The "Apostle of the north." The life and labours of the Rev. Dr. M'Donald

CHAPTER XIV. Last days— Death— Character 314 '

THE

APOSTLE OF THE NORTH.

CHAPTER L

dr. macdoxald's father— glimpses of him during his life— his death — his character as described by his son.

N the gloaming of an evening in the year ] 753, a young man, low-sized and strongframed, whose face — round, swarthy, and expressive — was lighted up by keen, dark eyes, might have been seen approaching the door of one of the cottages in a hamlet, in the parish of Kildonan. That cottage is his lowly home. He 13 unwashed and uncombed ; his dress is homespun and torn ; and the lines which streaming tears have made still streak his face ; but his countenance is brightened by the expression of a joy, which till lately his heart had never known. He is returning from the lonely hill-side, where he has spent the most of the day in prayer. Only a few days have passed

A WORD IN SEASON.

since he, for the first time, " tasted that the Lord is gracious." That young man was Dr. Macdonald's father, then in his eighteenth year.

A few years later, James Macdonald, now a married man, might have been seen among the worshippers in the church at Creich. Mr. Rose is in the pulpit. There is no gleam of gladness now on James' face, for the joy of his espousals has departed from his heart. He sits in darkness, and his downcast look tells how feeble is his hope that light shall arise on him again. But how fixed his attention has become ! The preacher has described a case which he recognises as his own; and, having done so, added, " Thou art seeking Christ, but thou shalt not find him here. On thy return home, retire at once to thy wonted place of prayer, and He whom thou seekest shall there meet with thy soul. Satan will try to intercept thee ; but beware of yielding to his temptation." The service over, James returned home, pondering by the way the advice which had been given. On coming within sight of his house, he observed two of his neighbours standing together before the door. Approaching nearer, he discovered that they had quarrelled, and heard in their angry utterances, threats of personal violence. Remembering the counsel given to him in the church at Creich, he hurried past the disputants to his praying nook in the barn, and ere he left it, he could say, " My beloved is mine, and I am his."

THE EMIGRANT SHIP.

In the year 1770, James might have been seen seated beside a table, in a large barn, in the parish of Reay, surrounded by a crowd. He is engaged in examining the people, for he has been appointed catechist of the parish. All eyes are fixed upon him, for he never failed to arrest and sustain the attention of his hearers. How lucid is his brief exposition of the answer given from the Shorter Catechism ! How apparent is the drift of his questions in cross-examination ! How patiently he deals with that ignorant old man ! How tenderly he treats that timid youth ! How he rises in the series of questions put to that forward, selfconfident fellow, till he has silenced him at last, and made him feel that he is wise only in his own conceit !

An emigrant ship had been caught by a storm off the Caithness coast. She was hastening towards the frowning rocks that fence the northern shore. Almost all on board were on their knees uttering loud cries for mercy, and some were driven by the storm to pray, whose oath had been the loudest in the calm. Sitting quietly among them was James Macdonald, unruffled, hopeful, and resigned. One of the passengers observing him, said, " You hardened, godless man, why don't you pray?" "I pity those," was James answer, " who never prayed till to-night." The vessel was dashed on the wild lee shore, but all on board escaped. They were bound for America; and

JAMES MACDONALD S SECOND MARRIAGE.

thither James Macdonald had resolved to emigrate with his wife and family; but this was his first and last attempt to leave his native land.

On an evening, in the year 1775, James Macdonald, now a widower, is seated alone in his room, when a pious neighbour enters. His friend, anxious about James' comfort, has been praying to the Lord to provide for him a second wife. He has never broached the subject to the catechist, and he himself has never thought of it. But his friend is pressed and encouraged to speak about it now; and this is the object of his present visit. After a good deal of shying and fencing, the proposal is at last fairly made. u I never thought of such a thing," James said, " but I will consider it: call back again." After a few days his friend returned. " What now," he asked, " do you think of my proposal ? " " I am quite ready to marry/' he said, " if I got a wife from the Lord ; but I know not where to seek for one." His friend was prepared to help him in his search, and proposed to accompany him to a certain family. Away they went together, and entered the house where the young woman lived whom his friend had set apart for the catechist. The mother is requested to call the daughter into the room. When she entered, James asked his friend, "Is this she?" " Yes, that is your second wife," was the reply. " She would require to be better than she looks," James said, after looking towards her. This was

BETWEEN TWO FIRES.

said aloud ; and regarding the catechises remark as the reverse of complimentary, the damsel in a huff left the room. But the marriage was arranged before they went away, and took place soon after. This second wife was Dr. Macdonald's mother, and he was her second child.

In James day, in Caithness, a true follower of Christ had, ecclesiastically, a difficult part to act. His safe course was a narrow one, between two opposing parties, both of whom would try to draw him to their side. If he remained in the Establishment, he was in danger of countenancing men, who craved the office of the ministry, merely that thereby they might earn a stipend, and who employed the stipend in degrading the office by which they had acquired it. If he joined the Separatists, who had ceased to hear the ministers of the Established Church, he would forsake his "mothers house," where he had been born again, and fed with " the sincere milk of the word." In either case he would encounter a double opposition. The two classes of ministers would oppose him if he seceded, and if he remained in the church, and was faithful, both the Separatists and the Moderates would be against him. He chose to remain in his " mother's house ; " and he so conducted himself there, as to secure the confidence and affection of the godly, and the respect of the ungodly, ministers* around him ; and at the same time to retain the respect, as a tribute to his un-

ADVICE AS TO PRAYER.

doubted godliness, of those who were loudest in denouncing the abuses of the church.

On his ' way home, after joining in the communion services in a neighbouring parish, he called for John Grant, the acknowledged leader of the. Separatists, for whom he cherished the most affectionate respect. John, knowing where he had been, received him very gruffly. James resolved to have " the first word of flytirig," asked him, why he had not been at the communion. " Because," he replied, "the Lord told me not to go, and if you would take my advice, you would not go yourself.'' " Well, John," James said, " when you are asked, at the last day, why you were not there, you can look up to the Judge and say, ' Thou thyself didst forbid my going;' but if I remained at home, I could only reply, when asked the same question, 1 John Grant told me not to go,' and this you will allow would be but a poor apology." And he added, " When my coat gets some dirty spots upon it, I count it too precious to cast it, on that account, aside ; I rather stick to it, and strive to make it clean. You must allow me to count my church more precious than my coat ; and though I see many stains upon it, I will not cast it off."

His son often quoted an advice once given by James to a pious man who had wearied him by a tedious prayer. "If you have liberty in public prayer/5 he said, " be short, for there will be few to follow you ; and if you are in bondage be short, for

JAMES MACDONALD'S LAST DAYS.

if not, you will weary yourself aud others/' " Then you would have me to be always short." " Just so/' James said; and his own practice invariably accorded with his counsel.

He lived to see his son a minister, and even his son's strength began to wane before his fathers death, which took place in 1 830. His age was then ninetyfive, and seventy-seven of these years he was in Christ. During this protracted Christian course, his garments were kept unspotted, the dew of heaven kept fresh the savour of his godliness, the vigour of his intellect remained unbroken, and the Lord continued to employ and bless him in His service.

During the last eight years of his life he was quite blind. His second wife had died before this darkness fell upon him, but the blind widower retained his cheerfulness, and the joy that reached his heart from heaven kept its wonted gleam upon his face. An elderly woman attended on him, with whom he could maintain the closest Christian intercourse. She was much given to prayer, counted it an honour to do what she could for the aged saint, and when he was removed from her, she pined and prayed for the summons to follow him, until the hour of her departure came.

A few years before his death, Sir John Sinclair wished him to come to Ulbster Castle, promising to give him quiet apartments for himself, where he might spend his last days in comfort. James, although

FATHER AND SOX.

grateful for the baronet's kindness, declined to leave his own lowly cottage, saying, " Where I sinned, there must I die/' When seized by his last illness, he said, " If it be the Lord's will, I would like to be on my death-bed just as long as my Saviour was in the grave." And so it was ; on the third day after he was taken ill, he died.

His connection with Dr. Macdonald would justify a fuller account of the worthy catechist of Keaj7 ; and could it be given, it is due to his own worth and eminence. It would be the more interesting, but at the same time the more unnecessary to do so, because the father's character was reproduced in his son, though seen in him in a different position, and modified by change of circumstances. It is interesting to trace a resemblance between the faces of a father and his son ; if their forms are like as well, all the more pleasing is the result of the comparison ; if, besides, mind resembles mind in sire and son ; if the disposition of the one finds its counterpart in that of the other ; if, moreover, both parent and child are alike the sons of God; and if, withal, the Lord hath dealt with both according to the same mode of operation in dispensing to them his grace, a resemblance almost unique is then discovered. It was so in the case of this father and this son ; so that much would be anticipated, that must be written in describing the son, if a sketch of the father's character were attempted. Instead of doing so, the

THE CHRISTIAN ON HIS WAY TO JORDAN.

following translation, in unrhymed and unfitting English, of bis son's description of him is given. Most unconsciously, but most faithfully, did be portray some features of bis own character, while giving us this portrait of his father, in his Gaelic poem entitled, " The Christian on his Way to Jordan.'' u I remember, for in the young morning of niy day I knew, men famous in the life and fight of faith, whose hearts would accord the crown to the great Captain of salvation, and give to him the undivided glory. Among those blessed ones who ran the race unblemished, there was one of whom I am now to make special mention. It were well my part, and it is in my heart to do so; for he was my father according to the flesh, and my stay in the days of my youth. To him the Lord was early very merciful in regenerating him, and giving him the knowledge of Christ. Before the age of twenty years, he poured out his Spirit on him; putting on him the seal and the beauty of holiness never to be removed.

His natural endowments were remarkable. His intellect was lively and vigorous ; but strong and active though were his mental powers, it was grace that turned them to account. This sharpened and shaped them, and raised them heavenward; and, as the water does to the well-adjusted machinery of the mill, set them a working. Many boast of their talents; but of what avail are they if the warn}

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THE CHRISTIAN ON HIS WAY TO JORDAN.

breath of life be not in thern ; they are but as the bones which lay scattered and dry on the valley — the largest no better than the meanest of them all. But let the genial breath come on them from the four winds of heaven, and lo ! the scattered bones come together, and rise up a living army. So are eminent gifts under the praiseworthy working of the Lord.

" The Lord unstintingly dealt out to him the oil of grace, and on his soul it continued to descend from day to day — the portion always doubled when he was on his knees. Often each day were those knees bent, and his soul refreshed before the throne of grace, for the Spirit of prayer kept him near the throne. Well do I remember how he wras wont to kneel on hill and vale. The anointing which came on him from above, kept his spirit tender and contrite, and seasoned his speech. This, too, gave him spiritual alertness in religious duties, and kept him steadfast in the cause of Christ.

" In his office as catechist, he for many years was faithful, assiduous, and untiring in his w^ork. Never slow to begin, and never tedious when he did begin, none could sleep when he was speaking. How lively and clear his expositions were ! Never posing with hard questions, he gave suitable and profitable instruction. Capable of conceiving clearly the idea before his mind, he never failed to give it clear and fitting expression. Well chosen and apt were his words, and always fraught with wisdom.

THE CHRISTIAN ON HIS WAY TO JORDAN. 19

" He was a cheerful Christian. Whatever his own state of feeling might be, none saw a frown upon his face. His desire ever was to commend Christ to others, and to exhibit the beauty of godliness. Often has he told to some that it was his prayer to heaven to be enabled to keep a cheerful face over a hard heart. Many could testify that as he asked, so it was given him; and verily this was the means of increasing his usefulness in the vineyard of the Lord. An affectation of seriousness — the grim face, and the querulous, heartless groan — he never could endure. He could distinguish between the fragrance of a broken heart and its counterfeit, and those who savoured of it were always dear to him. Clear was his discernment of a work of grace, and of the difference between death and life; but he was always charitable in his judgments, leaving it to Him to whom alone it appertains to make a perfect separation between the precious and the vile. He never loved to winnow with too strong a wind, lest wheat might be scattered with the chaff. He preferred to leave some chaff among the wheat than to send the seed away with the husk.

" He learned to live by faith, and not to walk by sight, or to lean upon experience. Christ as revealed in the truth, and not his own attainments, was the foundation of his faith. To be lively in his feelings he always desired, but he counted it but poor fare to live upon them. But when faith wras receiving, the

THE CHRISTIAN APPROACHING JORDAN.

flesh was always pinched, and experience feasting His was indeed the faith which is of the operation of the Spirit, which cleaves to Christ on the warrant of the word, which goes out to him with the empty vessel through the press, and never returns without good news. This was the faith through which the saints bare trials and endured to the end, that would receive no voice or vision instead of the written word, but found rest in the truth and came nigh to God. This faith in him prevailed against guilt, corruption, and temptation, contending till it triumphed in many a fierce conflict, and withstanding every storm that broke upon his soul. That he was no stranger to unbelief he himself would acknowledge, yet he did not cherish it nor listen to its lying tales. He confronted the lying prophet with the truth of the promise, before which he always played the coward and wras dumb.

" With steadfastness, peace, and earnestness he walked on in the life of faith, watchful, and giving no offence by word or act. In secret and in public communing with God, he was much loved by, and he greatly loved His people.

" He did not forget that, as were his fathers, so was he a pilgrim on the earth; that his rest was above; that his day was shortening and would soon come to an end; and that his great business was to prepare for his deternai home. Many days were given him to make up his life — for his age was ninety-

THE CHRISTIAN AT JORDAN.

five years — but his strength was not abated to the end ; and as death came near, his sou], ripening fast for glory, was longing much to reach it. Much had the Lord done for him since first he met him, preserving his mental vigour from decay, and from reproach his name. His light shone brightly throughout all his course, and no dimness paled it as he breathed his last."

CHAPTER II.

HIS BIRTH— BAPTISM— SCHOOL DAYS— COLLEGE DAYS— COXYERSIOX- HIS FAVOURITE MINISTER, MR. ROBERTSON.

R MACDONALD was bom on the 12th of November 1779. On that day his father was from home, being engaged in his work as catechist in a distant part of the parish, and the young folks took advantage of his absence to join in the out-door amusements of Halloweven. The mother was thus deserted by all the members of the household, and the only one present with her when her second son was born was a pious widow, one of her neighbours. Such was the interest this woman felt in the child so early dependent on her kindness, that as soon as he was weaned she insisted on taking him to her own house. His parents gratified her wish, and he remained for five years under her care. Each night, before putting him to bed, she knelt beside him, and in an audible voice prayed for the child. These prayers left such an impression on his memory that even in his last years he could recollect some of her petitions.

The parish of Keajr being then vacant, James

BAPTIZED ON THE MOOR.

Macdonald was obliged to apply to a neighbouring minister for the baptism of his child. On a cold December day he and his wife wTent with the infant to that minister's manse. On reaching it they found that the parson was from home; he had started in the morning on a shooting excursion, and was not expected to return before sunset. Instead of waiting for the reverend sportsman, they started across the moor on their way home again. They had not gone far when the minister, in his shooting attire, met them, and at once decided to make short work of it by baptizing the infant on the spot. They were standing beside a frozen pool, and after muttering a few words of prayer, the minister broke the ice with the butt end of his gun, and fetching water from the opening, sprinkled it on the face of the infant as he repeated the solemn words of consecration. Such a baptism, if an early earnest of the treatment awaiting the Apostle of the North at the hands of the Moderates, seems now a presage of his future work as the great field preacher of his day.

The ministers conduct in this affair may give an idea of his character. He was no inapt specimen of a class who found the office of the ministry tolerable only when they acquired facility in ignoring its responsibilities, and in casting its restraints aside. On one occasion, being anxious to ascertain in what estimation he was held, and meeting a man to whom he was unknown, and through whom he expected

FIGHTING ON THE KNEES.

the vox populi to speak, he resolved to elicit his opinion. The result did not encourage him to repeat the experiment. Not wishing to single out himself, he first asked him his opinion of two other ministers. " What do you think of Mr. K.?" he inquired. "Mr. R is an honourable minister.'' "And what do you think of Mr. M.?" " He is tolerable," was the reply. And then coming to himself, he asked, " And what is your opinion of Mr. C. ?" The answer to this was, " As for him, he is just abominable."

John Macdonald derived his name from his two grandfathers. His paternal grandfather was an eminent Christian, much given to prayer, the author of several Gaelic hymns, and known as " the man who would fight only on his knees." A misunderstandingarose between him and Mr. Gunn or M'Homish, his landlord, who not only threatened to eject him from his croft, but actually laid violent hands on his person. John Macdonald quietly bore his landlord's blows, and said good humouredly, " I will not fight with you standing, but come and I will try you on my knees." Hearing this, Gunn went away in a great rage, conceiving himself to be highly insulted. Meeting another of his tenants, he complained to him of the insult John had offered him by proposing to fight him on his knees. " He will do it too," the tenant said, " and I fear you will have the worst of it." "How so?" asks M'Homish. "John Mac-

EAELY BOYHOOD.

donald," he replied, " has much to say with heaven, and he usually gets whatever he asks from the Almighty. It was in this way he proposed to encounter you on his knees, and if he does so, you will be sure to lose the day." On hearing this the landlord took fright, never rested till he had asked forgiveness from John Macdonald, and was very kind to him ever after.

His maternal grandfather, John Mackay, bore a high Christian character, and his two grandmothers also feared the Lord.

Before entering school he was three years in his father's house after being restored by the pious widow who took charge of him during his first five years. During that time we must think of him as a smart active little fellow, with a merry leer scarce ever away from his quick black eyes, and a face which a cheerful smile seldom failed to brighten, dressed in the kilt, barefooted and bareheaded, the active if not careful herd of his father's cows. His ingenuity in inventing plays, his musical propensity, and his even temper, won for him the place of leader among the boys who met on the herding ground. But even in these early days he had his fits of seriousness. It is seldom that children, having such instruction as he received from the lips and life of his father, are able entirely to evade anxiety as to their state as sinners. John Macdonald, amidst the levity of his early boyhood, was seized at times with a sense of his guilt

SCHOOL-DAYS.

and danger. He would then betake himself to his knees; and on one occasion, using his influence over his companions, he persuaded them to join him in prayer in the place where they were accustomed to meet to play. He has told that, in those days, he often spent an hour in prayer, and on rising from his knees the young Pharisee was disposed to say, " What a good boy I am now. The Lord will surely be pleased with me to-day/'

In his ninth year he entered the parish school of Reay, then taught by Mr. William Munro, of whom he afterwards wrote — " He was my first and last teacher, and under Providence my best friend in prosecuting my education. I entered his school," he adds, " June 1788, and commenced Latin May 1791. He taught me without a fee." His father wished to give him only an elementary education, content if his son could read, write, and reckon; but the schoolmaster, knowing that the catechist's son would do him credit, and acting on the parish minister's advice, began in 1791 to teach him Latin. In the same class with him were two sons of the Laird of Bighouse. They proved a drag rather than a stimulus to J ohn Macdonald, but the teacher could not venture to promote the son of the catechist and leave the sons of the laird behind. Their mother ascertaining this, engaged the dux of the Latin class to go to the mansion-house every evening to assist her sons in preparing their lessons. The privilege of being brought in

PRAYING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

contact with more refined society and habits counterbalanced the disadvantage of his having to drag two dunces after him through the difficulties of the Latin grammar.

After entering on his teens he became known as the cleverest scholar in the parish school, and he was in consequence often employed by the neighbouring farmers in making up their annual accounts. An anecdote connected with this work he has often told. Being asked to make up the accounts of a farmer in a distant part of the parish, he was under the necessity of remaining for several days in his employer's house. The farmer had always kept up a form of family worship, though well known to be fonder of pence than of prayers, but he had never ventured, when on his knees, beyond repeating the words of the Lord's Prayer, on any former occasion. Thinking it necessary to get up something extra when the catechist's son was present, as he knew him to be a sharp youth who would be sure to mark the difference between his prayer and wdiat he was accustomed to hear at home, he resolved to paraphrase the form which had stood him in such good stead before, that it might be decently long at any rate. Beginning with the invocation, he added to it the words, " and also on the earth," and an eke to each of the first three petitions ; but having repeated the fourth, " give us this day our daily bread," there was a long pause. He evidently seemed to feel that this

MRS. INNES OF SANDS1DE.

was but a very scanty allowance to ask, so, with an earnestness in which he let out the deepest desire of his heart, he added, " but if Thou wilt give us more, we are quite ready to receive it."

Such during his school days was his eagerness to learn that, with the assistance of a neighbour who was " the cunning craftsman" of the district, he built a room at the end of his father's cottage, to which he removed his bed and his books, and where he used to spend a set portion of each day.

Mrs. Innes of Sandside, hearing of the catechist's clever son, took a great interest in him, employed him in keeping her accounts, and procured for him a bursary, which helped him through his course at college. She was very religious in her own way, and rigidly tested by her standard all with whom she came in contact. Her son was a major in the army, and his irreligion continued to be for many years a source of great anxiety to his mother. In one of her letters to her protege, she whites — Oh, I don't know what to think of poor dear William ; he has no sense of religion whatever." But William became a true Christian; and in a letter thereafter his mother writes — " I am distressed about poor William. I fear lie will turn out a Methodist or rather a fanatic." There was no pleasing the mother; her son distressed her before because he had no religion at all, and now he distresses her no less by having too much.