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 1 
 
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A BRIEF MEMOIR 
 
 A« 
 
 soi^E :EtEXwa:.A.i3sr3 
 
 n ■tm t'Aan 
 
 ilbtoJLj 10 f§ 
 
 I 
 
 EDrrro bv thb 
 REV. JAMES CAMERON, 
 
 CHATSWORTH, C. W. 
 
 TOlONTOi J- ■AW : lAMrLTONi Ds li«L»!/? 
 OWBN BOUND, 1. T0D9. 
 
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 ir 
 
OOI^TTEUTS- 
 
 PRIFACI ,.., ,, ,,,, 1 * 
 
 MEMOIR. 
 
 I.— His Birth and Boyhoo© 5 
 
 II. — His Student Life , 7 
 
 III.—His Chaplainst , 11 
 
 IV.— His Missionary Life 14 
 
 V. — His Pastorate 18 
 
 VI.— His Character and Death 22 
 
 REMAINS. 
 
 I.— Addresi,— On the Uulity of Tracts 29 
 
 II.—Sermow.— Cow/br^ for ths Sorrotoing Disciples of 
 
 Christ, John xiy. 18 35 
 
 HL— SiRMON.— S<Mvart©» far the Chief of Sinners. Heb. 
 
 yii. 25 .,.. 4rO 
 
 IV.— -Sermon.— 2%« Malignity of Sin asshottn around the 
 
 Cross of Christ, Mark xt. 27 44 
 
 iir^ 
 
I* K. E P' .A. a £3 . 
 
 V 
 
 
 Th« Memoir and Remains, that follow, are published at the re- 
 que« of Members of the Presbyterian Congregation of St. Vincent, 
 Sydenham and Euphrasia,who desire to possess, in the book, a mem- 
 orial of their late Pastor. 
 
 In complying with this natural request, I was not untonscious of 
 the fact, that the outer life, of the Rev. Mr. McDowall, had little 
 in it of the stirring incident that usually imparts interest to biogra- 
 phy. But if, on the other hand, « the work done, the battle 
 fought, the suffering endured, in the invisible domain of the human 
 heart, have been found to possess often a great and tragic interest," 
 then, it cannot be denied but some degree of interest,— especially 
 to those that knew^hi i personally— must attach to the inner life of 
 a man, '.vho,- though naturally his " heart was haughty and his 
 eyes lofty,"--becanie, by the discipline of suffering, like one 
 whose « soul was even as a weaned child." 
 
 Ofanother disadvantage also, I was fully concious. Not one of 
 the many sermons left by Mr. McDowall in manuscript, was in- 
 tended by him for publication. They were written with care 5 bat 
 they were also evidently written with the thought ever present, 
 that they vrete to be sjjoken to men, and not readbij them. On this 
 account the few sermons', here published, afford, as the reader can 
 easily perceive, no fair criterion of what Mr, McDowall was, either 
 as a writer or us a thinker : but, what is far better, they teach, in 
 language that every one can understand, the great doctrines of 
 God's holiness, man's misery, and Christ's mercy. The truth is, 
 that they wero selected, as their author would order were he still 
 With ut,more with a reference to the good they may do amongst the 
 
mmm 
 
 common people—to whom their circulation will probably be con- 
 fined— than with 9. reference to the degree to which they exhibit 
 the talenti oH their writer. 
 
 Special thanks are due to Mr. Williamion, for upwardi of ten 
 ysart the reipected teacher of the Chatsworth Common School, 
 for his auiitance in rendering from ihort-hand Mr. McDowaU't 
 manuscnpti. 
 
 J. C. 
 
 Chatsworth, Mareh 1st 1S66. 
 
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 WOT 
 

 MEMOIR OF THR 
 
 REV. JAMES M-^^DOWALL. 
 
 I.- HIS BIRTH AND BOYHOOD. 
 
 It has been remarM:eiJ, we think by Cowpei, thatv/ith some men 
 God's dealings m providence are, all, after one unvaryinR type of 
 seeniingsevdnty. Ta the life we are here about to sketch that 
 remark seems verified. Mr. McDow&U might indeed have often 
 said, that God was setUng h?m as a mark for his arrows. If the life 
 of every christian, carries iu it, however humble it mav have been 
 some useful lessons, the lessons of the following life lie, it will be 
 seen in the rae»3kness and patience with which its heavy Jals were 
 borne, and in the spiritual fruit they, in the end, prodnceJ. And 
 should you, kind reader, feel, at times, faint and out worn in thii 
 life's pilgrimage, the example here set may help to teach you 
 similar patience, aud to teach you also how tru« it is, " that grief 
 shows us truth as night brings out the stars. " 
 
 The late Rev. James McDowall was born, in 1826, a soldier's 
 son. His father Robert McDowall, a native of Johnstone near 
 Glasgow, served for fitteen years in the first or Royal Regiment of 
 Dragoons commanded, at that time, by Lord Somerset. From the 
 rAnks, atep by step he ros« to the position ot a non-commissioned 
 officer when in 1835, in consequence of dis»?blcmeat by chronic 
 rheumatism he was discharged with a pension. The description given 
 of him in the army papers, as a mac» "five feet nine inches m 
 height, with dark hair, hazel eyes, and dark coraplexijn," might 
 answer in each particular for his son James. The dlrcharged soldier, 
 with his wife and three children,returned to his native village whe/a 
 lived his father and brothers, all of them, we understand, men of 
 talent, enterprise, and force of chamclei-. Soon thereafter death 
 entered the little family circle j and one after another was smitten 
 down till none remained but the eldest child, the subject of our 
 memoir. The memory of this sore bereavement was undoubtedly 
 present to him many years thereafter when he penned the follow- 
 ing words : — 
 
 " Therft^are coaditioas of humaa life, and suS'eriujf when one calamity follows 
 bar J upon another : when loss follows loss: woe follows woe : when out means 
 ©f sabsiatence gradually decline, and we are left but as poor beggars in th« 
 wor!4. And sometimes' in addition to this, one dear friend ia taken away aa« 
 
6 MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 tbM another, and another, and another, till no one is left hut ourselves and we 
 onrielvi B ar** paralyzed with weakne-j- our strength is gone, our heart is over- 
 whelmed. In such ft condition ofafifairs people actia aiany ways. One is driven 
 to despair, another aa^unos the part and denjijanor of the Stoic, another cries to 
 Goil, cries to his Father in ilaaven, cries to Him in his distress, looks to Him 
 When bia heart is overwhelmed.'' 
 
 To an intelligent and sensitive child a mother's death is ever a 
 great grief, fn a sermon by Mr. McDowall on the words : *'Here 
 we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come," Heb. xiii., 
 14i, we recognize the feelings and the words of one who knew this 
 grief fron? sad experience : — 
 
 "We must be laujht that here we have no continuing city. And the first 
 ■teps In that teaching 3«era often harsh and stern. For the mother at whose 
 foot we sat, from whose familiar face beamed on us peace and love found no- 
 where else, in whose lap we cast ourselves in the wantonness of afiFection, or in 
 the abandonment of some childish grief, and whose kindly hand we loved to 
 feel around us, — that mother has bden smitten by ruthless death, and we have 
 seen her lie cold and pale, and when we cried she did not chide, nor did sha 
 smile when we looked into her face. And the cold clammy touoh of hei corpse 
 Btart' <ci us like some electric shock and sent the blood back freezing cold into 
 our hearts, and we theu discovered that she who loved us is not there. Then, 
 after a few days of strange fears, she was carried away from iis, and the home, 
 we loved so well, became emrty and lonely, anJ now seems no longer our 
 home. Thus we enter on life's journey, and thus we take our first of many 
 lessons, that here we have no continuing city.'' 
 
 To these early sorrows was, probably, owing the sadness that 
 underlay, so deeply, the graceful humour thut played on the surface 
 of Mr. McDowall's character. 
 
 The grief that marks our dawning youth, 
 To memory ever clings ; 
 And o'er the path of future years, 
 A lengthened shadow .lings. 
 The gayest hours trip lightly by, 
 ^ And leave the faintest trace ; 
 
 But the deep, deep track that sorrow wears 
 No time can e'er efiacc. 
 
 In his sixteenth year, or sometime in 1841, he engaged himself, 
 as an apprentice gardener. Ta this calling, he maniu-sted for a 
 period of seven or eight years, the diligence, and uprightness, of 
 character that distiiiguished him in after life. tJo kept ujournal of 
 each day's work in the garden, began the study of Scientific Botany, 
 persuaded his fellow-workmen to subsciribe with hirn for the ''Gar- 
 dener's Chronicle," wrote some letters to tins periodical, and inter- 
 ested himself in the wellbeing of the people around him. Certifi- 
 cates from various masters, and many acts of kindness shown him 
 by such men as Mr. Stirling of Keir, atte'it the esteem in which he 
 was held by his employers. 
 
 The particular period of his life when he nrade deliberate choice 
 of Jesus Christ as his Lord and Master, and submitted himself and 
 his ways to his supreme control, it is now impossible accurately to 
 determine . On family matters and personal religion he was always 
 
REV. JAMES MCDOWALL. 
 
 very reserved, even with his most intimate friends. It is, however, 
 probable that — in common with hundreds more, some scattered over 
 tho world as missionaries and ministers of the gospel, and some like 
 himself, already gone to their re3t,--hp was roused to religious enquiry 
 and quickened into spiritual life amid the awakening that ushered 
 in, and followed the disruption, in 184-3, of the Scottish National 
 Church. In 1846, three years thereatter, we find him, in a paper 
 formally dra»7n out and duly signed after the fashion recommended 
 by old Divines, solemnly renouncing the world and i*9 ways, and 
 consecrating himself to God. Having thus found the Pearl of great 
 price, — the greatest to the human heart of all discoveries, — he be- 
 gan to yearn after the inestimable pr'vilege of bringing others to the 
 possession of the same wealth. With a view, therefore, to the 
 Christian Ministry in connection with the Free Church of Scot- 
 land, he began, in that same year the study of Latin. Toiling hard 
 through the day he gave his evenings, very late into the night, to 
 the work of preparing himself for College. 
 
 TL— HIS STUDENT LIFE. 
 
 With what knowledge of Latin, Greek, and Mathematici, he 
 could thus acquire after his day's labour as a working gardener was 
 over, ha set his face towards Edinburgh University. The conduct 
 of many f^cotch Students in struggling through poverty, and defici- 
 ent early training towards a University Degree ana an honourable 
 place in some one of the learned professions, i& worthy of admira- 
 tion. The privations then endured and the habits of intense study 
 then for«ned conduce laigely to future success in life, as the history 
 of many eminent men abundantly testifies. It was amid trials of 
 no ordinary kind Mr. McDowall carried on his studies. This is 
 apparent from the following letter aadressed by him just before en- 
 tering on his College Course to Mr. McDougall now Professor of 
 Moral Philosophy in Edinl)nrgh University :-- 
 
 "' From nine years of age till the begianiag of March 1848 I have been without 
 intermissLoQ eiiffaged ia manual laVjo\ir. For two years after I beganjto labour 
 I attended during the winter eveningj an evening school where I was tauffbt 
 wi-ilms and arithmetic. But engagiuj? myself to a farmer I soon forgot all I had 
 previously learned. After two years service in the country, I engaged as an ap- 
 prentice gardener, when my spare time was wholly taken up ia acquiring a know- 
 ledge of the business. T outerod the garden of Mr. Stirling of Keir where I com- 
 menced in 1849 t!ie study of tiie Latin language, and in the following year Gresk 
 and Geometry. Ths only assistance 1 received iu these was from Mr. Stewart, 
 Bridge ot Allan, whom I met by accident, and who kindly invited me to his 
 house aft«r my labour was over, and gave me help. On ray leaving Keir forFifa- 
 shire, he introduced me to the Rev. Mr. Bred io of .Monimail, who gave me much ai> 
 (jistance, and through whose kindness and means i was enabled to enter the Nor- 
 mal School." 
 
 During eight yeais, — his term of study at the University and Di- 
 vinity Hall, -he "toiled hard through the hours of the sad midnight 
 watch, wringing but a slight sleep out of his couch" bo that he 
 
MMMIHI 
 
 • MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 aighthojiouiftbly discharge the twotold duty of student and private 
 tator. 
 
 "L*t m« ftud/," he writei In his private jonraal, " with rMolution, p9K«T#r- 
 •AOt, tad fortitude, «ad lee me serve mj God abore all thiaga.'' 
 
 1852, Oct. 13. — ^Attempted to read Plato but was io a verj confuaed stat* of 
 mind: called twice oq Dr. Alisoa as 1 wished to consult him about this terer* 
 «old, bat dli not see him. Got gome honey which I trust will help in stopping 
 the coufh ICy body nervous and the mind depressed and unhinged, so that J 
 teel moat unhappy. I can imagine nothing better for me than to hare frequent 
 xeeoone to my Bible and prayer. 
 
 Oct. 15.>^ound Dr. Alison who ordered me some mediuiae, and recommended 
 the shower-bath ; he says my lungs are not affected, but commands regularity. 
 Called on B£r. ' and got into argument in regard to the tprrible fate of the 
 
 nations of Ctnaan -, I did not feel strong enough to contest the point, and as I 
 WM conidoas I bad the wrong aide of the question, I yielded. 
 
 0©;. 20.— Peel much agitated and excited, whether owing to these repeated 
 examinations, or to weakness, I know not ; but my health is much relaxed. Oh 1 
 thatl could get back my original energy, when nothing, nor any amount of 
 ita^y was a labor to me, when I could do as much in one hour as I can do, now, 
 
 It has been justly remarked, that the hours for study taken from 
 needful rest— are not redeemed but borrowed, and must be paid back 
 with double interest in future life. It was, indeed, so with Mr. 
 McDowall J and, like many others, gladly would he in after life 
 b^ve parted with many of his most valuable acquirements could he 
 thereby recover the health he had lost in their pursuit. 
 
 His favourite studies were languages and mental philosophy. 
 And before the close ot his Theological course he acquired fair skill 
 in Hebrew, and became so far versed in Latin, Greek, French, and 
 German that he could with little trouble read any common author 
 in these languages. To Speculative Philoaopiiy, however, he devo- 
 ted himself v/ith intense ardour ; and good was it ^or him that be- 
 fore he had "eaten of the insane root that takes the reason prisoner,'' 
 the "God of our Lord Jesus Christ the Father of Glory gave to him 
 the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Christ." 
 The most striking feature about him as a student was his thorough 
 originality of thought, rising on some occasions to th9 boldness and 
 b'^iliiancy of true genius. So strongly indeed did his tendency lie 
 in the direction of free and independent enquiry to the seeming of 
 all human authority, that he would have been in danger of passing 
 safe limits, had it not been for the humble reverence with which he 
 ever bowed before the authority of the word of God. Whenever 
 he felt satisfied that any doctrine was taught in the Bible he cordis 
 ally accepted it, however much the doctrine taught might seem to 
 transcend human reason, or to defy reconciliation with other doc- 
 trines. As long as his field of enquiry was human, and comprised 
 only the possible and probable, he delighted in the exercise of an 
 
 ritory where is beard the voice of God, he ceased to questioo or pry, if 
 
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 ' RIV. JAMES MCDOWALL* ' P 
 
 «jul with child-like spirit he believed. From this single fact it bap- 
 pened that his larg*^ acquaintance with German Metaphysiiss and 
 Theology—though it might have tinged with a certain hue hia 
 style of thmkinjg und of speaking,— did not in the least unsettle the 
 foundation of his faith, nor diminish at all his admiration for, or at- 
 tachment to, the Standards of the Presbytetrian Church. The Sov- 
 ereignty of God was the central truth in his system of theology, 
 and tke truth also, that in its practical aspect, seemed chiefly to sus- 
 tain him under the heavy trials God saw meet to send upoui him. 
 '♦ It is God's will ; and be knows what is best for roe" was an ex- 
 pression often on his lips. It was this child-like submissiveness to 
 the will of God, in Revelation and Providsnce, that constituted hi» 
 safety amid the perils of intellectual speculation, and amid the trials 
 of a life of much bodily suffering and mental conflict. 
 
 It was his good fortune to have been the pupil,— while at Edin- 
 burgh University and New College— of such men as Professor 
 I'raser, McDouj^all, Duncan and Cunningham. By all these he was 
 respected as an able and conscientious student, as his certificates 
 and prizes still attest. A. privilege of great value fell also to his 
 share in the companionship and friendship, while at College, of a 
 few young men of marked ability, who have since risen in Britain 
 to distinction in the church, and in the higher walks of literature. 
 One of these was Mr. Downes, (working editor of the recent edi- 
 tion of the Encyclopcedia Britannica, and author of the articles on 
 Buike and Jchn Wilson in recent numbers of the North British 
 Review) who died the summer before Mr. McDowall, af^er having 
 begun in London a litarary career of great promise. The esteem 
 with which Mr. Downes regarded his old friend when the wafers 
 of the Atlantic rolled between them, n^ay be inferred from the re- 
 marks of a mutual friend of theirs : "I had a short night ot Downes" 
 writes this friend to Mr. McDowall. " He is av/ay home on sick 
 leave. Nothing wrong with his lungs as I once feared. You must 
 not think any ill of him not writing you. He again and again has 
 taken guilt and shame to himself for his negligence. Poor fellow ! 
 he has such a torpid temperament that it requires a great effort for 
 him to write a long letter or even an ordinary one. I assure you 
 if he does not write you it is not because he has forgotten you. He 
 speaks of you with much aflection and esteem." To these friends 
 he endeared himself much by his generous forgiving disposition, by 
 his genial humour and droll eccentricities, by his honesty, by 
 his openess of speech, and by his general goodness of heart, that 
 " suffered long and was kind." 
 
 Under his severe habits of study, his health, never, we believe, 
 robust, would have sunk had it not been that his love of adventure 
 and his passion for the country and for walking, drew him much 
 into the open air. Each Saturday during the College session was 
 uovotod, 4)ri couipuuy with one or two friends, to ramble out by the 
 P«Btlai44 hilli or aerois the country to Dalkeith, or along tha saa- 
 
10 
 
 MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 thore down by Granton, Portobello and Mnsselborough. But 
 when Autumn brought him release for a month or two from his 
 duties c,8 a teacher in the great city, he made long tours, on foot, 
 through the country. On one occasion, in company with a friend 
 now a missionary in India, he made a pedestrian tour through 
 the North of Ireland. He has been heard to relate, m playful 
 humor, the straits to which ho was reduced in this tour by runnmg 
 short of money, — not an uncommon event with Scotch students, — 
 and the difficulty he had m deciding whether the funds remaining 
 wpuld.be invested with more profit in travelling speedily— as far 
 as the money would go, — by railway or in travelling slowly on 
 foot. The decision was given in favour uf the time-honoured mode 
 ot locomotion and he made oui Dublin where an uncle resided. 
 On another occasion, accompanied by the same friend and the 
 writer of this sketch, he made a lengthened tour on foot, through 
 the wildest districts of Ros«, Inverness, and A'.jry'" T'he parly 
 made the ascent of Ben Nevis, Ben Muich Dhu' and Ben "^''yvis. 
 His journal contains very full details as to the si ascents. Wv ean 
 make room for only one or two extracts :— 
 
 ' < bat it is a fit place to 
 
 j3 on Dee-side. Arrived 
 
 Ben Muich Dfaui. Gave 
 
 1853. August 5. — ^Reached Balmoral. I cannot •: i 
 become extravagant about, there being much finer ' ir 
 at Braemar I began to make arrangements for climb..-ti 
 orders for a guide. 
 
 Augusts. — RobC about six o'clock. The guide appsarcd leading a pony to 
 carry our kuapsacks and we set out for the Ben, Our road ) ay by Mar Lodge 
 and amid the rums of cottages. As we toilad ur <.he hill, wo camo in eight of 
 snow, and were assailed by a seveVe hail-sto/rn which, pelting us without pity, 
 gave us a taste of the storms'that must raeia on the snrarait. The view from the 
 BUP'.mit is good, We settled with our guide, who now left, givine us obscure 
 directions for onr descent on the other sirie. In a few minutes all were gone and 
 I wa3 left alone on the mountain summiv. I arranged my planes and b^gan to 
 write a letter, but my friends wero so far in advance, and it was so bitterly cold 
 that I also aooa bade farewell to this abode of wind and winter. 
 
 August 10. — We arranged to proceed to Dingw' and make tho ascent of 
 Ben Wyvis. Reaching Gonnon Bridge, took a short cut across tho hills. We 
 passed one of the loveliest little lochs in the world — all around was as still as 
 death. A beautiful island lies in the loch, covered with wood, and all around 
 the loch is beautifully wooded. Such a spot ono might retire to and there be a 
 hermit. At Strathpeffer found the hotels all full. 
 
 August II.— Got breakfast and set out for the top of Ben Wyvis. Gn the way 
 up I left the party expecting to pet on the top of the hill first, and sea them 
 toiling up below me : but we had not been long separated when a heavy mist 
 came on. I pressed on, and when I reached tho summit all was mist and dark- 
 ness. I waited till the mist cleared away and a magnificent prospect opened up. 
 The sun was shining brilliantly on about eight lakes in view scattered among 
 hills, some cf these broad sheets of water and others enly peeping out from 
 
 Vn»..^.nn \^ft,. u:n.. mi .._...:__ „..~ »<*i~.. „_»«!.,>.. :.. ~i .._^».,- 
 
 their tops now visible and now lost among the white clouds that glided across 
 the landscape." 
 
 In such manly and euobling exercises, did Mr.McDowall spend 
 each returning Autumn bringing back with him to his wearing toil 
 in Edinburgh fresh itock ol much needed health. At length after 
 
gh. But 
 
 from his 
 
 on foot, 
 
 a friend 
 
 through 
 
 1 playful 
 
 running 
 
 Lidents, — 
 
 amaining 
 
 ^— as far 
 
 slowly on 
 
 red mode 
 
 resided. 
 
 and the 
 
 , through 
 
 'he party 
 
 yvis. 
 Wv ean 
 
 fit place to 
 . Arrived 
 aui. Gave 
 
 a pony to 
 Mar Lodge 
 in Bight of 
 ithout pity, 
 w from the 
 us obscure 
 re gone and 
 d fangan to 
 litterly cold 
 
 nscent of 
 hills. We 
 
 1 as still as 
 all around 
 
 I ihero be a 
 
 On the way 
 d sea them 
 heavy mist 
 t and dark- 
 opened up. 
 Bred among 
 f out Irora 
 r grsuucur, 
 lided across 
 
 KXV. JAMES MCDOWAIL. 
 
 n 
 
 eight years of diligent preparation he presented himself as a candi- 
 date for license before one of the Country Presbyteries of the Free 
 Church. To preach Christ was the cherished object of his desire 
 from the time he first came to kno;v Him. For this end he read 
 and studied whilst his fellow-workmen slept— for this he submitted 
 to severe privations ; and when once and a^ain his health threaten- 
 ed to break down, for this he wished its continuance. All wa» 
 done, as far, at least, as man's motives can be unmixed, that he 
 might be thereby the batter fitted to under«tand the scriptures, and 
 to declare God's mind out of them. The period to which he had 
 long looked forward arrived, and in the v^ummer of 1856 he received 
 authority from the church to preach the gospel. 
 
 III.— HIS CHAPLAINCY. 
 
 During the struggle that succeeded the Revolution of 1688 the 
 Earl of Angus enroled from the Covenanters ot the West for the ser- 
 vice of King William a body of Infantry that is still known by the 
 name of the " Cameroniau Regiment." The Regiment retains 
 after the lapse of luore than one hundred and seventy years, a large 
 infusion of the Presbyterian element. When, in 184^3 the Disrup- 
 tion of the Scottish Church look p^ace, the Presbyterians of this 
 Regiment adhered to the Free Church, and from that time they 
 have looked to the Colonial Committee of that church for their 
 supply of chaplains. To this post Mr. McDowall was appointed 
 alter receiving license, and in the Summer of 1856 he set sail 
 for the Bermudas, where the regiment was then stalionad. He had 
 very superior qualifications for the office to which the Church had 
 appointed him. Himself a soldier's son, he felt an interest in the 
 soldiers. His courtesy of manner, and staid, manly bearing, well 
 comported with bis position as an ambassador of Christ amongst 
 military men. His bold, outspoken declaration of the truth appears 
 by the following extract from a sermon addressed to the regiment 
 on that vice — d>-unkennes8 — which is the great stain on the other- 
 wise fair fame of the British Array : — 
 
 As I pass in aad out among you I see many places open for drinking. I see the 
 military prison filled with meu who have given their earnings to this vice. 1 sea 
 men ruining their health by this vice and on account of such things my heart is 
 sad. Does my language offend you ? Can I see men prostrated for weeks by 
 this sin, can I look over the defaulter's book and find eoliimn upon column filled 
 with the records of drunkennesjj can I look upon ragged children and worse 
 than motherless babes aad not have cause to feel sad and to speak in plain 
 language. — Oh 1 my men, if talking could redeem you I would fiod feeling 
 words oven to weeping But I feel I speak to soma who are too deep in this sin 
 to reform themselves, even should an angel from heaven speak to them. Oh ! is 
 it not horrible to teal everything give way under the feet, everything yielding 
 that is seized, every effort to sustain ourselves baffled, and then to experience the 
 dira horror of falling, falling, falling, down, down, ever dowi: into a dark bottom- 
 less abyss, aiid yel liieLhiuks Ihi* la uuL vvorse than the misery into whicb ibe poor 
 drunkard is falling. * Israel thou bust destroyed thyself.' You will diink, till 
 the strong maa staggers, till the braiu recls,,tiU the lino intellect totters/ till ih« 
 
 all spend 
 aring toil 
 tigth after 
 
12 
 
 MIMOIR 07 THK 
 
 bmre &m withers, till the ooble heart breaks, and in its briftkinK, breaks MAny • 
 keart beaidea. <0 Israel thou base destroyed thyself and where shall help be 
 found?" 
 
 After shewing his hearers with great earnestness where help is 
 not to be found, he leads them to the foot of the cross wheth alont, 
 after all that has been tried , lies effectual power to reform, elevate, 
 and refine the children of men. 
 
 His deep aod kindly sympathy with the soldiers amid their 
 temptations and suiiennga, appears from a letter addressed to 
 Col. Hemphill in behalf of four men then on trial for (fesertion. 
 After an apology for venturing to interfere in the matter he goes 
 on to say :— " I do not know the men, nor anything further 
 about them than the common report of their attempt at desertion 
 and iailurei. Sittins: here alone I have been making their case my 
 own, I feel for them, and I would venture to entreat your leniency 
 towards tlaem. It may be said that it is necessary to make an 
 example of them ; but He who knows the human heart has shown 
 us that rmercy goes further to move men ihan severity. That de- 
 sertion is a high crime I admit, but as a plea in their behalf let as 
 consider the dull, lifeless solitariness of this place, from which all, 
 who can doit, eageiiy hasten to escape. ' Mercy is twice blessed, 
 it blessethhim that gives and him that takes:' but a greater than 
 the poet has said ' Blessed are the merciful lor they shall obtain 
 mercy.' I hope you WiU not think ill of me for writing you on 
 this matter. I often try to teach the soldiers contentment and 
 submission and trust it is not wronii to plead from you mercy lor 
 the erring amongst them." 
 
 Ona Kreat advantage accrued to him from his residence in the 
 Bermudas. Forced, as he was at College, to devote much of his 
 time to earning the means of subsistence, he could in most of the 
 branches of study that came before him, only make a beginning of 
 breaking ground. Settled in a garrison town, the minister of a 
 small congregation, with little demand on his time for visitation, 
 he found ample opportunity to prosecute his studies and to mature 
 his powers as a thinkev. To v/hat use he put these three years of 
 comparative seclusion and leisure, was manifest to all those that 
 knew him before and after that period. He read indeed so exten- 
 sively in the German Theology, that tor a time he ran no small 
 risk of losmg the simplicity of thought and language that ought 
 ever to characteriza the messengers of Christ to fallen man. But 
 amid the solitude of that island home he icquired a large amount 
 of varied learning, and he thought out fur himself many questions 
 
 ~^,iif inr»rA than nil 
 
 L — — 
 
 nf ♦/> 4*o If^ -iri friit'f* 
 
 i^>i% .«v#> j^^i^r^ 
 
 this, and better far, he there learned unquestioning and uncomplain- 
 ing submission to the will of God. His was naUirally a proud 
 heart, an ambitious mind, and a ytubborn wil'. The troubles 
 through which he had already passed were not, it seems, sufficient 
 to subdue his spirit. Heavier sufferings were in store for him. 
 The seeds of consumption hidden in hiy constiUUion from his boy- 
 
REV. JAMIS MCDOWALt, 
 
 13 
 
 hood and quickened into life by his late hours as a student, began 
 in the Bermudas under the influence of. a moist and debilitating 
 climate, to bring forth their bitter fruit. What he suffered during 
 the three weary y ars ho stood to his post in that trymg elimaie 
 none ever knew save his Father m heaven. We have seen him 
 shudder at the simple recollection of the bodily pain and mental 
 depression of these days. " The experience of God's people 
 shows," an eminent author remarks, " that bodily pain has a spe- 
 ..cial office to perform in" the work of sanctifioation. In the unre- 
 ■' newed its tendency is to exasperate: when self-inflicted its ten- 
 dency is to debase and fill the soul vifith grovelling ideas q1 God 
 and religion and with low self-conceit. But when inflicted by God 
 on his own children, it, more than anything, teaehes them their 
 weakness and. dependence, and calls upon them to submit when 
 submission is most diflicult. Though he slay me, I will trust m 
 liim, is the expresjsion of the highest form of faith." Before Mr. 
 McDowali left Bermuda matters reached that blessed issue with 
 him. The ordering of his way, the burden co be bo»^e, the path to 
 be trodden, the provisiofi for the journey, the early or late coming 
 of the final rest, all were \vith the simplicity of a child left by him 
 in the hands of the Lord .Tosus whose he was and whom to the last 
 he strove to honor and please. His was now very literally, indeed, 
 the language of the hymn, a. copy of which was found among hia 
 papers : — 
 
 My God whose gracious \niy I may claim, 
 Calling Thee Father, sweet endearing name, 
 The sufferings of this weak and weary frame 
 All, all are known to Thee. 
 
 From human eye 'tis better to conceal 
 Much that I suffer, much I hourly feel ; ' 
 
 But Oh ! this thought does tranquilize and heal, 
 All, all is known to the*. 
 
 And this continual feebleness, this state 
 Which se«meth to unuerve and incapacitate 
 Will work the cure m 7 hopes and fears await, 
 That I can leave with Thee. 
 
 And welcome, precious can thy spirit make 
 My little drop of suffering for thy sake ; 
 Father! the cup I drink, the path I take, 
 ., AH, all is known to Thee. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Thorburn, the resident Presbyterian minister of 
 the Bermudas, thus v/rites of Mr. McDowali ;— 
 
 «' His public apnearancos indicated research and careful preparation and w«r« 
 cenftrally appreciated. He was fond of physical exercise and made frequent fx- 
 *„„«;„n/..m,.ncr and unon tha different Islands. His health not improving h« 
 took first a shVrt trip in th« autumn ol 1857 to the Unilea States ot Am«no», »ua 
 then finally resolved te leave the Bermudas altogether and fix his reiidence m 
 Cftuaaft. Thiiistepwaa not geaorally approYe<a by his na«mcftl a4YiMW m<X 
 
 I 
 
■U-}!.I 
 
 MIMOIR or THS 
 
 I ''. !• ilinv'A'^it' "; Vr. j* 
 
 it, 
 
 otb«r fHndi« It wat tbought ib« climate cf OAtftd* wmild b« ioB MT«rt tm bif 
 
 delicate frame, but bia beart <» of pet on going thither ani althoogb as appointawnt 
 wae meanwhile secured for him in Antigua, W. I., to Oanada be went in May 
 1869. On tendering the reeignation of hie chaplaincy be receiTed from the gal- 
 lant and generous Oameronians a handsome present of books as a token of perso- 
 nal esteem and grateful acknowledgment of serrice." 
 
 ■ 
 
 IV.—HIS MISSIONARY LIFE. 
 
 While at College Mr. M {Dowall'i thoughts were often towards 
 Canada as a place where he would like to labor for Christ. The 
 hope that the bracing air of the Canadian winter might help to 
 restore his shattered health revived his old desire, and on quitting 
 his post in the Bermudas he took ship to New York for Canada? 
 He thus speaks of the journey in writing back to a friend in May, 
 
 "As the ressel sailed out of the Sound I looked round on all sides, someUmei 
 wondering whether or not this was to be my last look of the Bermudas : yet I had 
 no feeling of that kind, but felt as if I was cOnMOf back in a short time to see the 
 place again. We had a passage ©f nine days with twenty-four boura cf routth 
 weiiher and twice we were becalmed. It is a drearj lite on board ship. There 
 is so little to occupy attention that one can be said to do little else than veffttate 
 But Oh ! it was a rare and delicate sight to see laud again. The deep green sent 
 a thrill through me as when I have heard sweet mQsic. Landed at New York and 
 it being Sabbath, went to hear Dr. Oheever preach. He preaclKd for two hours 
 but I did not think much ot him. Took the haac Newton to Albany and thenea 
 the railroad to Niagara Falls." ' •"ouv» 
 
 As a specimen el the thoughts with which he sometimes aTerted 
 sadness from himselt and amused harmlessly, his friend*, we quote 
 the following from his description of the passage to Albany by the 
 river-boat:— ^ ' 
 
 " I wrapped my plaid round my throat and eat on deck and iniored to ite 
 fulness the beautiful banks of the Hudson. As I grew tired of this I looked 
 round on the people about me, and as I had nothing special to occupy my mind 
 do what I would, their noses would take up my attention. The nose of cTery 
 face I looked at seemed to invite, nay demand, my attention. I then beiran to 
 institute comparisons between these noses, noses masculine, noses feminine Ac 
 and I always found a difference of nose on every face, for there were no two in all 
 points alike. I then began to wonder what it was that eonsUtuted this differ- 
 ence. I analyzed a few of them and tried to reduce the thing to a scientific for- 
 mula, and some di-y I may entertain, if not instruct yon, with a dissertation o« 
 
 Ofa kindred nature is the following description of an incident 
 very characteristic of the Americans and equally characteristic of 
 our friend,— that happened on the cars between Albany and 
 Niagara : — ' 
 
 •' I entered the car, 
 umbrella, and sitting 
 
 sicu«i-u^;iii 
 
 »J »V«..<U ■ I? \/ 
 
 vacate it for the^lad 
 I loeked about on all 
 I then looked at him, 
 as w«H leAT« at onge, 
 
 chose p '.eat by the window, hung up my bag, laid by my 
 down began to eat an orange. I had scarce begun when a 
 isuies ai»p6ared at the vuu of my seat and asked me to 
 les. I was doubtful whether he was addressing me or not, 
 sides to make sure he was not addressing some other party, 
 a steady look, still sueking my orange. Says he * You may 
 lor if the Ooaductor comei youil bsvo to.' I isia oetbiog. 
 
 
iMr, JAMIS MODOWAX.!.* 
 
 15 
 
 Mow vou mait know ihwe were plenty of seata empty but the p»r<y wished to sit 
 tog«ther and thought they could do ao best where I sat ; but, because I thought 
 th« gentleman rude and unreasonable I made up my mind to keep the seat whefa 
 I hfidinftde myself 10 comfortable. One of the ladies mads lome reuiarkB far from 
 flattering to myself personally, but 1 said nothing, and looked as if l heard no- 
 thing, sacking my orange all the while. The gentleman came withlthe Oonduc- 
 lor, thalattw asked if l would gire up my seat to the two ladies, but 1 quietly 
 teld him 1 had chosen tWs seat as I wished to read and be gene-ally comfortabla 
 and 1 did not intend to leave it. So they went away and 1 saw no more of them." 
 
 After residiug lor a few months in Canada, preaching during that 
 time in various places, he thus writes of his health :'-> 
 
 "I eet off t« travel on foot to Woodstock. For seven miles I kept the railway 
 track, till I came to Princeton, and then took the plunk road to my destination 
 I find that two miles an hour ia my utmeat rate of travel now instead of four~my 
 old standard. Ah ! Bermuda has taken all the strength out of me and to what 
 extent I knew not till I tried my old habit of long walka. However I thank God 
 I am getting better and stronger, of which I could give you proof." 
 
 In Jane 1859 he was appointed for a few months, by the Hamil- 
 ton Presbytery, assistant to Dr. Bayne of Gait. As he had intense 
 admiration for Dr. Bayne he was well pleased with an appointment 
 that gave him an opportunity of seeing ;often, and of hearing once 
 each Sabbath, this truly great and good man. The appointment was 
 welcomed also as a brief rest in his wandering sort of life as a 
 preacher. 
 
 «'I am more delighted," be writes, «' than I can tell you, and more thankful to 
 God than 1 caa express, for thia prospect of rest— and a home for a*few weeks 
 You have never wandered hither and thither without a home or a res'ting place* 
 One who has, can be content, I think, with the shelter of a large tree or a great 
 rook, if he could only look upon it as his home and the place to which he micht 
 retmrii in his wanderings. One thing, however, I am confident of, that God in 
 whose service I am will find me work and a rest. The work m ay not be ready 
 formeyet, or I may not be ready for it— but I will wait patiently for these pre- 
 parstiont and meanwhile I must be busy preparing myself. And, Dear Friend, 
 do not neglect to wait upon God, and to read his book so as to make yourself 
 acquainted with it." 
 
 One Sabbath evening whila in Gait, on returning home, after 
 conducting divine service, with his heart glowing with love to Je- 
 sus, he thus wrote to a very dear friend, then at a great distance 
 from him :*^ ^ » .-.,.. 
 
 «'I hare heard peeple express satisfaction at the thought that they and their 
 distant friends could look upon the same moon and the same stars. But to me 
 it gives satisfaction that you believe in the same Jesus Christ as I do : that your 
 prayers as well as mine are presented through the same mediator • and that we 
 find pardon of onr sins in the same grace. I draw near to Christ for a higher 
 motive than because yoa draw near to him, yet Christ seems more precious to me 
 when I remember that he is your Christ too, and you are more dear to me when 
 I' think that you are Christ's. If when I think of my Saviour I should happen to 
 think also of you, it will be to commend you to the mercy and graee of Christ, 
 and if when I think of you I am also led to think of Christ, it will be with thanks 
 to faim fbr this new bond of association. There is a joy I feel in the prospect of 
 fellowship la heaven with the saints made perfect, and perhaps it !s something 
 akia to thia I feal at the knowledge of your trust in Christ in the prosnect nf cnm. 
 Bu&lon and fellows' 'a Christ wfaeii we meet. At to earth^'possessioaf and 
 tartkly enjoymenti « ...re no great anticipations, but I like sometimes to indal ere 
 tm&9ttgti( Of tHe Atlifacti«a w* aay j^Unloj ia iMki&g Cbriit togetbtr, la 
 
i^r^giSjpig^eS^^^^^ 
 
 &a(l 
 
 MKMom OP the' 
 
 Itrengthening and inslructiog eacb other in Ohrist JeiuS our 
 
 16 
 
 COQloUOff 
 
 Lord." 
 
 It was with regret he left Gait in October of that year, (1S59) for 
 he was much attached to not a few of the people, from whom he 
 received considerate and unwearied kindness. With sad feelings, 
 About a month afterwards, he paid a visit to the place. 
 
 " This day week," he writes on the 11th of Nov., " I left "Woodstock for Gait, 
 and on the way was told that Dr. Bayne was dead. It was told me by a stranger 
 and in a casual manner. For the rest of my journey I was wrapt in deep thought. 
 
 Mrs. S , received me kindly and soon had tea ready for me, but the thought of 
 
 the loss ot Dr. Bayne lay heavy on my heaiti Mr. Goikie asked me tc preach in 
 his place in thetorenoon as he was not able to face the people. I consentadj and 
 took as my text, John x.v. 3. The Sabbath was beautiful an-i the large church 
 ^a$ fall, very full, a vast "jea of human faces directed towards me. Had I thought 
 of man or men, I should have failed, but I placed myself in the presence of Jesus 
 Christ and was strengthened. 1 saw the corpse and it was so life-like that I 
 •xpected the lips to move, but I laid uy hand on his brow and that was cold as 
 clay. I knew him only for about thre« months but I learned to love him and I 
 mias him. He was very kind to me, sometimes as attentive to me as if I were a 
 lady. Dr. Bayne was a man of great value to the cburuh and his loss will be 
 ftlt for years to come." 
 
 Tu judge from his letters he received but little benefit from the 
 climate of Canada: — 
 
 •' You ask me the cause of my lonii silence," he writes towards the end of 
 1859. ^ " There is some of the Bermuda poison m my frame, and it is taking a 
 long time to work itself out. On first coming here I strove to throw it off, but 
 there was too much of it and it wag too deeply seated. But by degrees I strove 
 less and less, and when winter came and more effort seemed yet necessary I got 
 diBCOuraged, and I have retired to Gait like a fox lo his hole, or rather like a 
 bear to the aoUow of his tree. Here 1 have nothing to do and I do nothing but 
 mope about all the day, go soon to bed and rise late, sit over the stove in one 
 room, then go into another room and sit over the stove in it, but it would be 
 miserably tedious for you to hear how one could continue to be so idle and so 
 useless. As to writing or any thing like it just catch me at that I And besides, 
 all this 1 carefully abstain from all that can excite me to think much. You will 
 hence naturally think very meanly of me for being so extravagantly idle, and 
 were 1 to allow myself to think on the matter 1 would think very meanly of mv- 
 self. Indeed there are only two things 1 have formed any purpose of doing, 
 and that is reading my Bible and occasionally writing you." 
 
 Under all that playful humour there lay the sad fact— which 
 sometimes forced itself on his iriends— that his disease had obtain- 
 ed too deep a root to be affected by any regimen or any change of 
 climate. Under these lay also keen suffering. It was only by 
 ingenious devices, and in a reclining posture that at times he could 
 carry on his writing. His depression of spirit and difficulty of 
 breathing were often great and his nights frequently sleepless. 
 For all this it was seldom a complaint escaped his lips, and seldom 
 indeed did he allow his weakness and pain to interfere with his 
 public duties. Time and again did he preach twice without being 
 able from Saturday evening to Sabbath night to taKe anything 
 jjtttjjgbt drinks. What this sore suffering v/as doing for hi ^ and 
 iu mm We can gather from words like these :— 
 
 ",I am filled with weary thoughts and beset with deep longings. Sol. es 
 laey are transient, bat sometimes they take such hold of mo that I cannot i i© 
 
REV. JAMES MCDOWALL. 
 
 It 
 
 them oft. I sometiMos think l hare a long and heavr probation appolat«d me* 
 and again 1 remember it ia lens, very much l«ii8, than 1 deserve, and if it should 
 continue thus even to the end if I am gaved by Jesus Ohriat at last it will bo well 
 forme. 1 have just been meditating on this passage, I Oor. ziii. 1. "Though 
 1 speak with the tongues of men and of angels and have not charity 1 am be- 
 come as sounding brass or a tinklic-r cymbal." Oharity or love is the life giving 
 element in all gifts and in all virtue It is with no mock bamility 1 say, that for 
 want of this love 1 am but such a tiukling cymbal, and I can look for no effect 
 in my preaching when 1 lack this love. Yet 1 have sought for it. Perhaps not 
 earnestly enough, or perhaps God is nnsworing me now and by the rory things 1 
 ara apt to complain of. "Oh Lord," .-ny prayer is, "give me this love." Then the 
 Lord answers ■ f sending me this indifferent health. Then I cry out "Oh Lord 
 restore my health." but which ara 1 to have — the Icve or the health ? J ' then 
 1 say "Oh Lord give me love and let thy will be done." 1 am fully c, .vinced 
 that Qod is doing all for my good and am greatly patient though now and then 1 
 forget myself and fret — but this is soon corrected.' 
 
 In 1862 he thus writes to one of his friends. : — 
 
 "1 am still unsettled. Every petty place rejects me, and all, as far as 1 caa 
 understand, for the same reason— the state of my health. My health is better 
 than it was last year, but the difiference is not great. Is It any wonder if 1 some- 
 times get dispirited and lose courage? But ray Dear Mr. Qod is good and he 
 
 supports me. \ get strength from Him and am mude joyful again ; and he shall 
 yet make me to see good according to the days in which 1 have seen evil. In tl ) 
 Psalms we often find this exhortation— "Trust in the Lord." "Trust 1 say in the 
 Lord." And 1 too join chorus in this, and 1 also sav, Trust in the Lord. Bless- 
 ed be his name. Full of many sad thoughts 1 have come to Gait — and here I am 
 again encouraged, and will be patient still. 1 purpose to remain here over the 
 winter to see if 1 can get as much strength as will keep me from leaving the good 
 people to whom 1 preach." 
 
 Some five months afterwarda he thus writes to the lame 
 friend : — 
 
 "1 • think ray health is somewhat improved of late. 1 feel better this spring 
 than n have done since 1 came to Canada, though 1 am still in an ambiguous 
 Btatfr. What the will of my master Jesus is with regard to me 1 know not. He 
 says "Wait," and wait 1 must, sometimes with impatience, yet 1 try t© repress 
 that and am dumb. 1 need correction, subduing, and 1 am 1 fear very hard, and 
 need heavy blows. But any way He pleases. My chief desire is that at I ast H« 
 may admit me to His presence and society, though in ever so remote a degree. A 
 nod of recognition from some great mar vrould make some people feel happy for 
 a week or more; and a smile from Jesus, King and Lord as ho is now, might suf- 
 fice for one's happiness for a very long while." 
 
 Having received from the writer of this memoir an invitation to 
 visit the County of Grey in the hopes that the journey, and the 
 change of air, might benefit him, he thus replies :— 
 
 " 1 have not written a letter since the last 1 wrote to yourself. 1 am indeed 
 dead to the world almost : this in some cases might be a virt'ie, but alas I 1 am 
 scarce alive to anything eige. The journey you planned for me was more than I 
 could hitherto undertake. But when the winter ia fairly away r,nd the roads 
 good 1 shall make an effort to reach your place and spend a few weeks with rou. 
 1 am not going up to work, but to have a chat with yen. 1 will drive my own 
 horse and gig and I expect to be a week on the road, tor 1 shall not vravel more 
 than fifteen or twenty miles a day. 
 
 
 " A.VQ tnsrc iiny giacisrs in yuu _ 
 regions, the Highlands, the Alps of Canada ! 
 
 
 iw% 4llA l.'M.1.Att 
 
 *cft.„^., ... B ., r- - 0'^ ' Canada! here are no moun- 
 tains girdling the liorizon, and shewing through their cleft tops {the far sky be-, 
 yond, And muaic there is none, no laverock singing high ,up •moag the blue. 
 
 II 
 I 
 
18 
 
 MEMOIR 6V THK 
 
 Th«r« lire bigr t:««», Ihongh, And harih-Tolc«d (rdgi. Could 1 writ* poetry, 
 which 1 doubt, 1 would project r poom on Canada la alternate liaea of blame aud 
 praiM, However, one great check to cril doing ii the limited abilit/ of atil 
 agtnta. Mjr kind r«gardi to Mrs. ■■- and thanks for her kind iuritation. 1 
 
 am atraid 1 will b« a greatjjtroubU to her, but if 1 improve in health Iwlll becoma 
 leu fastidiona.'' 
 
 This journey he accomplish td, in the month of May, 1862, with 
 manifest benefit to his health. During his sojourn in Chatsworth 
 he preached in various . places, and having been prevailed upon to 
 give np the habit of readmg his sermons, he was heard everywhere 
 with great acceptance. Such entries as the following occur in hit 
 journal of this period : 
 
 June 8tfa, 1862. —Preached in St. Vincent extempore, and mean ta try and do 80 
 always. Text John zr. 1--8. 
 
 July aoth.— Preached to-day at St. Vincent and Sydenham : returned home 
 the same night. 1 felt lired and on the way was once asleep on horseback .- »m 
 the better of coming home, for 1 can get a nice rest, which ), ".annot get when 1 
 am away from home. 
 
 July 23.— Can do nothing. Every dny steeped in sadness, unable to read' 
 write, cr think. 1 always get sleep on lying down and still I am tired, and 
 hare not enough. 
 
 August 3rd. — The only thing 1 ca»e for is to pore over a book or sleep. 1 
 used to feel light enough for a little grave music, but now 1 can't think )f it. 
 
 August 10th.— Preached to-day in Euphrasia, at the opening of the new 
 church, from Kphesians ii. 19—22. 1 tried to shew what a church is and what 
 the tonduct ought to be, o' those attendiug it. T*- is day rode sixteen miles and 
 preached twice and was not very tired : thanks bt ic God for that strength. 
 
 For thrne years he coutinued to preach with acceptance in varioas 
 places in "Western Canada. Thr«5e things, however, operated 
 against his being called during that period to the permanent charge 
 of a congregation— the delicate state of his health, the abstract and 
 intellectual cast of his preaching, and the habit of closely reading 
 his sermons. 
 
 i 
 
 V.—HIS PASTORATE. 
 
 In thft summer of 2862, Mr. McDowall received a call to the pas- 
 toral charge of the (congregations ot St. Vincent, ^Sydenham, and 
 Euphrasia, in the Presbytery of Grey. Over tiicae cc: gregations he 
 was^ordained on the last day of that year, tw '*" , ^6 Id cl^ssi^ates 
 at Edinburgh taking part in the ordination i>ei vices, the first in 
 connection with the Presbyterian Church that were ever witnessed 
 in that neighbourhood. It was indeed a joyous day for those who 
 had prayed earnastly, and waited long, for a minister to break 
 amongst them the bread of life. For them God had prepared a 
 paster : and for him He had prepared a flock j and to both pastor 
 »^nd r'o ^— each peculiarly tried, and both found faitlifnl—the Lord 
 Je^m mbtned on that clay to have given fulfilment of his promise to 
 Petei: J « Wlmt I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know 
 hereafter.'^ 
 
 I'he district in which his parish mainly lay, overlooks in many 
 spots the waters of th« Georgian Bay— an eastern extension ol I<ake 
 
RSV. JAMES MCDOWAU. 
 
 19 
 
 i 
 
 Huron. From several of its heights a view is obtained of for«st, 
 flood, and island, auch as seldom greets the eye of the traveller m 
 Western Canada. To him whose love for the beautiea of naturo 
 was so great, this prospect was a source of constant joy. Often 
 would he pause in riding across these high lands to gaze out over 
 the vast forest, broken only hero and there by the settler'is axe, and 
 outward across the beautiful bay, till tho eye lesti* on the Christian 
 IslandSjttad the sandy beach of the opposite coasi, seen dimly in the 
 distance. lie thus writes of his ft rest home in the autumc of the 
 year : 
 
 " Tb«Bi) old forestB as they stand around us bordering the horizon or stretebiof 
 away to the cold North in their deep golitude, are always grand. SonetiiaM 
 their grandeur is of the stern cheerless 'aspect— when deep snows Gortr the eartb, 
 and the dark leaflless branches stand between the cold white snow beneatn, ati 
 the clear heavens above But oftener their grandeur is more genial in aspect. 
 Even in winter, if the fores* is of pine trees, its dark green stands out in lively 
 contrast with the pure white suows resting on every branch. But twice in :ach 
 year these old forests are full nf attractive loveliness, nor can the eye most tami- 
 liar to them, forbear to gazd on them with pleasure. In spring, when the snows 
 are almost gone and the swollen dark river in carrying avi'ay the last morsel of 
 detached ice. Ah then, what charming beauty is in the deep green of the forests 
 still spreading in extent, and deepening in greenness I And again, at this season, 
 Tvhen the year, th<t natural year has reached its maturity, when each leaf has 
 nearly eompleted its mission, and ere the trees strip themselves for their winter's 
 conflict with snows and storms, what beauty elothes these old forests I What 
 mellow ripe calm lovsliness ! What huge masses of riehly colored foliage, and 
 with what variety of tints they roll away, terrace beyond terrace ! There, still 
 linger the various shades ol green that deck the summer as if the leaves were 
 loath to put oflf their greenness yet. There too are the darker hues of green, of 
 pine, of hemlock, and of cedar. There, there are all the shades of brown from 
 light to dark— the russet of the maple, the dark brown of the beech, the mingled 
 green and brown and red of the brave old oak, and here and there peep out the 
 bright red of some creeping vine, or the brighter red of the sumach. Such are 
 the colors and hues that garnish the mighty forest. Such, at present, is the 
 chief feature in the landscape of many parts. of Canada. The fields do not attract 
 the attention now. They have become bare and unattractive. But the forest 
 attracts. The eye falls upon it— rests upon it, and again turns to view its 
 beauty. The eye lingers on it, even where but fragments of the old forest stand. 
 But where the unbroken forest stretehes away like an immense ocean, the eye 
 settles upon it, and the mind lapses into an attitude of repose ; vast time, vast 
 space, and unspeakable beauty are linked together, and the soul reposes for a 
 little in the vastness and the loneliness." 
 
 He entered on his worfc in that district with hope and energy. 
 He preached twice en Sabbath, nding to fulfil these appointments 
 on an average some ten or twelve miles each day. Never, we un- 
 derstand, save perhaps once, did he fail to keep his appointments. 
 No matter how sleepless the Saturday night had been, no matter 
 how wearied and feverish the dawn of Sabbath found him, no mat- 
 ter how wet or cold the weather and how muddy the roads, he was 
 in his saddle, with military precision and in his place in the pulpit 
 
 «3 sj.ji.\i\i. vacuus 
 
 J.XU vii;,t3 -.Vil'«C5 
 
 rv-i 
 
 LwLimU WW iilS 
 
 •' 1 have great work to do here if 1 could only overtake it— some of it 1 do over- 
 take, viz., to preach on Sabbath and to exan><ne the Echoelts in the neighborhood, 
 but as to visiting 1 have not done much in that way yet. At Sydenham we meet 
 for worship ia tb« School lious*, vihi^k is too small i ao W9 go into the bush whieb 
 
 m 
 
 ill 
 
 ■ i 
 
 ! ^1 
 
- ■■r i rr •iwipiTi'T niPj.iUi i iMia i 
 
 I 
 
 20 
 
 MEMOIR OP THE 
 
 i 
 
 is cloie by. In the buah there is plenty of room, and the haveg make a ahad* from 
 the 8un. The forms are arranged for the women, Lfae men sit on loga or round the 
 roots of trees and 1 get in front of them and preach to them there. What do you 
 think of that? This preaching in the bush prevents me from reading and so i 
 have to preach now without having a scrap of paper befote me, and what do you 
 thini.,of that ?" 
 
 It is pleasant and profitable to note the instances that fall inulcr 
 our twn personal knowledge wherein the Lord confirms the state- 
 ments and promises of his Word by the events of his Providence. 
 "A father of the fatherless is God in his holy habitation." Psalm 
 Ixviii. 5. "The poor committeth himself unto thee : thou art the 
 helper of the fatherless." Psalm x. 14. Such is God according to 
 the testimony of his own word and emi)hatically such was he in 
 the providence of the Ufa we are vow sketching:. There was much 
 no doubt in the cirumstances of Mr. -Mc. Do wall, and much in his 
 character, well fitted to draw from feeling and .loble natures, sym- 
 pathy and esteem towards him. But behind all these was the eye 
 and the arm of his Heavenly Father who so ordered it that where- 
 ever his afilicted servant's lot was cast, friends were raised to min- 
 ister to his wants. We need only instance the considerate and 
 Uftwearied kindness of friends in Gait, whereof on one occasion 
 shortly after his settlement iti 6i, Vincent he thus writes :— 
 
 "1 received the box you aent. 1 1 arrived on Monday niglit. And your address 
 — worth the who^- 1 am quite at a loss. You are much kinder than 1 deserve. 
 And you hare all feiven me 39 mauy tokents of your kiadnesc, once and again, and 
 ajrain. Surely you are not weary in well doiug. Though 1 wonder whether 1 
 should say it is well-doing ^«e:ag ii is done to mo. Somehow 1 think 1 have no 
 right to receive well-doing from any oue— and indaed 1 would never have any 
 rieht to complain if peoiile were only to abstain from doing rae injury. But what 
 over 1 may expect or look for, or not oxpact and not look for, you mean ifc .or 
 good. And &3 such 1 receive it— 1 am grateful to you all. 1 receive it— not as 
 anything done tome, but as expresaiva of your goodwill towards me, and not as 
 to me altogether but rather, 1 balieve, to wliat of the Lord Jesus you think you 
 see in me. Alas ! that it should be so littl3 that you have seen. Surely 1 may 
 say 1 befng without father, or mother, or sister, or brother, surely 1 may say, 
 that He hath given to mo in this life both fathers, and mothers, and sisters and 
 brothers, and goods in abundance." 
 
 It is a law in nature, that the doplhs of the valleys, in any coun- 
 try, are generally as is the height of its hills. Where we find val- 
 leys whoso gloom the midday sun can scarce dispel, there also we 
 see mountains on whose top rest no clouds. And even thus, the 
 heart that loels the deepest grief, i*< the heart that knows the highest 
 joy. The grief and the joy arc, indeed, the complements of each 
 other, the ligtit and shade of the same picture. Thus do these 
 feelings run side by side, in contrast, and yot in harmony, through 
 the life and the letters of our brother. At oue time he seems sur- 
 rounded with the gloom of the valley of the shadow of death, as 
 may be gathered from such passages as these in his letters : 
 
 •■■ I gel very duU someiiuios, and iocic all iulcicst la ever/ livisg thing 1 cn,n 
 think of. My soul becomes as it were dormant, and cvon my i^iaviour hides hia 
 face, or something conceals hira trom me. Ah! ray doar friend, I am glad ttud 
 thaakful that your tbgughta a^ccud to Uod for ta«. ' 
 
HIV* JAMBS HCDOWALL. ' 
 
 21 
 
 as 
 
 '.:From similar depths he cries, thus, on another occasion f 
 
 " 1 am getting into a state of great indifference to most thinga. If oa any oc" 
 casion 1 feel a little snthuBiasm about any thing, 1 am inclined to laugh at my- 
 self afterwards for it. And this is not confined.to one thing, but it extends to 
 erery thing, even my own life. 1 seem at times" to care little whether 1 lire or 
 not. 1 endeavour to keep up an interest in my Saviour and in my Salvation, but 
 
 that too, is of a cold character 1 just thought 1 had a Father in 
 
 heaven and 1 did not feci so lonely after that. This is one of the comforts of 
 Christianity, for the Bible says 'when father and mother forsake me then the Lord 
 will take me up.' Surely they are blessed who have this confidence and can 
 appropriate this language. Yet the knowledge of that blessing comes, in all its 
 fulness only from having felt the want of it. It is sweet from the previous bitter. 
 .... Sometimes 1 think this word, or Bomething like it, may have been pro- 
 nounced concerning me. ' The Lord hath rejeciad thee from being a pastor of 
 hiapeople.' 1 shall wait to see what the Lord will do with me. How long this 
 waiting must be 1 know not, but this must soon have an end.' ' 
 
 Thus, at times, did he walk in darkness \ but by and by the day 
 broke. And when he was himself again, instead of taking inter- 
 est in nothing, he had an eye for every thing beautiful and a heart 
 for every thing human. "Mr. S — -," he writes "nas a very fine 
 family, and one child so pretty that I felt a pleasure in looking at 
 her." And again, "I passed to-day the finest tree I have ever 
 seen ; an elm tree standing on the roadside. It was so great and 
 graceful that I looked at n with more pleasure than on the child 
 whereof I wrote. Its trunk was very thick, and as straight as an 
 arrow far up, where it divided itself into two branches. These 
 shooting up hifi:h, and spreading out wide formed a majestic head, 
 presentmg a finer appearance than any palm." The habits, gambols, 
 and adventures of even the lower animals did not escape his notice 
 nor fail to amuse hira. Travelling through the country, he has 
 occasion to rest for dinner, when for the amusement of a distant 
 friend he humorously chronicles the following :-— 
 
 " While waiting I was amused at seeing a cat among the pigs that were feed- 
 ing on the roadside. Oats, as you know, like at times to rub themselves. 
 This pusa had discovered tliat a pig's snout was a charming chance for this 
 purpose: and so she would brush along one side, and then turn round and make 
 another pass on the other side, her tail, all the while, raised on high as if in a 
 state of great enjoyment. Mr- Pig grazed along for a time without heeding 
 her, but growing tirad of the play, he gave h«,' one whip with his snout that 
 sent her tlying half a dozen yards away and thus their friendship e.^ded." 
 
 Bat let us hasten to graver matte r^. 
 
 The Presbytery of Grey, ol the Canada Presbyterian church, is 
 essentially a missionay presbytery, supplying with ordmances be- 
 tween twenty and thirty thousand Presbyterians scattered over a 
 district nearly as large as the State of Connecticut. From Colling, 
 wood, and the Georgian Bay, it extends to Southampton on Lake 
 Huron,and from the borders of the County of Wellington, to Colpoy '» 
 
 60 miles in breadth. On the writer's first visit to this dis- 
 trict in 1856 there were but three Presbyterian ministers within the 
 wide country lying between Fergus and Owen Sound. Seven 
 Xcars thereafter,— the data of Mr. McDo wall's settlomeat—the 
 
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 Ifi 
 
 il 
 
 m 
 
 
 III 
 
 11 
 
82 
 
 MlMOm Cf THl 
 
 ^ 
 
 il 
 
 numbers had increased, within the boiiids of the Presbytery of 
 Grey alone, to fourteen.lt is very manifest, however, that even that 
 number must be heavily burdened to meet the spiritual wanti of 
 such a district, and that, ere the matter could be attempted, each 
 minister must perform a large amount of missionary work. Mr. 
 McDowall never pleaded delicate he Hh as any excuse from his 
 share of this travel, and toil, and trying absence from home* 
 
 "I have been undergoiog great labor of late," he writes on the 24th of Feb. 1863' 
 " The week before last I was one of a Cotnmittee of Presbytery to visit some 
 Stations. This took us two days,— Tuesday and Wednesday. After our work 
 was done I went on Wednesday night from Mcaford to Thornbury to Mr: Gauld's. 
 On Thursday I rested and on Friday went to a place some six mile9 along the 
 Lake Shore to see if a mission station could be established there. Having arranged 
 to exchange pulpits with Mr. Gauld, I preached in Thornbury in the forenoon 
 and after dinner set out for Meaford. The road was slippery, the wind chilly, 
 and my pony exceedingly lively. Trying to pull my rug round my shoulders I 
 dropped my whip. In trying to turn Prince, he swung quick round, upset the 
 cutter, and away back to Thornbury he went at the gallop. I stood and watched 
 him till a turn of the road took him out of sight, I then went after him and 
 found him in the tavern stable at Thornbury with his right hind leg cut from the 
 knee to the hoof— laid bare to the bone ; and the cutter— my new cutter— well 
 broken. I hired a horse to take me to Meafcrd and got there in time to preach to 
 the people aasemblftd there. I got home on Monday. On Tuesday went to 
 Sydenham and spent the day in examining the school, drinking tea in public, and 
 making speeches. On Wednesday set off for Ohatsworth to Mr. Cameron's,— 
 sixteen mile;?, — delivered a lecture, and came back the -ime night— getting home 
 between two and three o'clock in tlie morning. Then on Sabbath I preached 
 twice, travelling, between coming and going, some twenty miles. I am tired 
 but it has not prostrated me as I feared it might do." 
 
 On the meetings of Presbytery he gave diligent attendance in- 
 teresting himself in the details of its business. In the Synod his 
 powers of debate were only beginning io be felt, and the uniavour- 
 abie impression his self-assertion made on strange rs was only be- 
 ginning to be removed when his attendance there forever ceased. 
 Time and altered circumstance have probably ere now convinced 
 the Canada Presbyterian Cdurch that his amendment in the College 
 debateiof 1864<, though lost by a large majority— indicated the best 
 course for that Church, for.the present at least, in the matter of The- 
 ological education :— "That the Synod feel the great importance 
 ot having at least one wall equipped Theological Hall, and resolve 
 that the staff of Theological Professors in Knox College shall con- 
 sist of not fewer than three Theological Professors." 
 
 VI. HIS CHARACTER AND DEATH. 
 
 It has been well remarked— *'That he that would excel as a 
 minister of Christ must unite the unction of the Mystic, the sim- 
 plicity of the Moravian, and the deep clear judgment of the Calvi- 
 nist." Sound judgment, clear and forcible reasoning, were, from 
 the outset, distinguishmg characteristics of Mr. McDowall as a 
 preacher. His danger would have lain, indeed, in too extreme a cul- 
 tivation of the mere understanding, did not sickaesi lay here an M' 
 xest upon him . 
 
ptery of 
 en that 
 anti of 
 1, each 
 :. Mr. 
 sm hit 
 i* 
 
 'eb. 1863' 
 sit some 
 )ur work 
 Oauld's. 
 ilong the 
 arranged 
 forenoon 
 id chilly, 
 loulders I 
 upset the 
 . watched 
 him and 
 from the 
 ter — well 
 preach to 
 ■ went to 
 iblic, and 
 ieron'8,— 
 :ing horn e 
 preached 
 am tired 
 
 ance iti- 
 'nod his 
 niavour- 
 only be- 
 ceased. 
 invinced 
 College 
 the best 
 of The- 
 portance 
 1 resolve 
 lall con- 
 
 AXV. JAMES MCDOWALL. 
 
 23 
 
 :cel as a 
 the sim- 
 e Calvi- 
 re, from 
 all as a 
 le a cui- 
 rean ar* 
 
 Nor was he wanting in a certain guiless simplicity,— unauspect- 
 ing and child-like, — thr.t might be termed Moravian. For a man, 
 indeed, that had been lossed about so much in an evil and selfish 
 world, he remained strangely ignorant of its ways. Though a 
 scholar of rare cultivation and acquirement, — he settled down as a 
 backwood's minister without a murmur, nay cheerfully accepted the 
 homely realities of that position.To the humblest of his flock he was 
 as considerate and courteous as to the first gentleman in t'ue land. 
 He never, as ministers coming from the old country to the colonies 
 too often do — focUshly sighed after the refinements and associations 
 of home, though he often missed them. This loss he considered as 
 apart of his sacrifice for Christ. He felt happy in his flock and ' 
 work, and ones and again remarked that he could scarcely 
 find it in his heart to leave them, though called to a larger and 
 wealthier congregation. 
 
 But Divine unction is an endowment of a higher and a rarer 
 kind. It Cometh only from close communion with God. But this 
 communion is the special ♦ruit, in his own people, of God's fatherly 
 chastening. The chastisement of pain was increasingly hi», and 
 closer and still closer to God therefore did his soul draw as he, — 
 
 •'Walked thoughtful on the silent solemn Bhore 
 Of that vast ocean we must sail so soon." 
 
 "There is a character in the Bible" he remarked, a few weeks 
 before his death; to a few friends, who were talking in his hearing 
 of Bible characters, "there is one character, in the Bible who is my 
 Champion and to me ab»ve these all." To the question which 
 character that was? He replied with emotion. — "The Lord 
 Jesus." And as he, driven by suffering and drawn by love, drew 
 nearer to this Jesus, his preaching grew in fervour and divine unc- 
 tion. In the writer's last conversation with him we talked of the 
 spiritual condition of many of our people, and he said that the con- 
 viction was f "owing on him, that henceforward his owa preaching 
 must be more simple and more directly to the heart and conscience. 
 Jesus as the Saviour of sinners, — "He is able to save to the utter- 
 most,*was his last theme in the Presbyterian Church at Chatsworth, 
 where he had preached so often. As a weary man who had of- 
 ten pillowed his own head ou the bosom of that Saviour, he mag- 
 nified his power to save, his mercy, tenderness and love, and, as a 
 dying man to dying men, besought his hearers to come to him, to 
 come quickly, and to come often, that they might experience for^ 
 themselves whereof he spoke. It was not however till Mr. Mc— 
 Dowall had felt the solemn responsibility of a settled pastorate ; till 
 he found, from close and personal intercourse with his flock, how 
 needful it was to be urgent with them about their salvation : (ill he 
 had learned to preach as from the heart without the intervention 
 «f manuscripts, — till the peaceable fruit of chastisement was begin- 
 ning to ripen on him ; till towards the close, indeed, of his brief 
 miniitry, that it could be said that heavenly unction, equally with 
 
24 
 
 MEMOIR Of THE 
 
 simplicity and judgment, was a prominent feature in his character 
 as an>mbassador of Christ. Then his "profiting appeared to all." 
 The effect produced by his emaciated appearance, his slow deliber- 
 ate utterance, hi^ striking and original thoughts, his careful choice 
 of simple ii\d weighty words j this effect was latterly, as God's dis- 
 cipline was telling on him, much intensified by the holy importu- 
 nity with which he pleaded with Trod lor the people, and the glow- 
 ing fervour with which he pleaded with the people for God. 
 
 Two years had nearly elapsed from the date of Mr. McDowall's 
 settlement. Outwardly things were beginning *o look brighter 
 for him. His congregation, intelligent above the average, appreci- 
 ated his close,clear,thinking,and simple unadorned eloquence. They 
 sympathized with him in his bodily weakness. They esteemed 
 the conscientiousness with which he discharged amid all weathers, 
 the duties of his ministry. And they treated him \vith marked 
 kindness and consideration. He had entered on the enjoyment of 
 a home, a comfort unknown to him from the time death bereaved 
 him of sisters and parents. That home was pleasantly situated, 
 commanding a wide prospect of fields and woods ; it was furnished 
 with every necessary comfort ; and its library,— books gathered in 
 college days,— contained " many a quaint and curious volume of 
 forgeiten lore." To this pleasant and peaeeful retreat, — a genuine 
 Scotch manse in the bosom of the forest, — came in due course of 
 time, wife,— a true helpma* <■ and everyway worthy of him,— and 
 little boy ; and here often met a few old friends to talk of the wild 
 tumultuatiug world, the roar of whose angry breakers scarcely 
 reached this "lodge in the vast wilderness" to talk also of Jesus and 
 to devise measures for the furtherance of his cause in that new 
 country. But he, whose ways are often encompassed by clouds and 
 darkness to the children of men, saw fit that this should not coa- 
 tiuue. In his providence he orders it often that the soldier falls on 
 the eve of victory, and that the husbandman dies when the harvest 
 for which he has toiled is about to fall before the sickle. It was so 
 ordered for our friend. The disease that had so early marked him 
 for its victim was constantly gaining ground albeit so uoisele3sly 
 that its progress was scarcely perceived by himself or others. The 
 good master saw that his servant was weary in his work though 
 not weary of it and that now he needed rest ; fo he sent to call him 
 home. Like Mr. Standfast,— that excellent pilgrim, "he loved to 
 hear his Lord spoken of, and wherever he saw the print of his shoe 
 in the earth there he coveted to set his foot too. His name was to 
 him as a civet box : yea sweeter than all perfumes. His voice to 
 him was most sweet, and his countenance he more desired than 
 th',y that have most desired the light of the sun. His word he did 
 use to gather for his food and for antidotes against his faintings." 
 But he was now near the end of his iQurnev* Hi?. toil.«;nm« d-i"* 
 were drawing near to a close. He w'as about to depart to *'see that 
 head that was crowned with thorns and that face that was spit upon 
 
IIEV. JAMES MCSOWALL. 
 
 25 
 
 The passage over the dark river was easy and very 
 
 for him." 
 quick :~ 
 
 iiu?A^}]^^^^^^-^^^^ * meeting of Session,' writes a friend in October, 1P64, 
 oeia the singing clasa as he was wont, took supper heartily, wrote till about 
 eleven clock, and retired in his usual health.-better indeed than usual. Ho 
 awoke Mrs. McDowall a little after midnight with a slight fit of coughing fol- 
 lowed by vomiting. He asked her to fetch a llght.-She did so. When hi saw 
 the blood he told her he had burst a blood vessel. On her asking what she 
 •ould do for hinj, he replied—' Nothing : pray for me. I have been an unworthy 
 minister of Jesua Christ.' After a few words in reference to herself and the 
 tuture, he ceased to speak and seemed engaged in prayer. Gradually his head 
 toll back, and he died without « struggle, gently as if be was falling asleep, on 
 Thursday morning." » rj 
 
 Thus he passed away in the autumn of 1864., in the 38th year of 
 bis age, and in the second year of his pastorate. And when, time 
 and again, the golden gates open thus to receive into the celestial 
 city our beloved ones, much missed here, and when we " look in 
 after them and behold the city shine like the sun, the streets paved 
 with gold and in them walking many men with crowns on their 
 heads, palms in their hands and golden harps to sing praises with- 
 al, then let us, kind reader, pray that we too, when our work here 
 18 done, may get to be among them. 
 
 The funeral service \«as conducted amid the tears of old and 
 young and of not a few strong men unaccustomed to weep. He 
 was laid in the burying ground on the 9th concession of the town- 
 ship of St. Vincent. A stone erected by the Congregation marks 
 his grave. But a more enduring memorial of him exists in the fruits 
 of his short ministry. He gave to the Presbyterian cause, in that 
 distnctjform and organization ; he won completely the hearts of the 
 people ; he comforted not a few with the comfort wherewith he 
 himself was comforted of God j but more than all this, he was in- 
 strumental,— it is believed by those who know the district best -in 
 bringing gome to a saving knowledge cf Jesus Christ. When we 
 consider what God thus did in him and by him, then we see the 
 wisdom of the providential discipline,— as was written of a young 
 minister who died a few weeks after him,— which if it made him 
 more pensive than his neighbors and more of a pilgrim than is 
 usual with modern christians, withal purged out the ambition and 
 the self-will and left only the saintliness. " No chastening for the 
 present seeraeth to be joyous but grievous ; nevertheless afterward 
 It yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness to th«m that are ex- 
 ercised thereby," 
 
 I 
 
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 V. ! 
 
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 REMAINS. 
 
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ADDRESS. 
 [delivered at the annual meeting, 1861, of the galt branch Of 
 
 THE tract society.] 
 
 In treating this subjact — the utility of Tracts and their distribu- 
 tion— -isolated and by itself, one might be tempted to over-estimate 
 the'*t)ower and influence of Tracts. It js easy lo over-rate a thmgj 
 when the mind is concentrated for a lillla upon it, one might be 
 tempted to speak of the power and influence ot Tracts as if there 
 were nothing equal to them, nothing to be compared with them, 
 among all the means that are employed for drawing the thoughts 
 of men either to themselves, or away from themselves, and to 
 God. 
 
 We might speak of, or think oi the great possible results that arc 
 to arise from the distribution of Tracts ; and so speak ot them as to 
 arouse great expectations in the minds of those who attend. But 
 when the results are looked for, the large promised results, io ! none 
 of thorn present themselves. When after three years of tract dis- 
 tribution nothing very gri t or very startling has been reported : 
 and when after other three or more years of tract distribution, the 
 same lack of great results present themselves ; or it may be the 
 lack of any result, which one could Liy his hand upon, a reaction is 
 apt to set iu upon the mind ; the promised results do not appear — 
 the expected g.od does not show itself, and many are disappointed 
 and are ready to say, where is the use of continuing the matter ? 
 We would, therefore, endeavour to avoid anything like exaggera- 
 ting this matter ; we would desire to set it in its true light— or as 
 near to that as we can do. We would desire to look at it as it is — 
 to look at tracts and their distribution not as a very great matter. 
 And in comparison with other influences we are ready to concede 
 that Tracts are but small and weak, aye, almost despicable, if one 
 would wish to express it thus far. 
 
 What are the results we may expect to appear from Tracts and 
 
 their distribution ? Some might look for 
 
 great 
 
 and numerous 
 
 results ; for great conversions ; for many conversions to God, or for 
 some very marked cases ; for some changes of life, ota very strik- 
 ing, or even Btartling character. But is not this aiming all too high ? 
 Is not this an ambition rather to be held in check, than stimulated 
 to fervid hopes ? Such conversions have indeed happened from 
 
 Tyanto, and cheerinET it i? to hear of such -. but they only happen 
 
 now aud then, and in co uparisoa with the number of Tracts print- 
 ed, circulated and read, they are few and far between. Indeed 
 conversions are not so easy,— they are not so frec^uent,— they are, 
 
3d 
 
 REMAINS 07 THIS 
 
 I 
 
 oonsid«ring the number Of souls that live, but rare events, even 
 under the best and most potent influences. Yet, though Tracts 
 may not be but rarely employed— so far as our knowledge of the 
 matter goes, may be but rarely employed fo- the conversion of men, 
 they are not without their influence, both without tlie circle of those 
 who are co?iverted, and also within that circle. 
 
 It takes many causes to bring about any one result. No result, 
 or but very few results are efiected by one cause or mean ; butithere 
 are many means lo each result. And much more is this the case 
 in producing change upon the complicated creature that man is: 
 and still more in producing such radical change as is implied in the 
 conversion of the man. In tiie complicated creature that man is, 
 it takes many a cause to produce m him any great result, or a one 
 cause often repeated. And to bring about a worthy change in him, 
 it takes all the means, all the causes, both the little and the great, 
 to produce such a result. And when the result is brought about, 
 one cause will appear prominent, others will appear less prominent, 
 and others will not appear at all . 
 
 Tracts are a set of means, a set of means in themselves insignifi- 
 cant, we will admit j yet they have their place. And let them 
 take their place, and they will play their part. By themselves 
 they may not accomplish much. Let them combine with otner 
 causes, and they will, if not smgly, yet in such combination produce 
 results which mav become matter of remark and wonder, and of 
 much praise to God ; sometimes in such results the Tracts appear- 
 iui; in the foreground, though it may be as a rare event, giving, 
 however, grounds of confidoneo that such means are not totally 
 
 idle and vain. . • .u * 
 
 Many expect great results from Tracts, and seeing them not, 
 they think there are no results. But they perhaps expect more 
 
 than ihey are warranted. /. ■ ■ *i. 
 
 If a Tract should never produce one instance of conversion, is the 
 work therefore useless 1 By no means. Let us look more closely 
 at human nature— more minutely into it. 
 
 It is sunk in wickedness, there are abounding sins, abounding 
 temptations, there are deep griets, there are many sorrows, there 
 are many phases of intellactual life, many phases of feeling, many 
 phases ot moral life, that all go to form the lite-existence of each 
 day, that altogether make upihe life of each individual for every 
 day of human existence. Shall a Tract in its own quiet way, have 
 no word to say to those who are thus passing through their day-by- 
 day existence ? Shall a Tract have nothing to say, though u were 
 but once, to the heart that feels its wickedness ? Shall a Tract 
 have no word, though it were but once, to help those who are under 
 
 i »_*:-.^ » euoii o Tra/.*- n(^\rpr liuvp. nnv influence to hold some 
 
 sin in check, or place some passion under restraint ? hhall a iracJ 
 never, by any chance, speak a word to one in grief, or cheer for a 
 little, one in sorrow 1 Shall a Tract never, by any accident, as it 
 
 
 115 
 
mv. JAMIR MODOWALL. 
 
 91 
 
 
 were, ftUay the tumults of a surcharged heart, or wip« twty a ■in- 
 gle tear ? In all the varying phases of hu.^an life, shall they never 
 speat a word of direction, or counsel, or warning? It would be 
 strange indeed, if even in the multitude of chances such a thing 
 should not happen, but in such a matter we look for a htftle more 
 than mere probability,— we look for the blessing of the spirit of God. 
 But if, eve under the guidance of what .s called and understood as 
 probabilities, Tracts should speak such words, at such times ; then 
 are they entirely useless ? Are they to be despised and thrown 
 aside ] Much rather are they not to obtain a wider circi lation 1 
 Aye, and besides this daily routine rf human liie, there are, in each 
 life, epochs, when there is needed oii. to speak the word in reason, 
 but when there is none to speak, the patient, quiet Tract, may then 
 fulfil its office and speak the needed word. 
 
 If a Tract then, aye, or a hundred of them, have ever been the 
 m£-*.4a of checking a single sin, or helping to overcome a single 
 temptation; of reproving the sinner in his wantonness ; of making 
 anv one feel even the shame of sin ; of causing a sigh for a better 
 lit. , of recalling the memories of an earlier and purer period of 
 life ; of comforting any one who has been downcast ; of removing 
 from any soul its doubts and fears ; of moving a single soul to a 
 single prayer ; of shewing, though for a brief period, the folly and 
 the wretchedness of sin, and tha wisdom and the beauty of holinesu 5 
 of exhibiting, though it were but one brief glimpse, of the excel- 
 lency and ,^lory,and the mercy and love of Jesus Christ, then this 
 Tract, ^or these hundred of them, have not been lest, have not been 
 in vain, have not been thrown away, they have accomplished a 
 work, and a good work too. 
 
 This may happen, it may happen repeatedly in the experience of 
 one, or in the experience of many, and none know of it but God. 
 All this may happen to those who are born again, and most' of it to 
 these not so renewed, and yet there may be no conversions, no deci- 
 ded conversion and turning to God from this alone. But yet, this 
 is no slight matter, considering what creatures we are — creatures of 
 sin and misery, waiting for the development of ine judgments of 
 God. For to the tender and pitiful it is not a trifle to mitigate 
 grief m the grieved ; to console the downcast, or to excite godly 
 sorrow in the hardened. And this a Tract may do, and if one 
 may not, a number may do it. 
 
 Tracts are fitted to do this. They are prepared to do this, and, 
 uith God's blessing, they are able to accomplish this, at least. And 
 it they do accomplish it but now and again, and only in some few 
 cases, let no one say it is altogether a vain work to give away a 
 Tract. 
 
 These are small results, it is tru3, but combined with other re- 
 sults they produce great matters, matters that are of importance to 
 many a human h^arl, and many a family. These are smell results, 
 it is true, yet in the sum of human happiness and human misery, 
 
32 
 
 REMAINS OF THE 
 
 they tr« not to be despised by those who hava a fellov^r feeling with 
 the joys and sorrows oi their kiudre ' . 
 
 It may b« thought to ba a j?reat waste of material, to produce 
 iuch small results, for we admit still that the results in comparison 
 with other results may saem small, yet the waste is not so much as 
 is spent in much more trifling ways of assisting each other to pass 
 away an hour, to re mov3 a grief, or assuage a pain of heart and 
 mind. 
 
 Behold the leaves of trees ; they all fall in Autumn, and any one, 
 or hundreds of them might be takeu from the plant, and it would 
 never seem to be missed. AnJ what has each leaf done during its 
 brief period of existence? At best it has but nourished a bud and 
 caused a little sap to flow ; yet all together produce a years' growth 
 for the tree, and gathers up nourishment for the spring of a coming 
 year, and then they fall and die. \our Tracts are bui leaves, many 
 may be lost, blown away, torn or burned, and they do not seem to 
 be missed; but should they even survive their brief period and be 
 read, they have completed their work, though they have but 
 nourished a bud, and helped to store a little nourishment to the 
 twjg. to which they have been attached. And how many seeds 
 in field and forest are never to take root, and never to become a 
 plant ; yet they may afford food for some sweet-voiced bird, or some 
 tmy, active many-hued insect. Your Tracts contain seeds, or are 
 seeds; many of them may never, perhaps a very few of them may 
 ever produce a plant, yet they may afford food for some soul, or 
 some feeling of some soul : ma7 be an element to help to form 
 some song of praise, or to raise a word of earnest prayer. Let not 
 the little things be altogether despised therefore, ' despise not the 
 day of small things.' 
 
 There are many drops cf water in the ma2:azines of the clouds, 
 many in thf streams that roll over the earth, many in the store- 
 houses of tne mighty ocean ; and but few of them come to great 
 honor, yet it may bo the fate of some chance drop that falls from 
 the skies, to rise in the river's fountain ; to dance its way round 
 rock and over pebble ; to appear now as the froth in the eddies of 
 the current ; to arise now as the bubble on the surface of the 
 stream, presenting the many hues of the rainbow, or reflecting the 
 many forms of grass-leaf, and reed, and sedge, and busih and tree, 
 that it passes in its buoyant course towards the ocean, again to sub- 
 side and mingle with the many nvriads that glide along with it, 
 and in time to appear combined with o.her matter, as the pearl that 
 gives its lustre to the diadem of the princes of the earth. 
 
 And among the many Tracts that have been in cirenlation and 
 are now passing their rounds, many never come to any open 
 honor, but there have been, and there will be those, which, as they 
 p^iSS will shed their hallowing influences, and will emerge to 
 greater honor than any pearl of any oc&an. 
 » There are so many things that ocsupy the minds and .attention 
 
KIV. JAMIS MCDOWALt. 
 
 M 
 
 to 
 
 of peoplo ; or their minu:^ are so occupied with a few things, that 
 matters oi muuient, aud of great importance to them are kept out 
 of view or forgotten. The epochi of life are not attended to, espe- 
 cially those epochs and turning points that are yet to come. In 
 health, for instance, people ihmk not of the cures and remedies for 
 sickness. In prosperity, they think not of the consolations for au- 
 versity. But there are many who are reai'y to supply th^ remedies 
 for the one or the other. There are men, who, either for their own 
 gain, and i^ may be, with a commingled desire to benefit mankind, 
 proclaim far and wjide the remedies hr certain diseases. For every 
 disease that has a name, and for many a pain that has no name, 
 there are promulgations of medicine. This man and that man has 
 made a discovery in the art of healng, or m the province of th«^ra- 
 peutics, and intimation of it is spread through the length and, 
 breadth of the laud. The art of multiplying information by means 
 of printing becomes the lesource, and advertisements abound. At 
 a great expense it is done, egents are employed to make known 
 their virtues, and to extend the knowledge of them. Such raedi* 
 cines are kept constantly before the minds of p.^ople. Should any 
 suffering or pain be felt, or disease threaten, there in the advertise- 
 ment proclaiming the means tr cure, and the place to obtain it, 
 with many testimonies to its efficacy. Some who have tested it? 
 properties, and felt benefit, are ready also to recommend t« others 
 the medicine that cured them. For health is considered a precious 
 thing to those who feel they are losing it, and pain is thought a 
 grievous thing to those who are suffering it. But is the world, and 
 are quacks to monopolize all these advertisements 1 Are there to 
 be means,of cure promulgated in every form of print, of cure for the 
 body, aiulno advertisement made concerning the disease that preys 
 upon the soul,conceruing the balm of Gilead,concerning the Prinue 
 of Physicians? Shall the virtues and efficacy of pills and salve and 
 liniment, be announced in every ftrm to attract, and the announce- 
 ments scattered through every house and home, and no prf-^.ted 
 word given ef the heavenly medicine that resides in the bloou ^aed 
 by Christ who was crucified 1 Shall roots and bark, and leaves and 
 herbs have their proraulfeution and their advertisement, and shall 
 there not be sown broadcast, the knowledge oi that plant whose 
 leaves are for the healing of the nations. 
 
 It is the peculiar character of human nature and of the religion 
 which we profess, the religion of Jesus Christ, that people do not 
 seek after it spontaneously. It is the peculiar?ty of human nature, 
 and of this religion that it has to be brought under the notice of 
 men, and to be kept before them. It is also another peculiarity, if 
 not in every case, then in a great many cases, that when thus kept 
 before the mind, it coiu'^s to be attended to, and to bring about ma- 
 ny ciianges in the life, changes fur the bettor ia many degfeoa of 
 change, from the reformation of a single habit to the reformation of 
 a character, the conversiou of a soul, and the entire renewul of a 
 
34 
 
 RKMAINS OF THK 
 
 human heart. This knowledge and this information must he kept 
 before the mind : and il is knowledge the most important — it is in- 
 formation ol the highest kind. It must he kept before the mind by 
 the living voice, by the living exarri»->le5> of those who profess it, and 
 by the aid of printed matter. By one, or by all these means. If 
 not all, then by one. Knot by so ne one, then by some other. But 
 this will only be done by those who know the value of this know- 
 ledge, by those >vho are aware of the virtues, and who have felt the 
 power of the gospel of Jesus Christ. On them it lies to furnish the 
 inform' dion. They mu fit provide the means. Tliey must undertake 
 the little labour it involves. 
 
 This knowledge must be kept before men ; must be kept before 
 those who care the least about knowing it, as well also before those 
 who care a little, as well also before those who care much. And 
 what cheaper than a few Tracts ? And what more easy to employ 
 than a few Tracts'? You may lack courage to speak, a Tract may 
 speak for you. You may lack words, fitting words to speak, a Tract 
 may speak for you. Your words might be offensive, but the Tract 
 may speak when there is no one present. A Tract is not the only 
 means, it ic not always the best means, yet it is a means, and let it 
 not therefore be neglected or totally despised. 
 
 It is a mere leaf or two. Ic can lie nside, and will not take of- 
 fence at neglect. It may be trampled under foot, and yet may not 
 refuse to tell its little story. Itcai! afford to wait with all patience. 
 It can bear disrespect with all equanimity. • It may be displaced by 
 another, and yet another, and it is still ready to return to its mis- 
 sion again. Tt is but a leaf or two, and it almost invites a reader. 
 It is there under the hand. It may be taken up, not in deep thought, 
 but from mere want of thought or employment for the moment, and 
 may create weighty thought and stimulate to activity. All this a 
 Tract is fitted to do. All this it has done. All tiiis it is doing, and 
 yet none of these results may ever be reported on, or recorded in 
 any earthly recorr'. 
 
 Despise not entirely the Tract, then, though it be but little, and 
 seem a small means. Give it your contributions. Let it circu- 
 late. Let it be read. And even if it should fall and pw.ri?h, it is 
 not altogether waste. And even in its tatters and its ruin, it may ac- 
 complish some kind work, even as the leaf that has fallen from the 
 tree may kindly cover and shelter against exposure the eggs ot the 
 next summer's insect, or the fiowerbud of the coming spring. 
 
 
RSV< JAMES MCDOWALtj 
 
 d& 
 
 
 SERMON. 
 
 I will not leave joa comfortlesB, I will como to you.— -John xir, 13. 
 
 It was a plan passing wondrous by which the Son of God brought 
 back to hiB Father a lost world—a world lost, like a stray sheep on 
 the mountains, like a lost child in the big, city, like a foolish son 
 in the haunts of vice. "I will go down'' He said, "in the form of a 
 man amongst men. I will be as one of themselves. I will choose 
 out a few to be always with me. I will reveal to them glorious 
 truths. I will talk to them of Heaven and of Goa. They will 
 learn to love me ; and their love to me will increase with their 
 knowledge of me. I will show them that I am the Son of (rod, 
 and when their hearts are bound to me, to me the Son of man, I 
 will then leave them, and carry their hearts with mo to heaven. 
 And they will think much about me, and speak b*" what I told them, 
 and tell them to the nations, and say to the people that God came 
 amongst them and won their huarls, before ever they knew it, — 
 and after dying ior them, he passed up into Heaven. And they 
 will say — Our hearts are with him, and these are the words he spoke 
 to us, and these are the words! and the deeds by which he won our 
 hearts. And men shall read these words and speak of them, and 
 shall say one to another. What think ye cf Christ? He has won 
 ray heart, ono will say and another, and another. Come let us wor- 
 ship him, let us confess him, let us serve him, for he has loved us 
 with a:i unspeakable love." 
 
 Thus the Son of God has united earth again to heaven. And we 
 meet together here on days like this to hear of that wondrous Sa- 
 vieur, of this wondrous love, to hear His words explained, to be told 
 of His deedb', to aisk from Him what we need, and to sing songs tf 
 praise to His adorable name. Having our hearts stolen by Him, 
 we delight to draw near Him, and nearer, and to keep near Him 
 who is our heaven, who has loved us and washed us from our sins 
 in His blood. 
 
 T. 8 parting of friends is often a solemn scene. The more so, if 
 stron« love has bound their hearts in one. We look back on such 
 scenes with hallowed feelings, and find pleasure in recalling the 
 parting look and words of the absent loved ones. Several such part- 
 ing scenes we have in the Scriptures: When Jacob gathered his sons 
 round his bed to receive his dying bl«ssing ; when Moses gathered 
 the tribes to receive his parting advice ; when Paul amid tears and 
 sobs bade farewell to the Ephesian elders. But no parting scene 
 we have ever seen or read of, is like that of the Son of God parting 
 with the men he loved, and who loved him. "Let not your heart 
 be troubled," he says, "1 will come again and receive you to my- 
 
 
 i wui ass. i.ia xaiuor unu no wui acuu ;ne oomiorier. 
 
 iuQl 
 
 US ^rieditate together for a little on one or two words of this parting 
 addi'jsi. 
 
36 
 
 HEMAINS OP THU 
 
 I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU COMFORTLESS. 
 
 This promise was, no doubt, to thG.xi a matter of much consola- 
 tion, but they knew of none that could console them ior iZw ab- 
 sence. There was none had ever been to thera such a Comforter 
 as Jesus himself, and this discourse about leaving them, so strange 
 to thera and yet not new,— so difficult to realize, so trying to their 
 spirits, was only fitted in their state of knowledge to fill them with 
 sE-duess. Jesus might speak ol a Comforter, but it was himself they 
 loved, and they knew of none, could conceive of none, that could 
 be so dear to their hearts as He was. Did their feelings at this try- 
 ing moment find utterance they would say :— -''Are you now to leave 
 us ? Oh, Blessed Master, leave us not. Ther j is no comforter can 
 supply your place. Only remain then with us and we need no Com- 
 forter. Thou hast always been our Comforter. Was it not to be 
 always near Thee we left our boats, and forsook all we held dear 
 on earth 1 Only stay with us Thyself and we will be satisfied. 
 We have endured poverty to be near thee, to hear Thy voice. Oh ! 
 Master leave us not. We cannot see why j'hou shouldest leave us. 
 We are willing to keep close to Thee, we will not leave thee, and 
 why shouldeit thou seek to leeve us. Lord why cannot we follow 
 Thee now ; we will lay down our lives for Thy sake. Speak not 
 therefore of leaving us ; for without Thee we cannot live m a world 
 that hates us. Oh ! leave us not, for we will then be orphans.'* 
 
 Such were the thoughts that filled ihe hearts of that little band 
 of disciples. Christ read all these thoughts, knevJ them before they 
 were uttered, and thus soothed their troubled spirits : "Little chil- 
 dren, do not grieve, I will not leave you orphans, 1 know you love 
 me, and I love you, love you more than your hearts can conceive, 
 love you more than language can speak. You do not yet know my 
 love to you, else you would be strangers to these fears. Leave 
 you! I will not leave you at all. Twill never loave you, The 
 Comforter whom 1 will send will not come in place of me, but to 
 bring yon ftearer to me. Ah! my little flock, you have not yet 
 known who I am. Ye have loved me knowing but little of me. 
 The Spirit of Truth shill come unto your hearts, and will show yoti 
 who lam. I will not leave you, but come closer to you. When 
 the Spirit teaches you that he that hath seen me hath seen the 
 Father, then will you know that I have not left you orphans." 
 
 Let us look, however, a little closer at the exact meaning of the 
 words of our text. At first sicht it would seem that iii these words 
 .fesus tells his disciples that he would leave them for some time, 
 and then come back to thew. It is true that in one eense He did 
 leave them, and in that sense He came back for a little, and then 
 left again, aud yet again the Church looks for Him. Tbis is true 
 with regard to His bodily presenutj. The sentenco "x Wiu eouiC 
 to you" IS generally understood as referring to this visible going 
 and to this visible coming again. But oa such an understand mr, 
 of the words one does not see well the force of these words as words 
 
 
 ■ .»' 
 
Rtr. .TAiiia wcDowAtt. 
 
 37 
 
 cf coniolation to a church sorely tried in its cenflicts in this world. 
 The Wordg, indeed, rendered in our version, "I wiilcome," are not 
 exactly and clearly rendered. What our translators have put in 
 the future tense — I will come, 19, in the orig» lal, in the present 
 tense,— / come, lam coming. What does the Redesmer mean, 
 therefore, when He says to His sorrowing disciples, "I will not 
 leave you orphans, I am coming lo you ?" 
 
 To find the full meaning of this, W(j might go back to the promise 
 of a Saviour to Adam, wlien\ he fell by his transgression. From 
 that promise, through all thedealuigs of God with His people Israe), 
 down to the coming of Christ and the utterance of these words, the 
 promised Redeemer was ever drawing nearer His people, was ever 
 coraina: tothem.. With the first promise the fledeemer had already 
 begun to come. Even in his day Abraham saw Him. He was 
 ever coming, ever approaching to man, ever saying in substance "I 
 am Coming to you.*' But we do not intend to trace the steps of His 
 approach to His church throughout this long period. Let us be con- 
 tent with glancing briefly at His approach to His own immediate 
 disciples. He found them in their ignorance far away from Him. 
 He began to draw them to himself, nnd as this drawing was slowly 
 progrsa«ing He was ever coming to them. When the Baptist point- 
 ed to Jesus as the Lamb of God, Jesus was com ng to them. When 
 he prevailed on the disciples to forsake all and follow Him, He was, 
 therein, coming to them. When Peter fell at His feet and be»oughc 
 Him to depart from him because he was a sinful man, Jesus, in re- 
 ality, was coming to him. When the disciples were overtaken by 
 the wild storm, and when their Master calmed the wind and the 
 sea, He was thereby coining to them. When the three disciples 
 saw Him transfigured on the mount, He was in that glory cominj^ 
 to them. In all these things He was coniing to them. Every mi- 
 racle H3 wrought, He was coming to them. Every parable he 
 .spoke, He Was coming to them. Every danger from which He 
 shielded them, He was coming to them. In every pang and suffer- 
 ing they endured for His sake, He was coming to them. And as yet 
 they knew him not fully, as yet He had not come, as yet He was 
 only in the act of coming to them. And when He uttered hese 
 words '*l am coming to you," He had not even ihen fully com** to 
 them ; He was now nearer them than He ever was before, but still 
 He had not come in His full glory as the Son of God, the second 
 person of the glorious friniiy, the Prince, the Saviour, Won- 
 derful, Gounsellor, the Everlasting Father, the Lamb, the Redeemer 
 from sin and death, the iVtediatur between God and man, the Glory 
 o( God, and the image of His persoui. 
 
 What a strange way of coming this was to be. How alien from 
 tiiS ostentat'ioup "r'^sjuig of men. In s. shof*. tijue Hs \vou:u uS ssizsd 
 and bound a pr ^uner— still He says I am coming to you. From 
 one tribunal He was hurried to another-— yet then He was coming lo 
 them. Then He was to bo crucified— and thus He comes nearer 
 ftill to His own. In Hit death, He is coming, in His resurrection, 
 
RIMAIlfS OP Tttl 
 
 Ha is coming to his doubting, perplexed Chnrch. But God'§ Wayi 
 are not our ways; for ♦•God liath chosen the foolish things of tha 
 world to confound the wise ; and God hath chosen ihe weak things 
 of the world to confound the things that are mighty ; and base 
 things of the world and things which are despised, hath God chosen, 
 yea, and things which are not to bring to nought things that are.'* 
 Yus, Christian disciples, even in this degradation, insult and death 
 of your beloved Jesus, We is coming to you. Coming to yon, not 
 indeed &s ye expected bui as ye needed. And when the Comforter 
 came, this was the comfcrt" He brought -He took of the things of 
 God and shewed them to their souls. Ho revealed to them Jesus, 
 as the Son of God and the Saviour of the world, and then Peter 
 could stand up and siy, —"Let all the house of Israel know assured- 
 ly that God hath mado that same Jesus whom ye huve crucified, 
 both Lord and Christ ;" and again, "This Jesns whom ye slew and 
 hanged on a/tree. Him hath God exalted a Prince and a Saviour to 
 give repentance to Israel and remission of sins.*' 
 
 My friends you see here the manner of Christ's coming to His 
 disciples. If ye are thy disciples of Christ, to you there is the same 
 promise, and the same consolation. Christ, though he has come 
 into the world, and has again returned to heaven, has not yet come 
 to all that are in the world or all that hear of Him. To each single 
 individual of you, if ye would be Christians, Christ must come step 
 by step as He came to these Rpostles. Has Christ come to you yet ? 
 Or is He now coming ? Or has Ha at all begun to come ] Can you 
 say I am not an orphan now, I am a son, a daughter, for Christ has 
 come to me, is near me, is with mo, is in me. 
 
 Christ comes to you, just in proportion as you come to Him, and 
 you come to Him in the degree that He comes to you. Oh! my 
 friends attend to the steps ot Christ's coining to you. He never 
 comes but to the lowly, and humbled, and pierced, and broken, and 
 mourning heart. And when He is wounding and breaking your 
 heart, it is that, through this, He may coine to you. In times of 
 sore bereavment, Hj is coming to you. In the midst of disappoint- 
 ment, He is cwtning to you. When He robs you of the objects of 
 yonr delight, He is cominsf to you. When He sends you to dwell 
 in a strange land, and amongst strange faces. He is coming to you. 
 When you feel weary and forlorn, He is then saying Jam coming 
 to you. Aye, and when. Christian disciple, you feel sad for your 
 sins, and have remorse of conscience. He is then coming to you. 
 Thus every humiliation, every sadness, every sorrow, may be, if pro- 
 perly used, only the coming to you of your precious Jesus. 
 
 " When wilt thon come to me Lord, 
 0, come my Lord most dear, 
 Uome uearer, ueaier, nearer 8iiii, 
 I am well when thou art near." 
 
 But at every step of Christ's coming you maybe fleeing from 
 him. As He approaches you may be retiring, retreating, fleeing 
 before Him. Each afHictioa will, then, only harden } and oh I te 
 
 -^h 
 
 lo 
 re 
 to 
 He 
 cc 
 le 
 ro 
 
 li\ 
 in 
 us 
 w. 
 
 Tl 
 
 Ai 
 
HST. JAMM MCDOWALL. ^^ 
 
 M^ rlWsSi'S^ you no longer, Beu.re,be wareof this. 
 
 the distance betleen ^hem^ eaTer n nf riP'"^' '''^^ ^''''^' ^'^'^^^S 
 may wo not all Tay T- ^ ^"'^ '*'^^ greater each day. And 
 
 "WTe are too far from thee our Saviour. 
 Too far from Thee, ' 
 
 Before our eyes 
 
 Dark mists arise ^ 
 
 And veil the glories from the skies. 
 We are too far from Thee. 
 
 Draw us more close to Thee our Saviour. 
 
 More close to Thee. ' 
 
 -et come what will 
 
 Of good or ill 
 
 'Tis one to us d ar Saviour knowing still. 
 
 Thou drawes. v: to Thee. ' t> =""> 
 
 dot leave me aVorphan fo jlelX tZ, .V'"" •''" ™"» """ 
 ,ow,-the ,el,g.o„ for,orro.,-a„d the rel.,i„!, t 'vt^^s ItoV- 
 livhlrrnV'^'V S'™ «s '"sae Thee as the Christ the Son o' the 
 
 w. «vai gUdly give , all things^^'h" wj mlTgl^'^Z laMlt 
 me .a our hear.s,-.he hope of ^lory, Come '^r^ly lord Jesu ^ 
 
40 
 
 w 
 
 KEICAIMt Of Tax 
 
 SERMON. 
 
 « Wherefore he is able to sare them to tfaa utteruoat that come untu God b; 
 bim."--H«b. vii. 25. 
 
 In these words it is said of Jesus Christ that He has power or 
 ability. " Ho is able to save.' This ability is very great. Let u« 
 glance at a few instances where we see it manifested that, thereby , 
 we may understand something of its greatness. 
 
 See it (1) in His multiplying a few loayes to feed many thousand 
 people. Before we can e ' e must, in the ordinary course of 
 things, prepare the ground, £; .' er the harvest, beat out and winnow 
 the grain, grind it in the mill, and bake it with fire. And were 
 we called upon tor prepare a meal for eren one thousand people, 
 what labour and toil that would cause, j,what weariness would at- 
 tend it! But he simply blessed the few loaves and the few fishes, 
 and gave to the vast multitude and they did all eat and were filled. 
 What power is here ! 
 
 See it (2) in His stilling the tempest and the waves. You have 
 been, perhaps, at sea in a storm. Suddenly the tempest breaks 
 upon the ship, the strong sails have burst into ribbons, the great 
 ropes have snapped like a thread, the huge masts,— -giant trees of 
 the forest which grew strong in the breeze, — have broken like 
 reeds, and ihe poor sea-faring men sre full of terror and can do 
 nothiflg, can, indeed, scarcely maiutaiu ♦heir feet on the reeling 
 vessel, and each one waits for and expects nothing but the found- 
 ering of the ship. But in such a storm as that Jesu^ comes- forth, 
 and He says, " Peace be stiU," and immediately there is a great 
 calm. What power is here ! 
 
 See it (3) in His raising the dead. While your beloved was sick, 
 and while there was yet a little strength you tried every means to 
 keep in the flickering lamp of life, by appliances of medicine, by 
 attention, and watching, and care ; but the lamp grew dimmer 
 and dimmer, and flickered and flickered, and then went out. And 
 now — you stay no longer, you can do no more j and your beloved 
 is carried forth for burial and laid in the grave, already so full of 
 the dead. So it was with Lazarus ; but then comes Jesus and 
 approaches the grave ; the stone is rolled away ; and He says 
 Lazarus come forth," and the dead man comes forth in his grave 
 clothes. And in like manner at the last day, He shall call on the 
 dead and they s^iall come forth. Every grave shall give up its 
 dead ; and the sea shall give up its dead, and they shaU all, small 
 and great, appear before God. VVhat power again is here ! 
 
 See it (4) in his creating light. You are m a dark cave or deep 
 mine, or buried, we shai> say below the earth, in cold and dark- 
 ness. You are perishing^r want of light aad heat, and you have 
 nene of those helps of art bj which light can be produced, and you 
 grope about in darkness, in terror, in despair. But this Jesus 
 speaks : He says; « Let there i^ light," aad' lo ! light breaks forth 
 
^ - 
 
 Kl#. JAMI8 MOOOWALL. 41 
 
 amid'thd^glooin,a«it brok« forth in the craation, searching out 
 wxth itg beams and trying every recess and corner— and dark space, 
 dispelling all darkness with its bright beams. Look at the sun, or 
 When he has set, come forth at night and look up to the heavens, 
 with Its countfe3s stars and you see there the work ot Jesus 'hands. 
 Ho made them all. What power, we once more repeat, is here ! 
 
 Is He not, therefore, able ? Has He not power, strength, ability 1 
 And though I have seisoted only these few instances I might 
 occupy your tune and we' ry your strength, before I could enurae- 
 ratp to you the instances on record every where, in creation, and 
 in providence, of the ability of Jesus. But it is none of the 
 instances creation and providence afford that is referred to in the 
 words of the text. The ability referred to here is the ability to 
 SAVE. At this ♦' saving power " let us look a little more closely :— 
 
 r. To save from what ? 
 
 2. To save how far"? 
 
 3, To save whom ? 
 
 And, Jim, let us consider ickat it is he saves from. You need 
 scarcely be told that it is from sin. "Thou shalt call his name 
 Jesus : for no shall save his people from their fcicj." He saves 
 Irom the consequences of sin. These are all summed up in the 
 terrible expression wa^/t of God. So fearful a thing is the wratti 
 ?u " ^i??f^ ^'"^^ *'^*' ^^® mind startles at the thought, and some in 
 their toHy,have hoped that the expression is a mere figure of 
 speech and that there is no such thing in reality. But the scrip- 
 tures speak of it. The same book that tells us of the power, 
 abtlity, of Jesus tells us of the terrible thing for the removal of 
 which this ability was called into exercise. And these two things 
 are ever found together, nay imply each other— the disease and the 
 remedy, the wrath of God against sin, and Jesus the S'^vioar,~ 
 Jesus able to save from this wrath to the uttermost. ' re it is 
 therefore, that Christ is able: this is the ability the text loxers to | 
 the ability to save from the consequences of sin even the wrath ot 
 an offended God . 
 
 But the consequences of sin are not all He saves from. The 
 ^sequences might be removed and yet the cause might remain. 
 But He, such is His ability, He saves from the cause likewise. Ho 
 delivers His people,— befo- . He ceases to put forth His ability on 
 their behalt,—from the being of sin. He is able to wash as no 
 water can wash, to purge from all vileness as ko rehner's fire can 
 purge, to cleanse until the guiltiest of His people are made whiter 
 than the snow. But the matter that falls to be considered under 
 this head is so familiar to you that I need not further enlarge. 
 
 Let us, in the second pt.je, consider to what extent He is able ta 
 save. The text says,— « To the uttermost-" The word rendered 
 uttermost is a word of large meaning. It is an abstract word, " He 
 is able,"— in tho original this is the force of the word,— to save 
 
4ft 
 
 REMAINS OP THi' 
 
 m, 
 
 wholly, entirely, to the entire or toted completion and end, to the 
 uUemwst. His ability, the word implies, is without let, or hin- 
 drance, or limit, or tiaund, or maasiire, ur degree. Lot us look at 
 It HI two aspects:— (1) As to the quality of ilie sin from which he 
 IS able to save. Ami (2) as to the endurance and continuance of 
 this His saving ability. 
 
 (1) As to the quility of the sins from which he can save. 
 'There is only one sin spoken ot for which there is no forgiveness, 
 the sin against the H.)ly UUojt. I shall not refer to it ; but a(.art 
 from that sin the quality of the sin may hi ot the deepest dye, and 
 yet Jesus can save from it: The sui may be most bold and defiant 
 in Its character, yet Jesus can save from it^ " vVhere sin abounded 
 His grace did much more abound." Is the case that where devils 
 have taken possession of the body and its members, then look at 
 Mary Magdalene. Jesus is able to save her. He did save her, 
 and she stood at his cross in grief j and she came early in the 
 morning to his sepulchre; and to her first he appeared after his 
 resurrection ; and her sad heart he made glad when he named her. 
 Look at Peter, the rash, reel' ess disciple. Attor all his intercourse 
 with Jesus, after all the favour shown him, after all the promises 
 made to him, alter all the warnings given to him, alter all his own 
 promises and protestations, he denied thrico that he kn.iw Jesus. 
 And yet Jesus is able to save Peter. And Paul too, Jesus can 
 save. This proud Pharisee was a persecutor, even to blood and 
 death ; he" was a blasphemer of the t ame of Jesus, but this very 
 Paul says : « Jesus is able to save to the uttermost." 
 
 Then consider (2) how long this saving ability endures. ^Q 
 saves you from all past sins and their consequences', but then sin is 
 working in you still ; sin which you may not allow, but sin which 
 at times, deceives and overcomes you; sin that causeth you grief 
 and woe. Can His ability reach onward to the fuuire, as it, 
 stretches backwards over the past? Yes, if you continue ia His 
 lore. He is able to save you tolally, to completion, to the entire 
 end; fjr the word bears that meaning. He giveth grace for grace, 
 grace lor grace. « Ha that hath begun a good work in you, will 
 perform it until the day of Jesus Christ." " His arm is never 
 shortened, that it cannot save." " His mercy endureth for ever." 
 He is able to save to the ultermost, to completion, to the end. 
 
 Let us in the third place consider whom it is, he is able to save. 
 The text says, <• Ti.^^m that come through him to God." Ic is thus 
 the words stand in ih*? original, though the sense is the same in our 
 translation. '-Them that coma by him." Or even more strictly 
 still, *' 1 ^era that are coming through him. The word ' come," ij 
 in the participial form. The exact f jrm is '* coming." Tho word 
 
 imnlieS in that form, si npiriotnul wraatnt nnm\n.r »..» ^M^^ r._ -II 
 . - - -•- J -- J J j,,„.,.^,,.j vt'itlltlg tiut, UUWiC iUl oiif 
 
 but always coming, ever " travelling between the fulness of Jesus 
 aad the church's necessities." It is they that were commg whea 
 
 i 
 
 -A - 
 
J 
 
 ,.', u 
 
 Rir. JAMES MCDOWAtt. 49 
 
 these words slaiui written. ^'y«"ing as long at 
 
 thfr ^r "*"" P^-^^"' scripture answers to, fits and coiDpletes anc 
 
 &c.; and the Apost'e hacks that gracious invitation w th tL era 
 
 m,.? "'^""' """■" "' "f" ''•'"ly-" And we have the ooiirte, 
 
 ^'ill ""h "• '"« o-;!'".'"-'!'" »..me inviiation, and ofaU sTh „. 
 rhr.'.gh'i.iJ'.r^ot''' '"""" '" '"^ »"«'«"»"»■"» that are coL'ng 
 
 M II With voii, Ni), No ! What aro you oominc tn 7 Whilh.r .,« 
 
 a,°™ :'1J '■ '^""' ■!" y"" ""'"S ' " ' VVhat is yo„rgJa?,%o»r 
 aim, yonr desire, y ,r hope, your ami.iiion. Wh»t are mi f vnn 
 
 come shoit o( coinins to God, :i you seek not to come to* hm 'de 
 
 away .""^H^rVh"" 'n? """'^ "?" '''''' "»""• ^^^ 'etr yo„'rse!f 
 away Oh ! what will become oi your petishina soul vour Ini,.,' 
 
 J?s"^ ""olVr'' "'r' "'"f ^''^ ^ -- giveln'ex'c^'angeT 
 HIS soul 7 Oh ! ye ?miple ones, how long will ye love vanity 1 
 
 ^ But do yon say Yes. Yes, « I would come lo God. I must come 
 
 oh'J'wo.dS l':"?lt'; !'""', "'.' ^'' •'""• -'' «ome to him, and 
 oh ! would I could hnd h.m ! oh, would I could be reconciled to 
 
 huni oh, would I knew he would receive me ! For what am I and 
 and what shall become of me, ,f J am notcomin^ to God a^d com 
 ing to h,m through Jesus. And were .his we gJt. this burden th?s 
 mu h.hty removed from me I would come, I wSuid come ; bu" Ws 
 SolLl 'r ] h^*''''''^'""^ '^"^ ^^^'^5 undamso weak/Culand 
 
 hnl cJm?thus"' h"''"', yr ""' " ''""'^^•" ^'' ^•""'^^ come 
 mis come thus. He u able t. save you. That is the way to come 
 
 Ht :s able to «ave you to the uttermost. Come thus He hTr; 
 
 11 L !n u .' *"'® ^""^ """'^ f""^ ^'^"'^ '^'« ability for you. For 
 
 moll ne r' -t' ''"'''; ''' ^''' .'•^''''^ *" ^^^« '^ '^^ uttermls" to the 
 most perfect and entire completeness them that cA.m^ t.hm^.U u;l 
 
 iO IjrOu. o" "'^^ 
 
 • ^l,"** ?°!t ^®'*®v«''' how IS It with your soul ? Are yon one weak 
 J?embli'J\'' rV'^"^' One seeking God, yet with iearand 
 trembling 7 Let me encourage you with these words. He is able 
 to save to the uttermost them that are coming to God by Mm 
 
44 
 
 niMAlKf OT TtfV 
 
 Are you doubtful, faltenng, wavering ? You must not be of doilbC- 
 fill heart ; take courage, il is of Christ it is saia, he is able to save 
 to the tittermost them that are coming to God by him. But your 
 sins, your backslid ings, your wicked thoughts, yjur bad heart! yon 
 are ashamed of yourself, and cannot lift up your eyes. Ah ! Yes ! 
 Your sins no doubt are many, and you do we'll to grieve over these, 
 and because of these ; nnc* yet stay not away on account of these, 
 from your gracious Redeemer. Go with ali your burden and guilt 
 to him. Prostrate your heart at his footstool, for, he is able to save, 
 to save to the uttermost, them that are coming to God through him. 
 He is the door, and through him you may go in an4 out and find 
 pasture. So, poor sinner be encouraged to venture to him again j 
 and take this word with you when vou come and plead it with him. 
 — -'Thou art abl i to save them to the uttermost that come unto God 
 through Thee." May God help us all to come, and to his great 
 name be all the glory no v and forever, Amen. 
 
 I 
 
 £ 
 
 V 
 
 X. 
 
 Xi 
 
 a 
 I 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 ft 
 
 I: 
 
 
 
 SERMON. 
 
 •'And With Him they crucify tivo thi6ve3."~Mark xv. 27. 
 
 There is no event in the life of our Lord on earth that is without 
 significance, and no position even that He was ever in but has 
 some meaning and place m the work He"^came to do on this earth. 
 
 The life of Jesus is too deep and significant for any of His aclR 
 to be without meaning— for even any position He was placed in, to 
 be without purposo. And especially may we seek for this signi- 
 ficance in these His last acts on earth, and very much so in this 
 4Iis last position on earth. For what is the position ?— crucified, 
 and that between two thieves. There was one on tho right hand 
 and another on the left, and Jesus in the midst. " With Him they 
 crucify two thieves." This was the society of his death, this was 
 the company and association of His dying hoars— two thieves. 
 With those He was cruciOud. They did not crucify Him alone, 
 and by Himself. They would degrade Him. He had lived a life 
 of respectability, and they need not thus have degraded Him in 
 His death. They might ^vo given Him to sufftir in His last 
 moments by Himself if i- last needs sufT^r, and not with thieves. 
 But it was not thus they treated Him. ''They ciucify with Him 
 two thieves." 
 
 Ana they surrounded Him with this society. They did not 
 place Him facing the thieves. That would have implied a dis- 
 tinction hotwcen Jesus and these malefactors, but these murderers 
 did not intend that He should be in any way distinguished thus. 
 
 Nor did they place Jesus on the one side, and the thieves on tho 
 other. That would not have satisfied His murderers, so they put 
 
 ..«>- 
 
%vr. Jk^^nt miMWALk 
 
 a 
 
 ..,. 
 
 Rim in tha midit, on «aeh f>id« a thief and Him in the midti. 
 But place Him whera thoy m jjht, or where they would, still He 
 was the distinguished One, etill distinguished whether they put^ 
 Him to death apart and by Himsel'" r whether they placed Him* 
 to one side, or whether they hang tx, .» in the midst, on each side 
 a thief ; He was, and would be, and will be, the most distinguished. 
 Place Him where thev would, and in what position, and with 
 what Bociefcy they might, still he was the chief ovgect, the chief 
 object of their malice, the chief object ot the mockeis that passed by; 
 and thus still He is iho centre cf many n h«art, and many a land. 
 He could not but ba distinguished, place Him where they would, 
 and how they would. There tror^ three crowes. there were threo 
 Tictinis ; but we only speak of, and think sf. on« crojs. We only 
 know the no me of one of tiie viclims. His name is Jesus ; the 
 others! their names are not known. Wc only preach of one of 
 these victims. Tlia other viciimi are thi'ro, but we pr*sach not 
 tnem. Other crosses are Iheie, but we notice thera but little— jast 
 enough to know that they are th«re. All those three crosses were 
 laden and blood-stained, and yet but one of tham i? distinguished. 
 And what makes it to be so? It is hecausa of Him who was on 
 th« cross—Him that hung there— *♦ Him!" What was Ha then T 
 Who was He ! « With Him," we read, '• Witk Hiia" they cruv^fy 
 two thieves.*' 
 
 ♦• With Him." Tlis writer of the Hospol may be regarded, ia 
 one point of Tiew, as if he spake in deep iniijnation when he 
 wrote this. With Him! Oh daring insult! Oh bold dishono; ! 
 "With Him!'' "With Him'' v.Mie never stole aught from 
 any man, but was alwrays giving, with Him they cruciiy 
 two thieves. With Him who did no wickedness, who did not 
 "cry even, nor lift up, nor cause His voice to be heard in the 
 streets," with Him they caicity lawless and bloody men. <* Him !" 
 who had never done evil, in whom there was no guile, whom 
 none of thern could convmco of xiu, with Hun they crucify two 
 thieves. '• Him !" It was He that had reotored sight to their 
 blind. It was He who had healed their diseases. It wp.s He 
 that had raised even their dead. It was He that had spoken as 
 never man spoke. Auu they had cried for His death, and tliey 
 erueify him, and with Him they crucify two thieves. " Him !" of 
 whom many had said "this is that Prophet." Is not this, many 
 had said, our Messiah. Yes indeed He was all that and more 
 than that, even He, with whom they crucify two thieves. For it 
 was He who created these heavens, and that sun, and thesw woods, 
 and this ©arih, and all its beauty of mountains, and hills, and vales, 
 and lakes, and all that is unseen in the deep and oa land. He is 
 the Creator of them all, even He with whom they crucify tw o 
 ihieves. It was He who said *' Let ther? be light, and there was 
 light." It was He who said " Let us make man in our own ira- 
 »ge." He is the Creator of the ends of the earth ; the Holy One, 
 Ike Jjotd, tkeLord God inerciful and gracious, even He, and none 
 
 I 
 
if 
 
 SimiWI 0» TKl 
 
 h. 
 
 1*1- . 
 
 elio than He, with whom they now crueify tvro thiercs. True, H« 
 had veiled His fel )ry for a little. True, He wa« in the lorm of 
 a servant. True, He ha 1 aubmittod to u low and mean estate. 
 True, He was in the flash ; but d was God manifest in the fl-sh, 
 eveti the Lord God, the Mighty God, iha Prince of Life ; and they 
 crucify Him between two thieves, the one on the right hand and 
 the other on the left. 
 
 And this v/iis but a small part of the indignity they put .,n him, 
 but a .ymalt portion of the insult and degradation they heaped upon 
 Him, meek an i silent, as is the xheep before the shearers. 
 
 Let us look a little at the series of indignities they put upon 
 Him. 
 
 They brought a great band of men to apprthend Him. These 
 were surely able to bring Him safely to a place of security and 
 imprisonment; but they would degrade Him, and so they bound 
 Him, We have heard ..f prisoner*,— violent men,— who pleaded 
 not to b? bound, and promised ♦hey would proceed peaceably with 
 the officers of justice ; they felt it degradinjj to be bound ; and men 
 always do. And thay wish to dagrade Jesus, and so they lead 
 Him away bound to Caiaphas. There wag no ne©(» for it. He 
 was njt violent. He had counselled peace. He had followed 
 peace, but thoy would i.isult Him and so ihey bound Him. 
 
 Then, in the house of t!'e Priest, the servants of the Priest 
 gathered around Him and made Him their mock and s^.orn. 
 'i hey spat upon Him. What deep insult was this! Ejt this did 
 not satisfy them . They were cruel loo; for we read that they 
 buffu.ed Him. They struck Him with their fists; and with 
 their open palms they smote Him on the face. 
 
 It was not to try Hini merely they had bound Hira ; it wai not 
 to give Him justice merely that they brought Hiu to judgment ; 
 they wished to wrjak their hate and their wrath upon Him, and 
 "they compassed Him like bees." When brought into the court of 
 Pilate, the soldiers gathered round Him— and they set themselvei 
 to make sport of Him. He is a king ! they said, Yei, let us make a 
 kinn^ of Him. And so they gow some old purple garments and they 
 njbe Him in them. But they lack a crown to set on His head. 
 They might have made a orown of straw, mnd placed it on Hie 
 head. There would hav3 been insult and mv*ckery enough iu that, 
 one would think ; but that would not satis^ them. With their 
 mockery they were cruel. While mocking they would torture, and 
 so they made a crown ; but it .« a orown of thorne.and they laid 
 It on His head, and drove it x.ito His temples. Thev had thug 
 r:.uwned Him, and made Him a king ; but the mockery /as not yet 
 somploted; they Would procure a sceptre for Him, and they 
 brought a reed, and placed it in His hanis. Oh ! meek and uncom- 
 l/Lammg Saviour, that bore it all in silence. Aad then they en- 
 throned Hira. Bm the jest and the play ,?nded not here. They 
 would obey Him .nd do Him homage. And they same and bowed 
 belor* H»rn. They kaeeltd down, aad then risiag, *p«t in Hii 
 
ftBT. UMM MiDOWAU» 
 
 4Y 
 
 W^«!^^ ^^•T'/^*"^ '"•''** ^"^o»^*"d boisteroii., and the 
 
 tm rh«l "' ""^ ^'''"«- '^^«^ "^^^'^^'^ «^'»' li^«- tort .red Hm 
 till they were weary with the.r rude and cruel sport. andVh"a 
 
 cotirnTC 1^:. ""''' ''''''^' ^»^^--"^' cles^oilii^-anJ t- 
 
 Him"awavTo'r«lr°*^*1,^''".f*''''^"P°^ Him, and Ihey hurrie d 
 WM-the J kH R "'' "*'^ ^«^k dreary, and ready to faint a, He 
 TnTm Jf M '" °'^" °'''" ^'* "'" shoulders that He might carry 
 L" ? u ^°"®' "°' even the meanest and moU degraded 
 th?v rj'^H"'' was mean •nou^^h to carry it for Him. Bul^wl en 
 r^r/ht «T "^*fu"* V'^ ^'' ^°»»**' ^'^•y ^°"«d le,,t their vTc m 
 Si* «nJT •" '''"'i *'*"'^*' '''" '^''" ^«^°hed the place of crucifix^ 
 made h^m ?nlf "T'^ upon some p.^-.r by from the country and 
 S!l\ f / ^'"7r °^°'* ^*^'"^ •^•»"^* ^"ng His cross. And when 
 n^r^'w- '""J ^L"" '!"''' '"^ ^^^ ''^^ rrid death, that low ..^1" 
 Kht 'h^ h'*'^'. it"^ Pi*'**^ "^"^ -^^^^'^^^ t^v° thieves, onro„ 
 
 ed Him to hang there m peace, to di. in quiet ; there might have 
 ?uce ''%lJ^-^^^/^^-^\y 'l^own Him no^, some slighttrbear! 
 fh«^: -^f^y "s^'l "ot have persecuted Him to the very death to 
 tLdllJ^l l^reath with their mockery and insult ; but their ha e 
 was deep, their wrath was cruel. Oh ! how cruel they were how 
 
 muscle^^"".^''?',' ^^H'«-Sony, at each quiver of t'hes raining 
 t^« ll '• ^ T^ '''^^P'"^ °^ '^'^ ^^^^y head, at eacli heaving o1* 
 the laboring chest, at each sighing of the fainting broken hea ,^ a 
 each groan with racking pain, they gave forth their loud laughter 
 They wa;rged their heads in scorn; "If thou be su_, an onel^ he 
 Christ,~.ome down irom the cross," «'He sa/ed others* Ha 
 cannot ^ve Himself." -This is He that would destroy the tern! 
 pleand binld it in three days." Was not their hate dire and fier?l 
 was not their wrath relentless and cruel ! JScr did hey tase to' 
 mock H.m till Hi« life had ebbed, and His spirit Aet 
 
 Why were they thus angry 1 What had He done to them ? Why 
 all this wrath, and why all this cruelty,-this wild fierce wrath 
 this insatiable cruelty ] What provoked them so What was it 
 
 Xl ;^la?hIdlV'r -'f^fy-f wickedness, and 'rage 
 lury J What had He done to offend them so deeply ? What cause 
 had He given for this constant persecution and torture i lit death 
 even wou d not have satisfied the.n. Had He been removed f cm 
 their sig a; or had He beer taken from the earth in some otC 
 way; or had Ho died in their hands when tliey first apprehended 
 him. the r grief ani disappointment would have been great • for 
 their hearts were full of v. rath and wicked-^e.s; and r^o.fght would 
 
 full on^i^He'ad." ""'' ^'^'^ "^"^ ^^"^^ ^ "^ ^'^^^^^ ""^« 
 ..... .y . ,., .,.,^^ r^-ua.aiijscu .icfH, what provokcd them ? If 
 
 L E p^^^ ^^"■'" ""«'"■ " ""» '"="'- "^ '>"" "-pii- ofJ- 
 
 Th«y had .pent ttany y.ais i. he acciiiisitioii of learning. Th.y 
 
At aJuiAurs o* IB* 
 
 bad itudied much, and long, and hard. They had searched wikk 
 care, the meaning of the Old Testament for the marks of their 
 great Messiah, the Hope of Israel, the Saviour of the chosen peo- 
 ple. They had spoken of Him who was thus to come. They had 
 boasted uf His corning. They had waited foe Him with great ea- 
 gerness und much irapaiienGe. One of earth's mighty ones would 
 He be } a man of prowess in war ; of wisdom in the court ; a lead- 
 er of the Hosts of Israel ; a gatherer of the people ; a subduer of 
 every foe ; a breaker of ev^ry yok» ; an exprller of rvery oppressor. 
 And, in place of such an one, thwre came this Jesu£, this mild and 
 meek man, preaching peace, teachine humility, teaching mercy, 
 teaching forgiveness of injuries. No ruler of embattled hosts was 
 He ; no companion, was Ho, of the rich and the princess uf the 
 people ; no outward preparation did He make tor the iubjugalion 
 of the oppressor. And they were tffended in Him. 
 
 If He had been a mere common man,who had claimed to be this 
 Deliverer,lhey would have left Him alone to go where He would. 
 Bnt they felt He was no ioramon man. His words were mighty 
 and wonderful words. There was in His face, and tone and man- 
 ner, in His words and a^.ts and conduct, something influential, sa- 
 vouring of effect and power and resolution, which men must either 
 hold to or oppose— somcsthing in Him which men must be either 
 attracted to in admiration and aff -tion, or be repelled fiora, in 
 disgust and hate. 
 
 He came with might and po'ver and influence, came indeed as 
 the Messiah, and vet He was so humble, so mean, a friend of pub- 
 licans itnd sinnttr8,ki8 chosen fnendi, not the learned and just men 
 of the nation, but beggars and fishermen, His followera, not large 
 armiesot stalwart soldiers, but crowds of the poor, the maimed, 
 the blind and even the lepers. And so He offended their pride 
 deeply. They could not brook a Saviour like Him. They could 
 not brook teaching such as Hi*. They could not endure virtues 
 such us He practised . And He t^ld ihemselves that their teachiug 
 was vvrong,and ihattheir usSs were worse. Should they not be oftend 
 •d in Him ? Did ihey not well to be offended 1 And He taught 
 them humility, and reproved iheni for being proud, and again taught 
 them humility. Did they not well to be angry ; and to say of Him 
 "this fellow, we know not whence He is?" OHendcd pride, wound 
 ed pride! This stirred their hostility , this roused their passion, 
 this nurtured their hate, this inflamed thair wrath, this goaded them 
 en to all these acts of cruelty, and this fierce savagery which they 
 exhibited towf^rds Him. Yes, my friends, offended pride. That 
 is the %lrong passion. And what passion la like unto ii. Offended 
 pride, offended dignity \ I cannot stop to describe all its workings 
 to you ; I presume you know it. I may theretore take tor granted 
 that you know what it is, what it can do ; what wrath it can stir 
 up, what cruelty , what dire revenge. 
 
 And see here what their cfleuded pride caused them to do. And 
 oa tho yih:r li«nl fc«i what Iht humility ut Chri»t g*Ytt Huii t» 
 
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 MY. iJ>M» un^wiuL, tf'^ 
 
 •uft«r, ana to «uffer without reproach ordomplaint/'jj^'nlay naiil^^'^' 
 have been excused if, in all this mocking and scorning and je«lin|j** '/ 
 and gibing, he too had sdid bitter things. A man like Jesua mijtht**'* 
 have been allo«ved, at least, to speak some truthful words to thsoi 
 But He was silent. '• 
 
 And now let me call again to your remembrance the fact,thal h% 
 whom they thus mocked was not k mere man. " He that hatli . 
 ie«n me hath seen the Father." It was God, the Almighty God, 
 the Creator of the ends of the earth. He who was from eternity, ^.5 
 It wa« God who had oflended their pride, it waa God againat whoin,^'^ 
 all this malice and malignity was verited. It wag God they rudely' , 
 bound. It was God in whose faee they spat It wa« Gud whom 
 they smote with their fists. It waa Goil whom they slapped with ^jj 
 their hands. It was God whom they made a mock king of, crown«d„, ,, 
 with thorns, and madd a jest of. It wai God manffest in the flesh, '*,l^ 
 As far as it was posiible for theia to reach God, they vented . their- , 
 hate upon Him in mockery ani taunt and cruelty- As far as they,,,'., 
 could reach man they opprasied and struck Him ; struck Him witl^;,,'* 
 their fists, str iclr Him with their palms, struck Him with a rod, . 
 smote the thorns into His temples, and all present broke forth into 
 savage laughter. Oh ! here is their sin breught out into visibility. 
 Here their deep enmity makes itself manifest. Here the intensf, .^ 
 malignity of their hearts against God becomes palpably plain aa4. " 
 visible. » 
 
 •' Hear O HejAvens, and give ear O Earth ; for the Lord hath 
 spoken, I have nourished and brought up children and they have .^ 
 rebelled against me." Behold, ye blessed angels, who stand ia .. 
 the presence of God, who are miniitering spirits to do His pleasure; 
 behold here your God, struck at, spat at, mocked at. Oh ! ye 
 burning servauts,that are near to the throne of God, see here how 
 mortals of earth jeer, and taunt, and mock, at your adorable and 
 loved One. Will not they feel this indignity done to their God t 
 Will not they too burn with a holy resentment for the insult und 
 thi wrong done to their Master] Can :hey ever forp:ive it, and 
 I'O true in their allegiance to God? Can they ever meet as friends 
 within the pearly gates of heaven, those who have thus dared to 
 lift their impious hands against their most hol$ and most just One, 
 their God 1 Even though God himself shjiild not feel ofiended,,eyen 
 though He should take no notice of it, and treat those who did 
 it, if that were possible, as if they had not done 't, can those holy 
 beings, and public ;«ervants of God forgive it, and yet remain true 
 in their allegiance to God 1 Oh no; there must be an atonement 
 made for such great \/rong, there must he suitable reparation made 
 for such gross insults offered to their glorious God, else these pure 
 and holy spirits would conspire to drive the mockers and murder- 
 derers of their God from heaven, should they ever enter there. 
 
 iluw, ray friends, do you regard tUe«<o, the iuoukers and murder- 
 ers of God? Wfiat think you of those who thasqiat on Him, blind<> 
 fvldtd Uittif tia9t«, UugUtd arid gaptd iipwa Him with tht it mouthV 
 
11' 
 
 it 
 11 
 
 ftnum Of tnn 
 
 •Mli 
 
 Thitkfou noHhtt thay wtre cruel, that their wrath was fierce. 
 that th«ir malignity was bitter and terrible ? You even are ofier.' 
 ded at them too, wonder how there can be forgiveness for them. 
 rou too thmk that some reparation must be made to God, and His 
 Majaety era lueh iasultert can be admitted to His favor and for- 
 fiveneN. 
 
 But theie, my friends, are only representative men. They alone 
 OT* not the wicked ones of the human race. They, in this act of 
 •heirs, in this maligaity of tlieirs, in this hate of theirs, in this sav- 
 ftf e oQtbUMt of of&ndcd pride,^.they are not alone, they are but reiv 
 rawntatives ot the whole human race. What they did, others 
 had Ujey been there, would have done. What they did, you, sin' 
 aer, had you been there, would have done,— you would have spat 
 M eontettptiiowly struck as fiercely, laughed as loudly, at the 
 •mmng of the Lord of Glory, as any there present. This very thing 
 y««t have already done, and are doing, in your rebellion against 
 t»od. True in your case it has not come to the same visibility 
 tour malignity, your ain end hatred, and fierce enmity have not 
 tieso thus brought forth in palpable form and manifestation ; yeJ 
 Hot the less does it exist, and not the less has it been practised : not 
 the .ew have you mocked God, struck at God, insulted, dared Him 
 and aa far as m you lay, done that to God these men did. Ah ' bat 
 70U eannot see that. 
 
 But come sinnar ! and come too, O believer I and here, at tha 
 foot of the crosa ol Christ, behold the malignity, and hatred of thtt 
 hunynheart,~its hatred of God,— its deep and "fierce enmity to- 
 wardi Hira,— "for the carnal mind is enmity against God "—in 
 Bavage entity, persecuting the Lord of Glory even to the very 
 0at« of doath,with sufferiog.taunt and mockery unparalleled ! You 
 •eetkis hatred here, at the foot of the cross, you see i: comioff 
 lorth into visible shape, taking form and substance. 
 
 But BOW some will plead these mockers and murderers of th« 
 Lord did not know it was God they were thus mocking. Nor did 
 you believer, know that you were mocking and insuJtinir'and 
 ■raiting with your $st at God. And alas! that it shouKi be so. 
 that such excellence appeared on earth—such a glorious Bein'^- at 
 trod manifatt m the ftesh, and yet men knew him not. And will 
 it avail to say they knew Him not? This is adding crime to 
 eriisa j "that light came into the world, and that the world should 
 not kaew it-'- And you know not, you say, that it was God voia 
 W4t9 smiting at, that you hated, that you were wroth against. Ah f 
 but that will avail yon nothing. It only adds to your sin. 
 
 Aad you too, in your rebellion, were in the same offence. You 
 too were ia the same condemn ntion. True indeed, Christ cannot 
 be comingt m human form to every sinner, to bring out into visible 
 form and shape the malignity ot each sinner in particular. It was 
 enough that He has shown it to exist in the human heart : not in 
 -.-^,^^ _-.^.™. _ .„.i_aist, iiwi, ill laa ureasts or an isoiateU and unknown 
 iw^^^if but ia the breasts of th»» most favoured of nations. He haa 
 
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 brave officers of the Roman Array j in the u^U-tig^UomWu'^l 
 
 Uh ! but the sinner thi.. .s better of hJmstIf tham thti W. ht^mM 
 
 AI L'r Th' ?l.^1 ^"^"^y ' ^« ^^"^^ notTpft a G^T/tlJ! Ikil 
 A as I that the deceit and powrer of .in .hould n»ak. yaa think 2 
 ft^r already, to the extent of your opportunity yon hir* dlw S * 
 the evil of evils manifest itself i„ you as in ik.iu. * 
 
 ihus, with these mockers of God, and murdtwioftlr. Jij.iO«. 
 would I place you, O believers, that you may MiT.SwtlTi lli! 
 you were, and what you have been proreTtVb./ niae. i J « 
 Uiis Communion, Sabbath at the foot of thi. Cro«, aid Idei^JT ™ 
 to consider yourselves not as spectator,, but a. m!o?« at Mrt^tiJT 
 lor. in ihese scenes ; as yourselves, hater^ aid ro^karrof <^^^ 
 as hose who were filled with all possibla maliffnTw awi.,* ki« ' 
 oi sin,— a uttie of its int«Q«e malignity, '^ ^"f^u* 
 
 But why did God permit all this? Why hta H« Btriiiittad .1 ff 
 Why does He still permit it I Why wai it that wh.r.l . • i 
 Him in the garden'and made Him tLTr prionl ; h/ d d /at J."« 
 mand the myriads of angels that .urround.THi. to .o^!!^^^^ 
 
 darkness? Why was it, that when they tpat upon Him ev.^ 
 drop of moisture in their bodies wa. not ehaafed^w 1 muid ia^ 
 Why when they mocked Him and seoffed at Rim wera^^^^^ 
 •truck with drivelling idiocy ? Why did He «.t2!t^!f!i,! .^ A*? 
 my friends, my felfow.beiJeverri'a Ch^i "^jTau.*" ^^^ 
 Lord and Saviour, see here, in the Crew, the wand roSi wiiS^ 
 the wondrous condescension, and wondria. loyl "r God ^i^^ 
 
 • p" J Tu^ °^ ''] ^^ ""^^^ 'J^^ll I "P^k iirsr and of what ul7 
 
 Behold His tmsdom. Here He would bring foth^o Yisi^ihiV^ 
 
 fere heaven and earth and hell, the dean mJi.nrt,- V ! . ^ • . 
 
 H«M at the foot of th. CroM of Chritl, Uhold liuw b,|,,M rt 
 
ri 
 
 lltfATlM OVfVimiV. Ulflf IMMWAtl. 
 
 ♦s'Wdadrbus wisdom, and love of our God and Saviour Jasui Chriit. 
 & Both are aeen, and both, only here, reach their climax. 
 *• Yes, ccme near, and see again an-* afi:ain the wondrous love 
 ef God. "Father, he says, forgive then, for they know not 
 what they do." His very prayer is for them who thus mock 
 -4 Him with their bitter jests. But how can this bet How 
 •au they possibly be forgiven? Will not all the Holy Ones of 
 heaven be in arms agaiost them t And though they should be for- 
 iu given by GTodjCan thosa holy beini^ forgive the insultors of their 
 Lord and God? And. here again I say believer, behold the won- 
 f ' drous Wisdom and love of God. Draw near and look at this, look 
 ! f leag and earnestly. It was thus, in the flesh and on the Cross, that 
 i*>H» drew forth the full malignity of the human heart against Him- 
 self. And when He had brought it forth to full manifestation 
 « when It had come to visibility, when it had reached its culminating 
 pr^int afainst Himself, He did not then come down from the cross 
 and appear in His glory, and in His vengeance. He did not appear 
 3 Jb' flamela of fire in judgm-int. No. He was then ready to die, to 
 Hodie as an atonement for this very malignity of sin, to die for Jits 
 w^^topWs sin. Sin had reached its climax. His love had reached a 
 higher elimax. And He cried " It is finished,^^ and gave up the 
 jSii Ghost. Never before t.r since did sin appear so exceeding sinful 
 .te.as aronnd the cross. The very coming of Christ caused ''the 
 is/iv^ellenee to abound." " But where sin abounded grace did much 
 more abound, that as sin hath roigned unto death, even so might 
 1^, grace reign, through righteousness, unto eternal life by Jesus 
 l>«s:^'»«* <>"f I^rd." For this let glory be to God. Amen. 
 
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