Then, after the mention of some other particulars, he adds:—

"Blessed and adored for ever be the holy name of my Heavenly Father, who holds my soul in life, and my body in perfect health! Were I to recount his mercy and goodness to me even in the midst of all these hurries, I should never have done. I hope your Master will still encourage you in his work, and make you a blessing to many. My dearest friend, I am much more yours than I can express, and shall remain so while I am J.G."

In this correspondence I had a further opportunity of discovering that humble resignation to the will of God which made so amiable a part of his character, and of which I had before seen so many instances. He speaks, in the letter from which I have just been giving an extract, of the hope he had expressed in a former of seeing us again that winter; and he adds:—

"To be sure, it would have been a great pleasure to me; but we poor mortals form projects, and the Almighty ruler of the universe disposes of all as he pleases. A great many of us were getting ready for our return to England, when we received an order to march towards Frankfort, to the great surprise of the whole army, neither can any of us comprehend what we are to do there; for there is no enemy in that country, the French army being marched into Bavaria, where I am sure we cannot follow them. But it is the will of the Lord, and his will be done! I desire to bless and praise my Heavenly Father that I am entirely resigned to it. It is no matter where I go, or what becomes of me, so that God may be glorified in my life, or my death, I should rejoice much to hear that all my friends were equally resigned."

The mention of this article reminds me of another relating to the views which he had of obtaining a regiment for himself. He endeavoured to deserve it by the most faithful services; some of them, indeed beyond what the strength of his constitution could well bear—for the weather in some of these marches proved exceedingly bad, and yet he would be always at the head of his people, that he might look, with the exactest care, to every thing that concerned them. This obliged him to neglect the beginnings of a feverish illness, the natural consequence of which was that it grew very formidable, forced a long confinement upon him, and gave animal nature a shock which it never recovered.

In the mean time, as he had the promise of a regiment before he quitted England, his friends were continually expecting an occasion of congratulating him on having received the command of one. Still they were disappointed, and on some of them the disappointment seemed to sit heavy. As for the colonel himself, he seemed quite easy about it, and appeared much greater in that easy situation of mind than the highest military honours and preferments could have made him. With great pleasure do I at this moment recollect the unaffected serenity, and even indifference, with which he expresses himself upon this occasion, in a letter to me, dated about the beginning of April, 1743.

"The disappointment of a regiment is nothing to me, for I am satisfied that, had it been for God's glory, I should have had it, and I should have been sorry to have had it on any other terms. My Heavenly Father has bestowed upon me infinitely more than if he had made me emperor of the whole world."

I find several parallel expressions in other letters, and those to his lady about the same time were just in the same strain. In an extract from one which was written from Aix-la-Chapelle, April 21, the same year, I meet with these words:

"People here imagine I must be sadly troubled that I have not got a regiment, (for six out of seven vacant are now disposed of): but they are strangely mistaken, for it has given me no sort of trouble. My Heavenly Father knows what is best for me; and blessed and ever adored be his name, he has given me an entire resignation to his will. Besides, I do not know that I met with any disappointment, since I was a Christian, but it pleased God to discover to me that it was plainly for my advantage, by bestowing something better upon me afterwards, many instances of which I am able to produce; and therefore I should be the greatest of monsters, if I did not trust in him."

I should be guilty of a great omission, if I were not to add how remarkably the event corresponded with his faith on this occasion; for whereas he had no intimation or expectation of any thing more than a regiment of foot, his Majesty was pleased, out of his great goodness, to give him a regiment of dragoons which was then quartered in his own neighborhood. It is properly remarked by the reverend and worthy person through whose hand this letter was transmitted to me, that when the colonel thus expressed himself, he could have no prospect of what he afterwards so soon obtained, as General Bland's regiment, to which he was advanced, was only vacant on the 19th of April—that is, two days before the date of this letter, when it was impossible he should have any notice of that vacancy. It also deserves observation, that some few days after the colonel was thus unexpectedly promoted to the command of these dragoons, Lord Cornwallis's regiment of foot, then in Flanders, became vacant. Now, had this happened before his promotion to General Bland's, Colonel Gardiner, in all probability, would only have had that regiment of foot, and so would have continued in Flanders. When the affair was settled, he informs Lady Frances of it in a letter dated from a village near Frankfort, 3d May, in which he refers to his former of the 21st of April, observing how remarkably it was verified "in God's having given him" (for so he expressed it, agreeably to the views which he continually maintained of the universal agency of Divine Providence) "what he had no expectation of, and what was so much better than that which he had missed—a regiment of dragoons quartered at his own door."



CHAPTER XII.

RETURN TO ENGLAND.

It appeared to him that by this remarkable event Providence called him home. Accordingly, though he had other preferments offered him in the army, he chose to return, and I believe the more willingly, as he did not expect there would have been an action. Just at this time it pleased God to give him an awful instance of the uncertainty of human prospects and enjoyments, by that violent fever which seized him at Ghent on his way to England, and perhaps the more severely for the efforts he made to push on his journey, though he had for some days been much indisposed. It was, I think, one of the first fits of severe illness he had ever met with, and he was ready to look upon it as a sudden call into eternity; but it gave him no painful alarm in that view. He committed himself to the God of his life, and in a few weeks he was so well recovered as to be capable of pursuing his journey, though not without difficulty. I cannot but think it might have conduced much to a more perfect recovery than he ever attained, to have allowed himself a longer repose, in order to recruit his exhausted strength and spirits. But there was an activity in his temper not easy to be restrained, and it was now stimulated, not only with a desire to see his friends, but of being with his regiment, that he might omit nothing in his power to regulate their morals and their discipline, and to form them for public service. Accordingly, about the middle of June, 1743, he passed through London, where he had the honour of waiting on their royal highnesses, the Prince and Princess of Wales, and of receiving from both the most obliging token of favour and esteem. He arrived at Northampton on Monday the 21st of June, and spent part of three days there. But the great pleasure which his return and preferment gave us, was much abated by observing his countenance so sadly altered, and the many marks of languor and remaining disorder which evidently appeared, so that he really looked ten years older than he had done ten months before. I had, however, a satisfaction sufficient to counterbalance much of the concern which this alteration gave me, in a renewed opportunity of observing, indeed more sensibly than ever, in how remarkable a degree he was dead to the enjoyments and views of this mortal life. When I congratulated him on the favourable appearances of Providence for him in the late event, he briefly told me the remarkable circumstances that attended it, with the most genuine expressions of gratitude to God for them; but added, "that as his account was increased with his income, power, influence, and his cares were proportionably increased too, it was, as to his own personal concern, much the same to him whether he had remained in his former station, or been elevated to this; but that if God should by this means honour him as an instrument of doing more good than he could otherwise have done, he should rejoice in it."

I perceived that the near views he had taken of eternity, in the illness from which he was then so imperfectly recovered, had not in the least alarmed him; but that he would have been entirely willing, had such been the determination of God, to have been cut short in a foreign land, without any earthly friend near him, and in the midst of a journey undertaken with hopes and prospects so pleasing to nature, which appeared to me no inconsiderable evidence of the strength of his faith. But we shall wonder the less at this extraordinary resignation, if we consider the joyful and assured prospect which he had of a happiness infinitely superior beyond the grave; of which that worthy minister of the church of Scotland, who had an opportunity of conversing with him quickly after his return, and having the memorable story of his conversion from his own mouth, (as I have hinted above,) writes thus in his letter to me, dated Jan. 14, 1746-7:

"When he came to review his regiment at Linlithgow, in summer 1743, after having given me the wonderful story as above, he concluded in words to this purpose: Let me die whenever it shall please God, or wherever it shall be, I am sure I shall go to the mansions of eternal glory, and enjoy my God and my Redeemer in heaven for ever."

While he was with us at this time he appeared deeply affected with the sad state of things as to religion and morals, and seemed to apprehend that the rod of God was hanging over so sinful a nation. He observed a great deal of disaffection which the enemies of the government had, by a variety of artifices, been raising in Scotland for some years; and the number of Jacobites there, together with the defenceless state in which our island then was, with respect to the number of its forces at home, (of which he spoke at once with great concern and astonishment,) led him to expect an invasion from France, and an attempt in favour of the Pretender, much sooner than it happened. I have heard him often say, many years before it came so near being accomplished, "that a few thousands might have a fair chance for marching from Edinburgh to London uncontrolled, and throw the whole Kingdom into an astonishment." And I have great reason to believe that this was one main consideration which engaged him to make such haste to his regiment, then quartered in those parts, as he imagined there was not a spot of ground where he might be more likely to have a call to expose his life in the service of his country, and perhaps, by appealing on a proper call early in its defences, be instrumental in suppressing the beginnings of most formidable mischief. How rightly he judged in these things, the event too evidently showed.

The evening before our last separation, as I knew I could not more agreeably entertain the valuable friend who was then my guest, I preached a sermon in my own house, with some peculiar reference to his case and circumstances, from those ever-memorable words, than which I have never felt any more powerful and more comfortable: Psalm xci. 14, 15, 16, "Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him, and honour him: with long life (or length of days) will I satisfy him, and show him my salvation." This scripture could not but lend our meditations to survey the character of the good man, as one who so knows the name of the blessed God—has such a deep apprehension of the glories and perfections of his nature—as determinately to set his love upon him, to make him the supreme object of his most ardent and constant affection. And it suggested the most sublime and animating hopes to persons of such a character, that their prayers shall be always acceptable to God; that though they may, and must, be called to their share in the troubles and calamities of life, yet they may assure themselves of the divine presence in all, which will issue in their deliverance, in their exaltation, sometimes in distinguished honour and esteem among men, and, it may be, in a long course of useful and happy years on earth; at least, which shall undoubtedly end in seeing, to their perpetual delight, the complete salvation of God, in a world where they shall enjoy length of days for ever and ever, and employ them all in adoring the great Author of their salvation and felicity. It is evident that these natural thoughts on such a Scripture were matters of universal concern. Yet had I, as a minister of the gospel, known that this was the last time I should address Colonel Gardiner, and had I foreseen the scenes through which God was about to lead him, I hardly know what considerations I could have suggested with more peculiar propriety. The attention, elevation, and delight with which he heard them, were very apparent, and the pleasure which the observation of it gave me, continues to this moment.

Let me be permitted to digress so far as to add, that this is indeed the great support of a Christian minister under the many discouragements and disappointments which he meets with in his attempts to fix upon the profligate or the thoughtless part of mankind a deep sense of religious truth; that there is another important part of his work in which he may hope to be more generally successful; as, by plain, artless, but serious discourses, the great principles of Christian duty and hope may be nourished and invigorated in good men, their graces watered as at the root, and their souls animated, both to persevere and improve in holiness. When we are effectually performing such benevolent offices, so well suiting our immortal natures, to persons whose hearts are cemented with ours in the hands of the most endearing and sacred friendship, it is too little to say that it overpays the fatigue of our Labours; it even swallows up all sense of it in the most rational and sublime pleasure.

An incident occurred that evening, which, at least for the oddness of it, may deserve a place in these memoirs. I had then with me one Thomas Porter, a poor but very honest and religious man, (now living at Hatfield Broad-Oak in Essex,) who is quite unacquainted with letters, so as not to be able to distinguish one from another, yet is master of the contents of the Bible in so extraordinary a degree, that he has not only fixed an immense number of texts in his memory, but, merely by hearing them quoted in sermons, has registered there the chapter and verse in which these passages are to be found. This is attended with a marvellous facility in directing readers to turn to them, and a most unaccountable talent of fixing on such as suit almost every imaginable variety of circumstances in common life. There are in this case two considerations that make it the more wonderful; the one, that he is a person of very low genius, having, besides a stammering which makes his speech almost unintelligible to strangers, so wild and awkward a manner of behaviour, that he is frequently taken for an idiot, and seems in many things to be indeed so;—the other, that he grew up to manhood in a very licentious course of living, and an entire ignorance of divine things, so that all these exact impressions on his memory have been made in his riper years. I thought it would not be disagreeable to the colonel to introduce to him this odd phenomenon, which many hundreds of people have had a curiosity to examine; and, among all the strange things I have seen in him, I never remember any that equalled what passed on this occasion. On hearing the colonel's profession, and receiving some hints of his religious character, he ran through a vast variety of scriptures, beginning at the Pentateuch and going on to the Revelation, relating either to the dependence to be fixed on God for the success of military preparations, or to the instances and promises occurring there for his care of good men in the most imminent dangers, or to the encouragement to despise perils and death, while engaged in a good cause, and supported by the views of a happy immortality. I believe he quoted more than twenty of these passages, and I must freely own that I know not who could have chosen them with greater propriety. If my memory deceive me not, the last of this catalogue was that from which I afterwards preached, on the lamented occasion of this great man's fall: "Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life." We were all astonished at so remarkable a feat, and I question not but many of my readers will think the memory of it worthy of being thus preserved.

But to return to my main subject: The day after the sermon and conversation of which I have been speaking, I took my best leave of my inestimable friend, after attending him some part of his way northward. The first stage of our journey was to the cottage of that poor but religious family which I had before occasion to mention as relieved, and indeed in a great measure subsisted by his charity. Nothing could be more delightful than to observe the condescension with which he conversed with these his humble pensioners. We there put up our last united prayers together; and he afterwards expressed, in the strongest terms I have ever heard him use on such an occasion, the singular pleasure with which he had joined in them. Indeed it was no small satisfaction to me to have an opportunity of recommending such a valuable friend to the divine protection and blessing, with that particular freedom and enlargement on what was peculiar in his circumstances, which hardly any other situation, unless we had been quite alone, could so conveniently have admitted. We went from thence to the table of a person of distinction in the neighborhood, where he had an opportunity of showing in how decent and graceful a manner he could unite the Christian and the gentleman, and give conversation an improving and religious turn, without violating any of the rules of polite behaviour, or saying or doing any thing, which looked at all constrained or affected. Here we took our last embrace, committing each other to the care of the God of heaven; and the colonel pursued his journey to the north, where he spent the remainder of his days.

The more I reflect upon this appointment of Providence, the more I discern the beauty and wisdom of it—not only as it led directly to that glorious period of life with which God had determined to honour him, and in which, I think, it becomes all his friends to rejoice, but also as the retirement on which he entered could not but have a happy tendency to favour his more immediate and complete preparation for so speedy a remove. To this we may add, that it must probably have a very powerful influence to promote the interests of religion (incomparably the greatest of all interests) among the members of his own family, who must surely be edified by such daily lessons as they received from his lips, when they saw them illustrated and enforced by so admirable an example, and for two complete years. It is the more remarkable, as I cannot find from the memoirs of his life in my hands that he had ever been so long at home since he had a family, or indeed, from his childhood, ever so long at a time in any one place.

With how clear a lustre his lamp shone, and with what holy vigour his loins were girded up in the service of his God in these his latter days, I learn in part from the letters of several excellent persons in the ministry, or in secular life, with whom I have since conversed or corresponded. In his many letters dated from Bankton during this period, I have still further evidence how happy he was amidst those infirmities of body, which his tenderness for me would seldom allow him to mention; for it appears from them what a daily intercourse he kept up with Heaven, and what delightful communion with God crowned his attendance on public ordinances, and his sweet hours of devout retirement. He mentions his sacramental opportunities with peculiar relish, crying out, as in a holy rapture, in reference to one and another of them, "Oh how gracious a Master do we serve! how pleasant is his service; how rich the entertainments of his love! yet how poor and cold are our services!" But I will not multiply quotations of this sort after those I have given above, which may be a sufficient specimen of many more in the same strain. This hint may suffice to show that the same ardour of soul held out in a great measure to the last; and indeed it seems that towards the close of life, like the flame of a lamp almost expiring, it sometimes exerted an unusual blaze.

He spent much of his time at Bankton in religious solitude; and one most intimately conversant with him assures me that the traces of that delightful converse with God which he enjoyed in it might easily be discerned in the solemn yet cheerful countenance with which he often came out of his closet. Yet his exercises there must sometimes have been very mournful, considering the melancholy views which he had of the state of our public affairs.

"I should be glad," says he, (in a letter which he sent me about the close of the year 1743,) "to hear what wise and good people among you think of the present circumstances of things. For my own part, though I thank God I fear nothing for myself, my apprehensions for the public are very gloomy, considering the deplorable prevalency of almost all kinds of wickedness amongst us—the natural consequence of the contempt of the gospel. I am daily offering my prayers to God for this sinful land of ours, over which his judgments seem to be gathering; and my strength is sometimes so exhausted with those strong cries and tears, which I pour out before God on this occasion, that I am hardly able to stand when I arise from my knees."

If we have many remaining to stand in the breach with equal fervency, I hope, crying as our provocations are, that God will still be entreated for us, and save us.

Most of the other letters I had the pleasure of receiving from him after our last separation, are either filled, like those of former years, with tender expressions of affectionate solicitude for my domestic comfort and public usefulness, or relate to the writings I published during this time, or to the affairs of his eldest son, then under my care. But these are things which are by no means of a nature to be communicated here. It is enough to remark, in general, that the Christian was still mingled with all the care of the friend and the parent.



CHAPTER XIII.

REVIVAL OF RELIGION.

But I think it incumbent upon me to observe, that during this time, and for some preceding years, his attention, ever wakeful to such concerns, was much engaged by some religious appearances which happened about this time both in England and Scotland, and with regard to which some may be curious to know the colonel's sentiments. He communicated them to me with the most unreserved freedom; and I cannot apprehend myself under any engagement to conceal them, as I am persuaded that it will be no prejudice to his memory that they should be publicly known.

It was from Colonel Gardiner's pen that I received the first notice of that ever memorable scene which was opened at Kilsyth, under the ministry of the Rev. Mr. M'Culloch in the month of February, 1741-2. He communicated to me the copy of two letters from that eminently-favoured servant of God, giving an account of that extraordinary success which had within a few days accompanied his preaching, when, as I remember, in a little more than a fortnight, one hundred and thirty souls, who had before continued in long insensibility under the faithful preaching of the gospel, were awakened on a sudden to attend to it, as if it had been a new revelation brought down from heaven, and attested by as astonishing miracles as ever were wrought by Peter or Paul, though they only heard it from a person under whose ministry they had sat for several years. Struck with a power and majesty in the word of God which they had never felt before, they crowded his house night and day, making their applications to him for spiritual direction and assistance, with an earnestness and solicitude which floods of tears and cries, that swallowed up their own words and his, could not sufficiently express. The colonel mentioned this at first to me "as matter of eternal praise, which he knew would rejoice my very soul;" and when he saw it spread in the neighbouring parts, and observed the glorious reformation which it produced in the lives of great multitudes, and the abiding fruits of it, for succeeding months and years, it increased and confirmed his joy. But the facts relating to this matter have been laid before the world in so authentic a manner, and the agency of divine grace in them has been so rationally vindicated, and so pathetically represented, in what the reverend and judicious Mr. Webster has written upon that subject, that it is altogether superfluous for me to add any thing further than my hearty prayers that the work may be as extensive as it was glorious and divine.[*]

[*Note: See "Revivals in Scotland," published by the Board of Publication.]

It was with great pleasure that he received any intelligence of a like kind from England, whether the clergy of the Established Church or dissenting ministers, whether our own countrymen or foreigners, were the instruments of it. Whatever weaknesses or errors might mingle themselves with valuable qualities in such as were active in such a work, he appeared to love and honour them in proportion to the degree he saw reason to believe that their hearts were devoted to the service of Christ, and their attempts owned and succeeded by him. I remember, that mentioning one of these gentlemen who had been remarkably successful in his ministry, and who seemed to have met with some very unkind usage, he says, "I had rather be that despised, persecuted man, to be an instrument in the hand of the Spirit in converting so many souls, and building up so many in their holy faith, than I would be emperor of the whole world." Yet this steady and judicious Christian, (for such he most assuredly was,) at the same time that he esteemed a man for his good intentions, and his worthy qualities, did not suffer himself to be hurried away into all the singularity of his sentiments, or to admire his imprudences or excesses. On the contrary, he saw and lamented that artifice which the great father of fraud has so long and so successfully been practising, and who, like the enemies of Israel, when he cannot entirely prevent the building of God's temple, does, as it were, offer his assistance to carry on the work, that he may thereby get the most effectual opportunities of obstructing it. The colonel often expressed his astonishment at the wide extremes into which some whom on the whole he thought very worthy men, were permitted to run in many doctrinal and speculative points, and discerned how evidently it appeared from hence that we cannot argue the truth of any doctrine from the success of the preacher, since this would be a kind of demonstration which might equally prove both parts of a contradiction. Yet when he observed that a high regard to the atonement and righteousness of Christ, and to the free grace of God in him, exerted by the operation of the Divine Spirit, was generally common to all who had been peculiarly successful in the conversion and reformation of men, (how widely soever their judgments might differ in other points, and how warmly soever their judgments might oppose each other in consequence of that diversity,) it tended greatly to confirm his faith in these principles, as well as to open his heart in love to all, of every denomination, who maintained an affectionate regard to them. Although what he remarked as to the conduct and success of ministers of the most opposite strains of preaching confirmed him in these sentiments, yet he always esteemed and loved virtuous and benevolent men, even where he thought them the most mistaken in the notions they formed of religion, or in the methods by which they attempted to serve it.

While I thus represent what all who knew him must soon have observed of Colonel Gardiner's affectionate regard to these peculiar doctrines of our holy religion, it is necessary that I should also inform my reader that it was not his opinion that the attention of ministers or their hearers should be wholly engrossed by these, excellent as they are; but that all the parts of the scheme of truth and duty should be regarded in their due connection and proportion. Far from that distempered taste which can bear nothing but cordials, it was his deliberate judgment that the law as well as the gospel should be preached; and hardly any thing gave him greater offence than the irreverent manner in which some who have been ignorantly extolled as the most zealous evangelical preachers, have sometimes been tempted to speak of the former, much indeed to the scandal of all consistent and judicious Christians. He delighted to be instructed in his duty, and to hear much of the inward exercises of the spiritual and divine life. He always wished, so far as I could observe, to have these topics treated in a rational as well as spiritual manner, with solidity and order of thought, with perspicuity and weight of expression, well knowing that religion is a most reasonable service—that God has not chosen idiots or lunatics as the instruments, or nonsense as the means of building up his church—and that though the charge of enthusiasm is often fixed on Christianity and its ministers in a wild, undeserved, and, indeed, on the whole, enthusiastical manner, by some of the loudest or most solemn pretenders to reason, yet there is really such a thing as enthusiasm, against which it becomes the true friends of revelation to be diligently on their guard, lest Christianity, instead of being exalted, should be greatly corrupted and debased, and all manner of absurdity, both in doctrine and practice, introduced by methods which, like persecution, throw truth and falsehood on a level, and render the grossest errors at once more plausible and more incurable. He had too much candour and equity to fix general charges of this nature; but he was really (and I think not vainly,) apprehensive that the emissaries and agents of the most corrupt church that ever dishonoured the Christian name, (by which, it will easily be understood, I mean that of Rome,) might very possibly insinuate themselves into societies to which they could not otherwise have access, and make their advantage of that total resignation of the understanding, and contempt of reason and learning, which nothing but ignorance, delirium, or knavery can dictate, to lead men blindfolded whither it pleased, till it set them down at the foot of an altar where transubstantiation itself was consecrated.

I know not where I can more properly introduce another part of the colonel's character, which, obvious as it was, I have not yet touched upon; I mean his tenderness to those who were under any spiritual distress, wherein he was indeed an example to ministers in a duty more peculiarly theirs. I have seen many amiable instances of this myself, and I have been informed of many others. One of these happened about the time of that awakening in the western parts of Scotland, which I touched upon above, when the Rev. Mr. M'Laurin, of Glasgow, found occasion to witness to the great propriety, judgment, and felicity of manner, with which he addressed spiritual consolation to an afflicted soul who applied to the professor at a time when he had not an opportunity immediately to give audience to the case. Indeed so long ago as the year 1726, I find him writing in this regard to a friend in a strain of tenderness which might well have become the most affectionate and experienced pastor. He there congratulates him on some religious enjoyments, lately received, (in part, it seems, by his means) when, among others, he has this modest expression: "If I have been made any way the means of doing you good, give the whole glory to God; for he has been willing to show that the power was entirely of himself, since he has been pleased to make use of so very weak an instrument." In the same letter he admonishes his friend that he should not be too much surprised, if after having been (as he expressed it) upon the mount, he should be brought into this valley again, reminding him that "we live by faith, and not by sensible assurance," and representing that there are some such full communications from God as seem almost to swallow up the actings of faith, from whence they take their rise: "Whereas, when a Christian who walks in darkness, and sees no light, will yet hang, as it were, on the report of an absent Jesus, and" (as one expresses it in allusion to the story of Jacob and Joseph) "can put himself as on the chariot of the promises, to be borne on to Him whom he sees not; there may be sublimer and more acceptable actings of a pure and strong faith than in moments which afford the soul a much more rapturous delight." This is the substance of what he says in this excellent letter. Some of the phrases made use of might not perhaps be intelligible to several of my readers, for which reason I do not exactly transcribe them all; but this is plainly and fully his meaning, and most of the words are his own. The sentiment is surly very just and important; and happy would it be for many excellent persons, who, through wrong notions of the nature of faith, (which was never more misrepresented than now among some,) are perplexing themselves with the most groundless doubts and scruples, if it were more generally understood, admitted, and considered.



CHAPTER XIV.

APPREHENSIONS OF DEATH.

An endeared friend, who was most intimately conversant with the colonel during the last two years of his life, has favoured me with an account of some little circumstances relating to him, which I esteem as precious fragments, by which the consistent tenor of his character may be further illustrated. I shall therefore insert them here, without being very solicitous as to the order in which they are introduced.

He perceived himself evidently in a very declining state from his first arrival in Britain, and seemed to entertain a fixed apprehension that he should continue but a little while longer in life. "He expected death," says my good correspondent, "and was delighted with the prospect," which did not grow less amiable by the nearer approach. The word of God, with which he had as intimate an acquaintance as most men I ever knew, and on which (especially on the New Testament) I have heard him make many very judicious and accurate remarks, was still his daily study; and it furnished him with matter of frequent conversation, much to the edification and comfort of those that were about him. It was recollected that, among other passages, he had lately spoken of the following as having made a deep impression on his mind: "My soul, wait thou only upon God." He would repeat it again and again, only, only, only! So plainly did he see, and so deeply did he feel, the vanity of creature confidence and expectations. With the strongest attestation would he often mention those words in Isaiah, as verified by long experience: "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee." And with peculiar satisfaction would he utter those heroic words in Habakkuk, which he found armour of proof against every fear and every contingency: "Though the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meal; the flocks shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls; yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation." The 145th Psalm was also spoken of by him with great delight, and Dr. Watts's version of it, as well as several others of that excellent person's poetical compositions. My friend who transmits to me this account, adds the following words, which I desire to insert with the deepest sentiments of unfeigned humility and self-abasement before God, as most unworthy the honour of contributing in the least degree to the joys and graces of one so much my superior in every part of the Christian character. "As the joy with which good men see the happy fruits of their labours, makes a part of the present reward of the servants of God and the friends of Jesus, it must not be omitted, even in a letter to you, that your spiritual hymns were among his most delightful and soul-improving repasts; particularly those on beholding transgressors with grief, and Christ's Message." What is added concerning my book of the Rise and Progress of Religion, and the terms in which he expressed his esteem of it, I cannot suffer to pass my pen; only I desire most sincerely to bless God, that, especially by the last chapters of that treatise, I had an opportunity, at so great a distance, of exhibiting some offices of Christian friendship to this excellent person in the closing scenes of life, which it would have been my greatest joy to have performed in person, had Providence permitted me then to have been near him.

The former of these hymns, which my correspondent mentions as having been so agreeable to Colonel Gardiner, I have given the reader already. The latter, which is called Christ's Message, took its rise from Luke iv. 18, 19, and is as follows:

Hark! the glad sound! the Saviour comes, The Saviour promised long; Let every heart prepare a throne, And every voice a song.

On him the Spirit largely poured, Exerts its sacred fire; Wisdom and might, and zeal and love, His holy breast inspire.

He comes the prisoners to release, In Satan's bondage held; The gates of brass before him burst, The iron fetters yield.

He comes, from thickest films of vice To clear the mental ray, And on the eye-balls of the blind To pour celestial day.[*]

He comes the broken heart to bind, The bleeding soul to cure; And with the treasures of his grace To enrich the humble poor.

His silver trumpets publish loud The jubilee of the Lord; Our debts are all remitted now, Our heritage restored.

Our glad hosannas, Prince of Peace! Thy welcome shall proclaim; And heaven's eternal arches ring With Thy beloved name.

[*Note: This stanza is mostly borrowed from Mr. Pope.]

There is one hymn more I shall beg leave to add, plain as it is, which Colonel Gardiner has been heard to mention with particular regard, as expressing the inmost sentiments of his soul, and they were undoubtedly so in the last rational moments of his expiring life. It is called 'Christ precious to the Believer,' and was composed to be sung after a sermon on 1 Pet. ii 7.

Jesus! I love thy charming name, 'Tis music to my ear: Fain would I sound it out so loud, That earth and heaven should hear.

Yea! thou art precious to my soul, My transport and my trust; Jewels to Thee are gaudy toys, And gold is sordid dust.

All my capacious powers can wish, In Thee most richly meet; Nor to mine eyes is life so dear, Nor friendship half so sweet.

Thy grace still dwells upon my heart, And sheds its fragrance there; The noblest balm of all its wounds, The cordial of its care.

I'll speak the honours of thy name With my last labouring breath; Then speechless clasp thee in my arms, The antidote of death.

Those who were intimate with Colonel Gardiner, must have observed how ready he was to give a devotional turn to any subject that occurred. In particular, the spiritual and heavenly disposition of his soul discovered itself in the reflections and improvements which he made when reading history, in which he took a great deal of pleasure, as persons remarkable for their knowledge of mankind, and observation of Providence, generally do. I have an instance of this before me, which, though too natural to be at all surprising, will, I dare say, be pleasing to the devout mind. He had just been reading, in Rollin's extracts from Xenophon, the answer which the lady of Tigranes made when all the company were extolling Cyrus, and expressing the admiration with which his appearance and behaviour struck them. The question being asked her, What she thought of him? she answered, "I do not know; I did not observe him." On what, then, said one of the company did you fix your attention? "On him," replied she, (referring to the generous speech which her husband had just made,) "who said he would give a thousand lives to ransom my liberty." "Oh," cried the colonel, when reading it, "how ought we to fix our eyes and hearts on Him who, not in offer, but in reality, gave his own precious life to ransom us from the most dreadful slavery, and from eternal destruction!" But this is only one instance among a thousand. His heart was so habitually set upon divine things, and he had such a permanent and overflowing sense of the love of Christ, that he could not forbear connecting such reflections with a multitude of more distant occasions occurring in daily life, on which less advanced Christians would not have thought of them; and thus, like our great Master, he made every little incident a source of devotion, and an instrument of holy zeal.

Enfeebled as his constitution was, he was still intent on improving his time to some valuable purpose; and when his friends expostulated with him that he gave his body so little rest, he used to answer, "It will rest long enough in the grave."

The July before his death, he was persuaded to take a journey to Scarborough for the recovery of his health, from which he was at least encouraged to expect some little revival. After this he had thoughts of going to London, and intended to have spent part of September at Northampton. The expectation of this was mutually agreeable; but Providence saw fit to disconcert the scheme. His love for his friends in these parts occasioned him to express some regret on his being commanded back; and I am pretty confident, from the manner in which he expressed himself in one of his last letters to me, that he had some more important reasons for wishing an opportunity of making a London journey just at that crisis, which, the reader will remember, was before the rebellion broke out. But, as Providence determined it otherwise, he acquiesced; and I am well satisfied, that could he have distinctly foreseen the approaching event, so far as it concerned his own person, he would have esteemed it the happiest summons he ever received. While he was at Scarborough, I find by a letter dated from thence, July 26, 1745, that he had been informed of the gaiety which so unseasonably prevailed at Edinburgh, where great multitudes were then spending their time in balls, assemblies, and other gay amusements, little mindful of the rod of God which was then hanging over them; on which occasion he hath this expression: "I am greatly surprised that the people of Edinburgh should be employed in such foolish diversions, when our situation is at present more melancholy than ever I saw it in my life. But there is one thing which I am very sure of, and that comforts me, viz., that it shall go well with the righteous, come what will."



CHAPTER XV.

BATTLE OF PRESTONPANS.

Quickly after his return home, the flame burst out, and his regiment was ordered to Stirling. It was in that castle that his lady and eldest daughter enjoyed the last happy hours of his company, and I think it was about ten or twelve days before his death that he parted from them there. A remarkable circumstance attended that parting, which has been touched upon by surviving friends in more than one of their letters to me. His lady was so affected when she took her last leave of him, that she could not forbear bursting out into a flood of tears, with other marks of unusual emotion; and when he asked her the reason, she urged as a sufficient apology, the apprehension she had of losing such an invaluable friend, amidst the dangers to which he was then called out. On this she took particular notice, that whereas he had generally comforted her on such occasions by pleading with her that remarkable hand of Providence which had so frequently in former instances been exerted for his preservation, and that in the greatest extremity, he said nothing of it now; but only replied in his sententious manner, "We have an eternity to spend together."

That heroic contempt of death which had often discovered itself in the midst of former dangers, was manifested now in his discourse with several of his most intimate friends. I have reserved for this place one genuine expression of it many years before, which I thought might be mentioned with some advantage here. In July, 1725, he had been sent to some place not far from Hamilton to quell a mutiny among some of our troops. I know not the particular occasion; but I remember to have heard him mention it as so fierce a one, that he scarcely ever apprehended himself in more hazardous circumstances. Yet he quelled it by his presence alone, and the expostulations he used—evidently putting his life into his hand to do it. The particulars of the story struck me much; but I do not so exactly remember them as to venture to relate them here. I only observe, that in a letter dated July 16, that year, which I have now before me, and which evidently refers to this event, he writes thus: "I have been very busy, hurried about from place to place; but, blessed be God, all is over without bloodshed. And pray let me ask what made you show so much concern for me in your last? Were you afraid I should get to heaven before you? or can any evil befall those who are followers of that which is good?"[*]

[*Note: I doubt not but this will remind some of my readers of that noble speech of Zwinglius, when (according to the usage of that country,) attending his flock to a battle in which their religion and liberties were all at stake, on his receiving a mortal wound by a bullet, of which he was expired, while his friends were in all the first astonishment of grief, he bravely said, as he was dying, "Ecquid hoc infortunii? Is this to be reckoned a misfortune?" How many of our Deists would have celebrated such a sentence, if it had come from the lips of an ancient Roman! Strange that the name of Christ should be so odious, that the brightest virtues of his followers should be despised for his sake! But so it is, and so our Master told us it would be; and our faith is, in this connection, confirmed by those who strive most to overthrow it.]

As these were his sentiments in the vigour of his days, so neither did declining years and the infirmities of a broken constitution on the one hand, nor any desire of enjoying the honours and profits of so high a station, or (what was much more to him,) the converse of the most affectionate of wives and so many amiable children and friends on the other, in the least enervate his spirits; but as he had in former years often expressed it, to me and several others, as his desire, "that if it were the will of God, he might have some honourable call to sacrifice his life in defence of religion and the liberties of his country;" so, when it appeared to him most probable that he might be called to it immediately, he met the summons with the greatest readiness. This appears in part from a letter which he wrote to the Rev. Mr. Adams, of Falkirk, just as he was marching from Stirling, which was only eight days before his death:—"The rebels," says he, "are advancing to cross the Frith; but I trust in the Almighty God, who doth whatsoever he please in the armies of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth." The same gentleman tells me, that, a few days after the date of this, he marched through Falkirk with his regiment; and though he was then in so languishing a state, that he needed his assistance as secretary to write for some reinforcements, which might put it in his power to make a stand, (as he was very desirous to have done,) he expressed a most genuine and noble contempt of life, when about to be exposed in the defence of a worth cause.

These sentiments wrought in him to the last in the most effectual manner, and he seemed for a while to have infused them into the regiment which he commanded; for they expressed such a spirit in their march from Stirling, that I am assured the colonel was obliged to exert all his authority to prevent their making incursions on the rebel army, which then lay very near him; and had it been thought proper to send him the reinforcements he requested, none can say what the consequence might have been; but he was ordered to march as fast as possible to meet Sir John Cope's forces at Dunbar, which he did; and that hasty retreat, in concurrence with the news which they soon after received of the surrender of Edinburgh to the rebels, (either by the treachery or weakness of a few, in opposition to the judgment of by far the greater and better part of the inhabitants,) struck a panic into both the regiments of dragoons, which became visible in some very apparent and remarkable circumstances in their behaviour, which I forbear to relate. This affected Colonel Gardiner so much that, on the Thursday before the fatal action of Prestonpans, he intimated to an officer of considerable rank and note, from whom I had it by a very sure channel of conveyance, that he expected the event would be as in fact it was. In this view, there is all imaginable reason to believe that he had formed his resolution as to his own personal conduct, which was, "that he would not, in cases of the flight of those under his command, retreat with them;" by which, as it seemed, he was reasonably apprehensive that he might have stained the honour of his former services, and have given some occasion for the enemy to have spoken reproachfully. He much rather chose, if Providence gave him the call, to leave in his death an example of fidelity and bravery which might very probably be (as in fact it seems to have been) of much greater importance to his country than any other service which, in the few days of remaining life, he could expect to render it. I conclude these to have been his views, not only from what I knew of his general character and temper, but likewise from some intimations which he gave to a very worthy person from Edinburgh, who visited him the day before the action, and to whom he said, "I cannot influence the conduct of others as I could wish, but I have one life to sacrifice to my country's safety, and I shall not spare it,"—or words to that effect.

I have heard such a multitude of inconsistent reports of the circumstances of Colonel Gardiner's death, that I had almost despaired of being able to give my reader any particular satisfaction concerning so interesting a scene. But, by a happy accident, I have very lately had an opportunity of being exactly informed of the whole by that brave man, Mr. John Foster, his faithful servant, (and worthy of the honour of serving such a master,) whom I had seen with him at my house some years before. He attended him in his last hours, and gave me at large the narration, which he would be ready, if requisite, to attest upon oath. From his mouth I wrote it down with the utmost exactness, and could easily believe, from the genuine and affectionate manner in which he related the particulars, that according to his own striking expression, "his eye and his heart were always upon his honoured master during the whole time."[*]

[*Note: Just as I am putting the last hand to these memoirs, March 2, 1746-7, I have met with a corporal in Colonel Lascelles' regiment, who was an eye-witness to what happened at Prestonpans on the day of the battle, and the day before; and the account he has given me of some memorable particulars is so exactly agreeable to that which I received from Mr. Foster, that it would much corroborate his testimony, if there were not so many other considerations to render it convincing.]

On Friday, 20th September, (the day before the battle which transmitted him to his immortal crown,) the colonel drew up his regiment in the afternoon, and rode through all their ranks, addressing them at once in the most respectful and animating manner, both as soldiers and as Christians, to exert themselves courageously in the service of their country, and to neglect nothing that might have a tendency to prepare them for whatever might happen. They seemed much affected with the address, and expressed a very ardent desire of attacking the enemy immediately—a desire in which he and another very gallant officer of distinguished rank, dignity, and character, both for bravery and conduct, would gladly have gratified them, if it had been in their power. He earnestly pressed it on the commanding officer, as the soldiers were then in better spirits than it could be supposed they would be after having passed the night under arms, and as the circumstance of making an attack would be some encouragement to them, and probably some terror to the enemy, who would have had the disadvantage of standing on the defence—a disadvantage with which those wild barbarians, (for such most of them were) perhaps would have been more struck than better disciplined troops—especially, too, when they fought against the laws of their country. He also apprehended that, by marching to meet them, some advantage might have been secured with regard to the ground, with which, it is natural to imagine, he must have been perfectly acquainted, as it lay just at his own door, and he had rode over it many hundred times. When I mention these things, I do not pretend to be capable of judging how far this advice was right. A variety of circumstances to me unknown might make it otherwise. It is certain, however, that it was brave. But it was overruled in this respect, as it also was in the disposition of the cannon, which he would have planted in the centre of our small army, rather than just before his regiment, which was in the right wing, where he was apprehensive that the horses, which had not been in any previous engagement, might be thrown into some disorder by the discharge so very near them. He urged this the more as he thought the attack of the rebels might probably be made on the centre of the foot, where he knew there were some brave men, on whose standing he thought, under God, the success of the day depended. When he found that he could not carry either of these points, nor some others which, out of regard to the common safety, he insisted upon with unusual earnestness, he dropped some intimations of the consequences he apprehended, and which did in fact follow; and submitting to Providence, spent the remainder of the day in making as good a disposition as circumstances would allow.[*]

[*Note: Several of these circumstances have since been confirmed by the concurrent testimony of another very credible person, Mr. Robert Douglas, (now a surgeon in the navy,) who was a volunteer at Edinburgh just before the rebels entered the place, and who saw Colonel Gardiner come from Haddington to the field of battle the day before the action in a chaise, being (as from that circumstances he supposed) in so weak a state that he could not well endure the fatigue of sitting on horseback. He observed Colonel Gardiner in discourse with several officers on the evening before the engagement, at which time, it was afterwards reported, he gave his advice to attack the rebels; and when it was overruled, he afterwards saw the colonel walk by himself in a very pensive manner.]

He continued all night under arms, wrapt up in his cloak, and generally sheltered under a rick of barley which happened to be in the field. About three in the morning he called his domestic servants to him, of which there were four in waiting. He dismissed three of them with most affectionate Christian advice, and such solemn charges relating to the performance of their duty and the care of their souls, as plainly seemed to intimate that he at least apprehended it very probable he was taking his last farewell of them. There is great reason to believe that he spent the little remainder of the time, which could not be much above an hour, in those devout exercises of soul which had so long been habitual to him, and to which so many circumstances then concurred to call him.

The army was alarmed at break of day by the noise of the rebels' approach, and the attack was made before sunrise; yet it was light enough to discern what passed. As soon as the enemy came within gunshot, they made a furious fire; and it is said that the dragoons, which constituted the left wing, immediately fled. The colonel, at the beginning of the onset, which lasted but a few minutes, received a wound by a bullet in his left breast, which made him give a sudden spring in his saddle; upon which his servant, who had led the horse, would have persuaded him to retreat; but he said it was only a wound in the flesh, and fought on, though soon after he received a shot in his right thigh. In the meantime it was discovered that some of the enemies fell by him, particularly one man, who had made him a treacherous visit but a few days before, with great professions of zeal for the present establishment.

Events of this kind pass in less time than the description of them can be written, or than it can be read. The colonel was for a few moments supported by his men, and particularly by that worthy person, Lieutenant-colonel Whitney, who was shot through the arm, and who, a few months after, fell nobly in the battle of Falkirk; by Lieutenant West, a man of distinguished bravery; also by about fifteen dragoons, who stood by him to the last. But, after a faint fire, the regiment was seized with a panic; and though their colonel and some other gallant officers did what they could to rally them once or twice, they took to precipitate flight. Just at the moment when Colonel Gardiner seemed to be making a pause, to deliberate what duty required him to do in such a circumstance, an accident happened, which must, I think, in the judgment of every worthy and generous man, be deemed a sufficient apology for exposing his life to so great a hazard, when his regiment had left him.[*] He saw that a party of foot, who were then bravely fighting near him, and whom he was ordered to support, had no officer to head them; upon which he said eagerly, in the hearing of the person from whom I had this account, "Those brave fellows will be cut to pieces for want of a commander,"—or words to that effect. So saying, he rode up to them, and cried out aloud, "Fire on, my lads, and fear nothing." But, just as the words were out of his mouth, a Highlander advanced towards him with a scythe, fastened on a long pole, with which he gave him such a deep wound on his right arm, that his sword dropped out of his hand; and at the same time several others coming about him while he was thus dreadfully entangled with that cruel weapon, he was dragged off his horse. The moment he fell another Highlander, who, if the crown witness at Carlisle may be credited, (as I know not why he should not, though the unhappy creature died denying it,) was one M'Naught, who was executed about a year after, gave him a stroke either with a broadsword or a Lochaber axe, (for my informant could not exactly distinguish,) on the hinder part of his head, which was the mortal blow. All that his faithful attendant saw further at this time was, that as his hat had fallen off, he took it in his left hand, and waved it as a signal to him to retreat; and added, (the last words he ever heard him speak,) "Take care of yourself;" upon which the servant retired.

[*Note: The colonel, who was well acquainted with military history, might possibly remember that in the battle at Blenheim, the illustrious Prince Eugene, when the horse of the wing which he commanded had run away thrice, charged at the head of the foot, and thereby greatly contributed to the glorious success of the day. At least such an example may conduce to vindicate that noble ardour which, amidst all the applauses of his country, some have been so cool and so critical as to blame. For my part, I thank God that I am not called to apologize for his following his troops in their flight, which I fear would have been a much harder task; and which, dear as he was to me, would have grieved me much more than his death, with these heroic circumstances attending it.]

It was reported at Edinburgh, on the day of the battle, by what seemed a considerable authority, that as the colonel lay in his wounds, he said to a chief of the opposite side, "You are fighting for an earthly crown, I am going to receive a heavenly one,"—or something to that purpose. When I preached the sermon, long since printed, on occasion of his death, I had great reason to believe this report was true, though, before the publication of it, I began to be in doubt; and, on the whole, after the most accurate inquiry I could possibly make at this distance, I cannot get any convincing evidence of it. Yet I must here observe that it does not appear impossible that something of this kind might indeed be uttered by him, as his servant testifies that he spoke to him after receiving that fatal blow, which would seem most likely to have taken away the power of speech, and as it is certain he lived several hours after he fell. If, therefore, any thing of this kind did happen, it must have been just before this instant. But as to the story of his being taken prisoner and carried to the pretended Prince, (who, by the way, afterwards rode his horse, and entered into Derby upon it,) with several other circumstances which were grafted upon that interview, there is the most undoubted evidence of its falsehood; for his attendant above mentioned assures me that he himself immediately fled to a mill, at the distance of about two miles from the spot on which the colonel fell, where he changed his dress, and, disguised like a miller's servant, returned with a cart as soon as possible, which yet was not till nearly two hours after the engagement. The hurry of the action was then pretty well over, and he found his much-honoured master not only plundered of his watch and other things of value, but also stripped of his upper garments and boots, yet still breathing; and adds, that though he was not capable of speech, yet, on taking him up, he opened his eyes; which makes it something questionable whether he was altogether insensible. In this condition, and in this manner, he conveyed him to the church of Tranent, from whence he was immediately taken into the minister's house, and laid in bed, where he continued breathing and frequently groaning till about eleven in the forenoon, when he took his final leave of pain and sorrow, and undoubtedly rose to those distinguished glories which are reserved for those who have been eminently and remarkably faithful unto death.

From the moment he fell, it was no longer a battle, but a rout and carnage. The cruelties which the rebels (as it is generally said under the command of Lord Elcho,) inflicted on some of the king's troops after they had asked quarter, are dreadfully legible on the countenances of many who survived it. They entered Colonel Gardiner's house before he was carried off from the field, and notwithstanding the strict orders which the unhappy Duke of Perth (whose conduct is said to have been very humane in many instances,) gave to the contrary, every thing of value was plundered, to the very curtains of the beds, and hangings of the rooms. His papers were all thrown into the wildest disorder, and his house made an hospital for the reception of those who were wounded in the action.

Such was the close of a life which had been zealously devoted to God, and filled up with many honourable services. Such was the death of him who had been so highly favoured by God in the method by which he was brought back to him after so long and so great an estrangement, and in the progress of so many years, during which (in the expressive phrase of the most ancient of writers,) "he had walked with him;"—to fall, as God threatened the people of his wrath that they should do, "with tumult, with shouting, and with the sound of the trumpet." Amos ii. 2. Several other very worthy, and some of them very eminent persons, shared the same fate, either now at the battle of Prestonpans, or quickly after at that of Falkirk;[*] Providence, no doubt, permitting it, to establish our faith in the rewards of an invisible world, as well as to teach us to cease from man, and fix our dependence on an Almighty arm.

[*Note: Of these, none were more memorable than those illustrious brothers, Mr. Robert Munro and Dr. Munro, whose tragical but glorious fate was also shared quietly after by a third hero of the family, Captain Munro, of Culcairn, brother to Sir Robert and the Doctor.]

The remains of this Christian hero (as I believe every reader is now convinced he may justly be called,) were interred the Tuesday following, September 24, in the parish church at Tranent, where he had usually attended divine service, with great solemnity. His obsequies were honoured with the presence of some persons of distinction, who were not afraid of paying that mark of respect to his memory, though the country was then in the hands of the enemy. But, indeed, there was no great hazard in this; for his character was so well known, that even they themselves spoke honourably of him, and seemed to join with his friends in lamenting the fall of so brave and so worthy a man.

The remotest posterity will remember for whom the honour of subduing this unnatural and pernicious rebellion was reserved; and it will endear the Duke of Cumberland to all but the open or secret abettors of it in the present age, and consecrate his name to immortal honours among all the friends of religion and liberty who shall arise after us. And, I dare say, it will not be imagined that I at all derogate from his glory in suggesting, that the memory of that valiant and excellent person whose memoirs I am now concluding may in some measure have contributed to that signal and complete victory with which God was pleased to crown the arms of his Royal Highness; for the force of such an example is very animating, and a painful consciousness of having deserted such a commander in such extremity, must at least awaken, where there was any spark of generosity, an earnest desire to avenge his death on those who had sacrificed his blood, and that of so many other excellent persons, to the views of their ambition, rapine or bigotry.

The reflections which I have made in my funeral sermon on my honoured friend, and in the dedication of it to his worthy and most afflicted lady, supersede many things which might otherwise have properly been added here. I conclude, therefore, with humbly acknowledging the wisdom and goodness of that awful Providence which drew so thick a gloom around him in the last hours of his life, that the lustre of his virtues might dart through it with a more vivid and observable ray. It is abundant matter of thankfulness that so signal a monument of grace, and ornament of the Christian profession, was raised in our age and country, and spared for so many honourable and useful years. Nor can all the tenderness of the most affectionate friendship, while its sorrows bleed afresh in the view of so tragical a scene, prevent my adoring the gracious appointment of the great Lord of all events, that when the day in which he must have expired without an enemy appeared so very near, the last ebb of his generous blood should be poured out, as a kind of sacred libation, to the liberties of his country, and the honour of his God! that all the other virtues of his character, embalmed as it were by that precious stream, might diffuse around a more extensive fragrance, and be transmitted to the most remote posterity with that peculiar charm which they cannot but derive from their connection with so gallant a fall—an event (as that blessed apostle, of whose spirit he so deeply drank, has expressed it) "according to his earnest expectation, and his hope that in him Christ might be glorified in all things, whether by his life or by his death."



THE COLONEL'S PERSONAL APPEARANCE.

In the midst of so many more important articles, I had really forgotten to say any thing of the person of Colonel Gardiner, of which, nevertheless, it may be proper here to add a word or two. He was, as I was informed, in younger life remarkably graceful and amiable; and I can easily believe it, from what I knew him to be when our acquaintance began, though he was then turned of fifty, and had gone through so many fatigues as well as dangers, which could not but leave some traces on his countenance. He was tall, (I suppose something more than six feet,) well proportioned, and strongly built; his eyes of a dark gray, and not very large; his forehead pretty high; his nose of a length and height no way remarkable, but very well suited to his other features; his cheeks not very prominent; his mouth moderately large, and his chin rather a little inclining (when I knew him) to be peaked. He had a strong voice and lively accent, with an air very intrepid, yet attempered with much gentleness. There was something in his manner of address most perfectly easy and obliging, which was in great measure the result of the great candour and benevolence of his natural temper, and which, no doubt, was much improved by the deep humility which divine grace had wrought in his heart, as well as his having been accustomed from his early youth to the company of persons of distinguished rank and polite behaviour.

The picture of him, which is given at the beginning of these memoirs, was taken from an original done by Van Deest (a Dutchman brought into Scotland by general Wade,) in the year 1727, which was the 40th of his age, and is said to have been very like him then, though far from being an exact resemblance of what he was when I had the happiness of being acquainted with him.[*] Perhaps he would have appeared to the greatest advantage of all, could he have been exactly drawn on horseback; as many very good judges, and among the rest the celebrated Mons. Faubert himself, have spoken of him as one of the completest horsemen that has ever been known; and there was indeed something so singularly graceful in his appearance in that attitude, that it was sufficient (as what is very eminent in its kind generally is,) to strike an eye not formed on any critical rules.

[*Note: In presenting this likeness for the first time in an American edition of this work, the artist has taken the liberty to change the costume, by substituting the ordinary military dress for the court dress of the original.—Editor of the Pres. Board of Publication.]

[Transcriber's Note: The Portrait is not available.]



APPENDIX I.

(Referred to at the end of Chapter VI, LETTERS.)

It may not be amiss, in illustration of Dr. Doddridge's remarks on the subject of dreams, to present to the reader the following account of a remarkable dream which occurred to the Doctor himself, and had a beneficial influence on his own mind.—ED. PRES. BD. PUB.



DR. DODDRIDGE'S DREAM.

Dr. Doddridge and Dr. Samuel Clark, of St. Alban's, having been conversing in the evening upon the nature of the separate state, and the probability that the scenes on which the soul would enter, at its first leaving the body, would have some resemblance to those things it had been conversant with while on earth, that it might by degrees be prepared for the more sublime happiness of the heavenly state, this and other conversation of the same kind probably occasioned the following dream.

The Doctor imagined himself dangerously ill at a friend's house in London, and after remaining in this state for some hours, he thought his soul left his body, and took its flight in some kind of a fine vehicle, though very different from the gross body it had just quitted, but still material. He pursued his course through the air, expecting some celestial messenger to meet him, till he was at some distance from the city, when turning back and viewing the town, he could not forbear saying to himself, "How vain do those affairs in which the inhabitants of this place are so eagerly employed, seem to me a separate spirit!" At length, as he was continuing his progress, though without any certain directions, yet easy and happy in the thoughts of the universal providence and government of God, which extends alike to all states and worlds, he was now met by one who told him he was sent to conduct him to this destined state of abode, from which he concluded it was an angel, though he appeared in the form of an elderly man. They accordingly advanced together, till they came within sight of a large spacious building, which had the air of a palace. Upon his inquiring what it was, his guide replied, it was the place assigned for him at present; upon which the Doctor wondered that he had read on earth, "that eye had not seen, nor ear had heard, the glory laid up for them that love God," when he could easily have formed an idea of such a building, from others he had seen, though he acknowledged they were greatly inferior to this in elegance and magnificence. The answer, his guide told him, was plainly suggested by the conversation of the evening before, and that the scenes presented to him were purposely contrived to bear a near resemblance to those he had been accustomed to on earth, that his mind might be more easily and gradually prepared for those glories which would open upon him hereafter, and which would at first have quite dazzled and overpowered him. By this time they came to the palace, and his guide led him through a kind of saloon into an inner parlour. The first object that struck him was a great golden cup which stood upon a table, on which was embossed the figure of a vine and clusters of grapes. He asked his guide the meaning of it; who told him that it was the cup in which his Saviour drank new wine with his disciples in his kingdom; and that the figures carved on it denoted the union between Christ and his Church, implying, that as the grapes derived all their beauty and flavour from the vine, so the saints, even in a state of glory, were indebted for their establishment in holiness and happiness, to their union with their common Head, in whom they are all complete. While they were conversing, he heard a tap at the door, and was informed by the angel that it was a signal of his Lord's approach, and was intended to prepare him for an interview. Accordingly, in a short time our Saviour entered the room, and upon his casting himself at his feet, he graciously raised him up, and with a smile of inexpressible complacency, assured him of his favour, and kind acceptance of his faithful services, and as a token of his peculiar regard, and the intimate friendship with which he intended to honour him, he took the cup, and after drinking of it himself, gave it into the Doctor's hand. The Doctor would have declined it at first, as too great an honour; but our Lord replied, as to Peter in washing his feet, "If thou drinkest not with me, thou hast no part with me." This he observed filled him with such a transport of gratitude, love and admiration, that he was ready to sink under it. His master seemed sensible of this, and told him he must leave him for the present, but would not be long before he repeated his visit. As soon as our Lord was retired, and the Doctor's mind more composed, he observed that the room was hung with pictures, and upon examining them, he found to his great surprise, that they contained all the history of his life; and most remarkable scenes he had passed through, being there represented in a very lively manner—the many temptations and trials he had been exposed to, and the signal instances of the divine goodness in the different periods of his life. It may not be easily imagined how this would strike and affect his mind. It excited in him the strongest emotions of gratitude, especially when he reflected that he was now out of the reach of any future danger, and that all the purposes of divine love towards him were so amply accomplished. The exstacy of joy and gratitude, into which these reflections threw him, was so great that he awoke; but for some time after he awoke the impression continued so lively that tears of joy flowed down his cheeks, and he said that he never, on any occasion, remembered to have had sentiments of devotion and love equal to it.



APPENDIX II.

(Referred to in Chapter VII, DOMESTIC RELATIONS.)

The following extract from Dr. Doddridge's "Thoughts on Sacramental Occasions," gives a beautiful and edifying picture of the exercises of his affectionate and pious heart under a painful bereavement.



THE SEVENTY-EIGHTH SACRAMENT, OCTOBER 3, 1736.

DEAR BETSEY DEAD.[1]

I had preached in the bitterness of my heart from these words: "Is it well with thy husband? is it well with the child? And she answered, It is well." 2 Kings iv. 26. I endeavoured to show the reason there was to say this; but surely there was never any dispensation of Providence in which I found it so hard, for my very soul had been overwhelmed within me. Indeed, some hard thoughts of the mercy of God were ready to arise; and the apprehension of his heavy displeasure, and the fear of my child's future state, added fuel to the fire.

Upon the whole, my mind was in the most painful agitation; but it pleased God, that, in composing the sermon, my soul became quieted, and I was brought into a more silent and cordial submission to the Divine will.

At the table I discoursed on these words, "Although my house be not so with God." 2 Samuel xxiii. 5. I observed, that domestic calamities may befall good men in their journey through life, and particularly in relation to their children; but that they have a refuge in God's covenant; it is everlasting; it is sure; it is well ordered—every provision is made according to our necessities; and shall be our salvation, as it is the object of our most affectionate regard.

One further circumstance I must record; and that is, that I here solemnly recollected that I had, in a former sacrament taken the cup with these words, "Lord, I take this cup as a public and solemn token that I will refuse no other cup which thou shalt put into my hand." I mentioned this recollection, and charged it publicly on myself and my Christian friends. God has taken me at my word, but I do not retract it; I repeat it again with regard to every future cup.

I am just come from the coffin of my dear child, who seemes to be sweetly asleep there, with a serene, composed, delightful countenance, once how animated with double life! There—lo! O my soul! lo there! is thine idol laid still in death—the creature which stood next to God in thine heart; to whom it was opened with a fond and flattering delight. Methinks I would learn to be dead with her—dead to the world. Oh that I could be dead with her, not any further than that her dear memory may promote my living to God.[*]

[*Note: The following note was written in the margin of the manuscript by the late Rev. Thomas Stedman: "I think I have heard that the doctor wrote his funeral sermon for his daughter, or a part of it, upon her coffin."]

I had a great deal of very edifying, conversation last night and his morning with my wife, whose wisdom does indeed make her face to shine under this affliction. She is supported and armoured with a courage which seems not at all natural to her; talks with the utmost freedom, and has really said many of the most useful things that ever were said to me by any person upon the earth, both as to consolation and admonition. Had the best things I have read on the subject been collected together, they could hardly have been better conceived or better expressed. This is to me very surprising when I consider her usual reserve. I have all imaginable reason to believe that God will make this affliction a great blessing to her, and I hope it may prove so to me. There was a fond delight and complacence which I took in Betsey beyond any thing living. Although she had not a tenth part of that rational, manly love, which I pay to her mourning and many surviving friends; yet it leaves a peculiar pain upon my heart, and it is almost as if my very gall were poured out upon the earth. Yet much sweetness mingles itself with this bitter potion, chiefly in the view and hope of my speedy removal to the eternal world. May it not be the bounty of this providence, that instead of her living many years upon the earth, God may have taken away my child that I might be fitted for and reconciled to my own dissolution, perhaps nearly approaching? I verily believe that I shall meet her there, and enjoy much more of her in heaven than I should have done had she survived me on earth. Lord, thy will be done; may my life be used for the service while continued, and then put thou a period to it whenever thou pleasest.

[Footnote 1: The following extract from the Diary of Dr. Doddridge is here subjoined, as affording an explanation of some particulars alluded to in the text.



REFLECTIONS ON THE DEATH OF MY DEAR CHILD, AND THE MANY MOURNFUL PROVIDENCES ATTENDING IT.

I have a great deal of reason to condemn my own negligence and folly, that for so many months I have suffered no memorandums of what has passed between God and my soul, although some of the transactions were very remarkable, as well as some things which I have heard concerning others; but the subject of this article is the most melancholy of any. We lost my dear and reverend brother and friend, Mr. Sanders, on the 31st of July last; on the 1st of September, Lady Russell—that invaluable friend, died at Reading on her road from Bath; and on Friday, the 1st of October, God was pleased, by a most awful stroke, to take away my eldest, dearest child, my lovely Betsey. She was formed to strike my affections in the most powerful manner; such a person, genius, and temper, as I admired even beyond their real importance, so that indeed I doted upon her, and was for many months before her death in a great degree of bondage upon her account. She was taken ill at Newport about the middle of June, and from thence to the day of her death, she was my continual thought, and almost uninterrupted care. God only knows with what earnestness and importunity I prostrated myself before him to beg her life, which I would have been willing almost to have purchased with my own. When reduced to the lowest degree of languishment by a consumption, I could not forbear looking upon her almost every hour. I saw her with the strongest mixture of anguish and delight; no chemist ever watched his crucible with greater care, when he expected the production of the philosopher's stone, than I watched her in all the various turns of her distemper, which at last grew utterly hopeless, and then no language can express the agony into which it threw me. One remarkable circumstance I cannot but recollect: in praying most affectionately, perhaps too earnestly, for her life, these words came into my mind with great power, "Speak no more to me of this matter." I was unwilling to take them, and went into the chamber to see my dear lamb, when, instead of receiving me with her usual tenderness, she looked upon me with a stern air, and said, with a very remarkable determination of voice, "I have no more to say to you;" and I think that from that time, although she lived at least ten days, she seldom looked upon me with pleasure, or cared to suffer me to come near her. But that I might feel all the bitterness of the affliction, Providence so ordered it, that I came in when her sharpest agonies were upon her, and those words, "O dear, O dear, what shall I do?" rung in my ears for succeeding hours and days. But God delivered her,—and she, without any violent pang in the article of her dissolution, quietly and sweetly fell asleep, as I hope, in Jesus, about ten at night, I being then at Maidwell. When I came home my mind was under a dark cloud relating to the eternal state; but God was pleased graciously to remove it, and gave me comfortable hopes, after having felt the most heart-rending sorrow. My dear wife bore the affliction in the most glorious manner, and discovered more wisdom, and piety, and steadiness of temper in a few days, than I had ever in six years an opportunity of observing before. O my soul, God has blasted thy gourd; thy greatest earthly delight is gone: seek it in heaven, where I hope this dear babe is; where I am sure that my Saviour is; and where I trust, through grace, notwithstanding all this irregularity of temper and of heart, that I shall shortly be.

Sunday, October 3, 1736



FURTHER REFLECTIONS AFTER THE FUNERAL OF MY DEAR BETSEY.

I have now been laying the delight of my eyes in the dust, and it is for ever hidden from them. My heart was too full to weep much. We had a suitable sermon from these words: "Doest thou well to be angry?" Jonah iv. 9; because of the gourd. I hope God knows that I am not angry; but sorrowful he surely allows me to be. I could have wished that more had been said concerning the hope we may have of our child; and it was a great disappointment to me that nothing of that kind should have been said by one that loved her so well as my brother Hunt did. Yet, I bless God, I have my hopes that she is lodged in the arms of Christ. And there was an occurrence that I took much notice of; I was most earnestly praying that God would be pleased to give me some further encouragement on this head, by letting some new light, or by directing me to some further thoughts upon the subject. Soon after, as I came into my wife's chamber, she told me that our maid Betty, who had indeed the affection of a parent for my dear girl, had just before assured her, that, on the Sabbath day evening, Betsey would be repeating to herself some things of what she had heard in my prayers and in my preachings, but did not care to talk of it to others; and my wife assured me that she solemnly recommended herself to God in the words that I had taught her a little before she died. Blessed God, hast thou not received her? I trust that thou hast, and pardoned the infirmities of her poor, short, childish, afflicted life. I hope, in some measure out of love to me, as thy servant, thou hast done it, for Christ's sake; and I would consider the very hope, as an engagement to thy future service. Lord, I love those who were kind to my child, and wept with me for her; shall I not much more love thee, who, I hope, art at this moment taking care of her, and opening her infant faculties for the duties and blessedness of heaven.

Lord, I would consider myself as a dying creature. My first born is gone;—my beloved child is laid in bed before me. I have often followed her to her bed in a literal sense; and shortly I shall follow her to that, where we shall lie down together, and our rest shall be together in the dust. In a literal sense the grave is ready for me. My grave is made—I have looked into it—a dear part of myself is already there; and when I stood at the Lord's table I stood directly over it. It is some pleasure to me to think that my dust will be lodged near that of my dear lamb, how much more to hope that my soul will rest with hers, and rejoice in her forever! But, O, let me not centre my thoughts even here; it is at rest with, and in God, that is my ultimate hope. Lord, may thy grace secure it to me! and in the mean time give me some holy acquiescence of soul in thee; and although my gourd be withered, yet shelter me under the shadow of thy wings.

October 4, 1736.]

THE END