“Unpracticed he to fawn or seek for power
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,
More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had vent in heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.”
FOURTEEN years had passed over this happy family, when the Restoration threatened the overthrow of the Scottish Church. Charles, advised by his English and Irish ministers, Clarendon and Ormond, and latterly by Lauderdale, secretary for Scotland, introduced the episcopal form of worship into Scotland Patronage was renewed; and the clergy were required to procure a presentation from their patrons, and collation from their bishops, to acknowledge their authority, and the spiritual supremacy of the king. The clergy in the northern districts complied without hesitation; but their more pious and zealous brethren in the west, however willing they might be to submit to and support the civil authority of the king, rejected his spiritual supremacy, refused submission to the Episcopalian judicatories, and preferred rather to suffer the extremity of persecution, than to sacrifice what they deemed the truth and their duty to God. The people were no less averse to this encroachment on their religious privileges, and resolved to imitate their pastors, whose engaging familiarity, and sanctity of manners, had gained them the esteem and love of their flocks.
But if they had determined to suffer rather than renounce the covenant and their beloved presbytery, the bishops, who had now got all power in Scotland into their hands, determined no less than the destruction of both. Burnet, Archbishop of Glasgow, and the apostate Sharp, Primate of St Andrews, with a cruelty little becoming mitered heads, prepared to carry this into effect. Ambulatory courts were established, on the principles of the Inquisition, in which the bishops were the judges of those whom they wished to destroy. No regard was had to remonstrance or entreaty, or even to evidence. To these courts the military were subordinate, and instructed to carry their resolutions, which were often formed in the midst of riot and drunkenness, into execution. By this procedure, three hundred and fifty clergymen were ejected from their livings in the severity of winter, and driven, with their families, to seek shelter among the peasants. The most ignorant and vicious of their northern brethren, who scrupled at no compliance, were thrust, by the strong hand of power, into their places. The ignorance and shame-fill lives of these apostates from the covenant, who were now metamorphosed into curates, disgusted the people on whom they had been forced. Their doctrines had none of that heavenly relish which suited the taste of those who had been formerly taught by the best and most affectionate of men. Their churches were deserted; and the people went into the mountains in search of that water of life which no longer flowed from the pulpits.
But this was only the beginning of their trials. Their pastors were soon forbidden to preach even in the fields, or to approach within twenty miles of their former charges; and all the people, as well as their pastors, who were not prepared to abjure their dearest rights, and to submit to the most galling and iniquitous civil and religious despotism, were denounced as traitors, and doomed to capital punishment. To admit anyone who refused compliance into shelter―to favor his escape, or not to assist in apprehending him―subjected the person so convicted to the same punishment. To this, military persecution succeeded. The soldiers were both the judges and the executioners. The very forms of justice were now wholly abandoned. Gentlemen, and peasants, and ministers, were driven out to wander among the morasses and mountains of the country―were crowded into goals―sent into exile and slavery, and multitudes were daily writhing in the torture, or perishing on the gibbet. Rapes, robberies, and every species of outrage, were committed by the soldiers with impunity. The west of Scotland was red with the blood of its own inhabitants, shed by their own countrymen. The spirits of darkness seemed to have entered into the bosoms of the persecutors, and to actuate all their doings. They appeared to delight in cruelty, and in shedding the blood of the innocent. But the glorious sufferers, relying on the goodness of their cause, and hoping in the promises of God, opposed sanctity of life to licentiousness and riot; the spiritual weapons of truth, to the swords of their enemies; patient endurance to fatigue, and want, and torture; and calm resignation to the most ignominious deaths. And truly they suffered not nor bled in vain. God at last gave them the victory over all their enemies, and, through them, secured to us the religious privileges we this day enjoy. From this short sketch of the times which we thought necessary to explain what shall afterward occur, we return to that family which we left so happy.
Among those clergymen who bravely refused compliance with the iniquitous orders of government, was Mr. Bruce. Although naturally mild, an ardent lover of good order, and ready at all times to impress on his flock the duty of submission to all the lawful commands of the civil authorities, he could not think for a moment of violating his conscience, and of teaching his people to violate theirs, by forsaking what he deemed his duty to his heavenly Master. But there was only one alternative. Either he must comply with the sinful and tyrannical requirements of the bishops, in whose hands the civil power was, or relinquish his pastoral charge, and quit his house and his living. Mr. Bruce was not a man to hesitate whether to seek the praise of men or the praise of God. On the last Sabbath on which it was permitted him to enter his pulpit, he thus took farewell of his beloved flock:
“You know, my dear friends,” said he, “what orders I have received from the bishops, who possess, for the time, the civil as well as the ecclesiastical authority. I am required to acknowledge the king as supreme head of the Church; to submit to the diocesan jurisdiction of the bishops; to be re-ordained, and converted into a curate; and to introduce the episcopal mode of worship into this church. In a word, I am to renounce presbytery; preach, not as the Bible and my own conscience direct me, but according to the wishes of a drunken and licentious court, and the dictates of a self-interested and domineering priesthood. And all this I am enjoined to do, or leave you, my house, and my living.
“You cannot but know that I have determined on this last. I have not so learned my duty, as not to be able to sacrifice a little of this world’s comfort for conscience sake; and I would rather that my tongue should be forever dumb, than that it should utter one word from this sacred place, merely to please men in power, and secure my own worldly gratification. I can part with the comforts of a home; but how can I part with you, my dear friends? We have lived together in the bonds of love. Every one of you is endeared to me by some particular kindness given or received. I have watched over the childhood of many of you, and now see you advancing in the knowledge of religion as you grow up to manhood. Others of you I have seen growing gray with years; and I have endeavored to smooth your way, and stay your steps down the slope of time. All of you I have cared for―all of you I have set my heart upon―all of you have been to me as fathers or sons, as brothers or sisters. How can I part with you, my beloved flock? How can I leave you like sheep without a shepherd, and like sheep in the midst of ravening wolves? O God!” he exclaimed, and the people rose up as if by enchantment; “O God! who seest my heart, Thou knowest what love I bear to this people; Thou knowest how dear their souls are to me. Oh hear my cry! keep them from the evil of the world, from the snares which are laid for their feet; and if they should never hear the word of life from my lips again; if Thou hast, in thy wise providence, wandering and weeping prepared for them, O Father, so watch over their souls, that I may meet them all at last by the right hand of their Saviour and my Saviour, of their God and my God. Father in heaven, into thy hands we commit our immortal spirits!”
When he had thus spoken, he sat down in the pulpit, and wept bitterly. Nor did he weep alone. The man of gray hairs wept, and the child sobbed by his side. And when they looked to the holy man, whose sorrow was all for them―and when they turned their eyes to the seat where his wife sat, bathed in tears, and her children, Andrew and Mary, weeping aloud, and looking up to their father; and when they thought that they were to be driven out from their happy home, to wander in poverty, again their tears flowed, and again they looked and wept.
Mr. Bruce was the first to recover some degree of composure. He begged his sorrowing audience not to give themselves up to vain lamentations; but rather to be thankful for the comfortable days they had spent together; to be putting their hope and their confidence in God; and to be preparing for the sufferings to which it was likely they would soon be exposed. In surveying the aspect of the times, he said, he had no doubt that the entire destruction of the Presbyterian Church was meditated; and a severe persecution, he had every reason to believe, was about to commence, in which their faith and their patience would be put to a severe trial. He advised them to be as inoffensive as possible to the civil powers, and to give prompt and cordial obedience to all their lawful commands; but exhorted them rather to suffer than renounce the covenant, or make the smallest compliance in violation of their own consciences; assuring them, at the same time, if they suffered now, they would rejoice hereafter. God would remember every sigh, and treasure up all their tears in his bottle. Their patient endurance would tire out the arm of persecution. They would thus leave the blessings of religious liberty to their posterity; and if they themselves suffered to the death, they would be rewarded in heaven with a crown of life.
After this valedictory admonition and encouragement, having recommended his flock again to the care of Heaven, he descended from the pulpit, amidst the weepings of his congregation; and when he had, with difficulty, withdrawn himself from them, he retired with his wife and children to his house.
In the pulpit, Mr. Bruce had carefully avoided making any allusion to his own family. His feelings of sorrow, on their account, were of that deep and sacred kind, which we rather wish to shut up in the sanctuary of our own bosoms, than trust to the sympathy of the most confiding friendship. How could he see her, who had been long the companion of his life, endeared to him by every tie that can draw kindred souls into the closest fellowship―her who had been ever used to the comforts of plenty―driven from a home which she had made so comfortable, exposed to fatigue, to houseless wandering, and perhaps, to want itself? How could he see his dear children, whom she had nursed so tenderly, and in whom resided his dearest earthly hopes, turned out, unable, as they were, to provide for themselves, on the sympathies of the world? He knew, indeed, that as long as he and his family were permitted to wander among his flock, they would be in no danger of want; but it was easy to read, from the face of the times, that even this would soon be denied them; and he already saw his family, in the forward eye of imagination, suffering under all the evils of insult and beggary.
On this subject he had not dared hitherto to enter, even to Mrs. Bruce. She observed it, and was well aware of the cause; and anxious to relieve his feelings, on the Sabbath evening, while they sat in their snug parlor, gazing in silent dejection on their children, she thus began the conversation:
“Do not be so sorrowful on our account, dear James,” she said. “I have shared in all your enjoyments, and I can suffer with you too; and so can these children. We may have many hardships to encounter; but we will have the approbation of our own minds―we will have the protection of that God in whom we have always trusted: and we know that He will not suffer anything effectually to hurt us We will have your love, my dear James; and we shall still be happy in sharing your trials and soothing your cares.”
“Dearest Eliza,” said Mr. Bruce, “you are indeed right. God will be our protector. Why should we hesitate to cast ourselves upon his care? I could have easily made up my mind to this trial, but for you and these children. But why should I cast one lingering look on these comforts, which my Master bids me leave? He can protect you as well as me. Under his guidance we are safe. Tomorrow we quit this house, which is to be occupied by another; and let us quit it without a murmur. What is the threatening or indulgence of this world to us? What are its joys or its pains? To do our duty to God, our Creator and Redeemer―to love, to honor, and to obey Him―this is sufficient for us. He will see that no evil befall us.”
Here Mr. Bruce paused for a little, and then proceeded thus:
“But let us act with prudence, my dear Eliza. Might it not be proper for you and the children to go and live with your friends at Lanark for the present? You will then have a settled home; and I am sure you will be kindly treated. For my own part, I am resolved to continue among my flock, and to take every opportunity of serving their spiritual interests.”
“No, no,” said Mrs. Bruce; “we will not leave you. I am determined to suffer with you. Nothing but death shall part me from you.”
“But these children,” said Mr. Bruce; “think of them, dear Eliza.”
“They are stout and healthy,” replied Mrs. Bruce; “and you shall see how cheerfully they will submit to everything, rather than part with you. Will you leave your father, Andrew? Will you, Mary?”
“No, no,” they both exclaimed; and, weeping, clasped their hands about their father’s neck, alarmed to hear their mother speak of their leaving him.
Andrew was at this time in his thirteenth year, a fine smart-looking boy; stout at his age, his hair black and bushy, and his eye full, dark, and penetrating. Of his talents we have already spoken. They were of a high order; and, under his father’s assiduous culture, he had already made considerable progress in learning. Indeed, his acquirements of every kind were beyond his years. His father was his only companion, as well as instructor; and his attention had thus been turned, at all times, to something useful. His susceptible mind had rapidly imbibed his father’s ideas, and, in fact, had already stored up most of his knowledge. In piety, in the love of learning, in the amiableness of his disposition, Andrew resembled his father; but his mind gave indications of more boldness and originality. Indeed, there already appeared in him a decision of character, a steady adherence to his resolutions, and a firm perseverance in the pursuit of whatever caught his attention, which, in union with his religious spirit, promised a life of the highest usefulness.
Mary, who was now in her eleventh year, with cheeks fair and rosy, a fine soft blue eye, and a profusion of golden ringlets flowing on her shoulders, had all the light-hearted gaiety, and innocent loveliness, which girls, properly educated, generally have at that age. Impressed thus early with the sacredness of religion, its purity seemed to beam from her eye. Her love to her relations was in proportion to her tenderness of heart. To please her mother, her father, and her brother, to hear them say she had done well, made her happy. A fairer and a sweeter plant hath nature nowhere; and, in the retirement of the secluded manse, she looked like one of those flowers which the traveler may sometimes meet in the desert, so lovely that he cannot feel in his heart to pull it, and yet knows not how to leave it behind.
Mr. Bruce, perceiving it was needless to say anything more about his family leaving him, turned their attention, for a considerable time, to those truths of the Christian religion which are best fitted to prepare us for bearing changes and trials with fortitude and resignation. And then the family, after joining es usual in the worship of God, withdrew to repose.