CHAPTER L.

Curate of Closeburn-Samuel Clark.

"TRUTH is stranger than fiction," is a saying that has been a thousand times verified. The occurrences in real life are sometimes so wonderful, so striking, so intricate, and yet so admirable in their development, that in reading the detail of them, we are apt to slide into the notion that the whole has been ingeniously conjectured by the writer, and presented in an artificial, and yet apparently simple manner, for the purpose of producing effect. Things have actually fallen out in human affairs so romantic in their nature, that no novelist, in the warmest moments of his imaginings, could ever scheme the like; and hence writers of this class generally depend more on real incidents than on their own inventions, to impart a vivid colouring and gairishness to their ideal productions. The incidents which befell during the persecuting period, and the interferences on behalf of the sufferers, are many of them so passing strange, and so apparently improbable, that were it not for the statements of veracious history, we might be inclined to regard the whole as an imaginative picture. The notices, also, of those times that have been transmitted to us by tradition are full of diversity and interest, and are altogether too distinctive in their character for mere invention; so that, in traversing the wide field of persecuting activity, and gathering in its thousands of incidents, we will scarcely find two or three of them that are exactly alike. That the incidents have a kindred relation is just what might be expected, since a similar agency was uniformly employed on the side of the persecutors, and seeing that, on the side of the persecuted, it was as uniformly men of the same principles that suffered, while all of them resorted to the same or similar means for deliverance.

The parish of Closeburn, which has been frequently mentioned in these Traditions, contained a goodly sprinkling of the worthies who were subjected to trial in the days of Prelatic oppression. The curate of this parish was a determined opponent of the Nonconformists, and he plotted and wrought against them with all assiduity. His persecuting propensities were, it is true, modified by the leniency of the lord of the manor, whom, for selfish purposes, he did not choose to offend. On every favourable opportunity, however, he exerted himself in opposing and vexing all who showed the least reluctance to attend his ministry. The dislike of the more serious people to this man was great, and the knowledge of this fact irritated him the more, and prompted him to the adoption of more stringent measures, with a view to humble them, and to bring them to compliance. The withdrawment of many of the parishioners from the church was therefore to be visited with his displeasure in such a way as would prove a warning to others. He knew that he had much in his power, and that a single word conveyed to the military would bring a host of troopers on the parish, who would deal with the poor people as it best pleased them. He knew that there was a goodly number of children in the parish who were not baptized, because the parents refused to receive that ordinance from the hands of an Episcopalian; and therefore, to bring the matter more distinctly to the test, he intimated one Sabbath from the pulpit, that all the unbaptized children must be presented within the walls of that church on a given day, and there and then be baptized by himself, else information should be instantly lodged against them as Nonconformists and rebels. This announcement caused great distress in the district, and every cottage in which was a child unbaptized was filled with concern. The disposition of the incumbent was well known, and it was not expected that he would resile from his determination, and therefore they must either comply or expect the worst. This tyrannical measure filled the minds of the poor people with perplexity, and they could not well determine how to act. Their convictions led them to one conclusion, and their fears prompted them to another; so that, between a sense of duty and a dread of suffering, they were at their wits' end.

Among the recusants in the parish of Closeburn at this time was one Peter Stranger, a devout man, and a warm friend to the persecuted people. Peter and the curate could never agree; for their principles were as wide as the poles

asunder. Peter was a farmer, and a person of some influence in the place, and he among the rest had a child unbaptized. The curate's mandate was regarded by Peter with horror, and he deemed it a stretch of insupportable tyranny to which he would by no means submit. But man is an inconstant creature, and liable to be powerfully wrought upon either by interest or by fear. Peter, notwithstanding his inward reluctance and loud remonstrances, sorrowfully submitted, along with a number more in his situation, to come to the church on the day appointed. It was a day of grief to the worthy people, and a day of exultation to their enemies, who doubtless ridiculed their want of firmness, notwithstanding their boasted professions. The curate himself must have been especially gratified, when he perceived that his influence was such as to overmaster the most scrupulous of his parishioners, and to bring them to a compliance with his wishes. Little cared he for the pain he inflicted on these simple-hearted people, whom he thought thus to ensnare; but "the triumphing of the wicked is short," and a visitation of a very awful nature prevented this man from carrying his purpose into effect. The people were standing in groups in the churchyard, and the bell was emitting its solemn tones, to warn the worshippers that the hour for assembling within the hallowed fane was come. The curate made his appearance, advancing slowly on his way to the church, congratulating himself, no doubt, on the success of his scheme, and rejoicing in the prospect of gaining a public and signal victory over the refractory portion of his parishioners. His earthly course, however, was near its close; for just as he stepped within the kirkyard, he fell down, and in a moment expired, upon the grassy graves over which he was treading, The circumstance created unspeakable alarm among the people, who rushed out of the church on the report of the astounding visitation. The curate was dead, the congregation dispersed, and the desponding company, who had so far yielded compliance, retired, eased of an insupportable pressure that lay on their minds. The death of such a man would, no doubt, be a matter rather of gratulation than of grief to the oppressed people, over whom he ruled with a rod of iron.

This occurrence happened near the termination of the persecution; for he was, it is said, the last curate that was in Closeburn. It would be too much to affirm that the curate's death is to be viewed as a special judgment from Heaven; for both good and bad men have died in a similar manner.

We are often rash in our conclusions, and are as ready to decide amiss as to judge righteously, and therefore we ought to be very cautious. The event, however, was very striking, and its language to the people might perchance be a sermon much more impressive than any that the curate would that day, if spared, have delivered.

It is related that the worthy Peter Stranger, who survived the troublous times, was, when he died, buried exactly at the curate's feet. They were opposed to each other during their lifetime, but they were scarcely divided in their death, being placed near each other in the grave, where

"In peace the ashes mix

Of those who once were foes."

After Peter's burial a certain rustic wag, on perceiving the contiguity of the graves, inscribed on his tombstone the following doggerel rhyme:

"Peter Stranger, strangely placed

At the auld curate's feet,

And surely they that placed him there
Were very indiscreet;

For prelates and for Prelacy

He held as mortal foes,

Nor did he spare to clip their wings
Whene'er occasion rose."

The subsequent traditions relate to Samuel Clark of New Luce, in Galloway. He sat under the ministry of Mr Peden, a man who was the instrument of great good to many souls in that part of the country. Samuel Clark profited much by Mr Peden, and grew in grace under his ministrations. He used frequently to mention the great advantage he derived from the prayers of this eminently holy man; for it is to be remembered that the worthies of that age were men of prayer, and it is to this circumstance chiefly that we are to attribute the uncommon success of their ministry. They lived near God, in communion with him; for the more they were persecuted the nearer they drew to the Rock of their safety. Samuel Clark cherished an uncommon respect for Mr Peden, and well might he, for he was the means of much spiritual benefit to him; and those who have been instrumental in leading us to the Saviour, and in fostering in our hearts the principles of the divine life, can never be forgotten by us as long as we live. He accompanied him in his wanderings in the dreary parts of the country, and especially among the wilds of Galloway; in which district both of them had an especial interest. Many a time did they pray and

r f

commune together in the deserts and in the caves of the earth, and God was with them, and filled their hearts with peace; for though their lot was cast in suffering times, they were not on that account unhappy. They only are unhappy whose minds are ill at ease-not they whose confidence the Lord is, and on whom the light of his countenance shines.

In those days of peril, Samuel Clark made several narrow escapes from the enemy. On one occasion, on the dispersion of a conventicle, when sundry of the worshippers were seized, Samuel fled, and wandering in the wilder parts, came to a friend's house, where he resided for a while. At length, however, the soldiers visited this place also, and he was obliged to flee again. He ran in the direction of the lofty Cairnsmoor, from the summit of which the greater part of Galloway can be seen. As he fled along the heathy and rugged sides of the mountain, with the troopers in pursuit, he crept in among the tall heather to hide himself. The horsemen advanced, spreading themselves along the face of the height, that they might not miss his track. The main body of the pursuers passed the spot without noticing him, till the last of the party, a single man, slower in his movements than the rest, happened to light on the identical spot where Clark lay concealed. The soldier's eye caught the legs of the man protruding beyond the heathery covert, and, guessing the secret, smote him gently on the feet, and said: "Creep farther into the bush, for your limbs are seen." The humanity of this trooper forbade him to communicate the discovery, and riding after his companions, he allowed the fugitive to escape.

At another time Clark had been at a meeting at a place called Irelington, when the troopers came upon the assembly, and dispersed the worshippers. He fled, and the horsemen followed. At length, wearied out with fatigue and want of food, he sat down under the covert of a tall whin bush, and taking off his bonnet, he addressed the great Preserver of his life in the following strain: "O Thou who didst shield thy servant Peden in the day of his distress, when he called upon thee, and didst throw over him and me, Thy unworthy follower, the misty covering which hid us from the face of our pursuers, hide me now, in the hollow of Thine hand, from mine enemies, who are hunting for my life." The soldiers came up, but they missed his hiding-place, having passed by on the other side of the bush; and his prayer was answered. "In my distress I called upon the Lord, and cried unto my