The life and opinions of the Rev. William Milne, D. D., missionary to China

Front matter

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Book ..M5?5

Preface

Had the Author known of any one in England, accustomed to write for the press, who had even the half of his own knowledge of Dr. and Mrs. Milne, he would not have, become their biographer, notwithstanding all his love to their memory, and all his zeal for China. His health forbade equally, the excitement of living over again the days of his youth, and the research necessary in order to illustrate the Opinions of Dr. Milne on the ancient Christianity of China. The last was the chief difficulty: for our Ecclesiastical History does not even furnish a clew to the history of the Syrian Church in Asia, although she eclipsed both the Greek and Roman in numbers and purity, during the middle ages. The fact is, the Syrian Church had no influence on the Reformation: for Melancthon failed to enlist her patriarch against the Pope, and Luther, to establish her orthodoxy; and thus our historians took no interest in her ancient faith or fame. This created a blot as well as a blank in our literature; and he must be no ordinary scholar who can remove either now.

It is unnecessary for the Author to say, that he has not scholarship to be the annalist of this first and greatest Missionary Church in the world. He has done, however, in a small compass, all that he was capable of doing, — blended with the life of the second Protestant Missionary to China, graphic sketches of the Primitive and Nestorian Missions, which penetrated or skirted that mighty empire, " the Land of Sinim." Graphic is, perhaps, too strong a name for his sketches; loaded as they are with quotations in all styles. This appearance of pedantry was, however, inevitable. He would have been deemed visionary, apart from a host of vouchers. Besides, the list of historical authorities may furnish some future student with what the writer had not, a clew to the subject. His object is, however, .to interest ordinary readers; and, therefore, he ought not to be tried for more than he attempted. He has not written for the learned, but for those who have read and thought less than himself about Asiatic Christianity. Whatever parade of learned names, therefore, meets the eye in this work, it is to prevent incredulity, not in order to gain credit for erudition.

To the friends of Missions, he would say, — This book presents, in the character of Dr. and Mrs. Milne, a model which may be held up to any young man or woman, who is contemplating Missionary work. It exhibits an imitable example, as well as one worthy of imitation. Such a book was much wanted. The Churches also do well to study the influences which formed the character of these distinguished Missionaries, if they would not send forth drones nor wasps into the held. Whatever, therefore, may be thought of the Author's opinions on this subject — and no one is at all responsible for any of them but himself, — the Churches will, to a certainty, hold up to all future candidates for Missionary work, the example of William and Rachel Milne; and all proper candidates who study it, will, as certainly, look to their respective Churches for such friends as he found in Huntley, and she in Aberdeen.

R. P.

MEMOIRS OF REV. W. MILNE, D. D.

Chapter I. William Milne's Early Life

"His decision of character rendered him an eminently devoted Missionary. Considering the disadvantage he laboured under, from the want of an early literary education, what he effected is astonishing." — Rev. Robert Morrison, D. D.

If Leang-A-Fa possess any susceptibility, he could not witness, unmoved, nor unprofited, the scenery of Kennelhmont, in Scotland, where William Milne, his spiritual father, " followed the ewes." It is hardly either sublime or beautiful scenery; but there is enough of both in it, to make any one feel that a Shepherd boy, of even ordinary talents, who is out in all weathers, could not be utterly uninfluenced by it. William Milne certainly was not. I am not quite sure now, that I have stood with him upon the corner of the hill above Reeskhouse, when we were boys, admiring the hoary grandeur of "the Tap of Noth," and the silvery windings of "the bonny Boggie," in the valley between the hill and the mountain; but I remember well the mutual zest, with which we often talked of those scenes,

"O'er the hills and far away,"

when we met in England. We had both mused, as well as played, upon the same spots; and sat upon the same gray-stones and mossy hillocks, gazing at old Noth, the throne of the clouds; and at the ruins of old Reeskhouse, ihe castle in the valley. Our lips and hands had often been "as blue as blaaverts," with blackberries gathered amongst the same heaiher-knolls and etnach-bushes. Besides, these spots were dear to us both, as ground hallowed by the memory of our Pastor, Mr. Cowie, of Huntly, who sometimes preached and catechized in the neighbourhood; and by the labours of his elders, who often visited the Sabbath Schools in turn. We had liius been under the same teachers, although not in the same School; and retained an equal love to them. The Nathaniel-like spirit of John Leslie; the Ezekiel-like sublimity of Saunders Sievwright; the Paul-like shrewdness of William Smith, and the Jacob-like unction of James Cruickshank, had alternately awed and interested us. They loved us too, from the time they saw any thing hopeful about us: — perhaps, even before. This pleased us then, and it amazed us afterwards. We only thought of them ihen as the best men in Huntly, amongst many good men : but when we first met in England, we spoke of them as wonderful men ; for we had found no parallels to them any where, in the same rank of life. We thus discovered, that our minds and character had been brought into contact with genius as well as extraordinary piety, although we knew it not at the moment.

I mention these circumstances distinctly, because 1 kuow the influence they had upon the mind of my friend. They gave, indeed, no romantic nor sentimental cast to his mind: but both the mounlains and the men helped to render his young spirit thoughtful and solemn, when he began to read and pray amongst the sheep-folds. Even then, he felt that it was sublime " to sit on the brow of the hill, reading the lives of the Martyrs; admiring their patience and fortitude in suffering; and seeing them overcome their enemies, by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony." He adds, "I longed that God would honour me, some time or other, thus to confess his name, and bear my testimony to the truth."

The expression, "seeing the Martyrs," in this record of his feelings, means more than even the vivid realization of their sufferings, which reading at the fireside can produce. He was reading amidst such hills and valleys as the Scotch covenanters suffered amongst: — for it was "The Cloud of Witnesses," not "Fox's Book of Martyrs," that awoke his emotions. He had thus around him, such lofty mountains as they had watched and worshipped upon, and such lonely woods and glens as they had been hunted in: and besides all this, the Christians he knew best, and loved most, were just such men in character and spirit as the holy men in "The Cloud of Witnesses," It was, thus, Cowie, Leslie, Sievwright, Smith, and Cruickshank, (his Pastor and Teachers,) he saw before him, when he peopled the wilds of Kennethmont with images of the Martyrs. He felt that these men would have been driven to the hills, and must have sealed their testimony with their blood, had they lived in the days of Peden and Cargill; and he believed that they would have died rather than renounce the covenant; and, therefore, as he loved them, he felt that he could be a Martyr in their company, or for their creed.

I analyze this fine enthusiasm, as it glowed in the breast of young Milne, because it will explain the mighty influence which the Scotch book of Martyrs had over the youths of Scotland, at the close of the last century. There were then, especially amongst the Seceders, Ministers and Elders, who were both the descendants and the living exemplifications of the old covenanters, in all that was thoughtful, devotional, and weighty, in their holy character. The late Dr. Waugh grew up amongst such men, and caught all their virtues, without any of their peculiarities. England saw in him, what the generality of the covenanters would have been, had they been treated as he was; and what many of their children became, when the Star of Brunswick arose. William Milne and myself recognised at once in Dr. Waugh, all that we had seen in Mr. Cowie, or dreamt of in " Maister Peden ;" but all softened (it could not be sublimated) by the urbanities and polish of English courtesy.

It must not be supposed that young Milne's first associations with the scenery of Kennethmont were of this high order; nor "that from a child he had known the Holy Scriptures," or the holy men just named. He was proverbially a wicked boy, until twelve years old. Like Bunyan, he seems to have been a "lisping blasphemer and swearer;*' so early was his "mouth filled with cursing." I did not know him then, nor can I fully account for such profaneness. It certainly was not common in the neighbourhood. To

" Curse or ban,"

was not the characteristic of the peasantry of Kennethmont. Minced oaths and low ribaldry were not uncommon; but daring profanity was certainly a rare thing. He said of himself, however, at his ordination, "I thought (then) that to invent new oaths would reflect honour upon my character, and make me like the great ones of the earth." I well remember too, that he was described by the neighbours as once "a very deevU for swearing." The only explanation of this, that I know of, is, that there may have been at Leilh Hall occasionally, profane servants who had graduated in England, and whose livery made them "great ones of the earth," to a Shepherd boy,

" Clad in hodden-gray,"

and girt about with an undyed plaid: for other great ones than these flunkies, he had no opportunity of mixing with, so as to learn new oaths. He was, however, near the Hall, and close to a line of road where cattle dealers and drovers were frequently passing; and thus he may have been tempted to rival the worst. It was thus, not the voice of prayer nor of praise which first rung amongst the rocks and hills, as he followed his herds and flocks; but the voice of reckless impiety, or of ribald songs. His herding club, as was common with such boys, would often be flung with curses as well as fury, after a straying sheep or a rambling cow; and if he indulged any day dreams then of being great, they went no higher than to wear the Leith's livery, or to ride such a horse as Giggy of Bucham, the couper. These hints will throw some light upon his own narrative of his early life. "I was born in the parish of Kennethmont, in Aberdeenshire, in 1785. My father died when I was six years of age; and my mother gave me the education common r.o others in the same condition of life. As to that, knowledge which is ?ood for the soul, I was a perfect stranger to it my-

n* self; nor did others seek to impress my mind with its importance. The natural depravity of my heart began very soon to discover itself, by leading me into those sins, for the commission of which, my age and circumstances afforded opportunity. In profane swearing, and other sins of a like nature, I far exceeded most of my equals; and became vile to a proverb. I can remember the time (O God ! I desire to do it with shame and sorrow of heart,) when 1 thought, that to invent new oaths would reflect honour on my character, and make me like the great ones of the earth." This is very like Bunyan's account of himself. He often confessed with horror and detestation of himself, that when he was only a stripling, he had few equals in lying, swearing, and blaspheming God's holy name; all which became to him as a second nature.*

"Though I had a natural predilection for books, yet not, alas! for the book of God. I read it only when constrained, and even then with much reluctance and impatience. Though I learned by heart i he Assembly's Shorter Catechism, and Willison's Mother's Catechism, yet this was more from a desire *o be equal with my neighbours, and to avoid the displeasure of the Minister of the parish, whose presence I always dreaded as death, when he came round to catechise, than from any love to the truths which these excellent books contained." This, too, is like Bunyan. He says, "it was a kind of prison to me to hear persons read books of Christian piety. Religion was very grievous to me in those days. I :ould neither endure it myself, nor that any others should. "f "Sometimes I used to say my prayers at

* Life and Times, page 11. t Ibid, p. 8.

night, for fear of the evil spirit, from whose hurtful influence I supposed my prayers were an effectual security.

" I do not remember that any very deep impressions of divine truth were made on my mind for the first twelve years of my life, except once, when I was in my tenth year. Travelling alone in the middle of the day, between two corn fields, the idea of the eternal punishment of sin in hell, struck me with amazing force. My feelings on this occasion exactly corresponded to the language of the prophet, 'Who amongst us can dwell with devouring fire'? who can dwell with everlasting burnings?' The thought filled me with horror, constrained me to pray for the first time, in the fields, and to form resolutions of amendmeut for the future. These impressions, however, appeared not to be accompanied with any spiritual change in the dispositions of the heart, as they soon wore off, and my vows were forgotten.

"The sinful propensities of my nature became stronger by indulging them; and many plans did I form, in hopes of rendering myself conspicuous, in the circle in which I moved, for the vanity of my mind, and the gaiety of my conduct. I foolishly imagined that, by the time I was sixteen years of age, I should attain great celebrity as a vain and 1 rifling youth. God, however, (I desire to adore his goodness) had other and better things in reserve for me.

"About my thirteenth year a partial reformation was effected, to which the five following things contributed: 1. The reading of some religious books." On reading this, his colleague, Dr. Morrison, wrote — "See the advantage of religious tracts and books:

Yes, fill the world with these. If made waste paper of, (as some of them are, and will be,) even in that state, the scattered leaves of a Bible, or of other religious books, have been made, and will continue to be made, the means of exciting serious and godly thoughts, which bring the proud sinner's heart to mercy's throne."* "My attention was turned at this time to religious books more than ever before; I cannot tell the reason; perhaps to gratify a natural thirst for knowledge. The books I read were, 'Willison's Treatise on the Sabbath,' and 'Russell's Seven Sermons;' both of which made considerable impressions on my mind, and led me to prayer. 2. The example of two pious persons who lived in a family where I for some time resided; one of whom slept in the same room with me, and used to retire, at night and morning, for secret prayer. This I saw the propriety of, and, sometimes, imitated. 3. A secret hope which I entertained, of being saved by my prayers and reformation. Under the influence of (.his deceit, I obtained a false peace of conscience, which filled me with pride and self-confidence. 4. The dread of temporal evils; of danger in the night; and of being drowned in a small river which I had frequently to pass. (He had once a very narrow escape from drowning, whilst crossing that river in a 'spet.') 5. The representations which were given of the sufferings of Christ, by the minister at sacrament seasons. But as these representations seemed to move the animal feelings rather than to influence the heart, their efforts were short-lived." Sacramental addresses, in Scotland, are often very like Good-Friday sermons in England, vivid pictures of the mingled

* Canton Memoira.

solemnities and glories of Calvary; and are brought out then, even in pulpits where the Cross is not a favourite subject.

"Soon after, I attended a Sabbath-evening school, which at that time began in our neighbourhood, where I became one of the scholars." These schools taught no one to read. That was not necessary in Scotland. Neither were they for the children of the poor exclusively; Mr. Cowie's Sabbath-schools embraced the young of all ranks in his flock, and were attended alike by all. Their chief object was to make us " mighty in the scriptures," by searching out, and committing to memory, all the proofs of any given point, in doctrine or duty. I feel young again, when thinking of these exercises! The number of proofs was occasionally incredible. It had begun to seem to me a dream, until I found it mentioned in one of Mr. Cowie's diaries, as extraordinary. He was accustomed to take a seat near the pulpit, whilst we stood in the front of the galleries. I see him now, "leaning upon his staff," with a scarlet handkerchief thrown over his head, and his eyes fixed on the ground. " I wept," he says, " all the time, often, to hear the boys bring so many proofs." Little did we imagine that the good old man was thus affected. We were trying to rival each other, and to make him look up with a smile to those of us who were the last to sit down. This will explain what Dr. Milne says about " the pride of knowledge," in the following narrative. " Here my knowledge of evangelical truth increased, and considerable impressions of its importance were made on my mind. My increase in knowledge made me very proud; but I was led to search the scriptures, and to pray. Sometimes

I used to walk home from the school alone, about a mile, over the brow of a hill, praying all the way. At this time t began the worship of God in my mother's family; and also held some meetings for prayer, with my sisters and other children, in a barn that belonged to the premises.

"Notwithstanding this change in my outward conduct, I fear that I was all this time acting under the influence of self-righteous principles: for I had never felt my need of Christ, in his complete character; nor had I, as a sinner, made any humble application to God, through Christ, for pardon and grace.

" At sixteen years of age, when, formerly, I had wickedly supposed that I should have my fill of iniquity, and see the accomplishment of my foolish plans, it pleased God, whose ways are a great deep, to remove me to a place where I had the privilege of conversing with pious persons, who embraced every opportunity of turning my attention to the concerns of eternity. Though I was a stranger to them, yet, knowing that I had a soul, they were concerned for my salvation. This was the case with one of them especially, who, though poor in this world, was rich in faith, and in whom the word of God dwelt abundantly. I used sometimes to go to his house, at the hour of prayer, when he and his family bowed the knee, and worshipped God, at the foot of their domestic altar. He was accustomed to make some remarks on the chapter read for the instruction of his children, and to prepare them for the solemn exercise of prayer: these interested me very much, and showed me a beauty in the word of God which I never saw before. He exhorted me to secret prayer, and to read pious books, which he and some others furnished me with, suitable to the inquiring state of my mind." (Burns' " Cottager's Saturday Night," is thus no poetical fiction. It is as true as it is beautiful. Indeed, it is not all the truth. I cannot identify the family which Mr. Milne refers to; but I know many a mud-walled and straw-thatched cottage in the district, where family worship was conducted thus eveiy night, and often in the morning too.)

"From this my enjoyment and pursuit of pleasure in the world were marred; and a beauty and excellence discovered in religion, which I had never seen in any past period of my life, and which led me to choose and follow after it as the only object deserving the chief attention of an immortal creature. As the family in which I lived were strangers to religion themselves, and derided all others who made it their concern, I was very disagreeably situated. The only place I found for retirement, where I could be quiet and unnoticed, was a sheep-cote, where the sheep are kept in winter. Here, surrounded by my fleecy companions, I often bowed the knee on a piece of turf which I carried in with me for the purpose. Many hours have I spent there, in the winter evenings, with a pleasure to which before I was a stranger; and, while some of the members of the family were plotting how to put me to shame, I was eating in secret of that bread 'which the world knoweth not of.'" This may seem romantic to those who are unacquainted with rural life in Scotland; but there was no sentimentality in it. He went to the sheep-cote, because he would have been disturbed in the barn, by his fellow-servants; and he carried a turf with him to kneel upon, because the floor was foul as well as damp. Besides, there was no romance about William Milne. It never even crossed his mind, that there was either any sublimity, or much self-denial, in kneeling before the Lord at night, amongst the sheep and lambs which he had followed by day. The recollection that David had done so, may have had some weight with him: but if it had, it was rather as an example than as a charm.

"My delightful employment at this time, being chiefly of a rural nature, afforded much opportunity through the day, for spiritual improvement. Books were my constant companions; and some of them made powerful impressions on my mind. A book, entitled ' The Cloud of Witnesses,' containing an account of the persecution in Scotland, in the reign of Charles the Second, gave me an exalted idea of the excellency and power of Christianity. Often have I sat on the brow of a hill, reading the lives of the Martyrs, admiring their patience and fortitude in suffering; and, seeing them 'overcome' their enemies by the blood of the Lamb, and by the 'word of their testimony,' I longed that God would, some time or other, honour me thus to confess his name, and bear my testimony to the truth. In this, there was, perhaps, more zeal than knowledge; more regard for the honour of Martyrdom than pure love to God and his cause in the world. All this time, however, I knew but little of myself as a guilty and condemned creature. The book which God made use of more especially for convincing me of my depravity, sin, and misery, was Mr. Boston's 'Four-fold State,' which I read with the deepest attention. It conducted me into my own heart, discovered the evils which before lay hid in the chambers of imagery; the monstrous ingratitude to God, which had marked all my conduct; and the pollution of original and actual sin, with which my soul was contaminated. I saw that, as I was necessarily under the strongest and most righteous obligations to God, and had never for one hour of my life discharged these, but lived in unprovoked rebellion against the Author of my life, so I was justly under the curse of God's righteous law, and exposed to everlasting misery. 'What shall I give for the sin of my soul?' was literally the language which I used.

To be condemned to toil for a thousand years, in the lowest drudgery; or to endure the punishment of hell for any limited space of time, seemed easy when compared to eternal wrath, which I knew my sins deserved, and from which, for some days, I had but little hope of deliverance. To be transformed into a stone, or into one of the fowls of the mountains, which were often flying over my head, was what I sometimes wished, in order to avoid appearing before God in judgment, and to be freed from the danger of everlasting punishment. My distress of mind was much increased by a mistaken notion of the doctrine of election, as I did not then see that the accomplishment of the purpose of God, with respect to the salvation of sinners, was intimately connected with the use of the means of grace; but supposed that the decree of God cut me off from the expectation of happiness in the world to come, and shut me up in gloomy silence, and ' fearful looking for of judgment.' This was so much the more distressing, as I saw that my own guilt deserved all this misery; and though I saw that God, as a Sovereign, had a right to choose whom he 3 would, yet I saw that even the reprobate perish justly and righteously. But who can be willing to die the second death? and 'what will a man not give in exchange for his soul]' I could not endure the idea of being for ever left under the dominion of sin, and cast out from the presence of God; therefore 1 continued to pray, as opportunity served, ten or fifteen times a day, and said, • who knoweth if God will return and repent, and leave a blessing behind him' on my poor and wretched soul? I attended meetings for prayer and spiritual edification; and the pious conversation of those who were with me, on the judgment to come, aided by the awful darkness and silence of night, made deep impressions on my heart, and tended to increase my concern for acceptance with God, through Jesus Christ. God, in his gracious kindness, did not suffer me to remain long in this distress of soul, but directed me to those means by which I learned how even a vile and guilty creature, such as I was, might be for ever saved. There were two things which contributed to remove my perplexity and distress. One was a sermon of Mr. Boston's, entitled, ' The Believer's Espousals to Christ.' Here the offices of Christ, as mediator, were treated in such a convincing and encouraging way, as to produce a lively hope in my soul. The other was a sermon which I heard preached by the late Rev. G. Cowie, of Huntly, on a week evening, from Rev. xxii. 21. He expatiated on the free grace of God, through Christ, to the chief of sinners, with an eloquence peculiar to himself. He quoted those words from Christ's commission to his apostles, ' Go, preach the gospel to every creature,' — 'beginning at Jerusalem.' Then I was led to reason thus: —

If pardon and salvation were offered, 'without money and without price,' to those who had killed the Prince of Life, and thereby committed the greatest possible crime; then, surely that grace which could triumph over all their guilt, and so richly abound where sins of the highest aggravation once abounded, may be extended to me — pardon my sins, and renew my nature — heal and save my soul. By these two things I was led to discover a glory and suitableness in the Gospel — as displaying the lustre of the divine perfections, and as preserving the honours of the divine law, while at the same time it conferred eternal life on the guilty sinner believing in Jesus. This discovery captivated my heart, and made me willing to devote myself, soul and body, to God for ever.

"Having an earnest desire of devoting myself to God, I was encouraged to do so. in the way of a personal covenant. I found this method of dedication recommended in 'Guthrie's Trial of a Saving Interest in Christ.' Judging this plan agreeable to the language of the prophet, that 'one shall say I am the Lord's, and another shall call himself by the name of Jacob,' &c, I determined to adopt it: and, having retired to a place surrounded by hills on every side, I professed to choose the Lord as my God, Father, Saviour, and everlasting portion ; and to offer up myself to his service, to be ruled, sanctified, and saved by him. This was followed by much peace and happiness of mind, with earnest desires to be holy, with a determination to cast in my lot among the despised followers of the Lamb, and with a concern for the salvation of immortal souls."

This transition from the sheep-cote to a solitary and silent amphitheatre amidst "the everlasting hills," is both more and less sentimental than it seems. It was influenced by the example of the old Covenanters, and of the older Patriarchs. He imitated Abraham under the oaks of Mamre, and Jacob at Bethel, and John the Baptist in the wilderness, and the children of the covenant in Scotland, in thus placing himself alone with God, when he first pledged himself to walk with God. But this was not done because it was sublime, but because it was suitable. He never thought of how it would tell upon those who might hear of it; but only of how it would tell upon his own spirit at the time, and of how it would keep the memory of his solemn consecration for ever associated with calm, pure, and impressive scenery. And it did. The first sermon I heard him preach in London, was on subscribing with the hand to be the Lord's. He did not refer to his own covenant amidst the hills, nor did I know the fact then; but he made me feel that he had been, like myself, alone with God, — where God only was present.