strong in death, he added, 'Die not on sanctification but on
justification, die not on inherent but on imputed righteousness.' And
then, to come to the very last act of all, there is what we call the
death-grip. A dying man feels the whole world giving way under him. All
he built upon, leaned upon, looked to, is like sliding sand, like sinking
water; and he grasps at anything, anybody, the bedpost, the bed-curtains,
the bed-clothes, his wife's hand, his son's arm, the very air sometimes.
On what, on whom will you seize hold in your last gasp and death-grip?

'Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!'




XVI. JAMES GUTHRIE


'The short man who could not bow.'--_Cromwell_.

James Guthrie was the son of the laird of that ilk in the county of
Angus. St. Andrews was his _alma mater_, and under her excellent nurture
young Guthrie soon became a student of no common name. His father had
destined him for the Episcopal Church, and, what with his descent from an
ancient and influential family, his remarkable talents, and his excellent
scholarship, it is not to be wondered at that a bishop's mitre sometimes
dangled before his ambitious eyes. 'He was then prelatic,' says Wodrow
in his _Analecta_, 'and strong for the ceremonies.' But as time went on,
young Guthrie's whole views of duty and of promotion became totally
changed, till, instead of a bishop's throne, he ended his days on the