CHAPTER IV.

IN LONDON SLUMS.

As we have already seen, Agnes Jones distrusted her power to rule. This fact, added to her mother's dislike to her entering a hospital determined her, for the present at least, to join Mrs. Ranyard in the work of the Bible Mission, for she knew that while she would be relieving her friend of some of the burden of her work she would have ample opportunities of discovering whether she were fitted to govern.

She was soon busy in many ways, in mothers' meetings, Bible classes, industrial kitchens, dormitories, refuges, and in visiting with the Bible women. In every department of that varied work she was most helpful to Mrs. Ranyard, even taking the whole charge of the mission for two months while the latter was absent in Switzerland. She found her knowledge of German very useful, and turned it to the best account on several occasions when she met with German immigrants.

In the narrow courts and lanes of London, unthought of and unheeded by the busy throng, she found many of the Lord's jewels who, though poor in this world's goods and sick in body, were yet rich in faith and strong in soul. One of these, a woman who for thirty-two years had been a terrible sufferer, would whisper, "Blessed Jesus, in everything suitable. Just the Saviour suitable for me." Another, whom she several times mentions in her letters, and to whom she delighted to minister as a nurse, a poor cripple who had only the use of her thumb, and who from lying eighteen years in one position had terrible bed-sores, could yet say, "I am ashamed to talk of my suffering when I think of all Jesus suffered for me."



Her happy work in London was brought to a premature conclusion by a telegram announcing that her sister was ill of fever in Rome, followed by another begging her to go to her at once. A journey thither was not such an easy one then as it is now, but, after arranging all her work so as to give Mrs. Ranyard as little trouble as possible, Agnes bravely undertook it. A heavy storm was encountered at Marseilles, where she embarked for Italy, and this delayed her arrival in Rome, so that on reaching there she found her sister out of danger. A cousin, however, who had formed one of the party, had fallen ill of the same fever, and needed careful nursing, so that she found her hands full, and, as the recovery of both invalids was slow, she determined to give up her London work, and devote herself to them.

Some months were spent in Italy; but her strength, which had been greatly tried by the work in London, again becoming enervated, and her nursing duties being at an end, she proposed that she should go to Switzerland and visit the deaconesses' institutions there. This plan she carried out, and visited several of the Swiss institutions, which she considered compared unfavourably with Kaiserswerth, both in organisation and spiritual tone. She visited besides some of those in Germany, and at Mannedorf had the joy of spending several days with that wonderful woman of faith, Dorothea Trudel.

All her experience had now gone to prove that her special gift was hospital work, and on rejoining her mother she definitely laid before her her wish to devote herself to the work of nursing, and with her consent entered into a correspondence with Miss Nightingale with the idea of entering St. Thomas's Hospital as a Nightingale probationer.

It is very clear that all through her life she was satisfied to be doing the "next thing," whatever that next thing should be which was pointed out to her by the guiding of God's Holy Spirit. She never ran counter to her mother's wishes, knowing that no blessing could be expected when the command, "Honour thy father and thy mother," was not observed; but when home no longer needed her, she was glad to enter the larger field to which God had opened the way.



CHAPTER V.

HOSPITAL WARDS.

It has been said that "every woman is by nature more or less a nurse," but like most sayings it is by no means always true. Many who possess the gentleness and sympathy which are so necessary in nursing the sick, yet lack the ready nerve, deftness, and promptitude. Who has not beheld the sad spectacle of women anxious to help, yet helpless because of their ignorance and want of training? That will be a happy day when a course of training in nursing, though it be but a short one, is considered a necessary part of every woman's education. Miss Nightingale truly says, "There is no such thing as amateur nursing ... Three-fourths of the whole mischief in women's lives arises from their excepting themselves from the rule of training considered needful for man."

Agnes Jones was a "born nurse;" but although she had had many opportunities both at Fahan and at Kaiserswerth of developing her talent, she would not attempt to teach others what she had not thoroughly grasped herself. The post in Liverpool, of Superintendent of the Training School of Nurses for the Poor, was still open to her and, in spite of her fear that she lacked the capacity to govern, had many attractions for her, and so she said, "I determined at least to try, to come to St. Thomas's Hospital, and to see whether in so great a work as that of training true-hearted, God-fearing nurses, there were not some niche for me. If every one shrinks back because incompetent, who will ever do anything? 'Lord, here am I, send me.'"

Let no one think that the resolve cost her nothing. As a matter of fact it meant giving up a great deal, but to follow in the steps of Him who freely gave up all for us, she cheerfully surrendered her lovely Irish home for the dreary walls of a London hospital, where her companions were, as a rule, neither Christians in the true sense of the word, nor her equals in society. Yet who that knows the Lord Jesus as "a living bright reality" can talk of sacrifice? To know the need of the Lord's poor was sufficient for her, and she counted nothing too much to give up joyfully for Him and His. Nor was this choice, which she felt to be a life-choice, a thought but of yesterday. Not long after she went to Kaiserswerth she had, as she herself writes, "much watching of a poor dying man; sitting alone by him in that little room, day after day, it went to my heart to hear some of his requests refused, and to see the food given him, so unfitted to his state. And I sat there and thought, 'If these be the trials of the sick in an institution conducted on Christian principles, oh, how must it be in those institutions in our own land, where no true charity is in the hearts of most of the heads or hands that work them!' and I then and there dedicated myself to do what I could for Ireland, in its workhouses, infirmaries, and hospitals." She felt too, that although she could do good service for her Lord in ordinary Christian work, she could do still better if, possessing as she did a God-given talent for nursing, she could, like her Master, both speak a "word in season" and minister to the needs of the body.

So St. Thomas's was entered, entered with the hope and prayer that both amongst nurses and patients God would use her. And use her He did, as He does all who cry, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me do?" and then watch for the opportunity to do it. It was not long before she sought and gained permission to establish a Bible class for the other Nightingale nurses, which proved a great blessing to several of them. In her ward, too, she was often able to speak a word for Christ to the patients.

She was very happy in her busy life, writing, "I am so growingly happy in it, and so fond of nay work." Of its importance she became more and more convinced, and in a letter written from Barnet, where she was spending a few happy days with her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Pennefather, she says:—"My work, I more and more feel it, for the worst things only make me realise how Christian and really good nurses are needed."

But it was to Ireland that her thoughts ever turned, and it was of work in Ireland that she was thinking even while training in London For by this very training she hoped to be the better fitted for work in her own beloved country. "Ireland is ever my bourn," she wrote. And again:—"My heart is ever in Ireland, where I hope ultimately to work."

After a year at St. Thomas's, and a short visit home, she returned to London to take the superintendence of a small hospital in connection with the Deaconesses' Institution in Burton Crescent. Here she had all the nursing to do, as there were but few patients, and she had great joy in ministering to them. "I trust," she writes in a letter to her aunt, "I am gaining a quiet influence with my patients; they are my great pleasure." And again: "I am very happy here among my patients, and often feel God has sent me here; I have two revival patients; one had found peace before she came, the other is seeking it, and to both I can talk. Then I have a poor woman with cancer, who likes me to speak of Jesus, whom I believe she truly loves; so you see I am not without work."

A short time at this hospital, and a few months as superintendent at the Great Northern Hospital, ended her work in London. The work at the latter tried her much both in body and mind, for not only did the whole responsibility of it rest upon her shoulders, but owing to the inexperience of her assistants, most of the nursing devolved on her as well. One patient who was critically ill she was obliged for six weeks to nurse entirely both by night and day. Nervous debility was the natural consequence of such overwork, and a deafness from which she had suffered at Kaiserswerth so much increased that the doctor ordered her to rest. That was not immediately possible, as there was no one to take her place, and when at last a successor had been found, and she was able to return home, she was so weary both in body and mind that she failed to find her usual delight in the loveliness of Fahan. A few weeks' stay, however, in the bracing air near the Giant's Causeway restored her to her wonted health.

The winter was passed at her home, resting quietly in preparation for the work in Liverpool, of which the offer has been already mentioned. In the spring of 1865 she left for ever the old familiar spot with its beautiful hills and glens, and its cottages, to many of whose inmates she had been the means of bringing comfort and peace; Liverpool, with its needy poor and its many difficult problems, claiming her for the last three years of her life.



CHAPTER VI.

AMONGST THE PAUPERS.

In the year 1698, William III. stated in a speech that:—"Workhouses, under a prudent and good management, will answer all the ends of charity to the poor, in regard to their souls and bodies; they may be made, properly speaking, nurseries for religion, virtue, and industry." But could the good king who anticipated so many advantages from workhouses have only seen our poor law institutions a hundred and fifty or sixty years later, he would have been pained to learn how far they had fallen short of his sanguine expectations. The sick and helpless were entrusted to the care of women who, being paupers themselves, and of a low class, and being for the most part in the workhouse through loss of character, were found to be almost incapable of training. Rough they were, and in many cases brutal as well, while their roughness and brutality were intensified by the free use of intoxicants. Their language was terrible, and not only did they quarrel constantly amongst themselves, but fights were of frequent occurrence.

To endure such treatment and to witness such scenes was the daily lot of a sick pauper, who knew also that when dead he would have little better than the burial of a dog, since it was the common custom in many workhouses to bury corpses naked, with no covering but a few shavings thrown over the body. Little wonder was it that the poor, when overtaken by age or disease, shrank from the thought of entering a place which to them seemed worse than a prison, choosing rather to die without attention than to be treated in such a barbarous manner.

It seems strange that it was so long after a great reformation had been wrought in the management of our prisons that any one was found to lift up a voice in behalf of the much enduring inmates of our workhouses. There seemed to be no one who could spare a thought for the thousands of sick and poor in these institutions. But it was the old story of "out of sight, out of mind," for if only the evil had been apparent our English nation with its love of justice would have seen it righted long before. Workhouses were to be found all over the land, yet the public seemed not at all curious, much less interested, in the question whether they were properly managed or not. The guardians were often ignorant men, and were very slow to admit visitors, perhaps from a foreshadowing suspicion of the exposure which was in store for them, and the consequent necessity and expense of change, so that we need not wonder that the opposition which was called forth when first the evils of the workhouse system were exposed was tremendous, and that the task of awakening real interest seemed well nigh hopeless.

In the Liverpool Workhouse the state of things was no worse than in many others, and in many respects it was not so bad. There was a good committee, and therefore there was nothing like the wholesale starvation and cruelty which existed in too many other workhouses There was also some measure of thoughtful care for the sick ones, for Agnes Jones in a letter written after her first visit, says:—"There seemed care for the patients too; a few plants and flowers, Illustrated News pictures on the walls, and a 'silent comforter' in each ward, not the utterly desolate look one often meets in such places." Still, there were no trained nurses, and it was impossible for any committee, however zealous, to counteract all the evils of pauper nursing. The need for reform was great, and happily for Liverpool and for the country at large, there were not only eyes to see the need, but a mind which had grasped the only solution of the difficulty, and a large and sympathetic heart which prompted the hand to open wide the purse to accomplish it, for Mr. William Rathbone, ever foremost in all schemes for ameliorating the condition of the poor and needy, had long been alive to the necessity of substituting for pauper nurses trained paid ones. He it was who not only suggested the change, but offered himself to bear the whole expense of the scheme for three years, feeling assured that by that time the guardians would be so convinced of its practical good that they would adopt it permanently.

Having obtained the committee's consent to the trial of his plan, Mr. Rathbone offered the post of lady superintendent to Agnes Jones, then at the Great Northern Hospital in London. After consultation with Miss Nightingale and Mrs. Wardroper, the Lady Superintendent of St. Thomas's Hospital, and receiving their approval and also the promise of twelve Nightingale nurses from St. Thomas's for her staff, she accepted it. Still there was a delay of some months, which was partly due to the nurses' need of further training, and partly to the imperative necessity that she should have entire rest in order to recruit the strength which had been so sorely overtaxed at the Great Northern Hospital. She did not therefore enter on her duties until March 31, 1865. Even then she began her new and untried work in much trembling and with great distrust of herself, though her trust in her Saviour never failed. "It often seems strange," she wrote, "that I, who have so little self-reliance, and would like every step directed, am obliged to take such an independent position; and yet I have been so led that I could not help it, and I only trust I may be more and more led to look to the guidance of the ever-present and all-wise Heavenly Friend."

After her arrival she was still obliged to wait some weeks for the advent of her staff, consisting of twelve Nightingale nurses and four probationers. But although she was not yet in possession of the reins of government, and so was debarred from doing anything in the way of nursing, she was yet allowed free access to the wards, being only prohibited to speak on religion to the Roman Catholic patients. So the intervening time was not lost, for she found many opportunities of bringing cheer and comfort to sad and weary hearts and of pointing lost ones to the sinner's Saviour. Agnes Jones was not one of those who are always

"Seeking for some great thing to do,"

and ignoring the many small opportunities of service which lie ready to hand. She was quite content, since the larger field was not yet open to her, to occupy a smaller one. In a letter to her aunt she wrote very characteristically:—"I am trying and succeeding more and more in fixing my eyes on all the little things we shall be able to do. I believe in this is our safety, doing the daily littles as opportunity is given, and leaving the issue with God. It is the individual influence we shall have, the individual relief and the individual help for mind and body, that will be ours. If it is His will, He can make others see the many littles as one great whole, or they may see nothing done, while we have the comfort of the littles we know have been done."

The nurses and probationers arrived in the middle of May, and then work began in good earnest. The post of lady superintendent was by no means a sinecure. At 5.30 every morning she might have been seen unlocking the doors for the kitchen-women. She was often round the wards at 6.0, and all through the busy day until 11.0 at night she was kept fully employed, giving out stores, superintending her nurses, presiding at meals, and visiting patients, besides all the hundred-and-one duties and calls which fall to one in the like position. Her unselfishness was as conspicuous as ever, and she never thought of sparing herself in any way, her joy being to make the lives of others bright and happy.

The patients were quick to discover the benefits of the new regime. Instead of the old system of roughness and neglect, they found now a very different order of things, as nurses, perfectly trained, with soft voice and gentle footfall, passed from bed to bed, ministering to the sick and dying. Interesting and helpful books for those who were well enough to read found their way into the wards. Flowers—for Agnes Jones, who loved intensely all God's works in Nature, had great faith in the ministry of flowers—were there to give brightness in the midst of depressing surroundings. Visits from friends were rendered more easy. Christmas was made happy with special festivities. Indeed, she seemed always to be planning something to cheer the sick under her care. She very soon began Sunday evening Bible readings in the wards where there were only Protestant patients. Many crowded in, even Romanists, whom she was not allowed to invite, and listened with rapt attention, the late-comers slipping off their shoes, lest they should disturb her. After nearly two years' work, she commenced daily evening Bible readings, having an attendance of from twenty to thirty, while on the Sunday evening there were often more than a hundred.

It was no wonder that such devotion met with a ready response from the sad and friendless, and that her loving sympathy evoked love from the seemingly unloving.

Let us follow her as she passes through the wards. A thorough lady, quiet and self-possessed, she commands respect from even the roughest, and all look up with eager expectancy, hoping for just one word from her. Here is an old man, whose brightening face shows how welcome are her visits. As she stops we hear him murmur, "I never had a friend in all my life till I came here. You are my only friend." Another, who is drawing very near to the gates of death, taking her hand in his, says:—"I want to take leave of you—I never told you before, but do you remember speaking of the 'Gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord?' I got that gift then." And when she has gone, a poor man may be heard saying to the nurse:—"The lady can never know what she has done for me ... I think I am in heaven when she comes."

Her nurses were thoroughly one with her. How could they be otherwise when she was so thoughtful and considerate for them? Before introducing them to their wards, she commended them to God in prayer, asking His blessing on them and their work. She had a Bible reading for them, but, not content with speaking to them collectively, she would frequently talk to them individually of the Saviour she so loved. Although she never passed over their faults, they were sure of her ready sympathy in their troubles, and as they poured them into her ear she would say, "Have you told Jesus so?"

The success of the work was an astonishment to all. The patients could at first scarcely understand why the nurses did not swear at them like their former ones. The police wondered as they saw women able to deal with those whom they had found utterly untameable; while the committee were so pleased with the success of the experiment, that, a year before the specified time, they decided permanently to adopt the system of trained nurses.

But such work was not without its trials. During the first year there was great difficulty with the ex-pauper women who were being trained, many who seemed to be doing well returning to their drunken habits. Dirt, disorder, insubordination, and grumbling had to be contended with. The vilest sins were practised even by children, and so shameful was the conduct of many of the inmates that Agnes Jones said, "I can only compare it to Sodom, and wonder how God stays His hand from smiting."

The isolation from home and friends was a trial in itself, while her anxiety about her work was so great that she scarcely allowed herself a holiday. A further trouble was that from morning till night she was never alone. It is small cause for wonder that with such a terrible strain, overtaxed nerves and strength should result in depression, a fact only revealed by her journals, for to others she was ever bright, and it was often said of her, "She is like a sunbeam."

A life lived at high pressure cannot long continue without failing partly or altogether, and the end came at last. In the beginning of 1868 there was much fever and sickness of various kinds, there being three hundred patients above the normal number, while the nursing staff was reduced by illness. A nurse, who had been ill with bronchitis, developed symptoms of typhus, and Agnes Jones, fearing that her life might be sacrified, were she removed to the fever wards, gave up her bedroom to her, sleeping herself on the floor of her sitting-room. She was soon attacked by the same disease. For a week she progressed very favourably. Then dangerous symptoms showed themselves, and finally inflammation of both lungs.

Many were the touching inquiries from the patients of "How is the lady?" Nurses and friends watched anxiously the terrible progress of the disease. Much prayer was made, but the Lord had need of His servant, who had been so faithful to the trust committed to her here, for a more perfect service; and at the age of thirty-five she passed away peacefully into the brightness of His presence in the early morning of February 19, 1868, the beginning to her of a glorious day which should know no twilight gloom.

On the following Friday, when the coffin was carried into the hall, and placed in its case ready for removal across the Irish Channel, the landing and stairs were filled with patients who had crept there from the wards to see the last of one who had brought so much happiness into their wretched lives. And when she was carried to her last resting-place in the picturesque churchyard of Fahan, within sound of the rippling waters of Lough Swilly, she was followed, as was fitting, by nearly the whole population, many of whom could thank God for blessing which she had been the means of bringing to them.

Until the resurrection morning she might be hidden from the eyes of those who loved her; but none who knew her could ever forget her. Hear the testimony of one of the workhouse officials to the writer, more than twenty-five years after, when the question, "Do you remember Miss Jones?" was asked. "Remember her? I should think I do. I could never forget her. She used to have a Bible class on Sunday afternoons and on a week-day evening in that little vestry belonging to the church. She began it for the nurses, but there were only about fifteen of them then, and so she used to let us officers go as well if we liked. I used to love it, for it was beautiful to see her sitting there so homely and nice, and then she used to pray with us and expound the Scriptures. Oh, it was a real help, I can tell you! But it was a wonder to me how she lived those last few weeks of her life. You see the cholera broke out, and there was a lot of fever besides, typhus and different sorts, and she could never rest for looking after and caring for them all. Why, I've seen her in those wards there myself between two and three o'clock in the morning. Ah! she was a Christian, she was. Saint was the word for her, for if ever there was a saint upon this earth, it was Miss Jones. She seemed to me to live in heaven, and heaven was in her and about her and all around her."

"Only a tender love, Stilling the restless moan, Soothing the sufferer, Cheering the lone.

* * * * *

Only a woman's heart; Yet she forgot her care, Finding on every side Burdens to bear.

* * * * *

Humbly she walked with God, Listening to catch His voice, And 'twas His work for her, Not her own choice.

And when that work was done, Life's quiet evening come, What then awaited her? Only a tomb?

Nay, but a mansion fair Near to the great white throne, And the dear Master's word Saying, 'Well done.'"

ELLEN L. COURTENAY.



ELIZABETH, DUCHESS OF GORDON.

I.

EARLY DAYS.

Just a hundred years ago there was born one who in a marked degree endeavoured to do her duty in that state of life to which it had pleased God to call her. That state of life was a very exalted one, with many opportunities of doing good. The Duchess of Gordon had many talents given to her for improvement, and she was not unmindful of the stewardship with which she was entrusted. Her rank and wealth were held as trusts for her Master's use.

Dr. Moody Stuart tells us in his interesting and graphic memoir of the last Duchess of Gordon[1], from which the following incidents are taken (by kind permission of both author and publishers), that Elizabeth Brodie was born in London on the 20th of June, 1794. Her father was Alexander Brodie, a younger son of Brodie of that ilk. Amongst her ancestors there were many remarkable men, some remembered for their faithful service of their heavenly as well as of their earthly King. The memory of one has passed down to posterity in the phrase "the Good Lord Brodie." His diaries reveal a life lived in great humility and special nearness to his Lord. Those around him found in him not only a benevolent neighbour but also a faithful instructor in the highest learning. His delight was to visit the sick, and to declare the love of Christ whenever he had the opportunity. He longed for his children to be great in grace, rather than in worldly distinction. His wish for them is expressed in the words he left on record, that he would not be detained "one hour from glory, to see those come of him in chief honour and place in the world."

[Footnote 1: Life and Letters of Elizabeth, last Duchess of Gordon, by Rev. A. Moody Stuart, D.D. Messrs. J. Nisbet & Co., London.]

The mother of Elizabeth Brodie was a member of the family of Wemyss, a granddaughter of the Earl of Wemyss. Her father had acquired a large fortune in India, and returned home to the large estates in Kincardineshire which he had purchased. The little girl had soon to experience the greatest loss that can befall a child. When she was only six years old her mother died, leaving her alone with her father. The next two years were spent with maiden aunts at Elgin, where she enjoyed a liberty which was bracing to both mind and body. School life began early. When she was only eight years old, she was sent to a boarding school in London, one special object being to eradicate the broad Scotch from her lip and thought. At school she became a great favourite with both teacher and companions, already exercising that power of winning attachment which was a feature all through her life. At the same time she is described as having "a very independent spirit." In matters indifferent she was ever yielding in her disposition; but it was impossible to move her from any principle she had deliberately adopted. Courage was another characteristic that early manifested itself. Her groom, who had served her forty years, delighted to recall instances of her fearlessness. On one occasion, when her party were crossing the Spey in a pony-chaise in a boat, the bridge having been carried down by the floods, her companion asked, "Isn't this dangerous, duchess?" "I never see danger," was the quiet reply.

When she was about sixteen Miss Brodie left school. The winters were now spent in Bath, the summers in Scotland. She had launched into the society of the world, and to a great extent she did as they did. One reproof she received made a lasting impression. It was from the lips of a little child who was exceedingly fond of her. Miss Brodie had joined others in playing cards on the Sabbath. The next day, contrary to all custom, the child kept away from her, and when asked to sit on her knee, gave a flat refusal, adding the reason, "No, you are bad; you play cards on Sunday." Her answer and resolution were ready: "I was wrong, I will not do it again." And those who heard her and knew her character were quite sure she would not do it again.



II.

MARCHIONESS OF HUNTLY.

Elizabeth Brodie was still very young when she entered upon the duties and trials of married life. Between the house of Brodie and the house of Gordon there had been a standing feud. About the middle of the seventeenth century the youthful and impetuous Lord Lewis Gordon had made a raid upon the property of the Laird of Brodie. He burned to the ground the mansion and all that was connected with it, the family escaping to the house of a cousin. This Lewis Gordon became third Marquis of Huntly, and was the ancestor of one who made a better conquest, the gallant Marquis of Huntly, who sought and won the hand of Miss Brodie. They were married at Bath on the 11th of December, 1813. The union thus formed was never afterwards regretted. When, fifteen years later, he experienced great losses of property, his sorrow found expression in these words, "All things are against me: I've been unfortunate in everything, except a good wife." What that wife did for him in spiritual as well as temporal comfort, the sequel will show.

The Marquis of Huntly was a thorough man of the world at the time of his marriage. And for a time his wife joined him in the fashionable circle in which he found his chief pleasure. Both in London and in Geneva, where they spent the greater part of the first portion of their married life, she became very popular. But she soon realised that true joys were not to be found in the mere attractions of society. For some years her life cannot be described otherwise than as unprofitable. One instrument used by God for her awakening was a Highland servant. This girl was grieved to see that the interest of her mistress was absorbed by the things of time, which left no room for the contemplation of the things of eternity. She ventured to make a wise and well-weighed remark. It was a word fitly spoken, and did not fail in its purpose. The young lady's eyes were further opened by what she saw of the sins of the worldly circle in which she moved. She began to realise the sentiment of her ancestor, the good Lord Brodie:—"God can make use of poison to expel poison: in London I saw much vanity, lightness, and wantonness." His aspiration was also soon echoed from her own heart—"Oh, that the seeing of it in others may cure and mortify the seeds of it in myself!" She could not help observing the shameless vice that passed unrebuked, by many hardly noticed. The observation gave a shock to her sensitive soul. Her distress was great, and in her distress she turned to the right quarter. She sought solace in the Bible. That hitherto neglected Book enchained her attention, and she became a most diligent searcher into its hidden truths. Some of the gay friends of the society in which she moved found her occupied in this Bible reading. It supplied them with a new amusement, telling how the attractive marchioness had become a "Methodist." Hers was not the nature to be turned aside from its purpose by a taunt. "If for so little I am to be called a Methodist, let me have something more worthy of the name." Such was her reflection, and her Bible reading was continued with renewed earnestness.

In the course of that reading the work of the Holy Spirit was impressed upon her attention. The promise met her eyes, "If ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him?" "From that time," she records, "I began to pray for the Holy Spirit." To the end of her life she increasingly realised and brought others to realise the paramount importance of the personal work of the Holy Spirit. Lady Huntly could not now join in the pursuits of the world as she had formerly done. Her husband did not fully sympathise with the change in her views, but he saw enough of the sinful emptiness of mere gaiety to make him refrain from insisting upon her taking part in its pursuits. More than this, he gave every facility to her for carrying out her wishes, even when he could not understand the spirit which was their motive.

When in Geneva, after her Bible reading had begun, she found a very helpful friend in Madame Vernet. "If any one is to be called my spiritual mother," she said, "it is Madame Vernet of Geneva." That good Christian unfolded to her plainly the plan of salvation, showing her first her lost condition, and then the way of redemption by Jesus Christ. Lady Huntly was also helped by her intercourse in Paris with Lady Olivia Sparrow and others who frequented her house for the sake of the religious society.

On her return from Paris the winter was passed at Kimbolton Castle, the seat of her brother-in-law, the Duke of Manchester. That place was memorable in her spiritual history. "I knew Christ first," she afterwards said, "if I really know Him, at Kimbolton; I spent hours there in my dressing-room in prayer, and in reading the Bible, and in happy communion with Him." Lady Huntly referred to this period of her spiritual life in these terms, some one having made the remark that deep conviction of sin is almost invariably the beginning of the work of God in the soul: "I did not quite agree with that statement, and do not think it is by any means always the case. In my own case I believe that for two years I was a saved sinner, a believer in Jesus Christ, and yet that during all that time I did not see the exceeding sinfuluess of sin. I believed in a general way that I was a sinner, who deserved the punishment of a righteous God; I believed that whosoever came to Jesus Christ should he saved; but I had no deep sense of sin, of my sin. Since then I believe that I have passed through almost every phase of Christian experience that I have ever read or heard of; and now I have such a sight of my own utter vileness and unworthiness, that I feel that the great and holy God might well set His heel on me, so to speak, and crush me into nothing." This sense of absolute unworthiness was always a feature of her life. "A useless log" was the term she applied to herself.

One means of profit which Lady Huntly much enjoyed was her intercourse with a friend of bygone days, Miss Helen Home. They were now both walking in the same way. The Bible readings at the house of Miss Home were felt to be of great service.

Lady Huntly soon introduced family prayer in her home. She felt that if God was to be heartily served, His altar must be set up in the house. At first she gathered together her servants and any lady visitors in the house. But later, as we shall see, the whole establishment took part.



III.

DUCHESS OF GORDON.

The old Duke of Gordon, Lord Huntly's father, died in the summer of 1827. The subject of this biography became Duchess of Gordon, a title which involved increased responsibilities and increased anxieties. Happily she realised her position, and determined, by the help of God, to show more clearly that, in whatever rank of life she was, she was striving to be a faithful servant of her Heavenly Master. She felt that she must confess Christ more boldly, that she must be more decided for Him, however much this profession might appear singular in her recently-acquired rank.

A short time before leaving Huntly for Gordon Castle, she explored the old Huntly Castle with a party of friends. The duchess was at the time greatly bowed down by a sense of the responsibility of her changed life. There were certain inscriptions round the ceiling of a great hall in the old castle. No one could make them out. But whilst the duchess was standing alone in deep thought, her companions having gone off to examine other curiosities, the sun burst out from a cloud through one of the broken window mullions and shone brightly on the opposite wall, and in the light of his rays she read:—

TO. THAES. THAT. LOVE. GOD. AL. THINGIS. VIRKIS. TO THE. BEST.

"It was," she used to say, "a message from the Lord to my soul, and came to me with such power that I went on my way rejoicing." Ever after this text was a favourite one. She always looked upon it as peculiarly her own. Very practical was her reading of God's Word. She, indeed, expected to find in it a word from Him. Just at the time of her setting out for her new home she read as usual her daily portion in Bogatsky's Golden Treasury. Through two leaves of the book being stuck together, she had missed the portion appointed for the day before. But now it presented itself to her eye—and no less surely to her heart: "Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest." Her comment was, "That was another message from the Lord, that put strength into me."

Many years afterwards she wrote: "It was this day sixteen years that the text in Bogatsky was given to me from Joshua 1. 9, and truly I have found the goodness of the Lord with me, and everything temporal that I committed to Him He has indeed kept. It is really most wonderful when I see trials and trouble all around me, to see how everything I prayed for regarding my own home has been accomplished; and shall I not trust Him for my soul, and for all that guidance I so greatly need in all that He would have me to do? Surely He will guide me in spiritual as well as in temporal things; and the more I cease from man, and from any child of man, the more I shall be enabled to live simply to His glory." Another sixteen years passed. The duchess was within a few days of her death. She heard that a young man was in anxiety about his preparation for the ministry. "He looks to difficulties; give him for a New Year's message from me, Joshua 1. 9: 'Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; neither be thou dismayed.' These words were given to me after Duke Alexander's death, and from that day onward they have been a help to me."



IV.

GOOD WORKS AT GORDON CASTLE.

The duchess did not write a regular diary. But for one week in the first year of her residence at Gordon Castle such a record was kept. Extracts from it may serve to give some insight into her thoughts and life. The reader will be struck with the marked self-humiliation which was so characteristic of this child of God. "I desired to have resolution to commence and continue a journal, that I might obtain a clearer view of my own heart, which I know, alas! to be deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Well may I say with Job, 'I abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes.'" "A day lost though well begun; more peace, more clear belief, but, alas! not less indifference, not less hardness of heart; great idleness; after breakfast little or nothing done. O Lord, deliver me from pride and vanity, and make me a humble and devoted follower of the meek and lowly Jesus. He indeed is our peace." "Another unprofitable day; but when, alas! is any day otherwise with me?" "Sins of the week: unbelief proceeding from pride of reason, selfishness, carelessness, hardness of heart, vanity, evil speaking." These extracts are sufficient to show that there was a very severe introspection—a very real shrinking from sin, and sense of unworthiness. Some of the faults she lamented seemed to others remarkably absent in the duchess Evil speaking, for example, was about the last thing she could be accused of. There was no one more careful of the character of those with whom she had to do.

This short diary also shows her busily occupied in attending to members of her household, ministering to one maid, who was sick, instructing another in the Shorter Catechism. Happy was the household that had such a mistress at its head!

In 1830 William IV. came to the throne. The Duchess of Gordon was selected by Queen Adelaide as Mistress of the Robes at the Coronation. The Queen bestowed upon her many marks of favour and friendship. But the promotion to the highest honours of the Court was not allowed to militate against her soul's welfare. The service of the King of kings was always put first.

It is needless to say that the duchess was always a regular attendant at God's house. For thirty years she made a practice of taking copious notes of the sermons. The notes were copied out carefully during the week. This note-taking—sometimes a slight embarrassment to the preacher—was a great help to the hearer. As at least two sermons a week were thus noted, there must have been a great mass of manuscript before the thirty years were expired. Amongst those whose sermons she much enjoyed were Mr. Howels of Long Acre, Mr. Harington Evans, and Mr. Blunt, of Chelsea.

Good works were promoted by the duke and duchess at the cost of much self-denial. The duke's predecessor had left the estates heavily burdened. The consequence was that they were put under trust, only a limited income being allowed to the duke. This made contributions to charitable objects less ample than they would otherwise have been. But generous help was bestowed that cost the givers something to give. The duchess set her heart on building and endowing a chapel in connection with the Church of England. To render this possible the duke proposed to sell some of his horses. For the same purpose the duchess left a golden vase valued at L1200 to be sold. To quote her own words to explain what resulted from this charitable idea: "The Duchess of Beaufort, hearing of my vase, thought of her diamond ear-rings, which she got me to dispose of for a chapel in Wales, and her diamonds made me think of my jewels; and as the duke had always been most anxious for the chapel, he agreed with me that stones were much prettier in a chapel wall than round one's neck, and so he allowed me to sell L600's worth, or rather what brought that, for they cost more than double. The chapel is going on nicely, and I have still enough jewels left to help to endow it, if no other way should open. I do think I may with confidence hope for a blessing on this. It is no sacrifice to me whatever, except as it is one to the duke, who is very fond of seeing me fine, and was brought up to think it right."

The strict observance of family prayer has already been referred to. A room had been fitted up in the castle as a little chapel. The duke was always present, and now, in the absence of the chaplain and the duchess, used to conduct the prayers himself. In later years, when the widow returned to Huntly Lodge, exactly at half-past nine in the morning and evening the household assembled for prayers. Both indoor and outdoor servants were first gathered together. The butler then came to the duchess, and in words which we are assured were never varied by one syllable or accent during the twenty-seven years of her grace's widowhood and his own stewardship, announced, "They're all assembled." A brief blessing was asked, a psalm or hymn read, the organ led the voice of praise, a passage of Scripture was read and frequently explained. A prayer followed, in which the duchess wished that the Queen should never be forgotten.

Very faithfully the duchess sought to do her duty in bringing the interests of religion before those with whom she had to do, especially those of her own household. "But you do not know the difficulty I have in speaking to any one who does not meet me half way. I think if I could see my way clearly, I might get over this painful shyness, which I then know would be want of faith. But I cannot see that, situated as I am, it is my duty; and moreover, I fancy I have not the talent, and it is not one which I have to account for; for I have so often done more harm than good, even when I have prayed to be directed; indeed, I trust I have not often had to speak without that prayer.... Oh! I do pray for more zeal for souls, more true sense of their infinite value; for I think if I felt it as I see it, I should do more."



V.

THE HEAVY BLOW.

In the summer of 1835 the duke and duchess made a tour on the Continent. Even amidst all the movements and difficulties connected with hotel life, family prayers were not neglected. Every morning before starting they assembled together to ask God's blessing. The duchess on this tour had daily opportunities of reading the Bible with her husband. She was very anxious about his soul's welfare. His testimony to his old friend, Colonel Tronchin, at Geneva, was very significant. "Tronchin, I am a very changed man to what you once knew me, and I owe it all to my dear wife." She herself writes with reference to the duke—"He has done and said many things since he came here which almost give me hope that the Spirit of God is really at work, and that he begins to experience something of the blessedness of those who fear the Lord."

The greatest trial in her life was now approaching the duchess. He who had been her support and joy for so many years was to be taken from her. On the 27th of May, 1836, she was told by the doctors that the duke had only a short time to live. The terrible news was of course overwhelming, but she knew whither to turn. "I had not realised till then the hopelessness of the case. I retired to another room and fell on my knees; and as if they had been audibly uttered, these words were impressed upon my heart, 'Thy Maker is thy Husband; the Lord of hosts is His name; and thy Redeemer the Holy One of Israel; the God of the whole earth shall He be called,' and I rose up to meet the trial in His strength." The next day the duke died. Full proof was given of the sufficiency of God to support His servants in their darkest hours. Two days afterwards she wrote—"I must tell you of the blessed consolation I have in thinking of the perfect peace which my beloved husband enjoyed uninterruptedly, and the presence of the Comforter from the Father and the Son to my own soul. Pray for me. Although I feel indeed in the wilderness, yet like her who was led there, I would desire to lean on the arm of the Beloved One, who has truly given to me 'the valley of Achor for a door of hope,' and who is a very present help in time of trouble. The comfort I have is at present almost without alloy. It is only when earthly things pull me from my resting-place that I see the desolation of all earthly joys; and yet I am not excited, out as the Lord has enabled me to stay my mind on Him, He has kept me in perfect peace." When the beloved remains were removed into their last resting-place in Elgin Cathedral, she dedicated herself afresh to God. "When the coffin was lowered into that vault, I felt as if God had shoved under my feet all that was most dear to me, the only one on earth to whose love I was entitled, and that now I must live to Himself alone."

After her husband's death her wish was to return at once to Huntly Lodge, where she had spent the first years of her married life, and which was now hers by the marriage settlement. But a lease which the tenant was unwilling to resign prevented this for a time. Accordingly she made up her mind to travel abroad for some months. During the winter of 1836 she lived at Pau. The return home was made the following summer. Naturally she dreaded coming back to the now desolate home—the same place, but all so changed. But God was good, and the grace sufficient for the day was given. "Huntly Lodge, 31st August, 1837.—The Lord has been better to me than all my fears. Wagstaff (the duke's factor), accompanied by both Mr. Bigsby (of the English Chapel at Gordon Castle) and Mr. Dewar (minister of Fochabers), received me. My heart was so full of the Lord's goodness, that there was no room for bitterness; and after a few moments alone, I could not rest till we had thanked our tender Father; Mr. Bigsby was the organ of our thanksgiving. The three gentlemen, Annie (Sinclair), and I joined in prayer then, and at night with all the people of house, stable, and farm; this morning Mr. Dewar's prayer was very much what I needed. My blessed Lord Jesus is very present, and I know I cannot come to my Father without Him. Oh, pray that I may be more and more awakened, and never fall asleep again. Oh, for the quickening grace of the Holy Spirit to realise continually that blessed presence! 4th Sept.—My heart is full of thankfulness and wonder as to myself. I dreaded above all things the bitterness of desolation on my return here; and behold the Lord made His presence so manifest that I am now, as in times past, rejoicing in His unmerited love."



VI.

WIDOWHOOD AT HUNTLY LODGE.

The arrangements at Huntly Lodge were now, of course, entirely in the hands of the widowed duchess. Essentially the motto which was the principle of the establishment was, "As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." It was a matter of some doubt with her whether she should keep up the style natural to her rank, or let the Lodge and retire into a humbler life. After carefully and prayerfully weighing the matter, her decision was that "position is stewardship," and that it was her duty not to despise the high estate to which God had been pleased to call her, but to consecrate it to His service. This determination was a wise one. Her light was placed so that many could see its steady and bright burning.

The whole house was ruled in strict order, marked quietness and simplicity prevailing. We are told that everything throughout the day was conducted with the exactness of clockwork. The duchess rose soon after six o'clock. The family met at breakfast at nine. Exactly at half-past nine, as we have seen, both morning and evening, the house assembled for family prayers. After breakfast one of the first occupations of the duchess was to visit her old bedridden maid, to minister to her in things both temporal and spiritual. At noon she had a daily reading of the Bible in her room. The reading was interspersed with conversation, and followed by prayer. She seemed to be never tired of these spiritual exercises. The later hours of the day were occupied with reading and other pursuits until five o'clock, when she would again visit her invalid maid. In dealing with the poor the duchess was not only generous but discriminating. She spared no trouble in inquiring into the eases of distress before her. We are told that the list of two hundred persons whose families she regularly relieved had before her death increased to three hundred. The post was also often used as the means of dispensing her anonymous charity. One reason why she was so anxious to have a thoroughly capable chaplain was that he might thoroughly examine into the deserts of applicants for help. It was not pecuniary assistance only that was sought from the duchess. Her kindly counsel was much valued. To quote her own words, "Though I do so need advice and wisdom in my own matters, the most extraordinary people think proper to consult me about the most extraordinary things, and I cannot lose the opportunity of giving the only Christian advice they may be in the way of receiving. May the Lord help me; oh, how constantly do I need help!"

The Sabbath day was indeed a holy day at Huntly Lodge. Everything that could be done the day before was done. No fire was lighted in the drawing-room on the Sunday, with, as we are informed, the double object of saving unnecessary labour, and "to present no inducement for visitors to meet together for idle conversation." The doors of the house were locked during the hours of service, one, or at most two, servants staying at home. No letters were received or posted on the Sabbath. There were no arrivals nor departures of guests on that day. On a certain Sunday morning at breakfast the duchess was surprised to hear a carriage-and-four brought round to the door. Her immediate "What is that?" was answered by the appearance of a young English nobleman who had come to bid her good-bye. "Oh no," she said, "not on the Sabbath." Affectionately she persuaded him to remain until the next day. Away from home, on the Continent and elsewhere, she was careful that the day should be strictly observed. So great was her interest in Sabbath observance that she wrote a little tract on the subject.

The duchess used to delight in surrounding herself at Huntly Lodge with those who were specially set apart for the service of God. The ministers from time to time assembled there, first gathering together for prayer and conference, and then in a more open meeting, at which the duchess and her friends were present, and finally at family worship.

Schools for the poor were munificently founded by the Duchess of Gordon. The schools at Huntly, which were commenced in 1839, were finished in 1843. They consisted of infant schools, schools for older boys and girls, and also an industrial school for training fifty girls for service. When living in Edinburgh, she built large schools in the destitute district of Holyrood. The lady of Huntly was indeed a worthy precursor in the great work of general education. One excellent plan of religious instruction she adopted in her own household. A weekly class was formed of her female domestics, She had prepared a large number of questions. To each of the class she gave each week a slip of paper containing one question. This was to be answered before the next meeting. There was no one in the establishment who could help feeling that the mistress took the deepest interest in him or her.



VII.

ANXIETIES AND REST.

The Duchess of Gordon had been brought up an Episcopalian. But when in May, 1843, the great Disruption took place, when four-hundred and seventy-four ministers of the Church of Scotland took up their cross for Christ, resigning their earthly livings for conscience sake, the duchess was deeply moved by this heroic act of self-denial, and eventually, after much thought and prayer, she joined the Free Church, becoming a member of Free St. Luke's Church. She had left the Church of England, but she loved and honoured it to the end of her life. "I have not time for entering into my reasons for separating from the Church of England, but they were purely conscientious; and I believe I could never be a blessing to the little body of English Episcopalians, if acting against my conscience. They want God's blessing, not man's help; the latter without the former is a curse. Put not your trust in any child of man. But I am not against those dear friends, and can feel myself more at liberty to help them now than before, because I am now acting openly in all things. May the Lord Jesus enable you to look to Him, and to feel and say with Luther, 'Lord, I am Thy sin, Thou art my righteousness.'"

The first occasion on which the duchess partook of the Communion in connection with the Free Church at Huntly was a memorable event. The people assembled in large numbers. By the kindness of the Lady of Huntly provision was made for the visitors within the precincts of the old castle, military tents being erected for the purpose. Her own account of the scene may well be given. "Huntly Lodge, Aug. 5, 1847.—Now to tell of a time I hope never to forget. Friday was the fast day; Professor M. Laggan preached in the morning, and Mr. Moody Stuart in the evening. For Sabbath, Dr. Russell, who arrived on Friday afternoon, assisted to arrange a pulpit and two tents in the court of the old castle, one for the elements, the other for our party. Oh! it was indeed a communion: the Lord was there evidently set forth before us, and not only set forth, but present. God the Sovereign and Judge, God the Creator, without whom nothing was made that is made, is God the Saviour, Immanuel, the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world. There seemed truly nothing of man's making between us and the living God; a realisation of being God's creatures, God's redeemed children, formed for Himself, for His own glory. Mr. Dewar preached the action-sermon, after which Mr. M.S. fenced the tables, and addressed us, and served the first table. He told me he never so realised the oneness of Jehovah in Three Persons. If we had seen the Heavenly Dove overshadowing us, and heard the voice saying, 'This is My beloved Son, hear ye Him,' we should have been doubtless overwhelmed; but could hardly have had a more real sense of the presence of Him who made the heavens and the earth, the trees, the grass, and the new creature in Christ Jesus. Mr. Dewar served two tables and gave the concluding address; and Mr. Moody Stuart again preached in the evening on Isa. 1. 18: 'Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.' Many were much affected, and the place was so beautiful! I hope the weather will permit our having the tents pitched again."



VIII.

GOOD WORKS ABROAD.

After the duke's death, his widow paid frequent visits to the Continent. Pau was a specially favourite resort. There she found both English and French Protestants worshipping in places utterly inadequate for the purpose. She generously purchased a site for a church to be used by both congregations, the lower storey being fitted up for a French Protestant school. She also liberally subscribed towards the erection of the church. Her good works at this place were not few. Having heard that a man living near had broken his leg, she drove off at once to visit him, and repeated her visits weekly. A Bible was given to him, and the result was that his first journey on his crutches was to the Protestant service at Pau. He was convinced that in the teaching of the Protestants alone there was safety. The next day the children were withdrawn from the Roman Catholic school. The excitement was great, and no little persecution and pecuniary loss ensued to the new converts. The duchess began her Protestant school at Pau with eight pupils. She also had Bible classes from time to time, one being for Roman Catholic girls. A Sabbath evening service was held by the duchess for her French servants.

The story of Manuel Fuster, a Spanish refugee, is an interesting one. He had been destined by his parents for the priesthood. But having fallen into destitute circumstances, the duchess's butler had shown him kindness and given him some work to do for the house. Full of gratitude, when her grace passed through the courtyard, he fell down on his knees to thank her. She told him that that homage should be paid only to the Most High. At this interview and at many others she spoke to him about his soul's salvation. A French Bible was given to him before she left. On her return to Pau the next year, he was found breaking stones by the roadside, a conversation proving that he was quite a changed man. In the end he did good Christian service as a colporteur in France.

In 1847 the duchess was advised to winter in the south of Europe. Frequent attacks of bronchitis had made this course advisable. She took up her residence at Cannes, having prospects of being useful there. And her hope of being useful was very substantially realised. "Cannes, Dec. 1847.—Constant occupation, and many, many new opportunities of meeting with the Lord's people, and speaking of the glad tidings of great joy, have caused the delay in writing. I now know what fine climate is, and the country and views are beautiful; but above all there is a field of usefulness that we could not have at Nice, and an open door for the Gospel. Altogether, no tongue can tell the goodness of the Lord to us. He is letting me get glimpses both of His love and His glory in the face of Jesus Christ, such as I have never had before; and all this with such peace in outward circumstances! Is it not marvellous? You need not be alarmed about my 'exposition' on Saturday; I feel too deeply my own incapacity to attempt anything beyond what I should say to an infant school at home. The people who come to it are either the families of the servants I employ, or of the children taught by Annie Sandilands. We live as quietly as possible; Lord Brougham sends me the newspaper and bouquets of flowers; other friends lend Caroline their ponies, and do all kind things. Some young English girls come here once a week to a Bible class, and we have meetings every other evening at the chapel at home." The parting from her little flock at Cannes was a painful experience. "Our children were first broken-hearted, and after we were gone were roaring so that nothing could pacify them but Monsieur Bettets taking them all into the drawing-room and praying with them. Those chiefly affected were little Italians, and indeed they seem to have much warmer feelings."

The course of events in the life of the duchess in Scotland seems to have been very even and not very full of startling incidents during the last years of her life. Her personal piety was matured, and her works of usefulness were multiplied. She much delighted in the ministry of Dr. Rainy, who left Huntly in 1853, after a sojourn there of four years. "I wish much you had heard our three last sermons from Mr. Rainy; I never heard any more useful, striking and impressive. I was particularly struck by the way he brought out the necessity of taking up the cross in these days, in a real giving up of self, self-love, self-righteousness, self-pleasing."



IX.

QUICKENED SPIRITUAL LIFE.

The year 1859 is remembered as a season of remarkable quickening of spiritual life in America and Ireland, and later in Scotland. Such a movement could not fail to attract the attention of the Duchess of Gordon who, living so entirely in the presence of the Spirit, was able to realise the workings around her. Huntly Lodge was always ready to receive any who were busied with the spread of the good tidings. Mr. MacDowall Grant, Mr. Brownlow North, and Mr. Reginald Radcliffe were amongst the evangelists who were welcome visitors, as they went about their work of love. In January, 1859, and in the following months, there were impressive gatherings of ministers who met to bring themselves to the attainment of a nearer walk with God, and to strive for the awakening of their people. In January, 1860, there was a conference on a still larger scale, twenty-four ministers staying at the Lodge, whilst others found hospitality elsewhere. There was an unmistakable quickening on all sides. It was suggested to the duchess by Mr. Duncan Matheson, who had been her missionary in the district for some years, that a great assembly might be gathered together for two or three days in one of her parks. The matter was carefully weighed by one who shrunk from anything like undue novelty or unsound sensationalism. But when once she was convinced that it was God's way she hesitated no longer. What the world would think was a light consideration with her. Invitations were sent by the duchess to ministers and laymen of all denominations in England and Scotland.

The spot chosen was the Castle Park; the date, the Wednesday and Thursday of the third week in July. There was provision made for accommodating the expected guests in the Lodge itself and all the adjoining houses. The duchess filled her schools with stores for the ministers and their families, and all whom they might choose to invite. No expense of thought or labour was spared. But there was one thing that might have rendered all the careful arrangements of no avail. The rain had been falling for weeks, and there seemed no prospect of its cessation. Happily the fears were disappointed. From the time the people began to assemble until after the forenoon train on the last day had carried away the last of those who had lingered to the close of the assembly, there was not a drop of rain. The great day of the gathering was especially bright. It seemed as if God the great Creator were specially smiling on this effort for His glory and the everlasting welfare of His creatures. The place chosen for the gathering was most suitable, there being two or three places like amphitheatres on which the hearers could sit. Everything had been arranged so carefully by those whose hearts were thoroughly in the work that the duchess was able to note after the great gathering was over—"Truly there was not one thing out of place or unseemly." Eternity will unfold the results. The assembly was characterised "by much freedom and power in the speakers, by refreshing and lively joy and thanksgiving in the Lord's people, by the awakening of many of the dead, and by holy liberty granted to those that were bound." The number at this meeting in 1860 was about 7000. Meetings of a similar character were held in the three following years. In one or more of these the number reached 10,000. About the last of the great assemblies, the duchess wrote—" August, 1863. I cannot but wonder to see these meetings increasing in numbers and interest every year; not as a rendezvous for a pleasant day in the country, but really very solemn meetings, where the presence of the Lord is felt, and the power of His Spirit manifested. I trust that I have been somewhat awakened by the preaching of our own minister, which has been very striking indeed."



X.

THE END IS PEACE.

At the beginning of 1861 the duchess was brought almost to death's door. To use the words of her biographer, "She was visited with a severe and all but fatal illness, which was inscribed by the Lord's own hand with all the characters of the believer's death-bed, except that He brought her up again from the gates of the grave, and prolonged her precious life for three years more." So alarming was the illness that she made all arrangements for her departure hence. Various remembrances were set aside for her relatives and friends, and directions were given that certain letters should be written for the promotion of the welfare of some whose interest she had at heart.

On the evening of her attack she asked her friend to repeat the hymn

"One there is above all others, Oh, how He loves!"

She then observed that she had been depressed for some time with a sense of her many sins, but that the Lord was now giving her tranquil and joyful rest. She often spoke of the manner in which her soul was comforted, and that never-forgotten night. It is thus described by Dr. Moody Stuart, who was for many years her close friend: "There was nothing of the nature of a dream or trance; but as she lay sleepless, there appeared as if really before her eyes a white scroll unrolled, glistening with unearthly brightness, and with floods of vivid light ever flowing over it. Written at the head of the scroll, in large bright letters of gold, she read this inscription:—'THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS.' All her darkness was dispelled in a moment; with the glorious words, the Spirit imprinted on her heart and conscience the fresh seal of the pardon of all her sins; she believed and knew that the Lord Jesus Christ was of God made unto her 'righteousness,' and that His blood had made her whiter than snow. Her soul entered in a moment into perfect rest; the peace of God that passeth all understanding now kept her heart and mind through Christ Jesus; and she rejoiced in the full assurance that for her to die that night was to depart and be for ever with the Lord."

Day after day passed on, and she still lived. All her thoughts and words were about her Lord and the spiritual welfare of those around her. Her servants were a special care to her. As she was not allowed to see them individually, she sent them a message that they must not be content with trusting in a general way to the mercy of God, but that each of them must be found in the Lord our Righteousness if they would be saved. Throughout the illness her mind was kept in perfect peace, being emphatically stayed upon her Lord. One can well understand how prayers would be offered up for her by many that the valued life might be spared, if it were God's will.

During the time of her slow and partial recovery she occupied herself with learning hymns. She laid up a store which became in later months a great source of comfort to her. The hymn which she first committed to memory was one of her chief favourites:—

"A mind at perfect peace with God."

The second verse she specially valued:—

"By nature and by practice far, How very far from God; Yet now by grace brought nigh to Him, Through faith in Jesus' blood."

As we have said recovery was only slow and partial. She tried to learn the lesson designed in this lengthening out of her earthly sojourn. "I thought my life was spared," she said, "to give the opportunity of devoting for a longer period my influence and substance to the cause of Christ, but I see now a deeper meaning in it. There is more personal holiness to be attained, more nearness to Christ, and more joy hereafter through a deeper work here in my heart."

Her old habit of early rising had of course to be abandoned. But the hours of the early morning were well spent, especially in meditation and intercessory prayer. As an example of the things that occupied her mind, we may quote words spoken to her maid as she entered the room: "I awoke very early this morning, and have been very happy and busily engaged. My thoughts have been much occupied with three things all so different, yet each needing God's help to-day. The first is the Queen's visit to Aberdeen to inaugurate the Prince Consort's memorial; the second is Mr. M.'s prayer meeting in London in a hall that had been a dancing-saloon in his parish; and (referring to a young man formerly in her service, but then studying for the ministry) the third is John's College examination."

At the end of 1863 the duchess expressed a strong wish that the ministerial conference at Huntly Lodge should be resumed. A meeting was held on the 13th of the following January. As she heard what had transpired she remarked, "I liked the meeting, and had only one thing to find fault with: some of the gentlemen prayed for me as if I was something, and I am nothing. I must speak about that before the next meeting." She invited all to meet again on the 10th of the following month. She little thought that they would indeed meet on that day, but only to lay her remains to rest. The 10th of February was to be her funeral day.

The fatal illness was of very short duration, and gave her little opportunity of thought. She was sorrowing over her inability to think when the words were given to her: "I am poor and needy yet the Lord thinketh upon me." "Yes, that's it," was her reply; "In Thy strong arms I lay me down." She was quoting from the following hymn, which she frequently repeated to her friends, and which she said more than any other expressed the present state of her feelings:—

"I only enter on the rest, Obtained by labour done; I only claim the victory By Him so dearly won.

And, Lord, I seek a holy rest, A victory over sin; I seek that Thou alone should'st reign O'er all, without, within.

In quietness then, and confidence, Saviour, my strength shall be, And 'take me, for I cannot come,' Is still my cry to Thee.

In Thy strong hand I lay me down, So shall the work be done; For who can work so wondrously As an Almighty One?

Work on, then, Lord, till on my soul Eternal Light shall break; And in Thy likeness perfected, I 'satisfied' shall wake."

On the evening of the 29th of January the duchess attempted to ask for something. Miss Sandilands repeated the words, "My Beloved is mine, and I am His." "Yes," she answered. This emphatic token of assent to a truth which was essentially her own by appropriation was the last attempt she made to speak. She fell asleep at half-past seven on the Sabbath evening, the 31st of January, 1864. She went to the land where time is no more, in her seventieth year, just reaching the allotted term of life, as she had certainly in no ordinary degree performed its allotted work.

There was no need of hired mourners at her funeral. The depth of real grief was unprecedented. The sad procession was composed of many hundreds of mourners, and of nearly seven hundred children from her schools. The whole district was desolate and bereaved. The man was only speaking what many another was thinking when he said, "This is the greatest calamity that ever befell this district; of a' the dukes that reigned here there was never one like her; there's none in this neighbourhood, high or low, but was under some obligation to her, for she made it her study to benefit her fellow-men; and what crowds o' puir craturs she helped every day. And then for the spiritual, Huntly is Huntly still, in a great degree, but the gude that's been done in it is a' through her."

All that was mortal of this mother in Israel was laid to rest in Elgin Cathedral. That noble fane contained the remains of no one more loved than she. "I can't understand how people should love me," she used to say. Others could understand it. And now that they could love her in person no longer, they love her memory.

S.F. HARRIS, M.A., B.C.L.

THE END