Evangelists of Art: Picture-Sermons for Children

by James Patrick

THE LAST SLEEP OF ARGYLL.
By permission of Messrs. Thomas Agnew & Sons.

THE LAST SLEEP OF ARGYLL

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.—ISA. xxvi. 3.

This is a painting which takes us back, not to any legend of pagan times, nor to any Bible story, nor to any incident of the Reformation in other lands, but to a scene in the history of our own country, and it is well worthy of its place among the other historical pictures in the Commons' Corridor of the Houses of Parliament.

The nobleman who is the subject of the picture is not the great and famous Marquis of Argyll, but his son, the ninth Earl of Argyll. The Marquis was put to death in the year 1661, as one of the first victims of the cruel government of King Charles II. after the Restoration. He was the man who had placed the crown on the head of Charles at Scone, when the Scottish people were loyal to him, though the English would not own him as their king. When Charles came to the throne of both countries, after ten years of exile, he showed his gratitude to his faithful servant by sending him to the scaffold. The first words of the Marquis, after he received the sentence of death, were, I had the honour to set the crown upon the king's head, and now he hastens me to a better crown than his own. And when he was leaving the prison to go to the place of execution, he said to his friends, I could die like a Roman, but choose rather to die as a Christian.

The Earl, his son, who appears in our picture, was executed in 1685, the first year of Charles' successor, James II. It was the same year in which John Brown, the carrier of Priesthill, was shot by Claverhouse in front of his own house, and before his wife's eyes; the year also in which Margaret Maclachlan and Margaret Wilson—the latter a maiden of eighteen—were tied to stakes fixed in the sand, and drowned for Christ's sake in the Solway tide. The Earl of Argyll was a man who worthily followed the noble example of his father. He was condemned to death on a charge of treason, because he would not swear a certain oath called the Test. This oath was directed against the Scottish Covenanters, and all the king's officers and servants were required to take it. Argyll did not approve of all that was in the oath, and said that he could only swear it in so far as it agreed with the Bible and with itself. For this he was tried, and sentenced to die, a few years before the end of the reign of Charles II. But he escaped from prison, and fled to Holland, where he remained for a time in safety. When James II. came to the throne on the death of Charles, the Earl took part in a rebellion against him, and came back to Scotland at the head of an army. The rebellion failed, and Argyll was taken prisoner at Inchinnan, near Renfrew. He was brought to Edinburgh, and though he might have been tried for his rebellion, he was just treated as a man already sentenced to death. On the morning of his execution, he said, I have more joy and comfort this day than the day after I escaped out of the Castle. He then wrote some letters, and took his dinner as cheerfully as usual. After dinner, as his custom was, he lay down to rest for a little, and slept for a quarter of an hour as sweetly and pleasantly as he had ever done. While he was asleep, an officer of state, who had been one of his chief enemies, came to the Castle to see him, with a message from the Council. He was told that Argyll was asleep, and was not to be disturbed. When he refused to believe this the gaoler softly opened the door and allowed him to look into the cell. As soon as he saw the Earl sleeping he turned without a word, and ran out of the Castle into a friend's house near by. He was so agitated that the lady of the house thought he was ill and offered him wine. But he declined it, with these words, I have been in at Argyll, and saw him sleeping as pleasantly as ever a man did, within an hour of eternity: but as for me—and then he could say no more.

Argyll's place of imprisonment may still be seen in Edinburgh Castle. In Mr. Ward's picture his bed-chamber is before you. Its thick walls, its bare floor, and its heavy vaulted roof are all of stone. Through an open door you look into another room where you see the table at which he has just dined. It is covered with a white cloth, on which are the remains of the dinner, and you notice that the wine-glass that stands beside the flagon has not been emptied. In the nearer room the Earl is lying on the prison bed in his ordinary clothes. He wears a suit of black velvet, with a collar of lace at the neck, and full cuffs of white linen at the wrists. His boots have not been removed, and he is stretched out only as comfortably as his fetters will allow. His head rests on a great white pillow, and his brown hair falls smoothly from beneath his black velvet cap. A newly written letter has fallen from his hand to the floor. You can read the signature, Argyll, and the date, 1685. On a chair at the head of the bed there is a large Bible, and beside it lies an old-fashioned watch, with its hand moving slowly round to the hour of execution. The light from a little window falls on the sleeping prisoner's face, which is fresh coloured and full of peace, with no trace of paleness or fear. Near the foot of the bed the thick outer door, studded with iron, and with a heavy lock, and many bolts, stands open. In the background there is a rough gaoler, holding the door by the key in the lock, while the rest of the bunch of prison keys hangs from his hand. In front of him is the officer of state, fashionably dressed in a rich red cloak, with a tasselled waist-band. His cuffs are of fine lace, he wears a jewelled ring, and his long hair curls down upon his shoulders. He has let his hat fall to the floor in his astonishment, and is staring at the sleeping Earl with remorse and confusion in his face.

Such a picture suggests many thoughts. It reminds us of the cruel sufferings our forefathers had to endure for conscience' sake, and of the great debt we owe to those who were ready to lay down their lives in the cause of truth and freedom.

It shows also what a terrible thing it is to have a guilty conscience, as the officer who visited Argyll plainly had. It teaches that a bad man's life of remorse and shame is a thing far more miserable, and far more to be feared, than a good man's undeserved death.

Above all, it tells us that the secret of courage and calmness, both for living and for dying, is faith in God our Father, and in the Lord Jesus Christ our Saviour. It proves how true are the words, Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.