Marriage and Family Sorrows, 1847–1853

IN the 26th of January 1847, Mr. Milne was married

to Robina, second daughter of Kenneth Stuart,

Esq. of Annat and Rait. It was truly a union in the Lord, and the source, for a few brief years, of much joy and blessing to him.t Yet it was through this that his heaviest trials came to him, fitting him for larger use-

‘Immediately before his marriage, he thus writes to Mr. Somerville : — ‘TI have given orders about banns to-day, and was offered a reading of the marriage-contract; but as it looked a little long, I did not choose to be troubled with it. I suppose the only thiag now is to get a ring. Care is now and then peeping in at the door; but hitherto I have been enabled to thrust the intruder out, and shut the door in his face. But I feel a little tremulous. It seems like a flood that has not yet got through the barrier, but may rise higher, and prove irresistible. May we be kept by the mighty power! What weak, wretched things we are! I almost tremble when I look at the abysses of my nonentity, or rather perversity. But Jehovah is read, and Jehovah is right.’ And again, after his severe illness at this time : — “It is not easy to pay the vows which we have made in trouble. Hezekiah is a startling beacon. The first idea when I awoke to consciousness was, ‘‘I am now Jacob, and shall go halting all my days;” and then, ‘‘I will make worm Jacob a sharp thrashing instrument,”

fulness, and giving a new direction to his ministry. The joy was turned into sorrow; and again the sorrow was turned into joy. ‘He leadeth the blind by a way that they knew not,’ was a text often upon his lips and in his letters. He had tested it himself, and found it true.

The following entries in his family Bible give us the touching outline of his private history, at this time, from his own pen : — ‘ Robina Stuart, born at Annat Lodge, Perth, 23d April 1823; married at Annat Lodge, 26th January 1847. Jessie Marie Milne, born at Annat Lodge, 5th August 1848. Robert John Milne, born at Leonard Bank, 12th June 1851. — Robina Milne died at Leonard Bank, on Sabbath, 15th June 1851, in the full blessed view and experience of her gracious Lord and Redeemer. Robert John died 19th August 1852, at Annat Lodge, where Jessie Maria also died. So that mother and children are now before the throne. The Lord setteth the solitary in families, and He makes solitary again. Blessed be His name. “‘ Better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at-all.”’

Among Mr. Milne’s papers there is a beautiful piece of poetry by a friend, to which Mr. Milne appends the following note : —

‘ August 21st, 1852. — Written on the funeral day of my little boy, Robert John, who died a few days after the birth of Mrs. O.’s infant son. She had very lately seen my little boy, and felt much interest in him.’

“In these few last summer days,
Each of us a child hath given;
I to tread life’s thorny ways,
Thou to swell the ranks of heaven.

Into sin is born my boy,
Thine to everlasting joy.

Mine a feeble, trembling thing,
Scarce his dazzled lid unfolds;
Thine before the Almighty King
Constantly His face beholds.
Mine doth wail with fear and pain,
Thine can never weep again.

On my infant’s baby brow
Shades of future errors press;
Thine, beside his Saviour now,
Wears the robe of righteousness.
Mine will sin ere he can die,
Thine is purified for aye.
Ah! I hold thee blest in this,
Who, in spite of grief, can say,
Lord, it was Thy greeting kiss
Gently drew my babes away —

Love to them, not wrath to me;
Are they not at home with Thee?”

Pray for me, bereaved friend,
That when death my children claims,
Like ¢Zy babes may be their end,
Without blot upon their names,
Writ in the Redeemer’s scrolls,
On the lists of ransomed souls.’

One or two brief extracts from letters during these few happy years will give us a glimpse of the brightness of his married life. They show how little of the morbid there was in him; how thoroughly he enjoyed every good and fair thing about him; how much of the cheerful, the childlike, the playful, and the poetic, there was in his constitution..

‘Every day,’ he writes, ‘and everything is good, if we take it and use it aright. On Wednesday, I actually enjoyed it. The mists hanging like soft down upon the mountains; hundreds of white hoary streamlets rushing down the hill-sides, the little burnies crossing the road, and glistering out of sight, like little serpents winding away; and then a sheep breaking away from a drove, and thinking it needful to run before the gig, till, being fairly wearied, it jumped aside, and, as we passed, turned up a look of expressive intelligence, as much as to say, ‘“Haven’t I done a clever thing?” And the curlew, and the hawk, and the pee-weet, playing its little maternal tricks to draw us away from its nest; then a word or two with driver, and getting him to sing a psalm; and thoughts now and then of better things ; — altogether, one may be worse off than in an open gig, on a cold, down-pouring morning, going through a Highland glen.’

Again he writes : —

‘I send you Mary’s note, which is very good. I begin to think the Pollies are nota bad race. There’s Mary S — — , and Mary S, and Mary M — — . And then there was Mary the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene, and dear Mary of Bethany. But yet Mary is not to ride the water in; for there was Queen Mary, and Bloody Mary, and Mary of Guise.’

Then, again, he writes : —

‘I have been very idle to-day, and am not pleased with myself. But in such moods I try to be pleased with Christ. I am willing to be the black cloud that shall make His righteousness appear in most marked relief. What poor unprofitable things we are, and yet the Lord thinketh upon us!’

He was a very happy man, notwithstanding his occasional moods of depression. For as sunshine is the characteristic of summer days, though many a cloud darkens its June and July; so joy was a true feature of his character, though he was sometimes troubled in spirit. Thus, for instance, he would once and again speak out : — ‘ I am brimful of happiness, my earthly cup is running over.... We cannot expéct such happiness always to last.’ At one of his last communions he said that ‘ Christians should go through the world singing the 103d Psalm.’ He thus writes, about this time, to Mr. Somerville : —

‘I feel the lapse of time quickening, and begin, I think, a little oftener to look across the bourne, and wish that “present or absent I may be accepted.” What is our busiest work if we are not accepted in it? His favour is life. As time passes, also, I think I am happier. I don’t know that I ever was more so than during the last six or seven months. Is this your experience? Does it not sometimes strike you that our hearts ought to be far more lifted up in the ways of the Lord? He is such a Master, and we are so unworthy.’

Again, to the same, Jan. 21, 1851 : —

‘JT was at Collace yesterday, at a little meeting of brethren, which we found refreshing. Andrew is to bring in your eastern gatherings, and I shall bring them on Saturday. You will not object to their paying toll by the way. The little fox seems to have been an object of deep interest, and compensated for the absence of the venerable Tabby. Either the appearance of the creature, or Andrew’s showing off, seems amazingly to have wrought upon the natives of Collace. Andrew, when he saw what a hit he had made, carried Reynard with him next day to St. Cyrus, where, with Dr. Keith, his son, etc., we had a large meeting of old and young; and where the little fox was as great a favourite as at home. When he sat down, the old Doctor whispered into his ear, ‘ Being crafty, he caught them with guile,’ On Thursday evening we are to have a similar meeting of old and young here, to follow up your Monday evenings, which

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seems really to have interested and instructed rich and poor. So your goods and chattels are not lying idle, but laid out at usury, without hurt to them.... Oh that I might be more pure, more fervent, more consistent! I think I should like to get at the hidden manna, the living water, the Incarnate God! Strange that we can labour after that which is not bread, and neglect the true substance. But the flesh cannot rise above the dust. Oh that He may quicken us according to His word! What answer do you give to this question, “By whom shall Jacob arise?” A departed friend, when leaving one part of the field, was gladdened when he saw another coming after him with a sharp, sharp sickle. The whole world is guilty before God, — a world of criminals, a world of the condemned, — the far greater part ignorant, heedless of their condition. How can we forget or overlook this?’

For a short period after his marriage his life was bright, and his work in Perth went on with unbroken vigour.

The first breach in his family was by the death of Jessie Maria in 1849, about eight months old. In a letter to his wife some time afterwards, he thus gives vent to his feelings respecting this sorrow : —

‘There is not a day I don’t think of our poor little totty. One still thinks of her as the little smiling thing, though she has far outstripped us already in knowledge and goodness. I don’t vegre¢ her death. The feeling is rather a pleasant thankfulness for her, and an occasional longing to fondle her again. But I think we should so love the Lord that we should be well pleased with all His ways. I see nothing really good now, but to love the Lord, and then all that is His, and then to mourn over what has gone astray and lost His friendship, likeness, and love. I quite feel that a heart loving the Lord is aright and happy heart. The creature is hurtful and ruinous while we are immersed in it, and lie under it, but good when we get above it, for then we look down and love it, and seek its good for its Creator’s sake.’

The death of this little one was a sore and lasting grief, so that, ten years after, when reading aloud of the death of a little child, he became so affected, that the individual to whom he was reading had to stop him, and gently withdraw the book.

In the introduction to a brief record of his wife’s death-bed experience, which was one full of joy and light, he thus writes concerning her: ‘Those who knew her are aware how meek, gentle, and loving she was, yet the Lord’s dealings with her for years were those of the Refiner and Purifier.’ And truly, during the four and half years of their married life, they were scarcely ever out of the furnace. Sickness and bereavement marked nearly the whole course of these years, and then one was taken and the other left. The little boy survived his mother for about a year, and then he, too, was removed. The husband and father was again alone. It was then that his thoughts tured to India.

There are one or two letters, illustrative of his state of feeling at this period of trial, which may be quoted here. He writes to Mr. Bonar : —

‘MY DEAR ANDREW, — I write one word. You know that word — “Ye shall be scattered, every one to his own, and shall leave me alone, and yet I am not alone.” I got this a few days ago, and now it is fulfilling. They are all away, and baby with them, to Annat Lodge, and I am left for a little with empty house and empty heart. Poor Naomi! I know what she felt.

I was full and am empty. Yet I love my Lord. He has been unspeakably kind and overwhelmingly gracious. I cannot for a

moment think the shadow of a thought that He has dealt hardly. Satan has sometimes tried to make me think it, and been saying, how few there are that suffer as you are doing; but he does not get leave to make me draw any conclusion that can darken the wondrous loving-kindness of the Lord. I see that nature must be in the grave, and the flesh upon the cross, and “the spirit life because of righteousness.” — Your very affectionate brother, ‘JOHN MILNE,’

Here is another, to the same, without an exact date, but, from the nature of its contents, about the same time : —

‘MY VERY DEAR BROTHER, — I was favoured with your kind and welcome note, and desire to reciprocate your brotherly love. You know how much I value it, and thank the Lord for it. What will heaven be, where those who love will never part! I wonder how completely I have been kept in peace, and free from all reflection and unkindness, during this affair of Mr. Anderson. On Saturday morning, at breakfast, I got the Guardian from A. Somerville, and I was rather annoyed, only, however, because I find he speaks of what he “saw and heard in my house.” As long as he kept to myself, I really did not care; but this seems to criminate another dearer than myself. ... But we must not be overcome of evil, and I only feel pity and regret that he is ruining himself. It was evening on Saturday before I could set myself rightly to prepare, but I was helped; and on Sabbath I must own that our Lord was gracious. Thanks for your “Mercy of eternity.” Take another in return. You know the children’s lines —

“On, then, to glory run,
Be a crown and kingdom won.”

1 Mr. Jonathan Anderson of Glasgow, who had attacked Mr. Milne and his preaching. His case came afterwards before the Presbytery of Glasgow and the General Assembly. There are several allusions to the case in Mr. M.’s letters; all of them kindly and charitable, But we cannot enter into details.

One night last week I lay down, weary and rather discouraged, when these words came into my mind with a strange, peculiar bright reality or glory, which made me start up ere I was aware, and be for a little peripatetic. Yesterday afternoon, in reading in church Acts xxii., Paul’s defence, the thought struck me, at verses 17-21, that the proximate reason of Paul’s want of success among his countrymen was, that he trusted too much in his apparent qualifications for the work. Like Melancthon in his young zeal, he thought nothing could stand before him. “Everybody will feel that must have been no light matter that has made me thus turn round; who so fit to be a Jewish missionary?” And so he wonders and almost complains of his vain labour. But — go, go. Is this a libel? Last night, in reading Job xxxix. 14-16, I thought I got a blow under the fifth rib; but you know it was from a friendly hand.’ ‘

He writes to Mr. Flockhart, one of his elders : —

‘I feel sad and fearful when, for a moment, the future gets into my mind. Hitherto a vivid sense of the eternal world, and of my glorified one’s joy, has been uppermost in my mind; but ever and anon that verse is coming into my mind, “Ye shall be scattered, every one to his own, and shall leave me alone.” Pray that I may be enabled to add what follows. I feel that the Lord has been very kind in so wondrously crowning His work of sanctification, and in giving us to see it, What a value she set upon your prayers! With what interest she inquired and heard about the Tuesday evening supplications, and what a quiet rest she seemed to feel when told about the feeling there was of the Lord’s presence on the Wednesday night, just before the Lord interposed in her behalf! Will you kindly remember me to all the brethren? I feel a shrinking from much meeting, but it will pass by. You will arrange for the meeting to-morrow night. Oh, what a cause of thankfulness it would be if what has emptied my house and heart helped to fill heaven, and to fulfil Christ’s joy !?

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To the same he writes :- —

“I was much surprised and affected by your inclosure, which I received last night. I desire to see much of the love of God and man in this most unlooked-for yet considerate and seasonable kindness. Will you find means of expressing to my friends the thankfulness and affection which I feel? They have rejoiced with me in my joy, and grieved with me in my sorrow, and ministered to me in times of difficulty; and I do trust that these are only the indications of a union which will outlive this passing world. I feel some regret that they should have put so large a sum at my disposal; but their abundant care for me will, through grace, make me more instant in prayer for them, that the Lord may enable them to be daily rececving Christ Jesus in all His fulness, to bless, and sanctify, and satisfy their souls.’

To Mr. Edmond he writes, on the 7th of July :- —

‘My VERY DEAR FRIEND, — I have at this time had very many brotherly and friendly expressions of sympathy, but none came earlier and none was more welcome than yours. I have lost one who was every way worthy of love and admiration, and fitted to be my ornament and my joy. She was a meck, gentle, loving, lady-like creature, with a superior and beautifully balanced and refined mind. I have an empty house and an empty heart. Yet exceeding comfort has been mingled with the sorrow. The Lord was very very kind to her at her departure. I have never-read or heard of so wondrous a scene. For two days and nights we sat and stood beside her, and though there was the interchange of light and darkness, conflict and victory, yet for a long time at the end there was feace, mounting up to assurance, triumph, transport, ecstasy. I wish I could tell you a little of these wondrous forty-eight hours. I feel that it is “separated, but not divided; gone before, and following.” All my thoughts are sweet, thankful, softening, elevating. The Lord seems saying now, “You have nothing now to do but to serve me.”’

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To the same he writes, after his last sorrow : —

‘MY DEAR FRIEND, — You will be grieved to find that I have again to make acclaim upon your sympathy. My dear little boy has just been taken home to meet his mother and sister. The thought oversets me; but I shall not be alone. The Lord still remains, and some dear friends, among whom, though we so seldom meet, I fondly reckon you. — Believe me in time, and I trust in eternity, yours very affectionately,

‘JOHN MILNE,’

On the first anniversary of his great bereavement (15th June 1852), he writes to Mr. Somerville :- —

‘My VERY DEAR BROTHER, — I go to Mr. Cumming on Thursday week, and I suppose you are to be with him on the Sabbath. What are you going to do for us in passing? Let me hear before Sabbath. We must levy toll and tax, and see that the King’s revenue suffer no damage. So there must be no covert or silent passing by. Dear brother, remember me. This is the anniversary of dear Rue’s going home. About a quarter before twelve this day year she entered into the full glory, for it had already begun. The past year has been a new year to me. The Lord has been strangely kind (“as one whom his mother comforteth”), lifting me up when cast down, and smiling me out of my bad humours, and making me ashamed of myself, and a wonderer at Him, when I was beginning to think that I was hardly used.’

To the same he writes, about the same time : —

‘Your plan will do admirably. I will go with you to Andrew’s, and we shall come back for our Tuesday evening meeting. Collace woods have their memories, so have Arran shores and hills. Our week of fullest happiness was there. I came from my work in Lanarkshire, and stayed a whole week, trotting my dear Rue about on Donald, stubborn, tricky fellow as he was. But he never was rude to her, though he played tricks to all the rest of us, and carried poor Eliza on toward

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Brodick. These days can never return to me; but I can rejoice in my dear brother’s quiet full joy. Tuesday, a quarter before twelve, was the anniversary of her going home. Latterly I have been kept constantly busy and happy in my work, which is very kind, is it not? Mr. Cumming will tell me if you are to preach for him on Monday, and if so, I shall come out and join you. Possibly I may get out on Sabbath night. Did we not first become acquainted by my coming out in that way? I remember “His locks are bushy and black as the raven.” We walked home on the Monday. We inquired ages. You were twenty-eight; I was a little older; and you looked as if you thought, “How much I shall have done ere I be as old!” ‘These are reminiscences.’?

Even in these pensive moods and days, he could write thus to his friend : —

‘I found my work easy on Saturday, and had help and buoyancy yesterday. So, thanks. Last Monday I was out with It was his communion. He is an “olive green in the house of our God.” All about seems to prosper. Even the dog, Watch, is an honest, happy-looking beast; and the little olive plant is sprouting up most luxuriantly. We remember you when we meet.’

A few brief extracts from letters written about this time may come in here, as forming a link between this chapter

and the following : — ‘I wish you could give me some idea of your exercises of

1 The text of Mr. Somerville’s sermon.

2 In June 11, 1850, he thus writes to Mr. Millar of Clunie, inviting him to his communion : — ‘ We £zow one another, and therefore it is pleasant and profitable to labour together; for I always find that on such occasions the dew comes down. We are the two persons that have most interest in that congregation; and if at this time the Lord enables you to come, then let us engage, in the grace of the Lord, that we shall be of one mind in seeking very great blessing.’

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136 LIFE OF REV. ¥OHN MILNE.
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mind during seasons of acute pain. It seems a severe trial to lie hour after hour in a state of suffering. It seems to me the only support is to feel that we are then, through Jesus, presenting our body a living sacrifice, and trying to glorify God in the fires. One cannot also help thinking of the lost, who have no hope. It seems to me that acute and long-continued pain, graciously borne, is the most effectual instrument for softening the heart, and making us willing to depart. What could the whole world do for us in the way.of making us glad, when we are in a state of bodily anguish?..

‘ There was a thought given me last night when I was speaking with some young people: “Their bodies, being still united to Christ, do rest in their graves.” Our dearest friends soon grow weary of our bodies when life is gone, and put them away; but Jesus holds them fast. Corruption does not make Him let go His hold. And then I thought that a dead, corrupt soul is more loathsome than a dead body; and yet Jesus comes and takes hold of us when we are dead in trespasses and sins, He sees not what we were, or what we are, but what we shall be when He has formed us both body and soul to show forth Ms praise. ty.

‘We are very happy and comfortable here. But I want to be a pilgrim and sojourner, and hang loose. We should live as at a day’s warning, and this should not seem hard.

‘I feel your thoughts on the family very sweet. They are given you by the Lord, and you must not be surprised if sometimes I give to others what you have been the means of giving tome. Let us long and labour for the gathering and completing of that blessed company. What love, what joy, what songs will be there! Some we loved, and still dearly love, are there already, and we, through grace, shall soon join them. i

‘We are wonderfully made, and we must take care of our bodily as well as spiritual health. I think nothing gives me refreshing, strengthening rest, but trying to open my heart to take in the glory and love of the Lord. That fills the heart, and is the bread which satisfies’..,

Mr. Milne had done good work and true in Perth during the first thirteen years of his ministry. He was to do more of such work again during his last ten years. But between these two periods there was to be an interval, which he had little counted on. There was work of another kind to be done elsewhere.

Perhaps it was during these times of sorrow that he learned to be the comforter, and to enter more deeply into the sorrows of his flock and friends. The following letters, or fragments of letters, written in different years, are thrown together here, as illustrations of his dealings with the sorrowful. They require no introduction nor

comment.

‘ Free St. Leonard’s Manse, Perth, 3d April 1860. — MyY DEAR BROTHER, — We got your note this morning at breakfast, and at once feared what was true. We were with you in your waiting on the Lord, when as yet you knew not what might be His will; and now we are with you when you are saying, though with tears, “It is well with the child; good is the will of the Lord.” I do not know who told me the story; but a gardener, in Wales somewhere, tended carefully a favourite flower, perhaps was a little proud of it. The owner of the garden, one day walking through, espied the flower, plucked it, and put it, for beauty and for pleasure, in his bosom. A friend of the gardener’s, observing the blank, said, “Where’s the flower?” “The master took it,” said the gardener. Give Him thanks, dear friend, that you have begun to take infeftment of heaven; and let Rachel be comforted with the thought that your little Andrew will come again to his own borders, and will be found in his place when the home circle is again complete. I think I have noticed that, when the Lord took away something that I valued greatly, He always gave me souls in return. One very special case I could mention; but ee et SN OS ae eee

we can talk of it when you see how many Peters will be given you in the room of your little Andrew. May we both find, next Sabbath, a quickening and growing time! Sabbath week I was at Collace. I am trying not to do anything, or go anywhere, but at the bidding of the Lord. He opened the door to my old resort, so I went and took all the services. It was pleasant to remember and speak much of you at the old fireside, and then to pray for you in your family trial. I enjoyed the day’s work very much. Old Mrs. Reid, before I came away, said, “There is no such man in the world as Mr. Bonar. Wherever I go, everybody, old and young, loves him more than T can tell; and how did he contrive to be always among them, and always working?” But good-bye. — With much love to Mrs. Bonar, believe me, very affectionately yours, ‘JOHN MILNE,’

‘Free St. Leonard’s Manse, Perth, 17th October 1864. — My VERY DEAR ANDREW, — We are all greatly grieved and startled by the intimation of this morning. We thought that all was

’ going on well; and she was always so healthy, we never dreamt of such a blow as this. I feel stunned, and sad at heart, for you know the old and tender friendship and love. None on earth can comprehend the sorrows of your heart, and none on earth can fill up the blank and void; but you know well who can do both, and that He is not far off nor uninterested, but has already made provision both for the present and future trial. One almost welcomes these breaches, just to see how skilfully He repairs; one almost welcomes these tears, just to see how tenderly He wipes them away. “I was dumb, I opened not my mouth, because Thou didst it.” “The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away’ and blessed be the name of the Lord.” That is one side; but there is another, “TI go to prepare a place for you;” and is He not doing it? Your house is less home-like to-day; but is not heaven become more so? You are now a divided family, and you know which part is safest and happiest. Don’t you long for the gathering to-OS aaa gether, and the rest, and the “no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying?” It will be a sorrowful communion week, but many will be praying for you. I should have liked to come through, if it had been only to shake hands and say, “The Lord heip you, brother; the Lord be the guide of your motherless children.” But I am tied up this week, and cannot get away. We all unite in much sympathy. — Believe me, very affectionately yours, ‘JOHN MILNE,’

‘ Free St. Leonard’s Manse, Perth, 16th October. — My VERY DEAR ANDREW, — Mrs. Stuart of Annat is living with us just now; and last night, as we all sat together, we were remembering that this is about the time of your great sorrow. I know well that it is only the Elder Brother that can bind up the broken heart and satisfy the longing soul. But I know that you do not undervalue the sympathy and prayers and much love of the younger brethren.. Let me tell you a little incident that will cheer you. There has been a little ingathering at Rait through Moody and his sons. A young man, Clarke, is one of the number. He says he was your Sabbath scholar at Collace, though the family did not come to the church. You visited the house one day, and spoke to the boy. - You said to him:

Did you ever read the Bible from beginning to end?”

‘He answered, “Na, sir; it’s sae lang.”

‘You said: “But if you had a friend in America, and he were to send you a nice long letter, would you read it all?”

““Oh, yes; every word,” said the boy.

‘He now says he never forgot this; it made him uneasy; but now it is his guide, and the word of God is the lamp to his feet. He was asked to take part in the meeting, but he drew back, saying, “I dinna ken grammar.”

‘But young Moody said: “You have what is more useful: grace is better than grammar.”

‘But good-bye. I ask myself, Why are you so different from Andrew Bonar in home comforts? But time is short, as

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Paul said, who, you think, was a widower himself. Love to Miss Bonar and the infantry, especially the Benjie, — much love. — Yours very affectionately, ‘JOHN MILNE.’

‘Free St. Leonard’s Manse, Perth, 19th Oct. 1866. — My VERY DEAR ANDREW, — I don’t know how to thank you enough, both for Barbara and myself, for all your kindness and helpfulness in this time of trial. Your notes were a great support to us, and the mindful observant Master will remember in that day. Give our many thanks to the praying bands for all their mindfulness and prayers. It has been a time of exceeding suffering; I do not know that I ever really knew pain before. We both look back with wonder, and almost trembling of heart, upon the ten or eleven days, and especially sleepless nights, of ceaseless, crushing agony. But the Lord was very, very kind. I think He has taught me many lessons, which He will never let me forget. I am still very weak, slowly, surely regaining strength. I think I am enabled growingly to leave all in the Master’s hand, and to say in truth and love, Not my will. It is very sweet to feel that we are His, and that He careth for us with such a wise, constant, tender care. Dear Andrew, I thought for a little that I was to get the start of you in the race to the sepulchre. One thing will interest you, I remember it quite distinctly. You know that, like you, I would like to live to welcome the Master back; and yet I recollect that when, on recovering consciousness, I said to Barbara this is the end, and thought it really was, I felt no discomposure, no disquiet, no regret at the disappointment of my desire and

, hope. Tell Horace, when you go to the opening of the new sanctuary, that I shall be with you in spirit, praying that the glory and power may fill the place, and that the Lord may make them, and the places round about His hill, a blessing, giving the rain in its season, and sending showers of blessing. Love to all my friends in India Street. B. and all of us join in best wishes. — Believe me, yours affectionately,

‘JOHN MILNE,’

To Mrs. Moody Stuart, after the death of her son : —

‘ Free St. Leonard’s Manse, Perth, Nov. 9th, 1866. — My VERY DEAR JESSIE, — It was so kind of Moody to write to me before the Communion. Kindly tell him that I was graciously kept from all thought, and enabled to enjoy the quiet season very greatly. The suffering for many days and nights was very fearful; but B. and I look back, and feel that it was a continual communion. We can truly say, that the Lord is a very present help in time of trouble.

‘ And now I trust that the Lord is dealing very kindly with you all, and filling up the blank in house and heart with His own gracious, constant presence, and giving you sweet thoughts of the blessedness of him who has gone before. A favourite thought of mine is, that when Jesus says, “I go to prepare a place for you,” He means, that often this preparation consists in taking our best and dearest there before us. He impoverishes the earthly home to make a heavenly home. I am sure it is more easy now for you all to set your hearts on things above. Happy Andrew! Like James, he has soon got his discharge, and been called up higher; he has been called away from the cross, the bitter cup, and the trial upon trial which accumulate so sadly when the journey is prolonged. I am sure that you and Moody must be thankful now that he had made proof of his ministry, beth in public and in private, ere he was taken to his rest. He has not lived in vain; and as time passes, you will learn this more and more. He has ‘not died in vain. You cannot tell what lessons it has taught, what influence it has exerted. Let us thank God, and take courage. The Lord will come, and bring all our dear ones with Him. Love to dear Moody, and a happy Sabbath. Love, united and warm, to all the rest. You know who says, “Be.of good cheer, it is 1.” — Your very affectionate

‘JOHN.’

‘ Free St. Leonard’s Manse, Fuly 15, 1867. — MY VERY DEAR ANDREW, — We both thank you very much for your loving note. Since we heard of the going home,! we have been thinking and speaking and praying for you all, especially the widow. I have been thinking often of heaven since I heard it. This morning I awoke from a deep, sweet sleep with the word in my mouth, “His name shall be on their forehead.” It seemed as if it had been the answer to the inquiry, “How shall we know the multitudes whom we shall meet there, but whom we have never known in the flesh?” I think of your brother as one of the most unblameable characters I ever knew. He always seemed as a father among you, looking so benevolent, and taking a quiet placid interest in all that was going on. You have been a very, very happy family; and now that the circle is breaking up on earth, and that long dear 15 York Place will, I fancy, be left desolate, the family circle is re-forming above, never more to be broken. My young friends will feel this very much, especially James. Give our love and sympathy, and take it to yourself, dear brother, for I know the hidden wound bleeds afresh. The Comforter be with you in His own blessed, effectual way. B. joins mein much love, and believe me, ever very affectionately yours, ‘JOHN MILNE,

‘P.S. — B. asks me to say to you: “Thy brother shall rise again.” I hope to be with you in heart, though not in presence, when you go to God’s acre. May we both get what William Burns got when he went with his uncle’s remains to the churchyard.’

In after years, we find his chastenings leading to such utterances as the following : — ‘ Weary, but turning to Christ.” Again: ‘O my Lord, I desire to put away all these grave-clothes of unbelief, and to walk with assurance of the perfect love which casteth out fear.’ And ‘The chief hindrances of spiritual growth are want of spiritual diligence, conformity to the world, and power of unbelief?

His trials told permanently upon his spiritual growth.

1 The death of my brother James Bonar, July 11th, 1867,

They were life-long blessings. He was calm under them; so calm, that he was able to speak of them freely. After the death of his wife, to whom he was fondly attached, he was able to speak of her death-bed from the pulpit, and to narrate her happy departure. His skill in comforting the bereaved, in dealing with the sick, in calming the troubled was great. His words were not spoken at random; he could suit his texts or counsels admirably; while his tone and manner were so kindly and winning that he was fitted to be, above many, a friend in the day of adversity, whose very face spoke consolation, and bid the mourner be of good cheer.”

If he met any one in mourning, he almost invariably went up and spoke to them some kind and suitable words, such as: ‘I see you are in distress;’ or, ‘You have lost some near relative; I sympathize with you, and so does Christ.’ Many interesting meetings he has had in this way; some of them with careless people, who were struck with his message of love, and some with Roman Catholics, who listened eagerly, and invited him to their house. The bow was drawn at a venture, but the archer found that the arrow had reached its mark. Some of these casual messages are known to have given comfort to the heavy heart. ‘A good word maketh it glad’ (Prov. xii. 25).

1 The following sentence from one of his letters will show the kind of consolation he administered: — ‘ Every Christian friend withdrawn to His presence is a new inducement to ascend, a weight abstracted from the earthly side of the balance and placed in the heavenly one; a

fresh plume which love has inserted in the wing of faith, that it may soar more readily on high.’