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CHAPTER XIX
1834
—-THE END.
THE last
year of Irving's life opened dimly in the same secluded, separated world
within which Providence had abstracted him after his re-ordination. He had
not failed in any of the generous and liberal sympathies of his nature;
his heart was still open to his old friends, and responded warmly to all
appeals of affection; but the life of a man who prayed and waited daily,;'
yea, many times a day," for the descent of that " power from on high"
which was to vindicate his faith and confirm his heart, was naturally a
separated life, incapable of common communion with the unbelieving world.
And he had paused in those "' unexampled labors" which, up to the
settlement of his Church in Newman Street, kept the healthful daylight and
open air about him. At the end of the year 1832 he and his evangelists had
ceased their missionary labors; henceforward nothing but the platform in
Newman Street, and the care of a flock to which he was no longer the
exclusive ministrant, occupied the intelligence which had hitherto
rejoiced in almost unlimited labor. Whether there was any new compensation
of work in the new office of the Angel I can not tell, but nothing of the
kind is apparent. He was not ill, as far as appears, during the early part
of this silent and sad winter, but he was deprived of the toil which had
hitherto kept his mind in balance, and of that communication with the
world which was breath to his brotherly and liberal soul. No man in the
world could be less fitted for the life of a recluse than
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IRVING SENT TO EDINBURGH. he; yet such a life he seems to have now led,
his span of labor daily circumscribed as the different " orders of
ministries" in the new Church developed, and no missionary exertion, or
new work of any kind, coming in to make up to the mighty activity, always
heretofore so hungry of work, for this sudden pause in the current of his
life. In January, however, he was sent on a mission to Edinburgh, where a
Church had been established under the ministry of Mr. Tait, formerly of
the College Church. This little community had been troubled by the "
entrance of an evil spirit, from which, in all its deadening effects, his
experience in dealing with spiritual persons would, it was hoped, be
efficacious, by the blessing of God, in delivering them." There is no
information, so far as I can discover, how Irving discharged this
difficult mission; but I am indebted to the kindness of Professor
Macdougall, of Edinburgh, for a momentary note of his aspect there. "His
characteristic fire," says that gentleman, who had been one of his hearers
in earlier and brighter days, "had then, in a great measure, given place
to a strangely plaintive pathos, which was as exquisitely touching and
tender as his exhibitions of intellectual power had been majestic." He
seems to have remained but a very short time, and to have occupied himself
exclusively with his mission. Though the Edinburgh public, in much greater
numbers than could gain admittance, crowded to the place of meeting where
Mr. Tait and his congregation had found shelter, the great preacher no
longer called them forth at dawn to dispense his liberal riches, nor
rushed into the chivalrous, disinterested labor of his former missions to
Edinburgh. Wonderful change had come upon that ever-free messenger of
truth. HeI came now, not. on his own generous impulse, but with his
instructions in his hand. Always a servant of God, seeking to know His
supreme will and to do it, he was now a servant of the Church, bound to
minute obedience. Some time after, Mrs. Irving wrote to her mother that "
Edward was truly grieved that it was not in his power to go to see you,
but his time is truly not his own, neither is he his own master." From
this mission he returned very ill, with threatenings of dis-' ease in his
chest; and, though he rallied and partially recovered, it soon became
apparent that his wearied frame and broken heart were unable'to strive
longer with the griefs and disappointmentswhich encompassed him, and that
the chill of this wintry journey had brought about a beginning of the end.
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EXHAUSTION.-TENDER COURTESY. 539 A month after Irving's visit to
Edinburgh, the apostles, of whom there were now two, MIr. Cardale and Mr.
Drummond, proceeded there to ordain the angel over that Church, and from
Edinburgh, visiting several other towns in Scotland, were some time absent
from the central Church. During that interval, a command was given " in
the power" in Newman Street, to which Irving gave immediate obedience. It
concerned, I think, the appointment of a certain number of evangelists.
After this step had been taken, the absent apostles heard of it, and
wrote, declaring the new arrangement to be a delusion, and rebuking both
prophet and angel. The rebuked prophet withdrew for a time in anger; the
angel bowed his loftier head, read the letter to the Church, and confessed
his error. Thus, amid confusions, disappointments, long lingering of the
promised power from on high, sad substitution of morsels of ceremonial and
church arrangement for the greater gifts for which his soul thirsted, the
last spring that he was ever to see on earth dawned upon Irving. As it
advanced, his friends began to write to each other again with growing
anxiety and dread; his sister-in-law, Elizabeth, describing with alarm
"the lassitude he exhibits at all times," and bitterly complaining that he
had neither time nor possibility of resting, surrounded as he was by the
close pressure of that exclusive community, "the members of his flock
visiting him every forenoon from 11 to 1 o'clock," and the anxieties of
all the Church upon his head. Kind people belonging to the Church itself
interposed to carry him away, in his exhaustion, on the Monday mornings,
to rest in houses which could be barricaded against the world-a thing
which, in Edward Irving's house, in the mystic precincts of that Church in
Newman Street, was simply impossible; and, when he had been thus
abstracted by friendly importunity, describe him as stretched on a sofa,
in the languor of his fatigued and failing strength, looking out upon the
budding trees, but still in that leisure and lassitude turning his mind to
the work for which his frame was no longer capable, dictating to some
ready daughter or sister of the house. As he thus composed, it was his
wont to pause whenever any expression or thought had come from him which
his amanuensis could have any difficulty about, to explain and illustrate
his meaning to her favored ear, neither weakness, nor sorrow, nor the hard
usage of men being able to warp him out of that tender courtesy which
belonged to his nature. In this calm of exhaustion the early part of the
year passed
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REAPPEARANCE OUT OF THE SHADOWS. slowly. He still preached as usual, and
was at the command of all his people, but appeared nowhere out of their
close ranks. In July he wrote a letter, characteristically minute in all
its details, to Dr. Martin, bidding him "give thanks with me unto the Lord
for the preservation of your daughter and my dear wife from an attack of
the cholera," and relating the means which had been effectual in her
recovery. "All that night I was greatly afflicted," he writes; "I felt the
hand of the Lord to cast me down to the greatest depths. It was on my
heart on Friday night, and it was on hers also, to bring out the elders of
the Church, which I did on Saturday morning, when, having confessed before
them unto the Lord all my sin, and all her sin, and all the sin of my
house, without any reserve, according to the commandment of the Lord
(James, v., 16), I brought them up to her roomn, when, having ministered
to her a word to strengthen her faith, they prayed to tihe Lord one after
another, and then strengthened her with a word of assurance, and blessed
her in the name of the Lord. They had not been gone above five minutes
when she asked me for something to eat.... While I give the glory to God,
I look upon Dr. Darling as having been a blessed instrument in His hand,
and am able to see the hand of the Lord in the means, as clearly as in my
own case, where there was neither means, nor medicine, nor the appointed
ordinance of the Church." In this letter Irving affectionately anticipates
a visit from his wife's father and mother, and writes as if time had
softened the warmth of their opposition and restored much of the old
frankness of their intercourse. This is the only glimpse which I can find
of him till he reappears finally in September, in all his old, individual
distinctness, softened by his weak bodily condition, with a grave
gentleness and dignity, and the peace of exhaustion breathing in every
thing he does and says. He had been by " the power" commissioned as a
prophet to Scotland, to do a great work in his ative land some time
before. Either the time had now arrived for that great work, and he was
authoritatively commanded to go forth and do it, which is the explanation
given by his alarmed and disapproving relatives of his journey, or else
the Church at Newman Street, anxious for the restoration of his health,
gladly pronounced an authoritative sanction to his own wish to wander
slowly over the country, wending his way by degrees to Scotland, with the
hope of gaining strength, as well as doing the Lord's work by the way. He
had been warned by his
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PROJECTED JOURNEY TO THE NORTH. 541 doctor that the only safe thing for
him, in the condition of health he was in, was to spend the winter in a
milder climate; and when, notwithstanding this advice, his anxious friends
saw him turn his face, in the waning autumnal days, toward the wintry
north instead, it is not wonderful that they should add the blame of this
to all the other wrongs against his honor and happiness of which they held
the prophets of Newman Street guilty. However that may be, it is apparent
that the spiritual authorities of his own Church, perhaps aware that no
inducement would lead him to seek health, for its own sole sake, in any
kind of relaxation, gave their full countenance to the journey, upon which
he now set out in confidence and hope. It is singular, however, to note
how, as soon as he emerges from his seclusion in Newman Street, he regains
his natural rank in a world which always had recognized the simple
grandeur of his character. Away from that Church, where he rules, indeed,
but must not judge, nor act upon even the utterances from heaven except on
another man's authority-where he is censured sometimes and rebuked, and
where his presence is already an unacknowledged embarrassment, preventing
or at least hindering the development of all its new institutions-the free
air of heaven once more expands his forlorn bosom. In the rural places
where he goes there is no man "worthy" who does not throw open his doors
to that honored guest, whose greatness, all subdued and chastened by his
weakness, returns to him as he travels. Once more his fame encircles him
as he rides alone through the unknown country. It is Edward Irving, of
tender catholic heart, a brother to all Christians, whose thoughts, as he
has poured them forth for ten eventful years, have quickened other
thoughts over all the nation, and brought him many a disciple and many a
friend in the unknown depths of England, and not merely the angel of the
new Church, who goes softly in his languor and feebleness to the banks of
the Severn and the Wye. I can not but think that the leaders of the
community must have felt —to judge by the sentiment which is apparent in
their publications-a certain relief, perhaps unconscious to themselves,
when he left them-he whom it was impossible not to be tender of, but whose
enlightenment was slower and more difficult than they could have desired;
and for himself I can not doubt that the relief was even greater. He had
escaped away to the society of his Lord-to the silent rural ways, where no
excitement disturbed the musings of his soul; to the
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IRVING LEAVES LONDON. company of good men, who were not disposed to
contend with him whom, unconsciously, he had helped and enlightened in the
liberal and princely years that were past. So he left London and the
battle-field, never more to enter those painful lists, nor be lost amid
the smoke of that conflict, and went forth, in simple dignity, to a work
less hard than he dreamed of, unwitting to himself, leaving his passion
and anguish behind him, and turning his fated steps toward the hills with
no harder thing on hand than to die. He left London without any apparent
presentiment that this parting was the last, and gave his final
benediction to the children whom in this world he was to see no more. They
were three whom he thus left fatherless; one only, the Maggie of his
letters, old enough to understand or remember her father; the youngest an
infant a few months old. The first point in his journey was Birmingham,
from whence he begins his letters to his anxious wife: "Edgbaston,
Birmingham, 3d September, 1834. " MY DEAR WIFE, —I have just time to write
a line to say that I have got here in good health and spirits, without
feeling any weariness at all, yet conscious of bearing about the hand of
the Lord upon me, at which I must neither murmur nor rebel.... Oh, that I
might leave a blessing in this hospitable and peaceful house! "Your
faithful husband, EDWD. IRVING." The next letter is from Blymhill, by
Shiffnel, where he describes himself to have arrived, "bearing the hand of
the Lord upon me, yet careful enough and contented enough," and where his
friends find him a horse on which to pursue his way. On the 6th of
September, still lingering at this place, " visiting the brethren," which
he speaks of as " strengthening and fitting me for the journey," he tells
his Isabella that " the Lord deals very tenderly with me, and I think I
grow in health and strength. What I could not get in London or
Birmingham," he adds, with quaint homeliness, " I found lying for me here
—the gift of Mr. Cowper, of Bridgenorth, a sort of trotcosie of silk
oilcloth, which will take in both hat, and shoulders, and cheeks, and
neck, and breast. I saw the hand of Providence in this." Here he is
troubled by his own inadvertence in having dated a check, which he gave in
payment for his horse, "London, little thinking that this was a trick to
save a stamp. I am very sorry for this, but I did it in pure ignorance."
Next day he is at Bridgenorth, in trouble about his little boy, who is
ailing, and on whose behalf he directs his wife to appeal to the elders
for such a visitation as had been, according
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BRIDGENORTH. 543 to his belief, so effectual in her own case. "Ask them to
come in after the evening service, when I shall separate myself to the
Lord with them," says the absent father, whose heart is with his children,
and who, after many anxious counsels about the little four-year-old boy,
sends a message to tell him that "the horse is brown, with black legs."
Next day he resumes: I did separate myself according to my promise, and
was much distressed by the heavy and incessant judgments of the Lord, and
afterward I had faith to plead the promise that the prayer of faith should
heal the sick." "This Bridgenorth is one of the most beautifully situated
towns I ever saw," he continues, and proceeds to describe the route which
he meant to adopt to his wife. After recording the expenses to which his
horse and saddle had put him, he adds: "But no matter; I feel that I am
serving the Lord daily, and I think He daily giveth me more strength to
serve Him." On the 10th of September he is again at Blymhill, where he
lingers to receive the visits of some brethren in the neighborhood, and to
prove his horse, " which goes well." The friends who detain him in this
quarter seem to be the clergymen of the place. "I am greatly pleased and
comforted," he says, "by all that I [hear] about Henry Dalton's two
flocks, and have no doubt that the pleasure of the Lord is prospering in
his hands; nor am I less pleased here with Mr. Brydgeman, whose labors for
the Lord are very abundant." From Blymhill he also writes to Mr. Hamilton,
committing into his hands the management of his business affairs with his
former publishers, a commission which he introduces by the following
affecting preface: "MY DEAR BROTHER IIABIILTON,-Although we have parted
company in the way for a season, being well assured of the sincerity and
honesty of your mind, and praying always that you may be kept from the
formality of the world in divine things, I do fondly hope that we shall
meet together in the end, and go hand in hand, as we have done in the
service of God. And this not for you only, but for your excellent wife,
whose debtor I am in many ways. On this account I have always continued to
take your counsel and help in all my worldly matters, as in former times,
though God, in His goodness, hath given me so many deacons and
under-deacons worthy of all confidence. But I can not forget, and never
will, the assiduous kindness with which you have, ever since I knew you,
helped me with your sound judgment and discretion in all temporal things,
and sure am I that I should be glad as ever to give you my help in
spiritual things as heretofore. I could not, without these expressions of
my hearty, faithful attachment to you, and of my grateful obligations for
all your
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IRVING'S LETTER TO HIS CHILDREN. past kindness, introduce the business
upon which I am now to seek your help." All the literary business in which
Irving was now concerned seems to have been the settlement of his accounts
with his publishers. Some balances appear to have been owing him. But I
have been told, I can not say with what truth, that he derived little
pecuniary advantage at any time even from his most popular publications. A
few days later he writes the following descriptive letter to his children:
" Ironbridge, Shropshirc, 16th September, 1834. " MY DEAR CHILDREN,
MARGARET AND MARTIN,-This place from which I write you is named Ironbridge,
because there is a great bridge of iron, which, with one arch, spans
across the River Severn, and there is another, about two miles farther up
the river, where there are the ruins of an ancient abbey, in which men and
women that feared God used in old times to live and worship Him. The walls
of the ruin are all grown over with ivy. Your father stopped his horse to
look at them; and six miles farther back there was an old gray ruined wall
in a field, which a smith by the road side told me was the ruins of an
ancient Roman city, named Uniconium, which once stood there.... Your
father has ridden from Shrewsbury this morning, where he parted with his
dear friend, the Honorable and Reverend Henry Brydgeman, who is a very
godly man, and has been wonderfully kind to your father. He has six sons
and only one daughter, all little children, the eldest not so big as
Margaret; and I am writing to Bridgenorth to another dear friend, the Rev.
Henry Dalton, who has no children yet. You must pray for both these
ministers, and thank God for putting it into their head to be so good to
your father. ".Now concerning the house and the oak-tree in which the king
was hidden and saved. There have been eight kings since his time and one
queen-Queen Anne, whose statue is before St. Paul's Church in London. This
king's name was Charles, and his father's name was Charles, and therefore
they called him Charles the Second. The people rose up against his father,
and warred against him till they took him, and then they cut off his head
at Whitehall, in London; and his poor son they pursued, to take him and
kill him also, and he was forced to flee away and hide himself, as King
David did hide himself. The house is only three miles from Mr. Brydgeman's,
so we mounted our horses and away we rode —Mr. Brydgeman in the
middle-till we came to a gate which led us into a park, and soon we came
to another gate, which opened and let us into the stable-yard, and there
we dismounted from our horses.... The master of the house and his family
were gone, and there were none but a nice, tidy, kind woman, who took us
through the kitchen into an ancient parlor all done round the walls with
carved oak, just as it was when the king hid himself in the house. And
there was a picture of the king. Then we went up stairs into an ancient
bedroom, whose floor was sore
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THE
ROYAL OAK. 545 worn with age, and by the side of this bedroom was a door
leading into a little, little room, and the floor of that room lifted up
in the middle, and underneath was a narrow, dark dungeon or hiding-place,
in which the king of all this island was glad to hide himself, in order to
escape from his persecutors; this narrow place opened below by narrow
stairs into the garden, where is a door in the wall hidden behind ivy.
Then we went up another stair to the garret, and at the top of it there
was another board in the floor that lifted up, and went down by a small
ladder into another hiding-place. But all these hiding-places were not
enough to hide the king from his persecutors -armed soldiers on horseback,
who entered the house to search it. Then the king fled out~ by the door
behind the ivy in the garden, and leaped over the garden wall into a
field, and climbed up an oak-tree, and hid himself among its thick
branches. Papa saw this tree. It is done round with a rail, to distinguish
it from the rest and to keep it sacred..... Then the soldiers, not finding
him in the house, galloped about into the wood, and passed under the very
tree; but God saved the king, and they found him not.... There are many
lessons to be learned from this, which your dear mother will teach you,
for I am tired, and my horse is getting ready. So God bless you, and your
little sister, and your dear mother, and all the house. Farewell! Your
loving father, EDWD. IRVING." After this, his correspondence is
exclusively addressed to his wife, and continues, from point to point
along his journey, an almost daily chronicle:' Shobdon (half way between
Ludlow and Kington,)J Thursday, 18th September, 1834. 5 "MY DEAREST WIFE,
—In this beautiful village, embowered with trees, and clothed with ivy and
roses, in the little inn-where are assembled the last remains of a wake
which has holden since Sundayfrom a little bar-room or parlor within the
ample kitchen, where they are playing their drunken tricks with one
another, I sit down to write you. I know not wherefore I went to
Shrewsbury,* but wherefore I returned to Bridgenorth I discern was for
seeing Mejanel, and opening to him the whole state of his soul in the
presence of Mr. Dalton, and with his confirmation; and I do hope it will
lead to that repentance and cleansing of heart which may prepare him for
the ordination of the Lord, which I trust will not be delayed, in the
great mercy and goodness of our Lord. I charged himt at no rate to go to
France without ordination, and I think I prevailed with him.. - "But oh!
how shall I describe the beauty and the blessedness of the land through
which I have traveled these three days. Whether it be that the riding on
horseback gives time for the objects to enter * He had, however, in a
former letter, described to his wife the impulse he felt to seek out a
young surgeon, whom he believed to be in Shrewsbury, who was in danger of
falling from the faith, but who, he found on going there, had left the
place. f The person here referred to was a French preacher, who had been a
very prominent figure in the excitement which attended the origin of the "
gifts" in Scotland. -See Memoir of Mr. Story, of Rosneath. M
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ROSS.-CHEPSTOW.-RAGLAN. and produce these impressions, I know not, but it
seems to me as if I had never seen the beauty and the fatness of the land
till now. I am filled with the admiration of it. My way to Ludlow lay over
the ridge which joins the two Clay (or Clee) mountains, and, as they rose
before me, in their blue and naked majesty, out of the ripe vegetation and
abundant wood of the country around, I was filled with delight. My road,
both yesterday and to-day, though a turnpike road, is out of the great
lines, and I was as solitary and sequestered as I could have wished,
leaving me much opportunity of communion with God..... I keep this letter
open till I come to Kington. My dinner, ham and egg, a cold fowl, an
apple-tart and cheese, a tumbler of cider, a glass of Sicilian Tokay, of
which Mr. Brydgeman put two bottles in my saddle [bags]... I arn safe in
Mr. Whalley's, and have passed a good night.. Tell your dear mother I had
such a memento of Kirkcaldy Manse-ginger wine in a long-necked decanter.
L.. Love and blessing to the children, and to all the house. "Your
faithful and loving husband, EDwD. IRVING." " Ross, 23d September. -'"I
have but ten minutes to the post, being just arrived at Ross. A Mr. Davies
came to Kington, and invited me to Hereford, and gathered an inquiring
people, whom I instructed, under Mr. Davies' authority, as his chaplain.
He has ridden thus far with me, and goes on to Monmouth, where I expect to
be at tea. I am getting daily better. The Lord bless you all!" " Chepstow,
26th September. "I was greatly comforted by your letter last night, having
been in great distress of-soul for dear Martin; and I give thanks to the
Lord, who hath preserved him.... Say to Mr. T.- that I spent a most
agreeable night and forenoon at his brother's, and that I feel my going to
Monmouth was very much for his sake and his wife's, both of whom, I think,
are not far from the kingdom of heaven. I also saw and conversed much with
the Rev. Mr. Davies, of whom I thought very highly.... Here, at Chepstow,
the seed has indeed been sown by Mr. Sturgeon, and I am watering it with
words of counsel and instruction, teaching them the way of worshiping God,
and encouraging them to gather together and call upon His name. I think
there is the foundation of a Church laid in this place. Now, my dear wife,
I am surely better in my health, for my appetite is good, and my pulse is
come to be under 100. The Lord's hand I feel to be with me, and I believe
that I am doing Him service. Farewell! the Lord be your stay." "Raglan
(half way to Crickhowel), Saturday, 27th September. "The inn; here, at
which I have just arrived to breakfast, is also the post-office, and I
have about three quarters of an hour to write you. My visit to Chepstow, I
feel, hath been very well bestowed. I had the people two nights to Mrs.
Sturgeon's, and they came in great numbers, and I had great presence and
power of the Lord in ministering to them the two chapters which we offered
in the family worship, Luke, xi., and Matthew, xxv., and great, I am
persuaded, will the fruits of Mr. Sturgeon's ministry here be. But the
thing
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HIEALING
BOTH TO BODY AND SOUL. 547 wherein the hand of the Lord is most seen is
His bringing me into contact and conference with all the young clergymen
round about. At Tintern, which is two thirds of the way from Monmouth to
Chepstow, I rested my horse while I went to see the famous ruins of the
abbey. I had not been within the abbey walls five minutes when there was a
ring for admittance, and two young men of a scholarlike appearance came
in. One' immediately came forward and saluted me with information that his
father, a barrister in Dublin, had once been entertained in our house, and
the young man with him was also a clergyman; with both of them I have had
much close conversation, and with two at Chepstow.. My time is exhausted;
I will, therefore, speak of myself. I think I may say I" am indeed very
much better, and hardly conscious of an invalid's feelings.... I continue
to use Dr. Darling's prescriptions, apd find the good of them. Now, as
concerneth speaking, I am fully persuaded, by experience, that it is the
proper exercise of the lungs, and, being taken in measure, it is always
good for me. But nothing has done me so much good as to hear of dear
Martin's recovery. That was indeed healing both to body and soul." "Crickhowel,
28th September.' I arrived here safe and in good order, horse and man,
last night; and, because they could not: get a messenger over to MIr.
Waddy, who lives about two miles off, I made my arrival known by a note to
the Rev. T. Price, Mr. Tudor's friend, who came to the inn very speedily,
and took me up to his house to spend the evening. I find him much
instructed in the truth, but holding it rather by the light of the
understanding than by the faith of the Spirit; still he is, as I judge,
one by whom the Lord will greatly bless this principality, through the
continual prayer of the Church. Oh! tell Mr. Tudor to keep Wales upon his
heart, and Price and Scale. Scale is the young man at Merthyr Tydvil who
breakfasted with us once. He is a precious man-one set of the Lord for a
great blessing, I am convinced, though the time be not yet fully come. He
rode over to-day, and poor Waddy had ridden early all the way to
Abergavenny, six miles back on the road, thinking to find me there, and
ride in with me; but I had resolved that the Christian Sabbath should not
fall beneath the Jewish in being a day of entire rest for man and horse.
Mr. Price is a great Welsh scholar, a literary and patriotic man, full of
taste and knowledge; young-that is, within my age-a bachelor, whose wife,
I fear, is more his books than the Church as yet. Yet I love him much, and
owe him much love. I breakfasted with him this morning, and afterward went
to the church in this place, where an aged man, Mr. Vaughan, who fears God
much, is the minister; for Mr. Price went to serve a church in Welsh some
three miles off.... We did not meet till the interval, when we all went
over to Mr. Price's other cure, a church over the water, close by. He
preached on the coming of the Lord, a short but true sermon. Then
afterward he asked me, at the request of the family, to go with him to a
sick lady who had been prayed for, and gave the whole household ministry
into my own hand. The rest of the evening I have spent with the three
brethren, Price, Scale, and Waddy, and having supped
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BEAUTY AND MAJESTY OF GOD'S WORKS. upon a piece of bread and a tumbler of
precious beer, home-brewed, I sit down to write to you before I offer up
my worship and go to rest. Now, my dear, I think it rather of the Lord
that we should remain apart till I be brought home in the good time of the
Lord... It is a trial to me to be separated from you in many ways, and
chiefly in this, that I may testify to you the new love with which God
hath filled my bosom toward you; that I may bear you ever upon my arm, as
I do now bear you upon my heart." "Builth (border of Radnor and Brecon),
29th September. " I am again returned to the banks of the Wye, and shall
ascend it to near its summit in'huge Plinlimmon.' Of all rivers that I
have seen, the grace of its majesty surpasseth. I first came in sight of
its scenery as we rode to Hereford, a few miles from Kington, and, as far
as the eye could stretch up to the mountains from which it issued, it
seemed a very wilderness of beauty and fruitfulness. My eye was never
satisfied with beholding it. But how impossible it is to give you an idea
of the vast bosom of Herefordshire as I saw it from the high lands we
cross on the way to Ross!.. My soul was altogether satisfied in beholding
the works of my God.. But the valley of the Usk, where Crickhowel is, hath
a beauty of its own, so soft, with such a feathery wood scattered over it,
gracing with modesty, but not hiding, the well-cultivated sides of the
mountains, whose tops are resigned to nature's wildness.... Now, my
dearest, of myself: I think I grow daily better by daily care and the
blessing of God upon it. I ride thirty miles without any fatigue, walking
down the hills to relieve my horse.... I have you and the children in
continual remembrance before God, and them also that are departed,
expressing my continual contentedness that they are with Him. Now
farewell! say to Martin that I am going to write him a letter about
another king, St. Ethelred." This promised letter to his little son was
never written, but there breaks in here a birthday epistle to the little
Maggie of his heart: "Aberystwyth, Oct. 2d, 1834. "MY DEAR DAUGHTER
MARGARET, —This is your birthday, and I must write you a letter to express
a father's joy and thanksgiving over so dear a child. Your mother writes
me from Brighton that Miss Rook has written to her such an account of your
diligence and obedience. It made me so glad that you were beginning to
show that you are not only my child, but the child of God, regenerate in
baptism. Bring thou forth, my sweet child, the fruits of godliness daily,
more and more abundantly. I am now got to Aberystwyth, and dwell upon the
shore of the sea, in the same house with Mr. Carre, who goes out and
preaches every evening at five o'clock, and I go out and stand beside him.
You will delight to hear that I am much better, through the goodness of
God, and that I hope to be quite well before I reach Scotland.... I
beseech you, my beloved child, to have your soul always ready for the hand
of the Lord, who is your true Father. I am but His poor representative.
Now blessings be upon thee, and dear Martin, and dear Isabella! I pray God
Page 549
WELL-SUNNED, WELL-AIRED MOUNTAINS. 549 to keep you many years in health,
and afterward to receive thee to His glory..... Remember me with affection
to all the house, and be assured that I am your loving father, EDWD.
IRVING." Hie then resumes the chronicle of his journey: "Aberystwyth,
October 3d. "I wrote to Maggie yesterday, which, with a letter to Mr.
Whally, I found occupation enough.... The letter I wrote you from Builth
was too late for the post. That day was the sweetest of all my journey,
for it was among the well-sunned, well-aired mountains, where every breeze
seemed to breathe health upon me. MIy road during the morning was up
rough, and, in many places, wooded glens; but after passing Rhyadhon,
where I breakfasted, I cleared the region of cultivation, taking the
hill-road to what they call the Devil's Bridge, or Havod Arms, an inn
within twelve miles of Aberystwyth. Among the sheep and the sheepfolds I
found that air which I wanted; hunger came hours before its time, and I
seemed to feel the strength of my youth. I do not find it so by the shore
of the sea, though this be assuredly a sweet and healthy place, at the
opening of a short valley, which in five or six: miles carries you into
the bleak air of the mountains. It will give you some idea of my returning
strength when I tell you that next morning I arose at seven, and, with the
Boots of the inn for my guide, descended to the bottom of that fearful
ravine of roaring cataracts, 320 feet below the level of the road, and
ascended again, and surveyed them one by one with great delight.... This
Aberystwyth is against letter writing. I was interrupted yesterday; and so
I will interrupt my description, and leave it for a letter to dear Maggie.
The house of Mrs. Brown was open to me, and a bed prepared for me.. Mr.
Carre also abides under her roof since her son came home..... Mr. Brown
has the felicity of seeing his family joined together in one mind..... No
doubt they have all to be tried, and their faith is yet but in its
infancy; but it is most heart-cheering to see the house of one mind. Since
my coming, Mr. Brown has opened his house at morning and evening worship
to' those who are godly disposed,' where I have had an opportunity of
instructing and counseling many of the Lord's people. Dear Carre preaches
in the open air at the head of the Marine Parade, where the main street of
the ancient town descends into the noble crescent which hath been builded
of late years for the accommodation of the company who chiefly resort from
the West of England hither for the sea-bathing and sea-air; and he was
wont to open the Scriptures farther, within doors, at seven, to those who
came to Mr. Brown's; but, now that he has seen the better way of combining
domestic worship with that household ministration, I think he will adopt
it, and continue what I have begun. Mr. Brown departs for his cure at
Maddington on Wednesday next week. "Harlech, Merionethshire, 7th October.
"I write you from the inn which overlooks one of the three strong castles
with which Edward III. did bridle all this region of North Wales. It
stands frowning, like the memory of its master, over land and over sea.
Out of the window, where I have dined, I have seen
Page 550
550
CADER-IDRIS. the most beautiful sunset, full of crimson glory, with here
and there a streak of the brightest green. It was at the time that I was
with you all in spirit in Newman Street, and I took it as a figure of the
latter-day glory. Yesterday I set out from Aberystwyth, from that dear
family, who were all up to see me off at seven o'clock; and, being mindful
of Dr. Darling's words, rode enveloped in India-rubber to Machynlleth
(which being pronounced is Machuntleth). This was a stage of eighteen
miles before breakfast, nowise particularly interesting. But from
Machynlleth to Dolgelley is by the foot of Cader-Idris, a mountain
surpassed by none, if equaled by any, for its rugged majesty and beauty. I
had much communion with God in the first part of this stage, for the
Church, for Mr. Cardale, but, above all, for you and for all who have
received from us life. When I descended upon the base of Cader-Idris, on
my left hand there shot out a vista toward the sea, which terminated in a
clear and bright sky. I can not describe the pleasure which I had in
looking away from the terrible grandeur of Cader-Idris down that sweet
glade opening into the beautiful skies. But it was the instant duty of
myself and horse to cross up a shoulder of the mountain and get on our
way.... About six I arrived at my inn, and was much refreshed by my dinner
and bed. This morning I sent my horse early down to Barmouth, proposing
myself to come by a boat, which I was told sailed at half past nine, and
got down in forty minutes-all to see the scenery, which is very, very
beautiful upon the estuary or loch; but when I camte to the boat-house,
about two miles' walking, I found the boat would not be there for more
than an hour, would tarry some time, and then had a rough sea and rough
head-wind to sail with. My purpose was to be here before the meeting of
the church, and this is ten miles from Barmouth. There was nothing for it
but to ferry over the water, and walk the remaining eight miles, along
with three skinners going thither on their business, men in whom was the
fear of God. I gave them my great-coat to carry, and walked by the rough
side of the loch with a strong wind ahead, and was no worse, but I thought
rather the better for it. Then I rode hither, and being all alone, have
been more with you than with myself. Truly the Lord hath laid SMlr.
Cardale upon my heart, and the whole Church, and all those to be
presented, and I have prayed for them every one, according to my
discernment. Show this sentence to Mr. Cardale, or transcribe it, for I am
not able to write to-night,... and this to Mr.Woodhouse-(two sentences in
Latin are here inserted in the manuscript). It is not because I may or can
not trust you, most trustworthy wife, that I write these answers in Latin,
but because I would not take you out of your place..Now the peace and
blessing of the Lord be with you and all the house." "Bangor, 9th October.
"MY DEAREST WIFE,-For I have heart and strength to write only to you;
indeed, it is in my heart to write many letters; but a due sense of my
duty of resting when the labors of the day are over holds my hand, and I
have committed my flock into the Shepherd's hand. I rode from Harlech,
before breakfast, along the sea-shore, until we found an inlet to follow
up, at the head of which sits Taw-y
Page 551
BEDD-GELERT. 551 bwlch, in such stillness and beauty, among the -most
sublime and beautiful mountain scenery. Oh! it is a place of peace and
repose. Thence I crossed rugged and barren mountains, with occasional
views of the ocean, until the road swept up a mountain pass of great
sublimity, and opened at the head of it upon Bedd-Gelert, a place of the
like character with Taw-y-bwlch, but not so sequestered. (This is for
Maggie, but it is profitable to us all.) Bedd-Gelert means' the grave of
Gelert.' Gelert was a hound of matchless excellences.... The hound fell at
his master's feet and breathed out his life in piteous moanings. He was
hardly dead when the babe awoke from some place of greater security
whither the dog had carried it, and when they looked beneath theoed they
found a mighty and ferocious wolf, whose mangled body showed what a
desperate conflict poor Gelert had waged that day for his master's infant.
Ah me! what faithfulness God hath put into the hearts of his creatures!
what pure love must be in His own! The name Bedd-Gelert commemorates that
event. Here I had a harper to play to me the choicest of the -old Welsh
airs, Of a noble race was Shenkin, The Jarch of the Men of Hlarlech, etc.
The old blind man was very thankful for a sixpence, and I taught him how
to use his harp as David had done, in the praise of his God. From thence I
set myself to begird the roots of Snowdon, for he covered his head from
the sight of man. I had seen his majestic head lifted above the mountains
from Aberystwyth, and it is the only sight I have had of him. He is the
monarch of many. The mountains stand around him as they shall stand around
Zion. When I was seekingto disentangle the perfect form of one of:them
from the mist, which I thought must surely be he, a countryman told me my
mistake. That beautiful sunset which I saw at Harlech yielded only wind;
and as I rode up these defiles the wind was terrible. It made the silken
shroud over my shoulders rattle in my horse's ears until he could hardly
abide it; and, in truth, I had to take it off, for the bellowing of the
wind itself was enough for the nerves of man or horse. I never endured
such a battery of wind. I arrived at my inn a little after the setting of
the sun-Dolbaddon, an inn like a palace. Thence I rode this morning to
Caernarvon, secluded on the outgoing of the Menai Straits; and I turned
off my road to look at the bridge -that wonder of man's hand. And now here
I am in the very house of the Shunamite woman; for, though it is an inn
like a castle, the Penrhyn Arms, mine hostess is a- very mother. Mr. Pope
is resident here, having married a wife of the daughters of the land. To
him I wrote a letter of brotherly love; but it hath been in vain, I fear.
The Lord's will be done. Now I doubt that this is too late for the post;
but, come when it will, let it come with the blessing of God upon you and
upon all the house. I begin to feel a strong desire that you were with me.
I do not know, but it may be well to commit that thing to the Lord against
the time I reach Glasgow." ".'Flint, Saturday night, 11th October. "I am
still able to praise the Lord for His merciful and gracious dealings,
though these two last days, or rather the two before this, have been days
of trial to me. When viewing the MIenai Bridge, I got wet by a sudden gust
driven through the Straits by the wind,
Page 552
552
LEGEND FOR MAGGIE. and though I put on my cloak, and changed all at that
motherly inn, I had a very fevered night, and was in a very fevered state
next day. Still, I felt my horse's back and the beautiful day to be my
medicine, and rode to Conway very slowly, having a good deal of headache.
There I found myself little better, and the inn being kept by a surgeon, I
was greatly tempted to take his advice. My spirits sank for one half hour,
and I had formed the serious resolution of turning into the sick-room. But
I remembered the words of the Lord upon my journey, and ordered my horse,
and having now not more than two hours of good daylight, I rode with great
speed, and, as it were, violently.< This I soon discovered to be my
remedy; for while the cool air fanned the heat of my lungs and carried it
off, the violent riding brought out a gentle perspiration, until I came to
the hotel at Abergele, where I gave myself with all my heart to cry to the
Lord. I drank copiously of tea, and had gruel, and bathed my feet, which
God so blessed that, when I awoke this morning, the feeling of all within
my breast was such that I exclaimed,'Can it be that I am entirely healed!'
But I soon found that the Lord's hand is still upon me. Yet am I sure that
I received a very great delivery great deliverance that night. To-day my
headache has returned, with sickness.... "This is for Maggie. At the
mouth' of the Conway was a weir for catching fish, which belonged in very
ancient times to the brother of the lord of these parts about Great
Ormeshead. He had a son named Elfin, whe had wasted all his substance, and
wearied out his father's goodness, and was brought to great straits. He
begged, as a last boon from his father, the weir for one night, thinking
to catch many fish. But in the morning there was not one, only there was a
basket, and a baby in it. He took the infant boy, and was careful of his
upbringing. This boy grew to be Taliesin, the prince of all the British
bards, who afterward lived to reconcile his patron with his father.....
God keep you all, my dear children, and make you more and more abound to
His glory." " Flint, 12th October. "The service is in Welsh this forenoon,
and so I am at my inn, where indeed they have most tenderly treated me. It
is English in the evening, and, God willing, I will go up to His house.
Now, my dear, I write you again this day, though it will be the companion
of my last night's letter, to express my decided judgment that you should
not any longer be separated from me. My God is sufficient for me, I know,
and He hath been my sufficiency during these three days and nights of the
sharpest fiery trial, both of flesh and heart, which I have ever proved. I
believe that upon my saddle, and by the strength of faith, I have fought
against the most severe bilious fever. How in the night seasons the Psalms
have been my consolations against the faintings of flesh and heart! And I
believe God hath guided me to do things which were the very means of
dispelling those fears and troubles. Last night I slept well from half
past nine till two, then I counted the hours as they chimed out from the
clock on the staircase; and so I:lay, parched with thirst and inward heat,
and yet chilly, my head full of pain, my heart of fainting, but my faith
steadfast. I felt that there was much of nervousness in it, and that
Page 553
RENEWED
ILLNESS. 553 by some strong act I must dissolve it. The foot-pan, with the
water that had been hot, but now was wintry cold (for last night was very
chill), stood by the bedside, and a little jug which had contained boiling
water to keep up the temperature was standing by its side. It was the
breaking of the morning. I threw off flannels and stockings, and stood
with my feet in the cold water, and pollred with the jug the cold water
from my shoulders downward..... and all at once was a changed man, and had
some winks of sleep. "And again, when I had desired the maid to bring my
breakfast to me in bed, purposing to keep my bed all day, or some
considerable part of it, it occurred to me that this also was yielding to
the disease, and I instantly arose, dressed myself, ate my breakfast-a
mutton-chop, stale bread, and tea, and went out and walked for half an
hour by the sea-shore, breathing such health and sweetness from the air of
heaven. " (Monday night, Liverpool, Mr. Tarbet's). The Lord hath made vain
the remedies of man. The last three days have been the days and nights of
sorest trial I ever had.... The fevered heat of my hands and head in the
night season, and the sleepless hours appointed to me, are indeed a new
thing in the history of my trouble. Yet I am strong; witness my riding
this day twenty-four miles. Nor have I any fears of myself; but I am
strangely, strangely held, deeply afflicted. I felt myself shut up to the
necessity of going direct from Liverpool to Greenock by the steamn-boat. I
have written my mother, and proposed going that way, but have put it off.
God may give me liberty as I return. Now I feel unable to take care of
myself, and my calm judgment is that you should be my nurse and companion.
I write not these things to trouble you, but to put you in possession of
the truth. I will any way abide your answer here.... I now think Maggie
should not come. In great haste not to lose the post, your faithful and
loving husband, EDwD. IRVING. "Oh, how I have longed after you in heart
and spirit." "Liverpool, 13th October. " MY DEAREST ISABELLA,-.... Last
night I had comparatively good rest, and was able to keep down the fever
and prevent the perspiration by timeous sponging with vinegar and water.
What it indicates I know not, but I have had to-day and last night a good
deal of those cold creepings upon the skin which Dr. Darling used to
inquire about. I think, before you leave London, you should let him know
these things. There is nothing I have kept back from you. - "Now, my dear,
I have sought to serve God, and I do put my trust in Him; therefore I am
not afraid, He hath sore chastised me, but not given me over to death. I
shall yet live and discover His wonderful works. I have oft felt as if one
of the ends of the Lord in His visitation were to constrain me to send for
you at this point of my progress, and that another was to preclude me from
farther journeying on horseback into these parts of England and into
Scotland. At the same time, in your coming, if you see it your duty to
come, proceed tenderly and carefully in respect to yourself, coming by
such stages as you can bear. I hope you will find me greatly better under
this quiet and hospitable roof.
Page 554
554
IRVING JOINED BY HIS WIFE IN LIVERPOOL. "Be of good courage, my dear wife,
and bear thy trials, as thou hast ever done, with yet more and more
patience and fortitude. It will be well with the just man at the last.....
Now farewell. The blessing of God be upon you all. "Your faithful and
loving husband, EDWD. IRVING." Thus ended forever the correspondence
between the husband and wife. The history of that lingering journey, with
its breezes of health, its hopes of recovery, its pauses of refreshment
among the sweet Welsh valleys, where the parish priests of a national
church, more powerful but less absolute than his own, opened wide their
doors and their hearts to his presence and his counsels; the bits of
legend picked up for his little Maggie; the silent progress along mountain
paths, all sanctified with prayer, where " the Lord laid" such a one "on
his heart;" the forlorn temerity with which, fainting and fevered, he
pushes on, no longer aware of the landscape or of the people round him,
brought down to bare existence, hard enough ado to keep his frame erect on
the saddle, and to retain light enough to guide his way in those dimmed
eyes; the yearning that seizes upon him at last f6r the companion of his
life, bursting out pathetically in that exclamation which he puts down
after his letter is finished, at the end, in an irrepressible outcry-" Oh,
how I have longed after you in heart and spirit!"-all is clearer written
in these letters than in anything that could be added to them. His wife
obeyed his call at once, and joined him in Liverpool. Again her sisters
write to each other, wringing their hands with a grief and impatience
which can scarcely express itself in words. "Isabella set off for
Liverpool on Thursday," says Mrs. Hamilton; "in her letter she says she
found Edward looking much worse than when he left home, his strength
considerably reduced, and his pulse 100. Notwithstanding this, they were,
she said, to sail for Glasgow on Monday, and so proceed to the ultimate
object which was in view in Mr. Irving's leaving home —his going to
Glasgow to organize a Church there. Oh me! it is sad, sad to think of
his.deliberately sacrificing himself! Dr. Darling has decidedly said that
he can not, humanly speaking, live over the winter, unless he retire to a
milder climate and be entirely at rest. Yet at this inclement season they
proceed northward, and take that cold and boisterous passage too, by way
of making bad worse." No wonder those affectionate spectators were touched
with the anger of grief in their powerless anguish, finding it impossible
to turn him for a moment
Page 555
THEY
SAIL FOR GLASGOW. 555 from the path to which he believed himself ordained,
and compelled to look on and see him consummate all his sacrifices with
this offering of his life. The weather was boisterous and stormy, but the
dying apostle -who was not an apostle, nor, amid all the gifts that
surrounded him, anyway gifted, except as God in nature and grace had
endowed His faithful servant-did not depart from his purpose. He went to
Greenock, accompanied by his wife, whose heart was delivered from all
wifely and womanish terrors by undoubting confidence in that "word of the
Lord" which had promised him a great and successful mission in Scotland.
At Greenock they seem to have encountered Mrs. Stewart Ker, a lady of
singular piety, whom Irving valued highly, and whQse remarkable letters,
though not published, are known and prized by many good people. In one of
these letters, dated October 25th, 1834, she thus describes his changed
appearance, and the manner in which he en. tered Glasgow: " To human
appearance he is sinking under a deep consumption. His gigantic frame
bears all the marks of age and weakness; his tremendous voice is now often
faltering, and when occasionally he breaks forth with all his former
feeling, one sees that his bodily powers are exhausted. Add to all this
the calm, chastened dignity of his expression -his patient waiting upon
God for the fulfillment of His purposes to himself and his flock through
this affliction, and it is exceedingly edifying.... I was going to Glasgow
with them; and just before we left the house, he lifted up his hands in
blessing, commending them (the family under whose roof he was) to Jesus,
and to the reward of His grace, for their kindness to him. I had a great
deal of conversation with him in the boat.... In driving through the
crowded streets of Glasgow, he laid aside his hat and exclaimed,'Blessed
be the name of the Shepherd of Israel, who has brought us to the end of
our journey in the fullness of the blessing of the Gospel of peace!' and
continued for some time praying." It was thus, with uplifted hands, and
words of thanksgiving and blessing, that he entered Glasgow. He thought he
had a great work to accomplish in that centre of life, and wickedness, and
sorrow, and so he had; but it was no longer to labor-or battle that God
called His servant. He was not destined to descend from the height of
hope, which still trembled with the promised lustre of " power from on
high" to the chill land of shadows, and disappointment, and deferred
blessings that lay below. But it was a surprise which his Master had
prepared for him-a nearer road to the glory and the perfection that he
dreamed of-not'to work nor to fight, but to die.
Page 556
556
IRVING'S LAST LETTER. Here once more, and for the last time, Irving took
the pen in his trembling hand, and revealed himself in the fast-closing
twilight of his life. He wrote two pastoral letters from Glasgow,
containing most pathetic acknowledgment of the sins by which he and his
Church had " let and hindered" the work of God-sins which, if they were
any thing more special than that general un, belief and slowness of heart
with which every apostle has had to upbraid his fellow-Christians, are
lost in the mysterious records of the Church, and unintelligible except to
those who may be thoroughly acquainted with all the details of its origin.
His last private letter, written only ten days before his death to his "
dear brother" William Hamilton, lies under no such obscuring haze, but
gives with sad and affecting simplicity a final glimpse of his fainting
flesh and trusting soul: " You will be sorry to hear," he writes with the
restrained utterance of weakness, " that I continue very weak. Indeed, the
Lord has now permitted me to be brought very low; but my trust and
confidence is in Him only, and not in any other, and when He sees fit He
will renew my strength. Oh, my brother, cleave you to Him! He is the only
refuge. Isabella is in excellent health, and sustained under all her
trials. Samuel was with us yesterday. He is quite well, though much
troubled for me, as I believe all my friends are." These were the last
words of private affection which dropped from his feeble pen. Amid the
friends who were all troubled for him, he was the only one unmoved. He had
not yet come to the discussion of that last question, which, like all the
rest, was to be given against him, but still smiled with a heart-breaking
confidence over the daily dying of his own wasted frame, waiting for the
wonderful moment when God should send back the vigorous life-current to
his forlorn and faithful heart. The last scene of the history now
approaches rapidly. For a few weeks he is visible about Glasgow, now
appearing against the sunshine in a lonely street, his horse's hoofs
echoing slowly along the causeway, his gaunt gigantic figure rising feeble
against the light; now in the room which his Glasgow disciples have found
to meet in-still preaching; recognizing one of Dr. Chalmers's old""
agency," who comes to see him after the service, and recalling, with the
courtesy of the heart, to his wife, who has forgotten the stranger, the
familiar Kirkealdy name he bears; walking home after the worship is over,
fain to lean upon the arm of the elder who has come hastily from London to
be near him, while his wistful wife goes mournful by his side, carrying
the stick
Page 557
HIS
CERTAINTY OF RECOVERY. 557 which is now an insufficient support to his
feebleness-sometimes pausing, as they thread the streets in this sad
fashion, to take breath and gather strength —a most sorrowful, pathetic
picture. The hearers were few in the Lyceum room in comparison with former
times; but in the street, as he passed along, many a sad glance followed
him, and the people stood still, with compassionate looks, to point out to
each other "'the great Edward Irving." His friend, Mr. Story, came
hurriedly up from Rosneath to see him, with hopes of persuading him
thither, to that mild climate and tranquil seclusion, but found he had
gone down to Erskine, on the opposite bank of the Clyde, to consult Dr.
Stewart, the physician-minister, with whom, in joyful youthful days, these
two had spent their Saturday holidays in the East Lothian manse. Neither
Dr. Stewart nor any man could aid him now. He came back to the house of
the kind stranger and enthusiastic disciple who had taken him in in
Glasgow, and, nature refusing longer to keep up that unreasonable
conflict, lay down upon the bed from which he was never to rise. Dr.
Rainy, who attended him, informed me of various particulars in these last
days; but, indeed, so touched with tears, after nearly thirty years'
interval, was even the physician's voice, and so vivid the presentment of
that noble, wasted figure, stretched in utter weakness, but utter faith,
waiting for the moment when God, out of visible dying, should bring life
and strength, that I can not venture to record with any distinctness those
heart-breaking details. By times, when on the very verge of the grave, a
caprice of sudden strength seized the patient; he sighed for "God's air"
and the outdoor freshness, which he thought would restore him. He assured
the compassionate spectator, whose skilled eyes saw the golden chords of
life melting'asunder, how well he knew that he was to all human appearance
dying, yet how certainly he was convinced that God yet meant to raise him;
and again, and yet again, commended " the work of the Holy Ghost" to all
faith and reverence; adding, with pathetic humility, that of these gifts
he himself had never been " found worthy." Never death-bed appealed with
more moving power to the heart. His mother and sister came to see him, but
I know nothing of the intercourse between that sorrowful mother and the
last and greatest of her sons. HIis lifelong friends from Kirkcaldy were
also there to watch by his bed, to support the poor wife, whose faith gave
way at last, and who consented, with such pangs of natural love and
disappointed faith
Page 558
558 AT
THE GATES OF HEAVEN. as it would be hard to estimate, that the "word of
the Lord" must have had some other interpretation —that God had no purpose
of interposing, in visible power, for his deliverance, and that Edward
must die; and their home letters give the clearest picture of Irving's
last hours. With fluctuations of despairing hope, Dr. Martin and his son
wrote to the anxious sisters. Sometimes there were better symptoms-gleams
of appetite, alleviation of pain; but, throughout all, a burning fever,
which nothing could subdue, consumed away the fainting life. " Your mother
and I are at Mr. Taylor's," writes Dr. Martin on the 4th of December; "he
is a most devout believer in the reality of the gifts, of Mr. Irving's
divine commission, etc., and has hardly ever faltered in his faith that
Edward is still to recover strength; till this morning Isabella has never
had a doubt of it." This was on Thursday. As the week waned, the frame
which inclosed that spirit, now almost wholly abstracted with its God,
died hourly. He grew delirious in those solemn evenings, and "wandered" in
his mind. Such wandering! "So long as his articulation continued so
distinct that we could make any thing of his words, it was of spiritual
things he spoke, praying for himself, his church,, and his relations."
Sometimes he imagined himself back among his congregation in London, and
in the hush of his death-chamber, amid its awe-stricken attendants, the
faltering voice rose in broken breathings of exhortation and prayer.
"Sometimes he gave counsel to individuals; and Isabella, who knew
something of the cases, could understand" what he meant. Human language
has no words but those which are common to all mental weakness for such a
divine abstraction of the soul thus hovering at the gates of heaven. Once
in this wonderful monologue he was heard murmuring to himself sonorous
syllables of some unknown tongue. Listening to those mysterious sounds,
Dr. Martin found them to be the Hebrew measures of the 23d Psalm-" The
Lord is my Shepherd," into the latter verses of which the dying voice
swelled as the watcher took up and echoed the wonderful strain-" Though I
walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." As
the current of life grew feebler and feebler, a last debate seemed to rise
in that soul which was now hidden with God. They heard him murmuring to
himself in inarticulate argument, confusedly struggling in his weakness to
account for this visible death which at last his human faculties could no
longer refuse to believe in — perhaps touched with ineffable trouble that
his Master had seemed to fail
Page 559
AMEN!-HE
DIED AND WAS BURIED. 559 of His word and promise. At last that
self-argument came to a sublime conclusion in a trust more strong than
life or death. As the gloomy December Sunday sank into the night shadows,
his last audible words on earth fell from his pale lips. "The last thing
like a sentence we could make out was,'If I die, I die unto the Lord.
Amen."' And so, at the wintry midnight hour which ended that last Sabbath
on earth, the last bonds of mortal trouble dropped asunder, and the saint
and martyr entered into the rest of his- Lord. Amen! He who had lived to
God for so many hard and bitter years, enduring all the pangs of mortal
trouble, in his Lord at last, with a sigh of unspeakable disappointment
and consolation, contented himself to die. I know not how to add any thing
more to that last utterance, which rounds into a perfection beyond the
reach of art this sorrowful and splendid life. So far as sight or sound
could be had of him, to use his own touching words, he had "a good
voyage," though in the night and dark. And again let us say, Amen! They
buried him in the crypt of Glasgow Cathedral, like his Master, in the
grave of a stranger-the same man who had first introduced him to London
coming forward now to offer a last resting-place to all that remained of
Edward Irving. He was followed to that noble vault by all that was good
and pious in Glasgow, some of his close personal friends and many of his
immediate followers mingling in the train with the sober members of Dr.
Chalmers's agency, and " most of the clergy of the city," men who
disapproved his faith while living, but grudged him not now the honor due
to the holy dead. The great town itself thrilled with an involuntary
movement of sorrow. " Every other consideration," says the Scottish
Guardian, a paper at all times doubly orthodox, "was forgotten in the
universal and profound sympathy with which the information was received,"
and all voices uniting to proclaim over him that divine consolatory
verdict of the Spirit, "Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord." There
he lies, in such austere magnificence as Scotland has nowhere else
preserved to enshrine her saints, until his Lord shall come, t. vindicate,
better than any human voice can do, the spotless name and honor of His
most faithful servant and soldier. So far as this volume presents the man
himself with his imperfections breaking tenderly into his natural
grandeur, always indivisible, and moving in a profound
Page 560
560 A
SAINT AND MARTYR. unity of nature through such proof of all sorrows as
falls to the lot of few, I do not fear that his own words and ways are
enough to clear the holy and religious memory of Edward Irving of many a
cloud of misapprehension and censure of levity; and so far as I have
helped this, I have done my task. He died in the prime and bloom of his
days, forty-two years old, without, so far as his last writings leave any
trace, either decadence of intellect or lowering of thought; and left, so
far as by much inquiry I have been able to find out, neither an enemy nor
a wrong behind him. No shadow of unkindness obscures the sunshine on that
grave which in old days would have been, a shrine of pilgrims. The pious
care of his nephew has emblazoned the narrow Norman lancet over him with a
John Baptist, austere herald of the Cross and Advent; but a tenderer
radiance of human light than that which encircled the solitary out of his
desert lingers about that resting-place. There lies a man who trusted God
to extremity, and believed: in all Divine communications with truth as
absolute as any patriarch or prophet; to whom mean thoughts and
unbelieving hearts were the only things miraculous and out of nature; who
desired to know nothing in heaven or earth, neither comfort, nor peace,
nor rest, nor any consolation, but the will and work of his Master, whom
he loved, yet to whose arms children clung with instinctive trust, and to
whose heart no soul in trouble ever appealed in vain. He was laid in his
grave in the December of 1834-a lifetime since; but scarce any man who
knew him can yet name, without a softened voice and a dimmed eye, the name
of Edward Irving-true friend and tender heart-martyr and saint.
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