elastic 
 step, and the bounding air, told of restored and con- 
 firmed health ; and oft did the clear and hearty laugh of 
 the lovely maiden, as she gaily sported with her cousins 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' cLap. iv. 
 
102 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 and their visitors among the trees of the neighbouring 
 forest, proclaim that in her heart grief had no seat, 
 nor sadness any sway. Upon the whole, these ap- 
 pearances were truthful. But she had, notwithstand- 
 ing, her moments of foreboding even here, which, it 
 may be, did not so entirely engage her mind upon 
 the subject of vital religion as might have been 
 wished, but which in some degree held within limits 
 the exuberance and flow of her ardent tempera- 
 ment. A circumstance which deeply interested her 
 partly accounted for this : One of her brothers had 
 fallen into rather poor health, and had come to breathe 
 the bracing air, and luxuriate in the fair scener}^ of 
 Luscar. Between them there had been growing of late 
 a very strong attachment. To his house in Edinburgh 
 she had often resorted, when pursuing her education 
 there — every Saturday, indeed, was passed under his 
 roof. She had her will with him in everything, and 
 his greatest delight was to scheme for her pleasure, 
 and gratify her wishes. Delicacy perhaps forbids 
 more, but the reader will excuse this much before he 
 has finished the coming record. It was now her turn 
 to enact the generous, and contribute to his pleasure. 
 Anxiety about his recovery for a time cast a shade 
 over her mind, which, however, disappeared as he be- 
 came convalescent. In nursing him she had plenty of 
 scope for the exercise of her kind and obliging dispo- 
 sition, and by her devoted and unceasing attentions 
 she was deepening and confirming in his bosom an 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 103 
 
 affection wliicli, ere many months had fled, was tested 
 by his incessant vigiUmce at her own djdng pillow. 
 One of the favourite amusements at Luscar was music, 
 of which she was raptm'ously fond, and in which slie 
 was a fair adept. To gratify him, she entered him as 
 a pupil, and commenced to teach him to play some of 
 her favourite airs on the piano. There was one in par- 
 ticular to which she had recently become very partial, 
 and which she was almost every day either singing or 
 playing. She insisted on his learning it first, nor did 
 she resign her task till she had accomplished her object. 
 Often since have these sweet lines, and the plaintive 
 music to which they are set, been remembered in their 
 associations with that summer at Luscar. They seem 
 to be prophetic. The piece is entitled- — 
 
 THE LAST LAT OF MARY STUART. 
 
 * From yon lone tower the midnight bell 
 
 Sounds sad and heavily ; 
 And from his bower the screeching owl 
 
 Sends forth a dreary cry. 
 
 ' The night wind wails, and mocks each sigh 
 
 That struggles from my breast ; 
 And Grief hath wept her fountains dry, 
 
 And only death can give me rest. 
 
 ' Soon I shall leave thee, land of sorrow ; 
 
 Soon this fleeting earth resign. 
 Welcome orb that gilds the morrow, 
 
 Thou wilt light me to my shrine. 
 
104 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' Doomed by foes, by friends deserted, 
 
 Wliat can soothe my exiled breast — 
 "Where can flee the broken-hearted — 
 
 Wlaere the weary spirit rest ? 
 
 ' Fare-thee-well, thou land of sorrow ! 
 
 Not with tears from thee I part ; 
 Not with thee bloomed love's first flower, 
 
 Though thou once possessed my heart. 
 
 ' For my wrongs let others chide thee, 
 
 Since with me no hate can dwell. 
 Soon the vault of death will hide me ; 
 
 Land of sorrow, fare-thee-well.' 
 
 We, creatures of a day, are oft sporting with misery 
 when we think only of pastime or profit. In the cup 
 of the flower we admii'e, there is poison — on the rose 
 we smell, there is a thorn — in the glee we sing, there is 
 the note of the coronach — in the smile that gladdens us, 
 there is the shade of Death, and in the merry dance of 
 life is heard the solemn tread of his equal foot. Truly 
 ' in the midst of life we are in death.' ' O that we were 
 wise ; that we understood this ; that we would consider 
 our latter end !' Lord, teach us to 'join trembling 
 with our mirth.' Whether any presentiment of what 
 was approaching was upon her mind cannot be ascer- 
 tained, but certainly such coincidences in her story are 
 remarkable. Little did either of these two at that 
 time consider the end of it all ; for at that time, alas ! 
 little beyond the externals of religion engaged their 
 thoughts. This was but one of the majiy songs ^vith 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 105 
 
 Avhich they beguiled the aiitmnn eves in the drawing- 
 room at Liiscar : — 
 
 ' Of many a stanza, this alone 
 Has 'scaped oblivion — like the one 
 Stray fragment of a wreck, that, thruwn 
 With the lost vessel's name ashore, 
 Tells who they were that live no more.' 
 
 At the 'fall of the leaf Agnes accompanied this 
 brother to Edinburgh, to pass the winter in his house. 
 She never had been so well in health or so comfort- 
 able in her feelings and hopes, and by the following 
 spring she decided that she should make the manse of 
 Kincardine her home. 
 
 Previously to her leaving Fifeshire at this time, she 
 had taken the important step of connecting herself 
 with the membership of the christian church. This 
 was a matter which had given her for a long time 
 serious concern — ' afraid to go forward lest she shoidd 
 go wTong,' she had afflicted her spirit not a little as to 
 the point of duty. She was well acquainted with 
 the system of evangelical truth, and all her pre- 
 dilections were in favour of a public confession of 
 the Saviour. She was unconscious of any scepticism 
 tainting or stinting her creed ; her character was as 
 high as it could be for moral beauty, and not a little 
 could be said in favour of her having felt the power of 
 the truth in her heart and conscience. She was full 
 of most amiable dispositions, the exercise of which 
 
 £2 
 
106 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 brought to her the blessing of the widow and the 
 orphan. She was regular in private devotions — 
 searched the scriptures daily — ^was oft in prayer, and 
 she thousht that she was glad when it was said 
 unto her, 'Let us go up luito the house of the 
 Lord.' Withal she had a desire to be in communion ; 
 she acknowledged the claims of the Saviour upon 
 her heart, her hand, and life ; and what more, it 
 may be asked, was requisite ? How many that are 
 in external comm\inion with the church have not 
 one-half of her qualifications ! True, lamentably 
 true ; but something far more important than all this 
 was needed — her conversion to God had not as yet, 
 according to her own subsequent testimony, taken 
 place. Li her heart much of the love of the world 
 held sway, and her love to Christ was, as she said, 
 a fancy, not a reality.' The excellent clergyman,* 
 however, to whom she made known her wish, was 
 most conscientious in unfolding to her the nature and 
 design of the holy ordinance of the Supper, as well as 
 the kind and degree of that personal worthiness which 
 was indispensably necessary to a true and proper fel- 
 lowship in the sacrament. Agnes weighed the question 
 long and prayerfully, and concluded that it was not 
 her duty to delay until she had assurance of her 
 reconciliation to God by faith in his Son. She there- 
 fore, for the first time, became a partaker of the Lord's 
 
 * The Rev. John Law, of St Margaret's Church, DunfermUne, now 
 of Innerleithen, Peeblesshire. 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 107 
 
 Supper within St Margaret's Church, in her native 
 town. 
 
 It is indeed most painful to be under the necessity 
 of questioning the propriety of tliis step ; but if her 
 OAvn personal convictions be the test, there are 
 reasons for doing so. The language of a place at tlie 
 Lord's table is this : ' I have decided for Christ. I 
 have seen my need of him as a Saviour from the 
 guilt, the condemnation, the love, the power, the 
 miseries of sin. I have heard his kindly words, 
 " Come unto ??i^," and I have come ; " Cast thy 
 burden " iipon me, and I have cast it ; " Kiss me, the 
 Son,''^ and I have kissed him. Having taken this 
 Saviour for my Saviour, I hereby avouch myself to 
 be his servant and his property, and bind myself 
 before all his people to take up his cross and follow 
 him, and him only, all the days of my life.' Now, 
 such language as this certainly implies, whether the 
 communicant mean it or not, that he has been born 
 again, that the great and saving change called 'the 
 w^ashing of regeneration, and the renewng of the 
 Holy Ghost,' has actually taken place, and that the 
 justifying righteousness of Jesus Christ, as the ' best 
 robe,' has been brought forth, and, by the command 
 of God, been 'put onJ In every case of approach to 
 the Lord's table, therefore, where this conversion has 
 not been accomplished, the language quoted is either 
 that of hypocrisy, or superstition, or ignorance, or 
 formality. It can be hypocritical, and is so, when the 
 
108 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 person knows it to be untrue ; it can be superstitious, 
 and is so, when the excitement of mere slavish' fear 
 leads to its adoption ; it can be ignorant, and is so, 
 when the proper ideas and responsibilities connected 
 with its employment are not before because not in 
 the mind ; and it can be, and is formal when the 
 prevailing motive to become thus externally connected 
 with a church is just to be like other people, or, as it 
 is said, ' to be in the fashion.^ 
 
 Sucli being the state of the argument, it is mani- 
 fest that the step should never be taken by any who 
 are not at least quite conscious that neither to for- 
 malism, nor ignorance, nor superstition, nor hypocrisy 
 can their desire to communicate be ascribed ; and 
 there is no difficulty up to this point which an honest 
 inquirer may not soon overcome. This, however, is a 
 mere negative encouragement. Having reached com- 
 fortably this conclusion, the examination into self 
 must take in a wader range of strictly religious 
 experience. Such questions as Christ himself pro- 
 poses cannot be considered extreme. The catechumen 
 should be prepared to answer, in some measure 
 positively, the following questions : ' Dost thou believe 
 on the Son of God V ' Lovest thou me ?' ' Lovest 
 thou me more than these V And he should be willing, 
 and feel himself prepared to comply with these 
 cognate duties : ' Take up the cross and follow me ;' 
 ' Keep my commandments ;' ' Do Avhat I bid you :' 
 ' Be not weary in well-doing ;' ' Be steadfast and 
 
THE FAREWELLS OP LIFE. 109 
 
 immoveable, always abounding in the work of the 
 Lord ;' ' Crucify the flesh, with its lusts and affec- 
 tions;' 'Love not the world, nor the things that are 
 in the world ;' ' Seek those things which are above, 
 where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God ;' ' Be 
 faithful unto death ;' ' Honour the Lord with thy 
 substance, and with the first-fruits of all thine in- 
 crease ;' and, ' Go unto all the world, and preach the 
 gospel to every creature.' 
 
 How many thousands are there in the nominal 
 membership of the churches of these lands, who 
 cannot conscientiously answer such questions in the 
 affirmative, and whose undisguised worldly life proves 
 that the idea of conforming to such requirements is a 
 stranger to their bosoms ! There never was a more 
 serious need than at present for inculcating upon men 
 the great sin of unworthy communicating. It is diffi- 
 cult to say whether the almost simultaneous rush to 
 the Lord's table, which characterises some quarters of 
 the country, or the cold and studied neglect of the 
 ordinance, which obtains in others, is the most lament- 
 able state of things. In the one case, hypocrisy is at 
 a premium in the church, and consequently the church 
 is barren of the peaceable fruits of righteousness — 
 multitudes cherish, and die, and are lost in mere self- 
 delusion. In the other, spiritual death hes uncovered, 
 and depraved human nature is not dressed up so as to 
 deceive men into the idea of its having received the 
 element of religion and the place of christian disciple- 
 
110 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ship — multitudes, therefore, are prevented from living 
 in systematic contempt of the cross, and die, but not 
 to be condemned for merely saying, ' Lord, Lord' 
 Their punishment must no doubt be dreadful, but 
 their sin has not been so heinous and aggravated. In 
 establishing, therefore, the proper test of a christian 
 state, there is a propriety, on the one hand, in not 
 demanding the unhesitating expression of our assur- 
 ance, and, on the other, in not being lax in our 
 admissions. By insisting on the first, many of God's 
 people are prevented from coming to the ordinance ; 
 and by practising the second, many who are not his 
 people come only to profane it. The safe path is the 
 middle one, into which it is highly probable we induce 
 comparatively few formalists, and nearly all who have 
 really believed, and from which, at the same time, we 
 exclude none but those who have only a ' name to live.' 
 But what is this middle path ? The question 
 is not only somewhat difficult to answer, but even 
 when the path is obsen^ed and understood, there is 
 great difficulty in getting into it. It is, in this re- 
 spect, exactly like religion itself — it has a 'strait 
 gate' and a ' narrow way.' For example, it tells us 
 that, in order to be genuine belicAers, we must have 
 the knowledge of christian truth, and the assent of the 
 mind to that truth as divine ; and then it tells us that 
 this knowledge is not faith — that a man may know 
 all about Christ, and not be in Christ — that he may 
 be thoroughly acquainted with all Clrrist's principles, 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. Ill 
 
 and be able, with glowing eloquence, to speak of his 
 beauty, his love, and his gi^ace, and yet be in the ' gall 
 of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity.' It tells us 
 that a confession of the Lord Jesus with the mouth 
 must be made, and at the same time warns us that 
 such a confession is not faith — that profession is not 
 principle — and that any man of ordinary tact may 
 pawn himself on the church as a believer, and yet be 
 no more of a christian than what the subscription Mitli 
 the pen or the word of the lip may make him ; and that 
 all this may be the case when there is no intention to 
 deceive, but only when the dangerous repose of for- 
 malism is indulged in. It tells us that the heart and 
 its affections must be all moved towards and ifixed on 
 Christ, and then denies that the mere excitement of 
 the feelings is a proof of the loving soul — that many 
 natural men have been moved even to tears by the 
 recital of the sufferings of the ' man of sorrows' — that 
 as a well-told tale, or the spirit of romance working in 
 the chapters of an interesting fiction, produces upon 
 heated imaginations pathetic impressions — so may 
 some be excited by the mere scenery of the gospel 
 narrative, which, as it passes in its mysterious gi'an- 
 deui' before their eyes, calls forth a sickly sentimen- 
 talism, without necessarily constraining them to iden- 
 tify themselves with what they hear, or appropriate to 
 their own souls the atonement ; and that this faith, if 
 faith it may be called, is only tantamount to the shift- 
 ing interest wherewith the lovers of theatrical repre- 
 
112 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 sentations witness the pompous shows of the immoral 
 stage, and the suspicious illustrations of the histrionic 
 art — ^just as Agrippa of old was 'almost persuaded to 
 be a christian,' or as Felix trembled for the moment, 
 mider the stern and awful expositions of the great 
 apostle. Now it is confessedly difficult to guide 
 the inquiring mind, especially of yovmg professors, 
 through these incontro^-ertible positions, so as to dis- 
 cover to them their oaaii true state and character. 
 Yet such is plauily duty, and the middle path lies 
 exactly in demanding that amount of christian know- 
 ledge which is necessary as the gromid^vork of saving 
 faith, in connection with that degree of sacred impres- 
 sion wdiich a humble but sincere inquirer must be 
 conscious of, if ti'ue contrition for sin exists, and 
 genuine confidence in Christ has been at all in exer- 
 cise. It does not appear necessary to insist upon the 
 necessity of the outward significations of a sober, 
 righteous, and godly life ; these are of course indis- 
 pensable — not as certain proofs of the regenerated 
 state, but as evidence that the profession made is not 
 a palpable hoax. When tests of this class are applied 
 by christian pastors, it seems to be then* duty to act 
 accordingly — to admit if they get the required satis- 
 faction, to reject if they do not. 
 
 Tried by such a standard, it was right and proper 
 that Agnes should have received the pri\'ilege of eoni- 
 munion. No pastor could have been justified in doing 
 otherwise in such a case as hers ; for if ever charity 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 113 
 
 should have ample scope, it is with the young in her 
 circumstances. True, to be lax and indiscriminate in 
 judging, may tempt the yovmg postulant to pawn a 
 fatal deception upon himself; but to be rigid and over- 
 scrupulous, may quench the kindling fire or crush the 
 opening bud. How truthfully does the excellent Mr 
 Adkins of Southampton represent this view, in his 
 beautiful memorial of Miss Raitt ! — ' Especially,' he 
 says, 'is a scriptural participation of the Lord's 
 Supper beneficial to those who, in early life, yield 
 themselves to God. The soldiers of Caesar never felt 
 themselves so determined to advance as when they 
 had passed the Kubicon ; and the youthful champion 
 of the cross, having committed himself, by an overt act, 
 to a great cause, feels that there is no alternative left 
 to him but to go forward. He has put his hand to 
 the plough, and he must not look back ; he has lifted 
 his hand to the Lord, and he cannot go back ; the 
 vows of the Lord are upon him, and what in others 
 would be only an act of transgression, would in him 
 be a species of sacrilege — the profanation of a sacred 
 thing. These solemn considerations furnish him with 
 weighty motives to holy vigilance, earnest prayer, and 
 strenuous exertion : a visible line of demarcation being 
 placed between him and the world, he is guarded against 
 sinful conformity, debasing associations, and unscrip- 
 tural alliances ; and being planted early in the house 
 of the Lord, he flourishes in the courts of our God.' * 
 * Memorial of Miss Henrietta C. Raitt, by Rev. T. Adkins, p. 59. 
 
114 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 The winter months of 1831 and 1832 were for tlie 
 most part spent by Agnes in her brother's house in 
 Edinburgh. Her good health continued, and her 
 heart appeared to be happy. She now enjoyed the 
 society of those young ladies whose acquaintance she 
 had made in the different boarding-schools she had 
 attended, and who were resident in that metropolis. 
 She also kept up an epistolary correspondence with 
 others of them at a distance. What was the general 
 character of her letters is unknown ; but it is to be 
 feared that the subject of religious experience did not 
 occupy much (if any) space in them ; more especially 
 if the conjecture may rest upon the manner of her 
 intercourse with her resident companions. It was in 
 every respect amiable, affectionate, and elegant, but 
 not at all decidedly or even distantly pious ; and yet 
 her young friends were all like herself, of known excel- 
 lence and christian pretensions, and some of them of 
 undeniable godliness, as we shall see. In examining 
 such of her letters as still exist, we look in vain for 
 those allusions and observations which mark the heart 
 that is thoroughly devoted to God ; and there are, 
 hei-e and there, hints which tempt the reader to wonder 
 whether indeed she had become a child of God. For 
 example : she had gone over to Fife to attend a ball 
 which was held in Dunfermline about mid-winter, con- 
 cerning which she writes — ' We had a delightful party 
 last night. I need not give you an account of it, as I 
 can do that when I return. It was three o'clock in the 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 115 
 
 morning before we broke up, and I enjoyed myself very 
 much ; indeed, we had dehghtful dancing.' The letter 
 from which this extract is taken is dated ' Sunday.' 
 In another letter she says — 'Perhaps I might have 
 persuaded you to take me to hear Kean the tragedian, 
 which is my highest wish with regard to actors. If I 
 could only see him once in tragedy, I would not care 
 though I never entered the theatre again ; but I am 
 very sorry that I have not that hope.' The entire 
 contents of another note to a friend are these : — 
 ' N.B. — Nous allons au theatre ce soir.' Again : 'Allow 
 me to wish you many happy returns of the month of 
 
 January. I was at a grand dinner party at Mr B 's 
 
 on Cliristmas-day ; and had a party of gentle- 
 men on New-year's-day. Give my kind love to John, 
 George, and Andrew.' Again : ' I have returned 
 from Largo, where I enjoyed myself very much, and 
 went and saw the house where Robinson Crusoe was 
 born, and his chest, and the cap which he made when 
 in Juan Fernandez. It is a beautiful place.' Again : 
 ' I really do not think I deserve the character of a 
 gossip ; if I did, I might perhaps write you oftener 
 and longer letters. But even though I were a gossip, 
 Dunfermline gossip is not worth retailing. Every 
 day passes alike here ; with me there is no variety, 
 and therefore I have no news to communicate. 
 But do you tell me in your next if there were 
 any persons of my acquaintance at the Mireside 
 affair, and what kind of a "set off" it w^as. You 
 
116 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 must have heard of cousin John's death. James 
 had a letter the night after, requesting some of us 
 to go west to the funeral. It is very late, and I 
 must close.' 
 
 In these and other letters, we search for, without 
 finding, such plain and self-evident reflections as, to a 
 mind but moderately engaged with religion, could not 
 fail to have occurred; and though the references 
 quoted are by no means of any importance in them- 
 selves, yet, as indicative of a spiritual idiosyncracy, 
 they are not without their value. Written about the 
 time of declining health, of the death of relatives, of 
 her becoming a member of the church, of the recur- 
 rence of seasons of the year when a pious mind is 
 prone to solemn reflection, and addressed many of 
 them to very intimate and sincerely religious friends, 
 we regret their total barrenness of all serious refer- 
 ences. NotAvithstanding, it is proper to put in a 
 caveat here, lest injustice be done to her. While it is 
 and must be true that ' out of the abundance of the 
 heart the mouth speaketh,' it does not follow that 
 every abundant heart must necessarily relieve itself by 
 mere speech. Christian biography proves, by many 
 fine illustrations, the ver\^ opposite. Constitutional 
 temperament has a great deal to say even in judging 
 of the work of the Spirit in the believer; in some, 
 religion becomes transparent in the twinkling of an 
 eye, and it sparkles in all they say and do ; their very 
 bodily members seem instinct with piety, so that what 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 117 
 
 was affirmed of the eloquence of Whitfielcl seems 
 descriptive of their fervour — 
 
 ' A^ividi vultus, vividi ocnli, vividi manus, denique omnia vivida.' 
 
 But there are others who, retaining their original 
 ' natviral turn,' are shy and diffident upon the subject 
 of their personal union Avith Christ, and rarely, if ever, 
 introduce either it or kindred topics into conversation, 
 Avhether written or oral. There are besides adventi- 
 tious circumstances which in a great measure regu- 
 late one's habits in this matter. If placed in the centre 
 of a happy circle of beloved relatives, all eloquent of 
 the Redeemer's praise, and accustomed to season 
 almost every conversation with the salt of his religion, 
 the young disciple is more likely to be imbued with 
 the same spirit ; but if cast upon the world, and made 
 to live among strangers, however good and kind, and 
 denied the blessed advantage of a pious mother's or 
 even sister's society, it ought not to be decided against 
 the piety of the person if he or she become upon such 
 a subject rather taciturn and retiring. It was thus 
 with Agnes. And while we would be far, in the face 
 of what she afterwai'ds affirmed of herself, from insist- 
 ing upon her having been at this time a truly regene- 
 ]-ated person, neither would we rashly conclude that 
 she was regardless of the 'one thing needful.' She 
 was not. On the contrary, to all appearance, she 
 walked as worthy of the christian profession she made, 
 
118 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 as thousands of whose personal piety it would be sin- 
 ful to entertain the smallest suspicion. 
 
 Agnes unquestionably was fond of society and 
 amusements ; and in this perhaps indicated more than 
 in anything else her want of a decidedly pious heart. 
 The metropolis afforded her abundance of both, and 
 she did not hesitate to indulge herself when it was in 
 her power to do so. There was, however, no excess of 
 indulgence ; she had the good sense, and we hope the 
 good principle within her, which restrained her from 
 even an approach to it. While enjo\^ng herself vastly 
 with many of her young friends who now participated 
 with her in the delights of reunion, a check, which 
 was felt to be of a very disagreeable natui*e, was put 
 to her comfort and pleasures. This was occasioned 
 by the post bringing to her one morning the following 
 anonymous letter : — 
 
 ' My dear Miss Macfaelane, — Be Avise and con- 
 sider ; perhaps the cholera may be ordained to strike 
 you. Are you one who has believed on the Almighty 
 Savioiu', and to whom death has no teiTors ? Look 
 into youi' own heart, and see if you can answer this 
 question in the affirmative. If you can, you are happy. 
 Even though the scourge should ^dsit you, you have 
 no reason to be alanned. Jesus your Saviour ever 
 liveth, and those who sleep in Him shall awake to 
 behold his gloiy. Think of the friends you have now 
 in glory; and O, what an awful thought to think of see- 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 119 
 
 ing those dear relations at the right hand of the Saviour, 
 while yon are on the left ! Your are doubtless the child 
 of many prayers ; you can say with the poet : — 
 
 " My boast is not that I deduce my birth 
 From throned powers, and rulers of the earth. 
 No ; higher still my fond pretensions rise — 
 The child of parents passed into the skies." 
 
 And would you not wish to meet your parents in 
 heaven, never to be parted "? Yoii are an oqilian, 
 but if God is your Father, what have you to fear ? 
 Seek above all things to secure yoiu' interest in Jesus ; 
 without this all that earth can bestow is utterly un- 
 availing. 
 
 ' Excuse the plainness of these few remarks, and 
 believe me your sincere, though unknown, well- 
 wisher.' 
 
 For two or three weeks this letter annoyed her ex- 
 ceedingly. She was irritated at it. She was angry 
 at it. She guessed over and over again who the 
 writer might be — veiy properly condemned the prac- 
 tice of writing anonymous letters — hoped she would 
 discover the writer — and at all events, in the mean- 
 time she would try to banish from her thoughts the 
 disagreeable feelin2;s it had occasioned. It is doubtful 
 if she succeeded in this. It ever and anon came 
 atliAvart her vision, and remained, as the handwriting 
 on the wall of Belshazzar's palace, to inculcate mo- 
 deration and seriousness. 
 
120 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Agnes, at this period, evidently belonged to that 
 class of young and well-educated females, to whom 
 the epithet romantic is, in the sense least offensive, 
 applicable ; not that in her mental constitvition 
 there was any excess of those vain thoughts by 
 which the class is distinguished, but that, in all 
 likelihood luiknown to herself, she was the v\dlling 
 victim of a morbid sentimentalism. Thus, she took 
 somewhat discoloured views of life ; and though very 
 far from entertaining improper opinions upon the 
 subject of religion, she certainly had not yet discerned 
 it to be that pure and spiritual thing which it really 
 is. She was never heard to utter one word that 
 could disparage it, though she did not hesitate, as 
 occasion offered, to characterise as pharisaical a good 
 deal of what passed current for genuine piety. Hence 
 some might, and perhaps some did, consider her own 
 sincerity in the matter rather questionable. But, to 
 use the language of one of her most beloved and 
 intimate friends — 'Agnes was no hypocrite. She 
 often dared think aloud, when others more cunning 
 were silent ; thus drawing censure upon herself, 
 while they escaped. Though sometimes tempted by 
 the world's gay flowers to deviate from the " narrow 
 way," she never plucked them in peace of mind.' 
 With regard to her religious e^vj^erie/fce, some time 
 before her last illness commenced, the same lady 
 thus writes : ' I remarked that a long time before her 
 death she did not enjoy peace in believing. I 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 121 
 
 remember that on the evening of one communion 
 Sabbath in Bristo Church, Agnes and I retired after 
 dinner to a room by ourselves. She unbosomed 
 herself to me. She told me that she was far from 
 being happy, and that one cause of her unhappiness 
 was, that she had not felt at liberty to communicate 
 that day, from having been of late too gay and 
 worldly-minded. In the course of conversation she 
 said : " Is it not a solemn thing to think, that if we 
 are not elected we cannot be saved?" I did not 
 know well what to reply, but answered just as I 
 felt, that we did not know but that we might be 
 elected ; and at all events, that even though we were 
 not saved at last, the happiest life to lead in this 
 world was the christian one. I shall not easily forget 
 her abrupt and bright look when, after some conver- 
 sation, she said, "Jane, you have made me happy 
 again ; and if I should become unhappy, the thought 
 of this moment will restore me." I have often 
 thought that novel-reading took away her peace of 
 mind. Naturally clever, romantic, nay even en- 
 thusiastic, no wonder though such food made her 
 exclaim one day, " I think I was born for something 
 else than what I am I " During the last months of 
 Agnes's life I was in Wiltshire. She sent me several 
 messages, and the last one was an expression of " her 
 hope that we should meet again in a better land.'" * 
 It has been noticed that during this winter's re- 
 * Letter to the Author from Mrs K . 
 
122 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 sidence in Edinburgh she went across to Dunfermline 
 to be present at a balh This was her last visit to 
 Fife. To what it is to be traced, it is difficult to say, 
 but it was noticed that she was unusually sad. In 
 one house especially, she remarked to the lady as she 
 was leaving — 
 
 ' Mrs B , farewell : it is probable that I may 
 
 never return to Dunfermline in life.' 
 
 ' If you do return,' said Mrs B , ' I hope you 
 
 will not be such a stranger here as you have been.' 
 
 ' I will not,' she replied, ' if God spare me.^ 
 
 ' It is not usual for you. Miss Macfarlane,' rejoined 
 
 Mrs B , 'to express yourself in this serious and 
 
 guarded manner.' 
 
 ' That may be so,' she resumed, ' but we should 
 always so speak when anticipating futurity.' 
 
 Her words were prophetic — she was brought back 
 in the sable hearse. 
 
 The writer has a vivid recollection of his sister 
 and her demeanour during this visit to their native 
 town. She apprised him of her intention to spend a 
 few days there, and invited him to meet with her. 
 The time was chiefly occupied in making calls on old 
 family friends, and in short excursions to the neigh- 
 bourhood. They visited their old familiar haunts, and 
 spent a portion of the last afternoon in the beautiful 
 grounds of Pitteucrieff,* and the adjacent abbey, 
 with its churchyard. In the latter they remained a 
 
 * Seat of James Hunt, Esq. 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 123 
 
 long while meditating and conversing among the 
 tombs of their kindred. Her cast of mind during the 
 day and the evening was decidedly melancholy. She 
 looked as if burdened with some heavy thought, and 
 she talked as if some presentiments of what was at 
 hand had taken possession of her mind. Early in the 
 morning of the following day — it was a cold, rainy, 
 and dismal December morning — they left Dunferm- 
 line together. The stage coach had scarcely passed 
 the suburbs of the town when Agnes became suddenly 
 sick. Notwithstanding the uncomfortable state of the 
 weather, she was obliged to leave the interior to take 
 her seat on the outside. This afforded her an oppor- 
 tunity of getting her farewell look at the town, and of 
 viewing all the well-known scenery between Dun- 
 fermline and Edinburgh. Of that portion of it lying 
 between South Queensferry and the metropolis, she 
 was much enamoured, and bleak and wintrv though 
 nature looked, she noticed and chatted about its 
 numerous picturesque charms. At any season of the 
 year, indeed, the scenery at this part of the great 
 north road is singularly fine. From the high 
 ground immediately above the small seaport town 
 which takes its name from the ferry, there opens 
 upon the view to the westward a most magnificent 
 panorama. The traveller looks down upon the ample 
 waters of the broad-bosomed Forth, stretching up- 
 wards to its source among the mountains, separating 
 the great lochs of Lomond and Katrine, and east- 
 
124 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ward towards tlie German Ocean, into which its 
 waters are delivered. There is one peculiarity in the 
 scene which readily arrests attention — the quick 
 narrowing of the Forth immediately underneath, from 
 a breadth above and below of five or six miles to 
 scarcely two miles. This is the famous ferry already 
 referred to, which connects the north and the south of 
 Scotland, and which takes its name from the historical 
 tradition that Queen Margaret, the tutelary saint of 
 Dunferndine, was accustomed to be ferried across at 
 this spot, on her way to and from her palace in Fife. 
 In the centre of this strait is to be seen a small 
 turretted island, which in ancient times protected by 
 its battery the passage ; a little further up, and on the 
 north coast, rises the venerable ruins of Kosyth Castle, 
 whither sometimes fled for safety the unfortunate 
 Mary Queen of Scots ; while a few miles to the 
 north, upon a rising eminence, stands the ancient 
 town of Dunfermline, with its abbey towers and 
 spires, and wide-spread dwellings. Leaving this part 
 of the road behind him, the traveller passes on through 
 the finely-wooded possessions of the lordship of Rose- 
 berry, and crossing the Cramond Bridge, next enters 
 upon the extensive domains of Barn ton. As he 
 approaches the capital, his attentiori is called to a 
 romantic residence on the right hand side of the road, 
 beautifully situated at the bottom of the hill. This is 
 the Castle of Craigcrook, the property of the late 
 distinguished Lord Jeffrey. When enjoying this view 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 125 
 
 of the classic retreat of the great critic, it was not un- 
 usual for Agnes and her friends to express their wonder 
 if a being of such fine taste and elegant mind should 
 be permitted to enter upon eternity without undergo- 
 ing the one great change — the second birth — without 
 which no man can enter the kingdom of heaven. 
 Jeffrey has by this time discovered for himself the 
 awful secret. The city which he so long adorned 
 with his brilliant genius now weeps over his grave, 
 and good men think to themselves, ' Can his soul be 
 saved?'* 
 
 Almost immediately after her return to Edinburgh 
 at this time, Agnes was taken ill of cold. She liad been 
 out at an evening l)arty, and was for such an occasion 
 it may be, but not for the state of the weather and 
 her own safety, appropriately dressed. She began to 
 complain in the montli of February, 1832. Her phy- 
 sician treated her for a rheumatic affection, which in 
 a gi'eat measure left her, only, however, to return 
 
 * It has been whispered that Lord Jeffrey did not reject evangehcal 
 truth in his latter days; but that, like his illustrious friend, Sir James 
 Mackintosh, he looked at the cross. Whether this was a look from the 
 eye of faith, must remain a secret until 'that day.' The biographer of 
 Sir James informs us. that as his soul was departing he refused to utter 
 any other name than that of Jesus, and expired as he pronounced it. 
 It may be recorded in honour of Jeffrey, that one of the last acts of his 
 life was the transmission of a handsome donation to the testimonial fund 
 on behalf of the venerable Dr Thomson of Coldstream, to whom the 
 church and the world are laid under the greatest obligations for his 
 indefatigable, disinterested, and triumphant exertions in the cause of 
 bible emancipation. 
 
126 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 with considerable violence in tlae following, month. 
 She then entered that chamber, and was laid down 
 upon that bed of weariness and suffering, which she 
 never left till carried out in her coffin. 
 
 Cln'istian reader, — If you have accompanied the 
 writer thus far, you must have noticed his efforts to 
 keep himself out of view. He can do so no longer. 
 One thing he has continued to regret for these 
 eighteen years, namely, that he, and not some other, 
 had been appointed to watch at that bedside of sore 
 distress, and to wait in that chamber of conflict. A 
 dislike to publish so much wherein he himself must of 
 necessity appear so prominently, has, dnring that time, 
 led him to resist many strong applications from very 
 excellent quarters, to give to the world the manuscript 
 from which the following memorials are to be drawn. 
 That dislike is not overcome. It is stronger than 
 ever ; but his resistance has yielded to a sense of duty. 
 Scarcely another line can be written if he withdraws 
 himself from the scene, so constantly and seriously was 
 he mixed up with the sequel of the stor}' of his sister. 
 He feels, however, that the employment of the ildrcl 
 person could not disguise the individual, while it 
 would encumber the style and take from the interest 
 of the Memoir. For these reasons, which principally 
 affect the reader s gratification in its perusal, he would 
 now respectfully request permission to write in the 
 first person, promising that it will be his endeavour to 
 watch against any unwarranted intrusion. He would 
 
THE FAREWELLS OF LIFE. 127 
 
 only further remark, before he begms the narrative of 
 the means by which the spiritual darkness of his sister 
 was dispelled, that so far as he knows and can remem- 
 bei', what is to be told is not only true, but fails to 
 convey one tithe of the interest with which this sick- 
 bed scene was throughout invested. His prayer he 
 again lifts up to heaven that the reader, especially if 
 she be a young lady in the hey-day of health and 
 hope, may rise from the review of these exercises, 
 glorifying God for such a warning to make religion 
 the business of life, and to regard the dying hour, 
 whensoever it may come, as the signal for victory, not 
 for combat. 
 
 ' Who that bears 
 A human bosom, hath not often felt 
 How dear are all those ties which bind our race 
 In gentleness together, and how sweet their force, 
 Let fortune's wayward hand the while 
 Be kind or cruel ? Ask the faithful youth, 
 Why the cold urn of her whom he long loved 
 So often fills his arms, so often draws 
 His lonely footsteps, silent and unseen. 
 To pay the mournful tribute of his tears? 
 0, he will teU thee that the wealth of worlds 
 Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 
 Those sacred hours, when stealing from the noise 
 Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes, 
 With virtue's kindest looks, his aching breast, 
 And tui'ns his tears to rapture.' 
 
 Akenside. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 €i)t UalUg 0f t^e Si^atioia of ©eatfi cntereti. 
 
 ' The Bible ! This sacred ray of light, 
 This lamp from off the everlasting throne, 
 Mercy took down, and, in the night of Time, 
 Stood, casting o'er the dark her gracious how.' 
 
 POLLOK. 
 
 Having heard that Agnes was now so ill as to be 
 constantly confined to her own chamber, I felt some- 
 what anxious. It was mj Jirst feeling of the kind on 
 her account. For many years, we had enjoyed each 
 other's society but seldom ; but fraternal attachment 
 had become stronger and more devoted by successive 
 opportunities of observing her many virtues, and sym- 
 pathising with her in all her little and peculiar trials. 
 Besides, she had made her arrangements, and had 
 already forwarded some of her articles to Kincardine, 
 preparatory to her taking up a permanent abode with 
 me in the manse. The time was now past upon which 
 we had agreed that she should be with me, when she 
 paid me that melancholy visit in the previous autumn ; 
 and I felt disappointed. Under the impression that 
 this should be a mere temporary ailment, and hoping 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 129 
 
 to induce her to return with me to the country, I went 
 to Edinburgh in the beginning of April. It was late 
 in the evening when I arrived, and, with no grea* 
 solicitude lipon my mind, I at once entered the bed- 
 room where she lay. She welcomed me with a sweet, 
 a most impressively peculiar smile ; but I was taken 
 by surprise. I had seen her, only a few weeks before, 
 in this same dwelling presiding over an evening party 
 of young friends, in all the joyousness of health and 
 happiness. The long dark hair, the deep blue eye, 
 the expression so full of thought, and the winning 
 artlessness of her entire manner, so indicative of the 
 accomplished and well-regulated mind, were still 
 imaged within me, and hence the shock that followed 
 what I now saw — the face deadly pale, the eye dull, 
 the expression painful, and the figure stretched out 
 upon a bed of trouble. Though enjoying at the time 
 what she was accustomed to call a ' moment of ease,' 
 she could not be moved, nor even touched without suf- 
 fering much pain, and occasionally the chamber rang 
 again with her scream. Nothing of importance passed 
 between us ; no particular religious exercises were 
 engaged in, excepting some ordinary allusions to the 
 design of God in chastening his children. The sub- 
 ject of death was neither now, nor for weeks to come, 
 before either of our minds. The idea that this dear 
 sister was on her death-bed never for one moment 
 occurred to me ; and I am persuaded that it was not 
 
 associated in her mind with her y)resent illness. 
 
 f2 
 
130 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 I returned to see her in two weeks after this, and 
 found her much in the same condition. When 
 free from attacks of pain, she was lively, patient, 
 and full of hope that soon all should be well, and 
 that she would get away with me to the country. 
 
 I left her equally hopeful. I paid her a third visit 
 in May, having gone to Edinburgh to supply for 
 my friend Dr William Peddie. I went early in 
 the week, and was much oftener at her bedside. 
 On Wednesday evening she seemed easier than usual, 
 and disposed to converse.^^ I cannot remember whether 
 or not religion was introduced ; but as she knew I 
 was to officiate next day in Bristo Church, she asked 
 me to read to her the sermon I intended to preach. I 
 did so. She became uneasy before I had finished, but 
 insisted on hearing it to the close, when she remai'ked 
 that she regretted much being deprived of the public 
 ordinances of Christianity, and evidently longed for 
 the return of health, that she might 'go up again to 
 the house of the Lord.' She then made me promise 
 that I would pass the afternoon of the next day — 
 which was to be the Fast-day in Edinburgh — alone 
 with her, when the rest of the family should be at 
 church. I promised ; and, after having preached in 
 the forenoon, I hastened over to Howe Street. I 
 found, however, that she was incapable of attending 
 to any lengthened exercise. She had stipulated for 
 another sermon, and I began to read one; but the 
 drowsiness induced by a sleepless night, and not a 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 131 
 
 little suffering, prevented her attending to nie. She 
 was disturbed in her sleep every now and then by a 
 sensation of thirst, when she called for water ; and, 
 from her muttering during slumber, it was evident 
 that it was by no means a refreshing one. I left her 
 again on the following day, as yet totally unalarmed 
 about her, and she herself apparently as confident as 
 ever of being soon well. 
 
 But the hour of our being uiideeeived at length 
 came. Delicacy forbids that its peculiar agonies be 
 disclosed. She had been too much idolised by her 
 brothers. They had allowed their affections to blind 
 them. In the midst of their pi'ide and in the ])Ovver 
 of their love for their only sister, but recently settled 
 down amongst them in the bloom and beauty of 
 womanhood, and with all the graces and gifts of a 
 polite and sound education, they had never contem- 
 plated the possibility of such a thing as death coming 
 to cut her down, and carry her away to the land of 
 forgetfulness. It is not to be wondered at, if at the 
 first, and for a long while afterwards, the very thought 
 was repulsive, and not to be entertained ; but noiv, 
 even while Hope did her utmost to foster and sustain 
 the opposite conclusion, the death-blight of fear had 
 fallen upon them ; and though they assumed a care- 
 less, and easy, and confident air in her presence, they 
 saw it in each other that they were only actors. But 
 how was the spell broken? 
 
 It was about two weeks from my third visit that I 
 
132 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 paid her a fourth. I found her not much worse, but 
 evidently no better. Her sufferings from pain and 
 restlessness — from sleepless nights and wearisome 
 days — were truly great, and borne with even cheerful 
 patience. Now, however, I saw she was getting 
 somewhat concerned about the probable length of her 
 illness — not the issue of it; and one morning when 
 her attentive and kind physician, the late well-known 
 Dr Abercrombie, called, I resolved to venture upon 
 the question of his own opinion on the case. His 
 reply placed me in an entirely new world of feeling 
 and fear. He said — ' There is very much reason for 
 anxiety.^ This was the first blow of a heavy and 
 overwhelming idea — it overpowered us. The con- 
 ception of her death, however, was too large to be 
 admitted all at once. It was a new study — we 
 were bewildered — young and inexperienced, and not 
 sublimely pious, we could not believe it possible. 
 When Dr Abercrombie left, I felt that I must enter 
 her chamber in another character — -to waken her out 
 of a dream of life which was not to be realised — and 
 summon her to a reality of preparing for eternity, 
 which was all as yet to begin. But how to strike 
 down that hope — how to undermine that strong 
 natural love of life, and how to persuade that happy, 
 sanguine girl to be resigned to meet and combat with 
 the king of terrors — were exercises from which at 
 first human nature shrunk. On entering the room, 
 I was nearly mastered by the gush of pity which 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. loo 
 
 arose from the deep, deep sea of love witliin me, and 
 I tried to conceal my face from her view. In a little 
 while I had got the command, and ventured near her. 
 
 ^ What is the matter with you I' she asked. 'You 
 look very melancholy,' 
 
 ' It is my sympathy with you,' I replied ; ' 'tis no 
 wonder if I get dull sometimes.' 
 
 The subject of conversation was then changed, — 
 nothing further was done. The ordinary topics of 
 religion wei'e introduced, and even death might be 
 spoken about, but in such a general way as to give 
 her no key to our secret about herself. Efforts 
 towards mooting to her the probability of her dying 
 were made, and they all failed. Whatever were our 
 exercises in the closet and on our knees, there were 
 none appropriate to her state in her presence. I left 
 her thus, on the confines of an eternal world, as I 
 feared, but without the slightest idea on her part that 
 there was danger in her case. I trembled to tell her, 
 lest it should be the means of hastening her death, so 
 conscious was I of the firm hold that life and the 
 world had of her heart. Hearing; that she had rather 
 improved in the interval, four weeks passed away after 
 this without my seeing her. I had conceived that the 
 responsibility of breaking to her the subject of her 
 critical condition properly devolved on her brother in 
 whose house she was, and but too glad to escape from 
 the duty, I entreated him to do so, and believed that 
 he would. But it was not done. 
 
134 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Four weeks passed away from this visit before I saw 
 Agnes again. She had been rather better, and pro- 
 fessional engagements put it out of my power to go to 
 Edinburgh. I had lost, in a great measure, tlie 
 anxiety occasioned by Dr Abercrombie's remark, and 
 was even hoping that the worst was over. It was in 
 a beautiful evening in the middle of June that I re- 
 turned to Kincardine from Stirling, where I had been 
 assistino- the venerable successor of El)enezer Erskine 
 at the dispensation of the Lord's Supper. Among the 
 letters awaiting me was one from Edinburgh, stating 
 that Agnes had been worse than ever — that Dr Aber- 
 crombie had given up all hope of her recovery — that 
 she was dying — that she knew it not — tliat she must 
 be told, and that I must tell her. These were sad 
 news, and it were not easy to describe the state of 
 mind in which, on the afternoon of the 25th of June, 
 I sailed down the Forth towards the city where she 
 lay. A brother came down to meet me on arriving at 
 Newhaven, and prepared me for what I was so soon to 
 witness. On reaching Howe Street, I remained an 
 hour in the adjacent room before I had courage to 
 enter hers. Commiseration with her dreadful suffer- 
 ings — sorrow for her early doom — agony to know that 
 she was actually dying, and knew nothing of it, and 
 an overwhelming anxiety about her soul's salvation, 
 all combined to indispose and unfit me for seeing her. 
 Besides, I now felt that the secret must be disclosed, 
 and that I must do it. How would it confound her ? 
 
YALLFA' OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 165 
 
 How would she receive it? Would it drive her to 
 terror and despair, and would she die unconifbrted 
 and unresigned? were most distressing questions, and 
 demanded instant replies. Once and again I resolved 
 to employ some other friend to break the affecting 
 truth to her, and as often fell back upon the thought 
 that it might be merciful to withhold it ft-om her alto- 
 gether. In this unsettled and oppressive state of 
 feeling I at last yielded to entreaty, and entered her 
 room and looked upon her; but what a change was 
 there Avhich these few weeks had produced ! Distress 
 of body and solicitude of mind had written deep their 
 characters on every feature of her face. I had to hide 
 from her view its overpowering effects. Very languid, 
 most melting was the smile with wdiich she tried to 
 gi*eet me, as I pressed her pale hand in mine, and sat 
 down at her bedside to begin the sad and solemn work 
 of preparing her soul for eternity. 
 
 It is confessedly both a delicate and painful duty to 
 break the subject of death to the dying, and especially 
 to a dying maiden. This, however, is a duty to which 
 ministers of religion are frequently called, and the}- 
 ought to be qualified for discharging it in such a way 
 as not to sink faithfulness in mere tender regard for 
 natural feeling. In general, inexperienced ministers 
 are under the fear that the announcement may pro- 
 duce disastrous results ; but when pi'operly and praver- 
 fully gone about, it never does so. When the person 
 is under the influence of divine gTace, the Spirit of 
 
13C) THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 God is beforehand with the instrument, so that the 
 composure with which the intelhgence is received, 
 makes it appear as if there had been not only the anti- 
 cipation of but preparation for it. There are no cases 
 on record of the performance of this duty overwhehn- 
 ing the dying. And even though tlie patient may 
 liave been careless and unbelieving, the fulness of the 
 awful premonition does not come forth with such en- 
 tireness and power as to be realised. Followed up, in 
 either case, by wise, aflPectionate, and prudent counsels, 
 it is probable that the most happy results will reward 
 the honest discharge of the duty. There are many who, 
 from a false affection, would hide the truth from the 
 dying, and allow them to pass into judgment wholly 
 unconscious of their danger. This is cruelty of the 
 worst kind, and cannot be too strongly reprobated. If 
 ever the christian pastor have it in his power to per- 
 form an act of genuine kindness, it is when, finding 
 this to be the case, he determines, on his own respon- 
 sibility, to act consistently with the serious necessities 
 of the case. If he do so, he may rest assured that the 
 Lord will not only strengthen him for his dutv, but 
 bless him in its discharge, and at the same time give 
 him reason to rejoice in the success of his service to 
 the immortal being whom he would guide safely to 
 ' the land of uprightness.' Such were the happy con- 
 sequences Avhen at length the chapter of her approach- 
 ing death was opened and read to Agnes. As nearly 
 as the ^^Titer can remember, the following were sub- 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 137 
 
 stantially the terms in which at this time he addressed 
 her : — 
 
 'My dear Agnes, — What a blessing it is, that, 
 thougli you liave been such a sufferer, your mind is 
 able to engage itself with the comfortable subjects of 
 religion. You know that all affliction is sent to sanc- 
 tify God's people. None of them, even the best, are 
 free of sin in this life ; and hence it is an affecting 
 proof of God's fatherly love to them, when he casts 
 them into the furnace to purify and prepare them for 
 being more usefid here, and for entering heaven when 
 they die. It does not follow, however, that severe 
 illness must end in death ; for very often it is sent the 
 better to qualify his servants for the duties wdiich 
 await them in this world. Still, we should always 
 connect trials with sin as then' cause, and with the 
 abandonment of sin as their designed effect, in order 
 that, being led unto repentance and faith, we may die 
 at last " meet for the inheritance of the saints in 
 light." ' 
 
 To this exordium she sweetly assented, but silently. 
 I continued : — 
 
 ' Your prolonged affliction is certainly designed to 
 lead you to repentance ; and you are not youi* own 
 friend if you do not make conscience-work of looking 
 into your past life, and into your very heart, that you 
 may thereby see your sinfulness, confess, believe, and 
 be forgiven. You do not need to be told what evan- 
 gehcal repentance is, neither is it necessary to tell you 
 
138 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 where to go for pardon. Yom- mind has been long 
 famihar with the gospel story, and the name of Jesus 
 is sweet to you — sweeter far than any other that can 
 be named either in heaven or upon earth. I hope 
 God has many days of usefiihiess for you here ; and 
 your duty is to improve this illness, by daily implor- 
 ing him, hke the patriarch of old, to " show you why 
 he contends with you ;" and even though it should be 
 his will to take you away, you will, by such exercises, 
 be prepared to bow yom' head to that vdW, and say, 
 " The cup which my Father hath given me, shall I 
 not di'ink it ?" ' 
 
 She continued to look with increasing interest upon 
 me as I proceeded, making me feel as if she suspected 
 my fears, and wished to read my inmost mind. This 
 threw me oflP my guard, and I at once entered upon 
 a more general mode of conversation, opening up to 
 her the plan of salvation, extolhng the love of the 
 Sa^dour, and exliibiting the safety of those who trust 
 with all then* hearts in his all-sufficient righteousness. 
 The interview lasted half an houi" ; and when I ceased 
 speaking, and rose^ to leave the room, she expressed 
 herself as ' ha^dng been much comforted with what I 
 had spoken' — adding to her nurse as I retired, ' I am 
 greatly delighted with what he has been saying.' 
 This was encouraging. I retmiied shortly to bid her 
 good night. Having engaged with her in prayer, she 
 drew me towards her. I listened anxiously : — 
 
 ' I Txdsh to say something : you have thanked God 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 131) 
 
 for wliat jou called the patience and resignation with 
 wliich I am enduring my trouble. You ought not to 
 have done so. I am not patient. O how often do I 
 mui'mur and forget altogether to tJiank Him for my 
 moments of ease from suffering!' 
 
 This was her own meek estimate, but it was not 
 correct ; all along her quiet and gentle submission 
 was one of the most fascinating features in her 
 character. A murmur, even when most beset with 
 pain, was never heard. Every one saw her patience 
 but herself. She even already had begun to veil 
 herself in humility. On this occasion she took no 
 alarm. The room was not lighted — and the shades of 
 tAvilight sei'\'ed to hide my emotions fi'om her. But 
 for this, she could not have failed to have concluded 
 rightly as to my intention in thus addi'essing her. 
 
 June 26, Tuesday. — Agnes was visited to-day ho- 
 lier aunt, Mrs Dewar, and her oldest brother from 
 Dunfermline. They were both disappohited that she 
 was still unapprised of her real condition ; and after 
 some conversation, the duty of doing so was again 
 devolved upon me. I consented to make a second 
 attempt, but requested that I should be left alone with 
 her. Having sought the divine aid, I entered her 
 room, shut the door, and seated myself towards the foot 
 of the bed. Her first look seemed to implore me not 
 to pronounce the sentence, and for a few seconds not 
 a single word passed between us. At length I took the 
 Bible, determined that from this moment she should be 
 
140 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 warned, strengthened, comforted, and enlightened out 
 of its precious pages. She was in the dark valley, 
 and knew it not, and I thought that the shining of 
 this Lamp within her chamber might, in the first 
 place, make her sensible, by contrast, of the surromid- 
 ing gloom, and also anxious to see the way through 
 the shado^^T vale. Into many a dark and dismal 
 passage did she afterwards draw me while in combat 
 ^^^th her unbelief and terrors; but as I made it a 
 point ever to cany the Bible with me, we had always 
 light, and light that never led astray. There is no 
 plan of addressing anxious inquirers, especially if 
 dying, so sure to succeed as this. The Spirit of God 
 is certain to honour and bless his own word. And if 
 parents or pastors desire, when there is need for it, 
 to do the most invaluable service to their afflicted 
 cliildren and people, they vnW trust less to their own 
 sympathetic encouragements, and more to God's won- 
 derful testimonies, alike for the conversion and the 
 confirmation of the soul From this moment to the 
 liour of her dissolution, Agnes was never left without 
 this divine light in her room. Her day of life was 
 almost spent, and her nights of death had suddenly 
 set in ; but she found in consequence that in the 
 evenincj hour there was lio-ht, and that the illnmina- 
 tion of her path came from ' tlie word of God.' No 
 doubt she read many good, holy books of prose and 
 poetiy when on her death-bed; but these were all 
 regarded by her as subsidiaiy to her Fathei^'s merciful 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 141 
 
 revelation. The Bible, the precious Bible was Hhe 
 mail of her comisel/ and the guide of her spirit as she 
 steadily brought up her mind to the full realisation of 
 her death, and to its ultimate triumj)h over the natural 
 repugnance to submit to its stroke. I began thus : 
 
 ' We are alone, Agnes, and here is the Bible ; may 
 I read a portion of it V 
 
 ' I will be obliged if vou do ; select for me,' she 
 answered. 
 
 I purposely selected, for the sake of the fourth verse, 
 the twenty-third Psalm. Like most children of pious 
 parents in Scotland, that psalm was the first her infant 
 lips had lisped, and she was familiar with it. I thought 
 she might the more easily reproduce and meditate on 
 its charming truths, by having her attention specially 
 and solennily fixed upon it ; we are so apt to disregard 
 those scriptures with which we have been longest and 
 most famihar, forgetting that this very familiarity 
 proves them to be super-excellent. I had much ease 
 in miveilino; to her the beautiful character of the Lord 
 Jesus as the shepherd of the sheep, and of explaining 
 and enforcing the confidence which every one of them 
 is warranted to express in his care and bounty, both 
 now and in future. As I discoursed to her of ' the 
 green pastvu'es' of his covenant engagements, and rich 
 promises, and nourishing doctrines, and of the sweet 
 and tranquillising influences of his Holy Spirit, wdien 
 ' the still waters' of his love and peace are poured out 
 upon the thirsty soul, she seemed to forget that she 
 
142 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 was a sufferer. When I pointed out to her the natural 
 aUenation of the heart from God, and told her of the 
 far, far away country to which the prodigal son had 
 wandered, and explained that none but this divine 
 Shepherd could reconcile that heart to God, and bring 
 back that soul to his favour and his home, she became 
 still more absorbed in the startling theme. But when 
 I entered the ' valley of the shadow of death,' and dis- 
 coursed of its rough and crooked path, its lonesome, 
 cheerless region, and its many terrific visitations fi'om 
 the accusing conscience, the ensnaring fiends, and the 
 dens of imbelief, she became rmeasy — paler she could 
 scarce be — and her eye was restless, and her expres- 
 sion painful ; nor did the subsequent consolation of 
 the psalmist, from his assm'ance of the Shepherd's 
 presence and protection, allay the discomposure, or 
 recall her self-command. I thought that now was 
 God's 'accepted time;' and just as if the thought 
 had only struck me, I asked her this question : — 
 
 ' By the way, Agnes, do yoii ever meditate on death ? 
 Do you ever look to it as the probable issue of youi* 
 present illness '? Do you ever really set yoiu'self to 
 prepare for it ? ' 
 
 ' No,' was the short, instant, emphatic reply ; but it 
 Avas not the reply, it was the deep-searching look that 
 accompanied it, which almost drove me again from my 
 purpose. I proceeded — 
 
 ' It is, notwithstanding, yom' duty to do so. There 
 is great wisdom in being prepared for death, even when 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 143 
 
 in liealth, how much more so when under severe 
 affliction like yours ? ' 
 
 ' It is true,' she said, ' but I am not at all so ill as 
 you seem to think.' 
 
 ' But you know, Agnes, that the issue of affliction is 
 very doubtful, and especially when it is protracted and 
 severe.' 
 
 She gazed upon me with a look of intense anxiety, 
 and exclaimed, ' O my dear brother ! ' She then burst 
 into tears. I wept with her. I closed the holy volume, 
 I had not the heart to proceed. I said — 
 
 ' I see I am distressing you, Agnes, and I will de- 
 sist.' 
 
 ' No, no, no,' she cried. ' What are you here for 
 but to comfort me ? ' 
 
 General allusions again followed this scene. She 
 suspected something, but seemed afraid to allow all 
 hope of life to be dashed from her, by the expression 
 of my mind in her presence. She kept a most watch- 
 ful look upon me whenever I opened my mouth to 
 speak, as if she were determined to put it out of my 
 power to disclose the truth. Ere I left the room, I 
 asked — 
 
 ' Do you feel quite safe in the prospect of death V 
 'No, I DO NOT,' she answered; and again she 
 broke out into weeping. 
 
 ' What is the reason ? Are you afraid of death '? ' 
 ' I am ; because I have a wicked and unsubdued 
 heart. I have not yet believed, and have been a ver}^ 
 
144 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 disobedient child ; besides, there are many things 
 about religion which I do not understand, and Avliich 
 trouble me.' 
 
 I then set myself to find out the source of her in- 
 ward fears ; but it is impossible to transcribe them in 
 full, or my replies, either in refutation of harassing 
 doubts, or in confirmation of her hopes in the divine 
 mercy. She spoke and felt as if she were both a 
 believer and an unbeliever. From what seemed to be 
 her faith she got little comfort, while that which was 
 her unbelief sometimes threatened to make shipwreck 
 both of her principles and of her peace. The Bible, 
 however, was received by her as the only rule of a 
 sinner's faith and manners ; and even in the loftiest 
 outbursts of poetical admiration of its value, she felt a 
 p>ure and stirring sympathy. With Pollok himself she 
 could have vied in the depth of that veneration which 
 thus extolled the sacred book : — 
 
 'The Bible! 
 Most wondrous book ! bright candle of the Lord ! 
 Star of Eternity ! the only star 
 By which the bark of man could navigate 
 The sea of life, and gain the coast of bliss 
 Securely — only star which rose on time!' 
 
 Ao-nes had never been, in the strict sense of the 
 word, a sceptic. Under such training as she had re- 
 ceived, this was scarcely possible. From the da^^^ling 
 of her reason the beauties of piety had been before 
 her eyes, and the principles of Christianity instilled 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 145 
 
 into her mind. She certainly had not, from that 
 period upwards, been under the saving influences 
 of om* holy faith. She liad not given evidence of 
 sanctification from the womb, though from a cliild 
 she had known and well known the holy scriptures. 
 But she never knew what the sentiment of scorn was 
 for the precious truths of revelation. Before the awful 
 mysteries of the Bible she no doubt sometimes trem- 
 bled and Avas perplexed ; but she never, in the pride 
 of a weak intellect, aifected to despise them. Her 
 profession was always orthodox or evangelical ; and 
 her pi'ejudices were even decidedly in favour of that 
 form of soimd words which from her youth she had 
 been taught. It cannot be denied that one may have 
 unbelief, and yet not be an infidel. Infidelity is a re- 
 jection of Christianity as of divine authority. Unbelief 
 is the want of that appropriating faith in the atone- 
 ment of Jesus which God has made indispensable to 
 the pardon of sin here and life everlasting hereafter. 
 It is to the credit of religiously-educated young 
 females, that seldom, if ever, does one instance of 
 infidelity occm' amongst them. So abhon-ent, in- 
 deed, even to female propriety and decency, does such 
 a sin appear, that it is rarely kno\Aai, even among 
 those who have not had what is termed an evange- 
 lical or religious upbringing. A male infidel is cer- 
 tainly a pitiful being — a female scorner, however, is 
 unspeakably more so ; and if there be a case in which 
 the very quintessence of compassion works in the 
 
146 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 breasts of the trxAj pious, it is when a young lady, 
 who has had the advantages of a christian nurture, 
 and an elegant education, assumes the coarse and for- 
 bidding airs of masculine fi^eethinking, in obedience 
 to the lowest gTade of vanity and self-conceit. Pam- 
 pered she may be by the compliments of unlettered but 
 deceitful fops, who uniformly have as little of brain as 
 they have of principle ; but from that moment she is 
 shunned by the truly good as a leprous or unsightly 
 object ; latterly even the scorner himself eschews her ; 
 and, for all that he acknowledges not any faith in 
 the distmctive doctrines of Christ, he would not, upon 
 any consideration, unite his fortunes with a woman 
 from whose bosom have departed the very sentiments 
 and feelings for which human nature, with all its 
 depravity, has a kind of homage in reserve. Hence, 
 when at any time Agnes mourned over her unbelief, 
 she repudiated the thought of disrespect for the 
 religion of the cross. She acknowledged it to be 
 from God ; and she was willing to regard its sub- 
 lime revelations as, though above and beyond reason, 
 in no sense opposed to or inconsistent with it. 
 
 In my efforts to tranquillise her mind this evening, 
 I found it necessary to explain to her the proper posi- 
 tion of the decree of election in the scheme of grace. 
 To her, as it has been to many others, this scrip- 
 tural doctrine was for a time the reverse of com- 
 forting : — 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 147 
 
 ' God's decrees to comprehend, few of any 
 Intellectual size did not sometime in their day attempt, 
 But all in vain ; for as the distant hill, 
 Which on the right or left the traveller's eye 
 Bounds, seems advancing as he walks ; and oft 
 He looks, and looks, and thinks to pass ; but still 
 It forward moves, and mocks his baffled sight— 
 Till night descends and wraps the scene in gloom — 
 So did this moral height the vision mock : 
 So lifted up its dark and cloudy head 
 Before the eye, and met it evermore.' 
 
 CoDESE OF Time. 
 
 Occasionally also she desiderated evidence upon the 
 genuineness and authenticity of the scriptures. At 
 other times she was afi'aid she had sinned beyond the 
 hope of mercy, and had never been, notwithstanding 
 the good opinion that others had formed of her 
 rehgious character, anything better than a mere 
 formalist. She latterly came to the conviction that, 
 upon the principles of Christianity as taught by its 
 divine Master, she was unconverted — still in the gall 
 of bitterness and in the bond of iniquity — and conse- 
 quently, that as she could do nothing for herself, or 
 of herself, her future prospects could not be but dark 
 and menacing. There was one feature, however, in 
 this season of spiritual darlaiess and trouble which 
 was remarkable. Though she gave way to doubts of 
 the above class, she never expressed any hope in 
 her own good works, or connected salvation and 
 eternal life with anything but the free and sovereign 
 
148 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 gift of God to man through the merits of the Lord 
 Jesus Christ. She had no doubt that the Bible doc- 
 trine was, that the justification of a condemned sinner 
 depended alone and entirely upon his personal interest 
 by faith in the vicarious sacrifice of the Lamb of God, 
 who was slain from the foundation of the world. But 
 then, she was under painful solicitude because she 
 had not a distinct apprehension of the argument for 
 the divine authority of scripture, and no inward con- 
 sciousness that she was personally interested in the 
 atonement which it reveals. Direct replies to all her 
 queries were of course given, both at this and subse- 
 quent times, when these floods of great waters broke 
 in upon her soul ; and it was not superficial answers 
 that satisfied her. Every point in the argument was 
 keenly examined, and the bearing of the parts upon 
 the whole subjected to impartial scrutiny. She 
 seemed so far satisfied with the statement I made of 
 election. She was told that, whether confounding or 
 comforting, such, beyond all controversy, was a doc- 
 trine of scripture ; and when properly viewed, that it 
 was one of the most encouraging ; that for God 
 merely to have promised an atonement for our sins, 
 without a regenerator to our souls, could have ac- 
 complished no good ; for nothing can be plainer than 
 that, if left to himself, the sinner will continue in his 
 sin, and despise the ofifers of salvation through Christ, 
 till they are for ever beyond his reach ; and that, 
 consequently, it was the very perfection of divine love 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 149 
 
 that the benefits of Christ's death, while they are 
 oflfered to all freely and sincerely, are secure to some 
 of whom the apostle writes, that ' they were chosen in 
 Christ before the foundation of the world;'* that 
 they were 'predestinated unto the adoption of children 
 by Jesus Christ to himself^ according to the good 
 pleasure of his will.' 
 
 Not only on a death-bed, but often in the course of 
 life, do the inexplicable things of God agitate and 
 enfeeble the faith of the christian. They ought not 
 to be permitted to do so. We have the management 
 of this matter in our own hands ; and if we only use 
 * the mystery ' of Christ's revelation as God intends we 
 should, it cannot be the cause of disturbance to any 
 mind. How impressively true the words of the learned 
 Neander, whose great spirit, as we trace these lines, 
 has passed into the heavens : ' Jesus would not have 
 been the Son of God and Son of man, had not his 
 words, like his works, with all their adaptation to the 
 circumstances of the times, contained some things that 
 are inexplicable ; had they not borne concealed within 
 them the germ of an infinite development, reserved 
 for future ages to unfold. It is this feature — and all 
 the evangelists concm* in their representations of it — 
 which distinguishes Christ fi^-om all other teachers of 
 men. Advance as they may, they can never reach 
 him ; their only task need be, by taking him more and 
 more into their life and thought, to learn better how 
 * Eph. i. 4, 5. 
 
150 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 to bring forth the treasures that lie concealed in Him.' 
 Now, the doctrine of election is jast one of God's 
 words containing this ' germ,' wliicli is ' reserved for 
 future ages to unfold.' It is re^^ealed now to be be- 
 lieved, not to be understood. The belief of it is per- 
 fectly consistent with the most exalted and cheering 
 views we have of the Deity ; and so far from its being 
 a proof against, it is one strongly in favour of the 
 divinity of that book which most expressly affirms it. 
 It should never be forgotten, however, that we abuse 
 the doctrine of election whenever we turn it against 
 our own interest in the offers of pardoning mercy. 
 This is presumption. It is to take for granted not 
 only what has not been revealed, but what is contrary 
 to express revelation ; for God has declared that ' he 
 has no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather 
 that all would turn unto him, and live.' With the 
 reconciliation of these two apparently contradictory 
 views no being has any business. God alone can do 
 that, and He ^^'ill do it in his own time, to the confu- 
 sion of the scorner. It is enough to add, that the 
 doctrine leads not to despah but to encouragement ; 
 and the fault is our own if it does not fill us with com- 
 fort. It is indeed very inspiriting to be assui'ed that 
 our acceptance of Christ does not alone depend upon 
 ourselves. Had it been so, we had never chosen him. 
 No doubt a powei'fiil and cheering influence comes 
 down from the cross; but from spiritual death the 
 cross alone never could have awakened man, nor 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 151 
 
 excited one ennobling desire, nor removed one bane- 
 ful passion. Appeals to interest, to gratitude, to 
 heaven, to bell, must have fallen ineffectual on bis 
 dull ear and duller soul ; and tbe entire apparatus of 
 tbe gospel economy migbt have moved o)i from age to 
 age, but from none of tbe descending generations of 
 men could it of itself have reclaimed even one apos- 
 tate. How pleasing, then, to think that tbe potency 
 of the christian cbspensation lies in the decree of elec- 
 tion, which, as it goes out in the profusion and majesty 
 of its merciful mandate, completes the perfect adapta- 
 tion of the scheme of love to tbe spiritual deadness of 
 man's natural state ! Upon its removal, then, from the 
 system of grace we might all hang up oiu' harps upon 
 tbe willows, and learn tbe song of salvation no more. 
 
 After listening to sentiments such as these, she 
 said — 
 
 ' But then, as God has concealed the names of tbe 
 elect, how is any one justified in considering himself 
 to be among their number ? ' 
 
 ' The decree itself is God's concern. He has not 
 seen it meet to reveal the elect by name. He is mider 
 no obligation to do so, and bis not having done so 
 leaves u^s all to include ourselves as among them to 
 Avhom the offer of pardon is unconditionally made. 
 Besides, we may know ourselves to be among the 
 nmnber of his adopted by the feelings of affection 
 which we cherish towards him, and the efforts we 
 make to please him in all things. Hence tbe apostle's 
 
152 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 order in that well-laiown text, " Wherefore the rather, 
 brethren, give dihgence to make your calKng and 
 election sure." If we make our conversion evident, 
 Mve may rise from it up to the assurance of our election. 
 It is utter contempt of this divine arrangement when 
 any begin to seek for proof of election before they 
 repent, and beHeve, and obey.' 
 
 ' And what about the evidence of the divine claims 
 of Christianity V 
 
 'Nothing is more easily demonstrated to be from 
 God than the religion of the cross. Waving other 
 considerations at present, only think of the proof from 
 prophecies ftdfilled and fulfilling, and of miracles per- 
 formed by the Saviour and by the apostles in his 
 name. Do you not think it a much greater task to 
 faith, to believe that the whole affair was a conspi- 
 racy, and that the predictions of holy men of God, 
 thousands of years before Christ came, were literally 
 accomplished merely by lucky coincidences ? Wliile 
 the evidence from prophecy remains, the Bible cannot 
 be proved to be spiu'ious ; and as for the miracles, 
 there can be no doubt, our enemies themselves beins 
 witnesses, that they w' ere performed ; and this being 
 the case, we are shut up to believe Christianity to be 
 from God, or else that God lent his omnipotence to 
 a few impostors, to propagate in the world, and tortm'e 
 mankind with a lie !' I then repeated these exquisite 
 lines of Dryden, where he apostrophises the inspira- 
 tion of the New Testament : — 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 153 
 
 'Whence, but from heaven, could men nnskilled in arts. 
 In several ages born, in several parts, 
 Weave such agreeing truths ? or how, or why- 
 Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie ? 
 Unasked their pains — ungrateful their advice ; 
 Stai-ving their gain, and martyrdom their price.' 
 
 Such like, at this and other times, was the substance 
 of my batthng with her doubts. She was quieted, but 
 not con^-inced. 
 
 Before retiring fi'om her on the evening of this day, 
 at her request we sang together these beautiful lines. 
 Her voice, though feeble, was audible : — 
 
 ' As when the Hebrew prophet raised 
 The brazen serpent high, 
 The wounded look'd, and straight were cur'd, 
 The people ceased to die,' etc. 
 
 I then read, ^Yith a few comments, the 103d Psalm ; 
 and having prayed for the divine blessmg on our con- 
 versation, left her for the niglit. 
 
 June 27, Wednesday. — It was the afternoon of 
 this day before I saw Agnes. She had had a weak 
 turn since morning. Having obtained her sanction, I 
 read to her the beginning of the fourteenth chapter of 
 John. The theme was Christ, and his affecting 
 sympathy with his people in trial. I had to impress 
 upon her the duty of taking God at Ms word, and 
 exhorted her not to let her heart be troubled, when 
 he desires that she should not. I unfolded the 
 
 Saviour's character, as the willing hearer and the 
 g2 
 
154 THE NIGHT LA.MP. 
 
 ready answerer of prayer, and opened np a few of 
 the attractive scenes of his hfe, wherein he is repre- 
 sented as hstening to the cry of the bhnd, the lame, 
 the diseased, the dying, and from which we are 
 entitled to conclude that he is willing now, as he was 
 then, to heal us, especially our spiritual diseases, if we 
 call upon him. To this exposition she listened with 
 amazing dehglit, and when I asked her if she had felt 
 any comfort from hearing it, she replied, smiling, 
 ' Much — much.' I then noticed a hpnn book on her 
 pillow, which she had been reading when I entered. 
 
 'Do you relish the reading of sacred poetry?' I 
 asked. 
 
 'Yes, I do; and there are some very beautiful 
 hymns here, hut there are many of them not at all 
 suitable to me. I prefer some to others ; for instance, 
 I like those that breathe penitential sentiments, and 
 that take the form of prayers. When I lay aside the 
 book, I can use them — I can breathe over their 
 requests.' 
 
 ' But there are others which I should rejoice to see 
 you reading and relishing, such as those which express 
 joy and peace in believing, or tell of the love and 
 glory of our dear Lord and Saviour, or paint the 
 beauties of the " better land." ' 
 
 ' Ah no, my dear John,' she said. ' I do not like 
 these so well, they go far beyond my experiences. I 
 cannot yet go so far.' 
 
 In this interview I could not get the painfol subject 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 155 
 
 of death approaclied, and after a devotional service I 
 left lier in tlie evening in a much more comfortable 
 state than I had found her on the previous one. She 
 was better, too, hodUy. 
 
 June 28, Thursday. — This morning dawned, but 
 it brought not along with its light the rays of that hope 
 which had gilded the cloud of the preceding evening. 
 She had tossed up and down, painfal and sleepless, 
 during its silent watches. 
 
 ' Oh if I could enjoy some ease,' she said, * I would 
 not fear danger! If I be spared, I will now know 
 how to appreciate health. Never, never can such a 
 night as this be foro;otten.' 
 
 ' Do you murmur, Agnes *? ' I asked. 
 
 ' No — I hope not ; for I know that I suffer for my 
 sins deservedly.^ 
 
 Then came another paroxysm of sore pain. When 
 it abated, I asked her — 
 
 * Would you not like to be in heaven to see yoiir 
 dear parents?' 
 
 ' Certainly. O yes, I would ! ' 
 
 ' Do you rejoice, then, in the prospect of meeting 
 with them'?' 
 
 She seemed perplexed, and, with considerable hesi- 
 tation, replied — 
 
 ' No ; but — I do not know. I have never thought 
 of it. O dear, I do not know what I am saying — 
 
 ease me, ease me 
 
 Ah ! thought I, as far as ever from realising her 
 
156 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 situation, and still strong in the hojDe of life ! and jet 
 on this very day, on heing told that a letter had come 
 announcing the death of her maternal uncle, Captain 
 Husband, she remarked to her beloved friend, Mrs 
 Gillespie, who had come from Rew to ^^sit and niu"se 
 her, ' So, uncle John is dead ! One of us is away, and 
 I may be the next.' This, however, might be said 
 without the realisation of her conjecture. Having 
 passed a day of much pain, I suggested, on bidding 
 her good night, that we might omit the usual devo- 
 tional ser^dces, when she at once interrupted me — 
 ' Why ? O why would you omit them ? You know I 
 can but seldom now read for myself, and I hope you 
 will go on.' Even at this time she desired the benefit 
 of spiritual exercises, though she did not derive from 
 them that joyfril satisfaction which they aftenvards 
 imparted to her mind. 
 
 June 29, Feidat. — 'Have you been meditating!' 
 was my first question on seeing her this morning. 
 She repKed that she had. 
 
 ' Upon what f I asked 
 
 ' Upon what is for my good. I pray to be made 
 ffood.' 
 
 'Your ivish, then, is to be made really and truly 
 goodr 
 
 ' O yes — it is — it is ! ' 
 
 ' I need not tell you that there is no good about 
 yoiu'self. Just hear me read one or two passages from 
 the Bible : — " They are corrupt ; they have done abo- 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 157 
 
 niinable works ; there is none that doeth good." " The 
 whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint ; from 
 the sole of the foot even unto the head, there is nf) 
 soundness in it : but wounds, and bruises, and putrify- 
 ing sores." " All we like sheep have gone astray ; we 
 have turned every one to his own way." " Therefore 
 by the deeds of the law shall no flesh be justified in 
 his sight." " For all have sinned, and come short of 
 the glory of God ;" and are " hy nature the childi'en 
 of Avi'ath, even as others." 
 
 Having depicted from these passages o\\x original 
 depravity and our own personal unworthiness, I asked 
 her wdiat she thought of herself, \^'hen she immediately 
 assented to the humbling doctrines of the cross, and 
 acknowledged herself to be a poor, lost, needy sinner. 
 
 ' No,' she added ; ' truly there is no good thing in 
 me.' 
 
 ' Where, then, do you look for righteousness f 
 
 ' It is only to be found in Christ Jesus.' 
 
 ' Do you, then, confide in his righteousness for par- 
 don and acceptance T 
 
 ' I wish to do so.' * 
 
 ' Do you not beheve that it is perfectly sufficient 
 for you V 
 
 ' Yes, I think I do. But, John, is it not one thing 
 to believe that this righteousness is sufficient intrin- 
 sically, and quite a different thing to receive it for 
 one's self? 0, I ccmnot accept of it I I am not im- 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' chap. vii. 
 
158 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 proving ; I am a wicked creature ; my guilt lies not 
 merely in my corrupt nature, but in innumerable 
 actual transgi'essions. I fear that I am not a believer 
 in the word of God after all. What a sinner I have 
 been !' * 
 
 ' But, my dear Agnes, do you not know that it is 
 written, "The blood of Christ, God's Son, cleanseth 
 from all sin f Do you not think it can cleanse away 
 even your sins V 
 
 ' Yes, I know what it can do ; it is infinitely valu- 
 able.' 
 
 It was evident that she was again m the battles of 
 faith, and there was the concomitant cloud and con- 
 fusion of spiritu.al conflicts. There was need of more 
 light. I again took the Bible, and read and explained 
 to her Isaiah liii. I wished to bring her simply to 
 rely on the atonement of Cln-ist — to look away from 
 herself, and to look alone to Jesus. But God's time 
 was not yet come. She 'refused to be comforted.' 
 After a pause, ISIi's Gillespie asked her if she was not 
 desirous to go to heaven. 
 
 ' O yes,' she quickly rephed, ' I am. If I was sure 
 of entering heaven at death, I would die with pleasm'e 
 to-morrow ; but — I do not think there is any danger in 
 my complaint,^ 
 
 '■ You know that we all love you, Agnes, but we 
 coidd part with you if we thought you were going to 
 heaven — we pray that you may.' 
 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' chap. viii. 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 159 
 
 ' It is a soui'ce of great consolation to me to know 
 that you remember me in your prayers. Mr Gillespie, 
 Isabella tells me, prays for me — that is a friend I did 
 not think of: "the effectual fervent prayer of a 
 righteous man availeth much."' 
 
 After another pause she said to me : — 
 
 ' I will tell you why I like you to be so much with 
 me. When I read the Bible, especially the New 
 Testament, which is most beautiful, I often detect 
 myself far away in thought from it ; but when you 
 read to me, or repeat passages all prepared and fitted 
 to suit my peculiar views and feelings, I draw very 
 gi'eat comfort from them. I like you also to pray 
 with me — I cannot pray aright — I wander — I begin 
 to thank God — to ask greater submission to his will 
 — to implore an interest in Christ — and then I am 
 over into slmuber ; but when you pray, I attend and 
 follow.' 
 
 ' God,' I replied, ' does not expect so much from a 
 person in deep affliction, as he does fi'om others whose 
 bodies and minds are alike sound. What he most 
 expects from you, in yom* circmnstances, is patience.' 
 
 ' Ah, then, he expects what he does not get fi'om 
 me.' 
 
 'But you ought not to think of God as a hard 
 taskmaster, "reaping where he has not sowed, and 
 gathering where he has not strawed." He "knows 
 your fr-ame, and remembers you are dust;" "the 
 bruised reed he will not break, and the smoking 
 
160 THE IS^IGIIT LAMP. 
 
 flax lie will not quench ;'' lie does not " desjiise even 
 the day of small things ;" and 3'ou remember what he 
 said to Moses when he stood A\dtli him in the cloud 
 and proclaimed his name to be " the Lord, the Lord 
 God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering and abun- 
 dant in goodness, and in truth ; keeping mercy for 
 thousands, forgi^ang iniquity, transgression and sin." ' 
 
 ' Yes ; it is all true ; but are there not many awful 
 threatening s in the Bible ? what comes of them ? who 
 receives them?' 
 
 ' Not the lovers of God,' I replied. ' His menaces 
 are denoimced only against those who persist in sin 
 and reject his mercy. They cannot touch a beHever 
 in Christ, who is not only a " hiding-place from the 
 wind, and a covert from the tempest," but "I'/i him all 
 \hQ promises are yea and amen." ' * 
 
 'Yes, there is comfort in that thought; but, John, 
 is there not a sin against the Holy Ghost ? is it not 
 possible to be beyond the pale of pardon here ? may 
 we not so live as to drive the Holy Spirit away, and 
 provoke God to say of us as he said of Eplu'aim, "He 
 is joined to his idols ; let him alone ?" ' 
 
 ' There can be no doubt of this,' I answered, ' and 
 many have accordingly perished.' 
 
 ' And what if this should be the case with me "? ' 
 
 ' You must not think so,' I rejoined, ' even for one 
 moment. Just listen to me. The " sin agamst the 
 Holy Ghost" is one of those revelations of which 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' pp 248-253. 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 161 
 
 Satan makes iise to destroy the confidence of God's 
 people. He insinuates that it has been committed 
 where it has not ; and if we would reflect for a single 
 moment, we would see that the very concern we feel 
 upon the subject is the proof — the very proof that it 
 is not chargeable against us. They sinned against 
 the Holy Ghost in the days of our Lord who denied 
 his Messiahship — who resisted the clear evidence of 
 his deity, and who attributed his power of working- 
 miracles to the agency of devils. Now, does it not 
 seem a matter of com'se that such persons should not 
 be saved. These very evidences, employed by the 
 Spirit of God to demonstrate the truth of Messiah's 
 mission, ought reasonably to have captivated every 
 mind, inasmuch as nothing can be conceived so irre- 
 sistibly convincing. And ruider the gospel dispensa- 
 tion still, this sin consists in resisting the proofs of his 
 revelation, and living in systematic contempt and 
 neglect of his gTcat atonement. There is but " one 
 Mediator between God and man." If, then, we 
 despise him, and continue till death to refuse him, of 
 com'se we perish — we commit the sin against the 
 Holy Ghost — we will not accept of mercy, hence we 
 ourselves resolve that we are not to be forgiven. 
 This is what is called putting one's self beyond the pale 
 of mercy. Notwithstanding, the greatest sinner may 
 retui"n. He shall never be forgiven while he commits 
 this sin ; but in that very moment in wdiich he yields 
 himself up to God and submits to his righteousness, 
 
162 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 he is accepted in " the beloved One." It all resolves 
 itself into this — God is ready to pardon whenever 
 we are willmg to be pardoned in the way and man- 
 ner of liis own appointment. Let us read together 
 that most touching and beautiful of all our Lord's 
 parables, " The Prodigal Son/' and you shall see all 
 this to be true.' 
 
 Having read and explained this precious passage, 
 she seemed somewhat composed. She admitted that 
 she desired to be saved through the blood of the cross, 
 and that she acknowledged no other name but ' Jesus 
 Christ,' and no other foundation but ' him crucified.' 
 Still she reflected upon herself, and said — ' Have I not 
 been a formalist in religion ; and am I not now de- 
 ceiving myself into the idea that I am a believer ? O 
 I have been a thouo;htless creature ! The world and its 
 vanities have been uppermost in my heart ; God and 
 eternity have passed but seldom, and never seriously, 
 tlu'ough my thoughts, so that I have been, and am, in 
 the gall of bitterness, and in the bond of iniquity !' 
 
 It was indeed distressing to hear and witness such 
 scenes. She was manifestly without 'the peace of 
 God,' but whether or not without the ' grace of God,' 
 it is not man's province to determitie. I endeavoured 
 to lead her to the ' fomitain opened to the house of 
 David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, for 
 sin and for uncleanness ; ' urged upon her the 
 necessity of turning her attention away from herself 
 altogether for a season, to regard Jesus on the 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 163 
 
 cross ; told her that she seemed ah'eady to be ' con- 
 vinced of sin ' by the Holy Ghost ; that she was 
 willing to confess, and that God was more willing 
 to forgive; and that in this state, having seen her 
 worthlessness and deplored it, her duty was very clear, 
 ' to flee ' unto Christ, and cast all her sins upon him 
 who ' is able to save unto the uttermost all who come 
 unto God by him.' 
 
 The evening — and such an evening — was now far 
 spent, and it behoved me to leave her. Before doing 
 so, I asked if I should pray for her. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' pray for me ; O pray for me, that 
 God would quicken my heart, still " dead in trespasses 
 and sins ;" that he would give me more comfort in my 
 Bible ; some comfort in every verse ; and above all, 
 that he w^oidd give me " an interest in Christ." ' 
 
 I promised, and we parted for the night. 
 
 June 30, Saturday. — 'I must leave you this 
 afternoon, Agnes. To-morrow is the Lord's-day, and 
 you know I must be at home.' 
 
 'Can you not obtain supply for your pulpit, and 
 remain with me ? I have had a little sleep through 
 the night, for which I am thankful to God, and we 
 might have some profitable conversation.' 
 
 Just as she said this, one of her brothers entered, 
 and put into her hand a beautiful rose. She smiled, 
 and thanked him. I took the Lamp and showed to 
 her the rose of Sharon, expecting a reply that might 
 tell of begmi faith, and send me home happy. 
 
164 THE NIGHT LA]«P. 
 
 ' You liave in Jesus,' I said, ' a far more fragrant 
 and lovely flower than this. He is the rose of Sharon 
 and the lily of the valley.' 
 
 She made no reply. I pressed the subject upon 
 her attention perhaps too strongly, but after such a 
 midnight battle as this week had witnessed between 
 us, I panted after the honour of the conqueror. 
 
 'I should rejoice, Agnes, if you would repeat after 
 me these words, "My rose is the rose of Sharon."' 
 
 ' My rose is the rose of Sharon,' was the immediate 
 echo. 
 
 ' My dear sister, did you utter these words in faith V 
 
 'I hope so,' she replied; but her expression was 
 anything but hopeful. 
 
 ' I am anxious to luiow wdaether my presence with 
 you this week has tended to youi' comfort.' 
 
 ' I have got some comfort from you.' 
 
 ' Do I leave }'ou with an easier mind — with more 
 light?' 
 
 ' Yes, I dare say you do.' 
 
 ' Permit me to implore you, as you value your 
 soul's peace, when youi* sins rise up against you, and 
 when you recall the threatenings of the Almighty 
 against them, to turn your mind boldly and quickly 
 to the precious promises wliich I have so often repeated 
 to you. O betake yourself to the refuge provided — 
 escape to Christ for your life ! The dread of the 
 threatening law ought to drive j^ou to the hopes of the 
 promising gospel. And why should you prefer to 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 1G5 
 
 contemplate the froum of tlie one rather than the smile 
 of the other r* 
 
 ' Where would be my comfort but for the promises f 
 she meekly replied. 
 
 ' Especially such as these, Agnes : — " Come now, 
 and let us reason together, saith the Lord : though 
 your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow ; 
 though they be red like crimson, they shall be as 
 wool." " I, even I am he that blofteth out thy trans- 
 gi'essions for mine o^aii sake, and will not remember 
 thy sins." " I have blotted out, as a thick cloud, thy 
 transgressions, and as a cloud thy sins : return unto 
 me, for I have redeemed thee." " Who is a God like 
 unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by 
 the transgression of the remnant of his heritage ? He 
 retaineth not his anger for ever, because he deligliteth 
 in mercy. He will turn again ; he will have compas- 
 sion upon us ; he will subdue our iniquities : and thou 
 wilt cast all their sins into the depths of the sea. Thou 
 wilt perform the truth to Jacob, and the mercy to 
 Abraham, which thou hast sworn mito our fathers 
 from the days of old." ' f 
 
 Eetuming pain and restlessness put a stop to this 
 work. Having prayed with her, I left the room. 
 When alone with Mrs Gillespie, she said — 
 
 ' I will sadly miss John's prayers to-night — he is 
 going away.' 
 
 * See 'The Hiding Place,' pp. 133-138. 
 t Isa. i. 18 ; xliv. 22 ; Micah vii. 18-20. 
 
166 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' He will pray for you wherever he is.' 
 ' I know that — for me — but not witli me. Will 
 some one read to me the fifty-first Psalm?' Her 
 request was complied watli. 
 
 Thus teraiinated the solemn work of this first and 
 memorable week — a week of which Agnes spoke often 
 to her djHing day. The account given is meagre 
 indeed, compared with the reahty. On some occasions 
 she spoke so rapidly, and followed up my answers with 
 such quickness, that 1 found it impossible to recall a 
 tithe of what passed. It was a week of constant 
 conflict. I hope it was the battle of faith — a week of 
 perplexity and doubts, and full of much spiritual soh- 
 citude to us both ; but it was also a week out of whose 
 darkness came forth hght, and from whose disquietudes 
 there arose the joys and peace of the Holy Ghost. 
 In one sense I left her as I found her ; for though we 
 both felt that each had a reason not stated for such 
 earnest exercises, there was no direct allusion to the 
 hopelessness of her case. I felt that substantially the 
 revelation was made to her, and that it would not now 
 fall so heavily when it was actually communicated. 
 Though far from being satisfied with her state of 
 mind, I was thankfiU that she appeared to be con- 
 cerned about her spiritual interests, and that she had 
 accurate knowledge of the ' way of life.' She dis- 
 tinctly apprehended the atonement as the foundation 
 of the sinner's hope ; she acknowledged the efficacy 
 and infinite worth of the Saviour's sacrifice ; she was 
 
VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 167 
 
 charmed with his character as an advocate and a 
 friend; and she even got the length of being wilhng 
 to be nothing so that he might be everything. But 
 still she was weak in the spirit of her inner man, 
 when she looked within and saw her sinfulness, and 
 when she looked behind and saw her innumerable 
 transgressions, and when she looked before and 
 realised the judgment-seat of Christ. She seemed as 
 if standing at the mouth of the well of salvation, but 
 afraid or unfit to let do^vn the pitcher to draw and 
 drink. She saw the Saviour before her with out- 
 stretched arms, and trembled for a season to imsh into 
 his embrace. But the dawn was at hand, and ere 
 long ' the day-star ft^om on high ' visited her. 
 
 How serious is the responsibility of those who have 
 thus to guide and uphold the souls of their dying 
 relatives ; and yet what a mercy it is that they have 
 at their command such an amount of glorious con- 
 solations ! None need be afi'aid to accompany the 
 afflicted ones through the dark valley, if they have 
 chosen for their motto the saying of the Psalmist — 
 ' Thy woed is a Lamp unto my feet.' 
 
CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 2rf)e lafse of faitfj. 
 
 'One night, methouglit a voice said in my cell, 
 
 Despondency, and Anguish, and Despair 
 
 Are falling o'er thee — " Curse thy God, and die ! " 
 
 Peace ! Resignation ! and immortal Hope ! 
 
 A dewy voice replied. It was a dream ; 
 
 But the good angel's voice was in my soul 
 
 Most sweet when I awoke ; and from that hour 
 
 A heavenly calm hath never left me.' 
 
 John Wilson. 
 
 All hope of Agnes' recovery was now abandoned, and 
 tlie sorrow of her friends was great on her account. 
 They grieved that soon they should see her face no 
 more. Sohcitude about the youthful su^fFerer no 
 doubt still existed; but it was occasioned by veiy 
 different considerations. We began to be alarmed 
 about her eternal interests. We had scarcely, if at 
 all, doubted that her religion was genuine ; and, had 
 she not of her own accord pronounced so decidedly 
 against herself, we could not have doubted it, now 
 that she was passing away fi'om the concernments of 
 time. But the question of her soul's spiritual state 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 169 
 
 was by far too important to be settled on the grounds 
 of our favourable estimates. Her language concern- 
 ino- herself from this time was veiw remarkable for its 
 distinct and unaffected condemnation of her state and 
 conduct in the past. She insisted that she had not 
 felt the power of divine truth in her soul — that she 
 had not received the Spirit of adoption — that all her 
 so-called relimous feelings had been fancies — and that, 
 unless some ojeat and evident chano-e were effected 
 upon her before she died, she (hd not see how she 
 could be saved. To us, who loved her so dearly, this 
 was indeed a A^ery heart-rending state of things. The 
 idea of her soul apj^earing before God uninterested in 
 Clrrist was insupportable, and made us feel that we 
 could cheerfully be resigned to her death, if we were 
 assured of her conversion. For a while we felt as if 
 stunned by her revelation that she was not yet born 
 again. Of coiu'se we did not then permit our- 
 selves to believe that it was so : we set it down to a 
 morbid jealousy of herself, and to that lowly estimate 
 which even the most eminent saints form of their 
 own state and character. But she had shaken 
 tliis fomidation of oiu* partial judgment ; and the 
 Aery thought that it might be with her as she 
 said it was, threw us into fear and trembling lest 
 she should die, and, peradventure, be lost. It was, 
 therefore, with pain Avhich cannot be described that 
 her spii'itual doubtings and conflicts, dmnng the 
 bygone week, had been witnessed. Though towards 
 
170 THE NIGHT LA5IP. 
 
 the end of the week there was undoubtedly a 
 change in her way of speaking about herself, and 
 apparently, too, more composure of manner and pla- 
 cidity of expression, the indications of amrious inqiiiri/ 
 were many and distressing. Sincere and fervent were 
 our prayers that she might be spared till the clouds 
 were chased away, and till the 'day dawned.' Truly 
 our souls ' waited for the Lord more than they that 
 watch for the morning.' Ovu' hope was in liis mercy, 
 that he would bless the very serious and earnest work 
 in which we had been engaged with her, and that 
 soon she would, of her own accord, cast the burden of 
 fear from our minds, though it were only by the u^se of 
 the publican's prayer, ' God be merciful to me a 
 sinner.' Nor was our hope put to confusion. As 
 the Sabbath daw^ned, Faith seemed to have arisen 
 ' with healing under her wings.' With some diffi- 
 dence she ventiu'ed to express the hope to a brother, 
 that the Lord had dealt bountifully with her soul, and 
 had so greatly blessed the conversations and exercises 
 of the past week, that she now felt as she had never 
 felt before, and now saw the preciousness of Jesus as 
 she had never seen it. It is impossible to express the 
 joj-fid natm'e of our feelings over this token of God's 
 reconciling love. Still we were not permitted to be 
 carried away by too much confidence tliat the great 
 change of regeneration had actually taken place. She 
 occasionally expressed herself with great caution, and 
 now and then even seemed on the eve of destroying 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 171 
 
 oui' hopes. Before the reader, however, has closed 
 this chapter, he may be convinced that this translation 
 of Agnes' soul fi'om darkness to light had actually 
 taken place. 
 
 A night of incessant pain had ushered in the morn- 
 ing of this holy Sabbath (July 1st.) One of her 
 brothers was lenduig his assistance to change her 
 position, and expressed his hope that the 'peace of 
 God ' was now not altogether a stranger to her bosom. 
 
 ' I hope not,' she replied. ' But this I know, I am 
 Avilling now to die, though it were only to be relieved 
 fi'om such agony.' 
 
 'It is indeed a sore trial to you, Agnes, but it is the 
 Lord; and I hope you can say, "Let him do what 
 seemeth good unto him."' 
 
 'I know,' she said, 'that I ought not to wish death, 
 merely to be free of pain ; it is sinftd to do so. I feel 
 these hnes veiy applicable to me — 
 
 " God will not always chide, 
 And when his strokes are felt, 
 His strokes are fewer than our crimes, 
 And lighter than our guilt." 
 
 I msh you would read to me the 14th chapter of John.' 
 When this was done, she received a Aasit from one 
 of the daughters of her kind physician, Dr Abercrom- 
 bie, who devoted the interval between the forenoon 
 and afternoon service to her dying friend. This visit 
 was most seasonable and beneficial, and Agnes appre- 
 ciated its kindness. The subject of death was not 
 
172 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 slimmed, and the necessity of being prepared for it 
 was mildly but faitlifully urged. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' all should be ready for death before 
 sickness comes ; a bed of suffering has plenty to do 
 with itself. I hope I know what is duty, but it is not 
 easy to get the heart to be submissive.' 
 
 She was advised to use diligently the means of 
 grace, esj)ecially prayer and the reading of scriptui'e. 
 She said — 
 
 ' What a sweet time it Avas to me when John 
 was with me last week ! His exertions have brought 
 me round thus far, that I think I am now quite 
 willing to resign myself into the hands of God.' 
 
 Next day she said to her nurse, ' I hope my brother 
 will return soon. I wish I had him here to pray with 
 me ; and yet I am sorry for him, because he appears 
 to be so soriy for me. I know he will pray for me at 
 home, but I don't hear him ; I need some one to 
 keep me in mind of duty ; I am not able to pray for 
 myself.' 
 
 In the evening a brother asked if she could listen to 
 a chapter of the Bible. 
 
 ' I shoidd like to hear one very much, biit not now. 
 I am suffering great pain, and cannot give undi\dded 
 attention. When God's word is read, I wish to be 
 edified by it.' 
 
 An opiate having been administered, she requested 
 that the scriptures should now be read to her, as she 
 thought she could listen. 
 
TUE RISE OF FAITU. 173 
 
 ^ Read to me,' she said, ' the fifty-first Psahn.' 
 She listened with great interest to its penitential 
 strains, and then asked for her hymn book. At her 
 request the following hymn was read ; it became witli 
 her a great favourite ; she committed it to memory, 
 and often during the long nights of suffering was over- 
 heard repeating it — ■ 
 
 ' My Father knows my feeble frame ; 
 He knows how poor a worm I am — 
 
 Untold, he knows it all. 
 The least temptation serves to draw 
 My footsteps from my Father's law, 
 
 And makes me slide and falL 
 
 * Of this I give him daily proof, 
 And yet he does not cast me off. 
 
 But owns me still as his : 
 He spares — he pities — he forgives 
 The most rebellious child that lives; 
 
 So great his patience is. 
 
 "■ And shall I then a pretext draw 
 Again to violate his law ? 
 
 My soul revolts at this : 
 I'll love, and wonder, and adore, 
 And beg that I may sin no more 
 
 Against such love as this. 
 
 'O love divine! eternal source 
 
 Of good to man, I mark thy course — 
 
 I mark it with delight. 
 To Bethlehem I follow thee. 
 And there the wondrous babe I see — 
 
 A cheering, glorious sight. 
 
 * I trace thee thence to Calvary, 
 And there the Man of sorrows see, 
 
 His body bathed in blood. 
 
] 74 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 The stream I followed from its source 
 Now pours with a resistless force, 
 A rapid, swelling flood. 
 
 ' Its waters health and healing bring, 
 They make the waste rejoice and sing ; 
 Their progress thus we trace : 
 » They pour their virtues through the earth, 
 
 They fill the world with sacred mirth, 
 And gladden every place.' 
 
 It was now noticeable that the introduction of 
 religious subjects w^as made by herself. Formerly 
 they had to be suggested by others. It does not 
 appear, however, that as yet she had any idea of 
 the probable termination to her illness. Her sponta- 
 neous references to death and its realities were rather 
 indications of a mind chastened by long affliction into 
 a sort of relish for christian sympathy, and into a 
 habitual communion with serious truths. God thus 
 prepared her to receive the intelligence wdiich before 
 another sun had set was at length certified to her. 
 
 July 3, Tuesday. — Immediately after Dr Aber- 
 crombie's visit this morning she was observed to be 
 much agitated, and when asked for the cause of it, 
 she replied — 
 
 ' O my dear Wardlaw, when Dr Abercrombie was 
 taking leave of me just now, I overheard him telling 
 nurse just to give me anything I would take, and he 
 left me, saying, " Poor child — poor child," in such a 
 melancholy tone that makes me suspect he thinks my 
 complaints incurable^ 
 
THE EISE OF FAITH. 175 
 
 She spoke with a fakering voice, weeping all the 
 while. This was, then, the first time that she realised 
 the issvie of her illness. Here we have tlie first sick- 
 ness of hope, and the first trembling of its wings — 'tis 
 the first fall in the notes of its music, and the first 
 dirge of a young heart over darkening prospects. It 
 is painful to think of the shock she now sustained 
 throughout those warm affections which had nestled 
 on endearing objects, but which now took alarm lest 
 they should soon be riven asunder, and of those social 
 sympathies which bound her to life and the world, 
 now and quickly relaxed in fear of their speedy 
 dissolution. Every tie of nature and friendship now- 
 thrilled under the dreadful announcement of their 
 doom — 'Dust thou art.' But though there was 
 this decadency of her expectations, and this sudden 
 rebuke to her fond wishes, the love of life did not yet 
 die, and even the hope of it was not to be given up 
 without another struggle. Just at this juncture a kind 
 Providence so ordered it that one of her earliest friends 
 called for the first time since her illness commenced. 
 This was the Rev. Dr Halley, now of Troy in the 
 United States of America, but then of Leith. When 
 she heard that he was in the house she was much 
 pleased, and prepared to receive him. In a few minutes 
 it could not have been known from her appearance 
 that her heart had so recently been loaded with a 
 biu'den so heav}^ Dr Halley had been requested to 
 let her know, now that she had got over the first shock 
 
176 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 of fear, that there was no hope for her, and that she 
 must remove her affections entirely from this world, 
 and prepare diligently for that w^iich was coming. 
 He very kindly consented to do so, and entered her 
 chamber for that purpose. She gave him one of those 
 sweet smiles which had so often sealed other lips that 
 w^ould have told her of death as at hand, and im- 
 mediately commenced to converse with an ease and self- 
 command which at once encouraged him to proceed. 
 
 * Have your friends. Miss Macfarlane, or your phy- 
 sicians, ever made you aware of your true condition V 
 
 'No,' she replied, 'they have not. What do they 
 think?' 
 
 ' It is a painful duty to discharge ; but my regard 
 for your best interests binds me to inform you that your 
 complaints are dangerous, and that there is reason to 
 fear that you may not be long in the land of the living.' 
 
 She received this announcement apparently sur- 
 prised, but the solitary tear that dropped upon her 
 pillow was the only sign of the internal tumult. Dr 
 Halley followed up his service of friendship by 
 most appropriate and beautiful remarks, to which 
 she listened with marked interest. The interview 
 was altogether so impressive that I shall allow Dr 
 Halley himself to narrate it. I quote from a letter 
 which he sent to me three months after Agnes' 
 death : — 
 
 ' Agnes had been some months indisposed before I 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 177 
 
 heard of her illness. When at last 1 came to the 
 knowledge of it, accompanied with the notice that the 
 symptoms were such as to give serious alarm to her 
 friends, you will give me credit when I say that I felt 
 most deeply. The interest that I have in the welfare 
 of all his family, arising from the respect that I che- 
 rish to the memory of your excellent father, was in 
 this case deepened, if possible, from the fact that 
 Agnes had been an old pu])il of mine, and gave very 
 early indications of a superior intellect, from the pro- 
 ficiency which she made in all her branches of educa- 
 tion. I hesitated for some time after my knowledge 
 of her illness as to the propriety of visiting ; for I 
 knew that many excellent friends of your late father 
 had been assiduous in their attendance, and in unfold- 
 ing to her the consolations and the promises of the 
 gospel. Our common friend, Mr Arnot, informed me 
 how highly she was gratified when any friend waited 
 upon her and conversed with her upon religious 
 subjects; and fi'om that moment I was resolved to 
 embrace the very earliest opportunity of seeing her. 
 The first time that I saw her since her illness was on 
 the Tuesday after the first Sabbath of July. Before 
 I went into her room, I conversed for a short time 
 with your brother William. I then learned that her 
 medical adviser had the very worst apprehensions as 
 to the termination of her complaint, and he requested 
 me to disclose this to her with as much delicacy and 
 
 tenderness as I could. 
 
 h2 
 
1 78 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' When I saw her, my dear Sir, much as I laid my 
 account with the alteration that disease must have 
 made in her countenance, I was really not prepared 
 for the great change that had taken place. Her 
 countenance, which was always an interesting one, 
 was at this time peculiarly so in the serenity of mind 
 that it indicated, while her eye, instead of being 
 quenched with trouble, was clear, and burned with 
 peculiar brilliancy. My name had been previously 
 announced to her, yet when I went in, my visit 
 seemed to have all the effect of a joyful surprise upon 
 her mind, and she expressed the deepest gratitude 
 to me for coming to see her. After what I learned 
 from your brother of the pleasure she felt in religious 
 conversation, and saw from evidence too plain to be 
 denied, too distressing to be resisted, that her con- 
 tinuance in this world could not in all probability be 
 long, I arrived at the intention of my visit as speedily 
 as possible. In these circumstances, experience has 
 hitherto confirmed me in the practice, that the best 
 method to ascertain the spiritual fi*ame of mind, as 
 well as the nature of those hopes the individual has 
 for eternity, is by py^oposing questions to them. In 
 any other Avay we are in danger of keeping to vague 
 generalities, by which the attention may not be 
 awakened nor the conscience aroused ; but when the 
 health of the individual permits, I have often found 
 that this method of instruction was highly edifying 
 and useful, both to the afflicted person and to the 
 
TIJE RISE OF rAITlI. 179 
 
 visitor. It was in tins way that I ct)ntlacted my first 
 conversation with your sister. The following is a very 
 imperfect outline of a visit which, from the interesting 
 evidence it gave me of the existence of religious prin- 
 ciple in her mind, I shall never forget : — 
 
 'After a few general questions, I ayked her if she 
 had felt the consolations of the gospel under her 
 affliction. 
 
 ' " My experience," she replied, " is not always the 
 same. Sometimes the future woi'ld appears to me 
 very bright and sometimes very dark. I cannot 
 always say with David, ' Yea, though I walk through 
 the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.' " 
 
 ' It w^as at this time, I think, that she made the 
 following remark, which peculiarly pleased me : — 
 
 ' "We must not judge of our interest in Christ only 
 by our frame of mind. We may have religion within 
 us, but God, for good reasons, may order it that we 
 should not at all times alike experience its consola- 
 tions." 
 
 ' I asked her upon whom her hopes for happiness in 
 another world were built. She replied, " On Jesus 
 Christ alone ; for ' this is a faithful saying, and worthy 
 of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the 
 world to save sinners, ei:en the cJdef.''" 
 
 'It was at this stase of the conversation that a 
 slight embarrassment, which she seemingly felt in 
 disclosing the state of her experience, was entirely 
 thrown aside, and she answered afterwards without 
 
180 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 the least reserve. The answers that she made led us 
 into a very interesting conversation as to the instances 
 in scripture of the divine forgiveness : Manasseh, 
 Paul, Zaccheus — she herself added, the thief upon 
 the cross, and Mary Magdalene. Her mind seemed 
 to be full of astonishment at the forbearance of God 
 to his sinful creatures, and the invitations and en- 
 couragements that he gave to them to come to him 
 that they might live ; for, said she, " How easily can 
 God punish us, and how richly we deserve punish- 
 ment ! We should say. It is of the Lord's mercies 
 that we are spared, and because his tender compassion 
 fails not." This naturally led us to the prodigal son ; 
 and she seemed to take a peculiar delight in filling up 
 all the circumstances that went to aggravate his 
 ouilt, that the indulgence of the father might more 
 strikingly appear. His rashness and inexperience — 
 his ingratitude and his prodigality — his coming home 
 in rags, his patrimony all squandered — yet the father 
 saw him a great way ofi^, and ran and fell on his neck, 
 and kissed him. This part of the conversation occupied 
 a considerable time, and was pursued by questions 
 and answers that have now escaped my memory — only 
 I remember the love of Christ in his dying for us, and 
 the encouragement which his intercession in heaven 
 should give us to come to God to obtain mercy, were 
 particularly dwelt upon. 
 
 'I asked if she thought she had derived benefit 
 from her recent affliction. 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 181 
 
 ' " O yes," she replied ; " in what a different light 
 does the world appear to me now from what it once 
 did ! I wish some of my companions were here, who 
 I am afraid are too thoughtless, and they would 
 perhaps learn an important lesson. Our Saviour 
 spoke truly when he said, ' What shall it profit a man 
 though he gain the whole world and lose his own 
 soul?'" 
 
 ' At an after part of the conversation she said — 
 
 ' " How much reason have I to bless God, wdio 
 has thus early afflicted me ! If this had not been the 
 case, I might have gone on in carelessness, and never 
 thought of another world ; but this has taught me by 
 experience the vanity of the world, and the necessity 
 of something to me which the world cannot give." 
 
 ' I was very much gratified with this declaration, 
 and took occasion to point out to her the propriety, 
 when her young friends came to see her, of thus 
 speaking a word in season, which might be blessed 
 to them. I asked her (for I cannot remember all 
 the circumstances that made question and answer 
 follow each other regularly) if she felt a pleasure in 
 prayer. She replied, that at times she felt a very 
 great pleasm-e, and could say that God had granted 
 her the desire of her lips ; at other times she felt great 
 despondency and distress. This led us to observe the 
 wisdom of God in not immediately granting us what 
 we asked, among other reasons, that the delay tends 
 to enhance the value of the blessing. 
 
182 THE NIGHT LA31P. 
 
 ' I now asked her how she felt in the prospect of 
 death. She looked at me very steadily after I had 
 proposed this question. I then considered it my duty 
 to tell her that while the power of God was all-suffi- 
 cient, yet that there were circumstances connected 
 with her complaint sufficient to justify the most serious 
 apprehensions of her friends. Her countenance, when 
 I made this statement, indicated rather surprise than 
 alarm, and sprung, as she immediately told me, from 
 the fact, that none of her friends had in the most dis- 
 tant manner communicated it to her. I told her that 
 this had proceeded from fear lest any announcement 
 might retard her recovery, so long as the least hope 
 could be cherished. She was satisfied. "I hope," said 
 she, " God will be merciful to me, for Christ's sake." 
 
 ^ Our conversation here was of a most interesting 
 and solemn nature, until, fearing that she might over- 
 fatigue herself, I proposed to pray with her, which I 
 did, and said I would embrace an early opportunity 
 of seeing her, with which she appeared very much 
 gratified.' 
 
 Dr Halley had not been long gone when she sent a 
 message by her nurse to her brother William, that he 
 should come immediately to her. 
 
 ' William,' she said, as he sat down beside her, ' I 
 think Mr Halley has spoken to me very judiciously. 
 He has apprised me that there is danger in my com- 
 plaint. Now, tell me at once, is it indeed so ? Do not 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 183 
 
 fear to tell me that I aui dying. I shall now suffer 
 more from being kept in suspense than if I am told the 
 truth at once. Oh would God I were prepared to 
 die, if this be unto death ; what a happy change ! But 
 do not keep me any longer in ignorance ; it is a great 
 sin to do so.' 
 
 ' I hope you are ready for death, Agnes,' said her 
 brother. 
 
 'I do not know if I am. If I thought I were 
 safe — ' 
 
 'I have no doubt,' he continued, 'but that God 
 will answer the prayers of youi* dear parents wdio are 
 in heaven.' 
 
 ' I hope so,' she replied ; ' but no man can answer 
 for his brother : each must bear his own burden.' 
 
 ' And yet it is comforting to know that the promise 
 is to the parents, and to their seed after them.' 
 
 ' Yes, it is. If I were assured of an interest in 
 Christ, what is there in all this world to make me 
 regret leaving if? I love my friends here, but yonder 
 I have also many dearer to me still ; and if I were to 
 return to this world, I fear I have not strengtli to 
 resist temptation. I cannot say that I have a feeling 
 of vexation at the thought of being taken from this 
 world.' 
 
 Who could have foretold that with such composure 
 and submission this first solemn intimation of her ap- 
 proaching death would have been met? She now 
 became somewhat thoughtful. She set death before 
 
184 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 her mind from this moment, viewed it serionsly in all 
 its aspects, and made diligent preparation to meet its 
 stroke. As she was musing thus, she turned to her 
 brother Wardlaw, and addressed him mth considerable 
 earnestness on the subject, advising him to be religi- 
 ous before the hour of death had struck. She said — 
 ' When I try now to think of good things, pain often 
 prevents me. And so I am dying; I am to leave you 
 all. Well, we read in the Bible of children being 
 punished for their parents' sins ; as for me, I suffer 
 for my own sins^ 
 
 Words of comfort were administered, but her effort 
 to rise above nature was gro^vdng weak, and the 
 shadows of fear began again to fall. She longed for 
 some one who might support her fainting heart, and 
 wished that I had been with her at such an hour as 
 this. And again did the Lord God of her fathers 
 mercifiilly interpose on her behalf, and sent to her 
 without doubt the most appropriate comforter she 
 could have received from among the children of men. 
 Just at this time the venerable Mr Brown of Inver- 
 keithing came to visit the daughter of his friend. 
 When she was told who it was that was in the dining 
 room, she raised her hands and eyes upwards, her face 
 beamed with joy, and her lips uttered praise. 
 
 ' Were you speaking?' asked the attendant. 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' she replied, ' I was thanking God for 
 sending good Mr Brown to me at such a crisis as this 
 has been.' 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 185 
 
 It was truly aflPecting to witness the interview 
 between this devout saint — this man of God — and 
 the dying maiden. Though bending under the 
 weight of years, he was still able to go about and 
 do good ; and hearing that Agnes was on her death- 
 bed, his spirit liad been moved to come and visit 
 her with the consolations of the gospel. His pe- 
 culiarly pleasing countenance was shaded a little, 
 from a strong feeling of spnpathy with the gentle 
 sufferer ; and the deep and mellow tones of his fine 
 voice were rather tremulous and low as he addressed 
 her in his usual simple but delightful strain. To de- 
 tail the minutiffi of the scene is impossible, but surely 
 the blessing of God was in it. She listened to him 
 with intense eagerness, as if salvation flowed from his 
 lips, and drank in every word as if her spirit were 
 quaffing the nectar of heaven. As he arose to de- 
 part, he held her hand in his, and said with much 
 feeling — 
 
 ' I remember some of the last words of your father 
 to me. When I was bidding him farewell, I remarked 
 that I had kept him speaking too long. "" O no," he 
 said ; " but I have just one word more to say to you, 
 Mr Brown, and that is, when you are at the throne of 
 grace, remember my dear children." ' 
 
 ' I am sure you have done so,' said Agnes, inter- 
 rupting him. 
 
 ' I have tried to do it,' replied Mr Brown, * and if 
 you please, I will do it just now.' 
 
186 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 He then offered up such a prayer as he only could 
 present, and every one felt that they were carried with 
 him into the very presence of God. 
 
 ' Farewell,' he said to her ; ' the Lord he with you.' 
 
 ' T wish I was as sure of heaven,' she was overheard 
 saying, as he disappeared. 
 
 This merciful visitation had a pleasant effect upon 
 her. The clouds that had threatened to gather Avere 
 for the time cUspersed. She was quite composed, and 
 though much exhausted x^itli the forenoon's exciting 
 scenes and revelations, she occasionally conversed with 
 the nurse upon serious subjects. It was remarkable 
 how quickly she took to herself the warnings of that 
 day. She seemed to act as if not another moment 
 could be lost, and at once began to ' set her house in 
 order.' Among other little things that engaged her 
 attention this afternoon was the finishing of some 
 fancy paper ornaments which she had begun for her 
 own amusement in June. These she gave to one 
 of her brothers, and desired him to take them to 
 two young ladies of her acquaintance whom she 
 now feared were more gay than thoughtful. ' Tell 
 them,' she said, ' that these will be the last tokens 
 of friendship they can receive from me ; perhaps 
 they will keep them for my sake, as they are 
 likely to see me no more.' Tov^ards the evening lier 
 mind began again to be sore vexed ; a sense of her 
 awful situation pressed hard upon her, and she was 
 often found in tears. Tliis mental distress increased 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 187 
 
 £^eatly as tlic night advanced ; alarm seized hold of 
 her spirit, and her cries for a minister of the gospel 
 became constant and importunate. She implored 
 them to send for me to come without delay. 
 
 ' O tell him to come quickly,' she cried. ' Tell him 
 I am dying, that I am afraid to die, and that I am not 
 ready for death. Tell him to come and pray for me 
 and with me, and to fru-nish my mind with proper 
 subjects for meditation and for prayer when I am left 
 alone. ' O it is a serious, awful thing to die ! Pray you 
 for me now,' said she, turning to her brother William, 
 who was standing beside her. ' God says, " Where 
 two or three are met together in my name, there I 
 am." This is a cheering promise.' 
 
 A prayer was then presented on her behalf, which 
 seemed to afford her some relief. When it was finished, 
 she looked to her youngest brother, and said to him, 
 ' I am sorry to leave you, Andrew ; but if I were sure 
 of heaven, and that you would follow, I could die to- 
 night. I hope Jesus will pardon all my sins, and 
 make me one of his disciples. O, Andi'ew, what must 
 be the pains of hell !' 
 
 Such is a faint outline of this day's proceedings, in 
 which the goodness of God cannot be misapprehended 
 in the mode by which she was made aware of her 
 danger. We have seen how she was in part prepared 
 for the worst, first of all, by the expressions of affec- 
 tionate sympathy that fell from Dr Abercrombie — 
 then came Dr Halley's seasonable intimation to her, 
 
188 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 that there was little if any hope of her recovery — and, 
 then, as if he had been an angel from heaven sent to 
 apply the balm of comfort to lier wounded spirit, 
 came the aged servant of Christ with whom were 
 bound up her finest and fondest associations with the 
 happy days of girlhood. Thus did the Lord take into 
 his own hands the task before which we had shrunk, 
 and in this unexpected manner announce her ap- 
 proaching end. Had we known that she could have 
 received the intelligence with so much fortitude, or 
 had we trusted more to the grace of God to support 
 and comfort her, it might have been done sooner. 
 How tlie silent watches of this night were passed, when 
 she was left alone with her nurse, we know not — 
 though, from what was afterwards noticed in her 
 deportment, it may be said, that communion ^^^th God 
 must have been, to a great extent, her resort from tlie 
 agonies of natui'al feeling. No doubt some of her 
 exercises would be acutely painful, as she realised to 
 herself the cutting short of her days — the farewell to 
 each loved friend and object — the descent of the body 
 to the cold grave, and the flight of her immortal spirit 
 to God who gave it. But her principal conflict would 
 be with the fear of what follows death. Up to this 
 she had never thought of 'the judgment-seat' save 
 as in the distance ; and having not the impression of 
 being soon before it, she had not examined herself as 
 to what might be her sentence from thence. But 
 now the terrors of the law — the accusations of con- 
 
TflE RISE OF FAITH. 189 
 
 science — the dread of eternal ruin — would all bear 
 down u})on her in dread attack, and upheave the 
 deepest emotions of her soul. Such were my convic- 
 tions when a letter reached me on this same evening 
 informing me of what had taken place, and summon- 
 ing me to her bedside, to pour the oil of the gospel 
 upon the tumults of that awakened and alarmed spirit. 
 I hastened to Edinburgh by the first steam-boat on 
 the following day. 
 
 July 4, Wednesday. — The morning was dull 
 and lowering as I stepped from the boat upon the 
 chain-pier at Newhaven, and the beautifully-cultivated 
 walk up to the capital was shaded and uninviting, 
 — aHke sad and melancholy were my feelings as I 
 wended my way once more up to the chamber of the 
 d\ang. I was now to see her under very different 
 impressions. She knew that she was at the door of 
 death, and I kncAV that she knew it. I cannot tell 
 how it was, but I felt more than ever averse to 
 encounter her in this condition. The remembrance 
 of the clouds and darkness, the unbelief and teiTors 
 through which she had caused me to pass, indisposed 
 me for a repetition of such a scene. I naturally 
 concluded that it should now be a much more tempes- 
 tuous one than before. I sent for the nurse on mj' 
 arrival, who told me that Agnes had been much 
 worse since I left, and that she did not think she 
 could now survive very long, and that she was most 
 anxious to see me. Once — twice was I sent for ere 
 
190 THE NIGHT LAMP, 
 
 . I Acntured into her room. When I sat down beside 
 her I was almost ovei'powered. She lay in the posi- 
 tion into which, after the restlessness of the night, she 
 had fallen, and out of which she could not as yet be 
 lifted — her head was down near to the centre of the 
 bed, and her face was half concealed by the pillow 
 upon which her head lay. The expression of death 
 was in her eye, which now lacked much of its wonted 
 lustre, and feebly did she lift the heavy eyelid 
 as she recognised me. It was a silent but eloquent 
 recognition. As I took her passive hand in mine, 
 the tears trickled down her wan cheek, and all she 
 said w^as— 
 
 ' So, John, we must be parted.' 
 
 I made no reply. I heard her sobbing; and for 
 a few minutes we continued silent. Having learned 
 that death had in a great measure lost its terrors to 
 her, and that she could noAv speak of her departure 
 without midue emotion, I at length referred to what 
 had been chsclosed to her, and asked if she Avas still 
 averse to die, or whether she was willing to resign 
 herself into the hands of her heavenly Father. 
 
 ' I hope I am willing,' she replied. ^ When I was 
 in health and high in hopes of life, I viewed death 
 with horror. 1 then loved the world and the things 
 that are in the world, and could not think of leaving 
 it. I feel differently now. I have no compunction 
 at leaving it — nay, I do not wish to revisit it, for I 
 might again fall a prey to its allurements. Neither 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 191 
 
 would I be afraid 'to die if I were only sure of going 
 to heaven — O I trust in God that I am going there!' 
 
 ' You are perfectly sure,' I rejoined, ' of going to 
 heaven if you go by Christ — he is the way, the truth, 
 and the life; and no man cometh unto the Father but 
 liy him.' 
 
 ' Well, then, all my confidence is in the free 
 righteousness of Christ.' 
 
 ' Then you are safe — you are siu'e of heaven Avhen 
 you die.' 
 
 ' Do you then think it possible for God to love one 
 who remembers so little of his holy word as I do V 
 
 ' God is willing and ready to pardon all sin ; and 
 not only so, but to love the true penitent. What is 
 this that he says, "I will be merciful to their 
 unrighteousnesses, and their sins and their iniquities 
 I will remember no more ;" and, " Though ye have 
 lien among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of 
 a dove covered with silver, and her feathers with 
 yellow gold." ' 
 
 There was one hopeful sign in her spiritual experi- 
 ences at this time, and onward to the hoiu' of death. 
 She was more easily drawn away from herself, and 
 made to rest on Christ. She tried to look unto him 
 and be saved, to behold the Lamb of God as slain fi:om 
 the foundation of the world for her, and to glory in his 
 righteousness, and in his only. Her views of that 
 ' righteousness ' were full and correct. She could 
 analyse its properties, and trace its connections with 
 
192 THE XIGHT LAMP. 
 
 her own legal and spiritual needs. Hence, when ques- 
 tioned concerning her obligations to the Saviour, she 
 did not confine her reply to his death on the cross, but 
 included also his life in the flesh. She saw distinctly 
 wdiat she, as a gmilty and undone sinner, had not done, 
 and could not do, and what he, as a substitute, had 
 done, and alone could do. She owned that Jesus 
 lived for sinners more than thirty years among men, 
 placed himself raider his own law as the rule of his 
 o^vn conduct, and obeyed it to the very letter, magni- 
 fying it, and making it honourable. This gi-eatly in- 
 creased her delight in him, because she felt her own 
 incapabihties for obeying that law, and yet knew that 
 she was as much bound as ever to keep it perfectly. 
 Thus, when she became conscious that the demands 
 of the law had never been met by her, she instantly 
 resorted by faith to the ohedience of the sinner's sui'ety, 
 and knew^ that this was an obedience which she might 
 offer in lieu of what she was bound to yield. She 
 gloried, therefore, in the life of Christ. But she 
 also gloried in his cross. Having sinned, she felt 
 that she was ' condemned already ;^ but Christ having 
 ' died, the just for the ruijust,' she was comforted with 
 the thought that the penalty due to her personal 
 transgressions was paid in his thus being 'obedient 
 unto death.' This life and this death of the Son of 
 God were the elements of that righteousness of Jesus 
 in which she affinned all her hopes were fomided. 
 Hence the delight she took in those passages of scrip- 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 193 
 
 ture which brought out the doctrine of the suitableness 
 of the atonement, and which connected its mysterious 
 efficacy with the sins of men. The fifty-third chapter 
 of Isaiah was to her, as it is to every well-ordered 
 mind, 'a lamp' and 'a light,' especially these verses : 
 ' Siu'ely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our 
 sorrows : yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of 
 God, and aflSicted. But he was wounded for our 
 transgressions ; he was bruised for our iniquities : the 
 chastisement of our peace was upon him ; and with 
 his stripes we are healed.' Similar enjoyment did 
 she now derive from Paul's sublime advocacy, in his 
 epistles to the Romans and Galatians, of the doctrine 
 of justification by faith alone, and not by the works of 
 the law. Her whole consolation, in short, as a sinner, 
 was obtained not only by confessing Christ, but by con- 
 tin n ally studying his personal character and work. He 
 became all her ' salvation, and all her desire.' Other 
 topics might occasionally be introduced ; the lives of 
 good men and pious females might be adverted to ; 
 the holy walk of the patriarchs might be described ; 
 but in the end she fell back upon Christ, to think 
 more about him, to become more intimately and per- 
 sonally acquainted "svith him, to be swallowed up of 
 love and admiration of him. And indeed this is the 
 tnie and siu*e way to know his preciousness, and to 
 feel the power of his redeeming love. * 
 
 ' It is a growing conviction in my mind,' to use the 
 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' chaps, v vj vii. 
 r 
 
194 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 beautiful language of Dr John Brown, that '-vatal 
 and influential Christianity consists much more than 
 is ordinarily apprehended in an intimate personal ac- 
 quaintance and friendship with our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 He is the great revealer of God; he is the revealed 
 divinity. The man knows the Father who knows the 
 Son — that man alone knows the Father. Christ him- 
 self is " the way, the truth, and the life ;" and it is 
 only in so far as we really know and love him, that 
 we are in " the way," or that " the truth'' and " the 
 life" are in us.'* 
 
 While thus engaged, a sore paroxysm of pain came 
 upon her, and she exclaimed Avith some force — 
 
 ' O God ! relieve me from this awful pain, if it be 
 thy -sAall ; if not, thy will be done.' 
 
 Having obtained some relief from suffering, she 
 resumed the conversation. She was much comforted 
 with the thought that her sufferings were not penal, 
 but paternal — that they were proofs of God's love, 
 not of his wrath — that they were only temporary — 
 and that they were of a purifying efficacy. I endea- 
 voured to show her that as God's children were not to 
 suffer any more after death, so it was proper that they 
 should fill up their due of correction here — that it is 
 probable that every sin, even though committed by the 
 redeemed of the Lord, has its appropriate pmiishment : 
 and that therefore here we ought to be content to bear 
 
 * ' Discourses and Sayings of our Lord Illustrated in a Series of Expo- 
 sitions.' By John Brown, D.D. 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 195 
 
 tlie rod. Far better to lead a life here of even miin- 
 ten'upted agony and have the ' rest ' of heaven at last, 
 than enjoy health, and wealth, and peace (the wicked's 
 peace) on earth, and the despair and torment of lost 
 souls for ever and ever. She said — 
 
 ' It is indeed infinitely better. O for the gi-ace of 
 patience !' 
 
 ' It is written, Agnes, for your encouragement, "My 
 grace is sufficient for thee ; for my strength is made 
 perfect in Aveakness." ' 
 
 'Lord, I believe ! help mine unbelief,' was her prayer. 
 
 After a considerable pause, her eye rested upon her 
 album, of which she had been very fond, and which 
 had withm it many pleasing reminiscences of early 
 loves. ' It will soon be another's now,' she said, and 
 turned away her look. Alany similar allusions to what 
 belonged to her of books or music, of ornaments or 
 jewelleiy, were very affecting. She caused them all 
 to be removed out of her sight with as much indiffer- 
 ence as if they had never been prized. After a little 
 she said — 
 
 ' O it is painful to me to think that you "vWll all 
 soon forget me !' 
 
 ' Never,' said one of her brothers. ' Impossible.' 
 
 ' Ah, but I know it ; 'tis just the way of this world.' 
 
 After assuring her that she should never be forgotten, 
 I asked her if she wished any farther sersdce before we 
 parted for the night, the hour being now late. 
 
 ' Yes, I should like you to perform family worship 
 
19fi THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ill my room ; and when you pray, be sure and make 
 me the subject of the greatest portion of your prayer : 
 it affords me matter for meditation during the long 
 nights, when you are all asleep. One thing I wish 
 you to ask for me, that I may love Jesus more — that 
 I may feel in my heart that I really do love him. I 
 wish to love him. O, I wish to cling to my Saviour- 
 Lord!' She said this in a most emphatic tone, and 
 clasped her hands together as she instantly added — 
 'Alas ! what a dead heart I have !' I rejoined — 
 
 ' True, once, not noio, Agnes. Has not God "made 
 your heart soft" by affliction, and by his grace? Has 
 he not been very kind to you in bringing yovir will 
 into holy acquiescence with his OAvm?' 
 
 ' God has indeed been very kind to me,' she 
 answered, ' in sending so many excellent ministers 
 \o visit me. 1 infer from this, that he does not mean 
 to cast me ofF.' 
 
 ' Surely not ; lie will be your God and guide even 
 unto death, and after death your exceeding great 
 reward.' 
 
 'May God grant it!' 
 
 ' When I think, my dear Agnes, of the many sor- 
 rows and trials of this weary pilgrimage, and contrast 
 them with the sublime glory and eternal beatitudes of 
 the heavenly Canaan, I wonder not at a good man of 
 old thus praying, "O that I had wings like a dove; for 
 then would I fly away, and be at rest ! I would hasten 
 my escape from the windy storm and tempest." ' 
 
THE KISE OF FAITK. 197 
 
 She pressed my hand, and with a sweet smile replied : 
 
 ' No wonder ; he might well so pray.' 
 
 Having gone through the ser\aces of family devo- 
 tion, I bade her ' good night ;' but what kind of night 
 she passed I did not learn, as it was necessaiy for me 
 to leave for Kincardine very early the next morning. 
 Thus, then, passed another interview — very different 
 indeed from all former ones. Her manner had under- 
 gone an entire change. There was about it something 
 so serious and imposing as almost commanded our 
 reverence. One remark is indispensable : she was 
 much more reserved in conversation with me. She 
 spoke comparatively little, and seemed to think that it 
 was her duty to keep silence and get instruction. To 
 my deep regret, this continued to the last. To her 
 brothers, in my absence, she w^as very comnuinicative ; 
 and often in their presence seemed to lose poAver of self- 
 control, giving A'ent to some of the most sublime and 
 impressive outbursts of adoring love and confidence. 
 Not one of these I was ever favoured to hear, and the 
 others were always so oveqjoAvered by them — yea, made 
 to stand in awe before her — that they could neither 
 take down her language, nor remember it afterwards. 
 Though she spoke but little this day to me, it was not 
 ditficult to perceive that she had begun a new^ work, 
 and that she was doing it 'with all her might' — the 
 work of preparation for eternity. Unquestionably, the 
 greatest part of her soul's communion was with God ; 
 and when silence was broken, it was to ask an explana- 
 
198 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 tion of some difficulty she had encountered in the 
 course of her cogitations. Boldly and intensely was 
 she now occupied in the study of what constitutes a 
 safe death ; and she suffered not one moment to be 
 lost which was allowed to her when relieved from pain. 
 This, indeed, was a remarkable feature in the dying 
 exercises of this young christian to her closing hours ; 
 and it is exactly what might have been expected from 
 her early training, her family and church associations, 
 her natural strength of mind, and her ardent tempera- 
 ment. It was perhaps better for her that I did not see 
 her dmnng this week, excepting the one day referred 
 to. On the former one, we had exhausted most of the 
 subjects appropriate to the dying, without the know- 
 ledge, or at least the certainty, on her part that such 
 was her condition. She, however, remembered it all ; 
 she ruminated it all by night and day ; and there is 
 every reason to conclude that during the present week, 
 with the conviction on her mind that she was soon to 
 die, the Spirit of God eminently blessed it all to her 
 soul. She herself unhesitatingly affirmed that she 
 came forth from the conflict a conv^ert to God. It 
 may, or it may not be so ; but beyond doubt it was 
 blessed to her in the way of strengthening her faith, 
 brightening her prospects, and estabhshing her trust 
 in Jesus Christ. 
 
 Was Agnes, then, noto pious? Was she indeed 
 born again ? and had she now received the Spirit of 
 adoption ? These questions must be answered in the 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 199 
 
 nffirmative. She herself never hesitated about dating 
 her conversion from this period. She considered tliat 
 all her former professions of Christianity had amounted 
 only to formalism. She would not plead guilty to 
 hypocrisy, as she never intended to deceive her fellow- 
 creatures ; but she accused herself of self-deception, 
 and of ha^'ing mistaken the mere knowledge of the 
 truth, and a friendly feeling towards it, for religion 
 itself — for the pure, spiritual, God-given principle of 
 vital faith. When reflecting on the dano;er she had 
 escaped, she was full of the praises of God, who had 
 arrested her in such a perilous career, and made the 
 furaace of affliction the birth-place of her soul. When 
 at any time it was suggested that she might be form- 
 ing rather an unjust estimate of her former state, she 
 at once, and with manifest seriousness, maintained 
 her position, that, whereas hitherto she had only had 
 a name to live, now she was, and never till now, con- 
 scious of having a life-interest in the blood and righte- 
 ousness of Jesus Christ. To her view, the world had 
 now a completely different aspect. Sin was now felt 
 to be an abominable thing, and it was hated ; and the 
 ' one thing needful' was laid hold of by her very heart 
 of hearts, and doated over and prized as a found trea- 
 sm'e, far more precious, she said, than health or wealth, 
 than ten thousand times ten thousand worlds. Above 
 all, Jesus Christ was to her now what he never 
 was before, precious as a Saviour from sin — not only 
 fi'om the curse and consequences, but from the pollu- 
 
200 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 tion and power of sin. To her he became the ' chief 
 among ten thousand and altogether lovely.' When- 
 ever his name was mentioned, her expression changed, 
 it may be from the repose of trust to the smile of rap- 
 turous joy ; and many, many were the truly beautiful 
 and even eloquent perorations in his praises with which 
 some of her heavenly passages were concluded. 
 
 It may, perhaps, be thought that this was rather 
 the development or maturity than the commencement 
 of piety in the soul of Agnes; that the change was too 
 gi'eat and sudden to have been of such recent produc- 
 tion ; and that the mere circumstance of her severe 
 and prolonged sufferings, connected with the fact that 
 the probability of their fatal termination had been 
 just announced to her, is sufficient to account for the 
 rapid growth of devout feeling and genuine faith in 
 her soul. This, however, cannot be the explanation. 
 Conversion is always sudden or instantaneous. It takes 
 place in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye. Sin- 
 ful man can only be in one of two states at the same 
 time. He cannot be both dead and alive, or both 
 under the law and mider grace. If he be under the 
 law he is ' condemned,' but if under grace, \justified.^ 
 At the moment of his conversion, whether it take 
 place in infancy, childhood, manhood, or old age, he 
 becomes a child of God. It is confessedly impossible 
 to conceive of restitution from death to life as being 
 the result of a slow process in Avhich death is not 
 actually recovered from, nor life actually restored. 
 
THE KISE OF FAITH. 201 
 
 Equally impossible is it to conceive of the soul's tran- 
 sition from spiritual deatli to spiritual life as of gra- 
 dual operation. It is just in this matter as it was in 
 the morning of creation. God has only to say, ' Let 
 there be light,' and there is light. The conversion of 
 Paul is an illustration of this. In the one moment he 
 was the malignant enemy of the cross and its follow- 
 ers, and, in the next, the most devoted and magnani- 
 mous friend and advocate of both. The thief upon 
 the cross is another ilkistration. But now he reviles 
 the dying Saviour, and, in another second, his happy 
 spirit speeds its way, as a grand trophy of Calvary's 
 victory, in company with the Conqueror himself, into 
 God's immediate presence. Such like, indeed, is the 
 nature of every conversion. The fruits thereof are 
 certainly not so quickly palpable, but the change itself 
 on the natrire of the sinner is equally instantaneous. 
 
 The idea that the change called ' conversion,' or ' the 
 new birth,' is too vast to be accomplished all at once, 
 seems to arise from confoundmg the work of sanctifi- 
 cation with the act of regeneration. The two thini>;s 
 are certainly inseparable, but at the same time dis- 
 tinct. The birth of an infant is one thing, its subse- 
 quent gro^^i:h of body and mind is another. The 
 Bible speaks of ' babes in Christ,' and of these babes 
 rising up to ' the stature of perfect men in him.' In 
 this view of the doctrine, we have a perfectly consis- 
 tent representation of what Agnes considered to have 
 
 been accomplished in her soul at this interesting 
 
 I 2 
 
202 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 period of her life ; and the rapid and glowing expan- 
 sion of spiritual sentiments and desires within her are 
 to be regarded as the sanctifying work of the Holy 
 Spirit. Every conversion is supernatural. The sons 
 of God are every one of them ' born not of blood, nor 
 of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of 
 God.'' This spiritual birth, however, may have less of 
 the appearance of its divine origin at one time than at 
 others ; when, for example, the life of piety is seen 
 gradually to grow out of the regular and habitual rise 
 of what are called ' the means of grace.' The conver- 
 sion of the Hottentot is more sm^prising than that of 
 the child of many prayers and much pious nurtiu'e 
 and admonition, though both are alike divine in their 
 cause. When the Spu'it of God, therefore, comes to 
 convert such a privileged person as Agnes had been, 
 we need not wonder that ^^^th all the divinely-ap- 
 pointed materials lying, so to speak, to his hand — such 
 as Christ in the truth — the intellectual appreciation of 
 Christ in the truth — the disposition to regard Christ 
 in the truth as the divine Saviour — and even the for- 
 mal acknowledgment of Christ in the truth as her 
 Lord and Mediator — materials, every one of which 
 may be in existence, though as yet the vital spark has 
 not fallen to vivify and organise them. In such a case, 
 we need not wonder if, almost immediately on her 
 having received the Holy Ghost, her sanctification 
 appears in a forward, and flouiishmg, and hopeful 
 condition. Everything was ready; nature, education. 
 
THE RISE OF FAITH. 203 
 
 the world, the Bible, and religious ordinances had all 
 done their utmost ; and by the time she was placed 
 in the furnace, she had all the appearance of a chris- 
 tian — the polished marble of the mere statue — all the 
 dead materials, in short, of the future temple whicli, 
 on the descent of the di^ane afflatus, was lighted up 
 with the beauties of holiness, and consecrated there- 
 after to the service and gloiy of her redeeming 
 Lord.* 
 
 ' Can aught beneath a power divine 
 
 The stubborn will subdue ? 
 'Tis thine, Eternal Spirit, thine 
 
 To form the heart anew. 
 
 ' 'Tis thine the passions to recall, 
 
 And upwards bid them rise, 
 And make the scales of error fall 
 
 From Reason's darkened eyes. 
 
 •' To chase the shades of death away, 
 
 And bid the sinner live ; 
 A beam of heaven — a vital ray— 
 
 'Tis thine alone to give.' 
 
 See ' The Hiding Place,' chaps, viii. ix. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 2EfjE fflrrflintlf ai (Srace. 
 
 ' Cheer up your souls ; 
 Calmness will lead to Hope, and Hope to Faith, 
 And Faith unto that awful happiness 
 That walks unquaking through the shades of death, 
 Triumphant over Nature's agony.' 
 
 John Wilson. 
 
 ' For a long time/ said Agnes to one of her brothers 
 on the forenoon of next day (Thursday, 5th July), 'T 
 could not look but with terror on the cold, cold grave, 
 far away from all I love. But now, through the rich 
 grace of God, I have few fears. I rejoice that my 
 doubts are dispelled, and that I am not tempted, as 
 many saints have been. Even my father had his dark 
 hour ; but he had a strong mind to bear him up, 
 whereas I have a weak understanding, and am too 
 great a sinner to have resisted long. Surely God has 
 been very mei'cifal to me. I should like to hear you 
 read again that h}ann on Faith. No, rather read 
 to me a chapter from the Word of God ; I fear I am 
 sinning in preferi'ing any book to the Bible, which is 
 the best of all books.' 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE. 205 
 
 While thus engaged, she was told that her aunt, 
 Mrs Captain Wardlaw, had arrived. She received 
 her with affectionate interest, and conversed fi-eely 
 with her upon the subject that was now uppermost in 
 her mind. Mrs Wardlaw told her that her son 
 John was with her, and asked if she had any objec- 
 tions to see him. She said, 'I have none. There 
 is no need for any delicacy in admitting young people 
 to see me now, when it is known that I am dying. 
 For a while after I first dreaded danger, I was anxious 
 to live and enjoy a little more of the world with you 
 all ; but I tremble now at the very idea of a return to 
 it. I desire to be resigned to the will of God ; but as 
 I have no confidence in my own resolution, and might 
 return to sinful courses, I would rather " depart, and 
 be with Christ, which is far better." ' 
 
 Excited and fatigued by this interview, she was left 
 to obtain some repose ; and when asked by a brother 
 in the evening if she had got any sleep, she replied — • 
 
 ' No ; no sleep now, George, without an opiate night 
 and day. I feel somewhat easier at present, but I 
 suffer much. May your death-bed be easier than 
 mine ! O that the Lord in his mercy would relieve 
 me fi'ora pain, for the few days I have to live ! Never- 
 theless I await his pleasure.' 
 
 She had been for some time in the habit of com- 
 mitting to memory every day a verse from the Bible 
 with her brother William, to whom she said : 
 
 ' As long as I am able, I will learn my daily verse 
 
206 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 with you ; but I fear that will not be long. O how I 
 now regret that I know so little of the contents of that 
 blessed book ! ' 
 
 It is assuredly in the view of eternity that the Bible, 
 as well as every other gracious privilege, is seen to 
 most advantage. However indifferently we may have 
 attended to its promises and its doctrines wdien in the 
 full enjoyment of healtli and hope, they seldom fail in 
 the end to receive from us then' merited estimation. 
 The soul which knows eternity to be near, finds no 
 security equal to that given by the word of the Lord. 
 After comfort from this divine source, it never fails 
 earnestly to inquu'e ; all other refuges are found to be 
 lies, and one promise fi'om the holy oracles has more 
 weight than all the worldly comforts which can be 
 offered. By neglecting to read this book, and to 
 furnish the mind with its pi-ecious instruction, many, 
 when they come to die, find themselves wandering, as 
 it were, without a guide. They are in darkness, and 
 they cannot find a lamp ; they are in the swellings of 
 conscience, but they have no oil wherewith to smooth 
 down those dark and stormy waters ; they are driven 
 to and fro upon a sea of doubts, but they have no pilot 
 to assist them in weathering the tempest, and bring 
 them into a haven of peace. To secm^e to ourselves 
 all the advantages of a correct and fiill acquaint- 
 ance with scripture, there is not a better plan than 
 that which Agnes adopted when she was dying, viz., 
 committing to memory every day one verse at least. 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE. 207 
 
 Some do this by taldng tlie verses in the order of 
 succession ; but it would be better to select passages 
 fraught with consolation, and which contain the 
 grounds of oui' hope tlu'ough Christ's blood. It would 
 be more profitable, for instance, to learn a promise of 
 scripture every day, than take the risk of the other, 
 which, we believe, is the American plan, but which 
 may not lodge in the memory more than one or two 
 seasonable and suitable passages for days, or even 
 weeks. If the christian shovdd live to old age, having 
 thus habituated himself from his youth, it is not 
 difficult to perceive that he shall become the possessor 
 of a mine of comfort which will render him not only 
 independent of the attentions of others, but which 
 will, in a great measure, supply the loss of external 
 sense, and of absence, through infirmity, from public 
 ordinances. 
 
 On the day after this (Friday, 6th July,) Agnes 
 suffered much from acute pain. This continued from 
 morning to evening. When she obtained a little 
 ease, she said to William, who was beside her : 
 
 ' How little have I thought of good things to-day ! 
 
 that God would quicken my soul to have more 
 delight in reflecting upon the love of Christ ! I fear 
 
 1 am indulging in too great security ; for if I were 
 really a child of God, I think I could not so often 
 forget him, nor so much repine under my sufferings.' 
 
 It was remarked to her, that she had great reason 
 for thankfulness that she continued quite sensible, 
 
208 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 when often on a bed of sickness the poor sufterer 
 could neither understand nor apply the offers of 
 mercy. She answered : 
 
 ' Yes ; and my mercies are so numerous that my 
 sin shall be the more aggravated, if I do not glorify 
 God for them.' 
 
 On Saturday, the 7th July, she was rather easier; 
 consequently a great part of the day was taken up 
 with religious exercises and conversations. Towards 
 evening, her mind became unusually elevated; her 
 conceptions of the glories of her Redeemer were grand, 
 and her manner of expressing herself exceedingly im- 
 pressive. Once or twice, her triumphant bursts took 
 them by surprise, and thrilled them with holy delight. 
 These passages, however, could not be taken down. 
 The following was the conclusion of one of them : — 
 ' When I go to heaven — as I now trust I shall — be 
 sure you all follow me ; and even though I should not 
 go, I hope you will ; but surely I too shall be there. It 
 is sinful in me any more to doubt of my salvation. O 
 my dear brothers ! I entreat you, be decidedly religious. 
 Choose ye this day whom ye shall serve. Boast not of 
 to-morrow, for you know not what a day may bring 
 forth ; and place no confidence in the work of a death- 
 bed repentance. AVliat if you be cut off without a 
 moment for preparation ! True, he hath not so dealt 
 with me. Here I have been born again. To John, 
 under God, I am indebted for my conversion. O how 
 my heart swells with gratitude to my Saviour for all 
 
THE GIIOWTH OF GRACE, 209 
 
 his mercies towards me, a sinner! What a blessed 
 Redeemer is mine ! How great is his beauty, and 
 how great is his goodness ! In him, and in him alone, 
 I have pat my trust ; and he is worthy of far more 
 confidence than I can give ; for he loved me, and gave 
 himself for me. What a religion — what a faith is the 
 christian's ! O Calvary — Calvary — wonderful Cal- 
 
 ary 
 
 t'* 
 
 Here her face was lighted up with a look of tri- 
 umph ; and as she observed them in tears around her 
 bed, she continued, ' Do not weep for me. You have 
 no reason whatever to weep for me. When I go to 
 heaven, shall I not be infinitely happier? Think of 
 the unsearchable riches of Christ, of which I shall then 
 be in full and rapturous possession ! Do not weep 
 for me.' 
 
 She had decided on committing to memory the 
 hymn on faith, and she asked her brother to read it 
 slowly over to her, verse by verse, for this purpose. 
 When this was done, she requested that he would 
 select and wi'ite out for her a few of the more appro- 
 priate texts of scripture, that he might be ready, at 
 any time of need, to repeat them at once in her hear- 
 ing ; ' for,' she said, ' the Word of God is quick and 
 powei*ful.' 
 
 The next day (Sabbath the 8th) she was again pri- 
 vileged with considerable relief from acute suffering. 
 
 * See * The Hidiug Place,' p. 125. 
 
210 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Slie enjoyed some pleasing conversation with lier 
 eldest brother, who had come to hear and see her. 
 Observing that he w^as grieving, she desired him to 
 read to her the hymn beginning — 
 
 ' Take comfort, cliristians, when your friends 
 In Jesus fall asleep ; 
 Their better being never ends, 
 Why then dejected weep ?' 
 
 And on his doing so, she said, 'Now, let us sing to- 
 gether the twenty-third Psalm.' When praise was 
 finished, she asked for writing materials, and wrote 
 down the whole of that psalm, as she complained that 
 some lines of it had escaped her memory. After doing 
 this, she delighted them all by immediately engag- 
 ing in prayer. To their surprise, they found she 
 was employing for this piu'pose the words of the 
 102nd Psalm, which she repeated fi'om beginning to 
 end with accuracy and with solemnising emphasis. 
 Wlien she had finished, she became silent and indis- 
 posed for conversation. In the evening she revived, 
 and again dwelt much upon her approaching depar- 
 ture from this world, and upon the felicities of the 
 new Jerusalem. A return of pain checked her in this 
 course, and, with considerable force of expression, she 
 exclaimed — 
 
 ' O, what a happy change fi'om this to heaven ! 
 This may be my last Sabbath on earth ; I may 
 spend the next with my Redeemer, with my father 
 and mother, and with the spirits of the just. O 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE. 211 
 
 blessed Jesus ! I believe— help mine unbelief! \Iy 
 hopes all rest on thy infinite worthiness ; not in mine 
 innocence I trust, but in Christ, in hiin alone. Christ 
 suffered for me, the just for the unjust; he has a 
 fellow feeling with me; he will — I know he will work 
 out ray salvation.'* 
 
 At her request, the fifty-first Psalm was again read, 
 and part of the hymn was sung, beginning — 
 
 ' The saints of God, from death set free, 
 "With joy shall mouut on high,' etc. 
 
 For the first time, this evening she manifested soine 
 anxiety to know hoAv long she was likely to live, and 
 was rather displeased when the question was evaded. 
 She tried various ways of ascertaining it, not only by 
 fi'equent inquiries at those in the house, but at others 
 who were admitted to see her. 
 
 ' Do tell me,' she said, as they were bidding her 
 good night, ' do you fear anything soon ? What do 
 the doctors think ? Do they fix a day, or two days, 
 or a week, or what ? — do tell me.' 
 
 ' We cannot tell ; you are in the hands of a kind 
 God.' 
 
 ' I know it, and am resigned ; but it would gratify 
 me if you w^oukl tell me.' 
 
 ' It may be soon, and, fi-om your weak conchtion, it 
 may be sooner than is anticipated.' 
 
 ' Well, be it so,' she replied, smiling. 'I thank my 
 
 * See 'The Hiding Place,' p. 127. 
 
212 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 God that he has not overwhehned me with fears. My 
 death-bed looked terrible at a distance; but on Christ 
 my hope is fixed ; hence my composui'e now.' Hav- 
 ing repeated one of her favom'ite hymns, her nurse 
 prepared her for the night. It pleased God to give 
 her some sleep, so that, on the following day (Monday, 
 9th,) she was somewhat easy, and improved it accord- 
 ingly. In the evening she was promised some parti- 
 cular quality of bread ' to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Do not speak of to-morrow,' was her reply. ' I 
 do not look so far forward — my time is very un- 
 certain. You do not know how soon we may have to 
 part. I used often to think, which of our family 
 would die first ; and I fancied, when there were six 
 brothers and but one sister, that surely the sister 
 would not be the first. I do not doubt, however, but 
 that God has wise and merciful purposes to serve by 
 it ; and I thank him for bringing me so soon and in 
 safety to my journey's end. Perhaps, ere another 
 Monday, this may be a dreary room to you all — here 
 I may be stretched out a cold corpse ; but you shall 
 only see my body — a piece of Hfeless clay. My soul 
 will have taken its happy flight — to — to— perhaps — I 
 hoj^e — to heaven ! What a change ! You weeping 
 here, and taldng farewell looks of me — I singing 
 yonder, and gazing upon the glorified Jesus !' 
 
 ' It shall indeed be sad to us, though joyfiil to you, 
 Agnes.' 
 
 'Yes; but you must be resigned. I can now think 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE, 213 
 
 of my death — of my funeral — of my grave, without, an 
 unpleasant feeling. What a number of brothers will 
 carry me to my grave ! I think I am highly honoured 
 in being the first among you to go to heaven. But 
 time is short, and I must not waste it; bring the Bible 
 and read to me from its precious pages : I need it all 
 to study for eternity.' 
 
 As they were reading, she cried out from pain, 
 ' Help me, William, O help me : I cannot do without 
 your help!' She quickly checked herself — 'But what 
 am I saying? it is God that afflicts me, and God alone 
 can help me.' 
 
 July 10, Tuesday. — Having concluded the ser- 
 vices peculiar to a sacramental occasion in Scotland, I 
 left Kincardine this morning for Edinburgh, and in a 
 tew hom's I was again at my place beside this beloved 
 sufferer. I had heard of her welfare during the inter- 
 val, and rejoiced to know of her increasing comfort in 
 the prospect of death; but I was particularly impressed 
 with the accounts of her occasional bursts of holy rap- 
 ture, and hoped to be favoured to hear one of them. 
 I have hinted that in this I was disappointed. I found 
 lier at this time in an exceedingly low condition, weaker 
 than I had ever seen her. She could scarcely whisper, 
 but she gave me her wonted welcome — a smile that 
 told enough. I bent towards her to catch her feeble 
 speech : — 
 
 ' I am very glad to see you again. I hope you got 
 comfortably through "s^nth the holy communion.' 
 
214 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' Yes/ I said; ' the Lord of the ordinance has been 
 very kind to me.' 
 
 ' And to me too,' she replied. 
 
 ' Though anxious about you, he was a ver)^ present 
 help.' 
 
 ' I was sure he would be that. Will you repeat to 
 me what you can remember of the comforting things 
 you said or heard at the Lord's table V 
 
 I then gave her an outline of the discourse I 
 preached before the communion, from these words : 
 ' The precious blood of Christ.' Great was her comfort, 
 from the views Avhich I now gave her of that wonder- 
 ful 'fountain.' As I spoke of the eternal Father, who 
 opened it up — of the eternal Son, out of whose heart 
 it flowed — of the eternal Spirit, Mdio applies its heal- 
 ing streams to sin-stricken souls — and of poor guilty 
 sinners, as the objects for whose purity it was provided, 
 her looks told how satisfied was her thirsty spirit. She 
 took special delight in talking over the precious j^i^o- 
 perties of this blood of atonement. She gloried in its 
 rarity — the most precious of metals not being so rare 
 — and its being found nowhere but in the Lord Jesus 
 Christ. She gloried in its intrinsic value, in this respect 
 infinitely surpassing mere gold or silver, or the precious 
 stones of the lapidaiy, which derive their importance 
 simply from their scarcity, and lose it when they be- 
 come plentiful. But the blood of Christ is not depen- 
 dent for its excellence upon its relative positions : 
 being divine and atoning blood, it is, and anust be, of 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE. 215 
 
 essential and infinite worth. She gloried in the Mgli 
 estimation in which it has been held by all competent 
 judges, from the patriarchs, prophets, and righteous 
 men of old, down to the apostles, martyi's, and con- 
 fessors of later periods ; yea, from the spirits before 
 the throne on high, and the angels, wdio join them 
 in ascribing worthiness to the Lamb who was slain, 
 lip to the great God himself, who, in consequence of 
 his shedding it, is now imploring the world to be 
 reconciled to him through '■ the blood of the testament 
 which God hath enjoined unto us.' And she gloried 
 in the gracious purjyoses which it accomplishes as pro- 
 pitiafory blood, securing the justification of the sinner; 
 as peace^maldng blood, spealdng ' better things than the 
 blood of Abel ; ' slaying the enmity between God 
 and man, and bi'inging nigh those who had been 
 ^ afar off: for it pleased the Father that in him 
 should all ftilness dwell ; and having made peace 
 through the blood of his cross, by him to reconcile all 
 things unto himself;' ^spurifying\Aoo(\, ^\\i\ch. 'purges 
 the conscience from dead works,' maldno; even the 
 most defiled spirit ' whiter than snow,' and an appro- 
 priate temple even for the Holy Ghost himself; and 
 as sealing blood, ratif^dng not only the covenant of the 
 olden times, but specially that of the new economy, 
 being, according to Paul, ' the blood of the testament,' 
 and according to Jesus himself, in the institution 
 of the Lord's Supper, the cup which is 'the new 
 testament in his blood shed for the remission of sins 
 
216 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 unto many.' From gospel streams like these she 
 imbibed not only great consolation, but great faith. 
 From gospel lamps like these the whole valley was 
 now almost in a perpetual blaze of light, and, with 
 the exception of a passing cloud now and then, so it 
 continued to be till she gave up the ghost. * 
 
 In the afternoon Ave had a pleasing subject of con- 
 A'ersation. Keverting to what had been my privilege 
 on the Sabbath, she remarked : 
 
 ' I am often grieved when I think of the length of 
 thne I delayed being a member of the church, of my 
 want of proper self-examination beforehand, and of 
 my spiritual deadness when I first sat down at oiu- 
 Lord's table. O how weak, how very weak was 
 my love to Christ then ! But I just comfort myself 
 with this thought, that he has forgotten the past, 
 and that though I cannot love him aright in this 
 frail tabernacle, I will be enabled to love him even 
 according to his ov.n pleasure after I am dead.' 
 
 ' It is indeed glorious to think of our being made 
 perfect then — perfect in happiness — perfect in know- 
 ledge — perfect in holiness ! What gTand company, 
 too, we shall have ! You shall soon be with Abraham, 
 Isaac, and Jacob.' 
 
 ' Yes, John,' she said, interrupting me, ' and with 
 Christ ! with Christ ! ' 
 
 ' Should not the prospect of such felicity I'econcile 
 us to all the ills of life ? ' 
 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' pp. 232-237. 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE. 217 
 
 ' It should,' she replied. ' I feel sm-e that heaven 
 will be all the glorious and happy place God's word 
 promises. It is true we laiow little about it; "for 
 eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered 
 into the heart of man the things which God hath 
 prepared for them that love him ; but wdiat we know 
 not now we shall know hereafter." ' 
 
 As she partook of some food, I said that ' in heaven 
 we shall, in all probability, be freed from the craving 
 of these appetites.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' there we shall " hunger no more, 
 neither thirst any more." ' 
 
 ' One finds it difficult,' I remarked, ' to realise for 
 one's self the actual possession of such blessedness. 
 It is reported, that, when an old disciple of the cross 
 was dying, he thus expressed himself: — "When I go 
 to heaven — if I ever reach it — there are three things 
 which will make me wonder: first, to find many there 
 whom I did not expect to see ; second, to find some 
 absent whom I did expect to see ; but the third and 
 last wonder of all shall be, to find myself there — me 
 there — 7ne there ! " ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said ; ' but worthy is the Lamb who 
 was slain to receive all the honour and the praise ; 
 and when we get there, it will be because he is there 
 as our forerunner and representative.' 
 
 Having put the quill into her mouth, from which 
 she sucked up some wine and water, I called her 
 attention to that remarkable passage in the life of 
 
218 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Jesus, when he cried out, 'I thirst!' and was only 
 mocked with the oiFer of gall and vinegar. Her eye 
 immediately gathered up its former fire and expres- 
 sion ; she allowed the spoon to drop from her hand, 
 and, closing it firmly, she raised it up as in defiance, 
 and with ereat feehng exclaimed — 
 
 ' Wonderful ! O how wonderful ! And this was 
 the Son of God — the Lord of angels — the King of 
 kings — the Creator, who was so insulted, and who 
 could have crushed these his enemies with a look ! ' 
 
 I now" told her the following anecdote in connection 
 with this subject : — Not many years ago, on a parti- 
 cular occasion, the Lord's Supper was dispensed in 
 the church of Bridge-of-Teith, when the venerable 
 father of the present Dr Fletcher of London was its 
 pastor. To accommodate the multitudes who flocked 
 thither at such times, a field-tent had been erected in 
 the park behind the chm'ch, which was successively 
 occupied during the Sabbath by the different minis- 
 ters who were present at the commmiion. It was a 
 beautiful summer afternoon. The sun was unclouded, 
 and the heat was intense. The river Teith rolled past 
 in all its Highland grandem', dashing against the old 
 arches of the romantic bridge which gives its name 
 to the locality, and which formed, along with the 
 stately trees on its banks, shelter from the sun's rays 
 to many of the congregation assembled there to hear 
 the gospel. There was an unusual stir at one period 
 of the day, and the people were seen rushing to the 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE, 219 
 
 tent. A favoui'ite preacher had ascended. He read 
 out liis text — 'After this, Jesus knowing that all 
 things were now accomplished, that the scripture 
 might be ftilfilled, saith, / thirst.^ From this, among 
 many other pathetic allusions to the sufferings of the 
 Son of Mary, the preacher took occasion to speak of 
 the exquisite pain occasioned by thii'st, and then gave 
 a touching description of om* blessed Savioiu''s suffer- 
 ings from it on the cross. Not a sound was heard, save 
 the gurgling of the Teith, and occasionally the notes 
 of the birds on surrounding branches. The audience 
 was profoundly still, and every eye was fixed on the 
 tent, when, in the midst of this melting passage, the 
 commanding figure of the minister was seen to turn 
 round, and with these words he addressed the flowing 
 stream : ' Wliere, where were then thy waters, O 
 Teith, when the Lord of Nature, who bade thee flow, 
 could not obtain so much as one drop to cool his 
 parched tongue? Wonder, O ye heavens, and be 
 amazed, O earth — thy Creator exclaims, "I thirst!"' 
 Agnes was much affected by this simple story, and 
 became more so when she Avas told that the preacher 
 on the occasion was her own father. Though gene- 
 rally fastidious enough in her estimate of the pulpit 
 style of oratory, she considered the appeal in this 
 apostrophe to be exceedingly fine, and in the circum- 
 stances both natural and proper. She now, for the 
 first time since her illness, alluded to the happiness 
 she had expected from residing with me in the manse 
 
220 THE ^^IGHT LAMP. 
 
 at Kincardine. She said—-' We mioht have been 
 very happy. I used often to fancy us two sitting 
 together diu'ing the winter nights at the parlour fire, 
 or walldng by the shores of the Forth, or among the 
 beautiful terraces of Tulliallan Castle, and tlie noble 
 trees of its forest ; and sometimes I figured our going 
 down to the pier on a Saturday afternoon, to greet 
 William, or some of the others, on their an'ival b}' 
 the steamer from Edinbui'gh. Ah ! little did I think 
 that such happiness was never to be mine. My 
 prospects, indeed, in the world were never bright, but 
 in these anticipations I was indeed happy. God, I 
 believe, is doing all this for the best. Pie is taldng 
 me away from such sin and misery ; and now I have 
 glorious prospects of living in " the house not made 
 with hands, eternal in the heavens." I do not wish to 
 go back to the world to encounter Satan, who is an 
 a^^'ful enemy, a roaring lion. At the same time, I am 
 resigned— « Thy will, O God, be done!"' 
 
 She here told me of the kind visits she occasionally 
 received fi'om her own and her father's fi'iends, the 
 Eev. Dr James Peddie, and the Rev. Dr John Brown, 
 who had manifested the most affectionate concern for 
 her ever since she had been laid down in the chamber 
 of affliction, and continued to do so while she lived. 
 Each visit drew from her, on their departm'e, the 
 most sincere and meek expressions of thankfulness, 
 not only to them, but to the Lord, who sent them to 
 be her comforters. She had also that forenoon re- 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE. 221 
 
 ceived a second Adsit from Dr Halley. In giving an 
 account of tlii.s interview with her, he says — 
 
 * Mr Arnot came down on Sabbath evening, and tokl 
 me that your sister was anxious to see me again. My 
 own anxiety was equally great ; for I can assure j^ou 
 I had reaped much experience, and derived much 
 sincere pleasure, from my former visit. Of my second 
 visit I may also say that it was profitable to us both. 
 When I w^as leaving her she called me back, took my 
 hand in hers, ^^'hile her eye filled with tears, and 
 said — "I think, Mr Halley, we two may say, as did 
 the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration, It has 
 been good for us to be here." She had slept better 
 than usual during the preceding night, and was there- 
 fore able to converse with me more fluently. Her 
 frame of mind w^as evidently greatly better, and she 
 talked of the support she received from the conso- 
 lations of the gospel, and of her assurance of an in- 
 terest in Christ, in a manner which gi'eatly delighted 
 me. We had no time and no occasion for questions 
 and answers at this interview ; for the conversation 
 flowed on in that delightful manner, unchecked and 
 unembarrassed, that each of us supplied what we 
 thought defective m the illustrations of the other. 
 The chief part of it was occupied with heaven. We 
 talked (and the idea seemed powerfully to strike her) 
 of the surprise that a disembodied spmt must feel 
 when released from this thin partition of clay, and 
 
222 TliE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 when the secrets of the invisible world are then dis- 
 closed. We spoke of the knowledge to Avhich glorified 
 beings should attain — of the stainless purity that shall 
 belong to their souls when every impulse of the opera- 
 tions of sense shall be subdued, and when every inter- 
 nal conflict shall be terminated for ever. We talked 
 of the happy reunion of the followers of Christ in 
 another world, and here I alluded to her grandfather, 
 her mother, and father. This tasked her sensibility 
 too much ; her eyes swam with tears. I apologised for 
 alluding to it, when she immediately said — " O no, 
 don't think it is that which pains me ; it is the fact 
 that my father offered up so many prayers for us all, 
 that we might at last be brought to heaven ; and I 
 hope he shall soon find that his prayers have been 
 answered in my experience." 
 
 '■ She spake of the great benefit she had denved 
 from you, and attributed her conversion to your exer- 
 tions, under the blessing of Heaven. She said it must 
 no doubt be very pleasing for you to know this, and 
 she desired me to tell you. The subject with which 
 our conversation terminated on my former visit was 
 then resumed. Having pointed out to her that Christ 
 by his death had delivered his people from the con- 
 demning power of the law, and purchased for them 
 mansions m heaven, she remarked — "I thuik I can 
 say. Thanks be to God, that gave us the victory 
 through our Lord Jesus Chiist." She told me of the 
 consolation she had recently enjoyed in prayer, and 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE. 223 
 
 said — "Thougli my outAvard man failetli, my inward 
 man is renewed day by day." She also remarked — 
 " How base and uno;rateful is the conduct of those who 
 try to set aside the truths of rehgion ! What shoukl 1 
 have been now, liad I wanted these to cheer and 
 comfort me ?" 
 
 'But, my dear Sir, it woukl be vain, because 
 impossible, to give you an account of all our conver- 
 sation at this visit. One topic followed another so 
 spontaneously, and the pleasiu*e wdiich each of us felt 
 AA'as so great, that after I had gone, I found the utmost 
 difficulty in tasking my memory to many of the }iarti- 
 cular subjects in which we were engaged. I prayed 
 with her, and promised to call on the follo\ving 
 week.' 
 
 Dr Halley alludes in his interesting narrative to a 
 circumstance in the history of this death-bed which to 
 tlie writer is unusually interesting — the conversion of 
 Agnes. On this same evenino; she herself introduced 
 it. I had given to her to read an old edition of tlie 
 works of Wilhson of Dundee, author of ' The Afflicted 
 Man's Companion.' Next to her Bible, she prized this 
 quaint but precious \mter. Much rich consolation 
 did she receive from his heavenly mind. At this 
 time I took up the volimie, and at her request read a 
 portion of it. On laying it down, it occurred to me 
 to ask her if my own effijrts to comfort and guide her 
 mind had been useful to her during her illness. She 
 
224 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 looked at me for a moment or two, and, with great 
 earnestness in her manner, said — 
 
 ' Yes ; you have been the foundation, the begin- 
 ning — you have been the means, under God, of 
 bringing me to Cluist — to heaven. O John, what a 
 blessed thing it must be for you to have saved one 
 soul fi'om death ! ' The subject was not prolonged, 
 and I have no other remark to make upon it than 
 this — // it he so, ' not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, 
 but unto thy name be all the glory.' 
 
 Agnes spoke a good deal about the kind Mends who 
 occasionally \dsited her. She was truly a grateful 
 creature. To Mrs Arnot especially, a lady who acted 
 towards her a mother's part during the time of her 
 illness, she cherished all the affection of a daughter ; 
 and many a blessing upon her and her family did she 
 earnestly implore. She was also much cheered and 
 strengthened by the visits of a young female friend, 
 now the estimable lady of the Rev. Mr Cunningham 
 of the Free Chm'ch of Blair-Lodge, who with the 
 most delicate fidelity helped to guide her on the way 
 to heaven. There is therefore a propriety in now 
 inserting Mi's Cmmingham's own impressions of 
 Agnes' dying experience at this stage of her trying 
 ordeal. She thus writes : — 
 
 ' Dming the first two visits I paid your truly in- 
 teresting sister, after Miss Abercrombie told me of her 
 state, I endeavom-ed to speak to her of the need of a 
 
THE GROWTH CF GRACE. 225 
 
 Saviour, aiid of the loud voice tliere was in all sickness 
 and soiTOw, calling upon vis to bow unto God, and to 
 seek for a physician both for soul and body. She 
 seemed to assent but coldly, and got much more ani- 
 mated when we tallied of other things. For ten days 
 or so after this she became much worse, and unable to 
 see me. When I was admitted next, I saw that she 
 looked much more feeble ; but I can never forget the 
 delight I felt, after a little conversation, to see the 
 change that had taken place in her mind. She asked 
 her nurse to go out, as she wished to have a little 
 private conversation with me. She then told me that 
 she had o])ened her mind to you in a way that she 
 had never done before, and that you had given her 
 some sweet text to comfort her in every difficulty. 
 She was afi'aid that you were too comforting to such 
 a sinner as she was. I said, " We need not fear to 
 trust in comforts that come from the Word of God." 
 She replied, " I know that ; but still I have heard of 
 many righteous people who had much fears about 
 theu' souls, so that I wonder at my own peace." 
 
 'I wished to know if she now thought she was 
 dyuig, and said, after being so often disappointed in 
 seeing her, I feared she was even worse, and that I 
 might never have seen her again. She said, " God 
 only knows what shall be the end of this ; but I now 
 think I am dying. Once it appeared very tenible 
 to me to be laid in the lonesome grave — to have 
 
 done with this world, and be parted from my dear 
 k2 
 
226 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 brothers and fi'ieiicls ; but now, that thought never 
 troubles me — it is only tliis, What Avill become of my 
 souir' 
 
 ' She said she sometimes felt afi'aid that she might 
 be deceiving herself, and not truly belie\dng in Christ. 
 I said she might try herself in one wa}^ — if Christ 
 were precious to her, for " to them that believe he is 
 precious ;" but many thought they believed in him 
 who never felt his value. She said, " I fear I do not 
 love him as I ought." I asked her if she would give 
 up the hope she had in Christ for the promise of long 
 life, health, and prosperity. Slie gave me one of her 
 sweet, animated smiles, and said, " O no ! Small as 
 my hold is, I would not give it up for the whole world. 
 I feel my heart so deceitful, I would be afraid to 
 return to the world ; I might be dra^\"n away to vanity 
 and forgetfuhiess of God. I think God has shown 
 great mercy to me in laying me on a bed of sickness, 
 and callmg my mind to religion now ; for if I had 
 lived to grow old in the careless state in which once I 
 was, my heart must have grown so bad, that it might 
 never have been changed." She added, " When I 
 hear people tallv of a new heart, and being born again, 
 I fear there is not such a change in me as they des- 
 cribe." I advised her to examine if she felt any differ- 
 ence in her feelings with regard to God's word and 
 his people. She said, " I feel a very great diflFerence. 
 TiU very lately, I did not care about seeing and con- 
 versing with ministers ; now, I count it my greatest 
 
THE GROWTH OF GRACE. , 227 
 
 delight, and I do not wish to have intercourse with 
 those who do not speak to me of heavenly things." 
 She ahvays AAdshed that we should unite in prayer 
 before we parted, and generally she asked nie earnestly 
 to remember her at a throne of grace at home, and 
 gave me some texts of scripture to think on after I left 
 her. 1 only remember two of them : " The effectual 
 fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much ; " 
 and, " This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all 
 acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to 
 save sinners, even the chief." She had a verse always 
 ready to give me when she knew I was coming. She 
 gradually became more frank, and spoke to me freely 
 of the change she was looking for, and I may say 
 hastening to. She only feared that she might wish 
 for death too much in order to be relieved from suffer- 
 ing ; and her desii'e was to \Adsli for it only that she 
 might be with Jesus, who had shown so much love, 
 and suffered so much for her. It gave her great 
 pleasm-e to think that her father and mother had 
 been pious, and what a happy thing it would be for 
 a family to meet in heaven. At times, her bodily 
 sufferings were so great that she could scarcely speak, 
 but she seemed in the time of her adversity to con- 
 sider her mercies ; for she used often to say, " O, what 
 would have been my state but for religion ; and what 
 a mercy it is I have the use of my reason, and such 
 kind brothers, and an attentive, good nm-se ! " Her 
 patience was really very beautiful, and the interest 
 
228 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 she expressed for the spiritual welfare of her school- 
 fellows, showed how much she valued the soul. She 
 used to say, "What shall all this education 
 
 PROFIT them on a DYING BED WITHOUT ChRIST ? 
 I WISH I HAD SPENT THE DAYS OF MY HEALTH IN 
 HIS SERVICE — IT SEEMS TO ME SO SHOCKING TO 
 GIVE ONLY A TIME OF SICKNESS TO SO KIND AND 
 
 GOOD A Saviour." 
 
 ' One day when she was veiy uneasy, she desired 
 me to pray that the pains of her body might not take 
 her mind off heavenly things, for she felt distressed 
 that anything should come between her and her God. 
 She hoped it would please God to give me an easier 
 death-bed, if it was for my good ; but she was sure 
 God did not send her one lumecessary pain, and she 
 had now nothing to do but to look straight into 
 heaven ; and she trusted that Christ would cany her 
 safely through the last trial. 
 
 ' The last time but one that I saw her, she asked 
 me if I thought she appeared to be near death. I 
 said I thought she did. She then asked me, did I 
 think it might be in two days. I said it seemed to 
 me as if it would be so, but that I had had little 
 experience in seeing sick people. She then said in a 
 most lively manner, " O IMiss Jeffrey, you have 
 indeed given me a ray of comfort this evening !" ' * 
 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' chap. x. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 9E1^e JFrutts of Peace. 
 
 ' Though afflicted, tempest-tost, 
 
 Comfortless awhile thou art ; 
 Do not think thou canst be lost ; 
 
 Thou art graven en my heart ! 
 All thy wastes I will repair ; 
 
 Thou shalt be rebuilt anew ; 
 And in thee it shall appear 
 
 What a God of Love can do.' 
 
 We were reading this afternoon (Wednesday, lltli 
 July,) out of Willison's ' Meditations for Dying 
 Persons,' which, after the Bible, was ever her 
 favourite book. She said : 
 
 ' There is a fine thought in the passage you have 
 read.' 
 
 ' Which passage do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' This one : " O that the night of my death may 
 shine bright with the sparkling stars of heavenly 
 graces ! " I pray that it may be so with me.' 
 
 ' In the darkness of your night of death, I do think 
 some such lights have appeared,' was my reply. 
 
 She quietly shook her head, and said : 
 
230 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' I should like you to pray witli me now.' Having 
 done so, she remarked — ' That is a fine prayer ; you 
 have remembered everything.' 
 
 ' The Saviour has promised,' I replied, ' to send to 
 us the Spirit to teach us all things, and to bring all 
 things to our remembrance.' 
 
 'Hence,' she added, 'I discover that I have 
 many things to pray for, of which till now I never 
 thought.' 
 
 'This is our consolation, Agnes, that our Father 
 knoweth what things we have need of even before we 
 ask him.' 
 
 ' O what a book is this Bible ! ' she exclaimed : 
 ' " Thy testimonies are wonderful ; therefore doth my 
 soul keep them. The entrance of thy words giveth 
 hght.'" 
 
 After a pause : ' Can this be death ; and I am so 
 calm and composed ? Can I be humble enough ; am 
 I grieved enough for my sins — my ingratitude ? ' 
 
 ' You need not wonder if the mighty power of God 
 divest death of its terrors. It should rather be won- 
 derful if, trusting in his grace, you fomid it to be 
 otherwise. Has he not said, " As thy days, so shall 
 thy strength be T " 
 
 ' O tell me, am I not sinning in being thus able 
 to speak of death and realise eternity without trem- 
 bling?' 
 
 ' No, no,' I rephed, alai*med at this indication of the 
 returning clouds ; ' the reverse would be sinful. God 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 231 
 
 is with you, and how can it be otherwise ? He has 
 commanded, " Fear not,'' and you have obeyed ; is 
 tliere sin in obeying God 1 Be firm, hold fast your 
 confidence — resist the devil: you are built upon the 
 Rock of Ages, against which the gates of hell cannot 
 prevail.' 
 
 ' O my God,' she cried, ' be with me when death 
 actually comes !' 
 
 The 'Nlghf was now getting darker, and fearing 
 lest we should stumble, I took up the Bible. 
 
 ' Hear,' I said, ' the answer to your prayer : " When 
 thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee ; 
 and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee. 
 When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not 
 be burned, neither shall the flames kindle upon thee ; 
 for I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel, 
 thy Saviom-." ' * 
 
 She looked more confident, and bade me proceed. 
 I asked, ' What shall I say more V 
 
 ' Speak to me about Christ,' she answered ; ' about 
 Christ, and his willingness to save.' 
 
 After I had done so for some time, I again asked, 
 ' What shall I speak about now V 
 
 She became thoughtful, seemed to be somewhat 
 perplexed, and then replied : 
 
 ' There are so many topics that I relish, I do not 
 know which to select.' 
 
 She thought again and again, and at length, as 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' chap. xvi. 
 
232 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 if relieved, she replied — 'Just about Christ still, and 
 about the power of his blood to save. That blood can 
 save : I hope it has saved me.' 
 
 I spoke about Christ, about the glories of his 
 person, the sweetness of his love, and the efficacy of 
 his gi'ace ; and as I spoke, the clouds disappeared. 
 
 ' I am now prepared to hear you tell me when it is 
 thought I shall die. Is this to be lingering, or am I 
 to die soon?' was her next question. 
 
 'I once read,' I answered, 'of a good ^voman, who, 
 when asked whether she preferred to live or die, 
 replied, "I have no choice in this matter, but refer 
 myself to the will of God." It was rejoined to her. 
 If God refer it to yourself, which would you prefer ? 
 " If God were to refer it to me," said she, " I would 
 just refer it back again to him." ' 
 
 ' Well, John, did I not say, '' Tlie will of the Lord 
 be doner" 
 
 She then requested me to draw a little nearer to 
 her, as she had something to say which she wished 
 me alone to hear. She whispered : 
 
 'I have been thinking of my burial, and of the 
 place where you may lay me; and have formed a 
 wish upon the subject.' 
 
 ' If practicable, your wish shall be attended to.' 
 
 ' Then take my body over to Dunfermline, and let 
 me be buried in the Abbey churchyard, beside my 
 father and mother.' 
 
 I made the promise, and she seemed much pleased. 
 
TrfE FRUITS OF PEACE. 233 
 
 and then suggested that it was time to have family 
 prayers. ' That you may pray longer,' she said, '•sing 
 fewer verses.^ I said, ' God is worthy of much 
 praise.' She made no reply. We sung two verses of 
 a hymn. When 1 was about to shut the book, she 
 signified to me that I was to proceed. We sung 
 another, and I again was closing the book, when 
 agam she signified to me to go on, and a fourth was 
 sung. Thus my remark had impressed her. After 
 prayer, she again began to mourn over her sins, and 
 to express her fears about the genuineness of her 
 repentance. An exposition of Isaiah i. 18 restored 
 her peace. 
 
 ' 'Tis a sweet verse indeed,' she said, ' and I will 
 tiy and hold by it. When I am gone, some in 
 the world will say, " Poor girl ! what a pity it is that 
 she should have been so soon cut off — so young and 
 so happy !" Poor girl, indeed ! I joy and rejoice 
 in the prospect; to me it is now matter of daily 
 praise.' 
 
 Thus it will be seen that during this day she M'as 
 much exercised in godly jealousy, and not a little 
 inclined to despond ; but, by the grace of God, she 
 revived. 
 
 July 12, Thursday. — Agnes had changed the 
 position this evening in which for some days she had 
 lain. I found her consequently in great distress. The 
 tears were streammg down her cheeks fi-om pain, and 
 deep and long were her meanings. 
 
234 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' This is awful suffering/ slie said, as she observed 
 me at her bedside. 
 
 ' " This is the will of God in Christ concerning you, 
 even your sanctification," ' I replied. 
 
 ' It is even so,' said she, trying to smile. 
 
 An opiate partially relieved her, and, as usual, we 
 improved the opportunity by reading portions of the 
 scripture, and engaging in prayer. Immediately 
 after, I heard her feelingly repeating to herself these 
 beautiful lines : — 
 
 ' Father, whate'er of earthly bliss _, 
 
 Thy sovereign will denies, 
 Accepted at a throne of grace 
 Let this petition rise : — 
 
 ' Give me a calm and thankful heart, 
 From every murmur free ; 
 The blessings of thy grace impart, 
 And let me Hve to thee. 
 
 ' Let the sweet hope that thou art mine 
 My life and death attend ; 
 Thy presence through my journey shino. 
 And crown my journey's end.' 
 
 This was one of those hymns which, as a form of 
 prayer, she oft employed. Many, many times 
 were these sweet but simple verses repeated by her 
 during the silent hours of suffering and solitary nights, 
 when she was alone with the Father. Her condition 
 at this time was so pitiful, that I could not but admire 
 the di^dne grace which disposed this meek and patient 
 creature thus to address her God, whose rod was 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 235 
 
 lying so weightily upon his child. Such were her 
 sufferings throughout this day, that no fiu'ther oppor- 
 tunity was afforded for conversation. 'Pray for 
 nie/ she said, as I left her ; ' that, in the midst of 
 l)ai*oxysms of pain, I may not forget resignation to 
 God. I sometimes do ; but wlien a moment of ease 
 comes, I ask his pardon, and give thanks.' 
 
 July 13, Friday. — To our deep regret, she was 
 again this afternoon, after another sleepless night, 
 under the cloud. Earnestly did I pray that she might 
 be ' held up,' and not permitted to wander into ' slip- 
 pery places.' 
 
 ' O my dear brother,' she said, when she saw me, 
 ' I hope I'll get to heaven !' 
 
 ' All do get there who die " in Christ Jesus." ' 
 
 'But what am I? — a forgetful, negligent, dead 
 creature.' 
 
 ' God,' I rephed, ' does not judge us harshly as we 
 do ourselves. I believe that there shall be wonderful 
 discoveries, at the last day, of some on th^ right hand 
 who doomed themselves to the left, and of some on the 
 left who expected the right.' 
 
 ' But I am so cold often, and so useless.' 
 
 ' You are doing your Father great injustice. He 
 does not look for the same amount of active service 
 ti'om the afflicted that he does from the sound in 
 health and mind. Consider an earthly parent ; he 
 does not reqmre the same attentions from his sickly 
 as fi'om his romping child.' 
 
236 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' It is all very true ; but still I feel that I am very 
 ungrateful.' 
 
 'Do you not love Jesus?' 'I hope I do,' she 
 replied, 'but not as I ought. I will tell you what 
 I do : I implore him to draw me closer to himself, 
 for I cannot cling to him, I am so weak.' 
 
 ' What does he say ? ''I love them that love me." 
 Do you believe that?' 
 
 'True; but what is also said? "If any man love 
 not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema 
 Maran-atha." We are not at liberty to disregard the 
 Bible tlu'eatenings any more than the Bible promises : 
 and terrible are its threatenings. O, they make me 
 tremble!' 
 
 Away and away did I now carry her from promise 
 to promise; and, as their brilliant coruscations fell 
 athw^art her path, her soul again magnified the Word 
 of God. But she was exhausted with the exercise, 
 and I offered to leave her alone. She called after me 
 in a most imploring manner — 
 
 'Do not leave me. The soul should be the first 
 concern. Be with me much to-day. Pray that Jesus 
 may be with me in death, and that, when I at last 
 enter upon the dark waters of Jordan^ he will take me 
 up in his arms and carry me safely through. Oh, I 
 never thought a death-bed should be like this ! But 
 neither did I know that to me it should have had so 
 few terrors ! ' 
 
 'And what has dissipated its teiTors?' 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 237 
 
 ' The Bible, and faith in its doctrines — Christ and 
 his cross — yes, Christ has done it — none and nothing 
 but Christ.' 
 
 ' Wlien yon think of yoiu- past Hfe and all its vani- 
 ties, of God, and your forgetfnlness of him, are you 
 still grieved ? ' 
 
 < My greatest grief .is that I grieve so little.' 
 
 ' And what is your greatest joy f ' 
 
 ' That " a broken and a contrite heart God will not 
 despise." ' 
 
 July 14, Saturday It w^as occasionally a pain- 
 ful and difficult duty to get her mind to rest upon this 
 good hope — that she was certain to enjoy the divine 
 presence to the end, and to be admitted into heaven at 
 the end of her pilgrimage. As far as can be remem- 
 bered, it might be about this time that she fell into a 
 somewhat desponding state. I remarked it, and she 
 admitted it. I asked her to tell me, if she conld, why 
 she should thus let go her confidence. She replied : 
 ^ I would rather be helped to rise again to the sense 
 of former joys.' 
 
 ' What,' I inquired, ' are your fears 1 ' 
 
 ' Chiefly,' she answered, ' that, after all, / may not 
 he believing. I wish I conld persuade myself that I 
 actually have that faith which is inseparable fi'om 
 eternal life.' 
 
 ' I have often endeavoured,' was my reply, ' to 
 satisfy you on that point, and I mil do so now. 1 
 think it is not at all improbable that a text or two of 
 
238 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 the Word of God will completely serve the purpose. 
 His word " is quick and powerful," — the entrance of 
 his word "gives light," — hitherto it has indeed been 
 " a lamp to your feet."' 
 
 ' It has ; but I mourn sometimes over light that has 
 gone out, and joys that have left me.' 
 
 ' Do you wish me at present to raise an argument 
 with you out of scripture, to prove that you are a 
 believer ? ' 
 
 ' I do, most anxiously,' was her reply. 
 
 ' Well, will you promise to take the comfort out of 
 it?' 
 
 ' Certainly, if I can ; and his grace is sufficient.' 
 
 ' Do you think,' I asked, ' that if the heart feels 
 Christ to be truly valuable — to be an inestimably 
 rich treasure — that it can be an unbelieving heart 1 ' 
 
 ' One may have vague ideas,' she replied, ' about 
 Christ's work, and yet not be savingly interested in 
 his righteousness.' 
 
 ' This is true,' was my answer ; ' but do you think 
 that the Saviour can be so highly prized as you prize 
 him, unless there be some spintual vision of his beauty, 
 and spiritual experience of his worth ? ' 
 
 ' That is just the very thing which I should like to 
 have proved to me,' she answered. 
 
 'Here, then, is the proof, in the first epistle of 
 Peter, second chapter and seventh verse : " Unto you, 
 therefore, ivho believe he is preciousJ^ If this text 
 mean anything at all, it means that all who are 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. ' 230 
 
 conscious to themselves that Christ is precious, are 
 believing ; and that none beheve who do not esteem 
 him as such. Is Christ, then, precious to your soul V 
 
 ' He certainly is ; I am lost without him.' 
 
 ' If, then, he be thus precious to you, you must 
 l:ave faith. Would you, for any consideration what- 
 ever, consent to forsake the Saviour, and cast away 
 all your confidence in him — would you renounce his 
 cross for worlds ? ' 
 
 ' No, no,' she said ; ' not for the universe.' 
 
 * I think, then, that you are complimenting poor 
 depraved human nature too higlily, by supposing for 
 a moment that j-ou can have such an estimate of the 
 Redeemer, entirely independent of that faith which is 
 " the gift of God." He is precious to you, and you do 
 believe.' 
 
 ' O to be full}^ assured of it ! ' was her aspiration. 
 
 ' May I ask you,' I rejoined, ' if you have your 
 hopes of pardon in any degree founded upon your own 
 good works, such as repentance, prayer, profession, 
 charity, or any piece of self-righteousness what- 
 ever 1 ' 
 
 ' I am sure I have not,' she answered. ' All my 
 hope is in the mercy of God — the free and the rich 
 mercy of God.' 
 
 ' Hear, then, wdiat God says to you in reference to 
 that state of mind ; it is expressed in Psalm cxlvii. 11 : 
 " The Lord taketli pleasure in them that fear him, in 
 those that hope in his mercy." You have confessed 
 
240 THE NIGHT LA3IP. 
 
 that your hope is iioAvliere else than in his mercy, and 
 I believe you ; but God has declared that he has 
 pleasure in all who do so — that is, in you; and I 
 believe him.' 
 
 ' This is exceedingly comfortable,' she replied. 
 ' Wliat a thought ! The Lord, the great Jehovah, 
 taheth jyleasui^e in me — in a poor sinner like me ! It 
 is, indeed, most encouraging.' 
 
 ' Do you feel your confidence somewhat restored ? ' 
 
 ' I think I do. I thank you cordially. You are, 
 indeed, a great comfort to me. I shall not forget 
 these two verses : " Unto you, therefore, who believe 
 he is precious ;" and, " The Lord taketh pleasiu-e in 
 them that fear him ; in those that hope in his mercy." ' 
 
 This forenoon I bade her farewell, as I had to 
 leave for Kinross, to assist the late Dr Hay at the 
 dispensation of the Lord's Supper. Her manner in 
 parting with me told that she thought it Kkely we 
 might never meet again on earth. It was very affect- 
 ing, but kept under by proper restraint ; nature was 
 moved, but grace poured its oil on the troubled spirit, 
 and we parted in peace and in hope. I had not long 
 gone when she was visited by Mr Law of Dunfermline, 
 Though in great pain all the time he was with her, 
 she gave a proof of her attention, after he left, which 
 pleased us greatly. She said to her brother William : 
 
 ' I have been much comforted with Mr Law's 
 kind visit, especially with his prayer. It was 
 beautiful indeed. I will repeat part of it to you : — 
 
THE FRUITS OF TEACE. 241 
 
 " O Lord, should this be death, may it be a fulfil- 
 ment of Christ's 2^'>'omise, 'Yet a little while and 
 ye shall not see me; but I will come again, arid 
 receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye 
 may be also.' But if this be death, may it be an 
 answer to Christ's prayer, ' Father, I will that they 
 also whom thou hast given me be with me where I 
 am ; that they may behold my gloiy, which thou hast 
 given me.' But if this be death, may it be a response 
 to Christ's invitation, ' Rise up, my love, my fair one, 
 and come away ; for lo the winter is past, the rain is 
 over and gone ; the flowers appear on the earth ; the 
 time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of 
 the turtle is heard in our land. Arise, my love, my 
 fair one, and come away."" 
 
 Visits this day also from her eldest brother and her 
 beloved aunt, IVIrs Dewar, greatly refreshed her. As 
 these dear fiiends sat beside her, she said — ' The day 
 of my death may be one of sorrow to you, but it will 
 be a happy day to me. John has been the means 
 of saving nw soul ; he has been God's instrument, 
 and he will be blessed for it yet. What a joy it 
 must impart to him to think that he has saved one 
 soul !' 
 
 July 15, Sabbath. — This day was passed in com- 
 parative ease. Her mind rested on Christ, and 
 rejoiced m the hope of the approaching everlasting 
 Sabbath in ' the countiy which is an heavenly.' 
 
 July 16, Monday. — I retui-ned to-day from Kin- 
 
242 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ross. On my questioning her as to how she had been 
 since I left her, she said — 'I have had my usual 
 wearisome days and nights. Last night I had less 
 pain, and some delightful reflections. Frequently 
 when about to fall into slumber, I would awake 
 repeating some consolatory texts which I did not 
 know I could repeat. Hoav gracious and good is the 
 Lord to me!' 
 
 Again she said — 'I have a strong desu'e to die this 
 very night, if it were the will of God ; but " his will 
 be done." ' 
 
 She received two ministerial visits in the course of 
 the day — the one from the Rev. Dr Smith of Biggar, 
 and the other from Dr Halley. She said — 'I was 
 impressed with one of Dr Smith's remarks — " that I 
 should be willing to suffer all that God sends, for this 
 was just bearing part of Christ's cross." Yes, I 
 should, especially when I consider the glorv" that is 
 to follow.' 
 
 Dr Halley gives the following account of liis 
 interview : — 
 
 ' My thu'd and last visit was paid to her on this 
 ^londay. She was very feeble that day, had slept 
 very ill the preceding night, and her complaint 
 e\adently increased. Wlien I called, she was asleep, 
 and I informed your brother that I would call 
 some other day. But he asked me to stop a short 
 while, as she would soon be awake, which I did. 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 243 
 
 When I saw her I was struck with the cliange that a 
 week had made in her features. Her voice was weak, 
 and she was unfit for much exertion. I did not stop 
 above ten miimtes. As I had to go to tlie country for 
 three weeks, I was impressed with the conviction that 
 this would be my last visit to her, as it teas. The 
 love of Christ, and the extent and freeness of the 
 divine forgiveness, were the subjects of my conversa- 
 tions with her, for she was able to talk very little 
 herself. This was suggested by a sermon I had 
 heard the preceding night, from Isaiah Iv. 9 : " For 
 as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my 
 ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts 
 than your thoughts." I mentioned to her that the 
 preacher had said that there were planets so distant 
 that their light had not yet reached us, though they 
 had shone from the morning of the creation. Yet 
 vast as was the idea which this gave us of the extent 
 of the heavens, the mercy of God was more boundless 
 still. She seemed particularly struck with this 
 thought, and said — 
 
 ' " God be merciful to me a sinner ! " 
 
 ' I alluded to the language of scripture, in which 
 God is said to blot out our transgressions. She said — 
 "O may mine be blotted out, for Christ's sake!" 
 All her hopes were placed on the Saviour, and 
 her mind appeared calm and tranquil. When I 
 was leaving her after prayer, I said to her, " Fare- 
 well; if we do not meet again on earth, we shall 
 
244 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 meet in heaven." To wliicli she added, loith great 
 promptitude — 
 
 ' " Where the days of our mourning shall be 
 ended."' 
 
 She was often disposed to question the righteous- 
 ness of her motives in desiring to leave this world. 
 
 ' Can it be sinful 1 ' she inquired. 
 
 ' Paul,' I answered, ' was in a strait betwixt two, 
 having a desire to depart and be with Christ, which 
 is far better.' 
 
 ' Well, I will wait on the Lord ; only I wish I could 
 love Christ more than I do. Will you pray at pre- 
 sent that my love to Christ may be increased ? ' 
 
 I complied with her request. ' I heard it all,' she 
 said. ' Yes, he himself will strengthen my attachment 
 to him.' After a pause she said — ' And this is dying. 
 How incomprehensible and mysterious is the change 
 at death ! we cannot know it now.' I repeated to her 
 the verse, ' Beloved, now are we the sons of God ; and 
 it doth not yet appear what we shall be : but we know 
 that, when he shall appear, Ave shall be like him ; for 
 we shall see him as he is.' 
 
 ' That,' she said, ' is one of the texts that occurred 
 to me during last night.' I said — 
 
 ' How glorious this truth, that we shall know even 
 as we are known ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; here we cannot understand the full happiness 
 of heaven. It is impossible that such sinful beings as 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 245 
 
 we are can understand how true happiness can consist 
 in the eternal praises of God.' 
 
 Observing that she was inclined to sleep, I retired, 
 but was scarcely gone when I was recalled. She took 
 my hand, and in a very pitiful tone told me that she 
 had su.ddenly become very uneasy, and thought that 
 death might be near. 
 
 ' O what I am suffering ! ' 
 
 * When Christ parted with his disciples,' I said, ' he 
 forewarned them that they should have to endure much 
 on his account.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she replied, ' what he promised was this — 
 " In the world ye shall have tribulation." His will 
 be done.' 
 
 At her request many passages of scripture were 
 repeated, with which, as usual, she felt her mind 
 strengthened. Afterwards her countenance assumed 
 a most fascinating expression of calm trust ; it was 
 the very emblem of a meek and quiet spirit. While I 
 engaged in this evening's family prayer, she was sup- 
 ported in the arms of one of her brothers, her head 
 bending forward, and her body racked with pain. 
 She endured it without a murmur, and as I prayed, 
 her soul seemed to be enjoying perfect peace. A dis- 
 ciple of Jesus, she had been taught by the Lamb of 
 G od himself thus to suffer and thus to endure. Could 
 philosophy, could worldly maxims, could natural forti- 
 tude have thus sustained her ? Impossible. It is the 
 heroism of the christian, imbibed at the foot of the 
 
246 THE NIGHT LA31P. 
 
 cross, that now shuts those pale lips, and lights up that 
 eye with resignation even in this dark and troubled 
 hour. ' This is the victory that overcometh — even her 
 faith.'' 
 
 July 17, Tuesday. — She experienced a very weak 
 turn this forenoon. Mr Law of Dunfermline called, 
 and gave her a soothing addi'ess and prayer. She 
 made a great effort to keep up during his presence, 
 but derived little comfort fi-om his kind attention. We 
 were impressed that she was dying, and watched at 
 her couch. 
 
 ' Speak to me about Jesus. The time is short. I 
 grieve that I cannot occupy it fully.' 
 
 I thought this a favourable time to propose the fol- 
 lowing question : — 
 
 ' Do you recollect any period of your life in which 
 you began to think more seriously about religion and 
 its great importance "? ' 
 
 ' No, I cannot say that I do. I certainly was some- 
 times more seriously impressed than at others — some- 
 times more regular at my morning and evening 
 prayers, and in the reading of the Bible ; and I uni- 
 formly found that the more regularly I discharged these 
 duties, I was the less inclined to sin and wander from 
 God. But in general it was a careless life. I might 
 say my prayers, but no sooner had I left my closet 
 than all was forgotten. I did not derive that real 
 comfort from religion which now so powerfully sup- 
 ports me, because I did not then feel sin to be the 
 
THE FliUITS OF PEACE, 247 
 
 abominable thing I now feel it to be ; nor did I then 
 see Jesus to be the suitable Saviour I now see him to 
 be. I did indeed make a profession, but it was nothing 
 more ; my heart was in this world and its follies ; it was 
 not given to God.' 
 
 ' Is there any ted't which is your favourite ? ' 
 'No, there are so many, all so beautiful, and so 
 consolatory.' 
 
 ' Is there any doctrine of Christianity upon which 
 you specially dehght to dwell V 
 
 'My repose is upon the doctrines of the cross in 
 
 general, specially, of course, on the atonement of Christ 
 
 for sin. I am trusting to it for my soul's eternal life.' 
 
 Having prayed with her at her own request, she 
 
 remarked — 
 
 ' It is grand to be with God in prayer — he hears 
 and he answers. I recollect well how your prayers 
 sustained me during that dark, dark week, when my 
 mind was tossed to and fro with doubts and fears. 
 Your replies solved my doubts; your selection of 
 appropriate scriptm*es dissipated my fears. I wish 
 I could now recall these despondings, just that I 
 might hear these passages and your explanations over 
 again.' 
 
 She was easy in the afternoon, and, as she said, 
 wished us to assist her in finishing her worldly busi- 
 ness. Having got her books, portfolios, writing-desk, 
 etc., placed in the bed, she gave minute instructions 
 as to how all were to be disposed of, leaving her French 
 
248 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Testament to one, lier English Bible to another, her 
 pencil-case to a third, her eye-glass to a fourth, and 
 great numbers of her drawings to her other acquain- 
 tances. To a young lady, one of her most attached 
 companions, who, at her request, was arranging some 
 articles of dress, she said with great sweetness, 
 
 'Alison, do not weep — I hope soon to get better 
 clothing.' 
 
 The composure — I coidd almost say the indifference 
 — with which this scene was gone through, was remark- 
 able. She greatly prized these things once ; they 
 were all now, in her estimation, ' trifles light as air,' 
 compared with the crown she was expecting. No 
 one could have suspected that she was dying, and 
 parting for ever vAth. what once she valued so much. 
 When done with this work, she returned to another 
 of a different description. As she set apart the tokens 
 of regard she had reserved for her eldest brother, she 
 said to me — 
 
 ' I am grieved on his account ; he must soon be a 
 widower ; Janet is dying. Hers is a valuable hfe. It 
 matters not to any though I die, for I am useless in 
 this world ; but I am vexed for poor James if she be 
 taken away from him and her two dear infants. May 
 the Lord have mercy on him !' 
 
 JuLf 18, AYednesdat. — She employed part of this 
 day in committing to memory some of her favourite 
 hymns, and took great pleasure in frequently repeat- 
 m.<y them. 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 249 
 
 Some one had ventured to express the hope that she 
 might yet be spared. I said, that in that case, it was 
 as necessaiy to prepare for life as for death. 
 
 ^ ISIore so,' she re])lied ; ' much more so ;' and slie 
 continued in a musing frame to repeat these words : 
 ' more so — much more so ;' indicating her impression 
 that she dreaded return to the world more than death. 
 The remainder of the evening was devoted to the 
 reading of some of the Psalms, and the meditations of 
 ' sweet Willison.' 
 
 On the two following days, Thm'sday and Friday, 
 she agam suffered extremely from pain, and again 
 fled to prayer in her time of need. 
 
 '■ You seem to have much pleasure in prayer,' 
 I said. 
 
 ' Yes ; I like to be always asking, for I am 
 always needing ; besides, it is they that ask who 
 receive.' 
 
 She requested me to converse with her about 
 death, ' lest,' she said, ' I forget that I am dying.' 
 Then she suggested that heaven should be the next 
 subject of conversation, saying Avith her wonted ani- 
 mation, ' What a mysterious place it is ! We always 
 suppose it to be above us. This may arise fi'om our 
 ideas of its exalted grandeur', and superiority even to 
 the most splendid orbs of the firmament. We think 
 heaven outstrips all these, and rises far above them 
 all, because it is better than them all.' 
 
 On the afternoon of Saturday I had to return to 
 l2 
 
250 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Kincardine. In bidding her good bye, she said, as 
 she held my hand in hers : 
 
 ' God has been very kind to me through the week. 
 I have had much restlessness, but not so much acute 
 pain. You are going away; come soon back; and 
 
 if anything occur in the meantime, they will 
 
 write you.' I commended her to God, kissed her pale 
 brow, and left her. 
 
 Saturday and Sabbath nights were sleepless. As 
 she reclined on her brother William, she said, ' You 
 have so often supported me dming my illness, that I 
 should like to die in your arms. Meanwhile pray for 
 me, that God will not punish me above what I am 
 able to bear; and that he would keep me alive, in 
 the midst of my pain, to my eternal interests.' 
 
 ' I wish,' she said, on the Monday following (July 
 23), ' that you would teach me that hymn, beginning: 
 
 '0 for a closer walk with God ! 
 
 A calm and heavenly frame ! 
 A light to shine upon the road 
 
 That leads me to the Lamb ! ' 
 
 In the evening she said — 'I am delighted with this 
 
 sentence from Arrowsmith : " Faith can support when 
 
 nature shrinks. Faith can call God Father when he 
 
 frowns, and make some discovery of a smi through the 
 
 darkest cloud.'" 
 
 She contmued daily to exercise herself unto all 
 
 godliness during the whole of this week, and mani- 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 251 
 
 tested the same unvarying patience under all her 
 trials. On the Friday, a little cloud returned to 
 remind her that she must not yet enjoy the 'climes of 
 the cloudless' in the 'happy land.' She said — 'Oh, 
 I wish God soon to finish his purposes with me on 
 earth ! I tremble lest all my patience be exhausted ; 
 and yet what mercies are in my lot ! What kind 
 brothers ! I feel for you all. The time shall come 
 when you must be as I am now, but I shall not be 
 there to help you. Make God your friend, and he 
 will provide. He is " Jehovah-jireh." ' 
 
 Again : 
 
 ' Ah ! I am a sinner ! How difficult to attend to 
 godly things !' 
 
 ' God is a God of mercy,' it was replied, ' and will 
 abmidantly pardon.' 
 
 ' This is my only comfort, except when I remem- 
 ber that God is a God of justice as well as of mercy. 
 What if I am presuming too much on his promises !' 
 The text was repeated : 
 
 ' Christ bore our sins in his own body on the 
 accursed tree.' She immediately took it up, and 
 repeated it, and a great many others, descriptive of 
 the loving-kindness of God, and of his wonderful 
 compassion and forbearance. 
 
 'You seem somewhat sad this evening. Is there 
 anything particular per^ilexing you V 
 
 ' Yes ; I am thmking that I committed a great 
 sin last winter, in not taking the Lord's Supper 
 
252 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 when I had it in ray power. Oh, what an in- 
 difference to spiritual things did that manifest !' 
 
 She was reminded that this was not an unpardon- 
 able sin; and that, besides, she was in Edinbui'gh 
 onlj as a visitor. 
 
 ' All true ; but it tested the state — I was not then a 
 christian. O what a blessing that I have been spared 
 to repent !' 
 
 After a pause, she said — 'I am anxious to know 
 if there be anything in the rules of our church to 
 prevent me partaking of the holy Supper befoi'e I 
 die, to show my love to Jesus, and my regard for 
 his dying commandment.' She seemed disajjpointed 
 when it was stated that this was a clnu'ch, not a 
 private, orchnance ; that its design was to manifest to 
 the world the christian's glorying in the cross; that 
 there is no authority in scripture for its observance 
 in secret; and that the doing so has led to the 
 profanity of the institution. 
 
 On Sabbath the 29th she was much engaged with 
 the Bible, and with the ^ marrow^ of Wilhsou, as she 
 described it. Tnily she made good use of this author. 
 She was often made joyful by his words, and treasured 
 up in her memory many of his pious ejaculations, that, 
 as she said, she might repeat them dming her sleepless 
 nights. She frequently read this one in prayer : 
 
 ' O that I may drop my anchor at midnight upon 
 the Rock of Ages, to look out for the dawning of 
 the day !' 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 253 
 
 Then she added — 'What a security! to cast the 
 anchor of my hope upon Jesus — this is indeed security T 
 
 She learned the following short prayer, saying 
 concerning it, 'It is a rich treasiu*e to me, though I 
 remember nothing else :' 
 
 ' " Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit !" 
 By the hands of Him who hath redeemed it, let it be 
 presented to thee "without spot, or wrinkle, or any 
 such tiling."' She said — 'I am greatly pleased with 
 this idea of Christ presenting with his own hand to 
 his Father the saints he has redeemed with his own 
 blood. Even so may I be presented at that day !' 
 
 At the close of this exercise she remarked — ' I wish 
 I had had strength to commit to memory a few more 
 of these cheering meditations. I have never spent 
 such a happy forenoon. I thank God for it.' 
 
 The serious reader of Agnes' death-bed sayings 
 must by this time have noticed one peculiarity for 
 wdiich they are remarkable — their beautiful simplicity 
 and artlessness. If it were not that it is to spiritual 
 things they mainly refer, her style of con versing on these 
 might be characterised as exceedingly natural. It was 
 manifest that no effort was ever made merely to please 
 others, or produce an impression in her favour, or to 
 preserve a consistency in the enactment of a pait. 
 True piety is seen in her under its various lights and 
 shades, corresponding with what at different times 
 were her views and impressions of divine things. On 
 one day her spirit reposes on God's love like an infant 
 
254 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 on the maternal bosom ; her mind is in perfect peace, 
 all is sunlight, and only the music of hope is heard, 
 gently stealing from the recesses of her happy soul, 
 just as come forth the sweet sounds of an ^olian 
 harp, when in ' stilly night ' the playful zephyr 
 sweeps o'er its chords. On the next, there is a 
 tremulousness in the voice, an anxiety in the look, a 
 sternness even in the expression, telling that the har- 
 mony within has been disturbed, and that the canopy 
 above has begun to lower and tlireaten ; then follow the 
 sudden starts of a holy timidity, the swift sweep of the 
 thoughts over the solemnities which she knows must 
 soon be confronted, along with the sickness and faint- 
 ness of spiritual perplexity and fear. On one day she 
 is seen enjo}dng the very luxuiy of the full assiu'ance 
 of faith ; she has ascertained it for herself that heaven 
 is to be her inheritance, and greatly does she long to 
 have her passport signed. From the lofty summit of 
 her rock — Jesus Christ — she sees the promised land 
 in the distance, and longs for the wings of a dove, that 
 she might fly and be at rest. Wrapped within the 
 ample folds of ' the best robe,' the righteousness of her 
 Lord and Saviour, she shudders not even in the cold 
 damps of her d}ing night. Leaning upon the top of 
 old Jacob's staff — the covenant promises of Jacob's 
 God — she w^orships and glorifies Jehovah even in the 
 midst of terrible tribulation ; and carrying in her hand 
 the Lamp of divine truth, no cloud obscures the path 
 in which, with gladsome songs, she nms her onward 
 
THE FRUITS OF PEACE. 255 
 
 course. By to-morrow's dawn she appears as if the 
 rock had sunk, and the staff had been broken, and the 
 lamp had gone out : from the miry clay she seems to 
 cry for deliverance, and to go about ' mourning as 
 without the sun.' Then come the more sober and 
 subdued views of an ordinary degree of faith, which 
 neither elevate to the former raptures, nor depress to 
 the latter terrors, but which sufficiently uphold her 
 spirit in the comforts and hopes of the gospel of God. 
 Even these no doubt may now and again be somewhat 
 varied, as a passing cloud on the right hand or on the 
 left for a moment shades the scene ; but the regular 
 
 ^ CD 
 
 condition of the inner man most pleasingly corresponds 
 with what scripture assures us is to be the latter end 
 of the perfect and upright — peace. So far as we 
 have proceeded, such seems now to be the spiritual 
 character of her piety. We shall not have to discover 
 any more of its extremes; the frail bark of her 
 mortality is now nearing the shores of etemitv, 
 and the divine Spirit proportions the breeze to the 
 strength of the vessel, and to the short distance that 
 remains to be traversed. Waft, waft her home, O 
 Spirit of the Lord, that thy weary and tempest-tossed 
 child may die, and suffer pain no more ! * 
 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' chap. xi. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 STfje Assurance of ?^ope. 
 
 ' Unfading Hope I when life's last embers burn ; 
 When soul to soul and dust to dust return ! 
 Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour, 
 then thy kingdom come, Immortal Power ! 
 What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly ; 
 The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ; 
 Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
 The morning dream of life's eternal day. 
 Then, then the triumph and the trance begin, 
 And all the Phoenix spirit burns within.' 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 They who sit ^in the seat of the scornful' affect con- 
 tempt for religion on account of what they term its 
 sameness — its invariable and iminteresting sameness. 
 It is, according to them, a perpetual harping upon the 
 same key ; and if there be apparent variations, these 
 are not so much occasioned by a change of the music 
 as by the differences of voice and intonation among 
 the members of the orchestra ; or, it is just a kaleide- 
 scope, by the continual turning round and roiuid of 
 which, pretty enough figures are cast up, and these 
 never in all respects alike, but the pebbles are the 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 257 
 
 same; there is never any new element, never any 
 addition to what is ah*eady in existence. For example, 
 amone; the so-called saints there is continual dwellinir 
 upon the subjects of sin and their own unworthiness, 
 of Christ and his salvation, of faith and its necessity, 
 of death and its solemnities, and of heaven and its 
 felicities ; so that if we strike out but a few words 
 from their religious vocabulary, we leave them without 
 a language — if we ch'op 'the shibboleth' from their 
 creed, and strip them of party signs, we uncanonise 
 them all, and prove that in rehgion there is httle else 
 than sound, and this sovuid nothing but a monotone. 
 
 It must be admitted that there is a sameness in 
 religion ; but if this be a reflection upon it, it is one 
 which, with equal propriety, may be cast upon Him 
 who is at once its author and object. God himself is 
 the unchangeable God ; hence the beauty and sub- 
 limity of the addresses of the Psalmist : ' Of old hast 
 thou laid the foundations of the earth ; and the heavens 
 are the work of thy hands. They shall perisli, but thou 
 shalt endure ; yea, all of them shall wax old like a 
 garment : as a vesture shalt thou change them, and 
 they shall be changed ; hut thou art the same, ami thy 
 years shall have no eml.^ God is the Father of lights, 
 who is ' without variableness or shadow of turning ;' 
 and if he were not so, he could not be the ijerfecl and 
 the holy One whom we are bound to love and adore. 
 The charge also reflects upon Jesus Christ, who is 
 said to be ' the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever ;' 
 
258 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 and, indeed, it takes within its blasphemous compre- 
 hension the whole subject of religion, from God upon 
 the throne down to the insect which takes its life from 
 his fiat. Because, therefore, our religion is divine, it 
 is ever the same in its elements and principles, in its 
 varieties of joy and song, in its pleasures of hope and 
 imagination, in its modes of thought, its style of 
 expression, and its grounds of boasting. But there 
 is no such sameness in it as the scomer insinuates. 
 There may be a perpetual expression of devout ex- 
 periences, from the same truths and prospects, but to 
 these are ever imparted the charms of novelty ; and 
 the same cup may be day after day taken without any 
 change of contents, but the spiritual appetites are 
 ever changing, and mth new zest each draught is 
 swallowed, as if the cup had never before been quaffed. 
 The eye of faith is constantly making new discoveries 
 in the Bible, and consequently new streams of satisfac- 
 tion are ever flowing towards the heart. God himself 
 is ever conferring new manifestations of his glory and 
 his love to the contrite spirit, and hence that spirit's 
 uninterrupted recourse to him and his covenant 
 engagements for its daily happiness. The renewed 
 soul has but made the discovery that its present satis- 
 faction in religion is the mere epitome of celestial 
 beatitudes — only the beginning of a feast — the pre- 
 libations and foretastes of spiritual dainties, the full 
 enjoyment of which is futm*e. Hence, under the 
 teaching of the Holy Ghost, which is peculiarly the 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 259 
 
 privilege of the believer, he is never conscious of satiety. 
 He feels a stronger relish for his religion the more he 
 practises its principles, the more he meditates on its 
 statutes, and the more he ruminates its blissful pro- 
 mises. It is new to him every morning, and it is new 
 again every evening. He revels, indeed, in variety. 
 This is the very law of his new and spiritual condition. 
 He obeys it, and he cannot resist it. Moved forward 
 by an uninterrupted flow of divine truths from behind, 
 and by an all-powerful fascination from such truths 
 yet to be imbibed, he never wearies, never flags, and 
 never feels that, either to the extent of their influence 
 or of his own desires, he has apprehended them or by 
 them been apprehended. There is but ^ one thing'' 
 that is needful ; but then how vast are its dimensions ! 
 Its heights he is ever scaling, but never reaching ; its 
 depths he is ever fathoming, but he never touches 
 the bottom ; its breadths he is ever measuring, bvit he 
 never completes them ; and its lengths he is ever com- 
 puting, but he has never been, and never can be able 
 to so as far back nor to reach as far forward as the 
 eternity which is coeval with its past, and which is to 
 be the witness of its future existence. True, God is 
 ever the same ; but then he is ' infinite :' hence there 
 cannot be any sameness in his people's study of his 
 incommunicable perfections. God is ever the same ; 
 but then he is 'from everlasting to everlasting:' hence 
 there never can be sameness at any ftiture period, how- 
 ever remote, of his people's exercises upon him. God is 
 
260 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 incomprehensible : hence, through all eternity, religion 
 shall afford an unending and ever-expanding flow of 
 delicious novelties, alike as to the abstract matter of 
 study, and the internal experiences of the celestial 
 students. 
 
 The sneer at saintship to which these observations 
 have reference is thus groundless, as eA^ery other sneer 
 at such a subject must be. It is also most inconsistent, 
 as made by the men of the world, who have chosen 
 for their portion the pleasures and profits of sin, than 
 which it is impossible for us to conceive of anything 
 more absolutely same and sickening. Sameness for- 
 sooth ! are not irreligious persons the victims of that 
 very curse ? They are ever seeking satisfaction, but 
 never finding it, in the service of the world, the devil, 
 and the flesh. That service is ever the same dull, 
 unvaried, and unvarying round of contemptible pur- 
 suits and pantings, where no such thing as satisfaction 
 to the immortal soul can be obtained — so monotonous, 
 so nauseating are they, that he who compassed them 
 all, flung back upon the world, where they have place 
 and influence, tliis scornful but truthful estimate of 
 their real value : ' V^v^^ity of vanities, saith the 
 preacher; vanity of vanities; all is vanity.' 
 While, then, the votaries of this earth's fashions and 
 follies pronounce them all in the end to be vanity, 
 and therefore condemn them, it ought not to be for- 
 gotten that no religious individual has ever borne 
 such testimony against religion. Complaints there 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE, 2Gl 
 
 have been that the soul had not yet found her rest, 
 and that clouds may occasionally hover around and 
 obscure her prospects, but these complaints do not 
 affect religion itself; they are made against the per- 
 sonal weakness of him who fails to realise to the fall 
 the pleasures of piety. The weeping and lamentation, 
 on the other hand, that are heard coming from the 
 desolated hearths and cheerless spirits of worldlings, 
 are pathetic witnesses to the poverty of the outward 
 portion, and to the inward mortification of those who 
 have tried and tested it in every form, and at length 
 have cast it away, as ever the same cheating, lying, 
 tantalising, and soul-destroying phantom. 
 
 Such views as these should be well considered, when 
 we peruse an account of the death-bed exercises of 
 a saint. As from day to day we watch the progress 
 of disease, and witness the same faith and the same 
 patience of the sufferer, we are very apt, especially if, 
 as in Agnes' case, the period of affliction be prolonged, 
 to grow weary over the constant repetition of the same 
 religious truths, and the unvarying (as to us it may 
 appear) phases of the mystery of faith which is there 
 displayed. Christian attendants have, in conse- 
 quence, been often betrayed into listlessness towards 
 the latter end of such a death-bed as was hers. For 
 the same reason, christian biography has sometimes 
 failed to sustain its interest in the reader's mind. 
 Having ascertained the religious condition, and ana- 
 lysed a few of the religious experiences of the subject 
 
262 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 of the memorial, the attention is apt to flag, and the 
 appetite is in danger of being nauseated. This should 
 be guarded against, for reasons sufficiently obvious 
 to the pious reader. It should be remembered that 
 the entire work of the dying scene is the work of the 
 Holy Spirit, and that as He continues to advance his 
 suffering child in holy knowledge, and to open up to 
 him, day by day, other and higher views of boundless 
 truth, and otlier and richer supplies of inexhaustible 
 grace, it may therefore confidently be expected that, 
 to the patient and humble student of the whole, scenes 
 shall be gradually vouchsafed of new and interesting- 
 discoveries of the results of the divine life. Had 
 such attention been maintained at many death-beds 
 of which we have got no account, the precious stores 
 of religious biography must have been enriched by 
 many additional illustrations of the power and practice 
 of Christianity, whether among the humble poor or 
 the godly rich. 
 
 Let the devout reader come forward to the perusal 
 of the closing portions of this work under such im- 
 pressions, and it may be, he shall not only be uncon- 
 scious of sameness, but the very reverse. He may 
 find out, to his delight, that, whereas he may meet 
 with nothing absolutely new or startling, he receives 
 a new rehsh for old and famihar truths and scenes, 
 and derives additional improvement and pleasure from 
 their study. Death-bed work ought to be intensely 
 interesting to every one. We are all rapidly ap- 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 203 
 
 proacliing it ; and if we are to die safely and com- 
 fortably, sucli are the very truths, such the veiy 
 expressions, and such the very sources of strength 
 and hope, and no others, to which we ourselves must 
 have recourse. One thing is certain : however we 
 may feel now, in the hey-day of health and confidence, 
 when that solemn hour strikes which consigns us to 
 preparation for God and eternity, we shall be per- 
 suaded to flee to these, and these alone, as at once our 
 stronghold in the day of evil, and our earnest business 
 in the day of death. 
 
 August 1, Wednesday. — After an unaA^oidable 
 absence of ten days, I was permitted to return this 
 morning to the chamber — no longer of conflict and 
 cloud, but of 'joy and peace in believing.' It could 
 not have surprised me though she had died on any 
 day dm'ing the interval, so much had she suftered, 
 and so greatly exhausted was her strength, if 
 ' strength ' that feeble, flickering flow^ of life can be 
 called wdiich remained. Changed as she had been 
 before, I was prepared to witness a greater one, and 
 such was the case. O the tale of agony endured by 
 night and by day without a murmur which that wan 
 and weary expression told! The clearness of the 
 eye was gone, the places wdiere beauty lingered were 
 deserted, and even the signs of mental application were 
 few and separated. There was nothing to gladden in 
 the pitiful smile which arose upon her desolated 
 features, as I sat down in the usual chair. Long had 
 
264 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 she been afflicted, and there still was she enduring 
 affliction. Often had she sighed and cried for de- 
 liverance, but there was she still in much tribulation. 
 On different occasions had she rejoiced in the thought 
 that the scene was about to close, and that she was 
 now to die; but her faith and patience were to be 
 subjected to additional trials. If ever there was a 
 waiter upon the Lord, she was one; and certainly 
 she waited on him ' more than they that w^atch for 
 the morning ; I say, more than they that w^atch for 
 the morning.' * 
 
 ' I have wearied for you,' she said ; ' you have been 
 long of coming. Do you laiow any difference on mel 
 Is not my eye dimmer? I saw myself yesterday in 
 the mirror. For a lono; time nurse would not let me 
 have it, lest I should be overcome with the change 
 upon my face, but how could she think so?' 
 
 ' I hope God has not changed in the dispensation 
 of his loving-kinchiess to your soul.' 
 
 ^ No, no ; God is good, and his mercy endureth for 
 ever.' 
 
 She then told me of her increasing satisfaction in 
 the sciiptures, and her delight also in the works of 
 Willison. She said — 
 
 ' I consider him one of the best of comforters. He 
 wi'ites as if he knew my most secret wants.' 
 
 ' That,' I replied, ' is easily accounted for. God's 
 children have the same wants, and they must speak 
 * See ' Tlie Hiding Place,' p. 232. 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 205 
 
 the same language in giving expression to them. 
 They have the same Father to address, the same 
 grace to thank him for, and the same Spirit to lead 
 them into all truth.' 
 
 ' Yes, but they have not all the same amount of 
 sufferings. How prolonged, who lingering are mine !' 
 
 ' True, but you have not been afflicted above what 
 3'OU have been enabled to bear; and you have the 
 same grace made sufficient for you that carried the 
 mart,}Ts through their fiery trials. You are apt to 
 think your afflictions heavy, but remember what 
 is said: "Our light affliction, which is but for a 
 moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and 
 an eternal weight of glor}%" ' 
 
 ' And yet I hope,' she said, ' that there is no sin in 
 my desire to have this work finished : it is lingering, 
 lingering.' 
 
 ' No, I do not think there is sin in such a desire, if 
 it be kept free from impatience or discontent. Paul 
 desired it — the Saviour himself prayed for the passing 
 away of the cup. It were unnatural to desire pain, 
 and it cannot be sinful to wish to be free from it, if 
 you are conscious of sincerity in adding, " not my will, 
 but thine be done." We are never ready till we die ; 
 till we die, then, we should for that reason be content 
 to live ; to live even in such a furnace as yours.' 
 
 ' Well,' she rejoined, 'I do not think that my desires 
 to depart can arise altogether from the wish to escape 
 this trial of my faith. It must be also from love to 
 
 M 
 
266 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Jesus ; not fi'om the mere blank idea of deliverance 
 from pain ; for how could I, a poor creature like me, 
 view death, the grave, eternity, if love for C-hrist and 
 love to Christ did not sustain meV 
 
 Such was the result of much examination on her 
 part into the state of her mind, of Avhich she Avas 
 every day becoming more and more conscious — a 
 desire to depart. She had for a while been much 
 distressed as to the propriety of allowing such desires 
 to get an ascendancy, and had in consequence sub- 
 jected them to strict and godly scrutiny. Her 
 tender yearnings after the path of duty were now^ 
 reconsidered. She saw how she could check the 
 longing, and at the same time eschew the sin that 
 hovers in its neighbourhood. All her affections were 
 thus elevated ; she seemed now to have risen still 
 liigher with Chi'ist, and, as on eagle's wings, she 
 was daily soaring upwards to contemplate, in the 
 intensity of this passion, the reality of that joy which 
 his actual presence would call forth.* 
 
 We joined in prayer. While thus engaged, I 
 noticed that she was unusually much affected, and 
 frequently shook her drooping head. So soon as I 
 said amen, she broke forth into weeping, and said : 
 
 ' O how glad I am that you have come at length ! 
 I have missed these prayers ; yes, very much. I can 
 only snatch a word or two at a time myself. How 
 glad I am that you have returned ! ' 
 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' p. 211. 
 
THE ASSURAXCE OF HOPE. 267 
 
 She observed me weeping, and checked me, sa^-ing, 
 * You need not Aveep ; vex not yom:self about me. 
 You could not desire a better change for me than 
 death. What a blessed change ! God will raise you 
 up other friends. Do not grieve for me.' 
 
 ' We do not gi'ieve for you,' I replied, ' so much as 
 for ourselves. We wish we were like you, and such 
 as yovi now are. You are going to be crowned ; we 
 must remain to fight and suffer here. Your battle is 
 nearly fought ; ours is all to fight.' 
 
 * When you are laid down as I am,' she said, ' God 
 will deliver you from the fear of death. Who could 
 view it with more terror than I once did 1 but noic ' — 
 and she looked upwards — ' O I wish I were yonder !' 
 
 I told her that I should be under the necessity of 
 leaving her again at the end of the week, as I was 
 engaged to assist at Airth in the dispensation of the 
 Supper. She was somewhat discomforted vnth. this, 
 and said — * Come back soon, very soon, as I wish you 
 to be here when I die.' She asked me to pray vdi\\ 
 her again. ' I wish,' she said, ^ to be kept easy during 
 the day to enjoy your conversation. Wlien I think 
 of other dying christians, I fear that I have a dead 
 heart — veiy dead ; otherwise I should feel my situa- 
 tion to be more awful than I do, and I would have it 
 more frequently before me.' 
 
 Fearing that there might be some cloud hovering 
 about, I read and ex])lained appropriate scriptures, 
 and she maintained her peace. 
 
268 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' Tell me what you have been preaching about since 
 you were here.' 
 
 ' I have been two Sabbaths away from you. On 
 the first of these my text was, " Behold, I stand at the 
 door, and knock. If any man hear my voice, and 
 open the door, I vriW come in unto him, and will sup 
 with him, and he with me." And the other was, " Tlie 
 path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth 
 more and more unto the perfect day."' 
 
 ' Beautiful texts these ! And what did you say 
 about the first ?' 
 
 In rejily to her question, I spoke to her of the con- 
 descension and long-suffering of Christ, as manifested 
 in his lia\dng stood so loner at the door of her owii 
 heart knocking for admission. 
 
 'And how and with what does he knock?' she 
 inquired. I replied : 
 
 ' With his word, ordinances, providences, and Holy 
 Spirit. The knock of affliction seems to have been 
 the most eflPectual mth you. That one you did hear, 
 and you have opened the door, and he has come in.' 
 
 ' Yes, John, I think I have let him in. AVelcome 
 to the Son of David ! " Blessed is he that cometh in 
 the name of the Lord to save me ! " ' 
 
 'Jesus was resolved not to lose you,' I added. 
 ' You kept him a long time standing on the outside 
 under the storm and tempest; but he never went 
 away, though he heard you entertaining his and yom* 
 owTi enemies. He continued to stand and to knock.' 
 
THE ASSURANCE OP HOPE. 26i> 
 
 'O it is wonderful! wonderful!' she exclaimed. 
 '"Bless the Lord, O ni}- soul !"' 
 
 I tlien mentioned to her the principal truths by 
 which the other text had been illustrated, and con- 
 cluded by encom'aging her to continue to hold fast 
 her confidence even to the end. I told her that her 
 progress to glory was as sui'e as the rising of the sun, 
 that her day of gi'ace should very soon be merged 
 into her perfect day of happiness, holiness, and know- 
 ledge. ' For these reasons,' I said, ' preserve your 
 resignation to the will of God.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, interrupting me : 
 
 ' " 'Tis sweet to lie passive in his hands, 
 And know no will but his."' 
 
 Another portion of the Bible was then read, and 
 afterwards ' Willison.^ In his choice sayings of dying 
 saints there is one of jSIr John Dodd, who had been 
 dangerously ill, but had received a hope of life from 
 his physician : — ' You think,' said he, ' to comfort me 
 with this, but you make my heart sad. It is as if you 
 should tell one who had been sore weather beaten at 
 sea, and conceiving that he was now arrived at the 
 haven where his soul longed to be, that he must go 
 back again to be tossed with new winds and waves.' 
 
 'Now that,' said Agnes, 'is just my feeling. I 
 really fear to think of life ; though, if God were to 
 spare me, T trust it would be spent in laiowing and 
 avoiding its vanities, and to the praise of his glory.' 
 
270 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 I prayed tmce during the evening, at her desire. 
 Next morning she sent for me rather early to pray 
 for her. She was raised up and supported as usual by 
 pillows at her back and on either side. She was so 
 weak that we could not hear her voice when she tried 
 to speak. I directed her attention to the soothing 
 consolations of her faith, and she indicated her appre- 
 ciation of them by occasional inclinations of her head. 
 Her delight in and desire for prayer were at all times 
 ver}' remarkable, and were getting every day more so. 
 She often regretted that her sufferings prevented her 
 from praying as she ought, and hence she employed 
 any one for that purpose with whom she could use 
 the liberty. She had another attack of this weakness 
 in the evening, when she was again raised up in bed, 
 and had to be supported by another brother and my- 
 self, that, as much as possible, the bed-clothes might 
 not touch her. Truly she was not now a heavy 
 burden ; but it was a sad spectacle to us. She had 
 not power to uphold her head, which had follen for- 
 ward on her bosom, and she was scarcely able to utter 
 one w^ord. After a pause, she whispered : 
 
 '■ Oh to depart now ! What a blessed change fi-om 
 such sufferings !' 
 
 'Soon now, my dear sister,' I said, 'will the Lord 
 deliver you from all distress. Job had many w^eari- 
 some days and nights appointed to him, but in the 
 end he was greatly rewarded.' 
 
 In a little she said — 'Pray again for me.' I did so. 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOi'E. 271 
 
 ' IIow pleasant — liow very pleasant !' she taintly 
 answered. I continued to speak of the wonderful 
 loA'e of Jesus to liei* soul, in having pitied her, obeyed 
 for her, died for her, risen for her, and in now making 
 intercession for her. 
 
 'Would you care to pray again?' she sweetly said. 
 I did so, and then remarked that she seemed to take 
 special delight in this exercise. 
 
 'Yes, I do; but I am too weak now to exert my 
 OAvn mind.' 
 
 ' I trust, ho\Aever, that jon have connnunion Avith 
 God, and that, like the Psalmist, your meditations on 
 him are sweet.' 
 
 ' They are, when relief from pain jiermits me to 
 meditate.' 
 
 'In what view" do you most love to contemplate 
 himf 
 
 'I love to view him as a God reconciling me to 
 himself through Jesus Christ,' she replied. 
 
 As I was retmng for the night, she requested me 
 to pray again ; and, for the fourth time within the 
 last hoiu", I did so. 
 
 August 3, Friday If possible, she was weaker 
 
 this morning than ever. She tried to speak to me, 
 but could not. From the motion of her lips I guessed 
 her wish; it Avas to 'pray.' This was ever her first 
 business in the morning, and her last at night — to 
 take me Avith her to the tlu'one of grace. After 
 reading the scriptm*es and conversing on their soul- 
 
272 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 nourisliing truths, I told her I must say farewell till 
 the beginnmg of next week. She said in a whisper — 
 
 ' O I am so vexed you are going to leave me ! 
 None can pray with me — none can talk with me as 
 you do.' 
 
 'But I do not leave jon comfortless. The Holy 
 Ghost is your comforter, indeed your only comforter ; 
 for what would it avail you though Paul planted and 
 Apollos watered, if he were not to give the increase ■? ' 
 She replied — 
 
 ' It is all true ; but you will hasten back when 
 duty is done.' 
 
 I promised to do so, though in the fear that by that 
 time she should have gone the way of all the earth. 
 
 August 7, Tuesday. — I retm-ned to Edinbm-gh 
 this evening. Nothing particular had occurred in 
 my absence. 1 found her much in the same condition 
 as when I had left her. She appeared to be lying 
 rather easy. Her face, though pale, wore a sweet 
 and calm expression. Her arms were folded across 
 her breast, and her hands clasped, as if she had been 
 in prayer. We soon got into om' usual topics of 
 conA^ersation. 
 
 ' You will remember,' I began, ' chat when I 
 returned from Kmross sacrament, you asked me to 
 tell you what I had heard m the services of that 
 sacrament which might be suitable to you. I was 
 Sony that I could not then satisfy you as I wished, 
 but I can do so now, if you can hear me. Last Sab- 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 273 
 
 batli I recollected you, and your request, when I was 
 at the Loi'd's table, listening to the heavenly ad- 
 dresses of Dr Belfrage. You know that his published 
 addresses to communicants have obtained for him just 
 celebrity in all the churches, and I treasured up two 
 or three of his choice remarks for you.' 
 
 ' I will indeed be delighted to hear them,' she 
 replied. 
 
 ' You will relish them the more,' I said, ' that Dr 
 Belfrage himself loves you much, and has often 
 expressed himself to me as deeply interested in your 
 comfort. You have a place in his prayers. I have 
 heard him pleading with God for you, that you may 
 be carried triumphantly, as were your dear father 
 and mother, to the close of your warfare.' 
 
 'It is a blessed privilege ! I am thankful for it. 
 But ^^l^at did he say to you at the Lord's table?' 
 
 I then repeated to her the following passages of 
 rich gospel experience, and was fully recompensed 
 by the manifold and manifest joy which they gave 
 to her soul : — 
 
 'How beautiful is the union of these things : om- 
 emptiness, and Christ's fulness — our weakness, and 
 his strength — our sorrows, and his sympathy — our 
 death, and his life ! 
 
 ' Belie\ing communicants ! why do you refuse tlie 
 
 cup of affliction ? It is a cup which a Father's hand 
 
 has mingled : there is not one drop more in it than 
 
 you need ; above all, there is not one drop of curse 
 
 m2 
 
274 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 in it — not one drop of vindictive A^Tath. Christ has 
 drunk np all that for you — he was made a curse for 
 you. 
 
 ' Suffering believers ! you are Christ's jewels, but 
 you require polishing. The Pearl of great price 
 himself requires no polishing ; he has l)een " made 
 perfect tlu'ough suffering" already ; but you must be 
 made far more resplendent still, before you can 
 grace and glitter in his crown ; and affliction is the 
 appointed furnace. 
 
 ' Communicants ! nature beholds the love of God 
 only in the calm and in the sunshine, but Faith 
 beholds it even in the storm and tempest ; even in the 
 darkest hours of afflictive adversity. She rejoices in 
 tribulation, and glories in her Lord's cross. 
 
 ' Believers ! you are now under grace ; you will 
 soon be in glory. And what is the difference between 
 grace and glory? Simply this, grace is the bud, 
 glory the blossom : grace is the dawn, glory the 
 meridian : grace is the stream, and gloiy the full 
 ocean of life that flows fast by the tlu'one of the 
 Eternal. 
 
 ' Communicants ! you have read these simple but 
 affecting words of the apostle concerning the righteous 
 men of former generations — " These all died in faith r 
 Is not this a sublime epitaph ? The heroes of this 
 world have their tablets of marble and pillars of 
 granite raised to perpetuate their memories ; but how 
 many thousands of these have already disappeared 
 
THE ASSIJ11.\.XCE OF HOrE. 275 
 
 under the wasting influences of dme ! and soon, too, 
 all the others must obey the same law, and crumble 
 into dust ; for the memory of the wicked must rot. 
 Here, however, is a monument that has resisted the 
 adverse powers of nearly two thousand years, and 
 it will remain uninjured to the last day. If you 
 wish, then, to reach the true immortalisation of yom* 
 names, you must live in faith, and you must die in 
 faith.' 
 
 Having conversed for some time on the topics 
 suggested by these pleasing thoughts, she seemed 
 greatly satisfied even with her condition, and ex- 
 pressed herself as well pleased to bear the rod so 
 long as God chose to appoint it. 
 
 ' Let us pray now,' she said. I did so. We then 
 again and again went over the glad tidings of the 
 gospel about the birth of Mary's Son, his obedience, 
 his passion, his death — themes of which she never 
 grew weary; nay, every day she seemed to derive 
 more and more delight from reflecting upon them. 
 The song of salvation was always new to her. She 
 never new what sameness, as the scorner calls it, was, 
 in connection with Christ and him cinicified — Christ 
 and him risen — Christ and him exalted — Christ and 
 him glorified — Christ and her meeting -with him — 
 Christ and his second coming. At this time I asked 
 her : 
 
 ' Are you willing to live, if it be for the glory of 
 Godr 
 
276 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ^ Yes, I am — even to live thus,' she answered. 
 
 ' Are you willing to die, if it be for the glory of God ? ' 
 
 ^ I am ; but I would rather die than live, if it be 
 his will.' I continued : 
 
 ' I have never remarked it before, Agnes ; but the 
 amazing composure you now maintain, even in the 
 view of death, solemnly impresses us all. What a 
 difference between you now and what you were six 
 months ago ! Then a lively, healthy, gay, and happy 
 girl, pleased, you often say, with the world, and 
 engaged with its vanities — negligent of soul concerns, 
 and mindful only of the trifles of time ! — nou-, your 
 heart is taken from this evanescent scene. You have 
 looked at the world, and now you do not love it ; you 
 have looked at the cross, and now you are not ashamed 
 of it ; you have looked at death, and now you are not 
 afraid of it ; you have looked at heaven, and now you 
 prefer it above your chiefest joy.' 
 
 ' "By the grace of God," ' she said, '"I am what I 
 am." ' 
 
 ' But when I think of the joys and pleasures that 
 are at God's right hand, and contrast them with the 
 trials and vicissitudes of earth, I cease to wonder at 
 your prayer, that your feet were standing within the 
 gates of the new Jerusalem — ' 
 
 She immediately raised her folded hands, and lifted 
 up her eyes, which threw over her still sweet face the 
 impression of the pui'e thought that filled her soul, as 
 she said : 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 277 
 
 ' O John ! I hope — I hope I am near to it — that, 
 at the very moment of my death, I will enter it !' 
 
 ' You certainly must,' I replied, ' for it is written, 
 that to be "absent from the body" is to be "present 
 with the Lord." ' 
 
 The idea here suggested of the believing soul find- 
 ing itself, at death, immediately in heaven, is alike 
 mysterious with all that is at present known concern- 
 ing that ' land of uprightness.' It is, however, evi- 
 dently the sense in which we must understand such 
 scriptures as refer to the subject. Such a sudden 
 transition may be unintelligible to us, with our pre- 
 sent imperfect information ; but it is unreasonable to 
 suj)pose it to be physically impossible. With respect 
 to this, as to every other science, we are but in oiu* 
 infancy. An esteemed christian friend, when con- 
 versing recently upon this subject, gave utterance to a 
 very simple idea, though one which readily occui's only 
 to the genius of sanctified poetry. ' I have,' said he, 
 ' a more tangible grasp of the immediate transition since 
 the discovery of the electric telegraph. I think 
 I have now some conception of "absence from the 
 body" being almost simultaneous with "presence with 
 the Lord ; " and also how it was that the thief vipon 
 the cross was to be '' to-day''^ with the Saviom* in 
 Paradise; for though heaven be far away, as we think, 
 above yon stany plain, still we now know that, if we 
 could but fix these mysterious Avires even as high as 
 those stars whose fight has been travelling with incon- 
 
278 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ceivable velocity towards our earth, ever since the 
 creation, without having yet reached it, the commu- 
 nication W'Ould, notwithstanding, be instantaneous. 
 In hke manner, and with even greater speed, may not 
 the disembodied spirit of the christian wing its flight 
 through space to its eternal home ? ' The philosopher 
 tells us of two infinitudes, that of space and that of the 
 human soul, and amuses himself with the efforts of the 
 latter to sound the depths of the former. But such 
 efforts must ever fail. To the believer, however, 
 there is opened up the sublime and sm*e prospect of 
 ere long being transformed into such a spirit of light, 
 and power, and purity, as shall admit of his boundless 
 excursions among the interminable and innumerable 
 Avorlds of the Redeemer's universe. 
 
 There w^as here silence for some minutes, when, 
 observing her thoughtfid, I asked her to tell me what 
 was occupjdng her mind. 
 
 'John Oliphant is dead,' she replied. 'He was 
 only ill for a week — a week was enough for him.'* 
 
 ' God has given you months,' I said ; ' but qxqvj 
 day was needed. Though you have had much pain, 
 you h&ve had many rapturous moments of connnu- 
 nion with God." 
 
 ' O yes,' she replied, ' I must say so. I have had 
 pleasures wliich I never knew before, which the world 
 cannot give to, and cannot take fi*om me.' t 
 
 * Son of the late respected publisher in Edinburgh, William 
 Oliphant, Esq. 
 
 t See ' The Hiding Place,' chap. sii. 
 
THE ASSUEAKCE OF norE. 279 
 
 August 8, Wednesday. — To all human appear- 
 ance, Agnes' last hour had arrived this morning. 
 Her weakness was excessive. For the first time, she 
 took no notice of me when I entered the room, and 
 she made no reply to my usual question. She looked, 
 but it was not a look of recognition. The usual 
 prayer was offered up in silence. She continued in 
 this state till two o'clock in the afternoon, when she 
 sent for me to sit beside her. She had partially 
 recovered; and as I saw she wished to say something, 
 I bent my ear to her lips : 
 
 ' The saints,' she said, 'speak of Him as long of com- 
 ing; there are times when I tlimk him almost at hand.' 
 
 ' He will be here soon now,' I replied. ' Possess 
 your soul in patience a little longer, and all shall be 
 over, and 3'oit will be at rest.' 
 
 I sat beside her for several hours in the evening, 
 but we spake not together. She could not endure 
 even to hear our voices, and she waited silently but 
 calmly for what she thought was now to be her 
 dismissal. 
 
 August 9, Thursday. — Wlien her eldest brother 
 was taking leave of her this evening, she said to him, 
 ' I hope I shall not see you again on the earth ! ' To 
 my delight, she asked me to pray with her ; but, to 
 my regret, I saw she was again waxing anxious. 
 When I had finished the prayer, she introduced the 
 subject of death, saying — ' O this is serious work ! I 
 am dying ! Death is near now — very near ! I wish 
 
280 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 to go to God when it comes; but it is an awful 
 thing to die and be judged !' 
 
 ' It is,' I replied ; ' but " thanks be unto God who 
 giveth you the victory through our Lord Jesus 
 Christ." ' 
 
 ' True, true,' she added : ' but after all, am I deceiv- 
 ing myself 1 Is it not a possible thing for a person 
 to fancy himself safe, and, after all, to be in danger T 
 
 ' It is possible,' I replied, ' for the wicked and the 
 careless to bhnd their ow^i minds ; but there are 
 evidences Avith which the people of God ought to 
 assure themselves that they are not self-deceived.' 
 
 ' What are these ? Tell me— O tell me !' 
 
 ' These,' I answered, ' are dishke to sin — contrition 
 and soiTow on account of it — love to Jesus — trust in 
 his sacrifice for pardon, and in his blood for cleansing 
 — looking at death through him as unstung, and at 
 heaven as by him prepared and secured for your 
 reception.' 
 
 ' And have I these evidences T 
 
 'Yes, you have; yovi know that the Spirit of God 
 hath wrought within you these self-same feelings 
 and convictions, and your duty is now to believe that 
 you are his daughter, and that you shall soon "be 
 brought unto the King in raiment of needlework : 
 with gladness and rejoicing you shall be brought : 
 you shall enter into the King's palace."" ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, * all that is very pleasing ; but O I 
 feel that even yet a great change must be produced 
 
THE ASSUR^VNCE OF HOPE. 281 
 
 upon me before I am fit to enter such a place, and 
 appear in such a presence !' 
 
 'The apostle tells us,' I rejoined, 'that we "shall all 
 be changed." That change is begun and far advanced, 
 in you, and at death it will be consummated. You 
 remember perfection is only begun here, hereafter it 
 is attained. Rest assured that the Lord will " perfect 
 that which concerneth you ;" and that " he who hath 
 begun the good work will perfect it unto the da}' of 
 Christ." He has given you " eternal life, and none 
 shall pluck you out of his hands." " 
 
 'That is satisfactory, very comfortable,' she said, 
 and the smile passed over her countenance, telling 
 that the cloud had disappeared. The Lamp had 
 chased away its momentary gloom. 
 
 ' The grace of God,' I continued, ' is not all that 
 the precious blood of Christ has purchased ; he has 
 also bought for us glory, and we shall reach glory 
 through grace, "We should never doubt the issues 
 of the work of redeeming love any more than its 
 beginnings. The beginnings of it in our depraved 
 natures are more wonderful than the consequences ; 
 and when we find that God has given the first- 
 fruits, we should not doubt Ms following it up by 
 admitting us to the full fruition, either from the 
 idea that in ovir present condition we are unfit for 
 it, or that it is beyond oiu' deserts. " He is faith- 
 ful who hath promised," and he vn\\ certainly per- 
 form it.' 
 
282 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' I am glad, my dear John,' she said, ' that you have 
 given battle to my returning veeakness ; but yet I can- 
 not help thinking that other dying christians are not 
 so impatient as I am.' 
 
 ' We daily thank God,' I said, ' because he has so 
 wonderfully supported you dui'ing your long and sore 
 distress. But for his goodness and mercy, you could 
 not have borne it as you have done.' 
 
 'I have, however, been a very impatient suflferer,' 
 she rejoined. 
 
 ' We think not,' I added ; ' you have been quite 
 the contrary. But you are surely forgetting that yom- 
 Savioiu* is not a high priest who cannot be touched 
 with a fellow feeling of your infirmities, and that he 
 was in all things tempted Uke as you are, yet without 
 ^in. He is not a hard taskmaster.' 
 
 Agnes persevered in this stram for some time longer, 
 aid again her difficulties and dreads had to be encoun- 
 tered. For a moment His face seemed to be hid from 
 her ; but, as usual, with everlasting kincbiess he had 
 mercy upon her. The tempter was making a last 
 effort to bring her down from the rock of her confi- 
 dence, but she was ' made more than a conqueror 
 tln'ough him that loved her.' Before I left her, the 
 soul had again returned 'into its quiet rest.' * To this 
 composure she was brought back by the reading of the 
 eighth chapter of the Romans. I had never before 
 seen her listen with such absorbing attention to scrip- 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' pp. 285-289. 
 
THE ASSURA]SrCE OF HOPE. 283 
 
 ture. She followed me verse by verse, word by word, 
 frequently repeating after me any clause with which 
 she was more particularly impressed, and desiiing me 
 to pause or repeat it. When I got the length of the 
 last two verses, she bade me stop, and then, with a 
 beautiful voice and most melting emphasis, she recited 
 that glorious peroration of the inspired apostle : ' For 
 I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor 
 angels, nor principaKties, nor powers, nor things 
 present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, 
 nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us 
 fiom the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our 
 Lord.' 
 
 ' I was endeavouring,' she continued, ' last night to 
 repeat these verses, but forgot part.' 
 
 ' Is it not,' I asked, ' a most invaluable and conso- 
 latory portion of scripture ? ' 
 
 ' It is indeed,' she replied ; ' and never did I 
 feel its power and know its worth as I at this 
 moment do.' 
 
 It was a word in season. I added, ' It would be 
 wise for us to read the Bible more frequently than we 
 do. It has been your guide, your lamp, your light, 
 your all, on this death-bed.' 
 
 'Yes,' she said. 'But perhaps it were wise to read 
 it more seldom, if it be read in the manner in Avhich 
 I was once accustomed. I remember that I would 
 often read three or four chapters at a time, morning 
 and evening, and in a few minutes after, all was 
 
284 THE ISIIGHT LAMP. 
 
 forgotten. Now, if I had read oiilj a few verses, or 
 half a chapter, I might have remembered it better, and 
 profited more by it.' 
 
 At her request I now again read the twenty-third 
 Psalm. 
 
 ^ O how we should prize,' she said, 'the love of that 
 kind and faithful Shepherd ! It is to his love we owe 
 all these great blessings.' 
 
 ' Would God,' T replied, ' we could give him more 
 of our hearts even here ! What a pity we do not give 
 them up entirely to him !' 
 
 ' He shall have them entirely hereafter,' she said, 
 inten'ujDting me. 'Yes, all — all the heart. Will you 
 read that psalm over again? for though I know it 
 well, I am never weary of hearing it.' 
 
 I read the psalm, occasionally remarking upon it as 
 I did on that day when first I spoke to her under 
 the impression that she was in danger. I obsened 
 on the fifth verse : ' God has sj)read the table of 
 his grace before you even while lying upon this 
 bed, and in presence of all your spiritual foes; 
 yea, here he hath "caused your cup to run 
 over, and hath anointed you with the oil of glad- 
 ness." ' 
 
 The change of expression on her face at this Avas 
 startling. The former fire of her dark eye seemed to 
 have returned. Its expression was that of triumph — 
 yea, of ecstasy — as she exclaimed : 
 
 ' O, I think I see my SaA^iour now ! He is laugh- 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 285 
 
 ing at my foes, while he is carrying me a wiUing 
 captive in his arms towards heaven !' 
 
 Here she suddenly ceased. The look of joy was 
 gone, and in a low tone she added, ' If it be so that I 
 am converted.^ 
 
 'Agnes !' I replied, startled at this, 'can it be that 
 you will doubt his love any more, or that you are 
 among his chosen friends f 
 
 ' No, no !' she answered quickly, her face again 
 brightening up as before. ' I think I see ray Saviour 
 laughing at their chagi'in. But, perhaps, I should 
 not speak of him as laughing ; it is not a proper 
 expression. There is no laughing in heaven. I 
 should have said, smiling with complacency upon me, 
 and in triumph over them !' 
 
 ' Your language,' I replied, ' is not improper ; for we 
 read in the scripture that he will ^' laugh at the calamities 
 of the wicked, and mock when their fear cometh." ' 
 
 The evening of this day was sweetly serene. With 
 inimitable tenderness, she desired us to take from her 
 own hands any little token of love we might desire. 
 To one she gave her pen-knife, to another her silver 
 fruit-knife, and to another her favourite seal. ' Keep 
 these for my sake,' she said ; but in the midst of her 
 aflPectionate disposal of these, a paroxysm returned, 
 and instantly she was reduced to a speechless, motion- 
 less condition. When the proper attention was paid 
 by the nurse, I saw her lips move, and I listened. 
 She said feebly : 
 
286 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' This is dreadful suffering ! but if the jewel require 
 a brighter polish, I say, " God's will be done." Still, 
 you may pray for Christ to come to me. Sui*ely 
 there is no sin in that !' 
 
 After uttering a short prayer, and a few words of 
 consolation, I left her, and the last words I heard her 
 repeat as I retired, were these — 
 
 'This and Heaven!' 
 
 It would be unjust to Agnes if, from her desires of 
 relief, it were supposed that she had waxed impatient, 
 or that she looked vipon the dispensation of God wdth 
 dissatisfaction. She at the first did sometimes express 
 her Avonder that she shotild have been the one selected 
 for such an early death, but by this time all that sort 
 of feeling w^as gone. She was perfectly pleased with 
 what God had done to her, and ' glorified ' him in con- 
 sequence. She reminded us of the seraphic Payson, 
 in one of his beautiful dying sayings : ' It seemed this 
 afternoon as if Christ said to me, " You have often 
 wondered and been impatient at the way by which I 
 have led you, hut ichat do you think of it noio ?" And 
 I was cut to the heart when I looked back and saw 
 the wisdom and goodness by which I had been guided, 
 that I could ever for a moment distrust his love.' 
 
 August 10, Friday.^ — This morning I vrent to 
 see and pray with her. She had had a weary night, 
 and was unfit for the least exertion. It was painfully 
 evident that death could not be far away. She could 
 no longer take part in spiritual exercises; prayers and 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 287 
 
 hymns were laid aside, 'sweet Willisoii' had done his 
 last service, and nothing but the Word — the quick and 
 powerful Word of God — could be at intervals whispered 
 into her ear. Even the name of her beloved Saviour 
 was seldom heard from her lips. This diminution of 
 religious intercourse was a new trial. It was not easy 
 all at once to siu'render those heavenly pleasures which 
 had for so long a period been enjoyed in her dying 
 chamber. It had indeed been a time of care and 
 sorrow, but one also of joy and hope, arising from 
 the grand and stately spectacle of a soul like hers 
 gradually rising from spiritual death, and carried 
 triumphantly over all the suggestions of the sceptic, 
 and all the weakness of natm^e. But it was even so — 
 these must now almost entirely cease ; her prayers and 
 her communings must now be with God alone. The 
 work was becoming too holy for others to be asso- 
 ciated vrith its progress. The Spirit was carr}- ing it on 
 by his own enhghtening and confirming influences ; 
 and though A^-ith a rending heart, the task that had 
 been assigned to us was now laid aside. From this 
 period she spoke but little, but it was evident that she 
 was as busy as she could be in girding up ' the loins 
 of her mind.' Occasionally during this day she was 
 overheard saying, 'I thank God — I thank God.'' Once 
 she was asked if we might repeat a favourite hymn to 
 her, but she refused. Wlien any of us approached her 
 bed, she would say, ' Hush,' and raise her feeble hand 
 to motion us awav. It was most evident from her 
 
288 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 whole demeanour that she was every moment expect- 
 ing death, and that she wished to be in full readiness 
 to welcome Jesus. In the afternoon she overheard 
 her yomigest brother, who had that day obtained a 
 ]5rize in the High School, complaining that a boy in a 
 lower class than his had received a prize of equal 
 value. She called him to her, and said very gently, 
 'Remember, my dear Andrew, the parable of the 
 labourers in the vineyard ; they who came at the 
 eleventh hour received their penny, as well as those 
 Avho had come in the morning. If you have received 
 what is your due, you should be content.' There was 
 again a long inter\^al of perfect quietness, after which 
 she signified a wish for me to lean down and hear a 
 request. I did so, and with some difficulty she made 
 out the following : — 
 
 ' I wash to advert to a worldly matter, and after that 
 I think I shall have done with the world. William 
 cannot listen to me about these things, but you are 
 more firm, and you can hear me. You know how 
 kind and attentive my nurse has been. I wish her to 
 get the new shawl which I purchased to wear this last ■ 
 winter; say to her that this was my dying request. 
 You will also find in my ch'essing-box a piece of 
 money, give it fi'om me to the servant who has had 
 so much trouble wdth me.' 
 
 I assured her all her wishes would be attended to, 
 and after a brief prayer, which she requested, we sat 
 alone in silence. About an hour afterwards I saw her 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 289 
 
 making an effort to speak. I listened, but could not 
 make out wliat slie wished me to do. The words 
 'comfort' and 'death' I thought were uttered, and not 
 wishing to give her the pain of repetition, I answered 
 as if I liad understood her to refer to our comfort 
 in her death. But she intimated that I had misunder- 
 stood her, and with some difficulty I heard her say — 
 
 'In many accounts of dying christians which I 
 have read, I think they had the comfort of being told, 
 an hour or so before death, that it was just at hand. 
 Now, am I to have that comfort 1 Tell me if death 
 be near.' 
 
 ' It cannot be far away,' I said ; ' but the hour no 
 man can tell.' 
 
 ' I know,' she replied. ' God only knows the very 
 hour ; but sometimes friends have an idea of when it 
 may be. For instance, in that " Mother's Joiu'nal," 
 which I have been reading, she told her daughter that 
 she should die that night. Now am I to die this 
 night ? ' I answered : 
 
 ' All I can say is, that from your exhausted state, 
 it cannot be ver)^ long now.' 
 
 ' Well,' she said, ' that is more explicit. I did not 
 know that before.' 
 
 ' Surely,' I said, ' if it be the will of God, you are 
 not averse to live *? ' 
 
 ' No!' she answered. 
 
 ' If you are in Christ Jesus, what may be the exact 
 moment of yom' death need not trouble you.' 
 
290 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' I am not troubled about it,' she said ; ' I only 
 thought to have received the same comfort which 
 other dying christians have had from their friends — 
 the comfort of laiowing how soon I shall be in glory.' 
 
 ' Wait still on the Lord,' I added ; ' and remember 
 Dr Belfrage's words : " This is a cup which a 
 Father's hand hath mingled." ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she replied ; ' and that was another beautiful 
 idea of his about the polishing of the jewels for the 
 crown of Christ. But, John, there is a very fine 
 passage of scripture which you were wont to use in 
 your prayers, and you have omitted it for some time : 
 " What are these which are aiTayed in white robes ? 
 and whence came they ? These are they which came 
 out of great tribulation, and have w^ashed their robes, 
 and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she added, with considerable firmness, after 
 thinking for a httle on this scripture. ' Yes ; I 
 
 THINK I AM NOW CONFIDENT OF MY SALVATION ! I 
 AM SURE OF GOING TO HEAVEN, AND I HOPE YOU 
 WILL ALL FOLLOW !'* 
 
 Not only with these words themselves, but with the 
 indescribable meekness, and at the same time firmness, 
 with which they were uttered, were our hearts glad- 
 dened. Her soul had now reached the summit of 
 Pisgah, from which the promised land of Canaan 
 burst upon her view. From this moment no clouds 
 ever rested upon or gathered near her high place. 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' p. 289, to the end of chap. 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 291 
 
 Her exercise seemed now, and up to death, to be a 
 perpetual gazing from this position upon the glorious 
 prospect which had at length been opened up to her 
 fiiith. Pendant upon the wings of Hoj)e and Love, 
 her tranquil spirit \A'as ever on the alert to fly away ; 
 and so intent was she upon her translation, that it was 
 only now and then that she could be induced to look 
 down upon the weeping mortals that stood gazing 
 upwards, in admiration of her exalted state. It was 
 indeed a glorious winding-up of a complicated, a 
 mysterious, and a tempestuous passage through this 
 bleak and waste howling wilderness ; and we gave God 
 thanks that we, too, were privileged to behold om- sister 
 in the possession of celestial happiness even before she 
 ceased entirely to be of this world. Though sadly 
 weakened in body, and still occasionally agonised with 
 pain, never did her peaceful spirit descend from the 
 splendid peak of this spiritual Nebo to which she had 
 been Hfted up. From her silence, and the deep im- 
 pressive solemnity of her manner, it was evident she 
 was now almost continually occupied in realising the 
 beauties and glories of Paradise, and in seeing and 
 hearing what '■ it was not lawful for a man to utter.' 
 Her looks sometimes told of unspeakable work within 
 and beyond her, and we could have fancied her in 
 rapturous communion with some lovely sister sj:)irits 
 hovering over her couch. As we stood looking upon 
 her, we could scarce believe that where there was such 
 suffering there could be such placidity. We thought, 
 
292 THE KIGHT LAMP. 
 
 ' Lovely thou art I yet none may dare 
 
 That placid soul to move. 
 Most beautiful thy braided hair — 
 But awful holiness breathes there, 
 Unmeet for earthly love.' 
 
 Her whole manner carried tis back to the brilhant 
 death-bed of her sainted mother, and noio we saw the 
 answer to that prayer which went up to God for her 
 only daughter, as she gave the last kiss to Agnes, and 
 laid her in the bosom of everlasting covenant love. 
 True, her dear child had had some chilling, dreary 
 days since the hour of her orphanage, and latterly she 
 had passed through ' the fires ;' but the God of the 
 parents had never ceased to watch over and secure 
 the soul of the child. And there — there it is now, 
 ' whether in the body or out of the body' we scarce can 
 tell, so j)ure, so calm, so wrapped in the peace and joy 
 of believing is this daughter of Zion. The only scrip- 
 ture which we could venture to put into her mouth, as 
 expressive of what were her feelings, is the song of 
 Mary: 'My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my 
 spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. For he hath 
 regarded the low estate of his hand-maiden : for, 
 behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me 
 blessed. For he that is mighty hath done to me great 
 things ; and holy is his name. And his mercy is on 
 them that fear him from generation, to generation. 
 He hath holjien his servant Israel, in re- 
 membrance of his mercy ; as he spake to our fathers, 
 to Abraham, and to his seed for ever.' 
 
TEIE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 293 
 
 August 11, Saturday. — Any conversations with 
 her after this were mere snatches from such moments 
 ot" ease — and they could only be styled moments — as 
 were granted to her, and when we did venture to 
 disengage her fi'om that invisible fellowship with 
 which she was intensely occupied. She suffered a 
 great deal all this day in ' the earthly house of her 
 tabernacle ; ' so much so, that we supposed it next to 
 impossible that the frail tenement could stand out 
 many minutes against such incessant attacks. But 
 the ' inner man ' was at rest — 
 
 ' The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, 
 
 Let in new light through chinks which suffering made.' 
 
 We engaged in prayer, after which I asked if she 
 were perfectly happy. A look not to be mistaken was 
 the response. ' It is His will,' I continued, ' that you 
 suffer still, but I hope the serenity within is unruffled.' 
 A second look said eloqu.ently, ^Yes.^ As it was my 
 painful duty to leave her, and for the last time, this 
 afternoon, I reminded her of it. She took no notice 
 of what I said, though she kept her eye fixed upon 
 me. About an hour afterwards she sent for me, and 
 desired me, as we Avere alone, to pray once more with 
 her. I did so, poui'ing out my heart on her behalf 
 before God the Father, committing her over and over 
 again to him, and beseeching him to be near her to 
 the last, and at the last to glorify her va\\\ the glory 
 that is his own — committino; her to the blessed 
 
294 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Redeemer, that he might continue to smile upon her 
 while in the swelhngs of Jordan, and to keep himself, 
 as tlie ' star that came out of Jacob,' revolving above 
 her in this '• hoiu" and power of darkness' — and com- 
 mitting her to the Holy Spirit, that he might continue 
 to send his ^ light forth and his tnitli,' so that her 
 feet might not stumble on any dark mountain. Hav- 
 ing finished, I brought myself up to say what I 
 believed must be the final farewell, and the following 
 simple conversation, carried on in whispers, closed the 
 scene : 
 
 ' I am compelled to leave you now, Agnes, and God 
 only knows wdiether we shall ever meet again.' 
 
 A holy, happy look upwards passed a smile over her 
 death-like face as she replied — 'In heaven, John, I 
 hope, if it be the will of God.' 
 
 ' I am leaving you strong in the faith of oui' Lord 
 Jesus r 
 
 ' Yes: 
 
 'You are relying Avholly and alone upon his justifj- 
 ing rio;hteousness ? ' 
 
 ' I am.' 
 
 ' You leave this world without regret 1 ' 
 
 ado.'* 
 
 ' Even all its gaieties, amusements, treasures, hopes?' 
 ' Yes,' she said firmly. ' All — all, even you and my 
 dearest friends.' 
 
 There was here a brief pause, till she had her 
 
 * See 'The Hiding Place,' p. 272. 
 
THE ASSURANCE OF HOPE. 295 
 
 parched mouth moistened with a httle wine. I then 
 said, ' Farewell, Agnes ! ' She took my hand in hers, 
 and held it firmly, saying, 'Farewell, my dear 
 brother ! ' and then she uttered a few words so indis- 
 tinctly that I could not make them out. I guessed 
 that she was asking me to pray ere we parted, and 
 asked her if I would do so. ' No ! ' she replied, as if 
 I had interrupted her. 'Pray always — always!' She 
 continued to hold my hand in hers ; and from her 
 appearance, I saw that she herself was engaged most 
 fervently in prayer. After a minute or so she Tet fall 
 my hand, saying, ' Now ! ' with considerable emphasis ; 
 and she closed her eyes. I left the room. Many a 
 time had I prayed for her ; but now she would give 
 the grand conclusion to the work — the never-to-be- 
 forgotten work of this hallowed chamber. She her- 
 self would pray. Her prayer, however, was not for 
 herself. May Jehovah hear that prayer ! 
 
CHAPTEE X. 
 
 ©eatfj anti tfie ffira&e. 
 
 ' death, where is thy sting? grave, where is thy victory? ' — Paul. 
 
 ' look upon her face : Eternity 
 Seems shadowed there ! A pure immortal calm, 
 Whose presence makes the tumults of this world 
 Pass like a fleeting breeze, and through the soul 
 Breathes the still ether of a loftier clime.' 
 
 John Wilson. 
 
 In bringing these scenes and conversations to a close, 
 the reader is requested to mark what has been their 
 chief characteristic — extreme simplicitu. The secret 
 Kes in this — Agnes was in earnest. Earnestness 
 chooses few words, and these words plain and forcible ; 
 they speak to the point at once, and leave no suspicion 
 as to their real meanino; and desio;n. Havino; but one 
 object in view, and that object the salvation of her 
 soul, she was never at a loss to express herself, and 
 never tempted any beside her to mismiderstand what 
 she said, or to conceive either too much or too little of 
 her peculiar feelings at the time. Slie Avas an honest 
 and upright inquirer into the truth, after she was fau'ly 
 set upon preparation for what was at hand ; and every 
 
DEATH AXD THE GRAVE. 297 
 
 one who had the privilege of conversing with lier on 
 her death-bed, retired fi'om her under the conviction 
 that her singleness of mind was the most beautifully 
 transparent featui'e in her character. This was indeed 
 one of her main excellences from childhood, and her 
 dying work only gave it more serious employments, 
 and more ample scope for illustration. 
 
 It is impossible to overvalue simplicity of charac- 
 ter, especially in religion. It is this that discovers 
 religion in its true colours — in its proper elements. 
 Artifice and ostentation hide its beauties, and un- 
 veil their own gairish and changing hues. There 
 have been far more splendid dpng scenes than the 
 one now contemplated, if we include the powerful 
 conversations of the higher order of intellectual gifts, 
 and the more graphic and imposing pictures w^hich 
 genius, inspired by christian faith, has sometimes 
 drawm, when engaged with the dark elements of death, 
 or contemplating the exciting prospects of eternal life. 
 Nor would we undervalue such surprising and fascina- 
 ting scenes as these ; we assign to them at once a more 
 exalted place among the annals of the soul's conflicts 
 Avith the king of terrors. But there is no doubt that 
 the study of such sublime combats and revelations 
 has a tendency to concentrate attention upon the 
 personal eminence of the sufferer, or upon the moral 
 mightiness of the christian religion to wield such 
 influences over superior and accomplished minds. 
 
 We cannot peruse such nari'atives without gi%ang 
 n2 
 
298 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 glory to God for subduing to his Son's cross these 
 intellectual principalities and moral dominions. In 
 the plam and artless discoveries, howe^-er, of the 
 death-bed before us, it is likelj that its solemn appeals 
 \vill be echoed from a greater nmnber of hmnan 
 hearts. It is not so much the sufferer herself, nor the 
 mere material and structure of her observations, that 
 command attention, as the truths of religion in all their 
 own importance, and in their necessary connection 
 with the soul's safety now, at death, and for ever. It 
 is religion that speaks, and that is spoken about ; and 
 it is the thrilling interest wliich the faith of its neces- 
 sity for, and its adaption to, the wants and destinies of 
 the immortal soul, gives to the narrative, that forms 
 its sole claim upon the reader's respect. Every one 
 feels that if this be the ' one thing needful' for a dying 
 day, it is not after all beyond his reach. There is no- 
 thing here to confound the most child-lil^e mind, no- 
 thing here luiapproachable by the most timid disciple; 
 and the spiritual conflict which is re^s-iewed rather 
 excites than chills the earnest ardom' of the youngest 
 soldier of the cross. In the study of the higher 
 achievements of some djdng gladiators, the humble 
 followers of the Lamb have been apt to doubt whether 
 they after all have been converted ; but none of the 
 children of God, we humbly think, can go away from 
 such a death-bed as this without ' thanldng God and 
 taking courage.' 
 
 Besides, in the study of such conversations as Agnes', 
 
DEATH j^J^fD THE GRAVE. 299 
 
 we are using the true test by which to try the genuine- 
 ness of her conversion to God ; by which, in short, to 
 prove the sincerity of profession, and the genuineness 
 of piety. Sometimes the germ, the element of godK- 
 ness, is so concealed among the exuberance of fruit 
 and foliage that it is apt to be overlooked ; and per- 
 adventure some may pass for christians who never 
 tasted and found God to be good, whilst others may 
 have conceded to themselves the praise and the glory 
 which were due to divine principles and divine grace. 
 In reviewing, however, the unpretending exercises of 
 this gentle christian, we see less of the person and 
 more of the principle — less of nature and more of 
 grace — less of man and more of God. We behold in 
 the very heart of every development of christian faith 
 and practice, the true and only germinating power 
 — even the Holy Spirit — and we witness the very pro- 
 cess at work which his impulsive touches set and keep 
 in motion, for the dissemination of pure vital influence 
 tlu'ough the various capacities of the believer's sancti- 
 fying natui'e. It is from within the circle of such 
 enterprises as Agnes' that the invitation comes with 
 melting effect : ' Come hear, all ye that fear God, and 
 I will tell you what he hath done for my soul.' 
 
 Independent of all this, how alFectingly do the 
 simple exercises of Agnes' death -bed preparation 
 illustrate the tender mercies and the wonderful faith- 
 fulness of God himself! We know how many and 
 how precious are the promises which he has made to 
 
300 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 encourage us to love and j^ut our trust in him, espe- 
 cially in our days of trouble and at our night of death. 
 Here, then, do we see him in the plenitude of his 
 compassion, in the power of his gTace, and in the 
 riches of his covenant engagements, fulfilhng his 
 promises to the ' prisoner of hope.' Nothing happened 
 to her that was strange. She said — ' " I know, O 
 Lord, that thy judgments are right, and that thou in 
 faithfulness hast afflicted me." ' She confessed that 
 God had been good to her beyond her expectations, 
 and that there were no truer words in the Bible than 
 these : ' God is a very present help in trouble ;' ' God 
 is in the midst of her ; she shall not be moved : God 
 shall help her, and that right early ;' ' Thou wilt keep 
 him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, 
 because he trusteth in thee ;' and ' God is able to do 
 exceeding abundantly above all tliat we ask or think, 
 according to the power that worketh in us.' Under 
 these impressions of the importance and uses of such 
 naiTatives as the present, we proceed to draAv the veil 
 over tlie last, the solemn hoiu's and works of this 
 patient, and now fully-assured, believer in the Lord 
 Jesus Christ. 
 
 August 12, Sabbath. — This was her last Sabbath 
 on earth. Before another dawned she had entered 
 upon her everlasting rest, and had joined the ran- 
 somed of the Lord in asci'ibing worthiness to the 
 Lamb who was slain. The previous night had been 
 what most of the nights of the preceding six months 
 
DEATH AXD THE GRAVE. 301 
 
 had been — one of restlessness and distress ; but what 
 many of these nights liad not been — one of perfect 
 tranquilhty of mind, and joyful anticipation of ' rest.' 
 She was now assured that death could not be far 
 distant ; and this enabled her to bear up under suffer- 
 ings which might othenvise have sadly discomposed 
 her. Indeed, such was her manner of endurance, that 
 it was only when she Avas asked about it, that she 
 admitted her pain to be still great. In the morning 
 of this hallowed day, she reclined in the arms of her 
 brother William, where many a time her wearied head 
 had lain and sunk to rest. She became suddenly very 
 faint and weak, and her sight left her. ' If this be 
 death,' she said quickly, ' then I will die where I have 
 often wished to die — in your arms ; and surely I am 
 now dying ! O blessed Jesus — blessed Jesus — thou 
 art coming now ! Behold he comes — he comes ! I 
 thank thee, my Saviour, for coming at last. "My 
 soul has thirsted for thee ; my flesh has longed for 
 thee in a dry and thirsty land !" But what do I see ? 
 Look there ! What bright and shining hght is that ? 
 It is a light bright as the sun in the firmament. It is 
 Jesus ! Come, Lord ! O come quickly !' 
 
 It is impossible to give anything lil^e a true and full 
 account of this scene. She continued for a long time 
 to express herself in language of rapturous dehglit 
 and holy triumph — gazing with her eye and pointing 
 with her finger at some glorious object beside her, 
 and calling him by name her oaati and her adorable 
 
302 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Redeemer. They were so overpowered on this, as 
 they had been on similar occasions before, that they 
 could not recollect either the abundance or the beauty 
 of her language. At last she ceased from pure 
 exhaustion, and reclined her head again on her 
 brother. 
 
 'Has it been all a delusion theni' she inquired in a 
 few minutes from this, and in a pitiful and disap- 
 pointed tone of voice. 'Am I still here? and yet 
 what wondrous Hglit was that which appeared to me! 
 Can my imagination have been deceived by the light 
 of the morning? "Nevertheless, O Lord, thy mil 
 be done." ' 
 
 She had been impressed that her hour was come, 
 and gave her Lord that rapturous welcome which she 
 had for so long been preparing for him. It was rather 
 soon, but not much too soon ; and with regard to what 
 her eyes beheld, it becomes not a stranger to inter- 
 meddle. 
 
 ' This is the day which the Lord hath made,' she 
 said again ; ' and it will be one continued Sabbath in 
 heaven. Read to me that hymn of the dying chris- 
 tian, beginning, " The hour of my departm'e's come." ' 
 Her wish was complied with. 
 
 Towards evening, she took her last adieu of her 
 eldest brother. Their parting was beautiful and 
 melting ; it was a simple bu.t a sublime scene. 
 
 'I am under the painful necessity to leave you, 
 Agnes,' he said. 
 
DEATH AND THE GRAVE. 303 
 
 ' Farewell, dear James !' she replied very feebly. 
 'Have you nothincy important to say to me?' 
 ' Love to all/ she replied ; ' my dying love.' 
 ' No doubt you preserve your faith and confidence 
 strong and immovable V 
 
 ' I hope I do/ replied the meek child of heaven. 
 As his latest farewell fell upon her ear, she closed 
 her eyes, and made no audible response. There was 
 weeping in the chamber, but no tear fell from her. 
 He had reached the door, but retiu'ned to the foot of 
 the bed, and, softly withdi'awing the curtains, he was 
 taking his last look. He thought she was asleep, and 
 whispered, ' I shall never see her again !' In a moment 
 her eyes opened, and she slowly and solemnly raised 
 her feeble arm, and pointing with her finger upwards, 
 said, ' In heaven, James !' and then she shut her 
 eyes and saw him no more. Ah ! there was an appeal 
 which even flinty hearts coidd not have resisted. No 
 doubt her farewell with him was the same as that 
 which had been given to the writer on the pre^'ious 
 day. She was praying for him. God in his mercy 
 grant that that prayer also may receive an abundant 
 answer in his blessed and eternal experience ! How 
 affectingly descriptive were these few words, and that 
 heavenly attitude of her own unclouded and perfect 
 hope of bliss and immortality beyond the gTave ! 
 Pier thouo-hts were now as high as heaven itself. 
 With the eye of the eagle, as well as on eagle's wings, 
 she had soared upwards, and with piercing look had 
 
304 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 discovered her own liappy liome, to wliicli she invited 
 those near and dear to follow her. 
 
 Later in the evening she expressed a wish for one 
 to pray with her. She was asked if she could listen 
 to one of Willison's prayers, which she had often read 
 with great satisfaction. She refused, sajdng, ' I wish 
 one specially adapted to myself. Go and ask my 
 uncle to come and pray mth me.' Her uncle, Mr 
 Husband, who was in the house, came and prayed 
 with her. This was exceedingly pleasant to her. He 
 had been as a father to her ever since she was father- 
 less, and she loved him vnth all her heart. His spirit, 
 too, has rejoined that of his lovely niece in Clmst's 
 Father's house. 
 
 ' You are firm, dear Agnes,' he said, ' on the Rock 
 of Ages.' 
 
 ' O yes,' she rephed, \finn, I trust, in God. It is 
 written, " None perish that him trust ;" also, " God is 
 not a man that he should He."' 
 
 Thus, however enfeebled her bodily strength was, 
 lier mind was as strong and clear as ever — still calmly 
 reconnoitring the foundations of her faith — still able 
 to give a reason, a scriptural reason, for the hope that 
 was in her. Though she lay quiet, she was by no 
 means idle — she was constantly busy. She was ob- 
 served, a little after this, to be engaged in prayer. 
 
 ' 1 hope you remember us still in prayer ? ' said one 
 of her brothers. 
 
 ' Yes, I do,' she rephed. It was rejoined : 
 
DEATH AND THE GEAVE. 305 
 
 ' Perhaps it is God's pui'pose, in jonr early afflic- 
 tion and death, to secure our salvation. Supposing 
 this to be the case, are you willing to be made a 
 sacrifice for us V 
 
 'Yes,' she answered, 'my life cheerfvdly, but not 
 my soul.^ 
 
 Ere parting with them for the night, she said to the 
 nurse and others in the room : 
 
 ' I often ask forgiveness of God for my impatience, 
 and I know he will grant it. I Avish now to ask yovu's 
 for all my fretfulness, and for all the trouble you have 
 had with me.' 
 
 ' We have nothing to forgive,' replied William, 'but 
 rather great reason to thank God for the wonderful 
 fortitude with which you have borne the burden and 
 heat of a long day of suffering.' 
 
 August 13, Monday. — I did not expect, on my 
 return to Edinburgh this forenoon, to see her in life ; 
 but in life I found her, and what was most afflictive, 
 still the victim of acute suffering. I saw, however, 
 the unmistakeable signs of approaching dissolution. 
 I scarcely knew her ; her sweet expression was entu'ely 
 gone ; the smile of welcome — the symbol of a living 
 intelligence — seemed to be gone also — all gone. A 
 lesson of humility might have been learned there. 
 She lay and suffered, but not one murmur escaped 
 her lips. I asked her if I might pray with her. She 
 gave no assent. Some hours afterwards the nurse 
 came at her request, and I prayed. I then proceeded 
 
306 TFIE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 to what proved the last of a long series of addresses 
 upon the rich and strong consolations of her holy faith. 
 She never once took her eye from me ; and never had 
 I seen her give such keen attention, the more especially 
 when I came to speak of the perfect safety of the be- 
 liever in Jesus — of the beauty and bliss of that land 
 she was so soon to enter — and of the privilege of the 
 saints in having Immanuel himself, the King of the 
 country, to conduct them over Jordan. ' The moment,' 
 I continued, ' your immortal soul is at liberty, you will 
 find that Jesus is at hand — that he will take you up 
 in his arms, and carry you in his bosom homewards.' 
 
 Even in her strangely altered coiuitenance, I could 
 discover what was working 's^dthin. Occasionally the 
 eye sparlvled with pxire delight ; and when I closed 
 with the above words, she could contain no longer, 
 and exclaimed as in triumph — ' " Yea, tfiough I 
 
 WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF 
 DEATH, I WILL FEAR NO EVIL : FOR THOU ART 
 WITH me; THT rod and THY STAFF THEY COM- 
 FORT ME !" ' 
 
 With these words her christian testimony was 
 wound up, and thus closed for ever a brother's contri- 
 butions to the peace of a dying sister's soul. During 
 the course of the day, she manifested an anxiety that 
 M^e should not leave the room, as she wished us all to 
 see her die. For the first time lier mind seemed to 
 wander, but only a little, and for the most part her 
 exercise seemed to be prayer. Deep sighs and heavy 
 
DEATH AND THE GRAVE. 307 
 
 moanings told of sinking nature ; and we expected that 
 as the sun went down, she, too, would pass away into 
 realms beyond its light. But she sur\dved this sunset, 
 and ere I left her for the evening, I for the last time 
 accompanied her to the throne of grace in prayer. 
 This was indeed the closing supplication, the latest 
 uplifting of our souls together, the last knock which 
 we gave at the gates of the celestial city. Soon after 
 this they were thrown open, and she disappeai'ed fi'om 
 oiu' view. 
 
 ' I weary to see Him. Oh, when shall I see Him ? 
 Shall I see him to-night, nurse *? ' * 
 
 'In all likelihood, ma'am, you will be in heaven 
 soon now.' 
 
 ' But to-ni(jht, nurse ? Shall I see Him tins night ? ' 
 were the last words we heard as we left her chamber. 
 
 August 14, Tuesday. — Though not within her 
 room, this last night was a wakeful one to us all. 
 Very pitiful and heart-melting were the moanings 
 which occasionally sounded through the silent habita- 
 tion fi'om the dying maiden. Frequently during its 
 watches did she urge her nurse to bring us to see her 
 die. Early in the morning we stood beside her. How 
 mysterious, we said, is Providence — she still lives ! 
 Such M^as her condition that neither prayers nor 
 words of comfort could be presented, though it was 
 pleasant to see that her soul was still calm and confi- 
 dent. 
 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' p. 353, to the end of chap. 
 
308 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 During the whole of this forenoon we watched 
 closely by her bedside ; she was so weak that we 
 feared she might at any moment leave us. She was 
 evidently under the same impression, and signified her 
 wish that none of us should quit the room. She could 
 not speak, but she looked upon us most sweetly, and 
 said a thousand farewells in every look. Her smile, 
 too, returned to her pale face, the first herald of that 
 joy of which she was so soon to partake. Her whole 
 expression seemed to say — 'I am near Him and Home. 
 In a few minutes I shall be in his bosom. Soon this 
 weary bed I Avill resign, and suffer pain no more— all 
 my doubts and fears are gone — I am ready to be 
 offered. I leave you all without a tear — weep not 
 for me. Be sure and live so that this parting shall be 
 only temporary ! I charge you to meet me in heaven. 
 O how glorious the prospect ! ' Though she had 
 uttered these sentences, we could not have more clearly 
 apprehended her thoughts. While thus conversing 
 with us, we noticed her eyes gently closing; it was 
 about two o'clock, and thinking she was merely falling 
 on sleep, we were pleased and grateful ; it was the only 
 thing like sleep that we had seen her enjoy for months. 
 We expected, however, that ere she died we should be 
 favoured with some sublime, some heavenly scene, 
 such as imparted to her mother's last moments so 
 memorable an interest, and that that prayer for 
 Agnes which passed fi'om the dj^ng mother's lips, 
 as her spirit was on the wing for glory, should now 
 
DEATH AND THE GRAVE. SOD 
 
 in some remarkable way be beard. The course of 
 our sister's dying work contributed to beget such 
 hopes and wishes ; for ah'eady on several occasions she 
 had evidenced, by her manner and expressions, her 
 nearness to the spiritual world, and her mysterious 
 discernment of its hidden glories. But such was not 
 the will of our heavenly Father. Truly we had seen 
 and heard what was sufficient to satisfy us that there 
 is even before death, between believers and the 
 ' powers of the world to come,' a reality of com- 
 munion and a vividness of perception which comes 
 very close upon, if it does not actually touch, the con- 
 fines of Paradise. Her silence this forenoon we felt to 
 be somewhat painful. On reflection, we now saw that 
 her work was by for too heavenly for utterance. 
 She lay, as we thought, in deep and refreshing sleep, 
 till six o'clock in the evening, when we became 
 alarmed at its continuance. None there, save the 
 nm'se, had ever seen death before; and impressed with 
 the fear that she might die Avithout one last look of 
 love, w^e gently tried to awaken her. It was in vain. 
 The last thing of which she took notice, was the music 
 at family worship in the morning, and the next 
 melody that broke upon her ears rose from the 
 hosannahs of the ransomed in the choirs above. She 
 did not return to consciousness here. 
 
 About ten o'clock this night w^e w^ere all standing 
 at her couch, and it was proposed that we might 
 engage in family de\otions, and once more entreat the 
 
310 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Lord together to take her to himself. We retired to 
 the dining-room. Part of the thirty-fourth Psahn was 
 selected for praise, and just while we were singing 
 these lines, 
 
 'The troubles tliat afflict the just 
 In number many he : 
 But yet at length out of them all 
 The Lord doth set them free,' 
 
 the nurse rushed into the room, and called upon us to 
 ' make haste.' In an instant we were beside Agnes. 
 
 She had often instructed the nurse to be sure and 
 inform her Avhen she thought the last moment had 
 an-ived. This the faithful attendant had done. Ob- 
 serving upon her strangely altered face the symbol of 
 dissolution, she took Agnes' hand, saying — 
 
 ' Now, dear, do you hear them singing the praises 
 of God? You are about to depart and sing his 
 praises in heaven.' 
 
 As we entered the room she had just been 
 raised up, and was supported as usual by pillows on 
 each side. The dim light of the taper revealed her 
 now haggard features; her eyes slowly opened, she 
 looked all round the room, gave one beautiful smile, 
 and then the eyelids fell, and a still more glorious 
 sight was opened to her view. She was gone ! 
 
 And so she died at length ! While we were 
 singing as a family on earth, she began her song as 
 one of the family in heaven. The niu'se, at my re- 
 quest, brought the Bible, and I laid it down upon the 
 
DEATH AND THE GRAVE. 31 1 
 
 attenuated body. She liad now no need of its light ; 
 God and the Lamb were her hght now^ ; but we needed 
 it, for the darkness of death was around us, and hav- 
 ing read a portion of these scriptures, the knowledge 
 and faith of which had wrought such great things for 
 our departed sister, we concluded the death-bed work 
 by casting ourselves upon the care of Him who had 
 bereaved us of one alike lovely and beloved, and that 
 in a way calculated to alarm us into serious thought, 
 and draw us into the path of the just. 
 
 And so she died ! — and without a struggle — a 
 calm termination to a stormy voyage. I now closed 
 those eyes which had so often beamed upon me with 
 the light of intelligence and love, kissed the pale 
 cheek, and left the chamber of death : — 
 
 ' Go, peaceful shade ! exchange for sin and care 
 The glorious jjalm which patient sufferers wear : 
 Go take the meed victorious meekness gains — 
 Go wear the crown triumphant faith obtains. 
 Those silent graces which the good conceal, 
 The day of dread disclosure shall reveal : 
 Then shall thy mild, retii'ing virtues rise. 
 And God, both judge and witness, give the prize.' 
 
 August 15, Wednesday. — We entered the cham- 
 ber as usual this morning — the chamber now of deatli 
 • — not to inquii'e how she had passed the night, for wo 
 knew she had been in consummate felicity, and in the 
 bloom and health of immortality; not to ask if her 
 faith remained steadfast on Jesus, for we knew that 
 
312 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 faith witli lier had passed into vision ; not to ask her 
 to go witli us to the throne of grace in prayer, for we 
 knew that she was now before the throne of glory in 
 praise ; not to weep for her sufferings, for we knew 
 that all tears were wiped away from her eyes ; but we 
 went into lier chamber to weep for ourselves — to pray 
 for ourselves, and to gaze upon her precious dust. 
 While thus mourning for our dead, a kind Providence 
 interfered, and sent one to comfort us whom, above all 
 others, vre most desired to see. This was that venerable 
 man of God, Mr Browni of Inverkeithing. He had 
 come to see Agnes, to hear her beautiful dpng testi- 
 mony, and to ]5ray with her before she died. His former 
 visit, it may be recollected, was upon the day on which 
 she was first apprised of her danger, and his last was 
 when all that danger had been bravely encountered and 
 gloriously triumphed over by this youthful christian. 
 Very solemn and suitable were his achnonitions to the 
 survivors of the family, especially his urgent entreaties 
 A\dth them to remember their Creator in the days of 
 their youth ; to walk worthy of those ' who through 
 faith and patience were now inheriting the promises,' 
 and to ' fight the good fight of faith,' that in the end 
 they might receive the cro^Am of life. Havmg offered 
 up a melting and earnest prayer, the aged saint took 
 his departure evidently under peculiar feelings, to 
 which his thoughts of other years, and his associations 
 with the deceased, would impart a deep and sacred 
 impression. 
 
DEATH AND THE GRAVE. 313 
 
 But preparations must now be made to comply with 
 tlie dying wash of Agnes about the place of her inter- 
 ment. The messenger who had been despatched to 
 Fifeshire on the previous evening to inform relatives 
 of her decease, returned this forenoon wath information 
 that all things would be in readiness for receiving the 
 body. Her affectionate uncle came over to Edinburgh, 
 and made all the necessary arrangements. On the 
 evening of Thursday the 16th, we laid her remains in 
 the coffin, and having taken the last fond look of love, 
 it was carried to the sable hearse, which slowly moved 
 from that dwelling to which she had gone in the be- 
 ginning of winter with high hopes of earthly enjoy- 
 ment, but where had been administered to her work 
 of a more awfal and important character. The hearse 
 was accompanied by two of her brothers and her uncle, 
 Mr Husband. 
 
 It was one of those beautiful evenings which autumn 
 sometimes gives us, and scarce one cloud lay cradled 
 in the clear blue sky, as the ftuieral of Agnes moved 
 slowly along the spacious streets and squares of the 
 Scottish capital, which, with all its gaieties and beau- 
 ties, was speedily left behind. The Queensferry 
 road was next reached ; and seldom does the varied 
 and picturesque scenery which lines the whole of 
 that noble highway appear so grand and impos- 
 ing as it did on this memorable night. The sear 
 and yellow leaf was just beginning to hint the 
 departure of summer and the winter's approach. The 
 
314 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 reapers were singing cheerfully as they wended 
 their way homewards from the harvest fields. In 
 the far west, the snn was going down in his 
 glory, reflecting his rich and mellowed hght on 
 Edina's palaces and towers, and giving to the waters 
 of the majestic Forth the appearance of one burnished 
 sheet of living gold. Everything, indeed, in nature 
 was as sublime and fascinating as either the heart of 
 poetic devotion or of lofty piety could desu'e. To the 
 funeral party, however, the charms of the scenery 
 seemed to have fled. They were not interested in its 
 beauties as of old. Often with her whose ' mortahty' 
 they were now accompanying to the grave, had they 
 traversed that road on then- way to and from Fife- 
 shire; and none had more highly appreciated than 
 she its numerous and variegated landscapes. Only a 
 few months before they had surveyed it all, and 
 together had expatiated on its lights and shades ; but 
 the thoughts of the living rose this eve to the happy 
 and holy land of Beulah where she now dwelt, and 
 to the raptui'ous exercises of song and love in which 
 she was now perpetually engaged. 
 
 By the time they reached South Queensferry, the 
 moon had risen, and was casting her silvery light upon 
 the waters ; the little island lying in the bosom of the 
 river, seemed as if clothed in virgin white, to mourn 
 for the maiden who shall never again hail it in pass- 
 ing. A few minutes were allowed for the reqmred 
 arrangements ; the ferr_yTiien soon got all ready, and 
 
DEATH AND THE GRAVE. 315 
 
 having carried down tlie coffin to the pier, it was 
 lowered into the boat. The night was cahn, and the 
 stream was smooth ; the rowers were hardy and 
 weather-beaten men, but they spoke not a word. The 
 only sounds that were heard being the regular beat 
 of their oars, or the sio;hino; of bereavement ch'awn 
 from the guardians of the dead. The last time Agnes 
 had gone over that stream, was in returning from a 
 youthful party in her native town, — then all life and 
 glee ; now — ' O that we were wise ; that we under- 
 stood this ; that we would consider our latter end ! ' 
 
 If the ride on the south side had awakened bitter 
 reminiscences, that on the north of the Forth did not 
 tend to allay them. On the contrary, every spot of 
 ground there was, as it were, written all over with 
 her name. On these Waldean hills she had rambled 
 in girlhood ; in that and the other farm-house she had 
 made herself a favourite with old and young; and 
 alike in the abodes of the rich and the huts of the 
 poor, she bore a name that is yet held in affectionate 
 remembrance. But what sounds are these which 
 startle the moui'ners fi'om then' reverie ? It is the bell 
 of the old Abbey tolling the hour of eleven, and now 
 the houses and spires of her birth-place appear in the 
 sombre but imposing relief of moonlight. At length 
 the carriages are arrested, and the remains of Agnes 
 are borne into the room of that dwelling-house which 
 but recently she had left in hope and health. 
 
 On that day week that she died she was buried. 
 
316 THE NIGHT LAMP. 
 
 Beneath the shade of the ancient abbey, and almost 
 mider the window of the apartment where the unfor- 
 tunate Charles the First was bom, her body now 
 reposes, by the side of her sainted parents. 
 
 ' Lone in the rural cemet'ry thou'rt sleeping ; 
 
 Sleep on in peace, thy pilgrimage is done. 
 WUd through the sky the wintry winds are sweeping, 
 
 But all thy storms are past — thy prize is won ; 
 
 Thine was a weary race, but now 'tis run. 
 Thy toils, thy tears, thy struggles all are past, 
 And thou hast closed thine eyes in peaceful sleep at last.' 
 
 And now, dear reader, this narrative must be closed. 
 Have you found out its threefold moral *? If you have, 
 you must by this time have resolved to put no longer 
 any confidence in the mere externals of religion ; to 
 seek with all your heart the saving change produced 
 by the Spirit of God in regeneration, and to ' search 
 the scriptures,' as the only and infallible guides to 
 Christ, to God, to Heaven. If you are old, and 
 not yet 'iN Cheist,' make haste to him ; it is not yet 
 too late. You have yet another ' now.' He waits 
 upon you. If you are middle aged, and not yet out 
 of the world, make haste to have the world crucified 
 to you and you to the world. If you are young, decide 
 at once to consecrate yourself to Christ, and you are 
 certam to be received into his afiections, and to find 
 an interest in his divine favour. It is not to be found 
 in the Bible that anv who seek him late shall find liim ; 
 
DEATH iVND THE GRAVE. 317 
 
 but it is Avritten there, 'I love them that love me, and 
 those that seek me early shall find me.' And may 
 the Lord in his mercy gi'ant that such be now your 
 happy experience ! Amen. * 
 
 * See ' The Hiding Place,' cliap xvii. 
 
 GLASGOWi 
 
 PKINTED BY 8. AND T. DUJJN, 
 
 14 Prince's Square. 
 
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PUBLICATIONS BY DR INIACFARLANE. 
 
 Just Published, Crown Octavo, Price 5s. 
 I. THE HIDING PLACE: 
 
 OR, THE SINNER FOUND IN CHRIST. 
 
 ' The author of this volume is already widely known as an instructive 
 and attractive writer. It may not perhaps possess the brilliancy and 
 splendour which are thrown around some of the scenes pictiu-ed forth in 
 the delineation of his " Mountains of the Bible," or the pathos, and 
 solemnity, and artistic skill which gave to the biography of his " Night 
 Lamp" its profound and entrancing interest. But while it has all these 
 features, at least in a very high degree, it has in common with the latter 
 volume that deep-toned seriousness, that adaptation to the wants and 
 anxieties of a mind in earnest about its salvation, which has rendered it 
 so eminently useful to serious inquirers, and so great a favourite in the 
 chambers of afHiction and death. The field which the author has 
 marked out for himself in " The Hiding Place " is extensive, and it is 
 trodden with ease and dignity. The objects of thought are often magni- 
 ficent, always important ; and they are clothed with the richest drapery 
 or handled with the solemn seriousness which they respectively require. 
 There is no trifling — no subtile and nice disquisitions — no far-fetched 
 dreamy fancies. The subjects are obviously felt to be too sacred, too 
 solemn, and the interests at stake too weighty. The volume brings 
 before the mind a mine of rich, massive, solemn scriptural truth, and 
 cannot fail, by the blessing of God, to produce a gi'eat amount of practi- 
 cal good.' — Dr Kitto's Journal of Sacred Literature. 
 
 ' The design of this work is eminently practical. The commentary 
 given by Dr Macfarlane on the subhme and significant titles given to 
 the Messiah in the expressive Hebrew terms quoted by him, is worthy of 
 his reputation. It will be found not only chaste in its style, and elo- 
 quent in its illustrations, but very suggestive of most important truths, 
 which even ministers themselves do not, we fear, exhibit so freely as 
 they might. In the study, therefore, of the pastor, as well as in the 
 
closet of the anxious inquirer, or the true believer, this is a book -whicli 
 ought to be a welcome and abiding guest. We give " The Hiding Place" 
 our hearty commendation.' — The Christian Times. 
 
 ' A young person supposed to be unacquainted with the gospel plan of 
 saving a sinner, could not finish the careful perusal of this volume without 
 having a very satisfactory idea of the grand outlines of the plan ; and 
 besides finding his head so much enhghtened by its clear and compre- 
 hensive statements, he would feel his heart attracted by the affectionate 
 and impressive manner in which the truth had been set before him. 
 We give the book our cordial commendation. Its theme, its theology, 
 its literature, its earnestness, its thoroughly practical spirit, will win for it 
 a claim to hold close companionship with " The Night Lamp."' — Chris- 
 tian Journal. 
 
 * This volume, with all the freshness, and vigour, and genial glow of 
 its predecessors, bears the marks of still more careful preparation. With 
 as much of the lively, and ornate, and ardent, there is more of condensed 
 thought, of solid matter — more of the "apples of gold," without any 
 shortcoming in the " pictures of silver." We have no doubt it will not 
 only sustain, but extend the already well-earned reputation and useful- 
 ness of its author. The work is of a kind loudly called for by the 
 peculiar circumstances of the times. What is now wanted is a class of 
 works abounding in the clear and broad statement, and vigorous and ear- 
 nest enforcement of the distinguishing truths of Christianity, cast into a 
 form adapted to popular impression — and to this class the present work 
 of Dr Macfarlane belongs. We recommend our readers to procm-e " The 
 Hiding Place." Its richness in scriptural matter, its variety of topic and 
 illustrations, its unflagging liveliness and force of style, its continual 
 turns of ingeniously practical applications, its evangelical unction, and 
 its thrilling tone of earnestness, stamp it with no common value, and we 
 heartily desire for it, as we have no doubt it will secure, a wide and 
 growing circulation.' — United Presbyterian Magazine. 
 
 ' The different topics are admirably arranged as a system. The illustra- 
 tion is characterised by the lively style, the clearness, and force, and the 
 power of practical appeal, which distinguish the author's other writings. 
 We can with all confidence and earnestness recommend it to religious 
 families.' — Keko Chronicle. 
 
'The plan of this book is alike interesting aad ingenious. The idea 
 is equally novel and attractive. It is a treatise which is as comprehen- 
 sive and masterly in theology, as it is invaluable and specific in dealing 
 with almost every phrase of spiritual experience. Dr Macfarlane has 
 sought to occupy a high department of authorship in this work, in whicli 
 it requires the noblest order of intellect to excel ; and it must be admitted 
 that he has brought into the field a characteristic freshness of thought 
 and feeling, together with a vivacity of style which will command and 
 deserve success.' — Glasgow Chronicle. 
 
 ' Dr Macfarlane's new work, " The Hiding Place," contains a great 
 mass of gospel truth, set forth in a graceful and lively manner, in a forci- 
 ble style, and with much and varied illustration.' — Hogg's Instructor, 
 
 ' " The Hiding Place " is a most creditable performance — not a mere 
 ornate yet frigid composition, but lively, vigorous, and thoroughly satu- 
 rated with richest gospel truth.' — Scottish Christian Journal. 
 
 \l THE NIGHT LAMP: 
 
 A Narrative or the means bx which Spiritual Darkness 
 
 WAS DISPELLED FROM THE DeATH-EED OF AgNES MaXWELL 
 
 Macfarlane. Third Edition, crown 8vo, price 5s. 
 
 ' We do not wonder at its popularity. It is a story of thrilling in- 
 terest, told by an affectionate, intelligent, and ardent mind ; in a style 
 energetic, flowing, ornate, and yet chaste. If parents and guardians 
 would take our counsel, they would introduce it into the chamber of 
 every child and pupU entrusted to their care, and especially to the 
 private rooms of them so happily designated by Mrs Ellis " the daugh- 
 ters of England" — and if publishers who seek to promote godliness, as 
 well as to get gain, when they issue their prospectuses of " Ladies' 
 Libraries," would place at the head " The Night Lamp," as introduc- 
 tory to the Memoirs of Mrs Graham, Mrs Judson, Mrs Newall, Lady 
 Colquhoun — they would confer a boon for which the christian world 
 would be most grateful.' — JDr Kitto's Journal of Sacred Literature. 
 
' This work possesses the elements of true and continuous popularity. 
 It is a history of spiritual life which can scarcely be matched.' — 
 Eclectic Review. 
 
 ' It will ever remain green and fragrant lohile the world lasts. We 
 trust the publication of it was a thought from God. It will fill up a 
 niche in the memoirs of the day.' — Evangelical Magazine. 
 
 ' To be at all appreciated, it must be read, and they who read it 
 will remember it for ever. We predict for it equal popularity with 
 Newman Hall's " Christian Philosopher." ' — British Banner. 
 
 ' Dr Macfarlane's book has taken its place akeady, far above the 
 region of mere criticism, in the dim chambers of the sick, and by the 
 bed-sides of the dying, who have felt that it is " good for it " to be 
 there. This is true fame. It is a well- written and charming volume.' — 
 George Gilfillan. 
 
 ' In every religious family it should find a resting-place, and more 
 especially in the family of every minister of Christ.' — United Presby- 
 terian Magazine. 
 
 III. THE MOUNTAINS OF THE BIBLE: 
 
 Their Scenes and tiieik Lessons. Third Thousand, post 8vo, 
 price 6s, with Illustrations by Finden. 
 
 ' The idea of the book is at once simple and sublime. It required 
 a combination of faculties which are rarely united to execute it with 
 comprehensive, appropriate, and practical application. It is no mean 
 praise to certify that Dr Macfarlane has produced the best series of 
 discourses on the subject which as yet have been published. The work 
 is the' production alike of an accomplished and devout mind.' — Eclectic 
 Review. 
 
 'This is a most interesting subject, most admirably handled. The 
 fire with which the eloquent pen of the gifted author has been touched 
 is fire from the altar.' — JSPPhaiVs Magazine. 
 
 ' The excellence of the plan is fitted of itself to secure the success of 
 
the execution. The imagination is enkindled by the first glimpse of 
 the scenes to which it is introduced.' — Evangelical Magazine. 
 
 ' This is a capital book. The subject is interesting, the plates are 
 beautiful, the title is taking, and the execution is animated, clever, 
 picturesque, and practical.' — George Gilfillan. 
 
 (^Conjointly with Eev. Dr M'Kekrow,) 
 
 IV. REV. HENRY BELFRAGE, D.D., 
 
 HIS LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE. 
 8vo, price 6s, with Portrait, engraved by Hole. Pp. 360. 
 
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 pilers, and profitable to the church. The great variety of occurrences 
 excited in our bosom, in the course of perusal, an interest all but 
 romantic' — United Secession Magazine. 
 
 V. MEMOIR OF THE LATE REV. JOHN CAMPBELL. 
 
 12mo, price 2s 6d. Pp. 264. 
 
 ' Mr Campbell was not only a pious and excellent man, but a zealous, 
 laborious, and excellent minister, and deserves to be held in grateful 
 remembrance by the church.' — D. Dewar, D.D. LL.D. 
 
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 VI. CHRISTIAN OLD AGE: 
 
 Being the Two Discourses delivered on the occasion of the 
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