J± Q^-iLzet and G-entle L^fe. 
 
 Iftt ^Umovtom: 
 
 S^AHY ^EIISON ?$OUSTOUN ^0OCKKAN£ 
 
 ^ iv 
 
 BOIIN, FEB. 16, 1834 ; DIED, JAN. 8, 1871. 
 
 EDITED BY THE EEV. WM. COCHRANE, A.M., 
 ZION PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH, BRANTFORD, ONTARIO. 
 
 "Snows muffled earth whpn thou didst go. 
 
 In life's siiring bloom, 
 Down to the <ai)t)ointe(l house below, 
 
 The silent tomb. 
 
 But now the green leaves of the tree, 
 
 Return— but with them bring not thee. 
 
 'Tis sweet balm to our despair 
 That Heaven is God's, and thou art there 
 With him in joy." 
 
 BRANTFORD, ONTARIO: 
 
 ANDREW HUDSON AND JOHN SUTHERLAND. 
 PRINTED BY STEWART & MATHISON. 
 
 1871. 
 
To the 
 
 Kirk Session, Board of Manariement, SaMath School Teachers, 
 
 Members and adherenu 
 
 Of Zion Fresbyterian Church, 
 
 THESE MEMORIALS 
 
 Of one toho loved them all, 
 
 Are affectionately dedicated by their bereaved fi-iend and Pastor, 
 
 William Cochrane. 
 
 Brantford, Ontario, 
 March, 1871. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Memorial Sketch of the late Mrs. Cochrane, by the Rev. 
 Wm, Cochrane 9 
 
 Sermons : — I. Preached in Zion Church, Brantford, by the 
 
 Eev. William Cochrane, Jan. 22nd, 1871 . . 49 
 
 II. By the Rev. James Robertson, January, 
 
 15th, 1871 61 
 
 Address delivered on occasion of the funeral by the Rev. 
 
 John Wood, January 11th, 1871 70 
 
 Appendix 74 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The following pages have been prepared to meet the wishes 
 of many friends of the departed in Brantford, and elsewhere, 
 who desired to know more of her early history than the ac- 
 quaintanceship of later years unfolded. I shoold not, how- 
 ever, have yielded to such a desire, did I not also feel that the 
 story of her gentle, unobtrusive, christian life, may, under 
 God's blessing, be of value to very many beyond the imme- 
 diate circle of her intimate friends. Written hastily and 
 while suffering acutely the bitterness of this sore bereavement, 
 I have had neither leisure nor inclination to seek after elegance 
 of composition. As prompted by a loving heart, I have simply, 
 and I trust honestly attempted to tell the brief story of her 
 life, as known to me. 
 
 It is not altogether unlikely that trifling inaccuracies in 
 dates and places may be discovered by friends in Scotland, 
 into whose hands these pages may come. As the main inci- 
 dents are, however, I believe, correctly narrated, I hardly 
 deemed minor details of sufficient importance to warrant de- 
 lay in publishing until such time as I had corresponded with 
 friends at a distance. 
 
 To my brethren in the ministry, and others, whose comfort- 
 ing words and tender ministrations are recorded and referred 
 to in this little souvenir, I return my warmest thanks for plac- 
 ing their notes at my disposal, and other acts of kindness. 
 
Their testimony to the genuine worth of the departed, and 
 their sincere sympathy in this, the great trial of my life, will 
 be gratefully appreciated by sorrowing friends in a distant 
 land. 
 
 If to my own congregation and other christian friends, I 
 have seemed, in the discharge of public duty, unduly op- 
 prc .sed with sorrow, I can only reply in the words of the Poet 
 Laureate, of England: — 
 
 • ' Forgive my grief for one removed, 
 
 Thy creature whom I found so fair, 
 I trust she lives in Thee, and there 
 I find her worthier to be loved." 
 
^A)^LY ^^EAKS. 
 
 CHAPTEll I. 
 
 *' Face and figure of a child 
 
 Thouj,'h toi) calm, you think, and tender 
 For the childhood you would lend her," 
 
 " Fathers may hate \i», or forsake, 
 
 God'H foundliuj^'s then are we, 
 Mother on child no pity take, 
 
 ]iut we shall still have T/<ec." 
 
 " Her air had a meanin}?, her movements a grace, 
 Yoii turned from the fairest to gaze on her face. 
 And when you had once seen her forehead and mouth, 
 You saw as distinctly her soul and the truth," 
 
 " Thee have I loved, than gentlest from a child 
 And born thine image with me o'er the sea. " 
 
 cl^iARY NEILSON HOUSTOUN was born in George ^treet, 
 Paisley, (Scotland,) on the sixteenth day of February, 1834. 
 She was au only child, and conseciuently enjoyed a large measure 
 of that care and affection, which in such circumstances might 
 be expected, at the hands of devoted christian parents. Her 
 father carried on a successful business for many years as a 
 china merchant. His Ecclesiastical relations were with the 
 Established Church of Scotland, in which he held oflice, for 
 some years before his death. It is not known to the writer of 
 this sketch under whose Ministry she was born, but her earliest 
 
10 
 
 years of Church attendanco, must have boon iindor thoMiniHtry 
 of tho Rov. John Macnaughtan, long known throughout Soot- 
 land Hi the popular Minister of tho High Church, and now of 
 Rosemary Street Church, Belfast. Her mother, who died when 
 she was but 11 years of age, was evidently a person of good 
 solid judgment, mingling firmness with affection in tho training 
 of her child. Methodical and precise in all that she did, she 
 left tho impress of her orderly habits upor^ her daughter. Tho 
 judicious counsels given her at that tender age, by a fond and 
 loving mother, she never once forgot, but often repeated them 
 in after years. Mourning friends, including the wr.rer of 
 these pages, call up through the dim vista of well nigli thirty 
 years, her fairy form and laughing countenance, as she stood 
 at her father's door, or nestled close by her mother's side. Of 
 slender and delicate build — with dress neat and chaste — with 
 hair plaited and parted, and tied by cunning fingers — with an 
 innocent merry smile, and a footstep swift and agile as the 
 gazelle, she had many friends beyond her own immediate 
 relatives. Her winning manners, and grace of person and un- 
 affected modesty, secured for her a place in loving hearts, 
 which she retained, when girlhood merged into maturer years. 
 After her mother's sudden death in 1845, at the early age of 
 37, she was left to a great extent under tho guardianship of an 
 aunt, who kept house for her father nntil his death in 1849. 
 Nothing of very special interest in her history is known during 
 that period. She prosecuted her English education with other 
 acconuplishments, under several teachers, prominent among 
 whom were the Misses Cunningham, who kept a private school 
 for young ladies, and Mr. James Eeid, of the Town's English 
 Academj'-, who still survives in a green old age — a noble speci- 
 men of the intelligent and thorougli educationist of a bygone 
 day. Under such teachers she made rapid progress, not only 
 in the common branches taught in our public schools, but in 
 fancy needle work, and other branches of a kindred nature. 
 And as no young lady's education was then considered com- 
 plete without the graces of theball-room,she attended for many 
 
11 
 
 sessions, one of tbo popular dancing aoademios of the town, 
 uud became a proficient if not indeed an enthusiast in that 
 art. Although thus thrown into fashionable society, she never 
 acquired a taste for a life of gaiety, naturally preferring even 
 in her younger year3, the quiet retirement of hor home, or the 
 society of one or two chosen and like minded companions. 
 This love of home and quietness, she possessed until her death. 
 For although, happy, agreeable and cheerful in the society of 
 friends, she valued the still hour of eventide by her own fire- 
 side, as most precious and profitable of all. Then and there 
 in " secret silence of the mind" she spent some of the happiest 
 moments of her life. 
 
 Left without a mother's care, as already narrated, when in 
 her 11th year, her orphanage was soon completed by the death 
 of her father in 1849, when she was only 15 years of age. 
 From a memorandum in her own hand-writing, found among 
 her papers after her death, and evidently prepared in anticipa- 
 tion of her death — where she records minutely the more recent 
 changes among relatives, she writes : 
 
 " Mary Davidson died 23rd August, 1845. 
 Robert Houstoun died 24th August, 1849." 
 
 Although utterly unprovided for at her father's death, so far 
 as his estate was concerned, she experienced the truth of the 
 promise, '* When my father and mother forsake me, then the 
 Lord will take me up." She was at once taken into the house 
 of her Uncle, Mr. Walter Lamont Houstoun, Sheriff Clerk 
 Depute for Renfrewshire, where she remained until her marri- 
 age. Mr. and Mrs. Houstoun having no children of their own, 
 gave to her the place of a daughter. She thus enjoyed advan- 
 tages, to which in other circumstances she would have been a 
 stranger. Perceiving in her a strong desire after further 
 mental acquisitions, and a taste that needed only to be grati- 
 fied and cultivated, to fit her for more than the ordinary walks 
 of lifo, they gave her every facility for the enrichment and 
 cultivation of her mind and eye. Nor did she disappoint their 
 
12 
 
 fond expectations. She grew up to womanLood, beloved as a 
 daughter by those who had adopted her as their own, and the 
 idol of her companions. The name of " Mary Houstonn" 
 was to them a symbol of all that was gentle and attractive, 
 while her talents were the pride and boast of her teachers and 
 her admiring friends. She disarmed all jealousy— she won all 
 hearts — she enjoyed the good will of all with whom she came 
 into contact. None knew her but to love her, as mr.ch for her 
 humility and goodness of heart as for her acknowledged gifts. 
 Seldom indeed do we meet with one, so thoroughly unconscious 
 of attractive qualities, and so ready to disburse what she did 
 possess for the enjoyment of others. It was, doubtless, this 
 singular trait in her character that made her so much the idol 
 of her student companions, and gathered around her so many 
 sincere friends. Whatever tal.mts she possessed were placed 
 at the disposal of all who could benefit by them. Whatever 
 gifts and graces she had given her were expended for the good 
 of souls. She lived not for herself, but for the joy and happi- 
 ness of others, and in so far as she could advance their wel- 
 fare, was her own satisfaction and delight. The well known 
 verses, frequently repeated by lier in subsequent years, were 
 even at this early period, the motto of her daily conduct, — 
 
 " I live for those who lov<^ me 
 
 Whose hearts are kinfl anrl true 
 For the heaven that smiles above me 
 
 And awaits my spirit, too ; 
 For all human ties that bind me ; 
 For the task liy God assi^rnerl me ; 
 For the bright hopes left behind me, 
 
 And the good that I can do. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 For the cause that lacks assistance, 
 For the wrong that needs resistance, 
 For the fixture in the distance. 
 And the good that I can do." 
 
 However happy an orphan's home may he, and however 
 kind the friends that God in his providence raises up to take the 
 place of parents, there always remains in the heart a vacancy, 
 
13 
 
 • 
 
 which untiling earthly can supply. The object of this sketch, 
 althougli amply fnrnishetl with all that love could dream of, 
 sliarod such feelings, and could sympathise with lonely and 
 forsaken ones. Among her most intimate compaiiions, she 
 mentions one, who seems to have been very dear to her heart, 
 chiefly on this account. "Maggie and I," she writes, "arc 
 very intimate now, and the more I know of her, the more I 
 like her. She is a very good pious girl, older and more sedate 
 than I am, and I always feel better after being in her society. 
 Slir is an orphan like «s'. Is it not strange how orphans cling 
 to one another." In this connection, although somewhat an- 
 ticipating the order of events, it should be added, that in 
 Jersey City and in Brantford, she ever opened her house and 
 home to all who were thus bereaved. She knew what it was to 
 lose a fond mother, and was able to symj^athise with those 
 whose heart yearned for more than the ordinary friendship of 
 the world. She was thus fitted to comfort them, by the com- 
 fort wherewith she herself had been comforted of God. Many 
 who read these lines wiU understand what I mean, and revere 
 her memory for what she did for them, whcii ih.oy found 
 themselves in a strange land, with no friend near them, to 
 whom they could unbosom their secret griefs. Since her death 
 touching testimonies of her tenderness and attentions to such 
 a class have been received. One young lady writes, '* I know 
 too well," — referring to her little motherless daughter — " hoic 
 dcsnlate the child is who has no mother. I have thought of 
 the great kindness shown me when in distress by Mrs. Coch- 
 rane. How often I have gone to your house feeling that I had 
 not a friend in the world, certainly not in Brantford, and won- 
 dering if the world would ever look bright again. Yet before 
 I left, I always felt assured that I had a friend, whose kind- 
 ness made the Brantford world a great deal brighter." 
 
§LiAlX)-LN ^^.irDE. 
 
 c^^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 *' Be thou my first, mv best, my chosen treasure 
 Delight my soul with love that knows no measure, 
 Filed with thyself, can earth's delusions charm me 
 
 Can Satan harm me," 
 
 " Meek souls there are, who little dream 
 Their daily strife an angel's theme, 
 Or that the rod they take so calm 
 Shall prove in heaven a martyr's palm." 
 
 " Her every tone is music's own 
 Like those of morning birds ; 
 
 And something more than melody 
 Dwells ever in her words." 
 
 •* ITie weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude 
 She took as she found them, and did them all good 
 It was always so with her. " 
 
 %^ELIGIOUS ti' MPKISSIONS. 
 
 '* I waste no more in idle dreams my life, My soul away 
 I wake to know my better self, I wake to watch and pray." 
 
 It is a matter of uncertainty when she first became the sub- 
 ject of religious impressions, or whether the change was 
 gradual or instantaneous. It is evideut that very soon after 
 her father's death, if not before, she had serious thoughts 
 about her soul. Having passed through so much that was 
 
15 
 
 fitted to awaken anxiety about another world, it could hardly 
 be otherwise. Accordingly some time about the year 1852, she 
 appears to have made application to be received into member- 
 ship of the Church, and became a professed follower of the 
 Lord Jesus Christ. Her uncle was connected at that date, 
 with the Thread Street United Presbyterian Church, under the 
 Ministry of the Eev. Willam MacDougal, under whose pasto- 
 ral care she remained for several years. In 1856 or 1857, 
 when her uncle transferred his membership to the Canal Street 
 Presbyterian Church — then and still under the pastoral care of 
 the Rev. George Clarke Hutton — she followed, and continued 
 there until her marriage. The spiritual good received by her 
 during the years she attended Mr. Hutton's Ministry I dare 
 not attempt to speak of, out of deference to the feelings of 
 that beloved friend and brother. I would not, however, be 
 doing justice to myself or the feelings of the departed, did I 
 not place on record, the impressions made upon her mind, and 
 the new views given her of Christian faith and practice. 
 Religion now became to her more than a mere sentiment. 
 While her mind was enlarged, and her thinking powers 
 strengthened, her heart was warmed and incited as it never had 
 been before, to give herself to the Lord. Unlike many young 
 men and women of the present day, she did not imagine that 
 having joined the Church, she was beyond Bible or cathecheti- 
 cal instruction. On the contrary up to very nearly the time 
 she left her native land for the United States, she was a con- 
 stant attender of Mr. Hutton's advanced classes, and received 
 a degree of benefit from his teaching, only second to that of 
 his preaching. And indeed in so far as Bible knowledge is 
 concerned, such classes when properly conducted, are of the 
 utmost importance in preparing the mind for the appropriation 
 of gospel truth. One marked benefit of attendance on this 
 Bible Class, was the precision with which she rendered pas- 
 sages of scripture. She was thoroughly disconcerted when 
 she heard a text misquoted, just as the ear of a practised vo- 
 calist is jarred and pained by a false note in music. All this 
 
16 
 
 was a uoblc pi-oparation for personal effort in after years, and 
 made her a niobt successful teacher. In a living Church, where 
 the Minister and Membership arc not contented with their 
 own congregational prosperity, but search out the lapsed and 
 sinking masses of the population, in order to bring them 
 within the influence of religious ordinances, such teachers and 
 workers as the subject of this sketch proved herself to be, 
 will never be left long unemployed. It appears from docu- 
 ments left behind, that she taught in two different Sabbath 
 Schools, one connected with Mr. Mutton's and one connected 
 with the Oakshaw Street United Presbyterian Church — Mr. 
 France's. Extract minutes of date August 18th, 1800, signed 
 by the Superintendent and Secretary of the Canal Street 
 United Presbyterian Church, speak of her " unwearied la- 
 bours" in this department of Christian work. " We hope and 
 pray," it concludes, " that God will give you a safe and speedy 
 passage accross the great Atlantic, and in the new and wider 
 sphere of usefulness you will be called upon to till, you will 
 shew the same activity and the same self-denying efforts for 
 the enlightenment of your fellow creatures, that you have 
 shown amongst us," Accompanying the extract, they ask her 
 acceptance of a copy of the Holy Scriptures and a copy of 
 Cowper's Poems, as a small token of their esteem. Long before 
 this, however — as early as 1854 or 1855 — she was a teacher in 
 a mission school, connected with another congregation, and 
 labored there most unweariedly, in behalf of those for whom 
 no man cared, not even their parents. A little crimson velvet 
 clasped New Testament, given her in I860 by the little girls of 
 this class, was in her eyes more precious than pearls or dia- 
 monds. It was while teaching this class, she caught the 
 infection of fever, which brought her, in 1857, to the very 
 gates of death. She writes prior to her illness, " There is a 
 great deal of fever and small-pox in our school for some time. 
 I have generally fourteen girls in my class, but it has diminish- 
 ed to seven. The day school teacher has taken the fever 
 — also his asssistant ; my friend Miss has also taken 
 
17 
 
 small-pox. I wont to see her twice. The children are now 
 returning from the Infirmary, where they were all sent. None 
 of them have died, but they have all got a good shake, poor 
 things." And after mentioning the names of teachers, who 
 had wisely enough, absented themselves from the school, she 
 adds, " I am glad that I don't feel afraid, and I pray the Lord 
 may i)reserve me safe from harm, if it he lii.i will/'' It teas his 
 will that she should bo laid aside for many months upon a 
 bed of languishing, when to all appearance, her service of 
 work was ended. During this illiKr-ss, she was very kindly 
 attended by the llev. Mr. France, in whose mission school it 
 was supposed she had caught the infection. The gratitude 
 she felt for his visits, in braving all danger, and sitting by her 
 bed side, day after day, when few would venture near her was 
 most sincere. It was to her a cause of deep regret, that from 
 unforseen circumstances, she was prevented from meeting him 
 on her recent visit to Scotland, and once more telling him, 
 how sweet and precious were his \.ords to her, in these days of 
 weakness. It is of this sickness she writes soon after, " I did 
 not think I was so much beloved, as to cause so much interest 
 to be taken in me;" closing the same letter with the prayer, 
 " May our Heavenly Father, iviio loatchcd over me when I was 
 sick and nigh unto death, and who has mercifully raised me 
 up again to health, ever keep you and guide you by his Father's 
 hand." Somewhere about this period, we find her appointed 
 Treasurer of the Missionary Association connected with the 
 Church Sabbath School, and distributing tracts every month, 
 in neglected parts of the town, and at the risk of receiving 
 violence from certain Iloman Catholics, into whose houses she 
 had given the word of life. We next read of her visiting a 
 young acquaintance who was dying, and regarding whose sal- 
 vation she is greatly exercised. " I fear," she says, "that his 
 hopes soar little above this earth, for religion is little to him. 
 His inward sight is very dark." Naturally of a retiring dis- 
 position, and diffident to an unusual degree in speaking of her 
 own spiritual experience, such earnestness and boldness in 
 
18 
 
 religious matters takes us somewhat by surprise. And yet 
 have not the most timid saints of every age become lion 
 hearted and fearless under the impulses of God's spirit ! 
 
 ^^ROWTK IN ^SkACE. 
 
 "Then draw we nearer day by day. 
 
 Each to his brethren, all to God ; 
 Let the world take us as she may, 
 
 We must not change our road." 
 
 I feel a delicacy in unveiling the inner life of one so dear to 
 me, even to the sight of her most iiitimate friends. Apart 
 from this, her well known repugnance to all that savoured of 
 parade, forbids it. She kept no diary of her feelings, and the 
 letters which contain glimpses of the rise and progress of reli- 
 gion in her soul, were never intended for other eyes than the 
 few to whom they were addressed. In one of these, of date 
 1854, speaking of some disappointment that for a time threw 
 a dark shadow over her spirit, she writes :— "Though the pros- 
 pect is very gloomy just now, often the darkest morning turns 
 out the brightest day. And though we cannot see the dark 
 windings of Providence, yet wo are none the worse of a few 
 crosses at a time. It teaches us our entire dependence on Him 
 who ordereth all things well. If we would get all things to go 
 just u,s we pleased, we would fool proud and haughty, 'raid for- 
 tune's sunshine." In another, of date 1855, she writes : "Will 
 you join your prayers with mine, that God would teach me to 
 lift my thoughts and affections from things beneath to things 
 above ? Oh ! there are times when I feel so sad , so wretched 
 and downcast, that I want some one with whom I can speak 
 unreservedly about my soul. But why am I ashamed to speak 
 of Jesus ? If ashamod of him, lie will 1)0 ashamed of me. And 
 then, I cannot always think calmly of death. I do a great 
 
19 
 
 inanv thingt^ I ought not to do, aud I know my duty and often 
 neglect it. I make resolutions, and do not keep them, because, 
 I fear, they are made in my own strength. Perhaps God is 
 gently leading me to sec this. He knows my inward weakness 
 — he will bow his ear to my stammering prayer, and pick out 
 the meaning of my inexpressible groans, and respect my hum- 
 blest offering, if there but be raj' heart in it. As John Bunyan 
 expresses it, in his "Come and Welcome," "I sometimes have 
 a kiss of the sweet lips of Jesus Christ — a blessed word that 
 drops like a honey comb on my soul." In one of a later date, 
 she says : "I used to think that by associating with religious 
 men and studying religious books, I would be sure of becoming 
 holy, but I now feel convinced the more I read, that nothing 
 but the influence of the Holy Spirit can raise us one step higher 
 than the earth. It is strange we are so attached to these low 
 regions of sin and vanity." 
 
 Other pens, than that of the writer of this short memoir, may 
 in after years more fully pourtray her inner life, as revealed in 
 her letters. For obvious reasons, and indeed until both par- 
 ties to this correspondence have passed away from earth, ex- 
 tracts only, and these but sparingly, can be given. The series 
 of letters referred to — extending over a period of six years — 
 would more truthfully describe the high christian principles 
 that ever regulated her conduct, than anything that can be 
 said by the most intimate friend. For one who made no pre- 
 tence whatever to elegance of composition, and who wrote her 
 letters in the spare moments of a busy life, and frequently 
 when nature demanded rest, they reveal an amount of histo- 
 rical knowledge, a wealth of chastened fancy, and the exercise 
 of a sound, well balanced judgment, upon matters of the most 
 momentous interest, far beyond what her fondest admirers 
 would suspect. They are also the spontaneous effusions of a 
 pure and guileless heart, which opened up without reserve 
 the hidden depths of a somewhat sad but hopeful nature, 
 expecting confidently a tender and sympathizing response. Her 
 style, naturally chaste and perspicuous, was doubtless aided to 
 
20 
 
 Bome extonti hy the perusal of the best EnRlifih authors, and 
 the study of the Britifih poets, whose works were found in great 
 abundance upon the shelves of her uncle's library. A man of 
 great taste in the selection of his books, and fully abreast of tho 
 literature of the day, he thus provided for his niece tho very 
 material her mind demanded. She read and re-read favorite 
 authors with intense delight, and wandered into fields where 
 but few of her age dare venture. This is proved alike by her 
 correspondence as by her conversation with congenial minds. 
 As years passed on, her literary taste underwent a very marked, 
 and in some respects, singular change, — a change, however, 
 easily accounted for by the more solemn views of life and the 
 profounder thoughts concerning a hereafter that took posses- 
 sion of her soul. Her reading became not only more restric- 
 ted in its range, but also of an entirely different character. The 
 biographies of christians not too far removed from common 
 experience — expositions of religious truth in simple language, 
 and the records of christian effort in home and foreign fields, 
 became interesting and fascinating as they had never been be- 
 fore. Among such books, greatly blessed to her soul as to 
 others, may be mentioned Miss Brewster's treatise, "Work, 
 plenty to do, and how to do it ;" The memoirs of "Mary Lun- 
 die Duncan ;" "Mrs. Judson's Memoirs," and those of the 
 "Martyred Indian Missionaries." Whenever she found benefit 
 from the reading of a book, she recommended it, or gave it for 
 perusal. The first named of the above volumes was loaned to 
 many young friends both in Scotlaiul and America, and with 
 great results. The following letter found among her papers, 
 indicates this method of doing good. On reviewing it, she has 
 appended the works : "Written, after reading 'Work, or plenty 
 to do and how to do it, 1855.' " 
 
 " Dearest Mary and Christian Friend, — Pray for me. Oh, 
 Mary, pray for me, that I may be kept in the narrow way. It 
 is ever, ever struggling against sin ; ever doing that which I 
 ought not to do and do not wish to do, and leaving that undone 
 which I ought to do. Mary, I am very, very weak. Pray for 
 
21 
 
 rao that I may bo stronptbened from on hip;h, and that I may 
 bo purgod and made white in tho blood of tho Lamb. Here 
 arc the words on which my hope rests, and from which I was 
 first enabled to believe : 'Him that cometh unto me, I will in 
 no wise cast out.' Blessed words of the blessed and merciful 
 Saviour. ♦ * * • Mary, I pray for you night 
 
 and morning, that you may l)e strengthened, kept and preser- 
 ved, and made more and more like Him who died for you ; — 
 more like Jesus, I pray also for your kind friend who gave 
 you this book. Adieu, dear Mary ; remember me. I love you. 
 
 Your sincere friend, 
 
 LizziK G." 
 
 • 
 
 I have made reference to such interchanges of christian feel- 
 ing, not for anything extraordinary in the correspondence 
 itself, but as revealing an exceedingly interesting state of 
 mind, among a select cirdeof young women, who were engaged 
 in daily studies, which did not, directly, at least, tend to fos- 
 ter a high type of spirituality. The parties, who, unknown to 
 their nearest and dearest friends, kept up this christian inter- 
 course, were prosecuting their studies in the Government 
 school of design, when not engaged in household duties. They 
 were at an age, also, which is not usually credited with serious 
 thoughts concerning the future, but, on the contrary, is most 
 commonly charged with devotion to the fashionable excite- 
 ments of a thoughtless world. Yet, despite of all, the spirit of 
 God was silently carrying on a work of grace, which resulted 
 in the birth of precious souls into the kingdom, and an acces- 
 sion of moral and spiritual power into many homes. 
 
 Apart frou^ her own relations and a few christian compan- 
 ions to whom she could reveal her thoughts, her circle of ac- 
 quaintances was by no means large. She had no great desire 
 to cultivate friends, merely for the sake of a wide-spread, but 
 superficial and hollow fricmdship. She preferred to have few, 
 but these reliable and trustworthy. She selected them for the 
 possession of those qualities, and the imparting of that coun- 
 sel and comfort, she stood most in need of. Living very much 
 within her own thoughts, the many could not understand her. 
 
22 
 
 nor outer into hor f<'(j]ings. Thnrowas one, liowtsvor, to wliom 
 Hhe could at all tiuwH go, with whatever troubles oppresBed her 
 Koul, — always sure of a cordial welcome. And it may be par- 
 doned for a loving son in passing, to pause and pay an humble 
 tribute to th<' memory of one of th<; fondest and best of moth- 
 ers, who certainly lived not for herself, but for the good of 
 others. Often in the silence of lier darkened chamber, did 
 that mother wrestle with the ungel of the covenant, lier lan- 
 guage that of the mother of Saumel : "F«)r this child I prayed 
 * * * wherefore also I have lent him to the Lord ; as 
 long as he livefli he shall be leni. unto tlie Lord." 'Left a 
 widow, with an only child — the writer of these pages — but 
 strong in faith, she was eminently fitted to speak a word in 
 season to weary ones, and shelter the orphan from the cold 
 and bitter blasts of an unfeeling world. Meek and gentle by na- 
 ture, she was rendered doubly so by grace. Her very expression 
 was spiritual — her features indicated that her thoughts were 
 heavenly, and that she was among us rather as a celestial visi- 
 tant than an inhabitant of earth. As has been said of Mary of 
 Bethany, bo might it be said, as it was felt by all who knew 
 the Mary of whom we are now writing : "She was too spiritual 
 — too sensitive — too frail a flower, to live and bloom in this 
 ungenial clime. She was never made for the angry strifes, the 
 harrowing cares, the hackneyed pursuits, the trivial details, 
 the miserable common places of a world like this. That was 
 not her sphere ; but to move among us as a light from heaven, 
 casting its radiance around us, and beckoning us onwards and 
 upwards to a better and a brighter world ; a love^ example and 
 manifestation of the spiritual life, the life which comes from 
 God, and ever pants to return to God ; a perpetual protest and 
 rebuke against the prevailing earthliness of all around." 
 
 It was in the society of such a matured disciple that the sub- 
 ject of this sketch learned some ot the best lessons of her life, 
 and enjoyed happy seasons of converse and communion. The 
 home of such an one was to many young believers a sanctuary 
 from the ills of life. She listened to their story — told them of 
 
2'i 
 
 lier Himilar experiences — repeated some precions promise that 
 had comforted her own soul in friendU'ss days, and sent them 
 away relieved and hopeful. One or two extracts from the cor- 
 respondence already alluded to, will show how much such fel- 
 lowship was valued : "It makes mo happy to think that I had 
 a warm corner in your mother's heart ; fori loved yoiir mother 
 too — loved her because she was my own mother's friend. To 
 her I could go for counsel and sympathy when I felt perplexed 
 or vexed. She know so much of my mother's history." * * 
 "Who would not have loved your mother! Everybody that 
 know her, loved her. I for one retain her memory with a 
 sacredness next to that of my own mother. I love to tliink of 
 these evenings, shortly before she died, when we had many a 
 pleasant conversation, and many a wholesome advice she gave 
 me. I could tell her all that was in my heart, and always went 
 away comforted." * * * I felt it a great privilege 
 to hear her speak of the things of the kingdom."! 
 
 It is seldom that God introduces his chosen servants to the 
 realities of active service, without subjecting them to trials. — 
 The subject of this sketch, as we have already seen, was no ex- 
 ception to the rule. In 1852 she was again laid upon a sick 
 bed with a dangerous attack of small-pox. To personal sick- 
 nesses, there were also added other sad bereavements. From 
 that period on till her marriage, frequently recurring deaths of 
 friends and acquaintances brought her face to face with death 
 and the eternal world. To one like her, whose friendship was 
 of the strongest and purest kind, and who could not love at all 
 but with an intensity of feeling, the deaths of companions were 
 occasions of bitter grief, as well as serious reflection and per- 
 sonal examination. She was at times led to think, as if she 
 was in this way peculiarly tried beyond others, and led to en- 
 
 t Wlien a^ko'l, after the birth of hiT little dauprhtor, what name should 
 be ffiven the chihl, she at once replied, "youi* mother's name— call her Mar\- 
 MacMillan." 
 
24 
 
 tcirlaiu gloomy vicWH of hor rcpeatoil chuHtiHcmoiitH. On such 
 occabioiiH, wo Ihul iior quoting and rupoatiug tlio verBCB : 
 
 "O, ever thuH from chihihood'rt hour 
 
 I've Huon my fondcHt hopes decay, 
 1 mivcr h)Vt'd ji tree or flower 
 
 lint 'twiis the hrrtt to fade away. 
 
 I never mu'sed a dear gazelle. 
 
 'i'o glad me with its soft black eye, 
 ]>ut when it came to know me well 
 
 And love me, it wan .sure to die." 
 
 A vory dear young friend died in lsr>7, of whom who writes : 
 
 "Joan 1) died on the lltli Soptemb<?r. Little did I 
 
 think when I saw her last and shook hands with hor, it would 
 bo for tin; last tinu) on earth. I wept unrestrainedly when 1 
 saw her remains. Truly, death changes the countenance. We 
 both were taken ill at the ^ ime time, and 1 was raised up and 
 spared, and she taken away. I fear I would not be so well pre- 
 pared for such a change, and able to say with her as she said 
 on her death-bed, 'The Lord is my rock and my portion foi 
 ever.' May wo hope to sec each other again in heaven." 
 
 l^jssiONAKY 'Anticipations. 
 
 ■'•ir 
 
 ' * Not unto manhood's heart alone 
 
 The holy influence steals : 
 Warm with a rapture not its own 
 
 The heart of woman feels 
 As she who by Samaria's well 
 
 The Saviour's errand sought — 
 As those who with the fervent Paul — 
 
 And meek Aquila wrought. " 
 
 By the mercy of God she was prevented from falling into a 
 state of hopeless grief, which often clouds the opening y^arsof 
 existence, and in many cases, diminishes the capacity for 
 future service and actual achievements in the cause of God. 
 
26 
 
 Ht'V fnturo hoiui.', and po.sition in lifi;, now began to engage 
 hvv thoughts. In Jcciiling the iniijortiint 'luc'stiou where sho 
 is to hibour, she gru^jples witli the (lillicullies thi't presentixl 
 themselves, untlcr a consciousness that tremendous guilt would 
 be laid to her charge, if any sacrilice that the case demanded 
 was shrunk from on the grounds of personal ease. The writer 
 of these pages having had his attention directed to Foreign 
 labor, and having almost resolved to olfer his services to tho 
 Scottish Church, and go far hence as un ambassador of Christ, 
 sho writes as follows : — 
 
 •' I come to that part of your letter which troubles me most 
 — about India. You have hardly any conception how much 
 this question is troubling me. It occupies my thoughts almost 
 constantly, and how to answer it is the difficulty. At one time 
 I think I could go — at another I tremble at the very thought. 
 I do not think that I have that facility for the acquisition of 
 languages that is necessary, although I understand that some 
 of the languages spoken in India are not very difficult to ac- 
 quire. I have been trying to get as much information as I can 
 about India, and the Indian Mission. But I have not decided 
 yet. I wish this was off my mind. Yet it has been beneticial 
 to mc in many ways. I see more of myself than I did, and I 
 have been led to read and study my Bible more frequently than 
 ever before." In another letter she says "I feel very much 
 perplexed as to my duty in this matter, whether I could go or 
 not. I have been thinking of it very seriously and I trust 
 prayerfully, and examining myself too. * * ♦ j have no 
 qualifications for the work, and I am very much afraid of the 
 motives that would take me there. Until I feel that the 
 highest motives — love to Christ and his cause — urged me, I 
 could not presume to offer my services. It \ouuld he likeoj'er- 
 iiKj stranye Jire he/on' the Lord. One extract more must suffice, 
 regarding this matter. "I have given the subject prayerful 
 consideration. Indeed the subject has seldom left my mind 
 for a moment, and is mixed up with everything I do. I begin 
 to feel a deep interest in Missions and Missionaries, and see 
 the necessity for more laborers in the great harvest field. I 
 feel a deep sympathy for the poor deluded heathen, worship- 
 ping idols, and undergoing so much suffering to please their 
 Gods — even giving their bodies to bo burnt or crushed under 
 the wheels of the car of Juggernaut. I am glad that such a 
 question has come up for decision, were it only for the purpose 
 
of testing the sincerity of my interest in Missions, and asking 
 myself, if in wishing others to engage in the noble cause, 
 would I be willing to sacrifice everything — friends, earthly com- 
 forts and my native land — and go to live a life of self denial 
 for the sake of Christ ? I was deeply interested in reading the 
 memoir of Mrs. Judson, the first female Missionary who left 
 the shores of America, and also the memoir of Mrs. Newell 
 who left with her for India. Was God preparing the way for 
 your letter, in leading me to take so much interest in their 
 lives ? I felt it strange that I should be placed in smiliar cir- 
 cumstances in which they were placed at one part of their 
 lives. It cost them a hard struggle to decide and I often 
 questioned myself, if I decide to go, should Providence call 
 me, have I the same disinterested motives influencing me that 
 influenced them ? I fear not. I feel I have not their deep 
 piety, nor their many intellectual qualifications, to fit me for 
 so responsible a position. My knowledge of spiritual things 
 is much less — I am but a babe in Christ, and seem to have 
 but little interest in the things of the Kingdom ; indeed I 
 often doubt if I have any at all. I often wonder why I have 
 been spared so long, and been raised up to health and strength 
 from the very verge of the grave, while others who would have 
 been far more useful, have been taken away. Surely God 
 spares only those, to whose souls he intends to do good, and 
 takes those who are ripe for glory. I often think that in 
 sparing me, God intends I should do some work for him. Oh ! 
 if thou hast work for me, prepare me for it. * * * To the 
 eye of human reason there is much to prevent you from going 
 but with God all things are possible. I am happy to think 
 that your mind is in such a state as makes you feel willing to 
 go or stay as the Lord will direct. If I am to occupy such a 
 position, I should like to adopt the language of Thomson, and 
 say: 
 
 ** Should fate command me to the farthest verge 
 Of the green earth, to distant barb'rous climes, 
 Rivers unknown to song ; v here first the sun 
 Gilds Indian Mountains, oi his setting beam 
 Flames to the Atlantic Isles 'tis naught to me 
 Since God is ever present — e er felt, 
 In the void waste as in the city full ; 
 And where he vital breathes, there must be joy." 
 
 Having referred to this matter, it is but justice to the 
 memory of the departed to add, that after prayerful considera- 
 tion she consecrated herself to India, if God should direct her 
 
27 
 
 footsteps thither. It was from no preference, that she crossed 
 the Atlantic to live and labour and die in another field. And 
 never in all her subseqiient life, did she forget the claims of 
 the heathen, or cease to yearn after their salvation, with an 
 almost apostolic fervour. 
 
 No arguments were used to bring her to such a determina- 
 tion. She was left entirely to her own judgment, and solemn 
 reflection, in answ^ering the question, '* Lord what wilt thon 
 have me to do?" It is said of Dr. Judson, the famous Mis- 
 sionary to Burmah, that when asking the far famed " Fannie 
 Forrester" — Misr, Chubbuck — to go with him to India," he 
 pressed the subject upon her with all the energy of his im- 
 passioned and most truthful character. He painted to her the 
 glories and the deformities of the Orient ; its moral desert in 
 a wilderness of luxuriant beauty. He set forth the toils and 
 privations of the Missionary's lot, and over against this, the 
 privilege of being a reaper in the great moral harvest of the 
 world ; the blessedness of those who turn many to righteous- 
 ness, and the glory of that coming world, whence faith already 
 draws many a presaging token of bliss." In the present case 
 it was far otherwise. The claims of God more than affection 
 for man moved to the sacrifice of friends, companions, aud 
 associations dear to her as life. Wh^^.t she might have been 
 and done had the sacrifice offered been accepted, we cannot 
 tell. Not in vain has she lived, though her dust reposes in a 
 colder clime than India's — that gorgeous East, which 
 
 " With richest hand 
 Showers on her King's barbaric pearls and gold." 
 
 The glimpses given of her life so far, will probably lead the 
 reader to conclude, that her's was a gloomy and desolate exist- 
 ence, full of inward fears and external sorrows. There could 
 not be a greater mistake. Solemn thoughts frequently she 
 doubtless had, but for the most part her countenance was 
 cheerful, and her heart was buoyant. Although never a pro- 
 ficient in music, she had a strong natural taste for the melo- 
 
28 
 
 dies of her native land, many of wliich slie memoriaod and 
 sung in solitary hours. Such songs and ballads as " Old Scot- 
 land I love thee," " Ye Banks and Braes," " Ilka blade o'grass 
 has its ain drap o' dew," " The Mocking Bird," " What are 
 the Wild Waves Saying," the versos beginning " Where are the 
 friends we all loved so dear, long long ago," and many of 
 the compositions belonging to the Jacobite period of Scottish 
 Minstrelsy, such as "Will ye no come back again?" were 
 special favorities. She sang them with a simplicity and 
 pathos in that " low sweet voice" which her friends knew so 
 well, which showed how intensely she felt their meaning and 
 entered into their spirit. She was also accustomed in her 
 readings to write out for future reference, verses of poetry that 
 harmonised with her state of mind. For the mor,t part, if we 
 may judge from the fragments left behind, these selections 
 were of a somewhat sad and foreboding character. Among 
 them is " The Mariner's Grave," the touching story of a 
 British seaman, who sleeps in the lone lone deep, with no 
 stone to tell his name or fame or glory. 
 
 " Serene and safe from storms that scarce can ruck his lonely 
 pillow." 
 
 Next comes " The Dying Child," to whom, as his eyes grow 
 dim and his face more deadly pale, there comes borne along on 
 the night wind, the Angels coral hymn, that welcomes- him to 
 Heaven ; and many others of a similiar character. Passing 
 through the Glasgow Necropolis on her recent visit to Scot- 
 and, she copies the following lines, with a note appended; 
 " From a tombstone in Glasgow Catjiedral :" 
 
 " Our life's a flying shadow — God's the pole 
 The index pointing at him is our soul, 
 Death's the horizon, w^ben our sun is set, 
 Which will through Obrist, a resurrection get." 
 
 Such selections shew the serious undercurrent of her life, un- 
 suspected by the casual observer, and indeed unknown to lier 
 many friends. She was gradually becoming weaned from 
 earth, and prepared for Heaven. 
 
^:ATURE AND ^J^KT. 
 
 "The stars of mirlnitrht shall be dear 
 To her, and she shall have her ear 
 
 In many a secret place 
 Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 
 And beauty, born of nuuTnuring sound, 
 
 Shall pass into her face." 
 
 "Birds and beasts. 
 And the mute fish that {,'lances in the stream, 
 And harmless reptile coilinj? in the sun. 
 And joyous insect hoverinj? in the air. 
 The fowl domestic and the household dog, 
 * * * She loved them all." 
 
 Ruskin somewhere says in his writiugf, that no one can be 
 far wrong in way of life or right temper of mind, if he loves the 
 trees enough, for if biimau life be cast among the trees at all, 
 the love borne to them is a sure text of its purity. The sub- 
 ject of this memoir was one after Mr. lluskin's own heart in 
 this respect. Her love of nature — of flowers and landscape 
 scenery, was intense. Her early years, indeed, were not spent 
 among the trees, but the close-built walls of a populous manu- 
 faetiiriug town seemed but to increase her longings after com- 
 munion with the beautiful, fair, free world, that stretched itself 
 inimitably under God's open sky. She was no mean natural- 
 ist in this sense of the word. Day after daj', in summer and 
 in winter, when time permitted, she made long excursions into 
 the country, gathering wild flowers and rare specimens of Na- 
 ture's flora. When at the sea coast, she rambled wildly and 
 recklessly over rocks to gather sea weed and shells. The curious 
 actions of nature's humbler children, were to her a frequent 
 study and a constant wonder. With a practised eye and an 
 open ear, "she waited upon nature as a lover, and wooed her at 
 all hours.'' Thus she found • 
 
 ■'Tongues in trees — books in running brooks ; 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 
 
80 
 
 She weut farther than this, for she saw God in everything. 
 She adored the great Creator as revealed in his works, regard- 
 ing them with the eye of an humble christian, as sure evidences 
 of his infinite wisdom and xuibounded goodnoss. 
 
 To a class of men, who look upon nature with a hard prosaic 
 eye, and deem its treasures only valuable, in so far as they can 
 be converted into gold and turned to practical account, she must 
 have seemed extravagant in her admiration of nature, and in 
 the spare hours she devoted to its study. Untaught souls 
 there are in every community, whose passions and instincts 
 have nothing in common with such a refined and ennobling 
 pursuit. Like the unawakened peasant described by Words- 
 worth, nature never finds the way into their hearts; they never 
 feel the witchery of the soft blue sky ; and though they dwell 
 among vales and streams and see the budding broom and thorn, 
 they remain ignorant and unconscious spectators of the mys- 
 teries of creation. 
 
 "A primrose by a river's brim, 
 A yellow immrose was to him, 
 And it was nothing more. 
 
 Very different were her feelings, of whom we write. She could 
 say in truth- - 
 
 "To me the meanest flower that blooms, can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears." 
 
 The correspondence already referred to is full of such simple 
 outbursts of genuine sympathy with nature. Speaking of a 
 visit to Burns' monument in 1854, she says : "I spent two or 
 three hours on 'the banks and braes o' bonnieDoon,' and heard 
 the song sung under the old bridge of Doon. It had a splendid 
 effect there, but it brought so many sad recollections of days 
 gone by when my mother was living — it was a f<i . >rite song of 
 hers — that my spirits were damped, and I forgot I had come to 
 enjoy myself. I picked up this 'bit of heather' that was grow- 
 
81 
 
 iiig near 'Burns' cottage,' which I send you. It will remind 
 you of "the bonnie hills of Scotland," On another occasion she 
 writes : '* The morning was so flue that I walked to the vil- 
 lage. It was really a beautiful walk, and I enjoyed it. The 
 fields were so green, and so many little wild flowers peeping out 
 from under the hedge rows, and tlie little birds so joyous in the 
 leafy trees, singing as if to burst their littlo throats. I walked 
 along with my heart lifted up in joy to the bountiful creator." 
 On a summer visit to the sea coast, she writes : " This piece 
 of heather was taken from the highest hill on the Cumbrae, 
 from which you have a magnificent view in all directions — 
 'a' the airts the wind can blaw.' Opjiosite this hill, the battle 
 of Largs was fought, and on the spot are trees planted like an 
 army of soldiers in different positions. It is said that the army 
 was standing on the day of battle as we see the trees planted." 
 She speaks in the same letter of a certain young minister who 
 preached striking sermons at Millport on the summer Sabbath 
 evenings in the open air. " The large concourse of peo- 
 ple, rich and poor, young and old, high and low, all gathered 
 round their young minister. The broad blue sky above their 
 heads — the sea extending far as the eye could reach — the beau- 
 tiful hills gilded by the setting sun — the solemn stillness of the 
 Sabbath, broken by the rich sacred music, and echoed back by 
 the hills around us, made it very grand and solemn, I love to 
 think of these days." 
 
 Shortly after the deatli of her father, the Government School 
 of Design was established in her native town, and many young 
 men and women availed themselves of the opportunity affor- 
 ded them, to study the principles of art. The Principal then 
 appointed, and who still continues to adorn his profession, was 
 admirably fitted to awaken a passion for high attainments in 
 this branch of our higher education. A man of fine taste and 
 cultivated scholarship, he found no greater pleasure than in 
 marking the progress of his more promising pupils, — taking 
 them excursions into the country to sketch from nature, and 
 in every way enriching their mind and eye. Among the most 
 
32 
 
 successful Htuilents of hor ago, was the subject of this moinoir. 
 Sketching and painting, ,vhich many young ladies simply re- 
 gard as innocent pastimes, patiently accepted as a part oi a 
 liijcral curriculum and necessary as accomplishments in cer- 
 taiu walks of life, were to her sources of purest delight. In a 
 (lualitied sense, it may be said, she gave to art her A'ery soul, 
 and worshippcid it with all the powers of her being. Instead 
 of attending the classes as a duty, she considered it a privilege, 
 and spent long hours at her sketches, after the other students 
 had finished their allotted tasks. As might be expected, when 
 a few sessioils of such a school had been attended and the nov- 
 elty subsiled, the zeal of many waxed cold, and the attendance 
 few, but never for a moment, unless prevented by sickness, did 
 she relax attendance (>r abandon her favorite studies. In view 
 of such a fondness for art and the opportunities thus afforded 
 her, it would have been strange indeed had she not gained a 
 high pre-eminence among her fellow students, and been regar- 
 ded by her masters with an honest ))ride. Year after year, she 
 carried off the highest prizes in books and medals, until, in at 
 least one special case known to the writer, she lost a valuable 
 scholarship, because no one of her class would compete against 
 her. What she might have attained had she consecrated her 
 life to art, no one can predict. This much may be said, that 
 her eye and hand would have carried her through the world, 
 and gained for her a noble independence. But with all her 
 talents in this department, there was not a single grain of 
 vanity. She shrunk from public recognition, and speaks re- 
 gretfully of the annual distribution of prizes, saying in one of 
 her letters, " I wish they would just give me the medal, and 
 make no more ado about it." She was generous to a fault in 
 scattering the productions of her pencil. It was a pleasure to 
 preparQ for friends such simple souvenirs of her regard. An 
 American gentleman who had never seen the " blue bells of 
 Scotland," expresses a wish to have such a sketch, and forth- 
 with it is sent him. Another friend, on leaving for a distant 
 
33 
 
 land, receives a wreath of " Forget me not," accompanied with 
 
 the verses: — 
 
 *' Accept tlio' small its value bo 
 
 This token of my love sincere ; 
 And glanciny on it, think of me 
 ' Forget mo not, thou ever dear. 
 
 May it to falthfid menjory 
 
 Keciilling many h long loved spot, 
 For distant Scotland,- and for me 
 
 Breathe softly, sweet ' Forget me not.' " 
 
 Her sketches and water colour drawings arc thus in almoFt 
 every part of the world, given to friends as parting tokens of 
 her alTection and as m(nuentoes of early friendship. The 
 rooms of her late dwelling are clad with compositions and 
 landscapes, while finished and uiilinished studies of every 
 possible description remain behind, as evidence of her delicate 
 taste and indomitable energy. To those who knew how little 
 time she had at command for such recreation, after other 
 duties were attended to, the immber of these sketches is truly 
 wonderful. 
 
 In later years she had neither the opportunity nor leisure 
 for the gratification of such a taste. But her love of nature 
 never waned. The g(n'geous sunsets — the clear blue skies — 
 the richly tinted colours of our forests iu autumn months — 
 the gem-liko pendant icles of winter, had all peculiar attrac- 
 tions iu her eye. How tenderly, through several years, she 
 nursed and kept alive a tiny root of heather, and how much 
 she loved her flowers and little garden is known to many 
 friends. The snow drop and the crocus were peculiarly wel- 
 come as harbingers of returning spring and forerunners of 
 joy, buds and blossoms and singing birds. She was thrilled with 
 when spring sent forth its awakening voice through the young 
 woods. In the birth of leaves and flowers she recognised the 
 better birth of souls from death to spiritual life, and the earnest 
 
 of an undecaying immortality. Earth to her wasbut tl^ shai^w^ i \^ 
 of heaven — a faint type of that which is within the veil .^"V - * 
 
 *' That day spring eternal 'W^-n 
 
 Which shall dawn on the dark wintry night of the grtive*'^ • 
 
^AKKIJCD ^^, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " A creature not too bright or good 
 
 For human nature's daily food, 
 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles." 
 
 " A light, busy foot astir 
 
 In her small housewifery : the blithest bee 
 
 That ever wrought in hive." 
 
 " Whether the day its wonted course renewed 
 Or midnight vigils wrapt the world in shade ; 
 Her tender task assiduous, she pursued 
 To sooth his anguish, or his wants to aid. " 
 
 " Still with thoughtful care providing, 
 Sweetly ruling, softly chiding, 
 Such the mother's gentle guiding. " 
 
 " And o'er the hills, and far away 
 Beyond their utmost purple rim ; 
 Beyond the night, accross the day 
 Through all the world, she followed him." 
 
35 
 
 i^EAVING lliCOTXAND. 
 
 '* Ask me no more, thy fate and mine are sealed ; 
 
 At a touch I yield 
 Ask me no more !" 
 
 " I hear a voice, you cannot hear, 
 
 Which says I must not stay 
 I see a hand you cannot see 
 
 Which beckona me away." 
 
 " With — not boasting, but for truth's sake I write it — a very 
 wide power of choice — much more extensive than would gene- 
 rally be supposed a woman in my position could have, I have 
 voluntarily, founded on regard for you, said ' all — all your 
 own.' The future certainly looks dark to me, but with my 
 hand in yours, if you will only clasp it close, and the certainty 
 of a place in your heart I can look upon it courageously." So 
 wrote the betrothed of an Indian Missionary. The first of 
 these paragraphs was as true of the subject of this sketch, as 
 the last embodied her feelings in leaving Scotland. On the 
 24th day of July, 1860, she was married ; and on the 25th day 
 of August following, sailed from Liverpool, for her new home 
 in Jersey City. The solemn thoughts that occupied her mind 
 prior to the event, and the earnest prayers she offered for 
 direction and guidance in her new position, were manifest in 
 a serious, subdued deportment, which characterised her at this 
 period. Memories of the past and fears for the future filled 
 her soul. In parting with her many relations, especially those 
 who had so long encircled her with their love, and the com- 
 panions and friends of early years, it could hardly be other- 
 wise. Naturally timid and shrinking, and always underrating 
 her own abilities, the prospect of becoming, to some extent, 
 the subject of remark as a minister's wife, and being called 
 upon to occupy a somewhat prominent position in the Church 
 of Christ, filled her with anxiety. She had a strong desire to 
 engage iii active work, but she must follow, not lead; she 
 
86 
 
 wtrnld rather fill the servants place, than the por4 of honor 
 
 and command. It must liavo h(;cn with siudi thoughts in her 
 
 mind, that writing to a friend of her past liappy days in 
 
 Scotland she says : " I take the greatest pleasure in recalling 
 
 the happy days of the past ; indeed I am often ' thinking, 
 
 th'uikitvj of the days that are no more.' " 
 
 " 80 freish, so sad. the days that are no more 
 Dear as rcimindn^red kissea after death, _ 
 And sweet as thosu by hop(!less fancy fei','ned 
 On lii)s that are for otliers, deep as love — > 
 T)»'ep as first love, and wild with all rt'^'ret, 
 death in life, the days that are no more !" 
 
 The exceedingly cordial greeting she received from the mem- 
 bers of the Cluxrch, and christian friends b(donging to other 
 denominations, did much to overcome her timidity, and make 
 her feel at liome. Nor was she entirely witliout old acquaint- 
 ances in her new sphere, who regarded her with peculiar 
 interest for her own sake, and the sake of parents, whom they 
 had long and lovingly known in Scotland. The kindness 
 evinced towards her by the congregation, and the valuable 
 gifts repeatedly presented her, during her short stay among 
 them, touched her sensitively grateful heart, with overflowing 
 emotions. Here too, she had every opportunity for gratify- 
 ing her love of nature, and studying works of art. The pic- 
 ture galleries and studios of New York City provided the one, 
 and the upper windows of her home in Jersey City, command- 
 ing a magnificent view of New York Bay, afforded the other. 
 The steam ships and sailing vessels, that passed to and fro 
 through the Narrows at every hour of the day, could be easily 
 distinguished many miles distant by the aid of the telescope, 
 and were to her a never failing source of pleasurable delight. 
 Although her residence in Jersey City was a brief one of some 
 twenty mouths, it formed a bright spot in her married life, 
 and was the beginning of friendships that only terminated in 
 her death. She was one of those contented spirits, that feel 
 happy wherever their lot is cast, if they but enjoy an ordinary 
 share of fortune, and to whom the thought of change or 
 
37 
 
 8opara;ion is full of pain. Our first friomls in a strango land, 
 in any caso, cainiot oasily l)o given up, tlio more especially if 
 their genuine sympathy has been fully proved and their kind- 
 ness tested in the hour of need. The subject of this memoir 
 had many such, and the tliought of separation proved a hitter 
 oideal. But strong as were her attachments, when duty de- 
 manded the sacrifice, she hesitated not. Mere sentiment 
 never directed her life, nor swayed her judgment. Firmly 
 believing that the footsteps of the good are ordered by the 
 Lord, she cheerfully obeyed in the exercise of unwavering 
 faith. Her residence in Bruntford beginning in May, 1H62, 
 is of too recent date, and lier daily walk and conversation so 
 well known in, and beyond the congregation, to admit of 
 lengthened remark. As in Jersey City, so in the town where 
 slie latterly lived and died, she gathered round her many 
 deeply attached friends, and the love she gave them in return 
 was honest and sincere. She had, as all cultivated minds 
 must have, her preferences ; kindred souls, whose society was 
 specially sweet, and whose conversation was peculiarly edifying 
 and comforting. But beyond this circle, and in the humbler 
 walks of life, she had her favorites, whose temporal wants she 
 cared for to the utmost of her ability. To revive the spirits 
 of the humble and contrite ones, and v,'oep with those who 
 wept, and speak words in season to the weary, was a privilege 
 more than a duty. Had greater strength been given her for 
 such labour, she would have delighted in it, feeling that her 
 own soul was enriched, in proportion as she made others 
 happier by the outflow of her own tender sympathy, and the 
 ministrations of divine consolation. This feature of her cha- 
 racter has never been adequately understood, from the fact 
 that she but rarely hi inihlic, disclosed her secret feelings in 
 religious matters. To tliose who moved in her own circle, she 
 was extremely reticent in speaking of her inner life ; perhaps 
 beyond what at times was necessary for the sake of truth, and 
 the encouragement of younger disciples. In her case this 
 secretiveuess did not arise from unwillingness to testify of 
 
38 
 
 God's goodnosH, but bccauso nho imaRinod othorH hotter fitted 
 to givo such toHtimony, and hocauso kLo shrunk from every- 
 thing that savoured of vanity and outward display, in speak- 
 ing of God's dealings witli her soul. It has been said, that 
 the higher the organization, the richer is the experience, and 
 the finer the grain of character, the more worth knowing 
 is the actual life, whilo the greater is the reserve, such persons 
 are likely to have. It was so in her case. She could not 
 reveal even to the nearest and dearest, her inner feelings, and 
 this disinclination seemed to grow upon her, in spite of elTorts 
 to overcome it, as she advanced in grace — illustrating what 
 the Poet says — 
 
 " How often the friends we hold dearest 
 
 Their noblest emotions conceal ; 
 And bosoms the imrest, sincerest. 
 
 Have secrets they cannot reveal." 
 
 The only relief that such natures have, is in a throne of grace- 
 If they cannot gather courage to unbosom their hearts in the 
 fellowship of the saints, they can at least //o to Jenus and tell 
 him all they feel. Ho alone, indeed, can minister to the 
 higher wants of existence, for he alone understands the subtle 
 and complicated workings of the mind. 
 
 The years spent in Brantford, were associated with much 
 that was pleasing. If in her case there was occasionally some- 
 thing of the " shady side" there was much more of the 
 " sunny side" of life. She became attached to the place and 
 interested in its prosperity. Her home — her flowers — her 
 birds — were sources of pride and pleasure. The trees and 
 shrubs planted by her own hand became, from year to year, 
 more attractive in her eyes. She watched their growth and 
 verdure with affectionate interest, and bestowed upon them a 
 tender oversight. She felt a delight in her little plot of 
 ground, and could honestly say : 
 
 " I love my garden well 
 And find employment there * ' 
 
 Employment sweet, for many an hour, 
 In tending every shrub and flower, 
 
 With still unwearied care." 
 
To the iitmoHt of her strength she endcavourt'd to meet the 
 demand H that wore made upon her time. Where she couhl do 
 good, she went. Practical in christian life to the last degree, 
 she had no patience with the forms and dull routine, the 
 artificial manners and arbitrary rules and " worthless mask- 
 ing" that prevail so much even in religious circles at the pre- 
 sent day. Her downright honesty of character could not 
 brook the mere pretences to friendship, which fashionable 
 society, so called, regards as proper and becoming. She could 
 not practice deceit in any shape or form, nor conceal under 
 bland and soothing words her indignation at public wrongs or 
 private injuries. In a qualified sense, it might be said of her, 
 what she once remarked, in defending the character of another 
 friend — • . 
 
 ** If she loves, or if she hates 
 Alike, she knows not to dissemble. " 
 
 So long as there is so much hypocrisy in the world, such cha- 
 racters cannot hoi)e to secure universal regard, but in propor- 
 tion as sincerity and truth prevail, their memory will be 
 honored and their straightforwardness admired. 
 
 It is due to the departed to add, that every successive year 
 she felt more and more satisfied with her Canadian home, and 
 less inclined to leave it. What influence she possessed was 
 used once and again in behalf of Brantford. Except in one 
 solitary instance, where her own inclinations seemed to har- 
 monize with what appeared at the time the call of God — she 
 invariably dismissed the thought of separation from the 
 Church and the friends, among whom she had spent so many 
 happy years. Possibly this ;;reat reluctance arose in part from 
 her aversion to enter anew more conspicuous and responsible 
 positions, for which with characteristic humility, she always 
 deemed herself unqualified. When ten years ago in Jersey 
 City, an effort was made to transfer the writer's labours to a 
 prominent charge in New York State, she wrote as follows : — 
 '* I am glad for your sake that you have gone (to preach) but 
 not for my own. Something seems to say that you will be 
 
40 
 
 there?, but your poor little icifc is not fitted for such a place. I 
 cannot help crying when I think of it ;" and thus she fre- 
 quently expressed herself in later years. Entertaining the 
 highest conception of the Ministerial office, and everything 
 and everyone connected v/ith it, she always feared lest the 
 cause of Christ might in any way suffer at her hand. She 
 had no desire to attract attention or occupy the place most 
 commonly though erroneously appropriated her. She prefered 
 that others equally gifted, or in her estimation better adapted, 
 should lead the various benevolent and philanthropic move- 
 m ents that belong to christian churches at the present day. 
 The grace of humility was prominent in all that she did. Her 
 heart was not haughty, nor her eyes lofty, — she did not exercise 
 herself in great matters. " Be kindly affectioned one to 
 another — in honour preferring one another'''' was the motto of 
 her daily life. 
 
 I^LOSING ^AYS. 
 
 " Pain yet assails me, 
 Strength oft times fails me 
 
 Yet my weakness is my strength and rest ; 
 Light o'er me stealing, 
 Softly revealing 
 
 Scenes of glory up among the blest." 
 
 In the year 18C9, she was permitted in the providence of 
 God, to revisit the place of her birth, and the scenes of her 
 early years. She was anxious to see in the flesh, a near rela- 
 tive, who was fast sinking under a painful malady, and who 
 since her return to Canada, has been called uway. The visit 
 was looked forward to with pleasing anticipations, and was 
 thoroughly enjoyed. She seemed refreshed and invigorated 
 by the bracing air of her native land, and happy and delighted 
 in the society of dear ones. She sought out old companions, 
 
41 
 
 and with thorn spent hours iu recalling the past, and com- 
 paring their dilferent allotments in the world since they 
 parted years before. She went to the old burying ground, now 
 but little used, and searched among the tall rank grass for the 
 graves of her parents. She made acquaintance once more 
 with the secret haunts of nature, where in the years of girl- 
 hood, she had often wandered in search of wild flowers, or 
 filling her mind and fancy with visions of rare beauty ; and 
 she listened again with great satisfaction to the words of her 
 former Pastor, and enjoyed the ordinances of God's house, 
 with wonderful relish, feeling somewhat as did the Jew of old, 
 on his return to the City and Sanctuary of his fathers. Most 
 conspicuous iu her conduct, during her brief stay in Scotland, 
 was her love for the society of experienced saints, -whose hairs 
 were whitening with the snows of age, as their hearts were 
 ripening for the blessed change. In the company of such, 
 whom she Lad long known and esteemed for their rare excel- 
 lencies and shining graces, «he spent many hours, feeling with 
 the Poet that — 
 
 " Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be 
 As more of heaven, in each we see." 
 
 It might be imagined, that one so strongly wedded to her 
 native land, and so enthusiastically alive to its many attrac- 
 tions would have preferred to sojourn there, in preference to 
 the hardier clime of the western world ; more especially as 
 her married life in Canada, had not been free from severe 
 attacks of sickness and almost constant weakness. If she had 
 any such feelings they never were uttered. She expressed no 
 reluctance iu returning to the land of her adoption, but 
 rather longed as the time grew near, for the quiet and rest of 
 home and the sight of christian friends, who though for a 
 time separated by the ocean, had never been lost to memory. 
 With thankful heart she accepted, what still seemed to her the 
 leadings of providence, that in this far off land, she should 
 bear her humble testimony to the grace of God. A lady friend 
 
42 
 
 and old companion, whom she had long and tenderly regarded, 
 accompanied her to Canada, on a visit to friends 
 in Toronto. Doubtless her presence and cheerful society, 
 mitigated to some extent, the sorrow she felt at parting with 
 friends she never expected to meet again on earth. During 
 the voyage homeward in spite of complete prostration for 
 many days from sea sickness, she bore up cheerfully. Only 
 once did she give way to her feelings. On the Thursday after- 
 noon before landing in Boston, she was taken suddenly and 
 seriously ill. The Doctor of the ship was called and applied 
 restoratives, but for a time without effect. She grew fainter 
 and colder, until grave fears were entertained of the result. 
 No adequate cause could be suggested for such symptoms, for 
 she had been upon deck that very day, and seemed more like 
 herself than ever. When she began to recover towards night, 
 the mystery was explained by other passengers, who came to 
 enquire after her condition. In the ladies' cabin, where she 
 had spent some hours that day, a German musician had been 
 playing some favourite airs — among others that touching strain 
 *■' Home, Sweet Home." Her eyes were observed to till with 
 tears, and her whole frame to quiver with emotion. Soon she 
 disappeared and was found lying in her room in the state 
 described. Her whole nervous system had undergone a shock, 
 which threatened for a time to jeopardize her life. Possibly 
 she had premonitions that never again her eyes would look 
 upon the " Home, Sweet Home" she had left again so far 
 behind ! 
 
 For the last sixteen months of her life she was an almost 
 constant sufferer, to an extent known to but few. She bore 
 her ailments bravely, unwilling to obtrude them upon the 
 notice of her most intimate friends. Her appearance did not 
 indicate the weakness of her system, or the frequent distres- 
 sing pains to which she was subject, and as for the most part, 
 she struggled to be up and doing, no one dreamed of dangerous 
 disease. Often indeed when suffering distressing agony, she 
 tried to smile, that the happiness of others might not be 
 
43 
 
 repressed on her account. Such constant weakness led to 
 frequent periods of gloom and melancholy, and gave to the later 
 months of her life, a sad and sombre complexion. Frequently 
 she would give way to tears and cry profusely, saying, when the 
 storm of emotion had spent itself — like a child that has un- 
 willingly pained a loving parent — " I am sorry for it — but I 
 cannot help it." No one, indeed, could account for the marked 
 change in her naturally cheerful and happy temperament, apart 
 from the progress of disease. To those who were ignorant of, 
 or made no allowance for it, her frequent melancholy and 
 nervousness of temperament must have seemed strange and 
 unaccountable. Looked at now in the light of subsequent 
 events, the wonder is that she bore so much and complained 
 so little. Her great physical weakness not only produced 
 mental depression, but cast a dark shadow over her religious 
 experience. No one can be as she naturally was "keenly alive 
 to spiritual joy, without an equally exquisite susceptibility to 
 spiritual suffering." Stil] her faith maintained its supremacy 
 over all the troubles of the body, making her the more happy 
 in the thought of a coming world of rest, where there is no 
 more death, nor sorrow, nor crying, neither any more pain, 
 and where the former things have passed away.f 
 
 Presentiments of an early death came with these bodily 
 infirmities. To such occasional visitors as she could reveal 
 her feelings, she spoke frequently of the certainty of a speedy 
 call. But these mournful thoughts were attributed to weak- 
 ness and corresponding despondency, and regarded as certain 
 to pass away when health was reestablished and the mind had 
 
 t Possibly in these dark momentfl, her now motherless children occupied 
 her thoughts. Forecasting: the future we can imagine her saying, "My child- 
 ren will look about for their mother and perhaps cry ; and then they will 
 forget me. They will be in trouble, and I cannot help them ;thpy will sin, and 
 I cannot teach and discipline them ; they will feel sorrow for their eiii. and I 
 cannot pray with them and point them away to Christ. I am not afraid to 
 die, but I am very sad." Fond as every rightly constituted mother must be of 
 her offspring, she watched them by day and night with unwearying solicitude. 
 The earnest prayers offered for both— the simple lessons from Scripture, and 
 the stories about Jesus and the "little lambs" that she so often repeated to 
 her boy, cannot surely under the blessing of heaven fall, in their ultimate 
 conversion to God. 
 
44 
 
 regained its normal state. Many things she did and said 
 during this period, looked back upon through the lights and 
 shadows of the past, acquire a signiiicaneo we could not then 
 perceive ; or possibly did not wish to xinderstand. To the last 
 love is incredulous of the plainest warnings, and strives by 
 hiishing the thought of death, to banish the reality. And so, 
 when the moment comes, and the precious life ebbs away, in 
 spite of human skill and hiiman resources, we sink into a 
 hopeless despair, — like the giant oak suddenly smitten by the 
 thunderbolt, and laid prostrate on the earth. 
 
 We are now drawing near the close of a quiet and gentle 
 life. At the Communion Season on the '2Gth September, 1870, 
 she was present, though very weak and unable for such a strain 
 upon her strength. To her it was a season of great spiritual 
 enjoyment. Her old Pastor from Scotland was present and 
 assisted ut the service, preaching also in the evening. The 
 day was exceedingly stormy, but nothing would prevent her 
 being there. At the close of the service, she retired to the 
 vestry, seemingly overcome, and sat down, before attempting 
 to return home. One of the elders, perceiving her weak con- 
 dition, gave her some wine, which she accepted gratefully, 
 remarking, as she thanked him for his kindness : " TJiis is vuj 
 last Sacramental season upon earth.'^ In the evening of that 
 same day, she again attended church, and returned home 
 greatly delighted, though much exhaiisted. She was indeed 
 very near Heaven that day, and seemed like Moses from the 
 top of Nebo, to have comforting glimpses of the bettor land. 
 Meeting with such a dear friend in her far of¥ home, and 
 hearing once again the well known tones of a voice that had 
 often addressed her in other years, was joy beyond expression. 
 Doubtless the strength received on that occasion accompanied 
 her in what remained of the journey, until she appeared in 
 Zion before the Lord. From this time, and until the night 
 when she was fatally seized she was more or less a sufferer, 
 though seldom confined to her room, and occasionally visiting 
 the homes of sickness and bereavement. On the 18th day of 
 
45 
 
 December she attended divine service for the last time, the 
 sermon preached being founded on the text ; " So teach ns to 
 number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom/' 
 When Christmas Day drew near, she said touchingly and tear- 
 fully to the writer of these pages, '* I have no Christmes gift 
 for you this year," alluding to her inability to prepare, as on 
 former occasioiis, some token of her love. On the Monday 
 after Christmas, her little boy was seized with a dangerous 
 illness, which caiised her great anxiety during what remained 
 of the expiring year. Late and early she was by his bedside, 
 forgetful of her own ailments and weakness. On Sabliath 
 morning the 1st day of January, she said to him, " Willie — a 
 good New Year to you," adding some playful words to cheer 
 him in his sickness. She had hoped to have attended church 
 on that day, and began the year by a renewed consecration of 
 herself to God's service, but on account of her child's sickness 
 she remained at home. Next day, Monday, the 2nd of January, 
 she was about her household duties, with more than ordinary 
 activity, and with no apparent indications of the sudden ill- 
 ness that seized her, ere the day had ended. On account of 
 several public engagements that evening, it was arranged that 
 tea should be served a little earlier than 6 o'clock. As usual, 
 she took her accustomed place at the table, A blessing had 
 been asked, and she was in the act of eating, when she uttered 
 a loud scream, which indicated intense pain, at the same time 
 placing her hand upon her right side. Leaving the table, she 
 went to her bedroom, where remedies were applied, but with- 
 out effect. Medical aid was then procured, and further treat- 
 ment resorted to, but throughout the whole of Monday night 
 and the following Tuesday, her sufferings continued without 
 abatement and accompanied with complete prostration. 
 Wednesday brought some little relief, and on Thursday she 
 seemed considerablj'' better. She was able to speak, and 
 although very weak was hopeful of recovery. Between the 
 hours of seven and ten that same evening, a relapse took place 
 and she gradually grew worse. About midnight, when the 
 
46 
 
 pain had returned with all its violence, and efforts were made 
 by hot applications to produce internal heat, she said to the 
 sorrowing writer of these lines, in broken sentences: *' I know 
 I am going to die at this time — I am as good as dead already. 
 1 have just arrived at the age, my mother died, and with me 
 it will soon be over. But as far as I am concerned, the sooner 
 the better. I am very near home — I see Jesus coming for me." 
 A little after this, she spoke of a lady friend of hers who •' was 
 very poorly," and these were the last distinct words she 
 uttered. Friday morning came, and with it a sad change in 
 her appearance. She could not speak, and lay, seemingly in- 
 attentive to all that was said or done. Everything that medi- 
 cal skill could suggest was tried. Under the influence of a 
 sleeping draught, she rested during a portion of Friday night, 
 and on Saturday morning appeared if anything a little easier. 
 But the listlessness of the previous day, soon deepened into a 
 dreamy unconsciousness. She heard the voices round her 
 bedside, and seemed to yield mechanically to the entreaties of 
 affection, but without recognition. The oft repeated name of 
 '• Mary" no longer brought the answer of the eye or tongue. 
 On Saturday night she again slept, and to the watchers by her 
 bed, it seemed a more natural and refreshing sleep than that 
 of the Friday. Hope once more filled the heart. On the 
 Sabbath morning when the Doctor came, he found her in a 
 heavy doze, and roused her to take some stimulants. That 
 given, immediately she became cold, and sank gradually away. 
 That she was " very near home, and Jesus coming for her" 
 was now too evident. The lips changed colour — the face 
 assumed a deathly palor, and the eyes that were wont to 
 sparkle with intelligence and speak the feelings of her soul, 
 grew dim and hazy, gradualljr closing upon the scenes of 
 earth. It was now drawing near to eleven o'clock, and the 
 bells were calling the different congregations to the sanctuary. 
 Suddenly the eyes grew bright and lustrous, and a faint smile 
 seemed to pass over her countenance. It seemed as if the 
 silent tongue, might once more speak, if only to give a bles- 
 
47 
 
 bing to the sobbing ones around her death bed. Alas ! it was 
 but the momentary glory of the setting sun, as it sinks beneath 
 the horizon, and leaves the world in darkness. God opened 
 the golden gates, and noiselessly they swung back upon their 
 hinges, while under the wings of cherubim and seraphim, the 
 weary pilgrim passed into the city. Gently and quietly, as 
 her pure life had ran its chequered course, her eye closed upon 
 the world. 
 
 * * * " brightening ere it died away 
 Tending with intenser ray 
 To Heaven whence first it came. 
 Yes; 
 
 " No smile is like the smile of death 
 
 When, all good musings jjast, 
 Rise, wafted with the parting breath 
 
 The sweetest thought the best." 
 
 With but a slight change of phraseology, how strikingly 
 appropriate are the following words, descriptive of the death- 
 bed of another of God's children : — 
 
 " The struggle of life subsided — her weary tossings became 
 still. She was going home to her Father's house. All things 
 had been prepared for her and in her. Her tender loving 
 heart was sheltered from the consciousness of being rent from 
 her husband and her children. She had no leave to take of 
 any one, and wanted nothing of any of us, but a grave. That 
 day three weeks she had joined the voice of the multitude who 
 kept holiday in the sanctuary. Seven days of anguish having 
 terminated the conflict, shortly before the hour of noon, her 
 own sweet countenance returned— her breathing sank away, 
 and her emancipated soul passed into the world of spirits. 
 There no pause occurs in the acts of worship. Where the 
 Sabbath is eternal, it requires no returning seventh day to 
 briag back the congregation to occupy the vacant sanctuary. 
 Yet it touches the imagination a little to consider, that Mary 
 departed at the very hour when had all been well, she would 
 have been entering the courts on earth, which she loved to 
 tread." ********* 
 
48 
 
 " The snow drop may droop its pallitl head over tho turf 
 that covers that precious chiy, and tho primrose that she 
 loved, may open its fra^^'rant petals aiuid the grass, showing 
 that the hand of lingering alTection has been there ; mourning 
 love may raise its modest tablet to tell whose child — whose 
 wife — ^whose mother — and whose friend is taken from tho earth; 
 that is tho work of those who are left to struggle out their 
 pilgrimage. But she is united to that family which cannot 
 be dispersed or die ; adopted to that glorious parentage which 
 endmeth for ever ; dwelling in that light which is inclTable 
 and full of glory ; and desiring that all she ever knew and 
 loved oji eanh, may through like precious faith, join her in 
 the kingdom and glory of the same j)recious Saviour." 
 
 " A brightness hath passed from the earth 
 
 Yet a star is new l^orn in the sky ; 
 
 And a soul hath gone home to the land of its birth 
 
 Where are i)leasuresand fulness of joy ! 
 
 Where its thirst shall be slacked with the waters that spring 
 
 Like a river of light, from the throne of the King ; 
 
 And a new harj) is strung, and a new song is given. 
 
 To the breezes that float o'er the gardens of Heaven !" 
 
 -*«- 
 
"ALONK— YKT NOT AIONE.'* 
 
 ' A SERMON, 
 
 Preachkd in Zion Pbesbyteiiian Church, Brantford, Ontario, 
 ON Sabbath Forenoon, January 22nd, 1871, by the , 
 
 REV. WILLIAM COCHRANE. A.M. 
 
 "Alone : and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with me." 
 
 — John, Chap. 16th, v. 32. 
 
 Of all the forms and degrees of earthly suffering to -which 
 men are subjected, perhaps loneliness is in some respects the 
 most difficult to bear. It is thus that penal servitude and ban- 
 ishment from the society Of men, form such a bitter ingredient 
 in the transgressor's doom. In some cases, where access to 
 every source of employment and mental effort is impossible, 
 insanity and death are the inevitable consequences. In many 
 instances, the criminal would vastly prefer a speedy though 
 ignominious death, to close confinement within the murder- 
 er's cell, with no hope of release or variation of his misery and 
 remorse on this side the grave. Society is a necessity of our 
 nature. We are dependent upon it for much of the happiness 
 of existence. The severest student and the most confirmed 
 hermit cannot permanently remain in solitude. And even 
 should they, with a certain measure of sincerity, disdain the 
 pleasures of friendship which others value, the knowledge that 
 it is within their reach takes away the sting and agony which 
 enforced solitary confinement invariably produces. Withdraw 
 
50 
 
 a man Huddenly from the circle of his chosen friends; deny 
 him the accustomed oxcroise of his meiital powers; take hiiu 
 from the excitements of a Inisy life, to tlie gloomy melancholy 
 of a raonaatery or a bastile, and you make life a cheerless, 
 heartless, unonvialdo thing, unfit for an immortal soul to 
 breathe in. As tlie brooks ard rivers must find a channel for 
 their limpid waters, and finally mingle and lose themselves in 
 ocean, so must the affections and emotions of our natur(; have 
 room for daily exercise, within the more restricted limits of the 
 family circle, or the wider range of human sympathies in the 
 great outlying world. 
 
 But .loneliness may be felt in its acutest form, without 
 withdrawing a man from the busy world or the companion- 
 ship of his fellow men. Wandering in the streets of a great 
 city, where the crowds jostle and surge along the highway, and 
 the noise of busy traffic prevails from early morn till dusky 
 eve; where all is excitement and energy, and num push along 
 with every fibre of their nature strung to the utmost tension, — 
 we can feel as hopelessly sad and lonesome as in the wilds of 
 Africa. It ib the inner realm of con sciimsjiess, it ia the condi- 
 tion of heart, that makes us glad or sorrowful, happy or sad. 
 And thus it happens, that when dark clouds of sorrow gather 
 thickly round our households, and near and dear ones, whose 
 voices were music in our ears, whose eye was life and light by 
 the fireside, and whose footfall was the signal for gladness to 
 all around them, are suddenly called away to mingle with 
 higher companionships than earth, and increase the joj- of 
 another world, — the feeling of loneliness oppi'esses the spirit 
 and weighs down the soul, to a degree indescribable and inex- 
 plicable to those who have never expeiienced the sundering of 
 sacred ties. The world around us movers on as of old. Men 
 buy and sell and get gain — festive gatherings are convened 
 where music charms and entertains, and grtat events transpire 
 that seem to shake the very globe ; but one and all fail to call 
 forth the interest or dispel the sadness of the smitten one. 
 The "flame of life sinks so low," that it seems but a little 
 
51 
 
 would quench the spark for ever. He feels alone in the world 
 —the desire of the eyes has been removed — the stay and sup- 
 port of life has been broken — the grave has received the mor- 
 tal form of all that seemed worth living for, and from its cold 
 and gloomy precincts there comes no response to the mourn- 
 er's cries. A few days' sickness, a few nights of watching, and 
 all is over. And thus we realize how true are the words of 
 the poet : — 
 
 "There are swift hours in life strong rushing hours 
 'J'hat do the work of temjjests in a night," 
 
 We may not despise Huch feelings, nor characterize them as 
 unmanly or effeminate. Nay, we dare not venture to say that 
 they are not quite compatible with the christian's assured hope 
 of immortality, and the knowledge of a future and more blessed, 
 because unending union. 
 
 "Some dream that they can silence, when they will, 
 The storm of passion, and say, "Peace be still ;" 
 
 but it is not so. Many of the best of men, whose confidence 
 in the great central doctrines of our faith, as regards the hap- 
 piness of the dead in Christ, was of the most undoubted char- 
 acter, have gone moiirning all their days, when what seemed 
 to be the sun of their existence became suddenly eclipsed, and 
 the household prop removed. They have fought against the 
 feeling, and nobly struggled to assume the cheerfulness and 
 vivacity of other days, but in vain. And just in proportion to 
 the sensitiveness of the mental organization will such a feeling 
 exist. To such natures, it is not something external that is taken 
 away when the dear ones of their homes depart — it is a part of 
 their own selves they lose. "When the ideal is torn away 
 from us," says a living wiiter, — "when the golden gates roll 
 upon their hinges ; when a sword flames upon the threshold of 
 Eden; when, instead of singing voices, a silence prevails; 
 when we meet with our impoverished solves ; when we wake 
 dis-illusioned ; — the heart contracts ; a terror falls upon us ; 
 our royal robes are changed for tatters ; we were walking as 
 conquerors ; we have to labour at the wheel." 
 
We are not, then, surprisod to find one who was more than 
 man, and yet man in everything but sin and guilt, experiencing 
 just Buch a condition of mind as we have been describing, and 
 confessing the loneliness of his heart, for the comfort of other 
 mourning hearts in after years. That same desire for sym- 
 pathy and companionship, in the hour of bitter agony that is 
 common to humanity was his, and followed him to the very 
 close of life. In the passage from which our text is taken, we 
 have a glimpse of the Saviour's heart on the eve of crucifixion. 
 The hour long predicted — long anticipated and fondly looked 
 forward to — not because of its terrible tortures, but because of 
 its grand results to our fallen world, — was now at hand. He 
 stood upon the brink of the grave — his eye rested upon the 
 throne above. His disciples did not even yet clearly under- 
 stand the necessity or nature of his sufferings, nor could they 
 realize that his time on earth was so brief. " It is expedient 
 for you that I go away * * * A little while and ye shall 
 not see me, because I go to the Father. I came forth from the 
 Father, and again I leave the world and go to the Father." 
 Such words filled their hearts with sorrow, while the more 
 heroic and courageous of their number avouched their undying 
 love for the Master and their readiness to share his sufferings, 
 and, if need be, to die his death. But the Saviour knew well 
 how weak and unstable were the best resolutions of those dis- 
 ciples, and how differently they would act in the hour of trial. 
 And so it proved. " My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto 
 death ; tarry ye here and watch with me. * * * He Com- 
 eth and findeth them asleep, and saith unto Peter, what ! could 
 ye not watch with me one hour ? * * * He cnme and found 
 them asleep again ; for their eyes were heavy. * * He Com- 
 eth to his disciples, and saith unto them, sleep on now, and 
 take your rest ; behold, the hour is at hand, and the son of 
 man is betrayed into the hands of sinners." It was meet in- 
 deed that he should be alone in that terrible conflict with the 
 powers of darkness, which preceded his victory over death and 
 hell ; and that no human eye should see, as no human heart 
 
53 
 
 could understand, the mystorious agonies of Gothsemane, when 
 he drank the bitter cup of wrath to the very dregs. It must be, 
 as long before predicted, "awake, sword, against my nhep- 
 herd, and against the man that is my fellow, saith the Lord of 
 Hosts : smite the shepherd and the sheep shall be scattered ;" 
 or, as in the words of the text, "Behold the hour cometh, yea 
 is even now come, that ye shall be scattered, every man to his 
 own, and shall leave me alo7ie : and yet I am not alone, because 
 the Father is with we." 
 
 But it was not only at the close of life, when through the 
 treachery and unfaithfulness of professed friends, that the 
 Saviour trod the wino press alone. All through life, surroun- 
 ded though he was by his disciples, and enjoying the sweetest 
 fellowship of such families as that of Bethany, and receiving 
 the occasional hossannas of the multitude, he was a solitary 
 wanderer, with none to share his sorrows, and none to under- 
 stand his grief. By as great a gulf as the Infinite mind is sep- 
 arated from the finite, was the Son of Man isolated from human 
 thought and sympathy. He moved in another sphere and 
 lived in another world, though for a time tabernacling in this 
 vale of tears. "He was indeed a lonely being in the world. 
 With all the exquisite tenderness of his human sympathies — 
 touched with the feeling of our every sinless infirmity ; — with 
 a heart that could feel for a peasant's sorrow, and an eye that 
 could beam with tenderness on an infant's face, — He was yet 
 one, who, wherever he went, and by whomsoever surrounded, 
 was, in the secrecy of his inner being, profoundly a^on<?." The 
 interests, conversation, hopes and aspirations common to the 
 average mass of men, had nothing in common with the far- 
 reaching conceptions and holy desires of his divine nature. 
 He could not stoop to the level of their carnality and selfish- 
 ness; they could not approach the majesty of thought and 
 purity of conduct, inseparable from his being. The gross ig- 
 norance that he encountered at every step, and found in every 
 class — the low and grovelling passions that ruled the life, and 
 prompted the actions of the more refined and intelligent of his 
 
64 
 
 ilay — the false ideas ontertaiued and accepted of what was true 
 and beautiful and noble — the childish aims and wretched am- 
 bitions that for the most part controlled the unregenerate 
 world — all these forced him again and again, amid the solitude 
 of mountain tops, to seek nourishment and strength in com- 
 munion with heaven. He mourned over the obstinacy, the 
 blindness, the depraved perversity of those who preferred the 
 sensual pleasures of companionship in sin, to the pure and 
 elevated influences of the divine mind. 
 
 There is something very touching, and at the same time 
 comforting, then, in these words, to every solitary mourner. 
 " Alone, sayn Christ, and yet I am not alone, because the Father 
 is with me." As if he had said to his disciples— "so far as you 
 are concerned, I am desolate, friendless, forsaken. You can- 
 not enter into my feelings — you cannot share my sufferings — 
 you cannot be near me in Gethsemane — you dare not plead for 
 me at Pilate's judgment seat ; nay, the foreiuost of your com- 
 pany will follow me afar off, and stand at a distance from the 
 cross. When I am bearing the load of shame and pain that 
 the guilt of men imposes on me, you who have been my com- 
 panions for years will all have fled, every man to his own, and 
 leave me alone. And yet, lam not alone, because the Father is 
 with me. I am conscious of his presence and cheered by his 
 approval, even when clouds and darkness veil the heavens, and 
 I die a despised and outcast malefactor at the hands of men." 
 
 We may not in the same literal sense as the Saviour used 
 these words, take them as exponents of our individual 
 bitter experiences ; and yet may it not be said truly, that there 
 are times when we do feel alone in the world, and yet we know 
 that we have the sympathy, the companionship, the presence 
 of the Divine being in our souls. It is good for us at times to 
 be alone. Our higher nature cannot prosper unless we are 
 alone. In the blaze of the world's admiration — fondled by the 
 luxuries and delights of happy homes — sailing with the cur- 
 rent upon a smooth sea and under a silvery sky — cheered by 
 the applause of the multitude, and greeted by the "good-night" 
 
5 
 
 i) 
 
 and " all's woU" of genuine love, — there is danger of resting 
 upon the tangible and short-lived creations of the present, to 
 the exclusion of those more real and lasting consolations that 
 belong to God himself. And thus it is assuredly, that Grod 
 of times lays us prostrate upon beds of sickness, where for weary 
 months, weak, speechlessand companionless, we may value the 
 comforts of spiritual communion and taste the joys of a pres- 
 ent heaven. Thus it is, that our life's plans are frustrated, 
 and our best hopes and choicest speculations are suddenly 
 shattered and destroyed ; thus it is that we miss from our side 
 — from our table and from our heart, those who were dearer 
 to us than life itself, and in the agony of bereavement, vainly 
 call them back again; while, at the same time, we can hardly 
 realize that they are gone beyond the reach of human sounds 
 and the caresses of human love. Blessed, thrice blessed, are 
 they, who, in moments of bereavement, when standing over 
 the cold marble form of the sainted and honoured dead, can 
 say, " Alone, and yet I am not alone, because my Father is with 
 me." 
 
 Yes, my hearers, no bereaved soul need utter the despairing 
 cry, ^* Alone,^^ so long as God is present with his gracious sup- 
 ports aid never-failing mercies. He can more than make up 
 for the loss of the nearest and the dearest. He can, out of his 
 infinite fullness, abundantly supply every longing of the deso- 
 late hear u " There is more company with him in the solitudes 
 of the wi'derness, than in the throngs of the city, where there 
 are only men for company." Those of us who now miss be- 
 loved ones, in whose wisdom we confided, in whose love we 
 reposed, and whose goodness of heart for many years we have 
 enjoyed, must go beyond the creature for the love, the 
 gentleness, the sympathy we long for. To such a God we 
 must commend our motherless and fatherless children, as the 
 case may be, resting confidently in the promise, "when father 
 and mother forsake thee, I the Lord will take thee up." 
 
 It is indeed a blessed consolation that in all the changing 
 and chequered scenes of life, we are never beyond the watch- 
 
56 
 
 ful oare of Heaven. We have a sympathising High Priest — 
 one who is touched with a feeling of our infirmities ; a brother 
 born for adversity — a friend who sticketh closer than any 
 brother. To him we may repair with our burdened souls, 
 and in his ear whisper our hidden griefs. And it is only in so 
 far as we constantly realise that we ave not alone, but that our 
 Heavenly Father is with us, that we can maintain a cheerful 
 faith before the world. What distinguishes the goily man 
 from the wordling, is the fact, that the one is entirely depen- 
 dent upon things seen and felt, while the other lives under a 
 consciousness of things unseen and eternal. To both human 
 sympathy in the hour of trial may be gratifying, but the one 
 has a higher and more permanent consolation than the crea- 
 ture can offer to the wounded heart. He draws from the ever 
 and over flowing fountain of God's own infinite love, inex- 
 haustible and unchangeable as God's own nature. If at times 
 the stricken soul complains, " The Lord hath forsaken me, 
 and my Lord hath forgotten me," Faith responds, '• Can a 
 woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have 
 compassion on the son of her womb ? Yea they may forget, 
 yet will I not forget thee. Behold I have graven thee upon 
 the palms of my hands ; thy walls are ever before me. Why 
 art thou cast down my soul ? and why art thou disquieted 
 within me ? Hope in God ; for I shall yet praise him, who is 
 the health of my countenance and my God." 
 
 And how much better this certain knowledge, that we have 
 God for our companion and friend in moments of loneliness, 
 than all the speculations of human wisdom. Philosophy and 
 poetry have come to the help of disconsolate humanity, and 
 suggested that the spirits of the departed dead when liberated 
 from the body still hover near the loved ones upon earth ; 
 that they are constantly near us in angelic form — interested 
 in our olfare, and guiding us by an unseen influence through 
 life's V, oary pilgrimage, until we join them in the spirit world. 
 There is something it must be confessed very pleasing and 
 attractive in such an idea to a certain class of minds, and 
 
57 
 
 albeit that there is no sure foundation in Scripture for such a 
 belief, it is one of those speculations, which in certain cases, 
 may not only comfort bereaved souls, but also stimulate them 
 to a holier and gentler life. For ourselves we feel much hap- 
 pier in i/hinking of departed saints, as so engrossed and wrapt 
 up in the glories of the eternal world, as to have little or no 
 interest in the affairs of earth. True they are ours as when 
 they lived, for death cannot dissolve the bond of Christian 
 affection ; and they wait for us to join them in their new abode 
 but the wonders of eternity exclude the concerns of earth, 
 and sink them into petty insignificance. We rather feel with 
 the poet speaking of a departed one : — 
 
 " I do not deem you look 
 Upon us now, for be it that your eyes 
 Are sealed or clear, a burden on them lies 
 
 Too deep and blissful for their gaze to brook 
 Our troubled strife ; enough that once ye dwelt 
 Where now we dwell, enough that once ye felt 
 as now we feel ;" 
 
 while we look hopefully forward to the time, when as part of 
 
 the redeemed, they suall accompany the Saviour to judge the 
 
 world, and gather home his blood bought saints. " Them also 
 which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him." 
 
 " Back, back, the lost one comes in hues of morn 
 * * * The gulf is filled— the dark night fled 
 Whose mystery parts the living and the dead." 
 
 In thus thinking of our departed ones, as beyond the passions 
 and unholy excitements of earth — their memory — their works 
 — and the happiness of their dying hours, cannot fail to have 
 a blessed influence, upon those who remain behind. There 
 are unconscious — persuasive — spiritual influences in the world 
 that do more to calm, the tempests of the soul, than the more 
 direct and outspoken voices of human friendship. 
 
 " Their influence breathes and bids the blighted heart 
 To Life and hope, from desolation start." 
 
58 
 
 The fragrance of the flowers that adorn the graves of God's 
 own children, is symbolical of the aroma of a holy life and the 
 sweet perfume of the goodness, which they leave behind. 
 Those who have lost such dear ones, need never be alone, nor 
 at a loss for companionship. If on the one hand, the stillness 
 of the household and the vacant chair and the silent portrait 
 and the unfinished task, and the motherless children, call up 
 associations and scenes of the most tender character, and open 
 afresh the bleeding wounds that have been but partially 
 closed — on the other hand, the retrospect of past communion 
 with the blessed dead — their gentle deportment and the con- 
 sistent testimony of their lives to the grace of God, may fur- 
 nish material for profitable and pleasing meditation in after 
 years. Gathering up the broken, disconnected, fragments of 
 their short but useful lives — their conversation — their actions, 
 their looks, and all the little unostentatious — indescribable 
 graces of their person, as we would the shattered pieces of a 
 fragrant and costly vase, we may form to ourselves pictures of 
 the departed, — more complete and precious than the life-like 
 speaking portrait of the artist. Of such loving memories, 
 death and the grave cannot rob us. We have 
 
 " Something to think of, when we sit amid the unheeded falling 
 
 snow 
 Of evenings, when our sorry work is done. " 
 
 Such disjointed — crudely expressed thoughts, I judge not 
 altogether out of place on the present occasion— not simply as 
 expressing the feelings of my own heart, under the shadow of 
 a crushing grief, but as affording comfort to many in this con- 
 gregation who like myself, have recently been called to part 
 with beloved friends. As Mrs. Judson wrote on the death of 
 her husband, I may say, " after being loved and petted as I 
 have been, it is so — so desolate, to be alone ! God is disci- 
 plining me however, and I suppose I need something very 
 severe." I cannot trust myself on the present occasion to say 
 all I would like to say, and that you doubtless would like to 
 
59 
 
 hear concerning the sainted dead. To me, whatever she was 
 or appeared to otherfi : 
 
 " AUthepast 
 Is full of her untried perfections, while 
 Amidst the unknown recesses of my heart 
 Enthroned she sits, in tenderest mist of thought 
 Like the soft Ijrilliancy of autumn haze 
 Seen at the setting sun." 
 
 To those who knew her best, as an humble — unobtrusive — 
 meek minded christian who — 
 
 " Ijed by simplicity divine, 
 Pleased but never tried to shine." 
 
 — as one who, long under the dealings of the Refiner and 
 Purifier, was gradually made meet for the inheritance of the 
 saints in light — I need not attempt to delineate her character. 
 Words of mine are not needed. From a number of papers 
 left behind her, I select the following, as expressing her own 
 feelings : — " May the great ever living God, who up to the 
 present time, hath so wonderfully guided me through many 
 and various paths, continue to uphold me by his father-hand, 
 and so rule both my mind and body by his Holy Spirit, that 
 all his gracious designs may be accomplished in and by me, to 
 the promotion of my own sanctification and the increase of 
 my ability to be useful to my fellow creatures." To those of 
 the congregation, who did not know her so intimately, it were 
 foolish now to speak her praise. "What she would have me do 
 this day — had consciousness remained in her closing hours to 
 direct her thoughts and strength to articulate her dying com- 
 mands — to press upon sinners that salvation, which she long 
 since obtained — let me rather now do. My impenitent hearers, 
 there is but a thin veil between us and the spirit world, and 
 how soon we may be called to pass within, who can predict I 
 Are you prepared for that solemn change ? Can you look for- 
 ward happily to the hour of dissolution, saying, "I know I am 
 S0071 to die — btit the sooner the better so far as I am concerned — 
 / am very near home, and I see Jesus coming for me .2" Are 
 
60 
 
 you trusting to some extraordinary exercise of Omnipotence 
 to change your hearts, rather than giving heed to those calls 
 of the spirit in providence and in grace, which daily urge you 
 to accept of pardon ? Do you hope to find repentance on a 
 deathbed and then startle the world by evidences that you 
 possess a peace, to which you are now a stranger ? Oh, sinner, 
 do not thus trifle with the Almighty ! Despise not the riches 
 of his goodness and forbearance and long suffering, for the 
 goodness of God is intended to lead thee to repentance. Do 
 not in the hardness and impenitence of thine heart, treasure 
 up unto thyself wrath, against the day of wrath, and revelation 
 of the judgment of God. As you value .. immortal souls, 
 I beseech you this day, look and live. Rest not upon any 
 natural gifts or graces you may possess, for nothing can avail 
 you at the bar of God, but the peace speaking blood of the 
 Redeemer. Peer and peasant — rich and poor — learned and 
 unlearned, must all enter Heaven by the merits of the one 
 Saviour — a Saviour who stands ready this very moment to 
 accept you as his own, and begin in your hearts the gracious 
 work of santification, which alone qualifies you for his pre- 
 sence and his glory. You have often heard such statements 
 from this pulpit, but to-day, they are pressed upon you, with 
 a peculiar solemnity, which I have never hitherto possessed. 
 If my preaching has hitherto had no influence upon your 
 hearts, let the death of one who longed after the salvation of 
 every member of this church, and whose spirit now waits and 
 welcomes you to share her new born joy — move you to serious 
 concern and to immediate action. " Whatsoever thy hand 
 findeth to do — do it with thy might ; for there is no work, nor 
 device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou 
 goest.." Amen and Amen. 
 
 -♦♦■ 
 
" THE BOND or THK COVENANT." 
 
 A SERMON 
 
 Preached in Zion Presbyterian Church, Brantford, Ontario, 
 ON Sabbath Evening, January, 15th, 1871, 
 
 BY THE REVD. JAMES ROBERTSON, OF PARIS. 
 
 Ezekiel 20, 37 — ** I will cause you to pass under the rod, and 
 I will bring you into the bond of the covenant." 
 
 After some introductory remarks setting forth the peculiar 
 circumstances in which this promise of afflictive discipline was 
 given to the children of Israel, and the value of it, the preacher 
 continued as follows : — We have here two points to be con- 
 sidered : — 
 
 First. The method of God^s dealing with his people as set 
 forth in the words, " I will cause you to pass under the rod ;" 
 and second, the object to be attained by this dealing, " I will 
 bring you into the bond of the covenant." 
 
 First then, God^s method of dealing with his people. " I will 
 cause you to pass under the rod." A course of unbroken 
 worldly prosperity is not unfrequently injurious to the soul. 
 However eagerly we may desire that all things should go as we 
 would wish them go, yet God sees that it is not for our beat 
 interests that such desire should be granted. God sees that it 
 would be utterly destructive of our spiritual welfare to have 
 the sun of temporal prosperity always beaming upon us. You 
 know how it was with Israel of old ; almost every time of 
 
62 
 
 grea1» temporal prosperity to Israel, was with them a time of 
 great spiritual apostasy. The record almost invariably ru^is 
 to this effect, " Jeshurum waxed fat and kicked. They forgot 
 God who made them, and lightly esteemed the llock of their 
 salvation." The tendency of a course of unbroken prosperity 
 is to alienate the mind and heart from God. We accept the 
 gifts, but we forget the giver. We come to look upon the 
 blessings we enjoy as our inalienable possession ; and we are 
 ready to say in the spirit, if not in the words, of the proud 
 King who gloried in his riches and his power, and the extent 
 of his dominions, " Is not this great Babylon, that I have 
 built ! Is it not by my own strength and skill that I have 
 gathered all these possessions around me ?" Now God sees 
 that such a course of unbroken prosperity would be fraught 
 with pernicious, if not utterly fatal consequences, to the souls 
 of his people, and so he deals with them, not as they think 
 best, but as He, in his infinite wisdom, sees to be best. He 
 makes them "pass under the rod." For instance, God appoints 
 some of his people a rugged and difficult course through life. It 
 is UP HILL work with them all the time. They are oppressed 
 with many cares. They do not see how provision is to be 
 made for the wants of themselves and of their families when 
 old age or sickness comes. They have enough for the day, but 
 barely enough. They lie down anxious at night ; and they 
 wake anxious in the morning. They are fretted and harassed 
 with a host of little, petty, insect cares which rise up and 
 surround them continually. And all the time they are think- 
 ing, " If God had only ordered my lot otherwise; if he had 
 only given me such and such a portion of this world's goods ; 
 if he had only placed me in such and such a position of life, 
 and given me the friends in whose converse I could have 
 delighted, then it would have been far better with me. I 
 would have been more generous — more sympathizing with the 
 sorrows of others — more ready to help on every good work ; in 
 a word, if I had been happier I would have been better^ Some 
 one may be thinking thus ; but, friend, God sees better than 
 
63 
 
 you. He knows how proud and self-sufficient you would have 
 become in that position for which you bo eagerly long — he 
 knows how fond of the world you would have grown, and how 
 forgetful of him ; and therefore he has hedged your path with 
 thorns — he has disappointed yoiir dearest hopes — he has 
 thwarted your most carefully laid plans — ho has turned you 
 back again and again to the point from which you started. 
 He has been making you to walk in a rough and thorny road. 
 There may, indeed, have been some little green spots in your 
 life-journey — " some sweet little resting places where your 
 spirit was refreshed, but the most of life's pilgrimage has been 
 to you a time of weary toil and depressing anxieties. Your 
 Heavenly Father has been causing you " to pass under the 
 rod." 
 
 Again, times of bodily sicknesn arc times when God's people 
 " pass under the rod.'^ As long as wo are free from sickness 
 or pain, we seem to forget that we are dependent for every 
 breath we draw, and for every moment of our existence upon 
 the continued exercise of God's almighty power. But when 
 the body is worn with sickness — exhausted with pain ; — when 
 we are laid helpless as little children upon a couch of suffer- 
 ing, then we learn to know and to feel that God is very near to 
 us indeed ; that in him are all the springs of our being ; that 
 he is the potter and we are the clay. And perhaps, too, the 
 sickness which God sends comes exactly at the time when we 
 consider it most essential to our interests to be up and about. 
 We have this engagement to keep — or that piece of work to 
 perform — or that other important duty to fulfil. But God says, 
 " No ; here is my place for you;" and the body has to suc- 
 cumb under the power of disease. Your Hea,venly Father is 
 making you " pass under the rod." He is taking you away 
 from all the glare, and noise, and turmoil of the battle of life ; 
 and He is shutting you up in a darkened and silent chamber, 
 where every footfall is hushed, that you may be alone with 
 your own thoughts and with God your maker. Some of you 
 may have known such seasons of separation from the world. 
 
God has been leading you into his Kingdom by a way you 
 know not of — a dark and troublous way — but the end whereof 
 is peace. 
 
 Again, seasons of bereavement are in a peailiar manner sea- 
 Hons in xohich Gods people *' pass under the rod.^' Our afifcctions 
 naturally become entwined around those with whom we have 
 long and closely associated. Those whom we love grow into 
 our life, and become as it were, part of our life. The little 
 child that has nestled in the mother's breast, and smiled in 
 the mother's face, has become part of the mother's life. The 
 brother or the sister who has joined with us in all our youth- 
 ful undertakings, and shared in all our joys and sorrows has 
 become part of our life. The loved parent to whom we were 
 wont to carry all the vexing questions that troubled us, and 
 whose love and care we never found to fail, has become part of 
 our life. Even as the ivy twines itself about the oak, so have 
 we twined our affections about those dear relations whom God 
 has given us ; but even when we are rejoicing in them — even 
 when we think we are most secure in our possession of them, 
 suddenly, God sends his messenger of death and the best loved 
 member of the household circle is torn away from us ; and an 
 empty chair is left at the table, and an empty seat by the fire- 
 side, and the words of loving welcome and kindly cheer are 
 heard no more. The dear friend — the dearest of earth — the 
 one, who had gone step by step with us for many a weary year, 
 and many a weary mile of life's pilgrimage is caught away 
 from our side ; and the heart is left bleeding and desolate ; 
 and we wonder how life can go on with its dull round of 
 duties when all the sun light has faded out. We are ready 
 in such times of bitter sorrow, to pour forth our mourning 
 plaint, and to say, in the words of one of England's sweetest 
 
 poets : — 
 
 *' The face which, duly as the sun, 
 Rose up for me with life begun, 
 To mark all bright hours of the day 
 With hourly love is dimmed away ; 
 And yet ray days go on, go on. 
 
6r) 
 
 " Tho heart which, like n stiitF, was one 
 VoT inim> to 'ean and rest upon. 
 'I'hc Hti'on^^t'rtt on tlin lou;^fuHt tlay 
 With steadfast love, )8 caiiyht away ; 
 And yet my days go on, go on. 
 
 " The kindnesH, I ask to he done, 
 Is but to loose these pilgrim-shoon 
 (Tot) early worn and j^rimed) with sweet, 
 ('Ool, deathly tonch to these tired feet, 
 Till days go out which now go on. 
 
 " Tis Imt to lift the tnrf unmown 
 From oti' the earth where it has i^rcnvn, 
 Some eiibit-space, and say, ' Jiehold, 
 (Jreej) in poor heart, beneath that fold,' 
 Forgetting how the days go on." 
 
 Yes friends, God sends his messnger of dcatli into the 
 homo circle, and the fair<'st aiul the best of those we 
 love are taken away. He gathers the sweetest rose 
 from onr garden ; he takes the brightest gem for his 
 crown; and tbongh, in the spirit of resignation to the divine 
 will, we may say with the Shnmanite woman of old, when 
 bereaved of her child, " It is iccll with the child; " It is %veH 
 with the departed sister, or wife, or friend." Yot none the 
 less — none the less — do we feel the smiting of the rod in our 
 Father's hand. , i 
 
 But yet again, scanoiis of spiritual darkness are seasons 
 ill which God makes his people ^^ pass under the rod^ There 
 are times when God hides his face from his people, and they 
 are troubled. He shuts out their prayer from him, 
 and they cry in bitterness of soul, *' that I knew where I 
 might find God." He leaves them in the power of their 
 spiritual enemies, and they go down to the lowest deeps of soul- 
 suffering, and are ready to say with the Psalmiat, " The 
 sorrows of death compassed me, and the pains of hell gat 
 hold upon me : I found trouble and sorrow." God teaches 
 his people "severe spiritual trials the misery and the danger 
 of departing from him. 
 
m 
 
 Thus you BOO, fricndn, what is God's method of dealing 
 with hi;4 people as Hot fortli Iji the words " I will cause you to 
 pass under the rod." By the position in life He assigns us — by 
 the aiclou'iis and painx he makes to befall us — by the sad 
 bi'i'eavcmrnts wherewith he visits us — by the kidiiiffn of his 
 countenumw from us — by all these things the soul of the believer 
 is smitten and humbled within him, nud ho is ready like the ' 
 Prophet Jeremiah of old " to lay his mouth in the dust if so 
 be there may be hope." But o])3erve, secondly, — the object 
 which God has in cicw in thus dcolina with his people. It is 
 to bring them within the " bond of the covenant." This ex- 
 pression, "the bond of the covenant" simply signifies the honnd» 
 or limits of the covenant ; and the idea is, that God's design, in 
 all his dealings with his people, is to render them obediezit in 
 heart and life unto the requirements of the covenant. As you ' 
 all know, God entered into covenant with the Israelites of old 
 to give them the laud of Canaan for an everlasting possession 
 — the sole condition being that they should observe his statutes 
 and his judgments to do them. It was a covenant of grace, 
 for God had brought the people out of the iron furnace of 
 Egypt, and his commandments were not grievous; but the 
 people would not submit themselves to the restrictions of the 
 covenant. They would not have God to reign over them, but 
 desired another king and worshipped other Gods. They were 
 proud, and headstrong, sinful and unbelieving ; and so God 
 gave them into the hands of their enemies — even into the 
 hands of the Chaldeans — that fierce and cruel nation — that 
 they might learn in captivity and servitude the ruinous folly 
 f.f sin, andr that the only true liberty of the soul is to be 
 found in God's most holy law. God dealt with them in just 
 such a manner that he might bring them into subjection to 
 the requirements of the covenant. Aiid so does God deal with 
 his people now ; his great object being, through all the discip- 
 line of life, to teach them the lesson of unhesitating submis- 
 sion to his revealed will. God has entered into covenant with 
 his Son to give everlasting life to his people. He has given 
 
67 
 
 his word and confirinod his word with an oath that a willing 
 people shall como unto Messiah in the day of his powor, and 
 that not ono of all those f«)r whom Christ died, shall perish; 
 and (rod will never go back from his promise. But the people 
 thus given to Christ in covenant nmst be made a hah/ people, 
 they must be tanght the requirements of the covenant — they 
 must learn to be meek and lowly of heart — to submit their 
 own wills to God's will, and to walk in the way of his precepts; 
 in a word, they must he brought within the bond of the 
 covenant. They are already ivithin the co\enaut of grace, as 
 far as the dectbifi love of Clod is concerned, but they need to 
 be brought within the bond of the covenant, as far as 
 their own hearts and lives are concerned. And, there- 
 fore, is it, that God deals with his people, as ho does 
 deal with them ; sending allliction upon them tc teach 
 them the way of his law. The present life may be re- 
 garded as our school-time — our time of preparation for a higher 
 and better life than the present. God is the teacher, .ind we 
 are the scholars ; and by all his dealirigs with us, both in pro- 
 vidence and grace, he is seeking to inculcate the lesson of un- 
 hesitating submission to his will, and that the way of his com- 
 mandments is the way of life and peace. Oh, christian friend, 
 thou who art repining because of the hard lot which is yours — 
 because of the many cares which surround you, and the weary 
 days of toil appointed unto you ; or because of the desolate path 
 in life which God has marked out for you; why should'st thou 
 repine ? This is the very discipline that is needed to bring 
 down the proud heart and the rebellious will, and to make you 
 humble and obedient before your God. Oh, thou, who art 
 mourning because of bereavement — because, it may be, God 
 has entered into your home and taken away the very one that 
 was as the light of the dwelling, — why should'st thou murmur ? 
 The fairehi, flowers must be gathered for the Master's use, for 
 the Master hath need of them in his kingdom. And, above all 
 else, he wants thy heart — he wants thee to give thyself to him — 
 to set all thine affections on things above, keeping nothing 
 
68 
 
 back. Yes, mourning believer, God is dealing with you in the 
 very best way; ho is, in the very sorrow which presses upon 
 your heart, fulfilling his gracious promise unto you — the prom- 
 ise that is sure to all his people, "I will cause you to pass 
 under the rod, and I will bring you into the bond of the cove- 
 nant." 
 
 And now, friends, God is speakiug to us by his providence, 
 and calling us by recent sad events, to increased zeal and faith- 
 fulness in his service. It is as yet but the beginning of the 
 year — only two short weeks of it are gone — and yet one who, 
 as the wife of your esteemed pastor, was well known to all ; she 
 loho entered upon this new year — if not with such strong hope 
 of lengthened days aB some of us. still with but little expecta- 
 tion of sudden departure as has takenplacc, now lies silent and 
 still in the grave, never to be seen again on earth till the heav- 
 ens be no more and the grave gives up its dead. Only a few 
 Sabbaths ago she sat with you in this church, and listened to 
 the words of life — words preached from the text, " So teach us 
 to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wis- 
 dom," and now she has been called away, in the mid-time of 
 her years and of her usefulness, from the sanctuary of God on 
 earth to the sanctuary in heaven. She was one, we doubt not, 
 who died in the Lord, because she had lived in the Lord. Early 
 had she given herself to Christ ; and she knew the blessedness 
 of faith in him ; and for the love she bore her Lord she faith- 
 fully endeavored to walk in the way appointed for her. 
 So far as she knew the right, she did the right, and 
 what more worthy record could be given of any one than 
 that ? Quiet, simple, unobtrusive in manner, still was she 
 diligent in the performance of duty ; ever ready to help, 
 to counsel, to comfort, to do a kind action to those in 
 need of it ; with failing strength, ofttimes in weaknesB 
 and in pain — greater weakness aiid greater pain than 
 many imagined — still she strove to do what her hand 
 • found to do. And thronyh all, God was the portion of 
 lier soul. Some lines, found after her death, transcribed 
 
^. 69 
 
 in her owu h> ,ud writing, indicate the prevailing disposition of 
 her thought. : 
 
 " When flesh and heart decay and fail, 
 God shall my strength and portion be ; 
 Support my spirit, heal my pains, 
 And softly whisper, 'Trust in Me.' " 
 
 " Himself shall be my tender friend, 
 My kind companion and my staj' ; 
 To soothe my fears will condescend, 
 And wipe my bitter tears away." 
 
 Conscious of her own physical weakness, she waB always 
 looking forward to an early death, and seemed to have the con- 
 viction that she would not live beyond the years attained by 
 her mother; and so it proved, for the difference in the length 
 of their lives was only a few months. And now, her sudden 
 removal is a call to this congregation, and to all who knew her 
 and esteemed her, to increased diligence and faithfulness in 
 the work of the Lord ; and while we extend our earnest sym- 
 pathy to the mourning husband and motherless little ones, we 
 would remember the admonition to ourselves : " Be ye also 
 ready, for at such an hour as ye think not, the son of man 
 Cometh." 
 
 Death has come, bringing rest to our departed friend, and we 
 sorrow not as those who have no hope, but comfort ourselvoB 
 with the promise, that they who "sleep in Jesus will God 
 bring with him." And in every afflictive dispensation of God's 
 providence — in every sorrow and trial and sad bereavement, 
 we desire to behold the fulfilment of the gracious promise, 
 *' I will cause you to pass under the rod, and I will bring you 
 into the bond of the covenant." 
 
ABBKieSS 
 
 DELIVERED BY THE REV JOHN WOOD, 
 
 (Of the Congregational Church,) 
 
 In Zion Church, Biuntfoed, January 11th, 1871. 
 
 Mr. Wood, who had been unexpectedly called upon to take 
 .the place of another brother in delivering an address on the 
 occasion, spoke in substance, as follows : 
 
 I suppose, dear friends, that there are two emotions upper- 
 most m every heart on this sad occasion ; those viz., of wonder 
 at the mysteriousness of Divine Providence, and of profound 
 sympathy with our dear brother, with whom we have met 
 to day to mingle our tears and sympathies over the mortal 
 remains of his beloved wife. 
 
 This is a world of mystery. We are everywhere met by 
 facts which are certainly no less difficult to explain than some 
 of the statements of revelation. We are taught by the book 
 of Nature, as by that of Inspired Truth, that " God is good to 
 all and his tender mercies are over all his works ;" but how to 
 reconcile many of the events that daily transpire around us 
 with the infinite goodness of Him who " worketh all things 
 after the counsel of his own will" is a problem which must be 
 left to the light of eternity to solve. This world is a school of 
 , faith ; we must " walk by faith and not by light." We must 
 accept the facts as they are, and await the explanation which 
 the Lord promises in the future ; " What I do thou knowest 
 not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." Now, says the 
 Apostle, " we see through a glass darkly," — as one guesses at 
 
71 
 
 a riddle, — " but tlien face to face ; now we know in part ; but 
 then shall we know even as also we are known." 
 
 And perhaps it is not best for us to occupy our minds too 
 much, in circumstances such as those in which our dear bro- 
 ther is placed, with anxious questionings as to why God does 
 these things. We may perplex ourselves to no profit by asking 
 why the righteous are often removed, and the wicked left ; why 
 the tender christian mother is taken from her infant family ; 
 or why those who appear to us least to need affliction often 
 suffer most severely and heavily ? All these are things *' too 
 high for us," concerning which our souls should be "even as 
 a weaned child." Better to ask, what God would have us to 
 learn from the affiiction. 
 
 The stroke which our dear brother is called to puffer, is one 
 which I am sure none can fully realize l)ut those who have 
 been called to bear it. To be thus suddenly 'bereft of tho 
 partner of our joys and of our sorrows, under any ordinary 
 circumstances, is the heaviest affliction through which any 
 one can pass. But it is rendered doubly painful in the present 
 instance by the fact that our deceased sister has been taken 
 away in the very prime of life, and has left behind her not 
 only a loving and sorrowing husband, but also two little 
 children, too young to realize the greatness of the loss that 
 has befallen them. 
 
 But there are many sources of comfort even under such 
 afflictive circumstances. 
 
 1. Our dear sister " Is not dead, but sleepeth." 
 
 " No, no, it is not dying 
 To go unto our God ; 
 This gloomy earth forsaking 
 Our journey homeward taking 
 Along the starry road !" 
 
 She seems long to have had a presentiment, founded prob- 
 ably, upon a sense of internal organic derangement and decay, 
 of the change that awaited her. 
 
72 
 
 As long since as the 25th September last, when at a cost of 
 great physical suffering and exhaustion, she came to listen to 
 her old pastor, from Scotland, and receive from his hands 
 once more the sacred cmhlems of the Lord's broken body, she 
 expressed to one of the Elders of the church, her conviction 
 that that would be her last communion on earth. She had 
 evidently felt that the earthly tabernacle was fast beinj^ taken 
 down ! Several days before her death, when her friends had 
 scarcely begun to realize how critical was her condition, she 
 told her husband that she knew her illness would terminate 
 fatally, but expressed herself as feeling no alarm at the pros- 
 pect, for, she said, " I see Jesus coming to receive me." These 
 were among the last intelligible words she uttered. Thus the 
 Lord mercifully prepared her for it, and sustained her in the 
 conflict with the last enemy. 
 
 2. The separation is only for a season ; perhaps only for a 
 short season. " Fellow heirs of the grace of life," she and 
 her sorrowing husband, and all her friends in Christ, shall 
 soon gather together again in our Father's house of many 
 mansions, whither Jesus himself has entered as our fore- 
 runner. "I go to prepare a place for you," he says ; " And if 
 I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive 
 you unto myself ; that where I am, there ye may be also." 
 Take comfort, then, dear brother, you shall meet again, where 
 partings are no more ! 
 
 3. " Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth." For the pre- 
 sent, indeed, affiction is not joyous ; but " afterward it shall 
 work out the peaceable fruit of righteousness in them that are 
 exercised thereby." 
 
 Sometimes it would seem as if affliction was borne vicari- 
 ously, the pastor being called upon to suffer for the spiritual 
 well-being of his people. And who knows what blessed fruit 
 may grow under God's blessing, from this grievous trial of the 
 pastor's faith ? What else would have awakened such tender 
 sympathies in the hearts of all the congregation ! Mourning 
 in the home of the Minister brings mourning into the home 
 
73 
 
 of every family of his flock. May it be sanctified to all ? Far 
 better then will it be that one prepared, as our dear sister was, 
 should go, than that some of you, dear hearers, whom so 
 sudden a call might have found all unprepared, should be 
 taken. Let the precious dust that lies before you, and which 
 we are about to commit to its final resting-place, speak to you 
 in God's name, of your own mortality, and of your need of 
 the sprinkling of the blood of Jesus, that so you may be al- 
 ways ready; " for in such an hour as ye think not the Son of 
 Man Cometh." 
 
 And now as we bid farewell to the dear dejjarted one, let it 
 be in the beautiful words of Bishop Heber, — the words of 
 Christian faith and hope : 
 
 " Thou art gone to the grave ! we no longer behold thee, 
 Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side ; 
 
 But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, 
 And sinners may hope, for the sinless hath died. 
 
 ** Thou art gone to the grave ! and its mansion forsaking, 
 Perchance thy tired spirit in doubt lingered long ; 
 
 But the sunshine of glory beamed bright on thy waking, 
 And full on thine ear burst the Seraphim's song. 
 
 " Thou art gone to the grave ! but we will not deplore thee, 
 Since God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide ; 
 
 He gave thee, he took thee, and he will restore thee ; 
 Ajttd death has no sting, for the Saviour has died." 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 BY W. H. D. 
 
 (From the " Brantford Expositor," January 20, 1871.) 
 
 How greatful to the heart and memory is the familiar por- 
 trait of an absent friend ; with what satisfaction and affectionate 
 feelings do we give the allotted space in our albums to the dear 
 faces that never change, but are always ready to meet our 
 eager eyes with the same friendly expressions that last they 
 wore. While strangers may look with curious eyes and cold 
 hearts on these picture galleries which are sacred to the 
 memory of the absent or dead, how tenderly we mention dear 
 names, andpay the ready tribute to their memory in accents of 
 praise. Some particular portrait may be familar to all, and 
 every tongue may be ready to declare its knowledge of the in- 
 dividual, while in reality, in all that constituted genuine 
 acquaintanceshii), the charming privilege of knowing such an 
 one, might be conferred to the discerning few. 
 
 In our daily lives we may meet with old faces, that have 
 become familiar as household gods, and we say we know their 
 owners, whereas we know them not. Their true characters 
 are hid from our eyes, like sealed books, of which all that we 
 do know is their outside binding, thair colors and forms ; hence 
 misjudgments, uncharitable verdicts, and evil communication* 
 on the one hand, and misplaced confidence or undue praise on 
 the other. 
 
75 
 
 « 
 
 "Who that has lost an intimate and dear relative or friend, 
 and delights not in expatiating on their virtues and beauties 
 of character, as though they would describe a pearl that was 
 lost ? Have we not all felt an instinctive desire, when we have 
 lost dear friends, that others could have known them as we 
 did, and seen them with our discerning eyes ? and is it not due 
 to their memory that we should preserve their true lives and 
 characters from misrepresentation or oblivion, by depicting 
 the mental features and characteristics of the departed in 
 their true light ? 
 
 There have been lives spent of persons whom we have only 
 known by their writings or their public acts, of whom little is 
 personally known by the masses beyond their names, their 
 occupations and abodes, and it is natural to many to desire a 
 key to their inner lives. This the biographer furnishes, which 
 serves to enlighten us on many points that had been darkly 
 understood ; br* there have been many who have passed away 
 whoso lifetime has been the centre of a large acquaintanceship, 
 owing to their peculiar position or circumstances, and yet who 
 have died hardly understood by their nearest and dearest rela- 
 tives. Surely then an effort to re set a precious jewel, to re- 
 frame the portrait of a bosom friend, to press and preserve 
 the leaves of a favorite flower or, dropping metaphor, to jot 
 down the sweet memories of a precious life for the benefit of 
 others as well as for personal gratification, is a genial task, as 
 well as a debt due to the desire so keenly felt that justice may 
 be done to the character and memory of the dead. 
 
 Under the pressure of such thoughts and feelings, the writer 
 of the following necessarily brief, and naturally imperfect 
 memoir, has undertaken an effort which he has thought worthy 
 and deserved. His intimate acquaintance with the deceased, 
 his keen appreciation of her real character, his genuine admi- 
 ration of its honesty and worth, added to a warm personal 
 regard for her as a congenial friend and sincere christian, have 
 all compelled him to giye vent to the desires of his heart, that 
 others might know more of the late Mrs. Cochrane than they 
 
76 
 
 could otherwise know of one who was not demonstrative, nor 
 liable to be easily understood. 
 
 Were it not for her position when in life, as the "minister's 
 wife," any effort of the sort might have been deemed out of 
 place, and it cannot bo undertaken without a conscious feeling 
 that had she ever deemed that it would have been made, she 
 would have protested against it with all the power that a 
 sensitive nature could command, for she was one who instinc- 
 tively shrunk from any publicity or notice. But her many 
 warmly attached friends will readily sympathise with the 
 writer in the object aimed at, while their memories are grate- 
 fully stirred by the effort, however far it may fall short as a life 
 portrait of their departed friend. Many members of the con- 
 gregation who worshipped with her, but yet knew her not, 
 may be glad to get a nearer and clearer view of one who was 
 doubtless dear to them all. 
 
 The object of the writer is not to place her biography on 
 record, but rather to dwell on the personal attributes of her 
 we knew, as we found her, and as she left us, ere the " silver 
 cord was broken, or the pitcher was broken at the fountain, or 
 the wheel was broken at the cistern, and the mourners went 
 about the street." 
 
 Probably there have been few instances similar to that of 
 the subject of this memoir, of a " minister's wife" instinctive- 
 ly shrinking from all the public duties of her position. Na- 
 turally of a retiring disposition, a child-like nature, and a 
 frank, outspoken character, she probably imagined that she 
 had not the popular qualifications for the not generally envi- 
 able office, in its public sense ; but having married the man 
 raiher than the minister, she was satisfied to share the name 
 and fame of one to whom she was devotedly attached, even at 
 the sacrifice of others' opinions as to what was due from her 
 as their minister's wife. 
 
 As a wife, a mother, a friend, and above all, a sincere chris- 
 tian, she acted well her parts in private life. She was social, 
 yet cared not for society — so called. Hospitable, yet cared 
 
11. 
 
 not for entertaining others than intimate friends. More formal 
 visiting and visitors she greatly disliked, and was no hypocrite 
 in her conduct towards those whom she either fancied or dis- 
 liked. Being a faithfnl interpreter of character, she instinc- 
 tively understood all with whom she came in contact, and was 
 so constituted by nature that she could not hide the verdicts 
 written legibly on her countenance. Hers was no common 
 character, and yet one only too liable to be misunderstood. 
 Sensitive, even to a fault, she shrunk like a suspecting moUusk 
 into its shell, from those she dreaded. So that while present- 
 ing a hardened exterior to the many, she had still the soft 
 nature to be drawn out in congenial hours, in the society of 
 those she trusted and loved. 
 
 In early life, owing to circumstances which need not be 
 related here, she was compelled to find her own resources of 
 happiness. Her most congenial companions were the flowers 
 and birds of which she was so fond to the last, and which in 
 man J' respects she closely resembled, returning sweetness and 
 fragrance to those who moistcr'pd her with the dews of affec- 
 tion, and uttering blithe notes to friendly ears. Her tastes and 
 occupations eminently fitted her for private life, rather than 
 for any position where a character must be assumed when oc- 
 casion demanded it. She was thoroughly honest, fearlessly 
 straightforward, and terribly blunt even for one of Scottish 
 birth; but under a sometimes cold exterior carried a warm 
 heart and liberal mind. Her thoughts were ever pure as her 
 conversation, and her taste in all that gratified the eye, was 
 exquisitely correct. She was an excellent artist, and at a 
 tender age carried off many a prize from competitors when 
 attending the School of Design. Her mind was cultivated and 
 her literary tastes always refined. Her habits regular, orderly 
 and neat, even to fastidiousness, and while her tastes ran to 
 the- ornamental around her, her own person was invariably 
 plain, although her wardrobe and dressing-case were furnished 
 by loving hearts, with all that feminine heart could covet, or 
 a tasteful eye desire. As a sincere christian she knew and 
 
78 
 
 deplored whatever failings she had, being solemnly imprcfiscd 
 with a sonHe of what a christian's life should be, but the lamp 
 of her faith never burned dim, and she had long been prepar- 
 ing for what she felt sure was her fast approaching end. For 
 neveral years previous to her decease, she had been a groat 
 sufferer from bodily infirmities, and never fully recovered from 
 the effects of an accident that occurred about eight years ago, 
 whereby she received severe internal bodily injuries. To this 
 cause may doubtless be ascribed much of the nervous irrita- 
 bility of which those who did not understand her were wont to 
 complain. Her natural cheerfulness was too often damped by 
 causes over which she had no control, the effect of which to 
 one of her peculiar temperament was painful to hefself as well 
 as to others, but she lived in a certain sense, in a world of her 
 own, where all was bright and beautiful, and to which she was 
 apt to retire with her children, her flowers, and her bii'ds. 
 She loved solitude rather than companionship, unless with u 
 few friends of her own choice, to whom she could open up the 
 treasures of her mind and heart, which comparatively few gave 
 her credit for possessing. She had long had a deep seated 
 presentiment that her sojourn on earth was to be of short 
 duration, which with her bodily infirmities often cast a gloom 
 over her life which she could not shake off in the presence of 
 even those she loved best. Her love of her native land " the 
 land of brown heath and shaggy wood," was deep rooted in 
 her nature, and we may well picture to our minds her childlike 
 delight, when on a recent occasion she returned to the scenes 
 80 dear to the Scottish heart, where she could revel to her 
 heart's content amidst the wild flowers and feathered pets of 
 her youth. Dearer to her eyes and heart than all the jeweller's 
 gems were the " wee crimson tipped flower," the " bonnie blue 
 bell," and other precious gems, which carpet the waysides and 
 fields of her native soil, and sweeter to her ear than the vdice 
 of human praise, were the voices of the woods, where her oldest 
 friends were making melody in her heart as they poured from 
 their little throats the musical sounds of " Auld Lang Syne." 
 
• 79 
 
 An examination of lior papers and personal property has 
 levealed a great deal that had lain hidden in her nature from 
 even those who thought they knew her best. She had her 
 sacred repositories, material as well as mental, concealed from 
 liuman eyes ; for, consistent in all things, she made no parade 
 of either her religious feelings or her memories of the past; 
 and yet the fervent humble prayer in her own handwriting, 
 her mementoes of absent friends, of dead relatives, and of 
 living confidants, gave aloud denial to the accusations of those 
 who only judged by appearances, which so often deceive. Her 
 christian friends can testify to the active interest she displayed 
 in all that concerned the church of which she was a grateful 
 member, and if at times she may have been prevented from 
 taking part in any of its schemes, it arose from neither apathy 
 nor opposition, but failing health alone. Her humblest sisters 
 in the churcli, ever found her a warm friend, ready to assist 
 them or counsel them in times of trouble or need, and she 
 bore no animosities even towards those with whom she had 
 nothing in common, and yet as the minister's wife she was at 
 times subject to sad " trials of patience." Were it not for the 
 christian's hope that the friendships made on earth, will be 
 renewed and perpetual in Heaven, no vindication of a friend's 
 memory, would be of aay avail. No happy recollections of 
 their past lives could assuage the grief that we suffer from 
 their loss, but surely the hope and prospect of spending an 
 eternity above, with those with whom we have been associated 
 below, should enhance the pleasure of remembering the vir- 
 tues and amiable traits of character of those who have gone 
 before us to the Happy Land. That the subject of this me- 
 moir has gone to Jesus we have no doubt. Her last testimony 
 to her belief in her Saviour was in the words, "J see Jesus 
 coming for me now.^' 
 
 Do we miss thee dear Saint in our daily routine 
 Midst the scenes once adorn'd by thy face ! 
 
 Has thy form and dear face, never more to be seen, 
 Been missed from their old wonted place ! 
 
80 
 
 Do we miss thy kind voice and thy musical laugh 
 Which melody made in our liejutd ? , ,' 
 
 Or the sorrowful look that true sympathy hath 
 With its tender and sweet soothing arts. 
 
 The mournful enquiry, the 8if,'h of distrrsa, 
 
 Which <mly true friendship may own ! 
 Or the earnest appeal, the winning' address, 
 
 The honest, the truth telling' tone ! 
 
 Do we miss thy light step that wo waited to hccir 
 
 Api)roaching on passage or stair ! 
 The warm ready grasp, with its welcome so dear, 
 
 Thy smile parting lii)8, and soft air ! 
 
 Do we miss thee ! sweet charm of thy hearth and thy home 
 
 The light of the house, and its prop ! 
 Do we miss thee, when sitting so sadly and lone 
 
 Permitting our tears now to drop ? 
 
 Dear Saint, we shall miss thee for ever helow, 
 
 And ever shall hope, and still pray, 
 To meet thee near Jesus, ior there now we know 
 
 Thou spendest thy happiest day. 
 
 DIED. 
 
 (From the "Brantford Expositor," January 13th, 1871 ) 
 Cochrane. — At her residence on Albion Street, Brantford, on 
 Sabbath forenoon, 8th January, at 11 o'clock, Maby Neilson 
 HousTouN, the beloved wife of the Rev. William Cochrane, in 
 her 37th year. 
 
 It is our painfa" duty to announce the decease of the beloved 
 wife of the Eev. William Cochrane, Pastor of Zion Presby- 
 terian Church, Brantford, who passed away last Sabbath morn- 
 ing, at eleven o'clock, after a very short illness. During her 
 residence of about nine ye?,rs in Brantford, the deceased lady 
 had won the respect and affection of all with whom she came 
 in contact. A si^.cere christian, a dutiful wife, a loving mother, 
 and a true hearted friend, her loss at a comparatively early age 
 will be deplored by the whole community. She leaves behind 
 
81 
 
 her, to the cavb of their inconsolable father, two children of 
 tender age, who will sadly miss their deceased mother. The 
 funeral, which took place at three o'clock on Wednesday after- 
 noon, was very largely attended. As a mark of respect the 
 business of the town was suspended during the hour of funeral. 
 The church was thronged with not only the members of the 
 congregation, but by u very largo number of the prominent 
 inhabitants of Brantford and vicinity. The pulpit and sur- 
 roundings were draped in mourning, and the services which 
 were conducted by the Revs. Messrs. Lowry, Wood, anjjl 
 Robertson of Paris, were of the most solemn and impressive 
 character, during which the audience were very deeply affected. 
 The funeral cortege at the close of the services in the church 
 took its way to the cemetery, where the last obsequies were 
 performed by the Rev. Thos. Lowry. In his great bereave- 
 ment the reverend gentleman has the entire sympathy of the 
 people of Brantford, who, while they condole with him on the 
 irreparable loss ho has sustained, feel assured that he will 
 derive strength and comfort from that sacred word, of which 
 he has ever been a faithful and fearless expounder. 
 
 (From the " Jersey Cit3' Times," of January 13th, 1871 ) 
 CocHUANE. — At Brantford, Ontario, on Sabbath morning, 
 the 8th inst., Mary Neilson Houbtoun, the beloved wife of 
 the Rev. W. Cochrane, of Zion Presbyterian Church, and 
 formerly of this City, and Paisley, Scotland. Mrs. Cochrane 
 while resident hero was much esteemed, not only in the im- 
 mediate circle of her husband's pastoral charge — but by all 
 with whom she came in contact. 
 
 Her flesh shall slumber in the ground, 
 Till the last trumpet's joyful sound ; 
 
 Then burst the chain with sweet surprise, 
 And in her Saviour's image rise. 
 
82 
 
 * 
 
 FUNERAL SERVICES IN ZION CHURCH, 
 
 (From the "Brantford Expositor," January 20th. 1871.) 
 The Rev. James Robertson, of Paris, occupied the pulpit of 
 Zion Church last Sabbath, and preached to large and deeply 
 solemnized congregations. His text in the morning was 
 Revelation, chap. 14, v. 13th : " And I heard a voice from 
 Heaven, saying unto me, write, blessed are the dead which die 
 in the Lord from henceforth," etc., etc. In the evening the 
 text was Ezekiel, chap. 20, v. 37 • *' And I will cause you to 
 pass under the rod, and I will bring you into the bond of the 
 covenant." The wermons were most appro^ iate and im- 
 pressive. At the close of each Mr. Robertson paid an honest 
 tribute to the memory of Mrs. Cochrane, as a sincere, earnest 
 unostentatious christian, and as one who, after the cares of 
 life, has fallen asleep in Jesus. Many tear-dimmed eyes in 
 the congregations testified to the universal sorrow felt at her 
 sudden removal from the church and community. 
 
 MINUTE OF THE PRESBYTERY OF PARIS. 
 
 At a meeting of the Presbytery of Paris, held in Knox 
 Church, Woodstock, on the 10th January, the following reso- 
 lution was unanimously agreed to, and instructions given that 
 a copy of it should be placed in Mr. Cochrane's hands: — 
 " A letter from the Rev. William Cochrane, the Clerk of the 
 Presbytery, hiving been read, intimating the sudden death of 
 his beloved wife, and his consequent absence from this meet- 
 ing, the Presbytery agree to express heartfelt sympathy with 
 our brother under this very trying dispensation of Providence, 
 and to assure him of our fervent prayer that God, who is a very 
 present help in trouble, may be his support and may strengthen 
 him to take comfort from the assurance ' that all things work 
 together for good to them that love God, to them who are the 
 called, according to his purpose.' " 
 
83 
 
 MINUTE OF THE BRANTFORD MINISTERIAL CONFERENCE. 
 
 The following is a copy of a minute adopted, by the Brant- 
 ford Ministerial Con'eifcuco ai its first meeting after the de- 
 cease of the late Mrs. Cochrane, February 6th, 1871 : '* Where- 
 as it has pleased Almighty God, the Sovereign Disposer of all 
 events, to visit our dear brother, and fellow laborer, the Rev. 
 William Cochrane, Pastor of Zion Church in this Town, with 
 a severe and painful bereavement, in the sudden decease of 
 his beloved wife, this Conference would assure him of its deep 
 and tonder sympathy with mm in his affliction, and would 
 affectionately commend him and his family to the loving kind- 
 ness of our Father in Heaven, who afflicteth not willingly, 
 our merciful and faithful high priest, who is " touched with 
 the feeling of our infirmities, and the blessed Spirit, the 
 comforter, who also maketh intermission for us with groaninga 
 that cannot be uttered." 
 
 MINUTES OF KIRK SESSION, ZION CHURCH, BRANTFORD. 
 
 At Brantford, and within the Session House of Zion 
 Church, the second day of February, eighteen hun- 
 dred and seventy-one. 
 Which day the Kirk Session of Zion Church met, and was 
 duly constituted, 
 
 Biter alia 
 In view of the painful and sorrowful duty devolving on Mr. 
 Cochrane, as Moderator, in announcing, among the removals 
 by death, thf t of his own beloved wife, the Session offer him 
 their sincere sympathy, and their earnest prayer is that he may 
 be enabled to see the goodness of God in every dispensation 
 of Providence towards him, and that he may be comforted 
 with the precious truth, that though death may remove those 
 who are near and dear to us, yet the power of the grave shall 
 
84 • 
 
 4 
 
 noti^revail over them, they are not dead but sleeping, for their 
 
 liveth one whe died for them and rose again ; and- though for a 
 
 time deprived of all intercourse with the departed,, we would 
 
 comfort him by the thought, that the hour is certainly coming 
 
 when death divided friends shall meet again, to be sundered 
 
 no more, whfen that which is sown in corruption, shall be 
 
 raised in incorruptjon. 
 
 Extracted from the Eecords of the Kirk Session of Zion 
 
 Church, by 
 ■ ' Thomas McLean, Session Clerk. 
 
 '■ 1 
 
 ,.1 
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