Page images
PDF
EPUB

BAPTIST MAGAZINE.

MARCH, 1825.

REMINISCENCES OF VILLAGE PREACHING.

[blocks in formation]

conversation.

In the winter of 1814-15, whilst a student at Edinburgh, an opportunity was afforded me of endeavouring to be useful, by preaching in the village of Gilmerton. This village is situated about four miles from the city, and contains a considerable number of inhabitants, who are generally people employed in the coalpits which are in the neighbourhood. The place in which the

The predominant reason which induces the publication of these details, drawn up some years since, to gratify a beloved friend, is, the hope indulged by

the writer, that they may tend to promote Village Preaching amongst the students at college, whose views are directed to the Christian ministry. From observation and experience, it is his heartfelt persuasion, that such engagements on the Sabbath, form the best relaxation from the class-room, keep up that spirituality of mind, which, in this imperfect state, it is the tendency of the legitimate, but engrossing occupations of the session to deteriorate, and provide for after days some of the sweetest pleasures of memory, re

VOL. XVII.

people assembled was a large room, or hall, in the centre of the village, that would hold, in its unpewed contents, about three hundred hearers. This hall, in the week-time, was used as a school-room, and the master, who rented it, received a stipulated sum, supplied by friends in Edinburgh, for allowing me the use of it on the Lord's-day.-About a mile from Gilmerton, there is another village called Libberton, where the parish kirk of both is situated. This kirk, at the time referred to, was rebuilding,

a circumstance

which made me more desirous of preaching to the villagers, thus deprived of their accustomed privileges. Libberton was a field of usefulness occupied by a near friend of mine, and, then, a fellow-student, whilst other villages were regularly with whom it was our happiness to visited by two of our companions, associate, as kindred spirits.

About twenty or thirty people were collected on the first day of my visiting this new scene of labour, but Sabbath after Sabbath the congregation progressively_and_greatly increased. By degrees, I had an opportunity of forming an intimacy with many of the people, and had reason to bless God, on account of several who gave good evidence of their conversion by his grace. After

freshing the heart with the dew of youth, in the recollection of these early labours and successes, amidst the forms and habits of a settled ministry.-Hæc olim meminisse juvabunt.

K

visiting the place regularly for a few weeks, I was able to establish a school for the religious instruction of the children of the village; my time was now delightfully occupied. The public service commenced at twelve o'clock, the usual hour for the country in Scotland, where the minister frequently comes from a distance. At half-past one I had to dine at one or other of the many houses that were open to me; and at half-past two the school commenced, in which upwards of fifty scholars of both sexes seemed to vie with each other in the punctuality and cheerfulness of their attendance on the instructions they received, and in their affectionate attachment to their teacher. This happy intercourse continued to the close of the college-session, when I was under the necessity of leaving my temporary charge; but it was under the engagement of resuming my labours among them on my return to Scotland in the ensuing October.

When the commencement of the next session again brought me to Edinburgh, these dear people received me with the most heartfelt expressions of grateful and affec, tionate joy. At the conclusion of the public service, on the first Sabbath after my return, a man came to me, and requested I would visit his sick wife, who had been a constant attendant at the hall during the preceding winter, but was now confined to her bed without any prospect of recovery. This man was the husband of Mrs. Ramsay. I need not say, that I readily accompanied him to the sick-bed of his wife. On my conversing with her, she expressed herself to be so wholly delivered from the fear of death, so happy in the enjoyment of the Divine favour, so joyful in the prospect of eternal felicity, that I confess some suspicions arose in my mind as to the

genuineness of her experience. But all doubts and misgivings soon vanished, when I saw the foundation on which her hopes rested, the source from which her happiness was derived, and witnessed the effects which the hope of glory produced, in purifying her sainted spirit. Mrs. Ramsay was then in her thirty-eighth year. About ten years before this period, she had been brought into a state of anxious concern for the welfare of her soul, through the death of one of her children. Her husband was employed as coachman in some neighbouring gentleman's service, and thus the entire weight of household concerns devolved upon her, which, with the care of a young and numerous family, engrossed all her time and strength. Through the distance of the kirk, she could very seldom attend on the means of grace, and the general strain of preaching from the parochial pulpit, was not likely to suit her case. Her distress of mind continued to be very great, and aided by her exertions in the care of her family, which were far be yond her strength, in destroying her health. Though, at this time, she derived nothing but misery from her thoughts of religion, yet she was extremely anxious that no stigma should be cast upon it, as the cause of her sufferings. Hence she did all in her power to conceal the anguish she endured, and the source from which it sprung.

At length, through the preaching at the ball, the means of grace were brought almost to her door. She attended with eagerness from the very first, though the delicacy of her health caused her to suffer much from the severity of the weather. A sermon, preached from Rev. i. 7 gave a new turn to her feelings of alarm. She had before this been possessed of some vague and indistinct notions respecting the necessi

ty of being brought into the favour of God, and living in his fear, whilst she was tormented by the convic tion of having lived entirely neglectful of his claims; and that, even since awakened to a sense of her obligations to love and serve him, she was continually sinning against him. But, under this sermon, she was brought to perceive the situation in which she was placed by the preaching of the gospel: she now saw that the condemnation consisted in a rejection of the salvation of the cross. Her anxiety now was to ascertain whether she was the subject of that faith which worketh by love, purifies the heart and life. She wished to ascertain, whether she felt real love to the Redeemer. Her anxiety on this subject was so intense, that it deprived her of sleep, and she could seldom obtain rest till exhausted nature sunk into repose, when the morning was far advanced. A sermon, preached from John xiv. 21, was blessed to the removal of her uncertainty, and to the great relief of her mind; but she still felt burthened under a load of conscious guilt, which rendered her life miserable. The last sermon preached in the hall that winter, from 1 John i. 7, was the happy means of bringing her to joy and peace in believing. In one part of the sermon, an attempt was made to describe the unbearable sufferings of a wounded spirit. She then felt (as she expressed herself,) as if her own feelings had been laid bare, and when the blood of atonement was brought forward, as speaking peace to the troubled conscience, and cleansing the soul from the pollution of sin, she felt that she had found the balm and the fountain which she needed, whilst Jesus Christ was received as her all-sufficient and only Saviour. The relief which she enjoyed was inexpressibly sweet. After months of severe and painful

illness, she told me, with indescribable expression of countenance and voice, that she would rather, far rather, go through all her bodily sufferings again, than endure the agony of a wounded spirit.-During the summer, when deprived of the public means of grace, she devoted herself to reading her Bible, and other religious books which she was able to obtain. In the month of July she was seized with her last illness, which consisted in a complication of disorders, that terminated in a decline. The progress of the disease, though extremely painful and debilitating, was very slow. About the middle of October she was confined to her bed, from which she never more arose. Her resignation to the Divine will was now severely tried. During the summer she had been anxiously longing for the return of the public means of grace, and now that desired period was just at hand, she was confined to her bed. Her neighbours would again be able to attend that ministry which was endeared to her by its usefulness to her soul, whilst she would be entirely excluded. This she spoke of as her most painful trial: but this, as well as every other affliction, she was enabled to endure with unwavering patience and resignation.

After I had once been to see her, my visits became a continual source of pleasure and support to my mind. On entering Gilmerton, I was accustomed to proceed directly to her cottage, and sit by her bed-side till it was time to commence the service at the hall. The conversation of this dying saint was an admirable preparative for the services of the sanctuary. O! when shall I realize those feelings in their full extent again, which occupied my breast whilst preaching at Gilmerton! The death-bed of my friend was, to me, the portal of eternity; and I preach

ed as if standing on the brink of the grave. It would be a vain attempt, my friend, to endeavour to present you with a detailed account of her continued meetening for glory. Her humility led her to regard me as an instructor; but, I assure you, that her dying-bed was to me a school of Christian experience; and may I never forget the lessons which were there taught me. Her patience and faith increased in power and splendour as she approached the termination of her sufferings. Her resignation was unwearied; never was a murmur heard from her lips. Those who knew her only as the subject of a protracted and painful sickness, might think of her with pity; but none of those who visited her in her affliction, could long consider her as an object of compassion. She had her enjoyments, and her pleasures were both rational and scriptural, though highly exalted in their nature and degree. Whilst conversing on religious subjects, she seemed almost insensible to pain, and when left alone, her time never passed heavily away, for her mind was occupied with devout meditation. I have told you of her being resigned to the Divine will, in all the afflictions she was called upon to endure; but resignation appears almost too feeble word to express what was the predominant state of her mind. Gratitude to God seemed to be the prevailing disposition. She spoke of judgment only as it afforded her an opportunity of speaking in more exalted terms of mercy. Often has she expatiated to me on her obligations to her heavenly Father, who removed some sources of trouble, of a family nature, before this, her last great affliction, began.

She was an affectionate wife, and a tender mother, and her soul was bent upon promoting the best in terests of those whom she loved. Her neighbours, too, were the ob

jects of her earnest solicitude. She was always anxious to know if they attended the means of grace, and had frequent opportunities, which she eagerly improved, of cultivating serious impressions, which had been made upon their minds. I remember well, when she was drawing towards the last stage of weakness, and her sufferings were most acute, opium had been prescribed, as the only means of affording her any respite from pain. The next time of my visiting her, on hearing that she could obtain but little sleep, I inquired about the effects of the opium, and found that she had refused to take it a second time. She said, that though it deadened the sense of pain, and procured her sleep, yet its influence so stupified her mind, that she could not think collectedly, nor could she converse with her neighbours who came to see her; and that she had rather endure the continuance of her bodily sufferings, than be precluded from meditation on religious subjects, and from attempting to do some good to those who visited her. Thus she continued to the end. But you know that I did not stay long enough in Scotland to close her eves: I left about a week before she died. I cannot write an account of my taking leave of her-it was most affecting. O that my God may hear her parting prayers for me, which subdued, whilst they exquisitely gratified, my heart.

I received the account of her death, in a letter from my highly valued friend A-, of Edinburgh, a short time after my return to England. What I now write will be an extract from his letter." With regard to news, I begin with the spot where the Divine Spirit, through your instrumentality, breathed upon the dead in siu. You remember how ill you left one of them, and may, on this account, be prepared

to hear of her transition to a world of bliss. It was on the following Tuesday to that on which we part ed, at about eleven at night, that she exchanged a life of faith and patience for the full fruition of the world of glory. Miss W-was with her at the time of her decease. In a note to Miss M—, Miss W— says, Mrs. Ramsay is now no more. I feel a strange want this morning; her heavenly conversation was a great pleasure to me. She died praising her God. I would not have exchanged my feelings at that solemn moment, no, not for this vain world, and all its empty nothings. I could wish Mr. knew, but do as you think proper. Her love continued for him till the last moment.' On the Lord's-day following, she was interred. Our friends A-and N- were at her funeral, which, N-said, was indeed an affecting one.—In a letter which I have my self received from Miss W-(a most interesting young woman, the first in Gilmerton to whom I had good reason to hope that the blessing of God had made me useful;) she says, "When Mrs. Ramsay died, then I could have wished to have told you all her hopes, and how much she was indebted to you. The last words she spoke were, If ever you see Mr., tell him, through our Lord, he saved me from endless misery-likewise, I die in the fullest hope of being with my dear Saviour May the Lord for ever bless him! Little more could she speak, in low accents praising her Redeemer she adored. When her pure spirit left its earthly dwelling, I stood lonely, I lost a dear friend I could have followed.""

[ocr errors]

my mind, as to render it no easy undertaking to fulfil your wishes. If what has been written, however, should increase your faith in the grace of the Redeemer; if it should render the interest you have expressed in my departed friend abiding-if it should enable you to sympathize more closely in the tender affection with which I must ever pronounce the name of Gilmerton, you will richly repay

Your truly affectionate friend,

X.

ON THE EXERCISE OF LOVE.

THE scriptures emphatically declare, for our confidence and encouragement, that "GOD IS LOVE;" love: in its very essence, love that "passeth understanding." It is higher than heaven what can we know? Here we are compelled to pause, wonder,. admire, and adore. For, if the most profound philosophers are obliged to acknowledge that they can com prehend but little of causes separate from their effects;-if the most acute metaphysicians cannot understand or explain abstract qualities, principles, or ideas; either as to the mode of their existence or operation; and, if the most skilful anatomists are at a loss to account for many of the phenomena of the human frame, things with which we are all, more or less, familiar; with how much greater force will the remark apply to the contemplation of the nature, attributes, and perfections of Him who is "The King Eternal, Immortal, Invisible, the only wise God." "Such knowledge Thus have I brought the narra- is too wonderful for us, it is high we tive of Mrs. Ramsay to a close. The cannot attain unto it." "Who would sketch of her soul's history, which is not fear thee thou King of Saints, here given you, rapid and imperfect for unto thee doth it appertain." as it is, has excited such a crowd of It must then be with the characpleasing and painful recollections in ter of God as discovered in his

for ever.

« PreviousContinue »