cord then, according to his dewtie and function, a good instrument for the unity and peace of the Church oure pleasure and will is that, by our speciall command, in our name, you do confyne the said Maister William Livingstoun within the bounds of his own paroche, quhair he is preacher, inhibiting him to transcend or come forth out of the boundis thairof without our special licence had and obtenit, and that under pane of rebellion." There was much more to the same effect. The Royal mandate was addressed to the Scottish Privy Council, and was most carefully composed. There is a touch of humour in it. The tenor simply runs, “Let this wild, young minister keep to his mosses and his badgers. They are his native place, and the best place for him." The Privy Council carried out to the letter the Royal behest, and Livingston was for six years kept a close prisoner within the bounds of his parish. His fame had been growing; he had made himself in a short space a power in the land; it is easy to understand, consequently, how his proud spirit would chafe under the abhorrent decree. It was certainly an artful and awkward log placed across the path of a young man conscious of a career before him. It was evident he could, in the very nature of things, get no sympathy from the honest farmers and shepherds of his flock. How could they believe or see that, to be compelled to live amongst them was a sore indignity for him?

William Livingston thus early felt the weight of the King's hand. But he was not cowed. He nursed his wrath to keep it warm. In 1612 the King wrote the Archbishop of Glasgow that he had heard good accounts of William Livingston of Monyabroch, and that he be released from his confinement. The King was under a complete mistake. The brave spirit he was six years before

that, he was still, and when his tether was cut, he was tooth and nail at his old work again. The King was evidently incensed, for in the autumn of 1613, he deposed Livingston from the ministry of Monyabroch for opposing the restoration of Episcopacy, and not submitting to the canons and ceremonies. This action left the Sovereign as perplexed as before. He had deposed

Livingston as far as he was able to depose him, but his mind was ill at ease. William Livingston was the hot chestnut in his hand which he could not hold and which

he disliked to throw away. It may be the King remembered the loyalty of the Livingston family to his unfortunate mother. Anyhow, whether it was vacillation, or the recollection of past favours, the King gave substantial proofs of his change of mind. Not many weeks after William Livingston's deposition from the charge of Monyabroch, on the 1st October 1613, he was presented by the King to Lanark parish. But if Livingston had shown he was not to be cowed, he was also to show he could not be cozened. In Lanark he was as true a man, as faithful a pastor, as fearless a preacher, and as greatly beloved of the people as he ever was in Monyabroch.

Amongst the denunciators of the Perth Assembly and the five prelatic Articles there were none to compare with William Livingston. Authority accordingly decreed that further indulgence was vain, and that his mouth must be shut at all hazards. He was accordingly summoned to appear before the Court of High Commission, at Edinburgh, on Tuesday, the 28th March, 1620. Livingston put in two pleas. The first was that he had not been lawfully summoned, too little time having been allowed him to prepare his case. This plea the commissioners overruled. His second plea was that "the

Commission was neither free, nor full, nor formal," and was incompetent in the case. When sentence of deposition and imprisonment had been pronounced, Livingston spoke his mind freely. He held that the accusation against him was such as could only be tried by a commissioner sitting under the authority of the General Assembly, and not under the authority of the King. His speaking, of course, was of no avail. The court, before apprehending him, allowed him to pay a visit to his friends, thereafter he was imprisoned in Minin Abbey. There are, however, some who say that the place of banishment or confinement was his former parish of Monyabroch.

William Livingston was kept a close prisoner for nearly three years. It was a sore trial to his parishioners. By 1623 he was again, however, restored to their affections. This was the year in which he had his famous dream. It opens up a curious feature in the religious beliefs of the time. Mr. Livingston was lying in bed one winter night fast asleep in his house at Lanark. In his sleep he was awakened by hearing the words-"Arise, go and help Crossriggs, for he is in great hazard." Crossriggs was the name of a little estate four miles distant in Lesmahagow parish, and the laird went by the same name. The proprietor was a gentleman of respectability, and for some time had been in great concern about his soul's salvation. Thinking his own fancy had deceived him, Livingston fell asleep again. In a little, however, he was once more awakened by the voice, which, while it spoke the same words, spoke them far more emphatically. Again he mused over the matter, and again he fell asleep. But soon, receiving a powerful stroke on the side, he awoke the third time to hear the mysterious voice calling to him with great

emphasis "Go and help Crossriggs, for he is in great hazard, otherwise I will require his blood at thy hand." Livingston now arose with alacrity, and after dressing, mounted his horse and sallied out into the dreary winter night. He arrived at Crossriggs about four in the morning, and at once observed light in the proprietor's bedroom. Livingston entered the house and knocked at his door. It was instantly opened by Crossriggs. "What brought you here," asked the laird, "at this time of night?" "What in all the world," retorted Livingston, "keeps you up at this time of night? I know it is not anything ordinary." "I will not answer that question," said Crossriggs, "until you tell me what brings you here at so unreasonable an hour." The minister made frank with the proprietor, and told him his dream and the voices he had heard. Crossriggs then, to his great relief, told Livingston that he had been in great despair about his soul, and that he had sent to Edinburgh for cats-bane, as he had received direction, when he was engaged in prayer. The bane, a white powder, was lying on a table in the room, and after spending a night in prayer he had resolved to take it at a draught. Livingston dissuaded him, and taking the powder and getting it tested, found it was a deadly poison. How Livingston had been made an instrument in God's hands of saving the life of Crossriggs from the machination of the Evil One was accepted as true, and the extraordinary dream and attendant circumstances were all much talked of.

In 1635, William Livingston was again before the High Court of Commission. The charge against him this time was for employing his son, who had been deposed for noncomformity in Ireland, in helping him to dispense the Communion. He was now getting familiar

with courts, and on this occasion he entirely turned the tables on the Commissioners. He addressed them as the culprits in the case, and he certainly frightened them, for they dismissed him, saying they could bear with him seeing he was an aged man. The excuse was rubbish ; Livingston was at that time living a life of the most intense mental and physical activity.

Two years afterwards, when the Marquis of Hamilton, the Commissioner of the King, landed at Leith, William Livingston received the crowning honour of his life. He was selected to head the 500 clergymen of the Scottish Church who were to meet the Marquis of Hamilton, the Commissioner of the King, when he landed at Leith, and act as their spokesman on the occasion. It was a great function. There had never been seen at Leith such large multitudes, for the country was expecting a message of peace. "The whole of the nobles of the country, the gentry of all the shires, a world of women, the whole town of Edinburgh, all at the Watergate. And,” continues Baillie, "we"-(the ministers of the Kirk)—" were about five hundred, met on a braeside on the links. We had appointed Mr. William Livingston, the strongest in voice and the austerest in countenance of us all, to make him a short welcome." When Hamilton came up to the cloud of black coats, he was pleased with their salutation, and said, "Vos estis sal terrae." "What does he say y? asked one minister of another, who ventured the humorous but not inappropriate reply, "Dinna ye hear, man, we're the loons that mak' the kail saut!" Next day at Holyrood, Livingston, in a closely knit speech, laid the whole case of the suffering Church before His Grace; but to very little purpose, as was proved.

Livingston's last historical appearance was at the General Assembly held at Glasgow, November, 1638.