The affectionate interest manifested by the numerous readers of “Things New and Old “ in our little narrative in the March number, leads me to judge that a few further jottings concerning our beloved Robert will not be unwelcome to them.
We have been deeply affected by the number and the contents of the letters which have poured in upon us from all quarters. The profound and tender sympathy, the genuine brotherly love, the affectionate interest mu infested in every way, have bowed our hearts in adoring worship, thanksgiving, and praise, before our God. We have been amazed at the touching manner in which hundreds have entered into our sorrow, as also at the depth and intensity of the interest shown in one whom they had never seen. Truly we can speak of “brotherly love,” and we would speak of it, to the praise of Him from whom it all emanates, and to whom it all ascends again in streams of thanksgiving. And is it not worth passing through the deepest sorrow if only it gives occasion for the display of the grace of Christ in His beloved members, that thus His Name should be magnified, as it shall be throughout all ages, world without end?
It has, we may say, formed one of the very sweetest ingredients in our present cup to note the manner in which God has been glorified in the closing hours of our loved departed one. Oh! how well He knows how to bring light out of darkness, joy out of sorrow, life out of death! We have made it a matter of earnest prayer that even the very record of those closing, scenes might be made a blessing to many precious souls: and we believe He has, even already, answered our cry; and we look to Him to answer yet more abundantly. I think I may assure the reader that nothing could have induced me to pen such a narrative but the hope of bringing glory to the precious name of Jesus, and real, solid profit and blessing to the souls of our readers. These were, in good truth, the primary objects; and, in addition to these, I am free to confess that a father’s wounded heart found a sweet though melancholy solace in erecting a little monument to the memory of a son who was all that a father’s heart could desire—obedient, loving, thoughtful, sensible, pure minded—one who never caused us a moment’s uneasiness save on the ground of his precious bodily health.
This is saying a great deal; and it may be the reader will feel disposed to set it down to the score of a father’s inordinate partiality. But it is not so. I do not think I ever met a young man who was more characterized by an almost scrupulous attention to the smallest wish of his parents. I could furnish abundant evidence of this; but I forbear, and content myself with the statement of the fact.
And truly it is a fact worth recording and pondering, in days like these, when our young people seem so bent on throwing off all thought of subjection to parental authority. The Holy Ghost has told us that the last days should be characterized by a spirit of disobedience to parents; and alas! we see it, on all hands—see it not only amongst the people of the world, but amongst those who make a high profession of christianity. This is most deplorable and humiliating. It is, at once, ungodly and unnatural. Children must be taught to obey—taught from the very cradle—trained in the atmosphere of obedience and reverence. God has put into the parent’s hand the reins of government, and the rod of authority. This should be thoroughly understood by the child. Not that the parent should be perpetually chucking the reins and brandishing the rod. This is most contemptible. It is the invariable accompaniment of moral weakness. A father’s authority and influence should lay the foundation and form the outworks of the whole domestic edifice; and inside this hallowed enclosure there should be the full and beauteous play of parental, filial, and brotherly affection.
Such is the divine idea of a christian household, and we should never be satisfied with anything less. Let none of us content ourselves with the skeptical inquiry, “Where will you find such an idea carried out?” It ought to be carried out in every christian family, if it be the divine idea; and if it be not, what is?
But the sad fact is that many of us, in entering upon the holy relationships of domestic life, think only of our own comfort, our convenience, our interests, our enjoyment. We forget that the divinely appointed privileges of a relationship can only be really enjoyed in immediate connection with the proper discharge of its divinely appointed duties and responsibilities. If I am a husband, have I not certain responsibilities as such! Am I to maize a mere convenience of my wife, utterly regardless of her claims upon me? Assuredly not. I am to nourish and cherish her in all things. I am to sustain her in the true dignity of her position as a wife, a mother, and a mistress.
No doubt, the wife, in her place, has, in like manner, to see that she goes thoroughly in for all the sacred duties and responsibilities of her position and relationship. To her belongs, to a very large extent, the internal economy of the household. She stands at the very center of the domestic circle, and her influence is felt by every member of the family. Her tender affections, combined with her husband’s authority, will shed a genial light over the whole scene, and tend, marvelously, to adjust matters, and bind the various members of the household together.
Let all heads of christian houses ponder these things. We may depend upon it they demand our most serious attention. We are called upon to carry ourselves, in our relationships, in such wise as to adorn the doctrine of God our Savior. It is here we shall find most valuable instruction in the epistles to Timothy and Titus. The blessed apostle sets before us, in these invaluable writings, what we may venture to call the great moral foundations and outworks of christianity, and if these be not maintained in their integrity, it is the height of folly, yea, it is rank antinomianism, to talk of our privileges and blessings as Christians. It is worse than absurd to boast of our standing, as set forth in the doctrine of Christ, if we overlook our practical state, as set forth in the doctrine of God. The two must never be separated. If we talk of our privileges while we neglect our duties, we deceive ourselves, dishonor the Lord, stumble souls, and give occasion to the enemy to blaspheme.
We need not say that all this applies, in the fullest and most pointed way, to children as well as to parents. The doctrine of God demands that children should obey and respect their parents. But, alas! how little of this is seen, now-a-days! How often have we to mourn over the manners of our young people! What willfulness and waywardness! What rudeness to parents-especially to mothers! What uppishness and insolence! What self-sufficiency and contradictiousness!
It may be that parents have to blame themselves for much of this. Assuredly, it is a parent’s fault if a child is suffered to contradict, in anything. We repeat, with emphasis, in anything. Supposing, for example, that a parent makes a statement which is not, scientifically or historically, correct, it is not a child’s place to contradict. A mistake in science or history is a matter of very small moment indeed when compared with the grievous moral wrong of disrespect to a parent?
We would press this upon the attention of our young readers. It often happens that parents toil, and fag, and deny themselves, in order to give their children a better education than they have had themselves, and the only return they receive is insolence and gross disrespect. Surely this is very displeasing to God and ought not to be exhibited by children or tolerated by parents. It is diametrically opposed to “The doctrine which is according to godliness.” Young people should ever remember that one of the best evidences of a good education is profound respect for their parents, even though these parents may not be well up in classics or mathematics.
But if children forget their piece and their duty, parents should never forget theirs; and we cannot but think that if the divine principle of training be gently yet firmly carried out, from the very beginning, we should not so often be pained by the unseemly deportment of children toward their parents—a deportment which, we must say, merits the most withering rebuke which can possibly be administered.
The reader will, I trust, pardon this lengthened digression into which I have been drawn by the reference to our beloved Robert’s deportment and manner as a son. We can truly thank God upon every remembrance of him. He ever yielded a ready obedience to the wishes of his parents; and as for his mother, she lived in the very deepest and most tender affections of his loving heart.
During the last seven years of his life, he was much away from home, first in London; then in Edinburgh; and finally at Doncaster; and throughout that whole period, he, as a rule, corresponded with his mother. Indeed she has always been “secretary for the home department.”
I shall not attempt to give any lengthened extracts from his correspondence, inasmuch as he only wrote for a mother’s eye and a mother’s heart. But I cannot refrain from giving the reader a fragment from the last letter the darling fellow ever penned. It was evidently written very hastily; for the ship reached Portsaid sooner than was expected. There is nothing, by any means, remarkable in the letter; but there is a melancholy interest attaching to it, owing to the fact of its having been written just twelve days before his death; and yet no one could gather, either from its contents or its tone, that he was seriously ill. Oh! how little did we imagine that ere that letter could reach us, his spirit would be with Jesus, and his body in the depth of the ocean! Approaching Portsaid, “Thursday, 12Th Nov., 1874.
“Darling Mother,—What a long time it seems since we parted! And not to hear a word from you all that time, makes it seem longer. However, I hope to get yours of the 5th inst. tomorrow, or next day; perhaps before posting this.
“So far, we have had a most delightful voyage on the whole. Almost all the ‘greenhands’ amongst the passengers got sea-sick as soon as we got on the swell of the Atlantic; and some of them have been more or less so, up to yesterday. To my astonishment, I did not get even squeamish, though there was really considerable rolling. One night, crossing the Bay of Biscay, I took too many almonds and raisins; and then felt very sick; but was all right again in the morning.
“This little cabin of mine, though small, is wonderfully accommodating. It has a place for everything; and I take care to keep everything in its place. It is very pleasant to have it associated with the beloved father; and to remember that we sat and prayed together here for a blessing on the voyage. How very, very loving it was of him to come all that long way to see me off, and wave a last adieu as we sailed away. I hope your letter to Portsaid will tell of his safe arrival at home.
We had a magnificent view of Gibraltar, on the 5th; and then there was splendid climate in the Mediterranean till the 8th, when a stiff northerly breeze sprang up; the sea rose, and we all became regularly sick, except the old hands. It soon fell again, however, and since we have had delightful weather.
(After giving some minute directions as to the posting of letters, he continues:) It will be very pleasant to hear from you those three times; but they do seem few for such a long separation.... What a long time it will be till I can hear from you again! And then it will be only news from the middle of the month. I can only hope and trust that all is well with you. You may expect to hear from me again about the 11Th of January, 1875. That will be from Singapore.... I had hoped to have written to A., but we have reached Portsaid sooner than I expected. Very much love to father, Henry, Andrew, and George.
“Ever, your very loving son,
“ROBERT.”
I cannot close this brief sketch of the beloved departed one without a few lines in reference to his character and conduct as an elder brother.
All thoughtful and intelligent observers of domestic life are aware how much is involved in this relationship, and how much depends upon the proper discharge of its responsibilities. An elder brother is an immense moral power in a family. Not that he possesses any divinely given authority. So far from this; we believe it always evidences moral derangement when one brother presumes to lord it over another. Any attempt of this kind should instantly be crushed by paternal authority. It is the father’s business to see that each member of the domestic circle keeps in his and her proper place; and that each one is maintained in the enjoyment of domestic privileges.
But though an elder brother has no authority, he has great moral influence; and when this influence is thrown into the right scale, it proves an invaluable supplement to parental authority. It is a grand point gained when the eldest son takes the right direction. Younger brothers are powerfully affected by the example of the eldest.
Through the Lord’s infinite mercy, I can say that dear Robert acquitted himself, as an elder brother, in such a manner as to meet every desire of our hearts. He was not only a thoroughly safe but an eminently useful companion to his dear young brothers. It was not only that he taught them nothing bad, but he sought to teach them real good. I do not think that one of his brothers ever saw him give an unhallowed look or heard him utter a single impure sentence. He was singularly pure minded; so that, next to the society of their mother, there was no company like that of their beloved Robert’s. In the family circle, or in their country walks, he was a most loving and instructive companion. His mind seemed furnished in almost every department of knowledge; and yet there was not the slightest approach to bombast or pedantry—those detestable accomplishments of ill-trained smatterers.
I shall just give the reader a brief extract or two from letters written by Robert’s younger brothers when sorrow’s deep wave was rolling over them. I do this in sacred confidence. Indeed I may say that nothing could have induced me to prepare this narrative had I not the fullest assurance that the beloved readers of “Things New and Old” would not misunderstand me, or imagine, for a moment; that I desired to hawk myself, my family, or our deep sorrow before the public. I felt I could count on my friends; and, so far, I certainly have not been disappointed.
FROM H. TO HIS MOTHER.
Edinburgh, Jan. 18th, 1875.
“.... I wish I could express to you how very much I sympathize and participate with you in this sorrow; but I cannot do it in words. It is an unspeakable comfort to me to think that though we are separated now, yet the time cannot be distant when we shall be reunited. It is indeed a happy thing to have a hope beyond the present; and I do not think I ever felt it rightly until today. The blow would be indeed crushing were it not for the knowledge of this; and also for the assurance of his being so much better off where he now is, freed from all the weakness to which, whilst here, we are subject.
“The memory of the little time we had together at Scarborough, last autumn, is most sweet to me. I do not think I ever knew dear Robert so well before. He was so loving in his own quiet way. I fear that F. will be very much broken down. I have remembered him and your dear self many times today; and asked the Lord to comfort and sustain you both; and I am sure He has done so, and will continue to do so.... I never could think that Robert was very seriously ill; and hence I always looked on his case hopefully. Why, I am sure I cannot say; for he certainly looked ill. I thought it a good sign his not saying anything about his health in his last letter; but the dear fellow’s reason is now explained. I cannot write more now, my heart is too full.”
FROM A. W. TO TILE SAME.
Edinburgh, Jan. 18th, 1875.
“... I cannot tell you what a blow the unexpected news of dearest Robert’s departure was to us. It has left an unutterable blank in my heart. He and I used always to cling to one another in a very special way. We went about together, and used to form plans of how I was to set up in practice with him; and we were to go to Canada together. And now to think he is gone, and that I shall never see his dear face again!
Well, cheer up! precious mother; for, after all, the separation is but as a few days, aye, as a few hours, when looked at in comparison with the eternity which we shall spend in his company, around the throne. How blessed—how inexpressibly blessed to think that it is but a question of a few months or years, and then we shall meet him, and all our dear ones that are gone before, never to be again separated.
‘Loved ones are gone before,
Whose pilgrim days are done;
We soon shall greet them on that shore,
Where partings are unknown.’
“Oh! how such a hope, or rather such a blessed certainty as this should bear us up in trial, like the present one. Assuredly we can say, with truth, we sorrow not as others which have no hope.” And besides, we should remember how much—how very much happier it is for the precious fellow himself to be up in that bright joyous world above, than to be still toiling on in this wearisome world of sin and sorrow. So, precious mother, when you feel cast down about dearest Robert’s departure, just think of this, that we shall soon meet him again; and that he is far happier with Jesus than he could ever have been down here.”
FROM G. TO HIS BROTHER A. W.
Scarboro, Jan. 19th., 1875.
“It was indeed a sad and crushing letter which we received on Saturday from the Rev. George Piercy. But for darling Robert it is all joy and happiness. He told one of his friends that his only reason for wishing to live longer, was Matthew he might live closer to Jesus. Now ought not we who still live try to do so? I am deeply thankful for the way mother bore it....”
FROM H. TO HIS MOTHER.
Edinburgh, Feb. 1875.
“As you say, darling mother, everything here reminds us of darling Robert. All the things he so kindly gave us this winter; our subjects of study; our rooms and all our surroundings, directly or indirectly recall him to us. How we do feel his loss!”
FROM A. W. TO THE SAME.
“I do hope precious Robert left some last message in his own dear familiar hand-writing, in his journal. I do so long for the sad pleasure of reading it. I suppose it will return with the Ajax. Oh! how sorrowful it will be to see all his little possessions! Don’t you remember, mother, his showing them all to you and me, on his return from London? I can scarcely keep from tears when I think of the dear, dear fellow. I am sure that his loved sober face will always be imprinted on my memory as long as I live.”
My object in giving the above extracts is not only to spew the place that darling Robert had earned for himself in the hearts of his three young brothers; but also to encourage all elder brothers so to carry themselves that those who are looking up to them may see only that which they may safely imitate. The only way to secure this is to live a life of undivided consecration of heart to Christ. Those last words of dear Robert are ever present to the heart, “I WISH I HAD LIVED NEARER TO JESUS!” May we all deeply ponder them! Surely we need to do so; for if we may speak for others, we all live at too great a distance from that blessed One who would ever detain our vagrant hearts in the moral shelter of His own dear presence.
A FEW MORE JOTTINGS FROM MR. MASTERS’ DIARY Monday, Nov. 23rd.— “The Doctor is worse today. As we sang around his bed, he tried to join in, but no voice came. Then when all was quiet, I stole again to his bed. I found Mrs. Piercy watching him. We knelt down and prayed. All the time his lips were moving; but there was no voice. The night was very still. The moon was shining brightly upon the smooth surface of the sea, where scarcely a ripple moved. A few gleaming moonbeams shone through the rigging, and fell upon the place where the dying man lay. I looked round; there was no one near; and no sound but the hissing of the steam and the founding of the screw....”
“Wednesday, Nov. 25. (The day after the funeral.) Had some talk with the chief engineer and second mate. The latter is evidently seeking after the truth. The service yesterday, and the death of Dr. Mackintosh has impressed many here with serious questions. I hope they may not he momentary.”
The Lord be praised for this last paragraph! If a single soul has been saved, through the death of our darling boy, we bless God with all our hearts. Though the anguish of heart is the deepest we have ever tasted, we would willingly go through it all, and ten times as much, to save an immortal soul from the flames of an everlasting hell. True, we have shed—are shedding many bitter tears. We confess it. God knows it. But what are these when compared with the weeping, and wailing and gnashing of teeth in that terrible place to which ALL MUST GO who die in their sin—die out of Christ—die unconverted, unrepentant, unbelieving! Oh! reader, if thou art unconverted, do not rest satisfied with shedding a tear over the death of one so young, so promising, so beloved—the cutting down of a life which, like an opening rose-bud, seemed to promise so much fragrance. Weep not for him; but weep for thyself—for thy precious soul—thy sins, thy guilt, thy danger. And, not only weep, but flee, this very moment, to that blessed Savior, who died the just for the unjust, that He might bring thee, in all His own perfectness and preciousness, to God. If you could only write and tell us that our Robert’s death had proved the means of life to thee, you would afford more consolation to our stricken hearts than could be found in ten thousand letters of condolence.
We have just received from a beloved young friend, now visiting at Edinburgh, the following touching incident connected with our beloved Robert’s University life, for which we offer our hearty thanks to God whose precious grace shines so brightly in it.
“The other day, I went in to see a poor woman in the old town, here—very poor. Almost the first words she said, were, Oh! Miss tell me, it is not true that young Doctor Mackintosh is gone.” Alas! I could not tell her that. I could only tell her how sweet and bright his going home has been; how Jesus had been with him all along, and gently led him into His home. She wept for a long time, while I tried to tell her all I knew; and promised to send her ‘Things New and Old’ to read for herself. She said, ‘He was so good, so kind to me.’ Pointing to a little child, she said, “He attended me when my little Willie was born; and I was so long ill; and he came so often: and was so kind, always bringing me things to try and strengthen me, for I had a very bad time of it; and he spoke of the Lord so beautifully to me; and was so sympathizing. We loved him so much. And when he was going away, he came to say good-bye to us; and we thought so much of it—my husband and me. And out of his great coat pockets he pulled, first a large bottle of Iron for me, because I was but weakly, then a big bottle of God Liver Oil, for my husband, for his chest. He had ordered it for him; but we had not been able to afford to get it!’ It was so touching to hear her tell her tale; and she was so delighted to find I knew him. I thought you would like to hear it.”
Beloved christian reader, does not this little incident tend to “provoke to love and good works?” Truly, these are the things we have to attend to—these precious fruits of righteousness which are by Jesus Christ, to the praise and glory of God. How sweet to think of a young university student, thus entering into the wants and the sorrows of the poor! Not content with doing his duty as a medical student, he goes, again and again, to minister consolation and practical sympathy to that poor distressed family.
No one, we are persuaded, ever heard of this from his lips; and how many similar cases might be recorded, God only knows, for Robert never paraded his doings. But all are faithfully written down in the blessed Master’s book, and will be rewarded in that day when every man shall have praise of God. What astonishing revelations will be made in that day! Many a blessed act of ministry, unseen by human eyes, will be recorded and rewarded in the kingdom of Christ. And, on the other hand, many an act which was published and lauded in this world, as something wonderful, will be consigned to eternal oblivion.
Reader, are you a university student? If so, are there many of the poor, and the crushed, and the desolate in the winds and closets of Edinburgh who would shed a tear over your departure, or over the memory of your name? Not, surely, that this should be our object, God forbid. But then, ought not Christians to remember what they are left here for? Ought they not to remember their mission? Should not those words of our departing Lord have more weight with our souls? “As my Father path sent me, even so send I you!” What a mission! what a model! may we study the latter, more profoundly, so that we may fulfill the former more faithfully! We are not left here to be saved; we are saved, thanks be to God. But we are left here to be, as it were, the very hands and feet and eyes and mouth, the affections and tender yearnings of Jesus Christ.
Glorious mission! which can be fulfilled by each, by all, old or young, high or low, rich or poor, learned or ignorant, in every walk of life, in every sphere of action.
Those words which we have just quoted from the twentieth chapter of John, were not addressed merely to apostles, but to disciples—the common name surely, for all Christians. Hence, therefore, all Christians are sent into the world by Jesus, as Jesus Himself was sent by the Father. We do not expatiate; but we commend this most practical subject to the attention of the christian reader; and we would ask him how far he is seeking to discharge his high and holy mission.
We cannot close this second part of our narrative without tendering a word of grateful acknowledgment to the many beloved friends who, not only have written letters of sympathy, but also enclosed most soothing pieces of poetry, some of which are peculiarly sweet and touching. We can only give the following in this number.
WEEP NOT.
Hush every murmur, hearts by sorrow riven,
For cherished ones summon’d from earth to heaven;
(God but asserts Hiss right; these gifts were ills;
Not our freeholds, nor held we them on lease,
What the departed were, such are we still,
Waiting the word to quit, tenants at will;
They were but loans, which He who lent had power
At pleasure to recall in any hour.)
Nor mourn the sainted dead, as if remote;
When earth was quit no holy bond was broke;
Nearer they may be than an absent friend,
For spirit cloth with kindred spirit blend;
These last, ocean or mountain may divide,
A veil the first, which may be drawn aside
Ere the next hour. So narrow is the stream
That twixt the dyad and us doth intervene,
So soon it may be crossed; a moment’s space
May land us in their quiet resting place.
I low can we call them lost, or o’er them weep
Who do but in another chamber sleep
‘Neath the same Father’s roof? from their calm slumber
They will awake when th’ heavens are rent asunder.
Sleep is not life extinct, the body’s powers
Suspended lie through night’s long slumber hours,
The mind still soars upon her wondrous flight.
So does the soul live on through death’s dark night.
A passage, not a prison, is the tomb,
On this end sin opens a door of gloom,
Grace on the other doth unlock a gate
Of glory; as when a flowing river breaks
Into a mountain’s side, and still rolls
On Through the deep hidden cavern dark and long
Buried awhile, but on the other side
To burst forth in a fuller, stronger tide.
The sunlight of to-morrow and to-day
Are one: night does not veil the ray,
It is not quenched by that we call sunset:
What we call death, ends not one life: nor yet
From resurrection doth another date.
Death affects not identity—in the same state
We die, we rise; we wake as we lie down,
Yet stronger; that which was in weakness sown,
Is raised in power, eternal fruit to bear;
Life here in Christ, is life abundant there.
Weep not for those in Christ who live and die
Weep not that heaven’s attractions multiply,
They are, and shall be ever with the Lord;
So comfort one another with this word.
As when from some home circle of fond hearts,
One member to the distant chine departs,
Then follow others that our love holds dear,
Until we feel the home is there, not here;
So when our God this earth a desert makes,
And by successive strokes our friends translates;
Let us with eager, chasten’d mind arise,
To plume our eagle-pinions for the skies;
And on bereavement’s waves, amid the storm,
Get nearer to the peaceful haven borne.
P.S. Since writing the foregoing, we have received several letters from one of the officers of the “Ajax,” accompanied by a package of our loved one’s hair, and a pocket handkerchief with which the death dew had been wiped from his brow. We give an extract from one of the letters.
“... I have been twenty-five years at sea, and never saw any one die so full of the grace of God as our Doctor. I have the 6 to 12 watch regularly. He used to come on the bridge with me going down the Mediterranean. The night before he died, as I came off watch at 6 bells, I sat beside him. It was a lovely moonlight night, no sound but the dash of the wave against the ship’s side. He said, “Hobson, is it your watch? No, Doctor, I am going below. He was very weak; then he said, Hobson, I am dying.” “Do not talk so, you frighten me; no, you will live, and you and I will go down together to Scarboro.” He smiled sweetly, and prayed for about five minutes, then he took my hand, saying, ‘I am not afraid to die, and you must not be, Jesus died to save you and me.’ He then gave me your address and thanked me for all kindness shown to him. The enclosed handkerchief he held in his hand when he died.” Reader, if you were put in R. C. M’s circumstances with death and eternity staring you in the face, could you calmly, intelligently and deliberately say, I am not afraid to die?
We cannot withhold from our readers the following communication we have had from a dear friend who had read the Sailor’s letter:
“We have all been so melted by the delicate feelings displayed by that dear sailor, but above all by the meek way those dying lips spoke of Jesus. Doubtless the impression made on the dear sailor is not slight, the way in which he tells of that beautiful smile, which spoke so emphatically of the sweet peace within. I do firmly believe many in that day will be to him a crown of rejoicing.”