“Bent on such glorious toils,
The world to him was loss;
Yet all his trophies, all his spoils,
He hung upon the cross.”
Montgomery
Janet Duncan gave Mary a sister’s welcome with heartfelt pleasure and affection. With her, as well as with her brother, ties were slowly formed, though when once formed they were strong as adamant. She contracted friendships rather from long association and mutual service than from congeniality of disposition or sentiment. Mary had shared her watch beside little Effie’s dying bed, had helped to tend Jamie during his long illness, and had struggled and suffered with them through their sorest trials; — these were cogent reasons for taking her at once to her warm and honest heart. Nor was Archie less satisfied with his brother’s choice; though he pertly suggested, that the sooner Mary Wigton changed her name to a less objectionable one the better it would be for all parties.
But there were difficulties about ways and means sufficient to have perplexed much more thoughtful heads than Archie’s. James and Mary, however, were quietly happy in the present, and therefore content to “bide their time.” Upon one point they were both agreed: they must wait at least until God was pleased to remove “the great plague and sickness” from the city where they dwelt. Had not the worst been already over, the matter would scarcely have become even one for deliberation.
The worst was over. Joy and thankfulness were about to take the place of universal sorrow and fear. Day by day, and more and more rapidly, the number of deaths decreased. Life began to return to its usual course; shops and other places of public resort were reopened; people no longer threaded their way cautiously through the middle of the streets, jealously guarding themselves from every touch that might convey infection, but began to jostle the passers-by on the footways, or to stop and talk with their neighbors as in former times. Devout and fervent were the thanksgivings that arose from many hearts; nor were the Dun-cans and Mary Wigton among the least grateful of the inhabitants of Dundee.
James Duncan was now anxiously seeking another situation. Since the memorable day of Wishart’s visit the family had not known want; but they were not of a temper to eat the bread of charity one hour longer than was absolutely necessary. Besides, Jamie had now an object before him sufficient to animate him to tenfold energy and activity. A very frugal livelihood, it is true, would suffice for them. Janet and Mary could help in various ways (for as a matter of course they were all still to remain together); and it was fully time even for Archie to take the matter of earning his own bread into consideration. But the first thing necessary was, that James should procure employment. Poor in everything else, the young man was rich in character; the family of his late employer and many of his customers were ready to give him those “goodly words,” which in certain cases are the reverse of useless. Still, for some time his efforts proved unsuccessful; and he was beginning to feel disheartened and seriously anxious, when a circumstance occurred which diverted his hopes and his exertions into an entirely new channel.
Mary had gone out one day to take home some fine sewing which had been given her through her friends the Browns; for people were again beginning to care, not only for the necessaries, but for the elegancies and superfluities of life. On her return, Janet surprised her with the intelligence that no less important a personage than Maister Wilson from the Nethergate had been inquiring for her, and requested her to call at his house as soon as she could. Mary’s feelings towards the man who had wronged her father had once been very bitter; for it is possible for gentle natures to harbor very bitter feelings when those they love are injured. She could not forget that her father’s desire to recover the debt so dishonestly repudiated had occasioned the removal of the family to Dundee, and been thus, in a manner, the cause of the troubles that had ensued. But her resentment against this man was amongst the old things that had passed away from her when the great change came over her heart and life. When she found that he too had been smitten with that terrible plague, she had not failed earnestly to pray that God would have mercy both on his body and his soul; and it was with pleasure she learned that his sickness was not unto death. Still the thought of an interview was embarrassing; and the more so as the recollection of the father to whom she had been so tenderly attached naturally came back very vividly on her mind, and threatened almost to overcome her.
Not choosing, however, to defer a disagreeable duty, she at once repaired to the mercer’s dwelling; and it was fully two hours before she returned. When she did so, she looked agitated, and there were traces of recent tears on her countenance. Seeing that Janet remarked them, she said in explanation, “It’s no that I’ve been fretted, Janet; but it’s an unco thing to think that Maister Wilson suld come to himsel the noo, and make a’ richt between us — and my puir father in his grave.”
“Ye dinna mean to say he’s gien ye back the siller, lassie?”
“Ay, has he. Ilka plack and bodle o’t. Forbye, it’s a hantle mair than the twa hundert merks, for there’s what he ca’s interest.”
“Eh, but that’s guid news!” cried Janet and Archie in a breath.
“I’m blythe to win it — for Jamie,” said Mary softly, and with a blushing cheek.
“Hae ye brought it wi’ ye’ asked Archie.
“Na; I was fear’t to carry sae muckle gowd. I thocht Jamie wad gang and fetch it for me.”
“Weel for him an’ he has nae waur wark to do,”said Archie.
“Maister Wilson maun hae gone clean wud, I’m thinking,”said Janet.” I hae never heard the like!
And naebody e’en veiling after the siller.”
It was a moment or two before Mary answered; and then she said, in a quiet, reverent voice, “God has changed his heart, Janet.”
“And was that what gared him pay the debt?”
“Just that. And he’s sair grieved to think of a’ the sorrow that he — ” here her voice faltered, and she stopped. “I telled him that was a’ bye, and suldna be thocht on again. Forbye, God meant it for guid to me; for ye ken, gin it hadna been for the siller we’d hae never come here, whaur the true Word o’ God is preached. But he askit o’ my puir father, and wad hear the haill story, sair vexed as I was to tell it. It gaed hard wi’ him, Janet — he a’maist grat before I had done. And he said to me that he kenned full weel God had forgien him, but he couldna forgie himsel. I tried to gar him see that he suldna hae sic’ thochts; but I’m naebut a puir body for words, and no gleg wi’ my tongue.”
“How did he find ye out, Mary?”
“I dinna just ken; gin it wasna through the guid folk wha hae helpit Jamie. He has aft seen my face at the preaching, little dreaming wha I was. Eh, but ye suld hae heard him talk o’ the preaching, Janet.”
At that moment Jamie entered, and was soon told the pleasant news. Mary had now a “tocher” that many a lass in a higher grade might have envied.
“And it’s a’ anent Maister Wishart,” said Archie, “wha tells folk they canna be saved for doing guid warks; and gars them do mair in a day than a’ the priests in Scotland wadna in a year.”
A discussion of their plans naturally followed. The possession of this sum of money removed most of the obstacles to Jamie and Mary’s union. The first and apparently the most feasible proposition was, that Jamie should undertake a shop of his own, in which Archie might assist. This was not at all to Archie’s taste; but had his been the only dissentient voice, it might still have been carried. Mary had been for some time a silent listener to the conversation between Jamie and Janet, but when directly appealed to by Jamie, she said gently, “I dinna doot it’s a’ richt, Jamie. Aiblins it’s the best thing we can do.”
“But I’m fear’t ye dinna like it, Mary.”
“Oh ay.” Then after a pause, and rather timidly, “Whiles I canna help thinking Lang for the bonnie Sid-law Hills.”
“Wad ye like to gang there, lassie?” asked Jamie, eagerly.
“Oh, bravely,” answered Mary, with sparkling eyes. “An’ John tald me father’s farm’s to let. But it’s a fule thocht,” she added; “ye couldna mind a farm, Jamie.”
“It’s a’maist time I was awa’ to the Nethergate to Maister Wilson,” said Jamie, evading a direct reply. But though he spoke little, he thought much. Intensely anxious to gratify Mary, and conscious of his own power to master almost anything in the way of business in which his strong will was sufficiently interested, he revolved the plan she had suggested in his mind. Now that he was possessed of the requisite capital, could he not turn farmer, and thus secure, not only a comfortable livelihood, but a healthy country home to Mary and Janet? Part of his own boyhood had been spent with a relative in the country; and he had thus acquired a taste for rural occupations, as well as a little elementary knowledge on the subject. For the rest, he could engage competent assistance, and feel his way, trusting to his natural shrewdness to protect him from imposition. If he was imprudent, he had at least a very valid excuse. “It will please Mary so much,” was a reason weighty enough to counterbalance many difficulties.
His visit to Wilson proved much longer than he anticipated. The mercer, a new convert to “Christ’s Evangel,” and full of life and zeal, was glad to find a kindred spirit in Mary Wigton’s “weel-wisher.” A very short time sufficed for the transaction of their business; and they then entered into conversation upon the higher themes so dear to both their hearts. Wilson was struck by the young man’s general intelligence, as well as by his knowledge of the Word of God, which indeed had been his meditation day and night since he obtained possession of it. No subject makes strangers friends so quickly as this. Ere they parted, Jamie could not help yielding to the impulse that prompted him to ask the advice of Wilson upon the project Mary had suggested. Wilson thought it might be accomplished, and volunteered his counsel and assistance, which in many ways were very useful.
Anxious to perform a service for the family Mary was about to enter which might in some degree atone for past injuries, he offered to take the young brother, whom Jamie had casually mentioned, as his apprentice; and if he liked the business, to establish him in life without cost to his relatives. Archie’s future was just then a matter of serious consideration to Jamie, and he was deeply grateful for an opening much more eligible than any he could have dreamed of securing for him.
Having duly thanked Wilson on his brother’s account and his own, he hurried home freighted with pleasant tidings. Great was his astonishment when Archie declared that no persuasion could induce him to be bound to a trade. He who in past days had so hated school, would now do anything, possible or impossible, would work half the night, would live on one meal a day, — if Jamie would only consent to keep him there for another year. Most earnestly did he entreat his brother to grant him this boon; but when pressed to say what he proposed doing at the year’s end, he continued obstinately silent. Jamie reasoned, remonstrated, and finally grew angry and threatened, all to no purpose. Even when an elder brother performs a father’s part, he seldom possesses in full measure a father’s authority.
Janet’s well-meant expostulations did not tend to smooth matters. Archie was probably not mistaken in thinking that if he explained himself freely, his practical sister would ridicule him as an absurd dreamer, and he dreaded nothing in the world so much as ridicule. Therefore no more could be got from him than this, “I willna be Maister Wilson’s, or ony man’s ‘prentice.” Jamie was fain to treat his extraordinary conduct as the result of a fit of boyish naughtiness, and to tell him he would give him until next morning to recover his senses.
Meanwhile the old farmstead on the slope of Dunsinnan, amongst the bonnie Sidlaw Hills, grew fairer and fairer in prospect. Difficulties seemed to vanish away upon closer inspection; and after a long happy talk together that evening, Jamie said, “My mind is set to try it, Mary, and I think God ‘ill help me; for I hae askit him to show us the gait we suld gang.” Very thankful was Mary for this decision. It was her character to cling fondly to old cherished scenes and associations, and even with Jamie she felt as if a narrow room in a crowded “land” could scarcely ever be “hame” to her. Besides, he had not since his illness at all recovered his wonted strength; and for his salt; as well as for her own and Janet’s, she longed for there fresh mountain breezes that “sweep disease on their breath away.”
A night’s reflection strengthened Jamie’s determination; neither, unfortunately, did it alter Archie’s. Jamie, anxious to avoid a sinful loss of temper on his own part, told the boy as quietly as he could, that if he refused Wilson’s generous offer, he did so on his own responsibility, and very much to his own disadvantage. He added, that he could only maintain him by taking him with him to the country, where he must expect to work hard and fare hard; and that as he did not see fit to entrust him with the motives of his strange behavior, he must at least go with him to the Nethergate, thank the mercer himself for his kind proposal, and give his own reasons for declining it. He was of an age to speak for himself, Jamie said, and certainly in this instance he could not undertake to speak for him. To this Archie agreed, and prepared to accompany his brother. A consciousness that all his friends were displeased with him, made him sullen in manner and extremely uncomfortable in feeling; but he was cherishing a purpose that he believed in his heart of hearts to be a good and noble one, and like an inconsiderate boy, he resolved upon pursuing it, without pausing to reflect whether it was practicable or no.
“I’m sair fashed for Archie,” said Mary to Janet when he was gone. “The callant has some notion or ither in his head, gin a body could come by it. Do ye no mind how he’s changed, Janet? He’s grown sae douce and still; and he’s aye and aye reading at Maister Wishart’s wee bookie,’ as he ca’s it.”
To Jamie and Janet and Mary the New Testament was “God’s Word,” to Archie it was only as yet “Maister Wishart’s book.”
“Hoot, “cried Janet contemptuously,” the laddie’s clean wud, that’s a’. An’ I had my will, he suld e’en want his parritch till he land his wits.”
In the meantime Jamie and Archie walked silently to the Nethergate, and soon found themselves in the mercer’s comfortable parlour. The rich man greeted Jamie cordially, and noticed his young brother with frank kindness, but he appeared grieved and pre-occupied.
“There’s news to-day,” he said, “mony a heart in Dundee ‘ill be sair to hear.”
“Is the sickness waur again, sir?” asked Jamie.
“No, God be praised, the sickness is a’maist gone; but I hae just seen Maister James Wedderbum, who’s weel acquaint wi’ Maister Wishart, and its owre true he’s gaup awa’. Neist sermon ‘ill be his last here.”
Jamie’s exclamation was drowned by a real cry of distress from Archie, a cry that made Wilson turn and look at the boy more attentively than he had done before.
“That’s ill news indeed for Dundee,” answered Jamie, with a face that said more than his words. “But is it sure he maun gang, sir? Couldna the Lord Provost or Maister Robert Mill, or Maister James Wedderburn, gar him bide wi’ us?”
Wilson shook his head. “Na, na. He says God has weel nigh put an end to this battle, he finds himsel called to ane ither.’ But there’s mony amang us ‘id gae thro’ a’ the trouble and dolour o’ this waefu’ year again, anely to hae him still to comfort us.”
“God’s will maun be done,”said Jamie sadly. Then after a pause,” Does aebody ken whaur he’ll gang the noo, sir?”
“Maister Wedderburn’s no sure yet. Aiblins to Montrose, whaur he first began to preach, aiblins bad to Kyle.” Some conversation followed upon Wishart’: brief but brilliant ministry in the west. Jamie and Archie knew very little of their venerated pastor, except what they had themselves seen and heard. They listened therefore with much interest to Wilson’s animated de scription of his “offering Goddis Woord” in Ayr and the surrounding places. For everywhere, as amongst them, had he approved himself the minister of God, “by pureness, by knowledge, by longsuffering, by kindness, by the Holy Ghost, by love unfeigned.”
One story amongst others the mercer told them, which Knox has preserved for us, bestowing upon the picture one or two of those rare touches of grace and tenderness of which his strong bold hand was not incapable. Having been invited to preach in the church of Mauch-line, Wishart found himself on his arrival excluded by the Sheriff and a strong party of Romanists, who, acting under his orders, had seized upon the building. The high-spirited gentlemen, his friends and adherents, were indignant at this treatment, and vowed to enter the church by force. But the servant of the Lord would not strive. Taking. Hugh Campbell of Kinyeancleugh, the most zealous of his followers, aside, he said to him: “ Brother, Jesus Christ is as potent upon the fields as in the kirk; and I find that he himself more often preached in the desert, at the sea-side, and in other places judged profane, than that he did in the Temple of Hierusalem. It is the word of peace that God sends by me: the blood of no man shall be shed this day for the preaching of it.” And so, followed by all the people of the town, he withdrew to the hillside, where they stood or sate around him while he preached from “a dyke in the moor edge.” And Knox forgets not to tell us, that “God gave the day pleasing and Note.” Modern church-goers may be surprised to hear that the sermon lasted more than three hours; but the preacher knew his time was short, nor were the hearers weary, for “the word of the Lord was precious in those days.” And “in that sermon God wrought so wonderfully with him, that ane of the most wicked men that was in that country, named Laurence Rankin, laird of Sheill, was converted. The tears ran from his eyes in such abundance that all men wondered.” And his life thenceforward was such as to evidence the reality of the change.
Here Wilson paused, struck by the eager attention of his younger listener. Archie’s bright young face was indeed glowing with interest and enthusiasm; and the mercer, pleased with the boy’s appearance, felt the more desirous to receive him into his household. He therefore asked him kindly if his brother had told him of his pro posal, and what he thought of it.
“Ye’re unco guid, sir,” said Archie, so fired by all he had been hearing that reserve and shyness were forgotten, “but I willna hae a trade. I maun gang to the schule and learn my book. Aiblins God’ll gie me sae muckle grace that when I’m a man grown I may preach his holy Word — like guid Maister Wishart.”
Jamie stood aghast at this revelation of his brother’s ambition. Had the friendless orphan boy declared his intention of one day becoming lord provost of Dundee, or even lord high sheriff of Angus, he would have deemed his aspirations comparatively moderate and reasonable. “Ye puir fule callant!” he said, too deeply compassionate to entertain the least thought of ridicule, “ye’ll no ever be like him. What gars ye cry for the moon, like a senseless bit bairn?”
“Leave him his lane,” interposed Wilson. “He’ll no be the waur, ony gait, for having dreamed that dream; and he’s like to be the better his haill life lang.”
The famous words,
“Who aimeth at the sky,
Shoots higher far than he that means a tree,”
had not yet been penned; but they would not be so famous if they did not embody a truth which thoughtful spirits had recognized and acted upon long before.
Wilson then spoke to James Duncan about his plans; and having ascertained his determination to remove to the country, be finally offered Archie a home in his house for the next year; telling him he might attend school with his own bairns and show what progress he could make; and adding, for Jamie’s benefit, that if it seemed advisable, at the end of that time, he might still be bound to the trade.
Archie “wasna blate,” as Jamie afterwards declared. He frankly and gratefully embraced the proposal, leaving his brother little opportunity for showing the reluctance he felt at accepting so great a boon from a comparative stranger.
The brothers did not return as silently as they came. Their brief misunderstanding had been swept away by a common interest and sympathy; and if the elder remonstrated with the younger on the wildness of his ambition, it was in the spirit of love and meekness. For he had reason to fear that the boy had not yet in his own heart felt the power of the truths that Wishart preached; and that what looked so like an ardent attachment to the doctrines of the gospel, was, in fact, only the result of a passionate admiration for the best and noblest man he had ever known. Archie’s answers to the questions he put, though both frank and intelligent, confirmed him in this opinion; and he warned him, gently but faithfully, against the danger of self-deception. He was so far impressed and sobered, that on his return home he actually allowed Jamie to narrate to Janet and Mary all they had heard; not interposing a single word until his brother told Wishart’s reason fix leaving Dundee, when he could not refrain from saying, “Eh, but I think it’s unco hard. Our troubles are bye noo, and we’re gaun to rest. An’ is he naebut to gang to some ither battle, aiblins as hard as this ane “Ay, lad,”said Jamie,” there’s nae rest for the preacher o’ God’s Word till God gies rest himsel. How could it be ony ither gait, sae Lang as the haill country lies in darkness and the shadow o’ death, and men are deeing ilka day without the fear o’ God or the hope o’ heaven I Atweel,” he added after a pause, “he’ll no ever ken here a’ the guid he’s done us, and a’ the love we bear him for it; but an’ it’s no wrang, I like to think whiles that we’ll get to tell him up you in heaven. For doesna the Book say that sic’ as we ‘ill be the minister’s joy and crown o’ rejoicing in Christ’s presence by and by?”
“But I’m no just sure, Jamie,” said Mary thoughtfully, “that it’s richt to leave a’ the doing and suffering in Christ’s cause to Maister Wishart. What has the guid Lord done for him he hasna done just the same for ilka ane of us?”
“But ye ken we canna preach, Mary,” remarked Janet.
“That’s owre true, Janet, but we can live. Forbye, Jamie, when we gang to Dunsinnan, do ye no think we can tell our puir neebors the Word o’ God, and read them a wheen chapters out o’ the Book?”
“Sae we will, God helping us,” said Jamie. “Gin trouble suld come to us for the same (I’m no saying it’s like to come, Mary, but ye ken it might), we’d be blythe to thole it for his sake wha tholed the bitter cross for ours.”
“Ony gait, Jamie, we’re unco safe in his keeping. An’ how weel he has fended for us! I canna but mind that bit verse in the wee psalm book ye bought me yestreen for a propine. The lot is fallen to me in a fair ground: yea, I hae a guidly heritage.”
“God be praised,” answered Jamie; “the year o’ the muckle sickness has been the best year I hae seen in a’ my life.”
Many besides James Duncan could have borne this witness. The dark year of Dundee proved one of the brightest in her history. Never before, and perhaps never since, until the great revival of the present day, had such numbers there been turned from darkness to light and from the power of Satan unto God. It was but a little while until that light so increased and brightened, that it chased the shades of darkness away before it, — nay, until its beams, concentrated as in a burning-glass, shrivelled to ashes the worn-out gaudy and trappings of Romish superstition. Dundee was the first of all the Scottish burghs that declared for the Reformation; and by her whole-hearted steadfastness in the good cause she won the honourable name of the Second Geneva.
Three hundred years, with all their changes, lie between us and those stormy days of conflict and victory. Yet they are not quite forgotten. The old walls of Dundee have indeed been laid level with the ground; but reverent grateful hearts have spared the antique gateway, hallowed so long ago by the feet of him who brought glad tidings and published peace. Fitting emblem of a grand truth! Thus shall perish the memories of mere human greatness — the renown of kings and captains — the gaudy trophies of successful warfare. But the work of faith and labor of love, wrought in Christ and for him, stands secure of a double immortality. Its blessed results here shall last as long as the earth herself, while its bright memorial and recompense above are imperishable as the stars, like which they that turn many to righteousness shall shine forever and ever.