I 
 
 Cfkv 
 
 
 
 
FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 *0 
 
 MARY LUNDIE DOCAN: 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF A DAUGHTER 
 
 BY HER MOTHER. 
 
 SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 EDINBURGH: WILLIAM OLIPIIANT AND SONS. 
 
 LONDON : HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND COMPANY. 
 
 MDCCCLIV. 
 
No tears for thee — though our lone spirits mourn 
 That thou with spring's sweet flowers wilt ne'er return. 
 No tears for thee — though hearth and home are blighted, 
 Though sadness clouds the scenes thy love has lighted. 
 No tears — for, while with us, thy soul, opprest, 
 Oft longed for refuge in thy Saviour's breast. 
 No tears — for thou hast found thy home above. 
 No tears— thou'rt sheltered in the arm9 of love. 
 
 >i I' Rl. AY AND GIBP PRINTERS, F.DINBURGB 
 
 IL 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This little Work treats of the initiatory steps of an im- 
 mortal being — steps, feeble and insignificant if viewed 
 alone, but assuming value and importance when con- 
 sidered as terminating in an eternal destiny. By such 
 steps is each human course commenced, and such is 
 the solemn result involved in its mortal termination. 
 The chief benefit derived from Christian biography, is 
 its exhibiting to the eye the image of Christ in the 
 character of his servant, the manner in which that 
 blessed image first began to be formed, and the various 
 means and incidents which contributed to its advance- 
 ment towards perfection. 
 
 Growth is the only sure token of healthy spiritual 
 life. The soul has its winter and its spring times, its sea- 
 sons of seeming check and deadness, and its seasons of 
 shooting upward from the earthly towards the heavenly 
 character. A faithful writer remarks, that " the soul 
 may suppose itself acquainted with its corruption in 
 its length and breadth, while, perhaps, it has only 
 moistened its lips at the bitter cup, and may subse- 
 
NOTE TO THE FIFTH EDITION. 
 
 An Appendix seems rather injurious to the unity of a 
 book ; besides, it is the part most frequently overlooked 
 or neglected ; yet it has not seemed possible to avoid 
 it in this case, as the introduction of the poetry at the 
 dates of its composition, formed a serious interruption 
 to the unity of the narrative. 
 
 We gladly embrace this opportunity of expressing 
 our acknowledgments to Horatio M'Culloch, Esq., 
 R.S.A., and Messrs Feaser and Co., Publishers, for 
 permitting a reduced copy of their beautiful view of 
 Kelso to adorn this Memoir. The view is taken from 
 a most fortunate point, which combines the varied 
 charms of the scene, and is peculiarly adapted to this 
 work, as it embodies the house in which the subject of 
 it first looked upon the day, together with the objects 
 which awakened her admiration for the beauties of 
 nature. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pape 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DAYS OF CHILDHOOD, ...... i) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SCHOOL DAYS, ....... 34 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HER FIRST AFFLICTION, . . . . .40 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 STUDIES AND OCCUPATIONS IN EDINBURGH, . 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE AND DTARY, .... 03 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE, ...... 12C 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 VENERABLE CHRISTIAN— VISITS TO THE POOR— REV. JOHN 
 
 BROWN PATTERSON, . . . . . 146 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 Pa ire 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT, AND THE MANNER IN WHICH IT WAS BORNE, 102 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SORROW TURNED INTO THANKFULNESS, . . . 183 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A NEW HOME, ....... 202 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 PAROCHIAL SOLICITUDES — MATERNAL EMOTIONS, . . 2lG 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GROWTH IN LOVE, ...... 246 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE MUSE RECALLED — A SON GIVEN — TWO BROTHERS WITH- 
 DRAWN, ....... 2f) r > 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SYMPATHY WITH AFFLICTION — MATERNAL LOVE AND 
 
 ANXIETIES — INFANTINE RHYMES, . . . 290 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SPIRITUAL REFRESHMENT — DILIGENCE IN DUTY — LAST SAB- 
 BATH IN GOD'S HOUSE — SICKNESS— SUFFERING— RELIEF 
 FROM IT FOR EVER, . . . . $06 
 
 APPENDIX, 321 
 
MEMOIR. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 DAYS OF CHILDHOOD. 
 
 To those faithful friends, whose affection has longed for 
 a life of Mary Lundie, it can occasion neither surprise 
 nor disappointment that this attempt furnishes little of 
 narrative, and nothing of the character of adventure. 
 It seems an easy task to detail the events which fill up 
 the years of a patriot, a warrior, a philanthropist, or a 
 missionary. Acts of wisdom, of bravery, or of self- 
 denying benevolence, strike the eye in succession, and 
 fill the page with that which awakens the zeal or 
 admiration of the reader. But the early years of a 
 delicate female, whose preference was to shrink from 
 public regard, and the full tide of whose powerful and 
 devoted heart rose to the flood only under the influence 
 of intellectual and tender attractions, furnish few pro- 
 minent points, and give the means rather of a slender 
 sketch than of a filled-up portrait. 
 
 It is not adventure that her friends desire ; they 
 already know her brief story. It is the depths of her 
 piety that they would fathom ; it is the steps by which 
 she attained to it that they wish to trace. But here 
 the difficulty is greater still. Who is informed as to 
 
10 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the secret growth of the heart but He who created it ? 
 Who can read the unseen process of renewing the will, 
 except the Spirit who hath kept that in his own power? 
 Instruct with what minute care } t ou can, — observe with 
 what accuracy you may, — still there is something in the 
 workings of the mind that eludes the ken of the observer. 
 Our God hath shown us that the knowledge and the 
 formation of the heart are his own prerogatives. The 
 mysterious solitude of mind, carrying on its operations 
 in its own retired cells, and only permitting occasional 
 loopholes to the observer, by means of a question, a 
 smile, or a sigh, gives weighty evidence of its superiority 
 over the material part ; and the mother, who cherishes 
 and caresses, and lifts up or puts down her offspring at 
 pleasure, is often as little aware of the internal processes, 
 as the mother of Jesus could be when she retired in 
 silence from the holy city to treasure up his sayings, 
 and ponder them in her heart. 
 
 Those who have not been accustomed to minute 
 observation of infancy, may smile at the notion of 
 feeling respect for a babe that has not completed its 
 first twelvemonth. Yet a volatile youth, who was 
 accustomed to play idle tricks for the diversion of a 
 train of juvenile relations, said of one little girl of the 
 group, " I cannot play the fool with that babe, her look 
 fills me with respect." That babe was removed w T hile 
 still in infancy ; therefore we cannot say whether her 
 growing years would have confirmed the sentiment. 
 But the observation is brought to mind in recalling the 
 infancy of Mary Lundie ; and those who knew her, 
 know that youth and womanhood in her served but to 
 strengthen that sentiment. It is true she was the first- 
 born, and, perhaps on that account, each new attain- 
 ment was marked with a degree of admiring wonder, 
 
MABY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 11 
 
 which the more experienced might fitil to participate ; 
 but those who were admitted to the sanctuary of the 
 nursery, may remember how often her benign smiles 
 were remarked, and how a hood used to be thrown 
 around her infant features, to exhibit a striking re- 
 semblance to a portrait of Madame de Guion. The 
 resemblance in feature was probably imaginary — the 
 similarity of devotional character seemed, to one deeply 
 interested observer at least, to run parallel in each stage 
 of its development, and to have become most of all 
 complete when nearest the close. Her early love for 
 flowers ; her delight, even in the first years of child- 
 hood, in a sunset sky and in vernal breezes ; the poetry 
 and music of her mind, — were not more in harmony with 
 the character of that amiable but mistaken woman, than 
 her strict self-examinations, her severe judgments of 
 herself, her prayerfulness, and her pity for the poor. 
 
 It was in the spring of 1814 that this cherished child 
 first saw the light, when the orchards that surround 
 the manse of Kelso were, as her revered and tender 
 father used to say, " a blaze of blossoms." Mr Lundie's 
 usual designation of her was, "rny sweet bud born 
 amongst blossoms." She had not reached her second 
 year without discerning and sympathizing in his passion 
 for flowers ; and the cherished enjoyment of both was, 
 that her tiny hands should furnish the primrose which 
 was to shine all day in his button-hole. 
 
 Those who knew and loved them both, will forgive 
 the mention of a slight incident, which has been drawn 
 from its long retreat in the cells of memory by recent 
 sorrow : — The infant florist had been attracted by a 
 rich and pearly hyacinth, the pride of the parterre, and, 
 unconscious of its value, snapt its succulent stem with 
 all her little force, and tottered to her father's knee, 
 
12 MEMOIR OF 
 
 crying out with lively joy, " Pretty fewer, papa ; pretty 
 lower," The mingling of regret that the splendours of 
 such a favourite were cut off in the midst, with his 
 admiration of the taste and energy of the achievement 
 of the little spoiler, and sympathy with her joy in 
 making him such a gift, were all expressed in turn ; 
 and, after regrets and thanks, he resorted to the plan 
 of cutting the mangled stem and placing it in w r ater, 
 where it stood for many days shedding its decaying 
 odours. Will it seem unreasonable^that, after a lapse 
 of more than three-and-twenty years, amid the howling 
 blast of a sunless day in January, leaning against a 
 couch on which rested the pale and cold drapery ot 
 death, one survivor should suddenly have the silver 
 tones of that fair child recalled, repeating, " Pretty 
 fower, papa ;" and feel as if the incident had been pro- 
 phetic of her own early fate 1 
 
 With half her blossoms expanded to the extent of 
 beauty and fragrance, another portion only bursting 
 into life, and still another scarcely formed into the 
 rudiment of buds, — there lay the flower, bruised and 
 broken. Whatever of promise rested on its prolific 
 spike, never would unfold itself in this nether region. 
 And what is that survivor doing now, but faintly en- 
 deavouring to preserve its dying fragrance, that it may 
 be shed for a shortly extended period on those who 
 loved, and cherished, and admired the flower. 
 
 " O solitary thought, albeit not sad, 
 Thy vein is less allied to joy than sorrow; 
 Less prophet than remembrancer, thy scope 
 Embraces yesterday, but ne'er to-morrow. 
 Yet, though pale memory be seldom glad, 
 A truer fonder friend is she than hope." 
 
 It may be thought that the cradle and the grave are 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 13 
 
 here brought too closely together. But for how brief 
 a space, even when life is prolonged, are they ever 
 severed ? How often is their union complete ? and 
 when the years that intervene, be they many or few, 
 have been used to accomplish the two great purposes 
 of our being, — to glorify our God while we live, and to 
 enjoy his blessed presence when we die, — we need not 
 shrink from combining the day of our birth with the 
 day of our death. Many of the letters of mourning 
 friends, which that sad month of January produced, 
 referred to scenes and sports of infancy and childhood ; 
 and from them may be gleaned reminiscences which 
 are free from the suspicion of parental partiality. 
 
 The nurse, whose faithful care for many years aided 
 in the training of the little family, wrote, on hearing of 
 Mary's death, i; When I think of all her goodness, when 
 quite a child, it is the greatest comfort to me. How 
 very exact she was in her prayers when only a babe ! 
 She was as soon at her Lord's work as any of the 
 worthies that ever I read of; and I often fancy I see 
 their pretty white heads kneeling before they went to 
 bed, — the one that could not speak following the example 
 of the others." The same truthful chronicler has since 
 recalled an incident, which occurred about Mary's 
 fourth year. Her little brother had struck her on the 
 cheek in a fit of anger. She instantly turned the other 
 cheek, arid said mildly, " There, Corie." The uplifted 
 hand was dropt ; and when the child was asked who 
 taught her to do that, she replied, that she heard papa 
 read it one morning out of the Bible at prayer time. 
 This is not only an evidence that this child early gave 
 her understanding to what was read to her, but a hint 
 to all parents that it is not a matter of no moment 
 whether very young children are made to be present at 
 
14 MEMOIR OF 
 
 domestic duties ; for not only is the habit acquired of 
 waiting on God in the way He has appointed, but the 
 mind, in the midst of its flickering attention, gleans 
 some precious things, which are stored up amongst its 
 treasures. 
 
 Her reflective habit was evinced by her self-admoni- 
 tion, when any accident befel her. If she dropt any 
 thing, or fell herself when running, she used not to cry, 
 but to say, "Now /see ! " in imitation of nurse, who 
 used to say, " Now you see," when the neglect of her 
 warnings was productive of mischief. The manner of the 
 little reflector was so unusual, so grave, and yet so comic, 
 that " now I see " became the by- word of the house. 
 
 She learned to read so quickly, that her mode of 
 making the acquisition was scarcely discerned by her 
 teacher ; so that, long before she was five years old, she 
 could be quite absorbed in the delights of " George and 
 his Penny," or, " The Raven and the Dove ; " and it 
 was not till the more tedious and difficult process of 
 teaching her brother was encountered, that the fact was 
 ascertained, of her having exhibited unusual rapidity in 
 mastering the art. 
 
 Her imagination, naturally lively and poetical, would 
 easily have imbibed a deep tinge of romance, and thus 
 it became important to guide her early avidity for books 
 of all descriptions, so as to protect her mind from the 
 inflammatory influence of works of unprincipled fiction. 
 This was not difficult in circumstances where any in- 
 jurious book was easily excluded ; but not quite so 
 easy was it to deprive indulgent friends of the delight 
 of pouring into her willing ears the tales she was most 
 glad to listen to. The effect of these on her early child- 
 hood was visible instantly, so that a story of a good little 
 girl, whose goodness seemed to consist in her glossy 
 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 15 
 
 curls, her snow-white frock and blue sash, or in her 
 leading a pet lamb with a wreath of daisies round its 
 head, would, for days together, confuse her ideas of what 
 good and evil consist in. 
 
 Her fancy kindled at the description of a May-pole ; 
 and to this may be traced the style of sports adopted at 
 her suggestion by a group of play-fellows, some of whom 
 are now dispersed over the world ; but, with the ex- 
 ception of herself and her sister, none of whom as yet 
 have been called to leave it. A letter from her father 
 describes her bringing in her little brother and sister to 
 the breakfast table, wreathed round and round with 
 flowers of her weaving, and called by her " ivy-gods," 
 in honour of the jubilee of the expected return of their 
 mother, after a brief absence. In the midst of her joy- 
 ful preparations, a letter was brought, stating that the 
 return was delayed, when, instead of grieving or losing 
 temper at her disappointment, she instantly addressed 
 herself to console and amuse the little ones with her usual 
 sweetness. Another letter describes " Mary as melted 
 with a story about the sorrows of life, and quite up in 
 the air, and full of poetry and sentiment, about May-day 
 gambols." The date of this letter being February 1821, 
 she was not then seven years of age. 
 
 These exhibitions of her early excitability are not 
 named to prove precocity of talent. Perhaps many girls 
 are more advanced than she was. The object is rather 
 to afford an opportunity of showing the measures adopted 
 to prevent her imagination from outgrowing and injuring 
 her other mental powers. This was done, not by forc- 
 ing didactic lectures on her, which would have wearied 
 without instructing, or more likely have let her attention 
 loose from her lesson, to wander over the very regions 
 from which it was desirable she should be withdrawn ; 
 
16 MEMOIR OF 
 
 but by giving her histories from real life, scripture, and 
 others, within her comprehension, such as the " The 
 True Story-Book," which is the delight of unsophis- 
 ticated children, and by talking to her always, from 
 infancy, as if she were a reasonable being. If she had 
 imagination enough to enkindle her sympathies on the 
 side of the modest young lady, of whom she was told by a 
 tale-telling friend, that she went to the ball in simple white 
 with a lily in her hair, when all the rest were sparkling 
 in diamonds, etc., etc., she had also good sense enough 
 to perceive, when it was pointed out to her, that the 
 M simple white and the lily" were not points of radical 
 difference, and that, if the occupation and mind were 
 equally vain, it mattered little whether the parties were 
 decked in stones or in flowers. 
 
 The Sabbath evening occupations are still remembered 
 with sweet satisfaction by such of the now far dispersed 
 little company as are alive, and remain ; — and, perhaps, 
 to describe them may not be without its use. After, 
 reciting the questions which had been acquired before 
 morning hours of public worship, "Watts' Infant Cate- 
 chism being the first, the children repeated in turn, 
 what verse of a hymn they could, and all sung it to- 
 gether ; and still the dying cadences of those young, but 
 well-tuned voices, hang on memory's ear, and still the 
 happy countenance of that one whose privilege it was 
 to select the hymn is seen by the mind's eye. Then, 
 in turn, they repeated any text they knew, and ques- 
 tioned each other on its meaning, as had been done to 
 them when first they learned it ; and^when all this was 
 accomplished, they considered themselves entitled to ask 
 for a " Sunday story." After being indulged in this, 
 the story formed subject of inquiry and discussion, and 
 scripture proof wherein the actors in the story did wrong 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 17 
 
 or right The stories were not from scripture history 
 
 generally, but anecdotes picked up everywhere. All 
 this having taken place before the system of infant school 
 teaching was introduced, seemed, to some, impracticable 
 in a company of babes ; but experience justified the plan, 
 and sufficient evidence is now happily furnished in every 
 town, that the infant mind is capable of acquiring, re- 
 taining, and applying a great variety of knowledge. 
 Already did little Mary begin to exercise an influence in 
 her circle ; for, if the leader of the band was withdrawn 
 for a time, she was always found repeating an old 
 " Sunday story " that she remembered, or inducing the 
 rest to sing, or say their texts to her. These exercises, 
 in some part of which prayer was introduced, would 
 occupy us all for two hours, without a shade of weari- 
 ness, and seem to dispel the difficulty which many pious 
 parents express of keeping their children suitably em- 
 ployed on the Lord's day. They were not kept from 
 weariness by allowing them to return to the nursery 
 to their toys ; for a regular occupation of Saturday night 
 was to put all these away, and, except a picture Bible, 
 they never sought for a Sabbath amusement. 
 
 A friend, whose untiring interest in the progress of 
 the little family was the occasion of her being made the 
 recipient of many a written anecdote, has furnished the 
 following, which are introduced as specimens of very 
 early attention to what was read, and of healthful exercise 
 of the thinking powers : — The history of Elymas the 
 sorcerer was read to them, — Cornelius, with his bold de- 
 cided judgment, exclaimed, " Blind! I would have struck 
 him dumb for speaking against the gospel." Mary, per- 
 haps afraid of the freedom of the criticism, replied, " Oh 
 no, Corie ! blinding him was best, for he might repent, 
 and then you know he could speak for the gospel." 
 
 E 
 
18 MEMOIR OF 
 
 On another occasion, Corie, not feeling well, was 
 resting on the rug, and rather fretful. He was told that 
 he ought not to complain, as he must learn, in whatso- 
 ever state he was, to be therewith contented. His 
 sister, who, seated on a stool, was trying to use a needle 
 and thread, looking up considerately, put the puzzling 
 query, " Mamma, would you be contented if your head 
 was in the mouth of a lion ?" While pondering what 
 reply would be most suitable, the dilemma was removed 
 by the little boy rearing from his listlessness, and saying, 
 " yes ! she would ; for you know the lion could not 
 eat her soul." 
 
 Inexperienced instructors are accused of being un- 
 necessarily strict disciplinarians, and there is much 
 weight in the French maxim, " pas trop gouvemer." To 
 cast occupations in the way of children, and leave them 
 to pursue their natural taste in selection ; to guide and 
 restrain, but not to dictate in matters of amusement, 
 leaves more play to the taste and genius, and generally 
 gives more zest to enjoyment. 
 
 This firstling of the ilock required teaching, as she 
 had no example of older children ; but so ductile was her 
 mind, and so flexible her disposition, and so miserable 
 was she at the idea of having done wrong, that she 
 required less restraining than most children ; and the 
 experience of later years seems to point out, that she 
 might have been disciplined through all her childhood, 
 without the use of punishment at all. On one occasion, 
 when, for some little fault, she was put behind the sofa, 
 under sentence of remaining there for ten minutes, her 
 anguish and tears were mistaken in their bitterness for 
 a. tit of passion ; and she was told that, if she did not 
 command herself and be quiet, she should remain there 
 double the time. She still stretched her little arms and 
 
I 
 
 MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 1 ( .> 
 
 1 out, " Forgive me ! forgive me !" and when 
 asked how she could expect to be forgiven whili 
 cried and wanted to come out, she at last was able to 
 explain, that, were she but forgiven, she would stay 
 there quietly all day if she was told. This is a sample 
 of her general disposition ; the idea of having offended 
 her parents, and, above all, of having sinned against God, 
 inflicted, from earliest childhood, the keenest misery on 
 her sensitive mind. 
 
 Though her tears flowed so readily on subjects that 
 wounded feeling, she could endure a considerable 
 amount of bodily pain without complaint. On one 
 occasion, while being chased round the room by an 
 orphan girl, who for a time found a home in the manse, 
 Mary fell against the corner of a brass nailed chair, and 
 had a long gash made in her plump cheek. The stream 
 of blood which quickly stained her clothes, the tears of 
 the poor girl who. caused the mischief, and the anxious 
 countenances of all the circle, in addition to her own 
 suffering, drew no tears from her. The friendly old 
 family surgeon finished his task of clasping the wound, 
 by saying, " There, my little lass, I hope that will heal, 
 without marring your beauty." The child replied with 
 her native politeness, " Thank you, sir," and then, 
 turning to nurse, on whose knee she was held, she said, 
 in a confidential sotto voce, " That is a kebber (clever; 
 doctor." 
 
 Though thus hardy in her own powers of endurance, 
 she was tender to all living things. A loved relative 
 and occasional companion from her earliest years. 
 " one of the first remembrances I have of her, was her 
 gently rebuking me (with no intention to rebuke, but 
 with an evident surprise), for killing a spider, instead of 
 putting it out of the window." 
 
20 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Outward observers could not tell the time when Mary- 
 did not appear to be under a gracious influence. But in 
 her thirteenth year, — when in preparation for uniting in 
 the sacred comro union services, she conversed with her 
 parents, and was led to reveal more of her inward views 
 than was usual with her, — she herself stated, that the 
 first time she remembered to have felt the Spirit of the 
 Lord moving her to anxiety about her soul, and to 
 prayer, was in her seventh year, on her recovery from 
 a severe fever. 
 
 Her constitution seemed to be constructed with a fe- 
 verish tendency; for several times, at intervals of years, 
 she had serious attacks of fever ; and in this, her first 
 visit of that disease, she seemed as near the brink of the 
 grave as she ever seemed in her last, till within a brief 
 period of her spirit's being set free. Days and nights of 
 watching were passed, when her faculties were shut up 
 from those around her. She did not speak, and saw 
 very imperfectly; she could not swallow, and was con- 
 jectured not to hear. Yet, when her strength came 
 again, she mentioned that she heard, and sometimes was 
 able to give her attention to what was said, — that whis- 
 pering in the room disturbed and irritated her more than 
 speaking in the natural voice, — that she often was com- 
 forted by the prayers which were offered by her bed, 
 and she was glad if a hymn or text was repeated, and 
 grieved that she could make no sign to indicate that she 
 wished for more. Amongst other things which reached 
 her watchful mind, she named her gladness when she 
 understood that a dear christian brother, who preached, 
 was to pray for her in church. She also understood a 
 conference between her medical attendants, who dis- 
 cussed by her bed the improbability of her surviving 
 the night, and (lookers-on might well have been sur- 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 21 
 
 prised, had they known the effect of this medical opinion) 
 felt in herself that they were mistaken, for she was not 
 
 dving ! From these circumstances, lessons may be 
 drawn by those who are about the sick; not that they 
 are new, for they have been urged and laid down many 
 a time in medical books, but in most cases they are not 
 practised. First, that whispering excites nervous irri- 
 tation and suspicion in the patient. Second, that the 
 sick, whether they seem to hear or to have perfect com- 
 mand of their intellectual powers or not, ought invari- 
 ably to be dealt with as if they had, in all that is said 
 within their hearing. And, third, that words of com- 
 fort and instruction, such words as the Lord Jesus 
 Christ has furnished us with, ought still to be poured 
 into ears which, for aught we know, are not unconscious, 
 and that prayer ought to be made not only for, but with 
 them. 
 
 After many days of keen suffering, and of intellectual 
 seclusion, the little patient was revived, and the more 
 hopeful task was vouchsafed to her nurses, to strengthen 
 and raise her up again. She very soon asked to be read 
 to, and would have listened more than her feebleness 
 rendered it safe to allow ; and, weak though her eyes 
 were, she used herself to read with avidity a book con- 
 sisting of meditations and hymns adapted to the capacity 
 of childhood, and exhibiting the " Good Shepherd " in 
 terms somewhat suited to his gracious office and tender 
 care. She would not trust any one to remove this 
 favourite little book out of her reach, but hid it under 
 her pillow, when, from fatigue, she could read no more. 
 At this time, she said nothing to her friends about her 
 serious impressions, warmly as her heart went out to 
 them ; but her love for religious converse, and her own 
 personal share in what she had opportunity to listen to of 
 
22 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the experience of her seniors, might be conjectured from 
 the frequent tears, and the expression of tender anxiety 
 in her wan but sweet countenance. 
 
 After being restored to health, her solicitude about 
 the conduct and condition of the junior members of her 
 family was more actively exhibited ; and her brother, 
 who was not much }-ounger than herself, betrayed his 
 consciousness of a restraining influence, which was pro- 
 bably not always welcome to his bolder spirit, by calling 
 her " the magistrate." The term is not indicative of 
 any thing overbearing and unseemly on her part, but of 
 guidance and restraint. And well does it become the 
 parent, who felt her worth as influencing the whole 
 circle for good, to acknowledge, in adoring gratitude, 
 the bounty of Him who bestowed so gracious a child. 
 In a letter addressed to a bosom friend, when Mary was 
 still but in her eighth year, this expression of grateful 
 acknowledgment is given, and will at least prove that 
 the admiration is no afterthought, but was parallel with 
 her days as they passed : — 
 
 lary and Corie are very busy with their teacher. 
 Mary improves in industry, understanding, affection, 
 and duty every day. I sometimes wonder how she ever 
 was given to us ; and sometimes wonder too (for con- 
 science does not allow me to enjoy such an undeserved 
 blessing in peace), if she is to be taken soon home, or 
 if she is to be the kind eldest daughter of a motherless 
 family." 
 
 From about this time, when the business of instruc- 
 tion was set about in earnest, the services of a tutor were 
 engaged, and the education of the family conducted, 
 without distinction of sex, in the subjects to which their 
 minds were applied ; and Mary, as the elder, led the van 
 in every lesson. By and by she was permitted daily to 
 
 
HART LUNDIE DUN< 23 
 
 an hour or two with two christian friends at her 
 needle, in addition to her other lessons, and to them she 
 occasionally betrayed more of the working of her heart 
 than she could do to her parents. For example, she 
 asked why it was that, when she had an earnest desire 
 to pray, and went to her knees, she could not. The child 
 seemed distressed about it, and felt it a burden. 
 
 She benefited much by the converse of these faithful 
 friends, and remembered them with grateful sympathy 
 during the rest of her life. They had occasion to remark 
 her sensitive nature under rebuke, and her concern when 
 she had fallen into error. Sometimes, when she went 
 to them, she would say, "I felt very stupid at lessons 
 to-day, and mamma was not pleased with me," and the 
 tear in her eye evinced her uneasiness. On the arrival 
 of a relation of theirs from a distance, a girl of nearly 
 her own age, she embraced the opportunity of their fre- 
 quent intercourse, to seek to influence her for the good 
 of her soul ; and, when alone, would pray with her. 
 With her own brothers and sisters, as they advanced in 
 numbers and in understanding, she delighted to engage 
 in the same sacred exercise ; and, however her affections 
 mi^ht be extended to other companions, she seemed to 
 feel an absence of perfect cordiality if she did not meet 
 in them sympathy in spiritual things. 
 
 Her delicate musical ear, and sweet voice, were soon 
 engaged in singing with the spirit and understanding ; 
 and so contemplative was her nature, that the liveliest 
 joys of childhood would have been forsaken at any time 
 for a lonely walk on the ever lovely banks of her ad- 
 mired Tweed, or for a few minutes of pious converse or 
 singing with an older friend. 
 
 It is not easy to say at what date her relish for the 
 beauties of nature was enhanced, by looking beyond 
 
24 MEMOIR OF 
 
 them to the power and munificence of the God of crea- 
 tion, combined with the compassion and love of the God 
 of redemption. Her early attempts at noting with her 
 pen the thoughts of her heart, exhibit the play of poetic 
 imagery and sentiment, together with efforts at reflec- 
 tion and sober views of a state of existence beyond this 
 world. 
 
 The following verses have been recently found in a box 
 of juvenile keepsakes, and similar treasures. Judging 
 by the writing, they may be referred to her eleventh or 
 twelfth year : — 
 
 " How sweet are those delightful dreams, 
 
 That charm in youth's first days of hloom ; 
 And sweet those radiant sunshine gleams, 
 That wander through surrounding gloom ! 
 
 And bright are fancy's fairy bowers, 
 And sweet the flowers that round she flings ; 
 
 When in gay youth's romantic hours 
 She shows all fair and lovely things. 
 
 But ah! there is a land above, 
 
 Whose pleasures never fade away ; 
 A holy land of bliss and love, 
 
 Where night is lost in endless day. 
 
 And in the blaze of that blest day, 
 
 All earthly bowers we deemed so bright, 
 
 Must fade, as when the sun's first ray 
 Dispels the darkness of the night. 
 
 Why should my soul so fondly cling 
 
 To joys that bless my pilgrimage? 
 The joys of heaven I ought to sing, 
 
 Its raptures all my love engage. 
 
 Why should my spirit fear to die ? 
 
 What though the river may be deep? 
 When past, I never more shall siglr; 
 
 My eyes shall then forget to weep. 
 
 O ! for faith's bright and eagle eye, 
 
 To pierce beyond this vale of tears, 
 To regions blest above the sky, 
 
 To worlds unknown by lapse of years. 
 
 
MARY LUND1E DUNCAN. 23 
 
 Then should the toys that tempt me now, 
 
 From my enraptured bosom fiy ; 
 In faith and grace my soul shall grow, 
 
 Till death be lost in victory." 
 
 The following outpouring of a refined spirit, panting 
 after earthly enjoyments of an ethereal character, she 
 has entitled 
 
 " IMAGININGS. 
 
 I've imaged a land where flowers are growing 
 
 In pristine sweetness all the year, 
 And purest crystal streams are flowing-, 
 
 And sunbeams kiss the waters clear. 
 
 Where music's voice, the hours beguiling, 
 
 Comes floating on the summer air ; 
 Where beaming suns are mildly smiling, 
 
 And cloudless skies are ever fair. 
 
 But darkness here the daylight closes, 
 
 And storms obscure the sunlit sky ; 
 And thorns are mingled with our roses ; 
 
 While joy is round us, grief is nigh. 
 
 () ! were I in that land of gladness 
 
 I've imaged fair within my breast, 
 Then farewell to grief and sadness, 
 
 Welcome soul-refreshing rest. 
 
 Within the leafy grot reclining, 
 
 While balmy breezes round me played, 
 I'd gaze on scenes all brightly shining, 
 
 With nought to make my heart afraid 
 
 My heart should rise, with nature blending, 
 
 In one sweet song of harmony ; 
 Each lovely object round me tending 
 
 To make my soul all melody." 
 
 The very severe and protracted indisposition of a 
 sister, three years younger than herself, which deprived 
 the family, for many months, of all maternal superin- 
 tendence, extended a double gloom over the house of 
 mourning. The children were all suffering from hoop- 
 ing-cough at the time that her sister was first deprived 
 
26 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of the use of her limbs, and then, for some months, of 
 sight, by inflammation in the brain and spine. Poor 
 Mary faded, and lost appetite day by day ; and at the 
 hour of the medical visit, when the dear sufferer's eyes 
 were bandaged, that the light of a candle might be intro- 
 duced to the chamber, which at all other times was in a 
 state of midnight darkness, it was mournful to remark, 
 as the little group crowded around that bed of anguish, 
 that Mary's cheek was pale and her eye dim ; and, while 
 the younger ones sought to say something cheering to 
 the dear sufferer, she could only shrink behind the cur- 
 tain to shroud her tears. It was, therefore, found ne- 
 cessary to send her away from the scene ; and she was 
 indebted for a home to sympathizing and intelligent re- 
 latives, who cheered her, without leading her to forget 
 those in whose distress it became her to partake. 
 
 The housekeeper in that family lately expressed, with 
 tears, her loving remembrance of the little guest ; and 
 said, that a girl of her own age, who had been invited as 
 her companion, remarked to her, " Mary, you always 
 pray out of your own mind ; but I say the prayers my 
 mamma has taught me." She replied, " Anna, if I were 
 to do that, how could I ask for what I need from God ! " 
 This little circumstance gives evidence that prayer was 
 with her experienced to be real intercourse with her 
 Father in heaven. 
 
 No juvenile letters appear connected with that period, 
 when the rod of the holy God was laid so sharply on her 
 house ; but the impression left on the bereaved circle, 
 when it was removed, was that Mary had redoubled zeal 
 and sweetness in regard to divine things. Her return to 
 the Sabbath-school in her mourning garb, and re-oc- 
 cupying her place, with a solemn view of her respon- 
 sibility for the use of each Sabbath, while the place of 
 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 
 
 or sister was filled by another, was observed to be 
 with her a time of increased prayer and watchfulness; 
 
 and the idea of a sister dwelling in the presence of J< 
 seemed to sublimate her thoughts, and give her a sedate- 
 ness that never left her again. 
 
 Though then only in her eleventh year, and alv 
 full of sweet flexibility of temper, that led her to enter 
 with readiness into the interests and engagements of 
 others, to Mary there was an end of May-day gam- 
 bols, of constructing grottos, of taking the lead in lively 
 games. Converse with her seniors, listening when they 
 conversed, reading, writing, and enjoying the green 
 earth and sky alone, seemed to be all the excitement she 
 desired. During the communion services in the early 
 spring of her twelfth year, when she was in delicate 
 health, a letter from one, whose watchful eye took in 
 much that was not made subject of conversation, con- 
 tains this remark : — " Dear Mary had a melting day on 
 Sabbath, weeping and praying for more love. She was 
 able to be in church for a short time. I trust there are 
 many gracious marks about her." 
 
 The next winter she. with trembling and humble 
 anxiety, asked if she might be counted worthy to ap- 
 proach the table of the Lord. Her father told her that 
 he hoped and believed that she loved her Lord now, and 
 as the communion is an ordinance in which He reveals 
 himself to those w T ho love Him, he saw no reason why 
 she should be held back on account of age ; and he 
 trusted she would be strengthened to perseverance by 
 partaking of it. She then requested to be permitted to 
 share in the instructions of a faithful friend of her father, 
 hoping for more guidance, as she felt that her parents 
 had already told her all they could on the affecting sub- 
 ject. This request was most cordially acceded to, and she 
 
28 MEMOIR OF 
 
 passed some time in the family of the Rev. Mr Hunter, 
 then of Swinton. She returned from those affectionate 
 friends and faithful servants of the Lord, accompanied by 
 expressions of increased love on their part, and of delight 
 with her ductility, and congratulations to her parents on 
 having received from God the gift of such a child. 
 
 While absent, she wrote little notes, which exhibit the 
 state of her mind : — " I fear I am not sufficiently anxious 
 about preparing ; but earnestly desire to be more so. 
 Please write to me soon and stir me up. I know you 
 pray for me." — " I hope to have a letter from you. O! 
 I feel that I do not love God enough. I feel that I am 
 very sinful, and backward in laying down my burden 
 at the foot of my Redeemer's cross. But I desire to love 
 God. I feel that, if I had no hope in Him, I should be 
 miserable indeed. O ! I cannot think what there is in 
 the world that makes us so ready to do as our wicked 
 adversary bids us, rather than to follow after our Lord, 
 who hath first loved us. But still I know that God will 
 not leave me to myself. He knows the most secret 
 thoughts of my heart, and knows the way to purify me 
 to himself. * He has seen my ways, and will heal me. 
 Having loved his own, He will love them to the end ; 
 He will not suffer his faithfulness to fail/ " " When I 
 come home you will counsel me, and lead me closer to 
 my God. O, how I wish for a closer walk with God ! 
 and I know that in his own good time He will grant me 
 this desire of my heart." 
 
 No written memorial of this affecting point in the 
 young Christian's pilgrimage appears, but it dwells in 
 memory as a time of much tenderness of spirit, and 
 mutual prayer ; and one remarkable result experienced 
 by her earthly guardians was, that she seemed now de- 
 voted and sealed an heir of God, and joint heir with 
 
MABY LUNPIE DUNCAN. 
 
 Christ ; so that, although, as still in the wildernes 
 
 continued an object of tender care and anxiety, vet the 
 great matter waa settled. The good work was not only 
 clearly begun in her soul, but advancing steadily ; and 
 her gracious God, to whom she had given herself, was 
 
 pk-dged to carry it on till the day of the Lord Jesus. 
 
 Her education from this time went on rapidly under 
 her tutor, with such assistance as Kelso afforded, in those 
 points of cultivation peculiar to her sex, till she entered 
 her fifteenth year. From various essays in prose and 
 verse which had been appointed as exercises for her mind, 
 her versification of a well-known Greek ode is selected, 
 as it peculiarly delighted her father, on account of the 
 harmony and freedom of its numbers. The subject is 
 Danae with tht infant Perseus. Her tutor read it to 
 her in English prose, and she repaid him by the follow- 
 ing verses : — 
 
 k - INVOCATION. 
 
 Ye srentle muses, I invoke your aid : 
 
 Ye dwellers in Parnassus, hear my prayer : 
 
 To tune your lyre assist a simple maid. 
 And make her numbers your peculiar care. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 The winds and waves were softly sighing 
 
 O'er the billowy heaving- main ; 
 'The sea-bird was all wildly crying, 
 And soaring- o'er the watery plain. 
 
 And there a chest, in gentle motion, 
 Was lifted with the rising wave, 
 
 As floating on the restless ocean, 
 It hasted to a sea-beat grave. 
 
 Imprisoned in this darksome dwelling:, 
 There lay a lady and a child: 
 
 Her bosom was with sorrow swelling: 
 And thus she spake in accents wild: 
 
30 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ' With grief, my son, my heart is breaking, 
 For feist we're drifting 1 to the tomb, 
 While thou thy sweet repose art taking, 
 Unmindful of our coming doom. 
 
 * How canst thou lie in breathing slumber 
 
 Within this darksome prison room, 
 While bars and bolts in countless number 
 Confine us in eternal gloom ? 
 
 * Thou heedest not the wild waves moaning, 
 
 With purple mantle round thee thrown ; 
 Thou hearest not thy mother's groaning, — 
 I pour my wail to winds alone , r 
 
 4 Thou, who with pleasure used to hearken, 
 
 And make my will thy law, by choice, 
 Would'st now, when tempests round us darken, 
 Attend, if thou couldst hear my voice. 
 
 ' Ah ! still unconscious press thy pillow, 
 
 Tranced in sweet slumbers, dearest child : 
 Hush, hush, thou deep, each murmuring billow ! 
 Be still, be still, ye breakers wild ! 
 
 ' My soul, my heart, is rending — breaking ; 
 Be still, my woe. — be still, be still ! 
 In deep, deep sleep that knows no waking - 
 Be sunk, ye phantoms, all of ill ! ' " 
 
 In the selection of texts to be learned as one of the 
 early nursery exercises, there had been a view, from the 
 first, to such as could be most usefully employed in 
 prayer ; and as soon as the mind was strengthened suf- 
 ficiently to apply them, the children were accustomed 
 to compose prayers by the combination of one, two, or 
 three of these texts in the form of petitions ; so that 
 prayers were dictated by those who could not yet write, 
 and were written in all the initiatory stages of penman- 
 ship. Except the Lord's Prayer, they were scarcely 
 taught any thing approaching to a form, from the con- 
 viction, that the habit of exerting the mind to discover 
 its own wants, and to employ the continually increasing 
 store of scripture in seeking for their supply, was a likely 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 31 
 
 way to ward off heedlessness and formality in this 
 employment. After being exercised in this manner for 
 a while, they were gradually brought to pray in turn on 
 some part of the Sabbath-day ; and they who devised 
 the little plan have reason to praise Him who giveth the 
 increase, for He shed on it the dew of his blessing. The 
 want of this species of training, forms, in many, an im- 
 pediment to social usefulness lor life ; they may pray 
 with the spirit, but for want of practice they are con- 
 strained to be silent when it would be for edification 
 that they should speak: and, while it is readily conceded 
 that fluency does not necessarily ensure spiritual prayer. 
 it must also be admitted that spiritual prayer without 
 utterance is not capable of being helpful and consolatory 
 to others. 
 
 How many a sick person is visited in the spirit of 
 christian love.- but quitted with a feeling of imperfection 
 in the performance ot the duty, because the blessing of 
 His Spirit, who alone can make good counsel to grow, 
 has not been invoked ! How many a class for instruc- 
 tion is opened and closed without prayer, which, when 
 sincerely offered, acts as a framework or enclosure to 
 hedge in the good seed, and shelter it from the birds of 
 the air that are so ready to carry it away ! Were the 
 teachers or visitors of the sick habituated from early 
 days to fashion petitions for themselves, and to pray 
 with members of their own family occasionally, all em- 
 barrassment would be avoided, and one temptation to 
 the omission of tins duty would be removed. This sub- 
 ject is dwelt on with the more earnestness, because, in 
 these times of rapid movement, when families quit their 
 scenes of studv to be suddenly scattered to the ends of 
 the earth, their own consolation and stedfastness, and 
 their means of usefulness to others,cannot fail to be pro- 
 
32 MEMOIR OF 
 
 moted by readiness in prayer. By this gift they may 
 have the honour to assist in hastening the latter day 
 glories ; without it they may be obliged to see their 
 brother have need of spiritual aid, and stand silent 
 by. 
 
 A prayer of Mary Lundie, preserved by the care of a 
 maternal friend, has just been forwarded from its long 
 hiding-place, which is of too great length for insertion, 
 but which contains the outlines of those holy desires 
 that in maturer years are to be seen in her diary. The * 
 iuvenility of some expressions proves the youth of the 
 petitioner, while intercession for the sick, the ungodly, the 
 heathen, for ministers and for missionaries, proves that 
 her heart was already expanded in christian love to 
 embrace the world, and to desire that Christ should be 
 glorified by the salvation of all men. Her interest in 
 the extension of the Redeemer's kingdom was early 
 exhibited. Having heard it suggested in the Sabbath 
 school that the children gave nothing of their own if 
 they begged pence from their parents, and that they 
 ought to exercise self-denial, and give to the missionary 
 cause money which they would have expended on their 
 own indulgences, Mary asked that she might eat her 
 bread without butter, and the price be given her for 
 the mission box. 
 
 About this time a watch, which was an old family 
 piece, was presented to Mary by two much loved and 
 highly esteemed relatives. Her grateful acceptance of 
 the gift, and moral musings on its use, were expressed 
 in the following lines : — 
 
 "Believe me, dear ladies, tho' long I've delay'cl 
 
 To return for your present the thanks that are duo, 
 My heart has its tribute of gratitude paid, 
 And now that heart's tribute I offer to vou. 
 
 
MAKY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 33 
 
 How pure is its substance ! how brightly it shines ! 
 
 Its springs with what beauty and order they move 
 But charms more delightful than these it combines, 
 
 Since it comes as a pledge of affection and love. 
 
 When I list to its voice, that's so constant and low, 
 It seems to be warning me, Time will not stay ; 
 
 It tells the swift moments, as onward they flow 
 In the stillness of night and the bustle of day. 
 
 And thirty years past (passing strange does it seem), 
 
 It numbered the hours as they fleeted away ; 
 Before I beheld the fair day's cheering beam, 
 
 Its voice was the same as I hear it to-day. 
 
 Ah ! 'tis a reproof to fond man's foolish care, 
 
 "Who treasures for earth as his ultimate joy, 
 That the gay and the lovely, the bright and the fair, 
 
 To mem'ry are lost before this little toy. 
 
 Let it teach me to work in the days that are given ; 
 
 Let it teach me to flee from the follies of earth • 
 Let it teach me to garner a treasure in heaven, 
 
 And esteem sacred wisdom more precious than mirth. 
 
 And may you, my dear friends, while your journey endures, 
 In improvement. of time and in happiness dwell ; 
 
 Enjoy the repose that religion ensures : 
 Peace and comfort be with you,— dear ladies, farewell ! " 
 
34 MEMOIR OF 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SCHOOL DAYS. 
 
 It is not uncommon for those who are seeking, with a 
 prayerful spirit, to pursue the plans which seem best 
 adapted to an end, to feel themselves arrested by their 
 frustration, and thus constrained to trace back all their 
 motives, and the elements on which their judgment was 
 formed, with a view to discover the occasion of their 
 failure. There is one, however, and that the sovereign 
 element, at work in the history of the child of God, 
 which is often invisible even to the eye of faith, until 
 it is enabled to cast its glance back over the finished 
 history of that child. When we enter into the sanctuary 
 of God, we become aware that, while we were in pursuit 
 of one species of attainments, the Holy One, regardless 
 of our limited wishes, was, in his own way, pursuing 
 his will, which was the sanctiScation of the object of 
 our care. Under this new aspect, we perceive that what 
 we deemed a disappointment was in fact a blessing, and 
 that, instead of our Father in heaven declining to co- 
 operate with us, He is fulfilling our dearest desires by 
 taking the work into his own hand. 
 
 This was remarkably verified in the first year that 
 Mary was separated from her family. It was with 
 trembling and prayerful anxiety that the resolution was 
 come to of parting with one so lovely, so sensitive, and 
 so reflecting ; and the selection of the school to which 
 she was to be entrusted was a subject of the most anxious 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 35 
 
 care. But, at the end of one year, when that school 
 was permanently closed, the purposes for which she bad 
 been placed there, seemed in so great a degree to have 
 failed, that it was put down as a serious disappointment. 
 The chief object had been to find a seminary conducted 
 on strictly christian principles, in connection with the 
 attendance of excellent teachers ; and these seemed to 
 have been found. Perhaps the lady who communicated 
 with the inquirer, and described the internal regulation 
 of the place, was not called upon to reveal to a stranger, 
 that she, in a few weeks, purposed to marry, and leave 
 the concern under the direction of a sister. Perhaps 
 her humility made her fail to perceive that, when she 
 went, the genius, the energy, the power of control, and 
 the industry of the establishment went with her. But 
 so it was ; and it was speedily obvious that there was 
 the want of a pervading mind to correct prejudices, to 
 guide and influence opinions and affections, and to discern 
 and rebuke youthful follies. So that while lessons were 
 carefully taught, personal comfort sedulously cared for, 
 and religious duties and privileges provided as became 
 a Christian, the new head of the establishment failed 
 to detect a strong under-current of trickery and decep- 
 tion, which, though applied to mere baubles, had a 
 pernicious effect on those of upright purpose, who had 
 not force to resist being swept away by its strength. 
 
 Into this scene, then, after all the care in selection, 
 was this child of home introduced, and there was she 
 left to make her way alone. Her own description in a 
 letter to a friend, written during the holidays, will give 
 the simple view of her state. To her parents, she did 
 not reveal it, though it had been stipulated that she 
 should enjoy the unwonted privilege of corresponding 
 with them without the supervision of her governess : — 
 
36 MEMOIR OF 
 
 "London, Jan. 5, 1830. — I have been tolerably happy 
 at school. For the first few weeks, indeed, I was very 
 miserable. I felt myself for the first time among total 
 strangers. When mamma left me, and I looked round 
 and saw not one by whom I was loved, or for whom I 
 myself had any regard— when I found my minutest 
 actions criticised, and my words repeated, I did fear 
 that I should have nothing but unhappiness. Miss 
 
 B , the lady whom mamma and I saw the first time 
 
 we called, had taken a fancy to me, and having a poetic 
 imagination, had, with the intention of inspiring all the 
 girls with love for me, given them a most enthusiastic 
 and mistaken description ; so that, as was quite natural, 
 they expected something more than usually excellent, — 
 one who would be superior to them all, and in whom 
 they should discover very few faults. This was not un- 
 mingled with envy. Consequently, when they saw a 
 poor sorrowful girl, quite unaccustomed to school tricks 
 and school girls, they were disappointed, imagined that 
 
 Miss B had unjustly preferred me, and all turned 
 
 away from me. I had a great deal of prejudice to over- 
 come, for, when a few of the girls whom the others most 
 look up to are hostile to any one, the rest very easily 
 follow in their train. In this way my situation was more 
 unhappy than that of the others. One young lady whom 
 I liked best, left school in bad health in the middle of 
 the half year. However, I have got over most of that 
 now, and two, who persecuted me most, like me best." 
 
 Many of the causes of persecution were also subjects 
 of envy, — such as writing uninspected letters ; possess- 
 ing a desk, with the privilege of locking up her treasures 
 in it ; the accidental discovery that she understood Latin, 
 an enormity which poor Mary, in her simplicity, had no 
 suspicion could offend ; her possession of a miniature of 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. ol 
 
 her mother ; and, above all, her having been caught in 
 the perpetration of such a breach of esprit de corps^ as 
 to look on it in her own room with the tear in her eye. 
 These, and such things as these, which proved that the 
 culprit had " a world elsewhere," which she preferred 
 to the society of her present associates, were offences 
 sufficient to bring on her inexperienced and devoted 
 head, a succession of petty vexations and annoyances, 
 which, in the isolated microcosm of a boarding-school, 
 were enough to afflict her spirit. It was the means of 
 leading her to seek guidance and support in prayer ; and 
 the discipline of heart which cost her so much pain, 
 teaching her to turn away wrath by a soft answer, to 
 overlook wilful endeavours to place her in a false position 
 with the governess, and to pray for those who did so 
 without either scorning their contempt or courting their 
 favour, was blest to her for her remaining years. In the 
 home where she was beloved and cherished, she could 
 not have encountered such circumstances ; and here was 
 visible the master-hand taking upon himself the educa- 
 tion of this dear child, in his own blessed way, but in 
 a manner which could not fail to be distressing to her 
 parents, when they discovered it. 
 
 An incident, puerile in the eyes of the world without, 
 but capable of exciting a considerable sensation within a 
 boarding-school, developed her character and purposes, 
 in a way that turned the tide in her favour. The spirit 
 of frolic, or the pleasantness of bread eaten in secret, 
 had tempted the young people to enlist the cook (whose 
 integrity they had means to turn aside) in their service, 
 to purchase for them a variety of cates, which were to 
 be enjoyed in an upper chamber, when the seniors of 
 the establishment supposed them to have retired to rest. 
 One young lady, who had so far dared to judge for her- 
 
38 MEMOIR OF 
 
 self as not to join in any act of persecution against this 
 lonely being, entreated her to engage in the scheme. 
 She urged her by the motive, that if she did not, it would 
 only render her more unpopular ; that the rest expected, 
 if she did not, she would certainly betray them ; that 
 the cook would lose her place, etc., etc. In short, in the 
 form of the tempter, she made it appear that the only 
 amiable and safe mode was to follow the multitude to 
 do evil. Mary was enabled steadily to resist, and was 
 left alone in her chamber, while the gentle girl who had 
 urged her, was herself so convinced by her arguments, 
 that what they did was wrong, that she only joined the 
 revellers above stairs, from the fear of sharing in Mary's 
 persecution, if she stayed with her. After the secret 
 banquet was over, the same kind friend brought a portion 
 of the spoil" to the bed where poor Mary lay in tears. 
 She urged her to accept of her dainties ; she even pressed 
 a bunch of grapes against her feverish lips, but she 
 steadily declined to taste them. Her conduct excited 
 great alarm in the little band, who saw a fair occasion 
 afforded of vengeance for all their wrongs, by a simple 
 statement of the truth. But when some days passed, 
 and the same quiet deportment was observed, neither 
 threat nor innuendo exciting their fears, first one, then 
 another, became convinced of their injustice and unkind- 
 ness. Time after time, she found notes of apology, and 
 overtures of reconciliation slipped into her work-box, 
 and at length the most adverse threw down the weapons 
 of their petty warfare, and sought her friendship ; — thus 
 verifying, in their confined circle, the saying of the wise 
 man, " When a man's ways please the Lord, he causeth 
 even his enemies to be at peace with him." 
 
 As the holidays approached, anxiety about the award- 
 ing of prizes arose to a great height. Mary Lundie 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 39 
 
 received the premium for general christian and lady-like 
 deportment, by a great majority of marks ; and, when 
 another pupil received the music prize, about which 
 there had at one time been a doubt whether Mary should 
 not have obtained it, she congratulated her rival, and 
 kissed her with such affectionate sincerity, that it was 
 marked by the whole school ; and, from that time, she 
 might, if she would have accepted the bad pre-eminence, 
 have been the leader, instead of the persecuted. The lady 
 who had presided during that year, at the close of it was 
 also married, and the establishment was broken up. No 
 one, therefore, can be injured by this delineation ; and, 
 as she has since entered the eternal world, her feelings 
 cannot be wounded by it Where the head of a seminary 
 is of sharper eyes than this lady, and is as kind and con- 
 scientious as she without question was, exercises of 
 tyranny, and evil temper of this description, cannot occur. 
 The trial was severe on one whom her father in writing 
 of it, described as " a moral plant, ill adapted to the cold 
 clime of this world ;" and has been always remembered 
 with concern, but also with the thankful consciousness 
 that He who alone can bring good out of evil, stood by 
 her in her hour of temptation, and sanctified the trial to 
 her advancement in holiness. 
 
 Mary was fortunate in an affectionate and very judi- 
 cious friend, who opened for her a home during vacations, 
 and treated her as her own child — entering into her con- 
 cerns ; watching her improvement ; suggesting altera- 
 tions in her studies ; and writing faithful details of her 
 observations to her distant family. This highly estimable 
 lady was remembered ever with grateful and dutiful re- 
 gard ; and the prospect of seeing her again was held 
 among the bright spots in the vista of future years. 
 This hope was destined to be disappointed. One of this 
 
40 MEMOIR OF 
 
 enlightened friend's many acts of considerate and en- 
 larged kindness, was obtaining permission for Mary to 
 pass a week with her in the month of May 1830. During 
 this time, her letters, overflowing with tidings from the 
 meetings of religious societies, which introduced her 
 to so brilliant and precious a section of the talent and 
 philanthropy of her country, showed how well bestowed 
 was that week of indulgence and of high enjoyment. It 
 was delightful to her father to observe the eagerness with 
 which her mind grasped at those subjects which had en- 
 gaged his own best energies, and touched his best feelings, 
 for nearly the whole of his life. Her descriptions of Wil- 
 berforce, Clarkson, Buxton, and Brougham, and of their 
 speeches, — the enthusiasm with which she yielded her 
 soul to the powers of eloquence, and the true feeling with 
 which she embraced every just and holy cause, as it was 
 presented, proved that these opportunities were powerful 
 auxiliaries in the development of her mind, and compen- 
 sated, in a great degree, for some defects in her school. 
 One great object to be sought in education, is the ex- 
 pansion of mind, not merely by the study of books, but 
 by presenting external objects to the observation, as its 
 powers become stronger. Whatever has the effect of 
 loosening the prejudices which, in some characters, form 
 the chief part of early attachment, is an important 
 auxiliary in mental culture. A young person, born in 
 a great city, will acquire a thousand new sources of 
 delight, by going to school in the country. The sights 
 and sounds of nature substituted for the ceaseless pave- 
 ment, and the throng of men ; the very view of snow, 
 resting on cottage-roofs, and clothing every spray, — un- 
 fold compartments in the budding mind, which might 
 otherwise be shrunk up and withered through a length- 
 ened life. The converse is also true ; and a young person, 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 41 
 
 accustomed to country scenes, or the habits and notions 
 of a country town, will not only acquire many new ideas, 
 but escape from many prejudices, by removal to a city ; 
 and this, not at pecuniary cost, or at the expense of hard 
 study, but by the mere circumstance of change of place. 
 
 The same thing holds true with respect to religious 
 forms and sects. Mary Lundie, though attached to the 
 Church of Scotland by a long line of ancestors, some 
 of whom had suffered persecution in her cause ; though 
 educated in the most respectful attachment to her parent 
 church, where she had learned all that she knew of the 
 Saviour, and of which she had the privilege to be an 
 early member, yet learned during her sojourn in the 
 south, with much gladness of heart, to enjoy the services 
 of the Church of England, and to drink in, with avidity, 
 the ardent addresses of some of the evangelical dis- 
 senters ; and thus was laid the foundation of that catho- 
 lic spirit which has doubtless expanded in the region of 
 her present habitation, to embrace all, by whatsoever 
 name they may have been distinguished on earth, who 
 have loved the Lord Jesus in sincerity. These valuable 
 objects were promoted by converse with many christian 
 friends, with whom she was permitted to hold intercourse 
 in London : and, while careless observers might criticise 
 external accomplishments, her parents blessed God that 
 her christian love, emancipated from mere local tram- 
 mels, expatiated over all the churches of Christ with 
 benignant sympathy. 
 
 The close of the seminary in which her first year was 
 passed, rendered it necessary to seek another. Her 
 ideas of what that other should be, are thus expressed 
 by her, to her friend Mrs Evans : — " I do want a clever 
 school. Not one where there is a routine of mechanical 
 tasks. I want something to exercise my head ; some- 
 
42 MEMOIR OF 
 
 thing to improve my composition, which might easily 
 be effected in conjunction with lighter accomplishments, 
 if there were a clever sensible person who would take an 
 interest in it. I hope that, wherever I go, I may hear 
 the gospel preached." 
 
 In the seminary finally selected, that of Mrs Gordon, 
 in Euston Square, she found a congenial circle, a happy 
 home, and the means of improvement to her heart's 
 content. Those days flowed sweetly on, where pupil 
 and teacher were attached as sisters ; where instruction 
 was communicated and received, with equal avidity ; 
 where the minutiae of knowledge, and the higher com- 
 munings of spirits preparing for heaven, were blended 
 in their daily occupations. On all occasions Mary 
 expressed her respect and love for Mrs and the Misses 
 Gordon ; and, with Miss Isabella, she formed a tender 
 friendship, which was suddenly interrupted by the death 
 of that talented and devoted young lady, a_few short 
 months after she had entered on a new line of duties 
 in the married state. The survivors must forgive this 
 tribute to a memory so precious, and so linked with the 
 ardent admiration and love of Mary Lundie. Three 
 years after she had enjoyed this tuition, in a letter to a 
 friend, she says, " Have you heard that my ever-beloved 
 Mrs Clark (the matrimonial name of Miss I. Gordon) 
 has entered her rest ? Her end was triumphant ; but 
 O, what a loss ! Even to me it is most afflicting. What, 
 then, must it be to her family ; — to her husband, who 
 possessed the treasure but eight months ! O ! to meet 
 her in our Father's house. The soutb lias lost half its 
 charms, now my beloved friend is gone. Pray that my 
 affections may be fixed on God, and not traverse earth 
 to find something to fill up the blank. When shall I 
 love a young friend as I loved her?" 
 
MABY LUNDDE DUNCAN. 43 
 
 This extract is purposely antedated, to exhibit the 
 felicity of the pupil under so beloved a teacher. Here 
 also may be fitly introduced, an extract from a letter 
 from this lamented friend, after Mary had finished her 
 iirst half year under the roof of Mrs Gordon. 
 
 " 69, Euston Square, Jan. 3. 1831. . . We trust 
 you will find her time has not been lost while under our 
 care. I have felt great pleasure in instructing her, she 
 is so attentive a pupil ; and her amiable dispositions, 
 combined with talent and piety, have endeared her not 
 a little to us, — a friendship which, I trust, may not be 
 forgotten when we part, but that you will kindly allow 
 Mary to write to me sometimes. It is a pleasing re- 
 flection, that any of our dear girls are fellow pilgrims in 
 the path of glory ; and I may indeed congratulate you 
 on having your eldest child a follower of the blessed 
 Saviour, as the influence over the younger ones may be 
 great. AVe will feel the loss of Miss Lundie's steady 
 example much, as the sight of a school companion, 
 reading her Bible, and walking in the commands of God, 
 has more effect, I think, than the precepts or example 
 of teachers. There is one thing which vexes me about 
 Mary, — a degree of untidiness, and want of activity 
 about such things as she considers of minor importance, 
 but which I consider of great value to a woman, — 
 putting on her clothes firmly, keeping her drawers neat, 
 etc. She is a little improved in these respects ; and we 
 hope will be much more so before she leaves us." This, 
 the only fault which reached her parents' ears during 
 her stay in London, would, from its trifling nature, be 
 unworthy of notice, but for two reasons : — 1st, It shows, 
 that the picture drawn is designed to be impartial ; and, 
 2d, Wq shall see that, in later years, when domestic 
 
44 MEMOIR OF 
 
 occupations, which she always considered of " minor 
 importance," became duties, she gave herself to them 
 with zeal and diligence. 
 
 With that dear friend, whose house was her home 
 during vacations, a constant correspondence was kept 
 up at Kelso, and over her letters are dispersed remarks 
 and information of all descriptions. For example, dur- 
 ing her sojourn at the first school, Mrs E. says, "Mary 
 shines among her school-fellows with meek radiance ; 
 she is a humble, but dignified young person. . . . 
 1 think Mary has improved generally. . . . She 
 has also learned a great deal of that kind of experience 
 which is absolutely necessary for getting through this 
 world, and does not now speak of what she considered 
 hardships, when she first went to school. Her sense of 
 divine things seems to be as deep as when I first con- 
 versed with her ; and this I esteem a great blessing, 
 considering the distractions of school, and the trifling 
 and folly of girls at all schools. She appears to be 
 conscientiously attentive to the best things ; and I trust 
 that such an example as hers may prove a blessing to 
 others in the school. . . . Our dear girl is indeed 
 a very lovely young woman. She excites admiration, 
 and the greatest interest, in all our circle, and yet seems 
 quite insensible to it. We shall grieve, indeed, when 
 the time comes for her return to Scotland." 
 
 The impression derived from a re-perusal of Mary's 
 letters from school, is, that she exercised conscientious- 
 ness in her endeavours to improve in all her studies, 
 accompanied by a considerate reluctance to put her 
 parents to expense, and a modest concern lest they 
 should not be satisfied with her attainments. For ex- 
 ample, " Every body thinks it would be a great pity for 
 me to give up singing, which I greatly prefer to any 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 45 
 
 other accomplishment; but if you think it too much, of 
 course I shall be quite willing to drop it. . . I have 
 clone, I think I may conscientiously say, all I can to 
 improve; and I can assure you, at Miss Gordon's school, 
 the solids keep pace with the adornments" 
 
 She adds, " so you think of sending Corie to Glasgow 
 College. I hope his principles are sufficiently formed 
 to make it safe for him to leave his dear home, for a 
 scene in which he cannot fail to encounter temptations, 
 to which he is unaccustomed. The peace of God is the 
 only anchor to keep the mind steady in the midst of 
 them. If my being away, dear mother, makes it more 
 difficult for you to part with him, and if he will lose by 
 not going this year, let me come home at Michaelmas." 
 
 To her brother she wrote while at college : — 
 
 " London, January 29, 1831. . . . You, as well 
 as myself, are separated from our dear home. I felt 
 it much at first; but those among whom I have been 
 placed have proved kind and tender friends; and I pre- 
 sently found that I was no longer a stranger. I hope, 
 dear Corie, that your sojourn in Glasgow may be as 
 happy as mine in London. . . . What are you 
 reading in English, Latin, and Greek? My acquaintance 
 with the last-named good old language is at an end ; 
 but I still think of Latin with affection, and sometimes 
 sigh for the days when I luxuriated among Virgil's bees 
 and flowers, or mourned for Dido's unhappy lot. But 
 it will be more within my comprehension, if you tell me 
 what works of English literature have lately interested 
 you. I hope that you have time for reading, and that 
 what you do read is calculated to improve your taste 
 and understanding, and increase your knowledge. . . 
 Are you learning mathematics ? and, if so, how do you 
 
46 MEMOIR OF 
 
 like this study ? Some people are very fond of it, but I 
 cannot say that that science ever haunted my dreams. 1 
 I have been reading Milman's Fall of Jerusalem, by way 
 of relaxation. It is a beautiful poem ; some passages 
 transported me from school, and every thing else, till I 
 fancied myself in the midst of the falling streets, or 
 standing, with the rescued Miriam, by the calm moon- 
 light at the ' fountain of night.' I have read, last half 
 year, five volumes of Turner's History of England, a 
 most interesting work. I think you would be pleased 
 with it. It does not confine itself to what passed in our 
 own isle, but gives a clear view of the state of other Euro- 
 pean nations. This is an advantage, as it helps us to 
 form distinct views of what was going on in the different 
 states, at one time. Arrangement, you know, is of great 
 importance. A little knowledge, in my opinion, when 
 combined with it, is better than a good deal scattered 
 confusedly through the pericranium. . . . Dear 
 mamma and papa must feel your absence very much. 
 I hope they may not, in any way, be disappointed in 
 me. I am sincerely desirous to make myself useful in 
 every respect that I can. I feel that I ought, after their 
 kindness in allowing me to remain so long at school, 
 where my energies have been more bent on improving 
 myself, than in benefiting others. 
 
 " I hope, dear C, you do all in your power to improve 
 in your pursuits. Perhaps you may not again have as 
 
 1 Alluding to a family anecdote of an uncle of past generations, 
 who, when a student, had spent the hours till long past midnight, in 
 unsuccessful endeavours to solve a problem (which his professor had 
 done before him, during the day), and had retired to rest in despair. 
 But, when he arose in the morning, he found the solution in his own 
 handwriting on his desk, proving that, in his dream, his mind had 
 wrought out what his waking powers had failed in, and that he had 
 risen in sleep, and written it down. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 47 
 
 much time for study. You are now far from those who 
 guided your early years ; but remember that the ever- 
 present God still sees all your deeds, and knows your 
 thoughts, and will be your God even unto death, if you 
 will be his son. O give Him your heart. My dear 
 brother, a steady principle of love to Him is the only 
 sure protection from all those snares you may meet with. 
 Let his word be your standard, and go not with a mul- 
 titude to do evil. Persons brought up as we have been, 
 have much to answer for. We have heard what it is 
 to love God ; and, what is more, w T e have seen it ex- 
 emplified in our dear parents, whose examples have been 
 constantly before us. Your sister's prayer is, that the 
 God of your fathers may be yours for ever." 
 
 Mary had already acquired a strength of judgment 
 which secured her against the misleading effects of adu- 
 lation. AVhile her love of approbation led her to bask 
 in the purer sunshine of affection's smile, she early dis- 
 cerned the distinction between that and the oblique rays 
 of selfish compliment. After describing a family to 
 
 which she had been introduced, she added, " Miss 
 
 is, I ought to tell you, a great flatterer. She compli- 
 mented me extremely on a little foolish poem I wrote 
 
 on the overturning of Mrs 's writing-desk. Happily 
 
 I was aware of her propensity, and did not believe her." 
 
 The early attentions of members of the other sex com- 
 monly create some excitement in the mind of a girl — 
 arousing the conviction of approaching womanhood, and 
 fanning either sentiment or vanity, according to the 
 character of the receiver. The only notice to be found 
 of such a circumstance in her case, is this, " That was 
 
 a curious letter sent me by Mr ; but as I showed 
 
 it instantly to dear Mrs E., she will mention it to you, 
 if it be necessary." Another little movement betrayed 
 
48 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the generous and self-denying character of her mind. 
 When about to leave London, a small sum of money was 
 sent for her to expend in the way she liked best ; sup- 
 posing that some collections of art or other exhibitions 
 might have been still unvisited ; some favourite pieces 
 of music un procured ; or some pretty garment that took 
 her fancy, which she might like to purchase. From 
 this fund she did not make one acquisition for herself, 
 except that of the pleasure of presenting gifts to every 
 member of her beloved family ; and the affectionate 
 travelling companion who accompanied her home, re- 
 marked, that the expending of five pounds had never 
 before afforded as much delight to an owner. 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 4 ( J 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HER FIRST AFFLICTION. 
 
 She had just completed her seventeenth year when she 
 returned to Kelso. The radiant joy and beaming love 
 occasioned by her re- union to her family, her glad 
 review of the dear haunts of childhood, her humble 
 solicitude lest her attainments should fall short of the 
 expectations of her parents, all exhibited the simplicity 
 and meekness of her mind. Till the sense of novelty 
 wore off, she was really uneasy lest the result of her 
 studies should prove far inferior to their expectation- ; 
 and repeatedly, after doing anything which exhibited 
 the degree of her acquisitions, she said, with an anxious 
 expression, " Ah, I fear you are disappointed;' 9 or, 
 " you hoped, after so much pains, that I should have 
 done that better." 
 
 She instantly sought to occupy her attainments by 
 communicating them to her juniors, and became of 
 her own accord their preceptress in anything or every- 
 thing that she could teach, and that they were willing to 
 learn. She now, also, immediately took her place in the 
 Sabbath school as a teacher, and by degrees found her 
 way to the couch of the sick female, and was both accept- 
 able and useful in her visits there. The only means that 
 occur of showing how much her heart was interested in 
 these engagements, is to quote a few scattered sentences 
 selected from letters addressed to a friend in Kelso, a 
 
 D 
 
50 MEMOIR OF 
 
 year or two after her tie to that place had been broken 
 by the death of her father. 
 
 " I am glad you think Christy sincerely loves the 
 truth. Oh, I trust the Searcher of hearts has accepted 
 her as a lowly follower of his. I think of the Sabbath 
 school very often, and delight to remember both the time 
 when I was your pupil there, and the period, short and 
 precious to me, when I was permitted to try to lead a 
 few dear girls to Jesus : how I should rejoice in being 
 there again." — " It would be worth living for, if one 
 could benefit but one immortal soul, — and why not ? 
 Let us try, seeking divine aid. Your constant aim it 
 is, dear friend ; will you pray that it may be mine too V 9 
 — " Do you remember, my dear friend, the promise that 
 poor Betsy made me about not walking on Sunday, and 
 not loitering in the streets ; and about continuing to try 
 to pray till the new year ? I often wonder how she has 
 fulfilled it, and should be very grateful if you would have 
 the kindness to speak to her, and tell me what you think 
 of her. Is she turning to Jesus, and learning the love 
 which can alone shield her, and save her from tempta- 
 tion ? How is C. M. coming on ? Does M. M. attend 
 school now ? Excuse these questions, but I am anxious 
 about the girls." — " You know how deeply interesting 
 to us is all we hear of the efforts made for the good of 
 the dear people at Kelso, and with all those efforts your 
 name is most closely associated. God bless you, my 
 dear friend, in all you try to do for his glory. I often 
 sigh to remember that I was removed from such employ, 
 when daily becoming more interested in it. My heart 
 clings to the school, Jeany Ross, and others. There is 
 far more peace and satisfaction in living to be useful 
 than in anything else, if the action spring from that 
 Animating motive, love to Him, who so much loved us." 
 
MARY LTJNDIE DUNCAN. 51 
 
 — " I used to think it strange that so many young ladies 
 were in this respect inactive. I was not then fully 
 conscious how much I owed to my circumstances, as 
 the child of a pastor ; or how much I owed to my 
 beloved parents, who always had something ready for 
 me to expend my energies upon, and smoothed the way 
 so nicely for me. It is difficult for me now ; removed 
 from my old employments. I have not yet found others 
 exactly to fill their place, and, oh, it is painful to fear 
 that one is but a cumberer of the ground. ... I 
 am surprised at having unconsciously written so much 
 of myself, but you will forgive me. Will you pray that 
 I may be enabled to see what duty is, and to do it ? I 
 shall feel thankful if you will, and for a larger and surer 
 share of that peace that is only known when our God 
 reigns supreme in the soul." 
 
 These may give an idea of what engaged and in- 
 terested her most during her first year after leaving 
 school. Her pleasures and sympathies may be also best 
 explained by extracts from letters. 
 
 During a visit to that faithful friend in Northumber- 
 land, who always entertained for her a love all but 
 maternal, and watched the development of her character 
 with generous pleasure, she wrote as follows : — 
 
 " Yesterday we went to W. to hear Mr B.'s farewell 
 sermon ; and, as the carriage is small, I set out by my- 
 self like an intrepid damsel, and walked the distance, 
 having received many directions which way to turn. All 
 these, however, were unnecessary, for the stream of 
 people set so strong in one direction, that it would have 
 required some ingenuity to go wrong. I was pleased 
 with the sight, they w T ent along so quietly and soberly in 
 their Sunday garb : externally at least, they are a set 
 of respectable peasantry. Every new situation suggests 
 
52 MEMOIR OF 
 
 new thoughts, and I felt more the value of hearing the 
 gospel preached, from having to make some exertion to 
 attain it. I wonder if this feeling exists in its force 
 with those who do so every Sabbath ? Mr B.'s dis- 
 courses were very impressive : there are few more 
 solemn scenes than a pastor entering his charge, or 
 bidding a last farewell to his people. . . . We keep 
 early hours at night, and I rise at half-past five, and 
 have a quiet morning before breakfast. Though I can- 
 not gain so much in the use of time as Elizabeth Smith, 
 w T hose life I have just read, was so happy as to do, I 
 greatly value it, and do not like to let it slip idly 
 away." 
 
 To the friend whom she then visited, she afterwards 
 wrote during a severe family bereavement : — " If we 
 could learn to regard heaven as our home, we should 
 be much more willing to part with our dear ones. It 
 is but for a little while. His Father has called him to 
 himself a little sooner than the rest of the circle to whom 
 he was united in christian love, and soon you shall meet 
 him again in a land where sorrow and sighing shall flee 
 away. Yet the rest of life's journey must be trod with- 
 out him, and often will the remembrance of what you 
 have lost send a pang to your heart. Oh, dearest cousin, 
 may all of you feel that there is a fulness in Christ to 
 supply any loss ! May your steps be quickened in the 
 heavenly way, and may the rich consolations of His love 
 be your portion for ever l M 
 
 It will be concluded from all that is stated, that her 
 mind was not only of a thoughtful, but of a pensive cast. 
 There was, however, no languid sentimental melancholy 
 in this. On the contrary, she had much cheerfulness of 
 temper, accompanied with great energy of character, was 
 most readily excited to action, was in all good things 
 
MARY LUKDIE DUNCAN. 53 
 
 strenuous in exertion beyond her physical strength, 
 which was never great, and no mind was ever more 
 flexible to enter with pleasure into the occupations of 
 others, nor any countenance more easily kindled from 
 a state of thoughtful repose to that of beaming love and 
 sympathy. Her aspirations, it is true, were after objects 
 of which the happiest moments in the wilderness give 
 but a feeble earnest. Her enjoyments were of the con- 
 templative, not of the restless or noisy class ; and, from 
 the deep views she was early enabled to take of sin, and 
 eternal responsibility, a tinge, not of melancholy, but of 
 sober reflection uncommon to her years, was almost in- 
 separable. For some time after she was first settled at 
 home, far from the associates of her age and sex with 
 whom she had formed friendship at school, and not fully 
 embarked on a course of useful employment, her tender 
 father would study her features, and then ask, with a 
 half dubious countenance, "Do you think she is happy?" 
 The question could not, without some reservation, be 
 answered in the affirmative then. This perishing world, 
 with its perishing pleasures and disappointing friend- 
 ships, is not calculated to fill an immortal mind. But 
 now, it can be answered without a drawback : — Her 
 soul is satisfied in the presence of Him at whose right 
 hand there is fulness of joy for evermore. " Yes, she is 
 happy." 
 
 The banks of primroses, the groves, the woods, the 
 rivers of her native place, gave zest to every other enjoy- 
 ment, and no season of the year was void of charm to 
 her poetic eye. These enjoyments will be best described 
 in her poem called " A Reminiscence," written several 
 years afterwards, which will appear in its place. Here 
 we shall, for the sake of illustration, introduce her 
 address to the hawthorn, written for her babes a few 
 
54 MEMOIR OF 
 
 weeks before her earthly journey was so unexpectedly 
 terminated. 
 
 " THE HAWTHORN. 
 
 What faces bright with pleasure ! 
 
 How fast your footsteps bound ! 
 Come show to me your treasure ; 
 
 What have my children found? 
 
 It is the hawthorn blossom, 
 
 The fairest flower of spring ; 
 It smiles on earth's green bosom, 
 
 And nature's minstrels sing. 
 
 How many joyful voices, 
 
 Unite to bid it hail! 
 O ! how the bee rejoices, 
 
 To scent it in the gale. 
 
 The birds in concert singing, 
 
 The insects in the grass, 
 The sunny waters ringing 
 Low mu.-ic as they pass. 
 
 Look at its pearly whiteness, 
 
 Faint streaked with blushing red ; 
 It comes, its clustered brightness 
 
 Athwart the woods to shed. 
 
 ! in my happy childhood, 
 How well 1 loved its flowers; 
 
 1 wandered through the wild wood, 
 And sought its richest bowers. 
 
 Beside the waters meeting 1 
 
 The fairest Scotland knows, 
 I gave it joyous greeting, 
 
 And wreathed its blossomed snows. 
 
 O ! that for you some future year, 
 
 The hawthorn flower may shine : 
 To whisper of a home as dear, 
 
 A childhood blest as mine.* 
 
 Such were her recollections of her early home, which 
 revive the images of the joyous group on those bright 
 days, when they used to stroll, for hours together, in 
 
 1 The confluence of the Teviot and Tweed. 
 
MARY LUND IK DUNCAN. 55 
 
 the woods of Floors and Newton-Don, inhaling with all 
 their faculties whatever was refreshing to the senses, 
 reviving to the spirits, and invigorating to the frame. 
 Sweet and grateful memory of her childhood, which 
 dropt the recollection of causes of anxiety or uneasiness, 
 if any such there were, and tenderly cherished every 
 tint of beauty, every sparkling of joy, and every throb 
 of affection ! Days which it enriches the mind to have 
 once enjoyed, and the memory of which form3 a part 
 of its secret treasures, whatever be its future engage- 
 ments. The bard spoke truly of his style of pleasures, 
 when he compared them to 
 
 "The borealis race, 
 Which flit ere we can point their place." 
 
 But of this higher style, how erroneously would it be so 
 said. These delights which, in drinking in the beauty, 
 the variety, the lavishness of nature, embrace an ador- 
 ing view of creating power and benignity, are more 
 like the long glories of a summer sunset, which fade 
 not till they are merged in the rising beams of a new 
 day, — than the vanishing graces of the rainbow or the 
 aurora. Life may subside — the mortal eye may close 
 on earthly beauty — but it will only be to open on a 
 scene of surpassing glories, of which the fairest day on 
 earth forms but a feeble type. 
 
 In the autumn of her first summer at home, while 
 staying on the sea-coast for the purpose of bathing, she 
 made an excursion to St Abb's Head, in company with 
 her brother, and some amiable young relatives. A 
 jotting, still preserved in her writing, of the converse 
 of that day, affords a view of the state of her mind, 
 and the subjects that interested her. 
 
 "-August 28, 1831.— -Went to St Abb's Head— a 
 
5G MEMOIR OF 
 
 magnificent pile of rocks — and dined on a hillock, with 
 a heathy mound for a table. Fancied the rocks like 
 cottages and churches. Talked of the wisdom of God 
 displayed in all his works — of the elegance of his mind, 
 displayed in the formation of a flower, or a caterpillar, 
 so perfect in all its parts, yet so minute — of the variety 
 of human knowledge — of the pernicious effects of unre- 
 strained imagination ; contrasted the grand, but unreal 
 poems of Byron, with the sweet and natural strains of 
 Cowper, — the one unfits the mind for real life, the other 
 depicts objects in their true colours, imparts soothing 
 to the heart, and animates to duty : of romance ; were 
 some very romantic adventure to occur to a neighbour, 
 it would not so much excite our imaginations, as if we 
 read a similar tale in the highly wrought language of a 
 novelist ; — there is in man a tendency to ascribe to what 
 is not defined, something more than reality would au- 
 thorize him to do. We saw two sea-birds bow to the 
 waves ; and remarked, how much we might learn, did 
 we accustom ourselves to derive moral lessons from all 
 we see. From these birds we might learn to bow to 
 the difficulties of life ; and thus pass through them 
 much more easily than we do, when we struggle against 
 the appointments of our Father in heaven. Read 
 Douglas's Thoughts on Prayer. Talked of subduing 
 the temper ; and of the evil that is often done by Chris- 
 tians to their Master's cause, by giving way to impa- 
 tience ; — of the world as a severe but useful judge of 
 christian conduct ; of Paul, as naturally of a hot and 
 hasty temper, but as becoming meek when he knew 
 Christ. Let us begin when young, and build on that 
 blessed foundation." 
 
 But " when joy is round us, grief is near," as the 
 youthful poetess sung, when grief was known to her only 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAX. 57 
 
 in theory. Now she was to taste it in its bitterness. 
 Her beloved father was removed from our sight, before 
 she had enjoyed one year with him at home. Mary had 
 been absent for a week, and was returning, in a smiling 
 company of cousins, from an evening visit in Edinburgh, 
 when the solemn message reached her, that her father 
 had been translated in a moment, without leave taken of 
 any of those he loved. He was gone where she could 
 not follow him, and her tender heart was oppressed, and 
 bowed beneath the stroke. Amongst the first expres- 
 sions which betrayed the course of her mind, was that 
 stated in the funeral sermon preached for herself, little 
 more than seven years after, by her faithful friend and 
 near relation, the Rev. Henry Grey of Edinburgh — 
 " God is now my only Father." " Happy she, who, in 
 that dark hour, had still a father, — one with whom she 
 held solemn communings, and who will never die. Her 
 sympathizing and weeping friends would have hung 
 round and watched her in that long pang of w r oe, but 
 she entreated to be left alone ; and when, after an in- 
 terval, their solicitude brought them back, they found 
 her still on her knees, with her arms extended on the 
 bed. Her eyes were streaming, but her heart was 
 deriving strength and consolation, even under that 
 crushing blow, from Him who ' hath comforted his 
 people, and will have mercy on his afflicted;' yea, 'a 
 mother may forget, yet will not He forget ' those who 
 trust in Him. Tranquillized and sustained by this divine 
 strength, she returned to the house of mourning ; and 
 it was remarked by those wdio were spectators of that 
 sorrowful return, that no loud cry, or unseemly wailing, 
 attended the meeting of the bereaved ones ; and that 
 Mary's bearing w r as that of one long tutored in the school 
 of discipline. She was deeply afflicted, but she held her 
 
58 MEMOIR OF 
 
 peace. A meek fellow- sufferer, she applied herself at 
 once to sustain as a daughter, and to soothe as a sister ; 
 and except when the flood swelled so high that it would 
 not be restrained, and she fled to solitude, to cast her 
 care on Him who cared for her, she was the stedfast, 
 considerate, and self-denying friend of all her sorrowing 
 circle." 
 
 Brief extracts from the outpourings of her heart in 
 letters, will best exhibit her filial love, her grief, her 
 faith, and her desires to improve under the dispensation. 
 
 "Kelso, April 21, 1832. 
 
 " My Beloved Cousin, — The last sad scene is over. 
 We have watched the dear remains being carried over 
 the ground where he had so often walked on errands of 
 mercy ; and we have to bless God for tender mercies 
 mingled with his judgments. Sometimes I cannot rea- 
 lize the truth. I can scarcely feel that my own beloved 
 father, the dear guide of my youth, shall never more 
 gaze on me, with one of those fond sweet looks that are 
 so deeply imprinted on our hearts. But oh, he is with 
 Jesus ! He has received the end of his faith — light, and 
 life, and love eternal ; and we would not call him back 
 to this dreary world. Oh! pray, as I know you have 
 done, for my mother. . . . If we may but be en- 
 abled to lie at the foot of the cross, all will yet be well. 
 . . . Pray for me, dearest cousin, that the selfish- 
 ness of my wicked heart may be overcome, and that I 
 may be enabled to live for her, and my poor dears. 
 
 " The sympathies of friends are soothing, and we have 
 them. My own father was glad he had lived to see 
 another spring, beautiful with what God has made for 
 man. Alas ! I in my foolishness thought he might be 
 spared for many. Oh ! not for him we mourn ; — the 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 59 
 
 sweet spirit he manifested during the last fortnight of 
 his life was such, that my beloved mamma says, it was 
 the happiest she ever spent with him. Is not this com- 
 forting ? He has been obviously fitting for heaven ; and 
 I trust his last sermons may never be forgotten by any 
 of his people. They, as well as we, feel that they have 
 lost a father. Oh, for faith to say with my whole heart, 
 thy will be done ! The book that was found by my 
 father's side, had a mark in it at the close of a medita- 
 tion on heaven ; and we suppose his last moments w T ere 
 employed in reading it. Sweet employment ! How 
 like a translation was my departed's death ! Dearest 
 cousin, I could dwell all day on this delightful theme ; 
 but there are moments when I feel I have lost him. 
 And oh, my mother! God bless her. "When you come, 
 you shall know more of what our Father in heaven has 
 done for his rebellious children." 
 
 To a correspondent near London : — 
 
 "Manse of Kelso, May 11, 1832. 
 Ci My very Dear Friend, — The kind expression of 
 your sympathy has been soothing to me at this season of 
 trial. You have been so lately tried with affliction, that 
 you know w T ell how to speak to those who are passing 
 through the deep waters. "We have indeed cause to 
 rejoice while we mourn. He who has been taken from 
 us, has been removed from a world where a spirit, so 
 tender as his, suffered much, to the presence of God, 
 where he is united to the family of the blessed ; and he 
 shall never more grieve for the sins and the sufferings 
 of his fellow-men. None but those who knew him, can 
 form an idea of what he did, and what he felt, for others. 
 We have found large packets of papers relating to slaves, 
 chimney-sweeps, widows and orphans, and to many who 
 
60 MEMOIR OF 
 
 never knew who it was who was so actively engaged to 
 do them good. It is very pleasing to remember these 
 things, and then to think that he is now an inhabitant 
 of a land where it shall no more be said, ' I am sick ; ' 
 — that he who spent so much of his life in endeavouring 
 to make others happy, is now effectually removed from 
 woe. Yet I would not appear to praise my beloved 
 father. He was too deeply conscious of his own un- 
 worthiness, to have hope of eternal life in any other way 
 than by Jesus ; and his hope built on this foundation 
 was strong. But, my dear friend, had you known him 
 whose loss we mourn, you would enter deeply into the 
 feeling that he is sheltered. This was a predominant 
 feeling for the first week. . . . This is the season 
 in which my dear papa was peculiarly glad ; and the 
 sunshine and spring flowers he took such delight in, are 
 all here still, though he is gone. We check ourselves 
 in feeling sad, that his favourite trees are covered with 
 blossom, and he does not see them. Ah ! we walk far 
 too much by sight. Had we the eye of faith, we should 
 never forget that he is in a region far more beautiful 
 than this. He has reached a land which is adorned 
 with the beauty of holiness. Could we realize the ful- 
 ness of joy of which he is a partaker, I am sure our 
 sorrow, now mixed with thankfulness, would be lost in 
 it. But He who sent this affliction, designs that we 
 should feel it ; and it is our prayer that we may walk 
 more closely with Him than before, and, trusting more 
 simply in Jesus, cherish a constant hope of being re- 
 united to all whom we ' love in the Lord,' and more than 
 all, of dwelling with the great Shepherd, whose voice 
 we have heard. 
 
 " All you say of the blessedness of considering 
 heaven as our home, meets a deep response in my I 
 
MABY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 61 
 
 heart. Let us, my dear friend, walk as { children of 
 the light,' waiting with humble trust for the full disclo- 
 sure of that light. If our best affections are garnered 
 up in heaven, the summons to leave this earth will not 
 be unwelcome. But I fear to deceive myself into tran- 
 quillity, while I have un mortified sin in my heart. 
 Pray for me, my dear friend. I think I never knew 
 before that my heart was so unclean. It was indeed a 
 trial to me to be from home when my dear papa was 
 called away, though even this was for good. But when 
 I hear others speak of his words and his actions, so full 
 of love for the souls of men, during the last precious 
 week, I cannot but grieve that I too did not enjoy the 
 privilege of being with him. . . . 
 
 u I owe you very many thanks for your truly kind 
 letters, and for the advice contained in them. May I 
 have grace given me to profit by this chastisement ! 
 Earthly comforts would be vain ; but it always does me 
 good to have my steps urged onward in the narrow path. 
 I need scarcely tell you, that I sympathize deeply with 
 you. I have felt for the last few weeks more united in 
 affection to those who are sorrowing, than to any others ; 
 and I trust that our heavenly Father is making you feel 
 that He is indeed a satisfying portion." 
 
 The self-willed and unsubdued, in time of affliction, 
 are swallowed up in their own grief, and feel as if they 
 did well to cherish that, to the exclusion of the generous 
 and expanding affections which serve to lighten sorrow, 
 though they cannot banish it. It w r as not so with Mary 
 — her delicate sensibility was not of that factitious and 
 sentimental cast which would have rendered the house 
 of worship intolerable to her, because it had pleased 
 God to silence the voice that was so dear to her ; she 
 turned her affections on the flock, and therefore took a 
 
62 MEMOIR OF 
 
 lively interest in the new pastor, and heard him with 
 solicitude. Thus she expresses herself on that subject 
 to her father's sisters : — 
 
 "Kelso Manse, Sept. 8.— To-morrow Mr M'Culloch 
 is to lift up his voice for the first time, in the scene of 
 my father's labours. Oh, may his work be blessed ! 
 May he reap much that my dear father sowed ! Ah, 
 my dear aunts ! it sometimes comes upon me with fresh 
 force, that he is gone indeed. But we, I trust, shall 
 follow, when our Lord sees that we are quite ready to 
 have done with a term of probation. After some 
 struggle, I have resolved to go and hear Mr M. to- 
 morrow. It will be satisfactory in thinking of Kelso, 
 to know what kind of man is labouring there ; and I 
 know I can stand it, trying though it will be. . . . 
 The Sabbath is over, my dearest aunts, and we have 
 heard the pastor who is appointed to lead this people 
 to the good Shepherd. The impression is, I doubt not, 
 a favourable one. ... I am glad my mother was 
 not here ; it would have been too trying — she returns 
 on Tuesday to spend her last week at home. Pray that 
 she may be strengthened." 
 
 The following sentences, addressed to a relative, show 
 that her enjoyment of the beauties of nature still drew 
 her thoughts to him, whose taste and relish for their 
 charms had in part cultivated, and always enhanced her 
 own. 
 
 "Manse of Kelso, August 11, 1832. ... The 
 mountains looked quite beautiful, and I gazed on them 
 with great delight. My window looked towards them, 
 and thus I could see the moonlight streaming on them 
 at night, and the sun rising on them at early morning. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 
 
 I thought of ray beloved father — how deeply he would 
 
 enjoyed all the varied beauties of the scene. Ah, 
 
 my dear cousin! I wish I could always feel willing to be 
 
 separated from him, for the remainder of my pilgrimage. 
 
 I want more submission; and I know you will join me in 
 praying for it. Last night I dreamt he was sitting in his 
 own chair, and I was beside him, and my eyes were 
 streaming with tears, and I was rejoiced that he was 
 with us again. But it is foolish to relate a dream. I 
 want to fix my affections more on the bright heavenly 
 land he now inhabits, and on the Friend of sinners, who, 
 I trust, will welcome me, and all of us, thither. He 
 welcomes the most unworthy, and this gives me hope." 
 
 "Berwick, September 22, 1832. . . . I know 
 that one subject of your thoughts has been, our now- 
 scattered family. Ah, my dear cousin ! we have count- 
 less mercies to be thankful for ; only ask for me — what 
 I feel I want — that a thankful heart may be added to all 
 the rest. J — , B — , and I, left our home on Monday 
 morning, the 17th ; and the Saturday night before, we 
 accompanied our beloved remaining parent to the cloister 
 where the mortal part of my now glorified father awaits 
 the morning of the resurrection. There we mingled our 
 tears ; and, I trust, the prayers that came from the 
 heart entered into the ears of our Father in heaven. I 
 felt it sweet to regard Him as my reconciled Father, 
 and to look forward to the period that shall reunite us 
 to him we have loved and parted from. Mr Baird 
 preached on Sabbath. We felt the afternoon sermon 
 very consoling. The subject was, ' All things are 
 yours ; ' and he showed, that not only life and prosperity 
 are the Christian's, but also sickness, sorrow, and death, 
 inasmuch as they wean his heart from earth, and all 
 
64 MEMOIR OF 
 
 work together to fit his spirit for glory. We felt that 
 this trying season would indeed be ours, if we made use 
 of it, to give our hearts more entirely to God. In the 
 evening four dear christian friends joined us, and Archy 
 Murray l came and conducted family worship. Thus 
 passed our last Sabbath in Kelso ; and the next morn- 
 ing we were up betimes, and concluded our little ar- 
 rangements, and then I went alone to take leave of 
 several spots on the premises, and at eight left the once 
 cheerful abode, a scene of bustle, confusion, and desola- 
 tion." 
 
 One occupation of the last Sabbath in Kelso, is men- 
 tioned in " The Orphan's Stay," an article which Mary 
 Lundie contributed to Mr Ellis's Missionary Annual 
 for 1835, containing the history of a young woman, 
 who had been preserved through many years cf peril 
 and temptation, and was left on her death-bed, by her 
 affectionate visitor, peacefully looking for, and hasting 
 unto, the coming of her Lord. From this elegant and 
 pious biographical sketch a sentence or two will describe 
 her last visit ; but, before introducing that, one of the 
 early paragraphs may be acceptable, as descriptive not 
 only of the feelings of the fatherless in general, but of 
 her own deep emotions on that subject, ever to her a 
 tender one : — 
 
 " But it is not outward dangers and necessities alone, 
 that make the orphan the special object of the care of 
 God. He knows the heart of the fatherless, — the in- 
 ward sickening of him who feels he has lost what time 
 cannot replace, — who longs for the advice and tender- 
 
 1 The Rev. Archibald Murray is now in Tutuila, one of the 
 Saraoan Isles, a missionary successful above many, for a wide door 
 and effectual lias been opened to him there, and many of the swarthy 
 natives have turned to the Lord. 
 
MAKY LUNDIE PUXCAN. 65 
 
 nese of a parent. — and weeps to find himself alone. To 
 him the promises are as showers to the parched grass ; 
 turning his eager gaze from cisterns that fail, and re- 
 freshing his soul ; for there is something in eacli of 
 them suited to his wants. There is no burden that 
 oppresses his heart, no regret for the past, no anxious 
 fear for the future, — that is not met by some word of 
 benign consolation. God delights to be reminded of 
 the mercy He has proffered, and does not weary of 
 the orphan's cry ; and this condescending love should 
 raise our gratitude higher than even the stupendous evi- 
 dences of creative might. The Psalmist felt it so, when 
 he said, c Extol Him that rideth upon the heavens, by 
 his name Jah. A father of the fatherless, and a judge 
 of the widows, is God in his holy habitation.' . . . 
 "I left the neighbourhood before her sufferings closed. 
 It was on a Sabbath evening that I took leave of my 
 declining friend. I found her seated in a large chair, 
 supported by pillows, and looking as if all her strength 
 was gone, yet so happy that I could compare her to 
 nothing but a feeble and confiding child, who intrusts 
 himself without fear to a parent, whose love he has never 
 thought of doubting. Her smile of welcome was more 
 sad than usual, for she knew that we should meet no more 
 on earth. She spoke of the quiet spot in the church- 
 yard, that would soon cover all that remained of her ; 
 and of the hope full of immortality that kept her heart 
 from sinking. She pointed me, too, to the gathering- 
 place of the church of the Redeemer, which was open- 
 ing to receive her, and to the short and quickly traversed 
 space that might divide me from it. One of the last 
 rays of the evening sun darted into the room, and 
 seemed to afford an earnest of that blessed meeting. 
 Our sorrow was mingled with lively hope, and we were 
 
 E 
 
66 MEMOIR OF 
 
 glad that the sacred day was that on which we must 
 part, till the dawning of a Sabbath without end. She 
 expressed a desire that, as we had often united in prayer, 
 we should continue to maintain this valued fellowship 
 by praying for each other at a stated hour of each day 
 that was added to her life. This agreement she never 
 forgot. Some one entered the room, and I bade my 
 sister in Jesus farewell, and saw her no more." l 
 
 This was the " dear Jeany Ross," alluded to in a 
 letter already quoted. She finished her weary journey 
 shortly afterwards, saying with her last sigh, " He that 
 cometh unto me I will in nowise cast out." And now, 
 in that glorious region unexplored by living man, they 
 who by concert prayed for each other daily for a time 
 on earth, are united in a chorus of ceaseless praise : — 
 " Worthy is the Lamb that was slain." 
 
 1 Missionary Annual, p. 183. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 07 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 STUDIES AND OCCUPATIONS IN EDINBURGH. 
 
 From Berwick she conveyed to their new home in 
 Edinburgh, the young brother and sister of whom she 
 had charge. In common with her family she drooped 
 like a transplanted tree, and was rather disposed to be 
 occupied about the past, than to feel capable of exertion 
 in her new scene. Very few letters seem to have been 
 written during that year. Amongst the few within reach, 
 there are constant allusions to her birth-place and her 
 parent ; unmurmuring, but touching regrets, which be- 
 longed to the tenacity and tenderness of her nature, 
 and which are not incompatible with submission to the 
 divine dispensations. To her maternal friend in Lon- 
 don, she mentioned the visitation of cholera, which 
 spread terror and grief through Kelso, during the 
 autumn of that year, and said, " A day of fasting was 
 held to implore the removal of the pestilence. I do 
 hope the town may derive lasting benefit from this 
 visitation. Had dear papa been in this vale of tears, 
 how lively an interest would he have taken in the suf- 
 ferings of his people ! I can sometimes rejoice that he 
 can no more be subjected to the sorrows that are, in a 
 greater or less degree, the portion of every child of 
 Adam. Ah ! my dear friend, it is sweet to think that, 
 whatever may be our alternations of pain and pleasure, 
 
68 MEMOIR OF 
 
 he is in possession of the happiness that arises from 
 dwelling with, and being like, his Saviour. I some- 
 times pause, and ask myself, what improvement has 
 resulted from all our heavenly Father's dealings with 
 us during the past months ? It has been small indeed ; 
 but He who sent sorrow has, I trust, sent a blessing 
 with it, and taught us more, that He himself is the 
 source of all real enjoyment, and. that without his pre- 
 sence no peace can be found. We often receive mes- 
 sages from our poor and sick friends, some of whom 
 will probably soon be removed to a better world. We 
 expect to-morrow to be partakers of the Lord's Supper, 
 and you will believe our thoughts have been carried 
 back to the last time when our departed one was with 
 us at the table, But this is not enough ; — we must also 
 look forward to the land where we shall again unite in 
 
 praising our Saviour's love." 
 
 While she remained at Berwick, she w r rote the first 
 pages of a diaVy. From this sacred document it is im- 
 possible to quote so plentifully as it would be for edifi- 
 cation to do ; for, till the hand was cold that used to 
 turn the key upon it, no second eye had ever rested on 
 it ; and it is obvious, from various expressions which 
 it contains, that she designed it entirely for her own 
 private inspection ; yet every page proves the truth of 
 what was said in her funeral sermon, — "The principle 
 and spring of her actions lay in the conscience and in 
 the heart. Hers was that genuine inwrought piety, 
 which is primarily and chiefly conversant w T ith Him 
 who looks to the heart, — which labours to have the 
 foundation deeply laid so as to alford a secure support 
 for the superstructure, — which seeks not observation, 
 or rather dreads it, — yet which shuns not the acknow- 
 ledgment of the truth, and the confession of the Saviour, i 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 
 
 nor swerves from the path of duty, to fscape either 
 censure or scorn." 
 
 Diary. — "Berwick, Sabbath morning, Sept. 23. 1832. 
 — I have sometimes regretted that seasons of peculiar 
 encouragement or depression in the christian warfare, 
 have been permitted to pass away unrecorded ; for, 
 though some impression of such reasons may be retained, 
 yet the returning engagements of life, whether in the 
 form of attractions or of cares, combine with my own 
 evil heart to render it but a faint one. Perhaps were 
 I, in a little while, to see in writing what had been the 
 exercises of my mind, I should be surprised and ashamed 
 at the quick change in the current of my thoughts. I 
 find it difficult to live, every day and every hour, as in 
 the presence of God, though I know I cannot be com- 
 pletely happy till I thus live. I know perfection does 
 not flourish on earth, yet how many of the dear people 
 of God have given themselves, soul, body, and spirit, 
 to Him ! and how invariably have they found their cove- 
 nant God faithful to his promise, 'to be a Father to 
 them, and to make them his sons and daughters ! ' O 
 that I may be enabled to follow in their bright track ! 
 What a happy being should I be, could I, like them, 
 forsake all, and follow Jesus ! He is my Saviour — He 
 has given his very life for me. How can I, then, count 
 any thing dear that may come between my soul and 
 Him? I do trust that He who has given me the love I 
 feel towards Him, and taught me to wish for more, will 
 satisfy that wish, and increase my spiritual appetite, 
 that I may be capable of receiving abundantly that 
 love which is to the thirsty spirit like streams in the 
 desert. I hope that, by sometimes writing down my 
 different states of heart, I may be assisted in judging 
 of my progress in the way to Zion. Yet I fear that 
 
70 MEMOIR OF 
 
 snares encompass me, even in this trifling effort. Let 
 me then ask God to make me faithful to myself, — to 
 teach me to search the depths of my sinfulness, and 
 not to be afraid to discover its extent. Let me never 
 write any thing concerning myself, that is inconsistent 
 with the strictest truth. Let me never be induced to 
 flatter myself, and gloss over the true state of my mind. 
 And may my Lord help me to be his child, and make 
 this a means of rendering me more careful to cast out 
 what offends Him, and to delight to do his will." 
 
 Such was her object in keeping a diary, and she 
 seems to have been enabled to fulfil it most strictly, in 
 the simple truth with which she states her faults, and 
 searches her motives, during the six years in which she 
 occasionally resorted to it. 
 
 Soon after settling in Edinburgh she took advantage 
 of the plentiful means of mental culture which the place 
 affords, and became absorbed in study, in concert with 
 many others about her own age, some of whom were 
 generous rivals in various objects of competition, and 
 two at least became sincerely attached friends for life. 
 Numerous essays remain, evidences of her industry, 
 and advancing store of knowledge, and increased power 
 of thinking. Such occupation always enlivened and 
 cheered her spirits. She never seemed so happy as 
 when put upon the exercise of her faculties in retire- 
 ment. In a letter, written about this time, she said, — 
 " We are very closely occupied at present, writing an 
 essay on 'the best training for female intellect, , — rather 
 a difficult subject. You have heard of people who cry, 
 4 Scraps thankfully received,' — I am somewhat in their 
 case ; and hints thankfully received is my motto. Will 
 you give me some?" 
 
 However earnestly engaued in other pursuits, spiritual 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 71 
 
 progress lay nearest her heart ; and by-and-by, the 
 friends who were accustomed to meet and read history, 
 or prepare English compositions with her, sought to 
 sanctify their other engagements, by meeting once in 
 the week, for reading the scriptures and prayer. In 
 unison with such elevating communings was the in- 
 crease of benevolence to all the human race. Her diary 
 exhibits many examples of ardent philanthropy, gene- 
 rally terminating in purposes of action, as well as of 
 devotion. The following extract may reveal, to the 
 friends of the negro, by what secret ministrations they 
 have been enabled to persevere, and have not fainted 
 in a prolonged course of trial and discouragement ; for 
 doubtless many a faithful soul that could neither speak 
 in the senate nor plead on the platform — that had neither 
 silver, gold, nor influence — did, like Mary Lundie, bear 
 the wrongs of those suffering tribes, and of a continent 
 in ruins, and the prolonged strength, zeal, and persever- 
 ance of their friends, on their hearts to the footstool of 
 Mercy. 
 
 "March 22, 1833. — We have been lately much in- 
 terested in the emancipation of slaves. I never heard 
 eloquence more overpowering than that of George 
 Thompson. I am most thankful that he has been 
 raised .up. O that the measure soon to be proposed 
 in Parliament, may be effectual ! What can / do for 
 my oppressed brethren ? Only one thing — pray for 
 them. This will be regarded on high. How sweet it 
 is to be able to tell our desires to God, and to know 
 that, though our influence among men may be next to 
 nothing, He will not despise our cry. Let me then bear 
 poor Africa on my heart, and seek a speedy emancipa- 
 tion for her sons, not only from the rod of the oppressor, 
 but from the bonds of iniquity. Long have they dwelt 
 
72 MEMOIR OF 
 
 in a night of darkness and sighing, but their cry has 
 entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth. O may 
 they now be rescued by his power ! " 
 
 Diary. — " March. — J have been thinking of the events 
 of last spring. It is nearly a year since my beloved 
 father's death, and all this time he has been praising 
 his Saviour with fulness of joy, while we have still been 
 occupied with the fleeting things of time. Has this 
 affliction given me an abiding sense of the instability 
 of earthly joys, and made me long more for that purer 
 delight, which is found in seeing the Lord face to face ? 
 Has it made me walk more circumspectly, and devote 
 myself more completely to my God ? Has it made me 
 feel the value of that blood, which has washed away 
 sin, and taken the sting from death ? O ! I thought 
 at first that I could never more fancy this world my 
 home, nor forget how fast it must fade from my view ; 
 but sometimes I have forgotten this. How lovely 
 heaven would appear, did I always think of it as my 
 resting-place, and employ my thoughts on what would 
 prepare me for going there ! My heavenly Father sees 
 all my sins, and the coldness of my heart — my readi- 
 ness to forget the rock whence I was hewn, and to live 
 and act as if my daily duties might be performed without 
 his aid, or a reference to his glory. O ! that He may 
 help me to live to Him, to watch my heart, and to be so 
 humbled by my sins, as to receive gladly my Saviour's 
 offers of guidance, and to feel that ' without Him I can- 
 not go.' " 
 
 " April 28. — I was nineteen two days ago. How 
 long I have lived to little purpose ; I am so ready to 
 miss opportunities of doing good, and to make some 
 excuse to myself for it ! Well ! this year of my life is 
 gone ; but let me try every day that is added to my 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 73 
 
 time, to serve God myself, and seek to make others do 
 so too. I feel that I have not tried as I ought, to be 
 
 useful to E . x Conscience has often told me this, 
 
 and yet I have waited for a ' convenient season.' Surely 
 this is one, for the communion is drawing near, and she 
 is not yet a candidate for admission. Let me, then, 
 no longer listen to suggestions for delay, but, in our 
 walks, turn conversation heavenward, as those should 
 do who hope to win a lasting home there. 1 have also 
 neglected, far too much, the endeavour to make my 
 dear little sister seek her Saviour, and I know that my 
 conduct has been at times such as did not become a 
 disciple of Christ ; therefore, I fear I have injured her, 
 by making her think that it is not so requisite to walk 
 with unspotted garments. O ! may I be enabled, in 
 patience, to possess my soul, — to behave wisely to her, 
 and, both by precept and example, win her to my 
 Shepherd. I have been looking back on the way by 
 which He hath led us. His dispensatipns have come in 
 love and wisdom. Boston says, if the wood designed 
 for the building were able to choose, very likely no iron 
 instrument should come upon it ; but in this case, it 
 would never be fit to form part of the building. So 
 we, if left to choose, might prefer to be without sorrow ; 
 but should we then, unhumbled and full of earthly pros- 
 perity, be fit for heaven ? Happily we are not left to 
 choose, and God sends sorrow to make us like our 
 Saviour. It is well — He comforts us — He hath done all 
 things well. May I hope, then, that I am more firmly 
 rooted and grounded in love ? I am vile, but I have 
 known and believed the love that God hath to me ; and, 
 since He has taught me this, He will teach me more. 
 O ! to be like my Saviour, and part with what He does 
 1 One of her fellow-students. 
 
74 MEMOIR OF 
 
 not approve — to see, in its true light, the insufficiency 
 of the creature — and to say, from my heart, ' Whom 
 have I in heaven but Thee ? and there is none on earth 
 that I desire beside Thee ! ' I must go and read with 
 the boys, and let me not forget both to pray and to try 
 to do them good." 
 
 Diary. — " June 9. — I think that, during the last six 
 weeks, while my dear friends have been in town, I have 
 gone out too much, and mamma has felt the want of 
 one who could sympathize in her feelings. This pains 
 me to the quick, and I can hardly write for tears. ! 
 my heavenly Father, when shall I be wise ? When 
 shall I faithfully do my duty to her, and all of them ? 
 Not till I have left off considering self, and thought only 
 of glorifying Thee, by being useful. . . . When we 
 were in our own home, and my beloved father was 
 with us, it was not thus. Dear mamma has lost what 
 she cannot regain, and no wonder she feels sad ; and, 
 when she looks at me, feels the contrast sadder still. 
 Yet surely I, loving her as I do, better than any thing 
 in this world, ought to be a comfort and help to her, 
 and I wish and pray to be so. O God ! I am ignorant; 
 wilt Thou make me holy ? and let me walk softly, lest 
 I lose the little spark of grace which I trust Thou hast 
 kindled in me. I want to learn prompt obedience. 
 When I was a little child, I never thought I knew as 
 well as mamma ; but now I at times feel inclined to 
 take my own way. Why should I be so proud ? Let 
 me learn humility ; this is my best wisdom. My God 
 puts me precisely in the circumstances where my cor- 
 ruption shall be shown me ; and I should be thankful 
 for it ! Ah ! how unlike the children of heaven are the 
 thoughts that fill my heart. I want to glow with love 
 to all, so that I shall forget myself, and be happy if I 
 
MARY LUNDtE DUNCAN. 75 
 
 can, in any degree, make them so. And why should 
 this appear so difficult? I have a Friend on high, who 
 knows my vileness and weakness, and will forgive me, 
 and help me too. He renews his forgiveness everyday. 
 May I live near to llim, and may every thorn that 
 pricks me, make me look up to the beautiful city, where 
 is a tree of life without a thorn, and a morning without 
 a cloud ! " 
 
 This extract is given as an evidence of her extreme 
 tenderness, both of conscience and of affection. The 
 young heart is not easily convinced that an affliction is 
 irreparable, and to be endured with what meekness and 
 faith may be bestowed. If she enjoyed herself with 
 friends of her age and character, and returning met the 
 same wan enduring countenance that she had left, she 
 reproached herself, as if she ought to have been doing 
 something to alleviate feelings which were quite beyond 
 her reach ; and because her ardent affection would have 
 rendered it the joy of her life to fill that place which 
 the divine dispensation had made empty, when she 
 found that was not within her power, she accused her 
 own natural cheerfulness, as if its indulgence were sel- 
 fish. 
 
 "July 1. — Dr R 's tw r o days' visit has been 
 
 pleasant. He gives a useful turn to conversation, and 
 has been a successful minister. Some instances that he 
 related, of remarkable conversions, showed me the great 
 efficacy of faith and prayer. He asks and expects great 
 blessings, and he receives them. It is strange, that, 
 when I am asking for quickening grace for myself, or 
 conversion for those I love, I often think of the answer 
 as a distant thing, and do not seem to know that He 
 who hears me is ready to give far higher things than I 
 have ever asked. If I remember this, my prayers will 
 
76 MEMOIR OF 
 
 be much quickened. I fear to deceive myself by kneel- 
 ing with a wavering heart. My dear uncle preached 
 yesterday on the evil of wavering. May the Lord help 
 
 me to ' ask in faith ! ' Dr R told us much of the 
 
 tenets of the Rowites, which I heard with deep interest. 
 It is mysterious that the flower of the church should 
 thus be suffered to wander. May this make me very 
 watchful over myself! Oh! may I be thankful that, 
 from my infancy, I have been taught the ' good old 
 way,' and, while I keep clear of those errors, may I be 
 preserved from indifference, that clogs and benumbs the 
 soul ! " 
 
 " July 14. — Ruthwell. — I arrived on Friday, and have 
 been charmed with the beauty of the grounds, and 
 cheered by the kindness of my friends. The Sabbath 
 has come, and I am once more spending that sacred day 
 in the country. The scene is bright and calm-, and all 
 nature seems to praise Him to whom it owes its being. 
 Strange that my heart should be so out of tune, so little 
 in unison with this sweet and universal concert ! — I 
 have not, of late, made proper use of my Sabbaths. At 
 Kelso, my class, and the beautiful scene I delighted to 
 look upon from my attic, gave elasticity to my spirits, 
 and I felt that it was a happy thing to seek to be useful, 
 and to bless the Giver of so many pleasant gifts. But 
 in Edinburgh, I felt at first such deprivations so much, 
 that a feeling of discomfort — discontent, I fear — stole 
 on me, and made many moments dark, which might 
 have been very precious. O how sinful was this ! I 
 felt it so at times, and strove against it. My God, may 
 I live on thy word, and then I shall not be so unprepared 
 to lay hold on thy blessings as they flow ! I have not 
 felt the ordinances of God's house very precious, nor 
 been able to say, ' How amiable are thy tabernacles ! ' 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 77 
 
 and, worse than all, I have not grieved at this. I know 
 these things are so, but I do not rouse myself to make 
 them otherwise. This verse comforts me, ' He who 
 hath delivered my soul from death, will He not deliver 
 my feet from falling !' Yes, He will. May I not quench 
 his Spirit ? I feel something of my old buoyancy of 
 spirit. But this is no proof of nearness to God ; for 
 while I have been sitting in the cottage porch, trying 
 to raise my heart to Him, all sorts of foolish thoughts 
 have passed through my mind. I am sin — all sin. 
 But surely the grace of God, which is sufficient for me, 
 should ere this have been exerting a stronger power in 
 my soul. My days, this week, have been idly spent, 
 for I have not sought God in my occupations ; and no 
 wonder I am all wrong to-day. I have been considering 
 how I could do good to others, and have not attended 
 to the first step to it — watchfulness over myself. Ex- 
 ample does more than anything, and I can only be made 
 to walk uprightly by keeping close to God. O God ! 
 whom I have so often vowed to serve, and so often 
 forgotten, pity and help me ! Thou art Lovt\ and wilt 
 not cast me off. I am thine — save me. Do with me 
 whatever Thou wilt ; but do not let me forget Thee any 
 more. Leave me not, or I shall perish. Thou art 
 God-^-Oh ! rule in my heart." 
 
 " July 21. — Another week has fled, and I have been 
 strangely tossed in spirit. Now that is passed — but Oh, 
 how much sin has there been in all parts of my conduct ! 
 I once thought of writing it down — but 1 am not sure 
 that it would be to profit. I have had pain in my 
 spirit, and not sought relief in God. I knew not that 
 I had so much folly about me, but every new situation 
 in which I am placed brings out new sins. May God 
 lead me out of temptation ! Oh, may I be quite willing 
 
r 
 
 78 MEMOIR OF 
 
 to be so led ! He knoweth what is for my good, and 
 bringeth good out of evil. If I lived on 4 manna/ I 
 should not stop for husks." 
 
 " July 25. — Last night we went to the high part of 
 the road to see the English coast, which was sparkling 
 in sunshine, while passing clouds cast deep shadows on 
 parts of it. The cliffs stood out in beautiful relief, and 
 the summit of Helvellyn appeared at a distance beyond 
 Skiddaw. It was a scene never to be forgotten, and 
 excites a longing to be a hermit on the side of one of 
 those peaceful hills. But storm and mist shroud them 
 sometimes, and they are not often so lovely as then they 
 were. Let them act on me as a similar scene did on 
 James Montgomery, ' yonder summits far away,' etc. — 
 and, 4 beyond the tomb/ let me look for perfect peace." 
 
 " July 26. — The fast day. I have been trying to 
 seek my God. ' My best desires are faint and few,' 
 but He will help me. I have to mourn for half-hearted' 
 7iess. This was my complaint when I wrote the first 
 sentence in this book ; it is so still. Present things 
 have far too great a hold on me, and eternal things 
 dwindle from my view. But God is showing me that 
 all below is vanity, and I seem less and less to look for 
 perfect happiness on earth. I have been in varied cir- 
 cumstances, and each had its peculiar trials, and in all 
 I have found my only help in God. But Oh, how 
 much more hopefully can I seek for peace and comfort 
 when the trial is of his sending, than when it is of my 
 own making ! He sees my heart and will empty the 
 vanity out of it, and make me such as He approveth. 
 I want to be all his own. Often I blame my actions, 
 and deeply too, when the only way to correct them is 
 to purify the source. I have not truly sought that God 
 should direct my daily steps. I have lived away from 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 79 
 
 Him, and no wonder that I have offended Him. I 
 have not been instant in prayer. I have been called 
 by his name while I obeyed not his law. lie says, 
 ' return and I will heal your backslidings.' May I do 
 so this very day — and as, when Daniel confessed, 
 Gabriel flew swiftly to him with a message of mercy, 
 may my Father pardon me, and let me feel myself 
 pardoned, that I may henceforth walk in newness of 
 life ! How precious is Christ ! When I think of my 
 sins, He is my only hope, and worth all the universe. 
 May I love Him more, not in name only, but in deed 
 and in truth ! " 
 
 Such was a portion of her fast day exercises in the 
 country, surrounded by christian friends, whose con- 
 verse might have prevented the depth of her heart 
 searchings, had she not been resolved on converse with 
 God. About this period the germ of that attachment 
 was formed which gave a bent to the remainder of her 
 life. Acting as a disturbing force on the divine love 
 which was the master attraction of her heart, it dis- 
 tressed and unsettled her ; and explains the quarrel she 
 had against herself in this extract, and also in the fol- 
 lowing : — " I have every thing here to make me happy ; 
 but what avails it, when the mind is disordered ? May 
 I act conscientiously ! Oh, that I could live as seeing 
 Him who is invisible ! Why should I write this wish, 
 and yet not pray with all my heart that it may be rea- 
 lized. Help me, my King ! Save from sin one who 
 is ransomed by the blood of thy Son," Again, a few 
 days after, she writes, " Were I sure that what I do 
 meets with my Lord's approval, I should be happy. 
 Sin is mixed with every thing. May I learn to prove 
 my heart and reins ! The Lord weigheth the spirit, 
 and teacheth us to weigh our own too. Why then is 
 
80 MEMOIB OF 
 
 it that I so little seek his guidance ? Peace is far from 
 the heart that seeks it not at his throne." The next 
 passage, written when she returned home, and happened 
 to pass a few days there alone, shows the continuance 
 of the same internal conflict. 
 
 "September 1. — I am yet more puzzled about the 
 state of my feelings. May God direct me, and forgive 
 me ! I have a weight at my heart, when I view it in 
 some lights. Let my mouth be stopped, and vanity 
 and self-indulgence never more be given way to. I am 
 solitary, may I use my time to probe my heart, and, 
 above all, to seek the Lord, whom I have lately too 
 much forgotten." "September 8. — I have been trying 
 to draw nigh to God, but find it more difficult than be- 
 fore. I am sick of myself and my wayward heart. I 
 want to examine myself, yet fear to do it thoroughly. 
 There are so many things mingled in me that must be 
 disentangled. I do wish my Lord to be my portion, 
 yet my conversation is trifling and to little purpose. 
 How long, oh how long, shall this disquietude of soul 
 rest upon me ? I do not wish for peace, if the reverse 
 is good for me. But repentance I must seek, and it is 
 madness to go on thus. I must pour out my soul be- 
 fore God ; yes, all its workings must be made known 
 to Him. Leave me not, my King, to wander in the 
 dark without a guide to point my way — give me power 
 to see whither Thou wouldest lead me, and oh ! be my 
 earthly path what it may, let me not lose sight of the 
 light at the end — the light of the eternal city." 
 
 Poor humanity ! How strong is resolve ! How 
 feeble in execution ! When David exclaimed, " unite 
 my heart to fear thy name," he was probably suffering 
 under similar experience. The infirmity which dis- 
 ables the mind from occupation by more than one ob- 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 81 
 
 ject at a time, and, when one affection is strengthened, 
 enfeebles another, is one of the burdens under which 
 the " new creature" groaneth and travaileth in pain ; 
 and even they who " have the first fruits of the Spirit, 
 groan within themselves, waiting for the adoption, to 
 wit, the redemption of their body." But " we are 
 saved by hope." The conflict endures but for a time. 
 Our guide does not shelter us from it, but, having tasted 
 its bitterness, the soul is taught more clearly to discern, 
 and more simply to seek, sanctification in all its attach- 
 ments. Blessed be his name that this is attainable, and 
 that the more the heart is expanded in such love as be- 
 cometh a Christian, the stronger evidence it possesses 
 of having passed from death to life. For a season poor 
 Mary was in heaviness, but the " King," to whose holy 
 dominion she so fervently renewed her submission, 
 guided and consoled and taught her, so that she enjoyed 
 peace with Him, while she exercised, in healthful 
 vigour, all the social and domestic affections. 
 
 At this period we find a jeu cVesprit, descriptive of 
 high intellectual enjoyment, in the society of choice 
 friends, which shows how much alive her soul was to 
 the charms of society. 
 
 " AN EVENING AT NO. XI. 
 
 September 10. 
 
 Oh ! is there a time when enchantment descends 
 Like light from a sphere that is brighter than this? 
 
 When the soul's warm emotion so dazzlingly blends, 
 That they seem but as one, — the sensations of bliss ! 
 
 Tis the hour of the evening when daylight is fled, 
 And with it the toils that awakened the day ; 
 
 And the tapers, that glow in the drawing-room, shed 
 Their reflection on faces still brighter than they : 
 
 F 
 
82 MEMOIR OF 
 
 When the man from his desk, and the boy from his book, 
 And the lady from thousands of matronly cares, 
 
 And the maid from her work, and her lone little nook, 
 Have cast to the wind every trouble of theirs : 
 
 And he to whose genius a senate might bow, 
 
 The champion of right, to humanity dear, 
 Forgets the proud laurels that wave o'er his brow, 
 
 And gilds like a sunbeam the moment of cheer : 
 
 And wit flashes out in electrical spark, 
 Till the sad and the sprightly acknowledge the spell, 
 
 And feel that if prospects at times appear dark, 
 Such moments of rapture repay them full well : 
 
 And eye answers eye, in the sparkle of mirth, 
 
 Reflecting the dance of the heart in its ray, 
 And the chorus of laughter swells loud round the hearth, 
 
 And the past and the future are lost in to-day. 
 
 And more I might add — but the deep doleful chime 
 Of midnight steals o'er me and breaks on my dream. 
 
 Go— whisper to those whom I love, little rhyme, 
 ' Keep a place for your songster at evening's fair gleam.' " 
 
 While still alone, she received a visit from the Rev. 
 S. H. Cox, D.D., of New York, — a man whose brilliant 
 and erratic genius, warm affections, and fervent piety, 
 have kindled admiring sympathy in many less ardent 
 and less intellectual characters than hers. It is he to 
 whom allusion is made in the next extract. 
 
 Diary. — " September 22. — I have been at prayer, but 
 my heart wandered often, and now I do not feel at 
 peace. The work is God's, so it cannot fail — but how 
 very long I am in becoming completely His. I will 
 not cease to beg Him to make me so. He is my God, 
 and will show me the emptiness of earth, and the reality 
 of eternity. 
 
 "I hope often to pray for Dr Cox. May a spark of 
 his fervent spirit linger among us ! May we be revived 
 as his church has been, and in the place where an all- 
 wise God has cast my lot, may I consecrate myself to 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 83 
 
 Him ! One great sin is, that the remembrance of past 
 folly, instead of making me pray and strive for newness 
 of life, makes me gloomy, and I fear, has an effect on 
 my deportment to my dear family. Now, adding one 
 evil will not cure another. Just let me seek oneness 
 of aim and motive. for a sense of sin forgiven ! Let 
 me seek it on this holy day." 
 
 " On Saturday, 14th, Dr Cox mentioned the half- 
 formed intention of the General Assembly of the United 
 States to propose a correspondence with ours. He told 
 us also of the invitation sent by the New York Univer- 
 sity to Dr Chalmers to lecture there six months. On 
 Sunday, his last prayer was, that He who walked 
 between the golden candlesticks would be with us still. 
 On Monday, he spoke of pneumatology, the science of 
 spirits, and said that an idiot's soul might be noble when 
 freed from the encumbering bodily organization. We 
 visited Knox's pulpit and the Castle. He looked with 
 the eye of a republican on the regalia ; and, on leaving 
 the Castle, said, he thought it well to visit such things, 
 for they taught us of how little value they are, and how 
 much nobler are the objects that fill the Christian's 
 mind, than any earthly splendour." 
 
 One who has read Sir Walter Scott's account of the 
 solemn convocation, and the breathless emotion at the 
 opening of the ancient chest in which the regalia of 
 Scotland had lain so long concealed, — and of his ever 
 after regarding one of his daughters with increased respect, 
 because her mind was worked up to such a pitch that 
 she nearly fainted at the scene, cannot fail to observe 
 the contrast between his mind and that of the American 
 visitor. However much of just regard for lawful insti- 
 tutions, and of regret about departed honours, inhabited 
 the breast of the native patriot, had the view been ex- 
 
84 MEMOIR OF 
 
 tended from the perishing earthly splendours to the 
 crown of glory that fadeth not, the emotion experienced 
 on that occasion would have been tempered down to a 
 degree not far above that of the republican Christian. 
 
 " On leaving the armoury, Dr Cox said, he longed 
 for the time when swords should be beaten into prun- 
 ing-hooks ; and he believed there were indications of 
 the approach of that time. He spoke of an attempt to 
 settle disputes by writing instead of force. At seven, I 
 attended a prayer-meeting where he spoke of revivals, 
 and I longed for an effusion of the Spirit on my own 
 poor heart, and all around me. May 1 never forget 
 that night!" 
 
 "Wednesday 18. — Mamma came home at last, and Dr 
 Cox drove to the door an hour after. He explained the 
 5th of Romans. He held up his Greek Testament, and 
 said, ' Out of this blessed book I have derived all the 
 light I possess. Why do my countrymen trust so much 
 to each other's printed expositions, and not seek to learn 
 for themselves from this the pure spring?* I felt, while 
 he spoke with a glow of delightof the Bible, that 1 had 
 never prized it, nor understood it as I ought. I have 
 read it like other books, not impressed with the thought 
 that every word of it is God's, and therefore must be 
 strictly the truth. No expression of the Holy Spirit's 
 choosing is without its purpose ; it is always the very 
 one that will express precisely and fully the meaning 
 intended. Let me carry this thought with me when I 
 read the Bible. But I cannot tell all the gracious things 
 Dr Cox said. His heart is full of Christ, and thence 
 his mouth speaketh. And am I a member of the same 
 family? Ah, how unlike him in spirit ! Then, I am 
 also unlike Jesus, of whose spirit he has but a small 
 portion, and whose model he doubtless feels that he 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. &5 
 
 imitates but imperfectly. O to yield all to Him ! I want 
 to be His, and I know that I cannot be sin's too. Take 
 all my heart, my Saviour ! Let me crucify the flesh in 
 every way, and love Thee entirely, and my peace shall 
 be as the morning. After a hasty dinner, we went with 
 Dr Cox to the Temperance Coffeehouse, and soon the 
 coach whirled him away. Not so the impression his 
 visit had made. Long, long may it rest on my heart, 
 and may his singleness of purpose, his constant occupa- 
 tion of mind, his love to God, which is the source of his 
 actions, and the true secret of all the excellence of his 
 character, be my example ! " 
 
 A memorial like this must be encouraging to the 
 servants of Jesus, who, as they move through the world, 
 endeavour to leave a sweet savour of their Master behind 
 them. How many, from coldness or backwardness, put 
 aside their better thoughts, supposing them to be un- 
 welcome to those with whom they converse, who might, 
 if in love they would try, refresh many a disciple in their 
 course, and honour their Lord in doing so ! To her 
 maternal friend in London, Mary wrote of the same 
 gentleman in a similar strain. " I was never five 
 minutes in his company without hearing something 
 useful, and have had great delight in retracing all that 
 he told me. I fear his mind is too active for his frame. 
 Though his tour has caused a temporary cessation of 
 his pastoral labours, it has not brought him rest, for 
 wherever he goes he seeks to do good ; and during the 
 week he passed here, he preached twice, and once ad- 
 dressed a meeting. The latter was on the cause of 
 revivals, and made us grieve that so often the heavens 
 above us are as iron, and the earth as brass, while 
 showers of grace are falling in another land. Dr Cox 
 visited Mr Douglas of Cavers, and my little brothers 
 
86 MEMOIR OF 
 
 had the good fortune to be his companions, for he met 
 them at Kelso, and took them with him. He went over 
 the manse grounds, which are dear to him for his friend 
 Bruen's sake. To-morrow he will embark for a home 
 of which he speaks with greater enthusiasm than any 
 man I have heard. It is delightful to see one whose 
 soul is so engrossed with mighty things, yet so full of 
 fireside charities." 
 
 Diary — "October 4. — Took J. and B. to a missionary 
 meeting. They were much interested ; and next even- 
 ing, when I told them of my missionary box, and that 
 Mr Knill gave away Bibles which cost a ruble each, B. 
 threw his arms around me, and whispered, 'Sister, I will 
 give you a ruble.' Dear child, may he love the book 
 he wishes the heathen to have!" 
 
 " October 31. — Fast day. I have a great deal to do 
 to-day in my heart. I have tried to review what have 
 been my chief sins this summer, and find that-sin is in 
 everything, yet I do not feel it as I ought. When I 
 was suffered to commemorate Jesus' death, I did not 
 derive nearly the good I ought from it. I did not set 
 myself stedfastly to seek Him, and am ashamed when I 
 remember how very little effect the holy ordinance had 
 on me. I have sometimes made the excuse that some 
 of the clergymen were not very improving. But I had 
 the * footstool ' to go to, and have cause to grieve that 
 I sought my pleasures more from the nothings of time 
 than from the love of God. I find that vanity helped 
 to ensnare me. It pleased me to be admired, — and 
 though the temptations are not near me now, is vanity 
 weaker ? I often feel it rising, and though some other 
 sins have more power over me, it has some share in my 
 evil heart. Let me put it down. Then, self-indulgence 
 was one of my great sins. I did not look so much 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 87 
 
 whether a thing was right, as whether it pleased me ; 
 of course, there I got wrong. Against this let me watch. 
 Oh! that I could unweariedly watch, and hate the 
 things that wound my Lord ! The motives of my heart 
 were crooked, because other tilings than his will entered 
 into them. Since then, my conscience has felt burdened. 
 Peace has often been far from me ; and, when I have 
 felt unhappy, I have not acted to mamma, or any one, 
 as I ought. My heart, and thence my brow, have been 
 clouded. I have been most cheerful when I forgot. 
 Oh ! this is a false cheerfulness. I want to be made 
 clean every whit. When God pleases, I want solid 
 peace. I will seek Him till I find Him, his grace assist- 
 ing me. My chief concern is with eternity. Thither 
 each day hath borne its record, — and how shall I stand 
 when it is all vividly recalled to me at judgment ? Oh ! 
 Jesus, give me thy righteousness ! It was only last 
 Sunday that I was thinking over some of the past, 
 wherein I knew I had erred ; and strange ! it was with 
 a kind of pleasure. Thus, I nearly lost an excellent 
 sermon, and ' sinned in the recesses of the temple.' If 
 one of my friends knew my heart, and especially the 
 want of uprightness in my train of thought, I could not 
 look at that one. God knows all — give me, my God, 
 the grace of repentance : I want to draw nigh to Thee 
 to-day ; to begin anew to check sin in every shape — to 
 love thy law — to be a J servant of Jesus.' I am cold 
 and vile, and have only sins to bring, but she of old to 
 whom Thou forgavest much, loved much. Let it be so 
 with me. Let me, at least, love Thee indeed. Do what 
 Thou wilt with me. I should destroy myself if left to 
 myself, but leave me not. Let this fast day be one long 
 to be remembered as one wherein, in sincerity and 
 truth, I yielded up my mind to run in thy way." 
 
38 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " November 9. — I have not been able to write about 
 the exercises of the 3d. They were precious, and I 
 renewed my covenant with my God solemnly. Dear 
 
 E and I spoke of the delight of being his children 
 
 when we came from his house. May that day be long 
 remembered as her first open avowal of her love to 
 Christ, and may she belong to Him for ever ! I thought 
 of my sins, but hope in my Saviour, and trust He will 
 strengthen me to keep my vow, and make me feel my 
 union to Him. I thought of the dear friends in London 
 who were engaged thus ; — it is a sweet bond." 
 
 The laying open of these exercises, so sacred and so 
 secret, is like the harsh process of the naturalist when 
 he saws in sunder a shell, whose external, polished, and 
 uniform surface, gives no indication of the spiral column, 
 with its many involutions, within. It is not done with- 
 out thought or without effort ; but if the purpose enter- 
 tained, in undertaking this sketch at all, is to be accom- 
 plished, it is by exhibiting the heart laid open before 
 God, — the jealous search after secret sin, and the humble 
 contrition for it. This was Mary's season of sorest 
 conflict; and it is much to be observed that, in the 
 midst of it, she never lost her confidence that God 
 would make a perfect work in her soul. The child-like 
 simplicity of her love and trust is very touching, and 
 maybe traced to her happiness in having been awakened, 
 through regenerating grace, at so early an age. Had 
 she only a year or two before this time of trial given 
 herself up to Christ, and acquired the habit of prayer, 
 her conflict must have been sharper ; the former course 
 of her thoughts would have acquired a fearful dominion 
 over her, and she might have felt as if she were cast off 
 from his presence ; but it was not so with her ; she was 
 still his redeemed one, with whose soul He had " been 
 
MAi:v LUNDIE DUNCAN. 88 
 
 at charges" long before ; and she was assured tliat his 
 purpose to sanctify her for himself eould not change. 
 " I am still his child," said the sweet mourner. Happy 
 they who surrender themselves to the Lord in youth. 
 " They who are washed, need not save to wash their 
 feet, but are clean every whit." It ought to be re- 
 marked also, that, while her own concealed uneasiness 
 led her to imagine that her conduct was not what it 
 ought to be in the family, she was comforting and 
 helpful as a daughter ; and as a sister she was tutoress, 
 counsellor, or sympathizing friend, at all times. If her 
 spirit was bowed down, her brow was serene ; if her 
 mind was anxious, her conduct was uniformly mild and 
 dutiful. 
 
 At this period she was called to sojourn at Berwick, 
 for some time, with an aged and valued relative, who 
 required to be ministered toby younger hands than her 
 own. Her diary while there, shows the same watchful 
 disposition, the same mistrust of self, and aversion to 
 the admission of little sins. 
 
 Diary. — " Berwick , Nov. 14.— I have been living 
 quietly here, and time slips through my fingers fast. 
 My dear aunt seems to have comfort in my presence, 
 and I give up my own will, as much as I can, to hers. 
 There is little outward temptation, but much from 
 within ; and I fear lest I let time pass without the be- 
 nefit I hoped to derive. Let me renew my efforts. I 
 have tried to employ my mind during my lonely walks, 
 on the best things. On Sunday, the 10th, I enjoyed a 
 good deal of prayer, and remembered the preceding one. 
 But, for the last two days, ' the cage of unclean birds' 
 has had more influence in my heart, and prayer has 
 seemed less dear and less necessary. I can trust to 
 no frame of mind ; but this morning, when I read of 
 
90 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Jesus' resurrection, I felt that I could trust Him. O, I 
 am his, why do I, then, so often forget Him ? To-mor- 
 row is the Sabbath. Is my heart in a Sabbath frame ? 
 
 " Last night I commenced teaching Nancy. She is 
 ignorant, indeed : may I be assisted, and made useful 
 to her ! I am very quiet here. How strange is the 
 propensity to look forward ! My prospects are all misty 
 and uncertain ; my retrospects lately painful. Shall I 
 not, then, look back with repentance, and forward with 
 submission, and seek grace for the present need ? May 
 I make heaven my future, — the loveliest bourne far, 
 far, on which my heart can dwell ! " 
 
 " Friday 22. — I have not this week been lively in 
 secret prayer, and therefore I do not feel at peace. I 
 have been much interrupted during the day, and have 
 sat late to do something for my mind. But thus my 
 soul has suffered ; for, by the time I went to prayer, I 
 have been sleepy and listless, so as to have difficulty 
 in keeping myself up. It is difficult to watch the 
 very point, which, if transgressed, is wrong. I don't 
 like to let my mind rest, — at least, not more than 
 necessary ; but I will try to improve the flying hours 
 better, doing what I can in the daytime, consist- 
 ently with cheering my aunt, and obeying her little 
 
 behests. I have thought much of dear F , in her 
 
 little room betimes, seeking her Father in heaven, and 
 commending herself, her friends, and the world, to Him. 
 How rich and ennobling is prayer, when we enter on it 
 with all our hearts ! What can be so exalting to the 
 mind, or fill it with such pure and heavenly thoughts ? 
 Let me remember this, when I am poring, in spite of 
 weariness, on something I am bent on finishing ere I 
 retire. 
 
 "There is another fault I am guilty of. — that of 
 
MARY LTJNDTE DUNCAN. 91 
 
 speaking too much, and loving to display my tiny con- 
 versational powers. I believe I wish to do good, in my 
 intercourse with others ; but when I begin to tell stories 
 of Mr Knill and Dr C, I feel pleased at having some- 
 thing to say that gives pleasure, and a little informa- 
 tion ; and I have wondered to find my head in motion, 
 and my tongue speaking with great animation, to people 
 wiser than myself. How contemptible ! Should it not 
 make me humble to think how vile I am in the sight 
 of God ? Will nothing teach me ? Even when I am 
 seeking information, there is a solicitude not to seem 
 ignorant, and an idea that this will make me seem 
 wiser when I know it. Now, all this should lead me 
 to secret prayer. When I think I wish glory to God, 
 I find I am seeking it for myself. Let me pray for a 
 new heart, a complete change, and seek to forget my- 
 self, and aim, in conversing, to make others happy, and 
 honour God. Let me try." 
 
 A poem, dated December 12, 1833, forms a suitable 
 close to this year. 
 
 " A REMINISCENCE ON LEAVING KELSO. 
 
 There is a spot where memory loves to rest, — 
 A scene whose image, pictured in my breast, 
 Is twined with all that's beautiful and dear, 
 With all that weeps affection's mournful tear — 
 My home ! — By the soft sunshine of thy glades, 
 Thy daisied pastures, mixed with forest shades ; 
 The gentle breeze, that fans thy waving tree ; 
 By thy sweet wild-flowers, I'll remember thee ! 
 And thou, my native stream, whose waveless flow, 
 Whether thou laugh'st in morning's roseate glow, 
 Or spread'st thy bosom to the noon-tide beam, 
 Or smil'st in beauty at the sunset's gleam, 
 Art lovely still. — Bright stream, farewell to thee ! 
 Thy silvery waters flow no more for me ; 
 No more for me the music of thy play, 
 When lengthening shades proclaim the close of day. 
 
92 MEMOIR OF 
 
 One hour there is, I've prized above the rest, 
 
 One halcyon hour, when thou wert loveliest ; 
 
 'Twas when the day of rest was well nigh sped, 
 
 And its sweet influence o'er my heart was shed ; 
 
 When courting solitude, at balmy even, 
 
 I sought for peace, in communing with heaven. 
 
 'Twas rapture then, to gaze on thee, fair stream, 
 
 All sparkling in day's last and tenderest beam ; 
 
 While the rich trees that graceful o'er thee wave, 
 
 Were trembling in the golden light it gave ; 
 
 And breezes stirred the incense of the air, 
 
 As tho' some spirit kept his Sabbath there ; 
 
 It seemed, as if those deep and spacious skies, 
 
 That kindled earth with their celestial dyes, 
 
 Shot rays of glory from some heavenly clime 
 
 To bless the Sabbath of the sons of time, 
 
 And raise the soul, on contemplation's wing, 
 
 To the pure source whence endless pleasures spring — 
 
 A foretaste of that glorious land of light, 
 
 Where those who love the Lamb shall dwell in robes of white.* 
 
MAKY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 93 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE and DIAET. 
 
 Diary.—- Edinburgh. Jan. 18, 1334.— Up at four to 
 see Cornelius off. I felt sad when he set out in the 
 dark and damp, and thought of his many disadvantages 
 in living alone. Do I pray enough for my brother ? 
 My heart condemns me." 
 
 " 22. — The first night of my beginning to read 
 Watts' hymns, at the same hour with my ever dear 
 
 friend F . I have not of late prized this means of 
 
 keeping up christian fellowship so much as once I did. 
 I fear I can trace this to my thoughts being too much 
 set aiioat about the future in this life. — The future ! 
 what is it ? A moment like the past, and more uncer- 
 tain ; — if the very brightest dreams that ever dazzled 
 my fancy had been realized, still it would have been 
 but a moment. Shall I suffer things to tlit before me, 
 invested with proportions not their own, till all things 
 else seem tame and insipid ! " 
 
 " March 8.— ITave had delight in the life of M. J. 
 Graham: her remarks on conducting study to God's 
 glory, and drawing out the mind to its full extent, as a 
 precious talent, and his gift, pleased me much. Let me 
 try, like her, to bring all things to the ' Test of Truth.' 
 On Sabbath day attended the communion at Lady Glen- 
 orchy's. Mr Bruce, in serving a table, spoke of the 
 value God has for us, and our consequent duty of 
 being a peculiar and separate people, as, for the sake 
 
94 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of being served by us, He had given his Son. Too light 
 have been my impressions of that blessed day ; how 
 soon earthly things warp my soul, and absorb my at- 
 tention ! Let me keep fast by my hours of retirement, 
 as the only means of receiving spiritual life, and obtain- 
 ing the blessed spirit of my God." 
 
 These extracts, scanty as they are, compared to the 
 mass from which they are drawn, betray a holy jealousy 
 of self, and a sedulous mortification of all those emotions 
 which the admiration of a continually extending circle 
 of friends was calculated to excite. 
 
 The extracts from letters to friends of her own age, 
 about this time, will exhibit the elegance and playful- 
 ness of her mind, ever mingled as they were, with 
 thoughts beyond the present scene. 
 
 To one of her Class-fellows. 
 "Edinburgh, May 5, 1834. — I had been longing to 
 hear of your welfare and pursuits for days before the 
 arrival of your letters, and was a wee bit disappointed 
 that there was no line for me ; but it was only because 
 ' all men seem to themselves of some importance ;' so, 
 at least, says my counsellor, Pascal, that man of many 
 thoughts. My sober judgment soon told me you had 
 chosen your correspondence wisely. ... Is it not 
 most animating to feel oneself beloved by those who are 
 dear to us ? To me it is the most exhilarating of all 
 feelings; and we, dear friend, shall continue to love and 
 pray for each other, whether we are together, or divided 
 by many miles. Last week I had a long letter from my 
 
 dearest F . So long a time had elapsed, that I feared 
 
 she had forgotten her northern correspondent, or did 
 not know how large a share she possesses in my heart; 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 95 
 
 but this sweet message of love bears no token of forget- 
 fulness. She urges me onward to the Celestial City, 
 where, though our lot be far distant here, we shall to- 
 gether bow before our Saviour. Yes, my friend ! it is 
 a glorious prospect to be in his presence for evermore, 
 and to associate with all those who are formed after his 
 likeness ; and it is sweet to hold converse with the 
 loved companions of our short pilgrimage, those who 
 have helped us to draw nearer to our Lord, who have 
 poured consolation into our spirits when wounded, or 
 doubled our joys by their sympathy. It is strange when 
 I think of my friend Miss R , that my thoughts al- 
 ways flow in this current. Our intercourse has been 
 nearly all connected with our highest hopes, and I 
 trust the perpetuity of our love will much enhance its 
 value. 
 
 " I hope, dear M , the spring breezes that open 
 
 the roses in the garden, are also planting them on your 
 cheeks, which were at times so pale, as to tell us that 
 the heat of schools did not please them so well as the 
 
 wooded slopes of C . Do run about and be as wild 
 
 — I was going to say — as an ass's colt! but stopped, lest 
 you should think, which is not the case, that I meant to 
 insinuate any affinity between my fair friend and that 
 interesting quadruped. No, no ! B. B.'s lessons in 
 botany and all the sciences, profound and light, will 
 preclude all possibility of this. — There is more danger 
 of you becoming a blue. . . Our little friends at 
 Stockbridge school go on as well as usual ; I really 
 respect and like the teacher. . . You will think of 
 us next Sabbath. — Do pray for me. I could tell you 
 of the coldness and carelessness of my heart, but I 
 would not sadden you with my confessions ; only ask 
 that I may know more of the hidden love of God." 
 
96 MEMOIR OF 
 
 The friend, to whom she makes such grateful allusion 
 in the foregoing letter, and of whom she states that their 
 intercourse had been nearly all connected with their 
 highest hopes, had shown her much considerate kind- 
 ness when a school girl ; and though they never saw 
 each other again, the tone of their intercourse was of an 
 elevating cast to the end. Daily spiritual communion 
 was maintained, by a concerted course of scriptural 
 reading, which was occasionally varied by a collection 
 of hymns. The salutary effect of this was obvious on 
 Mary's mind, for the name of that friend seemed invari- 
 ably to lead to a train of pious reflection. A part of 
 what appears to be the reply to the letter mentioned 
 above, is as follows : — 
 
 To her Friend near London. 
 "Edinburgh, May 3, 1834. — I have risen an hour 
 before the household, and shall enjoy my quiet-time with 
 you ; but most sincerely do I join in your kind wish that 
 we could meet for an hour or two. I should like to 
 thank you viva voce for all your letters, and to tell you 
 that they have not unfrequently come when I was in 
 want of quickening and stirring up, and have helped me 
 to draw more near to my Saviour, for a time at least. 
 Let us, my beloved friend, set our faces more stedfastly 
 to seek Him who is our King, and our only hope. I 
 often wonder at my own hardness of heart, that I should 
 prize earthly friendship, one of his sweetest gifts so 
 much, and yet love so little Him who is the source of 
 love, from whom flow all the kindly feelings that cheer 
 our way, and who has manifested towards us a compas- 
 sion whose depth we cannot fathom. Why is it that 
 all perfection should be so coldly thought of, and that 
 cisterns which fail should be so cherished? — or that the 
 
MARY LlNDIi: DUNCAN. 97 
 
 prayers of christian friends should be sought and prized, 
 and yet the open door to the throne of mercy be so often 
 passed by? I was struck with the contradiction in this, 
 when this morning I had many wandering thoughts in 
 prayer, and hoped that you would pray for me. Ah ! 
 surely, if I truly desired to grow in grace, my own 
 prayers would be more frequent and earnest ; for what 
 can be more plain or more encouraging than the com- 
 mand, 'ask and ye shall receive V My God bears long 
 with an untoward child, and this makes me hope, that 
 my slow walk, and frequent deviation from the path of 
 life, may be changed for that 'unwearied running,' which 
 must make present objects lose their false importance, 
 and heaven and holiness be viewed aright. Is it not 
 cheering, dear F., to feel that strength is not in, or from, 
 ourselves, but ' our help cometh from the Lord ? ' To 
 Him, then, let us always return, and never be satisfied 
 with any thing that may pretend to the name of happi- 
 ness, short of his love. It is delightful to me to com- 
 mune with you, dear fellow-pilgrim, even at the distance 
 of so many miles, and to feel that the bond which unites 
 us is our fellowship with heaven. To love in Christ is 
 the happiest earthly feeling, and I do trust it is thus 
 we love each other. It seems a preparation for another 
 state of being, where, indeed, God will be all in all ; 
 and, though we are widely separated here, may we not 
 worship together there ? The continuance of our friend- 
 ship makes me prize it most; for I think it will not die 
 with us. No ! what belongs to the soul cannot die ; 
 and if you should in time find out all my weakness, and 
 cease to love me, or if long absence should even break 
 off our correspondence, yet in heaven, purified and made 
 one in Jesus, you could not but love me again ; and not 
 the less for remembering that in this vale we held sweet 
 
 G 
 
98 MEMOIR OF 
 
 converse, and often met in spirit before the Lord. But 
 my dear friend will smile at this glance into the future 
 and the unknown ; yet, will not she agree with me, that 
 friendship assumes a nobler character when we look 
 forward to the period when w r e shall be filled with the 
 same holy joy, and satisfied with the same glorious 
 4 likeness?' . . . My time is at present so much 
 occupied, that it is important to employ each moment 
 as it flies, or I could not do half that I wish. Indeed, 
 I never accomplish every thing 1 have purposed in the 
 morning. Two mornings in the week are spent in 
 schools ; one of which interests me much, — the other is 
 but a new acquaintance, and there is a want of method 
 and spirit in the management, which only the regular 
 teacher can wholly supply. I am also taking some 
 lessons in singing, of which I am very fond ; and my 
 inward discussions, on whether the value of time admits 
 of such employ, generally terminate in, 'it is but for 
 a little while, and mamma and all of them like it.' I 
 meet my singing companion twice a-week, to practise, 
 and to give her a little rudimental knowledge of Italian ; 
 and as we have begun with John's gospel, there is an 
 occasional opportunity to speak to my amiable friend of 
 some precious words of Jesus. Mamma often reads 
 aloud in the evening while I work ; and I enjoy this 
 more than most things. My little sister's improvement 
 I now watch eagerly, perhaps selfishly, I do so long for 
 her changing from the dear child to the friend. . . 
 You will not forget us on our communion Sabbath. I 
 never enjoy my dear uncle's 1 preaching so much as on 
 those days ; he seems so deeply impressed with the 
 value of the dying memorial of the crucified Lord." 
 
 1 Rev. Henry Grey, Edinburgh. 
 
MARY LUND1E DUNCAN. {)[) 
 
 To her Edinburgh Class-fellow she icrote in June : — 
 " Though you may rejoice in your absence from 
 dusty streets, you must allow me to cloud your sunny 
 mind by telling you that you have missed what has 
 been most interesting. AVe poor sojourners in busy 
 haunts of men, have some compensation for our exclu- 
 sion from the loveliness of early summer in the country, 
 in seeing those whose names we have been accustomed 
 to venerate, and hearing discussions that lose half their 
 interest when they have passed through the ordeal of 
 the reporter's pen. I need not tell you of this most 
 satisfying General Assembly. — Think how it has ad- 
 vanced in liberal feeling within three years. Let us, 
 
 dear M , pray for the peace of Jerusalem, that the 
 
 Spirit of her King may, in yet larger measure, descend 
 on those who minister in his sanctuary. To-day I 
 passed a short time in the gay scene in the Experimen- 
 tal Gardens, but I could not enjoy the flowers for the 
 swarms of ' knights and ladies gay' who crowded the 
 walks ; still, there is something inspiriting in timing 
 our footsteps to the cadence of martial music ; and I 
 could have fancied myself in some promenade of gay 
 France, where all the idle happy creatures (an anomaly I 
 own) meet to while away their hours amid sights, and 
 sounds, and odours in blended beauty ; but it outraged 
 my northern feeling with regard to what a garden 
 should be. Is there not in the word garden something 
 that expresses retirement and quiet, that could soothe 
 the mind when ruffled, and soften it when gay ? Does 
 it not bring to view Cowper in his alcove, and Hannah 
 More among her clustering roses at Barley- Wood, or 
 our first parents in their heaven-appointed home, where 
 their employ was to learn the wisdom and love of God 
 from every blossom that opened to the sun ? And does 
 
100 MEMOIR OF 
 
 it not recall calm hours that we, ourselves, have spent, 
 communing with nature, as if following thoughts of 
 some great mind far away from outward distractions, 
 and drawing near in our solitude to Him who made the 
 blades of grass we press beneath our feet, and made 
 us immortal, highly-favoured creatures ? Many such 
 thoughts used to fill my heart in the garden at my own 
 sweet home ; and would you believe, the floating scene 
 of this morning recalled those feelings vividly ? You ' 
 will not smile at this, when you remember the pain of 
 being obliged to leave every inanimate object that has 
 been long endeared. But after all, change of place 
 should not strongly influence the real Christian, for his 
 Master never leaves him, and his peace in the heart 
 makes even the wilderness to blossom as the rose. 
 
 Have you, my M , had your breast filled with that 
 
 best gift since your abode in the country? I have 
 hoped that a few months there may prove a time of 
 refreshing to you; and may not the heavy stroke which 
 has rendered the house of your faithful pastor desolate, 
 convey additional earnestness to his words, and increas- 
 ing desire to his hearers to learn heavenly wisdom ? 
 My dear friend, use the precious hours as they fly, and 
 oh ! pray for me, that I may do so likewise, and have 
 my heart and my portion in heaven." 
 
 To a Friend who had lost a brother in a foreign country. 
 . . . " Alas ! what can earthly comfort avail when 
 a cloud of doubt hangs over the departing hours of ' one 
 
 whom our souls loved.' Yet, my beloved M , the 
 
 balm of Gilead is sufficient even for this, though to a 
 Christian, the most afflictive trial that can befall him ; 
 and you, I know, have felt that the Sun of righteous- 
 ness shines bright even amid thick darkness. . . It 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 101 
 
 not unfrcquently occurs, that the God, whose footsteps 
 are not known, leads some wanderer from his fold into 
 a far country, where no Sabbath bell is heard, and 
 there, remote from human aid, teaches him by his 
 Spirit, that eternity alone is worth living for, and that 
 true religion alone is the safe-guard of any individual. 
 Poor Niment Richmond was so taught on the bosom 
 of the trackless waters, and led on, in an affecting man- 
 ner, through various trials, till his Father saw him ripe 
 for heaven, and called him hence. This is a severe test 
 of faith, but may it issue in the brightening of all your 
 christian graces. It is well to learn to give glory to 
 God, even in the fires. I understand the clinging 
 affection, which this sorrow, along with the departure 
 of your elder brother, makes you feel for the younger ; 
 yet, do not. rest on any earthly support ; go at once, 
 and without reservation, to your God, and in trusting 
 Him you shall be greatly blessed. Try to gather the 
 fair fruits of sanctified affliction in these dark days, my 
 friend ; do not seek, by other things, to w T eaken the 
 impression that God is dealing with you, but keep close 
 to Him, and become all that He designs this first op- 
 pressing grief should render you. Your spiritual 
 peace, your singleness of eye may be greater now than 
 ever, if only you make use of the afflictions that have 
 been sent you, which, painful though they be, form a 
 channel for the healing waters to flow in. Does not 
 the world seem { a vain show ' to you now f O ! I 
 never knew the meaning of these words till my beloved 
 and revered father was taken from me, and then they 
 rang in my ears for weeks, and seemed to be written in 
 their full meaning on my soul. How new the old and 
 familiar language of scripture seems, when a second 
 being, as it were, is awakened in us by sufferings. 
 
102 MEMOIR OF 
 
 What rich mines of treasure the promises become, and 
 how we hold by them, sure for once that no other stay 
 can prop us." 
 
 To her Correspondent near London. 
 " Edin., June 8, 1834. — I wonder if you love the 
 Psalms as I do ; they have so often cheered me when 
 sad, and filled my heart with sweet and peaceful 
 thoughts, that I feel as if some of them were peculiarly 
 my own ; I feel that they have been my songs in the 
 house of my pilgrimage. I like to have my feelings at 
 once expressed and deepened by the words of inspira- 
 tion, and to believe that the same emotion which tuned 
 the harp of David of old, is in a faint degree possessing 
 me ; and, in God's own time, a harp of purer tone 
 shall be given us, and along with the minstrel of Israel, 
 we shall tune them to the praise of his Lord and ours. 
 Why is it, then, that I am content to be so far, im- 
 measurably far, behind him now, in devotion of spirit 
 and christian attainment? It startles me to think of 
 the high and blessed hopes I cherish, and then to return 
 to my daily walk, and see how little it is regulated by 
 them, or by a motive more constraining still, the love 
 of my Saviour. I know you will say, your trust must 
 be fixed on Him alone ; you must not expect to find 
 any thing in yourself on which to lean. True ! but 
 what is it that prevents my coming more frequently into 
 his presence by prayer, and why is it, that, when there, 
 my desires are so languid, and at times I even seem to 
 have nothing to ask ? I do not mean that I never 
 heartily pray — Oh ! I should indeed be miserable were 
 it so ; but I have been cold of late ; I want quickening. 
 . . . I feel painfully how easy it is for me to bear 
 the character of a Christian, when I have very slightly 
 
IfABY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 103 
 
 ' taken up my cross,' and very imperfectly renounced 
 the love of this vain world. Dearest friend, how shall 
 I entirely belong to Jesus ? Oh ! animate me, by your 
 love, to love Him more, and do not fear to say what 
 you think of my evil heart, for how shall it become 
 purified unless truly dealt with ? I sometimes fear 
 life has for me too much that is engrossing ; though, 
 two years ago, I did not suppose I would again esti- 
 mate it as aught but a vain show. How strange is the 
 tendency to seek for rest, where all is fleeting. I 
 have had a lesson of great pain that it is so, in the re- 
 moval of my most dear friend, Isabella Gordon. You 
 have no idea what a blank it is to me to think she is 
 no longer on earth ; though far separated, we could 
 think of each other with the happiness of those who 
 know that such remembrances are mutual ; and the 
 hope of seeing her in Scotland this summer, had been 
 held out to her friends here, and had given me lively 
 pleasure for months ; but she is gone — quite gone, and 
 earth shall not be our place of meeting. I had believed 
 it a sweet friendship, formed to add to the enjoyments 
 of time ; but, though it has not proved so, the memory 
 of this loved one will continue most precious, till we 
 meet to love more intensely, and more in the Lord than 
 we could have done here. I cannot bear to think of 
 the grief of her mother and sister ; it must be over- 
 whelming ; and her poor husband, who so lately thought 
 he had secured such a treasure for his own — how great 
 must his desolation be ! She was a creature so full of 
 spirit and liveliness, that I never thought of her in con- 
 nexion with death. . . There is no cloud too thick 
 to be penetrated by the beams of divine love, and where 
 they shine, how can it all be darkness ? They are often 
 most glorious and reviving, when creature comforts 
 
104 MEMOIR OF 
 
 fell. . . How the passing thought of losing those 
 who are entwined with our very being, deepens and 
 hallows our love to them ! How it makes us anticipate 
 every wish, and strive in communing with them, to 
 catch the glow that rests on their souls ere they are 
 called from us ! Oh ! how perfectly can I enter into 
 your feelings, and how earnestly I pray, that, whatever 
 hefals you, may tend to fit you for your mansion in 
 Emmanuel's land, the land we love the best ; and to 
 which every friend who is gathered, draws our hearts 
 more closely. Help me to praise Him, while we are 
 still in this far-off country, and we shall sing with glad- 
 some voices, when fear and care are known to us only 
 in grateful remembrance." 
 
 To the same Friend under a family bereavement. 
 " Edinburgh, September 19, 1834. — ... I long to 
 know how you have sustained the blow, and what have 
 been the exercises of your soul since it was struck. I 
 trust you have been enabled throughout, to view it but 
 as ' the sterner voice of love,' and to find rest from all 
 your grief at the footstool of the throne. Oh ! what 
 place of refuge is like this, when heart and flesh fail ! 
 Where can we flee for support, but to the Rock of 
 Ages 1 To hide beneath the shadow of the Almighty, 
 when the storms of sorrow beat around us, 'is perfect 
 peace.' To call him Abba, Father, while He is de- 
 priving us of what we loved the most, is something like 
 a foretaste of heaven, where He shall be all in all. This 
 hidden joy you daily experience, for He has long been 
 your portion ; and his perfect fulness is never felt till 
 some delights have withered, and our eyes have been 
 opened to the vanity of time, and to the nearness of 
 eternity ; earth fades away as we follow the glorified 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 105 
 
 spirit to its new and holy abode, and attempt to join in 
 the snug of praise which fills the upper sanctuary. A 
 tearful and faltering song it will be, my loved friend, 
 so long as we are here, yet not disregarded by the God 
 of compassion, and not the less sweet, because a sense 
 of un worthiness almost makes it die on our lips. lie 
 will one day give it the strength and purity of angels' 
 praise, and we shall adore Ilirn face to face. I know 
 not a more intensely delightful occupation of mind, than 
 to look stedfastly upward for a time to see the Lamb 
 of God pleading for us with pity and love ; and the 
 Holy Spirit breathing around influences of grace, that 
 make heaven what it is — a place of perfect purity ; 
 and to see the ransomed throng casting their crowns 
 before the Most High, in the height of their grateful 
 love, and to recognize amongst them some whom we 
 have known as companions of our pilgrimage, when they, 
 like us, were creatures of sin and infirmity, longing for 
 that full converse with God which they could not here 
 enjoy, sympathizing in our sorrow for sin, and urging 
 us onward to the home they now have entered. True, 
 they are ours no longer, but they, as well as we, are of 
 the family of Jesus, — sweet, indissoluble bond ! Oh ! to 
 be among those blessed ones in his presence. The time 
 will soon come, dear sister in Christ, and then no more 
 weeping, no more pain, no more sinning against infinite 
 goodness. I pray for you, that the port of endless rest 
 may be brought so near to you in contemplation, as to 
 enable you to feel, that though your all were taken 
 away, you would be still rich, still happy. 
 
 " It affects me greatly to think, that while you were 
 suffering, and I knew it not, I was enjoying greater 
 pleasure than I have for a long time, in visiting some of 
 the loveliest parts of Scotland in company with dear 
 
106 MEMOIR OF 
 
 friends. I little thought how you were engaged when 
 I was tracing the bounteous hand of God in fertile 
 valleys, or seeing the precious things of the ' lasting 
 hills,' that rise among lakes and rivers. Ah ! had I 
 known, you would have been borne in my heart through 
 all my wanderings ; but now I shall daily pray for you, 
 that you may produce the peaceable fruits of righteous- 
 ness, through this chastisement of your God. Is it not 
 joy to have a dear friend safe — safe with Jesus ? To 
 think of you in your sorrow, makes me love you more ; 
 you will learn much in sorrow that you did not know 
 till now ; and may I hope that, when strength and in- 
 clination permit, you will tell me of the things that you 
 have seen and heard, that I may enter into your joys 
 as well as your sorrows. Farewell, sweet friend." 
 
 The next letter, from which a portion is extracted, 
 is addressed to the same precious christian friend, and 
 in it, for the first time, she mentions the engagement 
 she had formed with Mr TV". W. Duncan, the youngest 
 son of her father's highly-esteemed friend, and old college 
 companion, the Rev. Dr Duncan of Ruthwell : — 
 
 " Edinburgh, November 20, 1834. . . . How 
 sweet is it to resign our treasures to a God of love, 
 and to follow them in thought to the sacred bliss of his 
 immediate presence, where they expand into new vigour, 
 and a joy which they could not here have known, and 
 lived ! Does not the one thought of their exemption 
 from sin, their freedom from the dread of ever again 
 grieving the Saviour, make one long to be with them, 
 where all is peace and purity ? Oh ! to be ready when 
 the call is heard ! Strange, that sin should ever acquire 
 an ascendancy in us, when we know that ' the end ' 
 draws near ! Would that it were so nailed to the cross 
 of Jesus, that we could never see it in any light but 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 107 
 
 that of abhorrence. I wish I were near you for a little 
 time, my dearest friend; I selfishly wish it, because I 
 am sure you would help my slow and wavering feet to 
 run the race set before me. I have profited little by 
 the trials that have entered into my lot, and each day 
 discloses some evil to be struggled against, or some 
 corruption that I had long since thought in a measure 
 vanquished, rising with new vigour, and surprising me 
 into sin. How difficult is it to keep the heart, and how 
 impossible to serve God without doing so ! 
 
 " Our circle of acquaintance is on the increase, but 
 it is not less than self-denial to pass much time in society, 
 unless it consists of friends, and those who can improve 
 and sympathize with me in the best things. This feeling 
 grows upon me, and leads me to evade it in many ways. 
 I fear this is selfish, yet how little good can I do in 
 company ! and how little do I ever obtain ! Tell me 
 what you think about this, my dear friend. A true 
 friend in Christ is invaluable, and the few who are so 
 kind as to be my friends in this sense, possess my 
 warmest love ; I hope I may always count you among 
 the number. 
 
 " You have of late been living much on the confines 
 of the unseen world, and getting your spirit brought 
 into sweet accordance with the will of God ; you have 
 tasted much of his goodness, and have been preparing 
 for the morning of joy that shall follow the night of 
 weeping. I know the tender and subdued frame into 
 which you have been brought, and I pray God it may 
 be increased, and that all your life you may be glad 
 when memory refers to this mournful and precious 
 season. Is not the christian life unlike all other things, 
 in the abounding of joy when tribulation is heaviest ? 
 I long for the time when all the world shall know what 
 
108 MEMOIR OF 
 
 this means, and all hearts shall resign themselves to 
 God. . . . Why is it, my loved friend, that we 
 have so little real christian fellowship with those we 
 love, while health and time remain to us ? There is so 
 often an approach to the subject, without its leading to 
 anything that may warm our affections, or elevate our 
 dull hearts farther above the passing scene. Is it that 
 the vanities of time engross us, so that we are unwilling 
 to embody in words, wishes which we feel to be too 
 evanescent, lest the action of the next hour should bring 
 upon us a charge of inconsistency ? Ah ! we do not 
 remember that the Searcher of hearts knows all that 
 may be concealed from our fellow-pilgrims. I am con- 
 vinced there would be more consistent watchfulness, if 
 we sometimes gave them a look of what was passing in 
 our hearts ; and this is only an incidental advantage 
 among many direct ones, for we might learn much by 
 placing our hopes and fears by the side of others. For 
 myself, I feel that, if I were greatly rejoicing in the hope 
 which maketh not ashamed, the reference to it would 
 be more frequent and more fervent than it is. I have 
 been trying for the last fortnight, but I find a danger 
 of being obtrusive, and injuring the best of causes. 
 Truly, wisdom is necessary to the child of God. . . 
 " We are not without our trials this winter ; my 
 brother G. is unable to attend school. ... If this 
 illness be the means of leading him to the Saviour, it 
 will be cause of joy, and not of grief. He loves mamma, 
 and listens to all she says to him with deep interest ; 
 but how delightful it would be to see him devote him- 
 self heartily to God ! You know the heart of a sister 
 when she longs to see her brother walk decidedly and 
 steadily in the truth. Will you join me in praying for 
 this dear boy ? . . . 
 
liABT LUNDIE DUNCAN. 109 
 
 "I am informed by a mutual friend that you have 
 heard a piece of intelligence concerning me, which I 
 am at a loss to know what wind has blown southward. 
 My dearest F., I ought to have told you of this before, 
 but for my great aversion to write about it. Yes, my 
 dear friend ! my lot is cast — and I trust it is the Lord, 
 my heavenly and only Father, who has decided it. I 
 have been engaged, since spring, to the son of my be- 
 loved papa's dearest friend. I look forward to the 
 future, if with some trembling and fear, with a coun- 
 terbalancing mixture of hope in the God who has led 
 and guided me all my life, and of confidence in the 
 friend whom I have so deeply trusted. We have met 
 during the summer, but are now separated. I feel that 
 correspondence unfolds points of character which per- 
 sonal intercourse does not do so well. You do not 
 know how long young clergymen in Scotland are some- 
 times obliged to wait, before they obtain a place in the 
 vineyard to which they have devoted themselves. It 
 may be years, — but we have from the first left all in 
 the hands of our covenant God, and He will do all 
 things well. I love the prospect of being engaged 
 through life in winning souls to Him, and of having 
 extended opportunities of usefulness. But it is a re- 
 sponsible and solemn post. Oh ! for a spirit that would 
 willingly give up all for Jesus, and endure whatever 
 He lays upon me. There are trials connected with my 
 present situation which I did not know before, yet they 
 are pleasant ones in one sense. But you will pray for 
 me, and will now sometimes blend another name with 
 mine in the petitions which I value above many things. 
 I need your counsel, my beloved friend ; give it me 
 faithfully and freely. Tell me to set my affections on 
 things above, and not to permit either happiness or 
 
110 MEMOIR OF 
 
 grief to take too great possession of me. It is wrong 
 to have filled so much paper with what relates to my- 
 self, at a time when your spirit is so differently engaged ; 
 but I know from the sorrow I felt in your affliction, that 
 you will not disregard my state of mind. It is pleasant 
 to forget self in sympathy with others ; it gives new 
 impulse to the thought, and lightens the load that may 
 be weighing us down. When I think of all the events 
 of April 1832, which are as distinctly remembered as 
 if it were but yesterday, the evanescence of all earthly- 
 things comes before me. Then I was in the deep 
 waters of my first sorrow, and it seemed as if I could 
 never be again very happy here. Those days look 
 mournful, but sacredly beloved ; yet different feelings 
 have the ascendancy, — my own papa's place never can 
 be filled, — oh no, not in the least degree ; but there is 
 more hope, and more calm happiness in looking forward, 
 tli an I could then believe that any earthly prospect 
 could afford me. I want none but such as comes from 
 God, and is built upon his love ; and I shall watch my 
 deceitful heart, and try all things by the test of his 
 word. Heaven is the only place where there can be 
 no disappointment or sorrow, and the reason is, that 
 sin is banished from its holy mansions. Then let me 
 w r atch against sin, or the supports on which I lean will 
 give w T ay, and pierce me through. There is no true 
 peace, but such as cometh from above. n 
 
 Of her beloved father, whose memory was present 
 to her in joy and in sorrow, and never failed to open the 
 sluices of filial reverence and strong affection, she writes 
 to a friend in Kelso, on occasion of going to the sculptor's 
 to see a marble tablet to his memory, before it was sent 
 to the place of sepulture — a tablet which was a token 
 of affectionate remembrance from his parishioners : — 
 
MART LTJNDIE DUNCAN. Ill 
 
 u How feeble is any memorial in comparison with the 
 affection that delights to linger round the departed — to 
 recall his image — and to dwell upon his words ! Is it 
 not striking, that even of those most loved and most 
 lamented, it may be so truly said, ' Their memory and 
 their name is gone ? ' They appeared indispensable to the 
 performance of a thousand duties, and their removal 
 seemed likely to make a chasm that could not soon be 
 filled ; — but the grave has closed over them — they are 
 gone — another steps into the vacant place, taking on 
 himself the duties, and acquiring the interest in the 
 hearts of those around him, which had belonged to his 
 predecessor. Is it not well that a Christian's home 
 and happiness are in heaven, and that, however men 
 may forget, their God remembers them ? It makes 
 one humble to see how easily one's part is taken, and 
 work done by others ; but at such times the unchang- 
 ing love of God becomes unspeakably precious. To try 
 to leave our lasting remembrance on earth, is writing 
 our name on the sand ; but if our Lord has written it 
 on the palms of his hands, we need not care how 
 quickly the restless waves efface it from the earth." 
 
 These extracts have brought us near the close of her 
 twentieth year. But before leaving it, a gleaning from 
 the diary, at various dates, will put us in possession of 
 her views on some subjects, and the uniform state of 
 her soul, waiting on, and following hard after, God : — 
 
 Diary. — "June 26. — Last night I read Mr C.'s ac- 
 count of my beloved Isabella Gordon, with many tears 
 and longings that, if God takes me away as early, I 
 may be as willing to go, and as joyful in the prospect 
 of eternity." — After going minutely through the details 
 of that touching " entrance into rest," she sums up the 
 character of the friend she so much loved and admired, 
 
112 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and whose early removal so much resembled her own : 
 — " My loved friend had been, she feared, too happy in 
 the few months of her married life. She was the charm 
 of her circle. . . . She lived for the happiness of 
 others — there was a crucifixion of self — her love of 
 truth, and her tenderness of conscience, were great; — 
 it was her constant aim to be useful to others. . . . 
 Who would not wish to resemble her who has been so 
 suddenly taken from us, to a glorious and early eter- 
 nity ? Never, my friend, shall I forget thee. We 
 shall meet again." 
 
 On occasion of a passing fear lest the sojourn of a 
 friend from a far country in her mother's house, should, 
 in some degree, interfere with the interchange of senti- 
 ment between them, she wrote : — 
 
 "July 15. — I must conquer that pride, which makes 
 one averse to the idea of being laid on the shelf. 
 Why should I think of self rt all ! Oh ! my F." (the 
 friend in the south to whom her most interesting letters 
 were addressed), " how unlike is my spirit to thy holy 
 and submissive one ! When shall I see thee ? I feel 
 as though thou wouldst shed over me a part of thy 
 humble and steady devotion. " 
 
 "July 2$. — Yesterday my heart was with those dear 
 friends at Kelso and Ruthwell who compassed the altar 
 of the Lord, and in praying for them my soul caught 
 a portion of the love of Jesus. It is true that blessings 
 sought for others are returned to ourselves, and there 
 are few pleasures like that of communion of spirit with 
 absent friends at the throne of mercy." 
 
 "August 1. — Freedom has dawned this morning on 
 the British colonies. No more degraded lower than 
 the brutes — no more bowed down with suffering from 
 which there is no redress — the sons of Africa have ob- 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 113 
 
 tained the rights of fellow-subjects — the rights of man, 
 the immortal creation of God. Now they may seek 
 the sanctuary fearless of the lash ; — they may call their 
 children their own. Hope will animate their hearts, 
 and give vigour to their efforts. Oh ! for more holy 
 men to show them the way of salvation ! The Lord 
 keep them from riot and idleness ! They have been so 
 little taught, that He only can avert confusion and 
 tumult, as the result of their joy. Some Christians 
 there are among their number, who will influence the 
 others. My poor fellow-travellers through life's short 
 wilderness, may I meet with many of you in heaven, 
 where even I can hope to dwell, through the love of my 
 risen Lord ! There none will despise the negro, whom 
 Jesus has pitied and redeemed." 
 
 In anticipation of a Highland tour, in the society of 
 those she most loved, she writes her purposes of keeping 
 her own heart, and aiding the hearts of her associates : — 
 
 "August 24.— To-morrow, D.V., we shall set out 
 on our long anticipated tour. Will it bring all the en- 
 joyment it has promised ? I wish to go in the fear of 
 God, remembering Him in whatever company I am, and 
 seeking to keep those I love best near Him. Oh ! may 
 He help me so to do ! We shall praise Him in his 
 beautiful temple : and glow with love to Him amid the 
 wildness and magnificence of nature. What double joy 
 it gives to be his children ! What serenity to go out 
 leaning on Him ! I heard Mr Candlish, on the man 
 who wished to save his five brethren from hell. — His 
 remarks on friends loving as immortal beings, who 
 should only regard each other in another world accord- 
 ing to their mutual influence in preparing for it, were 
 beautiful, and fired my desires, as well as those of W. 
 W. D., who was in another part of the church, to walk 
 
 H 
 
114 MEMOIR OF 
 
 as a child of light, and to be helpful to my dear ones in 
 the best things ; for we shall blend our voices in the 
 angelic song ; and it is sweet to cherish the tenderest 
 bonds only in the Lord." 
 
 Letter to a young Cousin, September 18. 
 
 " We were much delighted with our Highland tour, 
 in the course of which I saw finer scenery than I had 
 ever done before. The spot to which my mind reverts 
 with deepest interest, is Crinan Loch. We saw it when 
 it was pure and calm as glass, reflecting the sunset glow, 
 and bounded by dark hills. Two or three sloops, with 
 their white sails expanded, rested on the waters, and the 
 hill on which we stood was covered with rich heather. 
 A gentleman who joined our party, said he had never 
 seen more exquisite beauty in Italy. 
 
 " The last few days we were confined to inns and 
 steam-boat cabins by heavy rain, and were very glad 
 in the evening of the sixth to find ourselves once more 
 in Edinburgh. We have been much interested since 
 then, in attending the scientific meetings, and seeing 
 the * wise men,' whose names we have so often heard. 
 We saw the venerable premier enter the city. Amid 
 crowds of people a passage was made wide enough to 
 admit his carriage, while hats, handkerchiefs, and cheers 
 filled all the air with motion, as the flags of the proces- 
 sion waved along Waterloo Bridge. The Calton Hill 
 and all the windows and house-tops were peopled. It 
 was a grand sight. I went with some friends to a 
 concert held in ' Lord Grey's saloon.' It had been got 
 up in a day, so the less we say of the music the better 
 My heart beat high when the house rang with cheers, 
 on the entrance of the high-minded statesman. He 
 bowed, and smiled benignantly, and the chorus struck 
 
MAKY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 115 
 
 up a song about 'The fame of his name who had made 
 the people free/ The saloon, with its bull' and blue 
 ornaments and chandeliers, reminded me of Alladin's 
 wondrous palace, that arose in a night." 
 
 Such was a part of the enthusiasm of the time ; it 
 lias passed away, and men have at least learnt that the 
 Reform Bill is not the panacea for all wounds. May 
 they hasten to learn that reform must go deeper before 
 the nation can find rest ! In the mean time, Mary's 
 unusual burst of gaieties had not moved her mind from 
 its chosen resting-place, as her diary, dated the day 
 after this letter, proves. 
 
 Diary. — " September 19. — The happy month is ended 
 this day, by the departure of the last of the party. 
 Seldom have expectations of enjoyment been so well re- 
 alized, as in this case. A portion of beautiful weather, 
 .magnificent scenery, and kind friends, have made this 
 a season of much pleasure, — not unmixed, it is true, but 
 what is in this world ? The scientific meeting, and the 
 triumphal coming of Earl Grey, have occupied us since 
 our return. We had one quiet walk to the Botanic 
 Gardens, where we read part of a sermon on prayer. 
 May the God of mercy send his Spirit to him who com- 
 posed and preached that sermon, that many souls may 
 be the fruit of his labour ! May his inward life be re- 
 newed day by day ! This shall be my prayer, and oh ! 
 may my influence be of a holy kind ! May I help him 
 to resist evil, and cherish love to God, and purity of 
 conscience ! . . This morning we joined in prayer, 
 and felt it sweet to commit each other to Him who never 
 slumbers ; and in his light may we walk till we meet 
 again ! Last night, when Dr D., etc., were about to set 
 out by the mail, we all knelt together and prayed for 
 this dear but separated family. There is a joy in prayer. 
 
116 MEMOIR OF 
 
 — Oh that I had known more of it in this united form ! 
 To-morrow, I trust W. W. will be strengthened in body 
 and spirit for the performance of duty ; and may a desire 
 of converting sinners be his first and ruling motive. 
 'The blessing of Him who dwelt in the bush' go with 
 him. ,, 
 
 Diary. — "Dec. 1. — I spent the evening with Miss 
 
 , and had some profitable talk. I love her much, 
 
 and feel more alive and stedfast after such hours. The 
 reading of Charles of Bala's life, has shown me what 
 God can do in sanctifying his people, and making them 
 meet for his own inheritance, and I hoped it was the 
 beginning of better things for me, and that to live to 
 Him, and have his will done in me would be, as I have 
 often resolved without success, hereafter much more my 
 object. Eut though I had some time of prayer that 
 refreshed me, pride crept in." 
 
 Her experience of this chronic disease, which has 
 been the afHiciion of the children of Adam ever since 
 he was cast out of Eden, and which has forced thou- 
 sands to enter into the sympathies of Paul's complaint, 
 " when I would do good, evil is present with me," was, 
 at this time of good and hopeful resolution, specially 
 verified ; and the diary traces the causes of wounding 
 her conscience, with simplicity and sincere self-examina- 
 tion. A single extract is given to show the w T atch she 
 kept over her state of mind, and the exact account to 
 which she called herself for every emotion en which 
 conscience set its stigma. M Gn Thursday morning, rose 
 late, and had little time to pray. On the way to Stock- 
 bridge school, read a French play, which so occupied 
 me that I had not my usual interest in teaching the 
 children. On Friday was impatient to get oil" to the 
 Canongate school, and was rather cross in hearing my 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 117 
 
 sister's history lesson. In the evening went to Mr 
 
 's. He told me they thought me clever, and the 
 
 foolish words did me harm the whole evening. I felt 
 an assumption of something. . . Next day I sought 
 the small, too much neglected, chamber, where I have 
 so often poured out my prayers to God. I had scarce 
 visited it for days, — a friend's presence had prevented 
 me having it to myself. Nothing can keep the heart 
 but converse with God in solitude. Without that, con- 
 fusion enters ; sins prevail ; and on awaking we find 
 we have gone away backward. I wept and prayed for 
 pardon, and a new, entirely new heart. I thought that 
 my example might injure the children, whom 1 ought 
 to lead in the good way," 
 
 This is the closing entry in the diary for the year 
 1834. Before changing the date, a specimen of letters 
 to Mr Duncan may be useful, as exhibiting the turn of 
 her intellectual powers when at ease, and the course of 
 her reflections on the union of mind with another, which 
 she had in prospect. 
 
 Extracts of Letters to Mr Duncan in 1834. 
 " Every one says I do not allow myself enough of 
 sleep ; but when my days are much broken up, the still 
 evening hour is very valuable ; and if I am awaked by 
 a bright sunbeam at early morn, how can I but spring 
 to meet it, and snatch some calm ana refreshing thought 
 and reading before the bustle begins ? Are not these 
 reasons valid? Sometimes I fall asleep for ten minutes 
 (not more) during the day, and feel strengthened. Oh! 
 how little can I do at most ! How ill could I afford to 
 pass as many hours in the land of forgetfulness as some 
 people do ! I long to spend my short fast fleeting life, 
 as an intelligent immortal being ought, ' redeeming the 
 
118 MEMOIR OF 
 
 time/ as one who knows that soon the record of her 
 deeds will be filled up." 
 
 " Nov. 19. — I know not if I ever expressed to you 
 what I have often felt, that if I was losing sight of my 
 mercies, or forgetting that I do not deserve the smallest 
 of those thousand blessings that have been given me, I 
 never felt any thing more salutary than a visit to some 
 lowly cottage, where another child of Adam, and per- 
 haps a far better child of God, was suffering from 
 privation or pain. Such a sight recalls me to myself, 
 and sends me away humble and grateful. ... I 
 must ask you to thank our Preserver with me, for an 
 escape from danger I was unconsciously incurring some 
 weeks ago. You remember the sick woman I told you 
 of. The doctors had not ascertained the nature of her 
 disease, and the last time I went, her daughter had 
 been taken ill. It has been too surely proved that it 
 was typhus fever ; and though they are recovering, the 
 eldest son, on whom their support in some measure de- 
 pended, has been cut off in three days' illness, and one 
 of the little children is very ill. Poor things ! I hope 
 the hand of God is heavy on them for good ; but I knew 
 not that I was going where I might be seized by the 
 breath of fatal infection ; but my God who watches the 
 meanest of his flock, has shielded me from danger. 
 
 " To-day we have gone through the Writers' and 
 Advocates' Libraries, and while we admired the mag- 
 nificence of the principal rooms, it was in a little side 
 apartment that we paused, for there the Covenant of 
 our Fathers, and the Confession of Faith, were unfolded 
 to us. They are solemn and affecting documents, and 
 we long lingered over the writing, dimmed by unsparing 
 time. The writing of the unfortunate and misguided 
 Mary, Queen of Scots, attracted our attention. How 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 1 1 9 
 
 could a lively, elegant young creature, reared in France, 
 govern the Caledonians of the sixteenth century? We 
 saw a flag from Flodden, * Veritas vincit,' and views of 
 Edinburgh one hundred and forty years ago, when the 
 Nor-Loch flowed over the site of the North Bridge, and 
 the New Town was not. It is bewildering to glance 
 over so many books (the collected labours of centuries), 
 as are enclosed within the walls of these Libraries, — it 
 is so small an inroad one individual can make on their 
 massy lore ! so little of the wisdom that is scattered 
 throughout the world, or even assembled in a room, we 
 can attain to ! 
 
 " But if we be ' wise unto salvation,' and steadily 
 advance in those pursuits that enlarge the mind and 
 strengthen its capacities, living as the children of the 
 Highest ought to live, with our observant faculties alive 
 to all the sources of instruction and harmony that sur- 
 round us, we shall be very happy here, and O ! how 
 happy in those regions, where no barrier shall oppose 
 our mental progress ! There is intense pleasure in the 
 full exercise of every faculty. What will the delight 
 be, where a blaze of heavenly light discloses to us the 
 counsels and the character of the Eternal ? Does it not 
 animate you in the pursuit of knowledge and of piety, 
 of all .that will exercise the mind, and elevate devotion, 
 to think of that glorious period ? O ! let us fill up 
 wisely our little day, for time is short. Since I could 
 think, it has been my impression that our individuality 
 of character will be retained, though all the dross be 
 purged away in heaven. It seems to me, therefore, 
 particularly important that we should watch the forma- 
 tion and progress of our tastes, habits, and joys ; for 
 who would not desire to be as like the angels that excel, 
 as can be permitted ? Who would bind himself down 
 
120 MEMOIR OF 
 
 to comparative lowness ? — But I must cease. I fear 
 that I am degenerating into earthly feeling. He that 
 is least shall be greatest. He that lives nearest, in 
 humble penitence and love, to his benign Redeemer, 
 shall be most blessed among the enraptured throng. 
 Be this, then, our ambition, the only destination we aim 
 at, to live at the foot of the cross, abhorring ourselves 
 for the sins that made the Son of God to suffer and 
 die. Redeeming love is the note that will tremble most 
 sweetly on the harp3 of eternity, which even angels, 
 who have not required an atonement, i will lean to 
 hear.' There is no view of heaven so touching and so 
 lovely as that in which we see the Lamb of God dwell- 
 ing among the spirits He has so dearly bought, and 
 feeling repaid for his pains and agonies, by the joy that 
 fills them, and the grateful and adoring love they bear 
 to Him." 
 
 "Edinburgh, 1834. — Quietness is a great delight; 
 much more is accomplished, v/hen you are not startled 
 by the thought that there are fifty things you ought to 
 do ; and even thought flows more freely, and affection 
 wears a sweeter, calmer aspect, when the hours glide 
 peacefully on, and contemplation is not driven away by 
 life's small but engrossing cares. Yet, to make quiet- 
 ness pleasant, there are several requisites. The heart 
 must be at peace with its Maker, and feel that his words 
 are its most loved meditation, — his perfections the study 
 it would rest on, till it becomes tinged with their purity, 
 and elevated a little nearer to their sublime meridian. 
 Then, quietness is blest, and those with whom we asso- 
 ciate must be kindred spirits, with the same aims and 
 hopes, and some congeniality of thought and pursuit, — 
 with some energy to keep life from sluggishness, and 
 some enthusiasm, ready to kindle at all that is noble, 
 
MAKY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 121 
 
 or melt at the sorrows of others, — to stamp the flying 
 moments with acts, the result of feelings regulated by 
 the word of God, and seeking first his glory. There 
 must be ready sympathy in each other's joy or pain, 
 and such an absence of self, that in its exercise our 
 personal feelings will often be forgotten ; and i to remove 
 the thorns that wound the breast we love,' will be the 
 dearest employ that the round of earthly things can 
 furnish ! Plow much we can give a character to our 
 days, by cherishing the best dispositions, and struggling 
 w T ith those that haunt us like spirits of darkness, by 
 saying at once, and from the heart, I am thine, O Lord ! 
 to serve Thee for ever ; to shed a holy influence, as Thou 
 dost enable me, on those I love ; to enjoy, with grateful 
 praise, the blessings Thou hast given me ; and to live 
 for the eternal welfare of mankind." 
 
 " Edinburgh, Dec. 1834. — It has always been the case 
 with me, to be very jealous of the improvement of time. 
 The weeks glide on, and mingle with the irreclaimable 
 past. Is our improvement commensurate with their 
 flight ? Do new volumes of nature's wonderful book 
 unfold their stores to us? Do more just and philo- 
 sophical ideas supersede those which might have been 
 crudely and rashly formed ? Does deeper knowledge 
 of Scripture grow upon us, showing the riches of divine 
 wisdom, as it was not felt before, and causing our hearts, 
 in understanding the love of God, to expand with charity 
 to all mankind, while that charity manifests itself in 
 acts of self-denying and holy zeal to those who are placed 
 within our sphere ? Such inquiries throng on me, as 
 Sabbath succeeds Sabbath — those weekly marking- 
 places, that tell us time is gone. I would fain rescue 
 it from vain oblivion, by doing something that might 
 leave a more perceptible effect on my mind than my 
 
122 MEMOIR OF 
 
 occupations, necessarily rather desultory, have had this 
 winter. It is sad to feel energies within, that are not 
 called into play, and to know that the gathered wisdom 
 of time is resting on shelves, while we may be living in 
 indolent quiescence, only half alive to its existence, and 
 content to wend our silent way, like a slow stream, to 
 life's close without it. You may remind me, that, when 
 that period comes, it will but little signify whether 
 the noblest thoughts have found admission to our 
 hearts, or whether small and simple labours have fallen 
 to our hands, and the mind sought little more than they 
 could furnish for its aliment, provided the one thing 
 needful were secure. True ; but the mental powers, 
 if thrown in upon themselves, sustain severe injury, 
 and may fall into a deep sleep, which often terminates 
 only with life ; while their healthful and vigorous exer- 
 cise doubles their capabilities, and adds a second life, 
 as it were, to the happy man who has seized them be- 
 times, as his portion. And the i one thing needful ' is 
 fraught with themes for thought that ennoble and refine 
 more than earth's fairest scenes. . . . But I might 
 thus run on all day. The sum of the matter is this, 
 that I mean to read more, if possible, and to take such 
 books as Jebb and Lowth for my companions, that, while 
 my taste is gratified, it may be by means of the best 
 things ; and that, while my mind is informed, it may 
 be fixed on the central point of bliss. And you, dear 
 friend, — are your hours conscientiously spent in im- 
 provement? I often muse on those circumstances which 
 have thrown one so fond of action into a state of seclu- 
 sion and ease for a time. . . . The motives which 
 should urge you to diligence in study, you know ; the 
 happy effect of it, experience would teach. Will you 
 not try to do something that may make this winter a 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 123 
 
 bright spot to look back to ? I commit you again and 
 again to God. I am comforted by the sweet expressions 
 of submission that sometimes fall from your pen. Still 
 I fear that your character may not be improved, as it 
 ought, by those wise but mysterious dispensations that 
 have given colour to your lot. . . . You speak of 
 being left like a spade to rust. Nay, but you are being 
 highly tempered, that you may be of more efficient ser- 
 vice ; and it is far indeed from the intent of the gracious 
 Husbandman, to let rust and damp settle on you. May 
 we both be enabled to submit to the requisite discipline, 
 and let our Lord make of us what He will ! " 
 
 "Edinburgh, Dec. 1834 Oh, my dear 
 
 W., does not every day show more of the evils of our 
 alienated hearts ? I tremble to speak of my own state, 
 for hard experience has proved me irresolute and fluctu- 
 ating to the last degree. Yet to you I shall say, that 
 for some weeks past, I have been seeking that precious, 
 but very difficult attainment, a ' single eye/ to see God 
 always, to do his commandments, and reverence his 
 presence, not only in hours of retirement, but in whatever 
 I do. The attempt shows me my extreme feebleness ; 
 and when I remember that it is six years and a half 
 since I came to the table of the Lord, resolved to give 
 up all my soul to Him, sadness fills my heart ; for how 
 many, who did not know Him then, have far outstript 
 me since ? He has given me mercies and chastisements, 
 like a tender parent ; yet I am only on the very thres- 
 hold of the temple. Oh, when shall I be a lively stone, 
 firmly built in, and resting on the Chief Corner Stone ? 
 I have had some pleasant times of prayer, and sometimes 
 felt the blessing of continuing in a praying spirit ; but 
 it seems as if the turning of a feather were enough to 
 take it away. I never have felt more awake to the 
 
124 MEMOIR OF 
 
 influence companions have on the state of the mind 
 With the giddy or hardened, the sweet savour of spirit- 
 uality is weakened ; while those who live near to God, 
 lead us to Him. Intercourse with such is one of our 
 highest blessings. I have seen more of my sweet friend 
 
 Miss , than usual, and each time have returned 
 
 refreshed and happy. My love for such associates is 
 very strong and decided. My own will would be always 
 to be with those who are much more experienced than I. 
 But this is selfish. I want to work for my Master 
 among poor wanderers, and should rejoice to lead any 
 nearer to Him : yet, I am so much more apt to receive 
 injury from those who are not decidedly pious, than to 
 do them good, that time past with them is commonly 
 subject of after regret. I am nothing but weakness, but 
 my Saviour is strong. Is it not delightful to come home, 
 
 as I did the other evening, from Miss , with the 
 
 heart glowing and filled with love to God ? Oh ! TV., 
 I wish you knew my friend ; her consistency and devo- 
 tion of heart are beautiful. I wonder she can be at the 
 trouble to speak to me. But she sees that I love her 
 much, and she wishes to do me good for the sake of 
 Jesus. We are both much occupied, but the few times 
 when we can meet brighten my days greatly. Our 
 friendship is of an entirely christian character. I do 
 not think we ever had five minutes talk on any other 
 subject, and she is an intellectual Christian ; so you may 
 fancy our style of converse. . . . Jeany has come 
 at last ! (The ' Orphan's Stay ' formerly alluded to.) 
 It looks small in print, and is a very feeble transcript 
 of my friend's eventful life, yet I hope even it may be 
 useful to some. It is not without its good effect to print 
 a little. It shows the smallness of one's attainments, as 
 they might not have been discovered if not so called out 
 
MAKV LT7NDIE DUNCAN. 125 
 
 w ' May a blessing ever follow you, — ever keep your 
 heart, making you a shining light ; drawing you near 
 to the gates of heaven, and enabling you to lead many 
 thither with you ! Such are the breathings of my soul 
 for you, and more numerous and more distinct than 
 these. The God of peace will fulfil all our petitions." 
 
126 MEMOIR OF 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 The event which most delighted her mind in the open- 
 ing of the year 1835, was a letter from a London school- 
 fellow, whose intellectual powers and pleasant temper 
 had always endeared her, but who hitherto had been 
 alien to the covenant of peace, and though educated 
 carefully in the christian path, had delayed to unite 
 herself to Christ. The revolution wrought by all-sub- 
 duing grace in her heart, had revived the remembrance 
 of Mary Lundie, and she wrote to her for the first time. 
 The tearful but beaming joy w T ith which the glad news 
 was received, was far beyond what appears in the reply 
 to that communication. Yet a portion of it may be 
 interesting. 
 
 " Edinburgh, January 1835. . . . Though the 
 casual mention of your name in letters was all I had 
 heard of you, yet the very pleasant school days we 
 passed together were not forgotten, and I have often 
 thought of you enjoying a lively chat with Miss Isabella 
 Gordon, in the short time before morning lessons began. 
 You will smile at the part of the day I have fixed on ; 
 but whether it be that this associates you with one I 
 so much loved, or from some other cause, I know not, 
 this scene brings you more vividly before me than any 
 other. But if I loved you before, your letter draws 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 127 
 
 my heart towards you much more, for it contains ex- 
 pressions of a change of heart which mark you as blessed 
 indeed. I thank God, my dear friend, that He has 
 permitted you to find the pearl of great price, that will 
 not elude your grasp when earthly things fade away. 
 May the God of all power keep you stedfast, and teach 
 you daily more of himself ! The hidden life of converse 
 with Him is full of peace — but oh ! how easily, when 
 we neglect it, do our weak hearts fall away, and lose 
 the nearness to Him, which makes us feel, though, alas ! 
 at few and short intervals, that heaven is not a land 
 very far off. Always, dear M. A., have I thought 
 that our heavenly Father had purposes of mercy to- 
 wards you. You were the child of many prayers ; and 
 even when you have turned away, with a smile, from 
 any thing relating to religion, I sometimes thought the 
 smile was assumed, more to hide what you felt, than 
 because you did not feel. And now, you have chosen 
 the right way, in the full vigour of your judgment, and 
 with the consent of your whole heart, and I can under- 
 stand the new happiness the choice has given you, — 
 you have my earnest prayers that the blessing of God 
 may follow you continually. 
 
 " I am reading a book by our old friend Sharon 
 Turner, over whose prolix history we spent some of 
 our mornings at No. 69, — ' The Sacred History of the 
 World;' and I amuse our circle at dinner by telling 
 how excellent he has found thistles as artichokes, and 
 dandelions as lettuce, not to mention the fine bread 
 which can be made from either saw-dust or bones. 
 But I cannot get the creatures to do any thing but 
 laugh at these enlightened statements, which would 
 well nigh erase the name of famine from the page of 
 human sufferings. But, seriously, the book is worth 
 
128 MEMOIR OF 
 
 reading, and I have a great regard for the worthy old 
 gentleman who wrote it. Believe me (in the hope that 
 you will again write to me) very affectionately yours." 
 
 Letter to her Correspondent near London. 
 " Edinburgh, Jan. 16, 1835. . . I have had much 
 comfort in thinking of you since receiving your last 
 kind letter, it is so fully expressive of the peace which 
 our blessed Lord makes his children to know in the day 
 of trial, when, more than at any other time, He makes 
 himself known in the fulness of his covenant love. Is 
 that support still continued, my beloved friend, and 
 can you still say, all is well ? Has God made your soul 
 to grow in this afflictive season, and have you felt the 
 sweetness of communing with Kim, and so renewing 
 your strength when it was ready to fail ? Those times 
 of prayer, though, alas ! too seldom experienced by me, 
 wherein we can pour out cur whole hearts before the 
 Lord, and feel that He is speaking peace to our souls, 
 and that we are indeed united to our Holy Saviour, 
 are worth whole days of distraction by the things of 
 time. In those short and hallowed glimpses of the 
 character of God, there is some faint realization ot 
 what our feelings will be, when all the storms and all 
 the deadening calms of life are past, and we have 
 entered into the rest that remaineth. But at present, 
 the calms are more dangerous to me than the tempest. 
 Day follows day, and I make little advance in the way 
 
 I have so long loved. Do you pray for me, dear F ? 
 
 Do you ask Him, who has redeemed my soul from death, 
 to preserve my feet from falling ? I should, indeed, be 
 discouraged, did I only remember myself, my dead- 
 ness of heart, and my frequent forge tfuln ess of my best 
 friend. But I look on my risen Redeemer, and hope 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 129 
 
 revives : I will cling to Him as long as I live, the Lord 
 enabling me ! There are moments when I long for a 
 / to whom I could unfold all my heart, and from 
 whose faithful counsel and christian love I might derive 
 much benefit and comfort. I think you would be that 
 friend, were you near. There is one here, and when 
 circumstances permit us to meet, a sweet savour is 
 shed around more than one succeeding day. — I have 
 many christian friends, but it requires an attraction of 
 heart, which may be better felt than described, to fill 
 
 exactly the place Miss does. Now, do not think 
 
 me a romantic girl, for my love to her is founded on 
 love to God ; she is older, and her experience much 
 greater than mine ; her singleness of aim marks her as 
 one ' whom the Lord hath blessed.* You w r ill tell me 
 to look to . Him for the support I too much seek in 
 earthly friendship. — I do ; and He is ever willing to 
 draw near to my soul, whether burthened with anxiety, 
 or deadened by intercourse with the world. — / do not 
 love, the tcorld, and its atmosphere is not that I desire 
 to breathe — yet of late my circle of acquaintance has 
 enlarged, though I am always trying to keep it small, 
 and I have lost some time in visiting, which I cannot 
 spare. Does not life appear very short and uncertain 
 to you now ? And do you not long to spend it all to 
 the glory of God ? *\Ve have no time to trifle, and the 
 years which so swiftly mingle with the waters of eter- 
 nity, admonish us that the record of our days, in the 
 book of God, is coming nearer to its close ; and oh, 
 what peace is in the hope that we are awaiting that 
 period in the strength of our Saviour ! . . . Death 
 is not dreadful to those who hope in Jesus. I have 
 been struck with the answer of a little child to a dear 
 friend of ours, who did not leave him during months of 
 
 I 
 
130 MEMOIR OF 
 
 severe suffering. She asked him if he feared to die ? He 
 looked earnestly in her face and said, ' I don't know 
 much about the pain of dying; I have not thought 
 much of it, — but surely you don't mean to ask me if I 
 am afraid to go where Jesus is, and to see my own 
 mamma ? ' There is something in the confiding faith 
 of babes, that speaks more to the heart than the most 
 erudite discourse could do. It is felt to be truth, and 
 Jesus is shown forth in the glory of his love as a 
 4 teacher of babes.' Let u§ receive His teaching in the 
 same spirit, and try, as the lowly Tersteegen did, to 
 forget self in His presence. Have you seen his life ? 
 It is full of spirituality, and well repays a careful read- 
 ing. Some passages are rather mystical, but I do not re- 
 member ever to. have met with so beautiful an example 
 of poverty of spirit. He was made the instrument of 
 bringing many to the cross, though his constant desire 
 was to be permitted to be alone with God. Public speak- 
 ing was self-denial to him, but it was richly blessed. 
 That book has given a colour to my thoughts for the 
 last few weeks. Will you tell me if any thing has been 
 interesting you lately, and I shall try to read it too. 
 You know my delight in sympathising with friends in 
 Christ on sacred subjects. I have gone on steadily 
 reading Watts' Hymns, though I have little hope that 
 I have been accompanied by you — you were too sadly 
 interrupted. Will you now join me in reading, each 
 evening, the little book I send ? Many passages are 
 very sweet, and afford matter for approving thought. 
 We both love the Psalms, and these reflections will not 
 make us love them less." 
 
 Diary. — " Feb. 1. — The second month of 1835, com- 
 mences with a Sabbath. This day should be helpful to 
 me, in serving God through the whole month. It may 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 131 
 
 originate resolutions to live to God, and lie may so 
 draw near me, in answer to prayer, that I may know 
 the joy of his presence. In reflecting on the circum- 
 stance of my having so little real christian joy, I find 
 the reason stated in some book, in a way that conscience 
 feels to be true — ' Joy is incompatible with a careless 
 walk.' I know my walk is such. I lose the savour of 
 divine things, and trifles turn me out of the way. The 
 course to take, is to determine that, whatever are the 
 employments of the day, I will make this my first ob- 
 ject, and seek to get my thoughts disengaged from earth, 
 and fixed on divine things. It too often happens that 
 they wander, and I do not know what I need, or what 
 to ask for. There are, indeed, various hindrances ; but 
 may God pour out on me the spirit of prayer and sup- 
 plication ;-^while I muse, make the fire to burn. Now, 
 let me seek more solemnity in coming before Him, re- 
 membering to whom I speak ; and more knowledge of 
 my sins ; and more particular confession, and casting 
 away of each ; and a clearer sense of the wonderful 
 love of Jesus, who casts them all away ; and to feel 
 the Spirit's teaching, who can make light to shine in a 
 dark place, and then my times of prayer will be exceed- 
 ing precious. On the morning of the 5th, I fainted at 
 four o'clock. My strength was turned to weakness, and 
 I felt how soon I might be cut off in the midst of my 
 days. I saw my dependence on God for every breath. 
 and for the strength which I have so often misapplied. 
 I desire to have a near view of death, that I may live 
 prepared to meet it. When Jesus speaks peace, it is 
 not dreadful. I want such a clear view of my accept- 
 ance in Him, as will take away the monster's sting. 
 That morning I read Halyburton's Dying Experience. 
 His end was peace." 
 
132 MEMOIR OF 
 
 To her Correspondent near London. 
 "Edinburgh, March 5. — I thank you much, my very 
 dear friend, for your two precious letters. The last 
 arrived was peculiarly touching, because it referred to 
 one who was the object of your anxious, yet hoping, 
 solicitude, when it was written, but has for some time 
 been in another sphere, drinking in the streams of living 
 water from their source, and learning more of the hidden 
 things of God than we can know till we have crossed 
 the Jordan. It brought home to me the feeling that 
 ' life is a vapour,' to read the expressions of your re- 
 signed hope, and your anxiety that the Lord might be 
 with your poor sufferer during his illness. 1 How com- 
 pletely all such feelings are now swallowed up, and 
 exchanged for those of gratitude and triumph for him 
 as one of the redeemed of the earth ! You can now no 
 longer minister to him — you can now no longer pray 
 for him : all that is past. But your faith has been 
 strengthened by the trial ; and you have had a Pisgah 
 view of Canaan in parting with him, — in going with 
 him to the shore, where you were obliged for a little 
 while to remain behind, and to commit him entirely, and 
 without putting in your claim for self to Him to whom 
 he indeed belongs. Oh ! my dear friend, it is sweet to 
 praise God when all is smiling around us, — when our 
 cup runs over, and we are rejoicing in his gifts ; but 
 his love is more fully manifested in the time of great 
 tribulation, when we are called to part with our dearest 
 treasures, and to have the roots of our affections torn 
 up ; it is then that He shows himself as an all-sufficient 
 portion, and makes the darkest hour the most resemble 
 
 1 This letter was accidentally delayed till some time after another 
 had been read, which showed that the throb of all these trembling 
 pulses had ceased, and the suffering tenement was left vacant. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 133 
 
 heaven, by hiding creature comforts from our view, and 
 Ear more than supplying their place by his own presence. 
 We, my dear friend, have had many proofs of his un- 
 changing love. Oh ! is there in our hearts the glowing 
 devotion which these should inspire ? I often wonder 
 at my cold and unsteady heart, and adore the patience 
 that so long waiteth to be gracious. Much more shall 
 I wonder when my eyes are opened in another world, 
 that momentary shadows could have so much power to 
 turn me aside, and mingle in such undue proportion 
 with the glorious, the immortal realities of eternity. 
 Affliction places us on an eminence whence we look 
 round and see the true magnitude of objects, and learn 
 how small are those that in their seasons have seemed 
 great to us, and how unworthy of a thought are many 
 that may have been suffered to mingle with our breath- 
 ings towards God in time of devotion. But how great 
 is the perversion of spirit which renders affliction a 
 necessary instrument to show us this in its force ! We 
 should be happy beings if such a view of things ever 
 remained with us. Convinced of this, let us seek by 
 constant prayer to maintain the reign of God in our 
 souls, to dethrone his enemies, and live in the healthful 
 atmosphere of humble repentance and earnest devotion. 
 What might we become if we always hearkened to the 
 voice of the Spirit within us ! 
 
 " Have you not felt, dearest F , when troubled 
 
 about your own state, that if the Lord enabled you to 
 work for Him, you were greatly comforted, and could 
 look up to Him with more steady hope than before ! 
 Every day convinces me, that, to spend any part of 
 our time and strength in feeding his lambs, or binding 
 the wounds of the weary ones of his flock, is not only 
 our honour and privilege, but our greatest help to ad- 
 
134 MEMOIR OF 
 
 vancement in the christian course. It is not only that 
 lessons of faith are learned beside the death-beds of the 
 afflicted, or that, in explaining the truth to the young, 
 it breaks with greater clearness on ourselves ; but, by 
 using the talent entrusted to us by our God, it becomes 
 two or more : For He lays liberally to the hand of those 
 who desife to be spent for his glory. How good is He, 
 in placing us where we have opportunities to help one 
 of the least of these his children ! . . . I rejoice 
 that your dear sister has joined the visible church, and 
 trust that He who has begun to teach her will lead her 
 all the days of her life. What a happy feeling must 
 be experienced in leading the youngest of a pious family 
 to the altar of the Lord ! Oh ! how earnestly I desire 
 that my dear little brothers and sister may all be made 
 partakers of the grace of life. I think they will. The 
 thought never rests on my mind, that one should be 
 ignorant of all that it is important to know ; for grace 
 is free, and God is the hearer of prayer. ... I 
 tremble to think of my influence over the dear friend I 
 mentioned, but strength may be made perfect in utter 
 weakness. It is my desire to look beyond all passing 
 scenes, to my journey's end ; and my God never leaves 
 me long without some admonition. . . You and I, 
 dear friend, have the sweet hope, that, whatever befalls 
 us, nothing can separate us from the love of Jesus." 
 
 The letter which follows, makes the first mention of 
 severe headaches, from which she suffered, upon almost 
 every great exertion, till the final disease. The Sab- 
 bath services, attendance on any public meeting, her 
 schools, all that interested her, or moved her feelings, 
 produced the same distressing result ; so that her early 
 rising, perseverance in the use of her pen, pencil, books, 
 and needle, seem on recollection to have almost sur- 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 135 
 
 passed the power of nature. She pursued her occupa- 
 tions under acute pain, which was only betrayed by 
 Hushed cheeks, and heavy eyes, when a person with 
 less energy, or with less sacred motive to action, would 
 have reclined on a sofa, and thought herself exonerated 
 from all exertion. 
 
 To the Rev. W. W. Duncan. 
 " Edinburgh, Feb. 25. . . . My head began to 
 ache, so that I waited from hour to hour, thinking I 
 should like to be better able to write. But the foe has 
 not departed. These headaches have been my frequent 
 companions for about six weeks. I am tired of them ; 
 but I am trying to learn in patience to possess my soul. 
 A dull submission, because I cannot help it, is most 
 comfortless.. I would seek a willing resignation to the 
 will of God, and make the more careful use of my hours 
 of health, because they are abridged. I trust I shall 
 derive good from whatever my Lord may appoint for 
 me, and learn to value, not too highly, a world where 
 pain is a necessary discipline to fit me for an eternal 
 heritage. Blessed abode, where pain is excluded, and 
 sin, that deadly evil, can pollute no more ! Oh ! for 
 habitual nearness to that Redeemer who has prepared 
 it for us ! I have occasionally found, so deceitful is my 
 heart in its best moments, that at prayer my thoughts 
 have been prevented from fixing long enough on my 
 own case, by the prayer for you that is ever ready to 
 spring from my heart. Ah, what close watching is 
 needful to keep it right ! I am surely more unsteady 
 and un teachable than others ; but, I do trust, I am in 
 the school of Christ, lie will correct me with the rod, 
 when the gentle voice of love is insufficient. Is it not 
 blessed to have such a teacher, one who will never 
 
136 MEMOIR OF 
 
 forsake us, even when we are untrue to ourselves ? Let 
 vs be his humble observant disciples. My headaches 
 are generally removed by a night's rest ; so you see 
 there is nothing that requires great fortitude. Indeed, 
 I should not have said all this about it, had I not been 
 actually suffering while I write. But how selfish to 
 write all this, and not a word of the events and hopes 
 which have been recently so much the theme of your 
 thoughts ! They have been much mine too ; and I 
 long to know what may have befallen since you wrote. 
 Is your mind calm, and resting solely on the divine 
 disposal, and are you searching for all the motives that 
 may influence you ? Oh ! how well it is to find all our 
 happiness in God, so that dark clouds do not harm us, 
 nor the bright days of accomplished hope divide us 
 from Him ! Such a state would be surely nearer heaven 
 than aught else upon earth. Such Tersteegen attained, 
 and why should not we ? When I reflect on the in- 
 fluence we mutually possess, I tremble for your respon- 
 sibility and for mine. Let it be used in drawing each 
 other to the source of all our blessings. 
 
 " There is in the Canongate an old Irishwoman, who 
 is much an object of interest to me. She lost a daughter 
 whom she much loved, and during the months that have 
 since elapsed, she has had many thoughts of her spiritual 
 condition, and desires to serve the God she has so long 
 neglected. She still looks too much to her own efforts, 
 and though they all prove vain, she still seems to think 
 she can do something for herself. 4 Qh ! I am too 
 unworthy,' she says ; ' I try to do my duty, and to 
 pray, but my heart wanders too much. I cannot live 
 so near God as I ought.' She does not yet see that 
 Jesus died for the chief of sinners, and that no work of 
 hers, however free from wandering, is fit to present to 
 
MABY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 137 
 
 God without being washed in his blood. She has not 
 the peace and hope that come from a sense of this 
 cleansing and all-sufficient sacrifice. It is touching to 
 see the tears rolling down her thin cheeks, and to hear 
 her. seeking help from one so unfit to give it as I, who 
 am but a child compared to her, and doubly a child as 
 it regards the knowledge of the counsel of God. I wish 
 I had more wisdom, and, above all, strength constantly 
 to practise what I do know. Help me to pray for this 
 woman. I fear lest she should forget her impressions 
 when the season of grief passes away." 
 
 Lest some prudent persons should question the pro- 
 priety of her visits in such crowded and unholy localities, 
 as the in/nds in the Canongate are known to be, it is 
 right to mention, that her acquaintance with cases of 
 distress there, was procured from the discreet and 
 humane mistress of the school which she visited, and 
 that, in exploring the narrow lane or lofty and sometimes 
 broken stair, she was generally guided by one of the 
 pupils. It is a touching sight to see one chamber 
 clean and quiet, surrounded by the filth and din of 
 many others, and one suffering inmate, in the very core 
 of evil, yet " preserved in Jesus Christ." It is like a 
 beam of light, which contracts neither pestilence nor 
 pollution from its having penetrated into a noisome 
 dungeon, and is to be noted to the praise of his glory, 
 who gives to the feeblest that trust in Him, power to 
 walk in his ways, and find peace. Many such instruc- 
 tive scenes were witnessed by Mary Lundie, and it is 
 believed, that in them she both communicated and 
 received edification. 
 
 In the month of March, country air was recom- 
 mended for the removal of her headaches, and she, with 
 a younger brother, journeyed through a departing snow- 
 
138 MEMOIR OF 
 
 storm to the dwelling of her future father-in-law. Of 
 the journey she says : — " The pass of Dalveen looked 
 so beautiful in alternate streaks of snow and greensward, 
 that I could not tell whether to prefer it so, or in the 
 rich glow of summer as I saw it before. On the way I 
 read Haldane's sermon, ' The Jews God's Witnesses,' 
 with much interest. Elliot's poetry employed me for 
 miles, but it leaves a sad and gloomy impression of dis- 
 content with the government of his country, and even 
 implied censure against the plans of Providence, w T hich 
 his t pale alpine rose ' and ' sunny celandine ' cannot 
 dispel. But I must leave the regions of poetry; and 
 come to life's close companion, dull reality ! " ... 
 She does not mention, as one of her travelling em- 
 ployments, the composition of a poem, found in a scrap 
 book, entitled "Fragments of Spring, 1835 :" it is dated 
 "March 12, H. C." interpreted Heavy Coach :— 
 
 " How clear, as o'er each shortening mile 
 The rapid coursers fly, 
 Beams on the soul the gentle smile 
 Of faithful memory ! 
 
 Joys that in other days were bright, 
 
 But dimmed by after cares, 
 Shine out in pure and beauteous light, 
 
 That mocks the touch of years. 
 
 Swift thought brings near the forms we love, 
 
 Voices of music's tone, 
 Light steps that through the silent grove, 
 
 To meet us oft have flown. 
 
 Fair mornings, when the breaking day 
 
 O'er lake and mountain wild, 
 Rose not more bright, in sunbeams gay, 
 
 Than our young pleasure smiled. 
 
 When round some ivy-mantled tower, 
 
 "VVe strolled the summer day, 
 And plucked the harebell's graceful flower 
 
 That fringed its arches grey. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 139 
 
 With that blue wreath young hearts irere twined, 
 
 — Nor doom the fetters frail : — 
 
 The vows, then breathed to whispering- wind, 
 Still float on each low gale. 
 
 Fair scenes, how bright your memory is ! 
 
 Ye coursers onward fly, 
 And teach me that the dream of bliss 
 
 Is blest reality. ' 
 
 The manner in which time was spent with her friends 
 is thus stated : — " For myself, my head has been free 
 and clear, and I have tried to follow my beloved 
 mamma's counsel to the letter. We retire as regularly 
 as eleven strikes, and start up at seven, or before it ; 
 from eight to nine, we read Edwards' History of Re- 
 demption ; and in the space after prayers, search for 
 scripture proofs, according to a very clear and good 
 plan laid down in Bridges' Scripture Studies ; after- 
 wards I draw, read Italian or English, ride or walk, 
 sometimes against a stiff sea-breeze, sometimes in bright 
 sunshine. After dinner, B. and I learn our Hebrew 
 alphabet, and read for practice, in Genesis, words that 
 are as meaningless to us as the winds that shake the 
 windows, and more so, for those winds are the voice 
 of Him who speaks through universal nature, and call 
 up strange emotions of the past. AVhen awake at night 
 in my quiet chamber, I listen to their mournful tones 
 till they seem to speak to me. I smile to be obliged to 
 decypher the Hebrew 7 words like a child in the attempt 
 to acquire the first step of the ladder of knowledge ; 
 but hope to find sufficient perseverance to acquire the 
 power of reading the beautiful tongue of the sweet 
 singer of Israel." . . . " Uncle Henry 1 tells me 
 the dear old cottage must soon come down — beautiful 
 
 1 The pet name of Dr Duncan. 
 
140 MEMOIR OF 
 
 place ! If you, dear mamma, have any inhahitiveness, 
 you will understand how it went to my heart to hear 
 it condemned ; but its work is done, and the venerable 
 head it was built to shelter, is in another home. Why 
 should the fair dwelling last, when the inmate, the soul 
 that gave interest and pleasure to its erection, has 
 passed away ? " 
 
 "Ruthwell, April 21.— So dear Mrs M is freed 
 
 at last, and gone to the happy gathering-place, where 
 the precious redeemed are safe from suffering, and more, 
 — from temptation. She has seen my beloved father, 
 who has now for three years rejoiced with joy unspeak- 
 able and full of glory — while you, dear mamma, have 
 had many burdens to bear, and many sufferings since 
 that time. But they have been dealt by a Father, and 
 you have felt his supporting presence. This is the 
 evening of the dark and afflicting day, when all that was 
 left of him was removed from us — but he is in heaven." 
 
 The following poems were written during her resi- 
 dence at Ruthwell : — 
 
 " A HYMN. 
 
 Thou who hear'st the contrite sinner's mourning-, 
 And meet'st the trembling soul to Thee returning', 
 Bow down thine ear, and grant me answer speedy, 
 
 For I am needy. 
 
 Thou know'st the sacred vows so often broken, 
 Thou hear'st the words forgot as soon as spoken, 
 Thou seest earth's chains, of fatal lustre, twining 
 This heart, declining. 
 
 From the fair paths of peace too often straying, 
 
 1 wander far, my Saviour's love betraying; 
 
 Till, wounded by the thorns that mercy scatters, 
 I seek life's waters. 
 
 My gracious Shepherd, in thy pasture lead me; 
 With living streams, with heavenly manna feed me ; 
 With thine own voice of love, oh ! call me, guide me; 
 From evil hide me. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 141 
 
 Be Thou my first, my best, my chosen treasure; 
 Delight my soul with love that knows no measure; 
 Filled with Thyself, can earth's delusions charm me? 
 Can Satan harm me ? 
 
 From strength to strength, my Lord will lead my spirit, 
 The purchased crown in Zion to inherit; — 
 Mine eyes shall close on time, shall cease from weeping, 
 In Jesus sleeping. 
 
 Then, clad in robes made white by love redeeming, 
 I'll veil my sight, before his glory beaming, 
 And ever sing his praise in accents lowly, 
 
 Whose name is holy ! " 
 
 March 22. 
 
 11 THE STAR OF HOPE. 
 
 When the star of hope is beaming 
 Mildly through the silent sky, 
 
 When its ray of promise streaming, 
 Trembles on the anxious eye ; — 
 
 Fears that chilled the spirit vanish, 
 Woes that bound it break their chain ; 
 
 Those pure rays descending, banish 
 Clouds of doubt, and storms of pain. 
 
 Brightly to the gazer's spirit, 
 In its light the future shines ; 
 
 Bowers of bliss his thoughts inherit; 
 Peace for him her olive twines. 
 
 Calmly round each rising morrow 
 Smile the gathered joys of years; 
 
 Days that know no shade of sorrow, 
 Nights undimmed by memory's tears. 
 
 Dreamer cease !— That ray of glory 
 Shines a light from love divine ; 
 
 Guardian love, that watches o'er thee, 
 Cheers thee when thy steps decline. 
 
 If in Time, so swiftly flying, 
 Joy's fair star so radiant seems, 
 
 Fix thine eye on realms undying, 
 Brighter, fairer, there it beams. 
 
142 MEMOIR OF 
 
 If in Time, — where clouds descending", 
 
 Quick may hide it from thy sight, 
 Hope and peace their influence blending, 
 
 Sparkle in that beauteous light, — 
 
 Who shall tell the blaze of glory 
 
 That shall fill the land above, 
 When its courts arise before thee 
 
 Bright with truth and holy love ! 
 
 Who shall tell thy sacred gladness 
 
 When thou lowly shalt adore 
 Him, who conquering sin and sadness, 
 
 Gave thee light for evermore ! 
 
 Follow thou the ray illuming 
 
 Jesus o'er thy pathway flings ; 
 Leave earth's pleasures, falsely blooming, 
 
 That, when fairest, plant their stings. 
 
 From the cross, — the tenderest, purest, 
 
 Saddest light that ever shone, 
 Points to realms where peace is surest. 
 
 Pilgrim, gaze and follow on." 
 April 20. 
 
 A circumstance occurred at this period which gave 
 great joy to many attached friends, and seemed to open 
 views of a station of usefulness in the Church, and a 
 speedy union of that young pair who had not ventured 
 to deem such an event less than far distant. Mr Duncan 
 received the royal presentation to a parish in Galloway, 
 and being welcomed by a numerous body of parishioners, 
 including the leading people, he thought of nothing, but 
 with a thankful heart going through the necessary pre- 
 paration for entering on a solemn charge. He who 
 seeth not as man seeth, must often look upon his feeble 
 creatures rejoicing on the very verge of disappointment, 
 as also weeping at that which forms the channel for the 
 flow of new spiritual life into their souls. If the Chris- 
 tian, in the calmest season, requires, like Peter on the 
 water, to fix his eye on his supporting Lord, how much 
 more, when the wind agitates the unsteady element on 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN, 143 
 
 which he treads, does lie cling to the extended and sus- 
 taining arm, and cry out with sinking, drowning Peter, 
 " Lord, save me, I perish !" The afflictions appointed 
 for each) are adapted with minute and tender wisdom 
 to the character of the afflicted. But, on first being 
 brought into the wilderness, the soul cannot see the 
 design, or anticipate the comfort which shall afterwards 
 be spoken to it. It is the tempted who know how to 
 succour the tempted, and those that have mourned, and 
 had their tears dried by the power of divine consolation, 
 who have acquired the art of opening its treasures to 
 others. Some such purposes were to be accomplished 
 in the present instance. But, meanwhile, we have to 
 deal only with the joyful circumstances. The diary 
 contains brief allusion to it. 
 
 u March 2$. — How varied and important have been 
 the events of this week ! It is one never to be forgotten. 
 The hopes of W. TV. have been surpassed in his appoint- 
 ment to Urr. To us prospects looked gloomy, but our 
 God has seen it meet to brighten them suddenly. Fears 
 are turned to gladness, and doubt to praise. Since the 
 news came, W. AY. has been full of happiness, and says 
 lie thinks he cannot again be faithless. Alas! it may 
 require hard lessons to teach that. Since the tidings came, 
 I have been oppressed by headache. God blends joy 
 and pain in great mercy, but I have felt less able to 
 think and pray and resolve. Oh may He be nigh to- 
 morrow ! My heart is dead even under this load of 
 goodness. When shall my life be praise ? How easily, 
 by withdrawing health, could God wither earthly joy 
 and hope ! He may see it needful, but let me ever 
 keep near Him, and then no real evil can come." 
 
 After having been confined for some time by illness, 
 she writes : — 
 
144 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " April 3. — The Lord was merciful and raised me up 
 again, and oh ! I wish to spend my time for Him. We 
 have not yet made a sufficiently serious business of the 
 great change that, within a week, has been wrought in 
 our prospects ; my heart is too frivolously dissipated, 
 but the Lord will teach me. I have been pretty indus- 
 trious, but not profitably so. My time is not my own. 
 May I use it while it flies!" " April 16. — (After re- 
 viewing the three years that had passed since her beloved 
 father was taken to his Saviour, she adds), " Oh ! that 
 I could be of any use, but here too I have been too much 
 at ease — how shall I look on this at last? Earth looks 
 so green, so flowery, my skies, far off, it is true, yet still 
 often gazed on, are so blue and tranquil, that the fair 
 world of peace is forgotten, and sanctification little 
 sought. God could startle me into a waking of awful 
 anguish in a moment, but great are his mercies. — Let 
 me wake now and live in heavenly contemplation. Let 
 me pray much for and with my friend in the few days 
 we still may be together." 
 
 The natural gracefulness which her most unstudied 
 expressions betray, may be traced in the following 
 extract from a letter to her father's sisters : — 
 
 " fiuthwell, April 20, 1835. — I have been busy over 
 Paley's Natural Theology, which displays the wonders 
 of divine goodness in an admirable manner. What 
 care in the construction of the eye of the mole, and the 
 web of the spider ! Those persons who attribute to 
 ' blind chance, or stern necessity,' the beautiful fabric 
 of creation, know not what elevating and noble subjects 
 of meditation they lose — and yet, how cold was the re- 
 ligion of Paley ! Every thing goes to prove, that nothing 
 but the love of Jesus can expand the heart, or make it 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 145 
 
 wise unto salvation, for wise men have toiled for years 
 BniODg the most surprising works of God, and vet denied 
 their souree. I should like if you could see us canter- 
 ing along the smooth polished sands, where there is not 
 a stone to hurt the horses' feet. We watch the mirage 
 as it plays with the long point of Saturnness, making it 
 now an island, and again doubling its size by the depth 
 of the reflection. The Solway, too, looks so peaceful, 
 and the far hills of Cumberland so beautiful, with their 
 snowy tops gleaming in the sunshine, that one longs to 
 penetrate the lake-spangled valleys that lie between 
 them. When 1 am presented with a fragrant nosegay, 
 I wish, more frequently than you can know, to place it 
 in your hands. We live among flowers here ; and 
 when the sun is hid, and the wind cold, they are still 
 beautiful, and still speak, through the snow-flakes, of 
 coming summer. For me, too, they have a voice pecu- 
 liarly sad and touching at this season. Ah, my dear 
 aunts ! I know that through these melancholy days our 
 thoughts have run in the same channel ; each morning 
 brines its own remembrances. I do not regret that the 
 flowers bloom in vain for km — yet cannot check the 
 thought that he loved them, and is not here. The Para- 
 dise of God is fairer, and there I humbly trust we soon 
 shall meet. But there is a desolation in the feeling that 
 I am fatherless — I sometimes tremble at the clinging 
 affection, this feeling perhaps increases towards my be- 
 loved mother— but we are all in the gracious keeping 
 of an eternal God. I think, dear aunts, I have loved 
 you more since the loss of my father ; you w r ere so 
 nearly connected, and so tenderly attached to him, that 
 there is a sacredness about my love for you, associated 
 as it is with him, more than it could be for any one apart 
 from such a tie." 
 
 K 
 
146 MEMOIR OF 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 VENERABLE CHRISTIAN VISITS TO THE POOR 
 
 REV. JOHN BROWN PATTERSON. 
 
 From Dumfriesshire she went to her uncle's residence . 
 in Northumberland, and there wrote to her chosen friend 
 near London in reference to her future prospects : — 
 
 " Dilston House, May 4. — Your account of the death- 
 bed experience of calls for praise to the Rock of 
 
 her Salvation, who made the dark place bright ; her 
 end was peace. Does not every thing confirm these 
 words, ' all things are yours? ' Even death, so dread- 
 ful to nature, can be met joyfully by the most timid ; 
 or, what is equally wonderful, by the most happy ; by 
 those whose earthly prospects might seem too peaceful 
 to be left without a struggle. Those words of hers, 
 1 it is the happiest day of my life/ have often dwelt 
 upon my mind. She was willing to bid adieu to time 
 and all its pursuits, and to go, in the strength of her 
 Saviour, to the unseen world. And thus it is that 
 Jesus shows himself to be ' all in all.' Oh ! why do 
 we ever seek delight from meaner sources ? There is 
 in Him a loveliness which forms the surest refuge of 
 the afflicted. It is more known as other joys are 
 withdrawn. So Cowper felt when he said, 
 
 ' Earthly joys no more attracting, 
 
 Half the Christian's conflicts cease; 
 Earthly lights no more distracting", 
 Thou mayest trim thy lamp in peace.' 
 
 " Since receiving your most touching letter, I have 
 
 often asked myself, whether I should be quite willing , 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 147 
 
 to die, should God recall my spirit soon ? Alas ! ray 
 dear friend, my heart is too much twined with earthly 
 things ; and I cannot feel that I wish to go, but rather 
 should like to live long here. Are you not sorry for 
 me ? I may be called at any hour, and yet I desire to 
 stay. I know that strength is sufficient for the day, 
 but I know also that my deceitful heart has laid up too 
 much treasure on earth — has suffered itself to be pos- 
 sessed of too many hopes of future days, and does not 
 gladly and often turn to heaven as the abode where it 
 longs to be ! Thus it is that temptations rise out of 
 our best blessings. I can only commend myself, feeble, 
 weak, and needy as I am, to Him who hath led me 
 hitherto, and I know that He will not cast me from Him. 
 But you do not know the difficulty I have in keeping 
 the things of time in due subjection. I spent a few 
 very pleasant weeks at Ruthwell, not idly. While 
 there, my friend received an appointment to a parish 
 twenty-five miles from his father. Some of his friends 
 had anticipated it, but I had been so fully persuaded 
 that he would be longer held in a state of probation, that I 
 had never expected such an issue to the matter, and the 
 surprise was great. The population of Urr is, I believe, 
 large, and the responsibilities connected with it are 
 great and solemn. There is only one source to which 
 to look for requisite grace and strength, and I desire 
 ever to wait upon the Lord, who daily loadeth me with 
 benefits. He is trying me with mercies now. Ah ! 
 loho can tell hoic soon He may see it needful to change his 
 dealings! There is no situation more calculated to 
 make its occupant look constantly to Jesus, than that 
 of a clergyman. It is his own work, and utterly un- 
 availing without his blessing. 
 
 " 1 am now visiting my kind uncle and aunt near 
 
148 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Hexham, and many are my lonely musings here. The 
 woods are extensive and wild ; and as I tread the steep 
 and winding paths alone, my thoughts often take a sad 
 and sober turn. I think, for all that passes around 
 teaches me, how vain it is to fix the heart on any 
 earthly object, which may be taken away in a moment. 
 I try to draw near to God in prayer, and find it sweet to 
 commit all that is dear to me into his hands, and to be 
 sure that it is safe and blessed in his keeping. The past, 
 with all its forgetfulness of Him, returns, and makes 
 me sorrowful ; but this quiet time may, by his blessing, 
 be of great use in making me love Him more. I have 
 written, my dearest friend, a most selfish letter, and can 
 only plead in excuse your gentle reproach for saying 
 so little of what relates to me. You now see a good 
 deal of my foolish and weak heart, but I hope it will 
 make you pray that I may constantly be taught of God. 
 
 Are you well now, dear F ? I wish I could tell 
 
 you how often I think of you, and what a delight it 
 would be if I could in the least contribute to your 
 amusement, or help you to draw sweetness out of the 
 portion of bitter which God has mingled in your cup. 
 But I can pray for you. This is a privilege which the 
 little flock alone enjoy, and nothing deserves the name 
 of friendship that is not thus cemented. Let us often 
 bear each other's names to the holy place, and then, 
 oh, how shall we rejoice to meet in heaven ! I should 
 be very much pleased if you could join a little society 
 of Christians, many of whom live distant from each 
 other, who meet in spirit on the evenings of every 
 Friday, to pray for personal increase of grace, and for 
 the outpouring of the Spirit over the world. An hour 
 cannot be fixed because of the various circumstances 
 of the parties, but it is very pleasant and salutary. We , 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 141) 
 
 should use every means to arouse our souls to prayer. 
 
 Write very soon, my dear F , and do not spare me. 
 
 Tell me all you think of my state of mind. Yet how 
 should you, for I cannot represent it to you as it is f 
 Ah, how gently I deal with my own sins ! I desire to 
 feel them more, that the blood of Jesus may be increas- 
 ingly precious." 
 
 A soul, so timorous lest prosperity should deaden its 
 exercises, and accepting a promised blessing with so 
 solemn a consciousness of unworthiness, was not ill pre- 
 pared for a reverse ; solicitude about securing her 
 ultimate hope being ever the paramount sentiment, 
 prosperous and adverse circumstances in the present 
 time, were both modified in their power over her. 
 There is something so graceful and single-hearted in 
 her manner of mingling her enjoyment of natui'e with 
 the sentiment which, at that period, was most potent in 
 her heart, that we are tempted to extract one or two 
 passages from letters to her future husband, written on 
 the banks of the Tyne, where her soul flowed peace- 
 fully in the exercise of the most confiding affection. 
 
 " Dllston House, May 5. — When I look at the bright 
 sunshine which, at this moment, gilds the winding glen 
 that stretches itself beneath the windows, I am reminded 
 of the description of the path of the just, which is as a 
 shining light, and the peace of those who ever have 
 4 Heaven's sunshine on their joyful way ;' and a sweet 
 hope springs up, that whatever we have yet to learn, 
 will graciously be taught us, and that the sins which 
 cloud our skies and dim our prospects may be subdued, 
 and that, growing in holiness, we may be of those who 
 heed no more the deluding lights of earth, because of 
 the Sun of Righteousness, which, beaming over our 
 horizon, attracts continually our admiring eyes. The 
 
150 MEMOIR OF 
 
 landscape before me is beautiful, but far more so is the 
 state of the spirit where the Lord has fixed his habitation, 
 and if it be so with us, how blessed shall be our lot I" 
 a May 15. — A lady showed me her very complete 
 Hortus Siccus, which it has been the labour and amuse- 
 ment of years to collect and arrange. This country 
 affords every facility for the pursuit of botany. There 
 are wood flowers, water plants, and rock vegetation in 
 endless variety ; and now the purple gems of the orchis 
 are rising with the curious arum. The old lady went 
 over her dried flowers, the pride of bygone springs, 
 with an artist's enthusiasm, and dwelt on long walks, 
 which had been made short and pleasant by the dis- 
 covery of the object of her search, some little weed per- 
 haps witli no great beauty to recommend it. But she 
 was in pursuit of it, and could not have been more 
 pleased to find a treasure. So it is ever. Some gather 
 flowers, others dig in the mine of science ; what we 
 have set our hearts on we rejoice to find. I hope that, 
 whatever cheerful and instructive objects may attract 
 us, we may through life have the service of our God to 
 urge on our steps, and his image in our hearts, and his 
 image in his works and word as the cynosure of our 
 gaze. Yesterday, I rode with my dear uncle to a 
 Roman camp on the military road, and to Ay don Castle, 
 a fine old border fort, now a picturesque ruin. It 
 stands on the verge of a deep woody precipice, of dizzy 
 height, and beneath flows the little Cor. A fine view 
 of Hexham and the vale of Tyne extends on one side, 
 and some flowers are cherished by a careful hand on 
 the top of the castle rock. It seems tame and tautologi- 
 cal to repeat on paper the praises of the floral train, 
 and to say again that each one reminds me sweetly 
 though sadly of a distant friend. Yet the feeling flags 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 151 
 
 not. The blue hyacinth that rises among the grass, the 
 violet and geranium that blow in the wilds, renew it, 
 and transport me to days I love to think of, and to a 
 kindling smile, of which I shall weary — never ! These 
 fair children of nature ; these woods with their bud- 
 ding hawthorn and venerable ivy — I am about to bid 
 them adieu. I love to commune silently among such 
 objects, with nature, and with her Author, and shall 
 leave them with regret ; but with a very different senti- 
 ment from that which oppressed me in leaving the last 
 place of my sojourn." 
 
 A poem, dated Dilston, May 5th, is doubtless ad- 
 dressed to flowers presented by that beloved friend on 
 her leaving Ruthwell : — 
 
 " TO SOME FADING FLOWERS. 
 
 Fair blossoms born in April's light, 
 
 Ye once were fresh when day arose ; 
 Ah ! wherefore fading in my sight, 
 
 Do your shrunk petals close ? 
 Your brethren on the parent stem 
 
 Still on the breeze their fragrance pour; 
 Why withering thus, unlike to them, 
 Is your existence o'er ? 
 
 In those pale looks of swift decay, 
 
 I read, my flowers, your sad reply, 
 'Twas I who bore you far away, 
 In foreign air, to die ! 
 
 Reproach me not ; your native shades 
 Were dear to me as evening's star ; 
 Their mossy turf, their sylvan glades, 
 The silent hills afar ! 
 
 And lingering, as I said farewell, 
 
 A gentle hand despoiled your bowers, 
 That ye to memory might tell 
 
 Of many happy hours ! 
 
 For those loved scenes, for those past days, 
 
 I deem your drooping buds more fair 
 Than when ye glowed in noontide rays, 
 Or scented eveuing air. 
 
152 MEMOIR OF 
 
 And if again, in other years, 
 
 I tread the spot that nursed your bloom, 
 And see new flowers in dewy tears, 
 
 That flourish in your room ; 
 
 The brightest of the vernal train 
 
 Shall call your faded forms to mind ; 
 Sweet relics of your beauteous plain, — 
 
 Of all I loved and left behind." 
 
 During her tranquil musings in the woods at Dilston, 
 she possessed an overflow of spiritual joy, which is dis- 
 covered in her diary, thus : — " I feel calm and happy, 
 and at times my heart so overflows with wonder and 
 joy at the thought of what has been, and what may be 
 given me by my Lord, that I feel humbled that it is to 
 poor rebellious me that He has extended such mercies. 
 Oh that I could praise Him always ! and yet when 
 temptation to forget Him comes, I am almost sure to 
 do it, nay, to wound my conscience by what is sinful. 
 Was there ever one called by the christian "name so 
 slow to learn, so ready to forget ? No earthly friend, 
 I do believe, would have a spark of love for me left, if 
 I offended and grieved them for one year as I have 
 done the Lord all my life, and yet to which of them do 
 I owe a tittle of the obedience that I owe to Him ? 
 Lord, melt my hard heart. Sunday was my 21st birth- 
 day. Oh, how little of the past year has been spent to 
 God ! I feel a danger of going lightly into my sins. 
 I want to probe them well, and not to fear to look at 
 what I truly am. How can they be cleansed unless 
 they be spread out to the purifying blood of Jesus?" 
 
 Diary. — " I was escorted from Dilston to Newcastle 
 by my uncle, and passed ten days instead of two with 
 mamma's friend. She has much peace in communion 
 with God, and, though weak in frame and grieved in 
 spirit, holds fast by the treasure that makes her inde- 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 153 
 
 pendent of earth's possessions or the smiles of the worldly 
 for happiness. There is in this lady a renunciation of 
 earth, and a settled frame of spirituality that few attain ; 
 and she holds it by frequent prayer, and by constant 
 waiting upon God. Friends, who come, often join in 
 prayer : their intercourse is what that of Zion's children 
 should be." 
 
 Of the venerable mother of this estimable friend, she 
 draws a portrait correct in its lineaments, and lovely for 
 its repose and moral truth, in a letter to Mr Duncan : — 
 
 " Newcastle, May 22. — I wish you could see her. 
 She is a handsome and venerable old lady, with snow- 
 white hair, and the sweetest expression of peace and 
 affection on her countenance ; and there is good reason 
 for it, as now, at the age of seventy-nine, she has found 
 what in earlier years she was a stranger to. Four years 
 ago, during a severe illness, and after much mental 
 conflict, she was brought to the feet of the Saviour, 
 whom she had, during a long life, rejected. The words 
 of our Lord to Paul, ' Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou 
 me?' were put into her mouth, and she wept for joy 
 and contrition of heart. Since that time, she has gone 
 on her tranquil way in much converse with her God ; 
 and when we enter her sitting-room, we find her in her 
 great chair, with a large Bible before her, marking the 
 words that suit her best. It is a solemn thing to be 
 near an aged pilgrim hastening, willingly, to the Jordan, 
 and having little to do with time. . . . We have 
 had many sweet seasons of prayer, and this room has a 
 hallowed air to me — it is a Bethel. I think I have 
 learned more of the use of prayer as a guide, and as a 
 means of quieting the soul when anything has disturbed 
 it. It is the constant resource of my kind friend, and 
 the bond by which her union with those she loves is 
 
1 54 MEMOIR OF 
 
 cemented." After alluding to some anticipated trials, 
 she adds in the same letter : — " In God we shall do 
 valiantly. Prayer is the shield which must blunt the 
 many darts, and make them slide off our armour harm- 
 less. Therefore, let us pray without ceasing. In these 
 latter days, when men are heady and high-minded, let 
 us keep our lamps burning with zeal, and be wise as 
 serpents, and harmless as doves. . . . This is the 
 preparation day, for Sabbath is at hand. Oh, let us 
 both use such days henceforth more to God's glory than 
 before ! Let us give our entire selves to Him ! Why in 
 action halt between two opinions ? I have been most 
 happy this week in seeking Him continually. I have 
 felt that I have been far (O, how far !) too lax, and 
 that one day in his courts is better than a thousand. 
 May the mantle of saints departed descend on us ! May 
 the robe of Jesus' holiness be around us ! May heaven 
 be before our eyes, and earth beneath our feet ! May 
 love be in our hearts, and praise on our tongues ! This 
 I solemnly pray, and then what evil can life, or death, or 
 sorrow do to us ? Our record is not within their reach." 
 Remarking the conduct of a friend who deemed it 
 duty to withdraw entirely from a newly-formed family 
 connection, because she disapproved the religious sen- 
 timents of the parties, Mary thus mildly investigates, 
 and draws lessons of instruction for herself. Diary. — 
 " I am not sure if these views should keep us from trying 
 to do good to such as may be pointed out to us by Pro- 
 vidence, in meek christian charity and consistency, that 
 they may be won from their errors. But the party 
 alluded to calls this spurious charity. One would not 
 recommend intercourse that could only be productive 
 of unpleasant feelings on all sides; but the question now 
 afloat with me is, whether it be the right thing to be in 
 
MARY LUNDIE DL^CAN. 155 
 
 the state which would make intercourse so painful ; or 
 whether it be the right thing to tell one's sentiments 
 mildly, and with much allowance for early training and 
 habits of thought. I may, however that be settled, gain 
 from these things a new view of the Christian's high 
 duty, to maintain his Saviour's cause, and be always on 
 the watch-tower. I have at times lost my own spirit- 
 uality, and done no good to others, by letting myself be 
 led into their trains of thought, instead of seeking to lead 
 them to better things. I have even smiled acquiescence, 
 or passed in silence, sentiments I disapproved ; but then 
 my enemy was love of self, so easily does charity degene- 
 rate, and become a cloak for evil ! — Against this, I have, 
 by what I have here seen, been put on my guard." 
 
 A few days after, when she had, on her homeward 
 way, reached the habitation of another dear friend, she 
 still dwells in her diary on the character of the aged 
 and waiting servant, whom she had admired and loved 
 to contemplate. Diary. — " I came here on May 23d, 
 and the kind welcome, the fiowery garden, the rose of 
 Sharon and lily of the valley, have greatly cheered me. 
 I want to see the love of God in every thing. When I 
 think of that aged lady, so kind, so peaceful, so meek in 
 waiting for her departure, I feel it a privilege to have 
 been called early to that service, whose perfect freedom 
 she did not know till seventy-five years had passed in 
 the bondage of sin ! The grace of God is wonderful 
 to her in unloosing all the bonds of habit, in softening 
 the hard heart, in opening the eyes that had remained 
 blind when light was around them ; to me in having led 
 and taught me from infancy, ungrateful backslider as I 
 am ; in having daily patience with me, and teaching 
 me more and more of his love : would that my whole 
 being were devoted to Him !" 
 
156 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Shortly after this date, she reached the home to which 
 she had often turned during the enjoyments of her ab- 
 sence. She remarked, on being asked why she was so 
 desirous to return, " I have too much ' inhabitiveness,' 
 to like to be very long away from you all ; one never 
 gets so well established at improving employments as at 
 home, and the mind wearies when it has either nothing 
 to employ it, or is forced by change of place to fly from 
 one thing to another." 
 
 The first five stanzas of the poem which follows were 
 written about this date ; the concluding four in Novem- 
 ber 1839. 
 
 " ON SEEING A PRISM SnOW r N IN AN INFANT SCHOOL. 1 
 
 The morning is over, the lessons are done, 
 And bright on the group shine the beams of the sun ; 
 1 Now show us the rainbow,' each little voice cries, 
 And turned to the lattice are many glad eyes. 
 
 The prism is displayed in their wondering sight ; 
 Out spring, as by magic, the colours of light, 
 And over the throng the fair vision is cast, 
 Like the bow in the cloud when the tempest is past. 
 
 And now on the ceiling, and now on the walls, 
 Fast flitting, and flying, the brilliancy falls ; 
 And now for a moment the lustre is shed, 
 Like a circlet of glory, on one little head. 
 
 With eagerness flocking to catch at the prize, 
 The children esteem it their own — but it flies ; 
 High and low, as it skims, they at vacancy clasp, 
 While, in courting pursuit, 'tis eluding their grasp. 
 
 The remembrance of this may a lesson impart, 
 When manhood has ripened each buoyant young heart ; 
 When flying in chase of some vision of bliss, 
 They grasp it, and find it illusive as this. 
 
 For hope, like the rainbow, adorns the sweet scene, 
 When dewdrops are gleaming, and nature is green 
 And we think, could we reach the fair hills of its rest, 
 And gain what we wish, we should surely be blest. 
 
 ' Frobably at Newcastle. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 157 
 
 We pant in pursuit of the vanishing prise, 
 
 We deem it our own — as we near it, it fliefl ! 
 It loses Its brightness, it fades from our sight, 
 And the eye that admired is left weeping 1 in night. 
 
 Ah ! Miss is not here, it is born in the skies, 
 Though hope, the sweet dreamer, its absenee denies ; 
 And ne'er to mankind shall its fulness be given, 
 Or earth be made bright by this native of heaven. 
 
 Look upward from time, and its dreams of delight, 
 Pass on to the land of possession and sight ; 
 Seek this, and this only, and all shall be peace, 
 When hope and the rainbow together shall cease.' 
 
 A letter of grateful acknowledgments of the kind 
 hospitalities of her uncle and aunt, dated July, contains 
 a remark on the position and character of Sir George 
 Grey, which is interesting now, when that gentleman 
 holds an office in the government of 1847, such as was 
 anticipated for him by the young writer. 
 
 " We feel interested in Sir George Grey's doings, 
 from his dutiful and exemplary love for his mother, 
 whom we knew a little during the winter she resided 
 here. I trust Canada may be a gainer by his judicious 
 measures in reference to it. A few years may give him 
 a more prominent position among his countrymen than 
 he now occupies. " 
 
 Immediately on her return home, the entry in her 
 diary mentions her attending the celebration of the 
 Lord's Supper at Lady Glenorchy's Church, which, she 
 says, she enjoyed, "calling sin to remembrance, and 
 praying that all might be blotted out, and she be enabled 
 to fix a steady eye on Jesus;" — and then follows another 
 entry which refers to a public execution, and exhibits 
 the power of divine love in strengthening the character, 
 and expanding the charities. That a criminal should be 
 condemned to suffer death on the scaffold is, and indeed 
 is designed to be, shocking to the tender mind ; and the 
 
158 MEMOIR OF 
 
 natural impulse of refinement is to dismiss so horrible 
 a thought. But grace judges differently. To attract 
 the attention of a Christian to a soul in peril, is to engage 
 that Christian's prayers. And so it was with Mary. 
 The diary reveals the secret exercises of her closet, 
 which were open before to the Searcher of hearts alone. 
 
 "July 14. — Yesterday poor J. Bell was hanged in 
 the High Street for killing his sergeant. Mr Hunter 
 had good hope of him. He was penitent ; and his heart 
 'so filled with the judgment-seat, he did not think of 
 the scaffold.' I trust a God of mercy has redeemed him, 
 poor desolate creature. He had no other refuge. No 
 one has — but his was a situation to make him pecu- 
 liarly feel it. I hope Jesus received him like the thief 
 on the cross ! I never remember to have prayed so 
 much for any one I never saw, as for him. I longed for 
 his salvation. May the many prayers offered for him in 
 Edinburgh be remembered by a faithful Lord, and may 
 we be taught to be earnest in supplication for our own 
 poor souls ! " 
 
 To Mr Duncan. 
 
 " Edinburgh, June 8. — I have, like you, been writing 
 under the pealing of a loud thunder-storm, grand and 
 awful. It brings home the question, ' Am I ready to 
 die ? ' Would that we were sure, for the hour each 
 day draws nearer. I think I am sure that if I died I 
 should go to heaven, through my most blessed Saviour; 
 but O the coldness of heart ! How true to earthly love ; 
 how forgetful of that which lasts through eternity and 
 began before our being ! " 
 
 When she heard the solemn and earnest pleading of 
 Dr Duff on behalf of the millions who people the idol- 
 blighted plains of India, she wrote to the same friend. 
 
 "Edinburgh, June 17. — The world is dark and 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 159 
 
 wretched when we look at such melancholy facts, and 
 think over what an extent the same evils, the same 
 destitution of spiritual guides, and of the means of 
 pleasing the Lamb, are diffused. When shall the day 
 dawn, and the day-star arise ? When shall the multi- 
 tude of the Isles, and the fulness of the Gentile nations, 
 become the ransomed saints of the God of Glory ? The 
 poor heathen ! He pities them, and shall not we, his 
 saved ones, pity too ? Oh ! let us pray for them more 
 earnestly than we have hitherto done, that souls, ever- 
 lasting souls, may be given to our petitions. The 
 millennarians, whose creed I do not much understand, 
 seem to believe, that, when the last vial is poured out, 
 the wrath of God will come upon those nations which 
 know Him not. There will be plagues and great de- 
 structions, and only a remnant shall be left. Now, I 
 have been accustomed to hope, and with delightful ex- 
 pectation, that those forsaken nations shall be taught of 
 God, and have at least, as we have, a free offer of the 
 great salvation ; and many, who sin through ignorance, 
 shall be offered that which they will, with meltings of 
 heart, accept ; and so, in the rescue, and not in the 
 destruction, of his scattered flock, Jesus will be glorified. 
 I speak only my own thoughts ; tell me yours. Should 
 it not, be so ! — He is just, He is good, and it is right. 
 But, O ! how the consideration of their sad case should 
 stimulate us to prayer for them, and to exertion too." 
 
 Diary, — " Last Sunday, came home with me 
 
 between sermons, and we had some profitable conver- 
 sation ; in the course of which, we resolved to guard, 
 for one week, against saying a single word against any 
 living creature. I much wish to have that deep sense 
 of my own unworthiness, which will make me charitable 
 to all. Not that I would lose the power of discriminate 
 
160 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ing ; but it is well to seal the lips in some conversations, 
 lest we be tempted to speak in this unadvised way. I 
 love the character of a peace-maker, and should like to 
 be one. There are times when it is well to point out 
 to a friend the faults of another ; but, on examining, we 
 fmd these to be very few. The effect is to prejudice 
 the friend to whom we speak, against some individual, 
 and thus chase from his bosom some of that balmy dew 
 of universal love, which forms part of the felicity of 
 angels in heaven ; and who can say where such a 
 course might end — in lessening usefulness, in impair- 
 ing happiness, in sowing dissensions? " 
 
 On the death of the Rev. John Brown Patterson, be- 
 tween which and her own, as well as between the ex- 
 panded benevolence and devotedness, not to name the 
 poetry of their characters, there has appeared an affect- 
 ing analogy to some who knew them well, she wrote 
 and felt much : and, though never privileged to mingle 
 prayers or tears with the mourners, hers were offered 
 before Him, who binds up the broken-hearted, and 
 helps the widow. 
 
 To Mr Duncan. 
 " July 7. — We all feel deeply for the family of Mr 
 Patterson, who are plunged into the deepest distress 
 by their heavy bereavement. He was, I believe, the 
 victim of conscientiousness ; for Falkirk is a large and 
 most discouraging parish. He was dissatisfied with 
 the measure of good he was enabled to do, and, during 
 his short convalescence, his spirits were in a state of 
 painful depression, and he said, ' O, I cannot return to 
 Falkirk ! ' He preached eighteen times in the last fort- 
 night of his health, and the last time was so exhausted, 
 that he rested on the sofa, in clothes drencned by a 
 
MARY LUNDIK DUXCAX. 1G1 
 
 heavy rain during liis walk home. Thus were the seeds 
 of disease sown. At last, typhus turned to brain fever, 
 and he was in wild delirium for the last few days. Dur- 
 ing that time he was now praying, now preaching. At 
 times, the beauty of his thoughts was quite beyond him- 
 self. That glowing spirit is gone. That voice, so 
 zealous in the good cause, is hushed. That mind, 
 mingling religion and literature so invitingly for the 
 young and studious, shall weave its splendid imagery 
 no more ; but all — all those powers shall be perfected 
 in the land of his joyful habitation ; and all shall be 
 swallowed up in the near and rapturous view of the 
 Lamb, whom he shall follow whithersoever He goeth. 
 I never remember to have prayed for any one in sick- 
 ness, not in the immediate circle of my friends, so 
 earnestly as I did for him, and his mourning relations; 
 and it enlarges and softens the heart to weep for those 
 who weep, and commit their cause to God. May you 
 and I know much of the blessedness of thus sympa- 
 thizing with the sorrowful, in a world where sorrows 
 abound, and may we be the instruments of binding up 
 many worn and sad spirits ! I would also desire, that, 
 if it be the will of God, we may not be subject to such 
 trials as were his lot, in his bright but troubled course, 
 and spared such anguish as now rends the heart of his 
 bereft ones. My uncle made some just and beautiful 
 references to Mr Patterson in his sermon, " To another 
 friend she wrote : — " ' We thought him fit to live,' said 
 my uncle, ' but God saw that he was fit to die.' And let 
 
 us be willing, my dear F , that our lights should be 
 
 removed to the land of glory. We shall not be dark 
 and dim, when they are gone, if, by their loss, our eyes 
 are more stedfastly fixed on our Heavenly King, the 
 source of all the brightness that attracts our love." 
 
 L 
 
162 memoir or 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT, AND THE MANNER IN WHICH IT 
 
 WAS BORNE. 
 
 Blooming and lovely herself, attractive by her chas- 
 tened cheerfulness, and shedding love and peace around 
 her, yet in the sober and subdued light which we have 
 seen her correspondence and her diary unfold, was the 
 passing scene clad to Mary's view. It was the hope 
 beyond, the glories of the world where sin is not, 
 which fixed her eager gaze ; and thus one might ex- 
 pect she was prepared for the stroke which was even 
 now about to fall ; and so, indeed, she was. 
 
 To her confidential friend, near London, she wrote 
 in this strain : — " The 23d of this month (July) is the 
 day appointed by the General Assembly as a general 
 fast throughout the church. I trust it may be a day 
 of blessing in our land, and that we may be aroused to 
 covet earnestly the best gifts, for if we ask we shall re- 
 ceive. If we really believe that our Lord will do for 
 us what we ask, we shall not be sent away empty. 
 Not one word of heartfelt prayer is forgotten by Him, 
 though it is not always answered in the way we wish. 
 The 23d will be a day of double interest to me, because 
 it is the first of three days appointed for my friend to" 
 preach before the people of Urr, in order to their sus- 
 taining or rejecting the royal presentation. Should he 
 not be received, I believe that faith and submission will 
 be increased, and hope will not die. Should it be 
 
MAIiY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 1 G3 
 
 otherwise, I trust lie may prove a faithful and un 
 wearied labourer in the vineyard of our merciful Lord. 
 Oli ! my beloved friend, will you pray that it may be 
 so ? I scarcely dare to pray that it may be as we 
 desire, for I have learned, by constant experience, that 
 the tilings we set our hearts upon would be injurious. 
 Then, be our prayer for those things which God sees 
 best, and which will most effectually help us to be pure 
 and without offence in the path of Jesus." 
 
 The hopes excited by the presentation of Mr Duncan 
 to Urr, were not destined to be realized. Those good 
 men, who were deeply sensible of the evils of unre- 
 strained patronage, as established by the iniquitous act 
 of Bolingbroke, in the reign of Queen Anne, had re- 
 cently exerted their influence to enact the Veto Law, 
 as it has been called. They honestly believed that the 
 Ecclesiastical Courts possessed an inherent right, law- 
 fully, to enforce a mitigation of the evil ; and they were 
 willing to reconcile themselves to a mitigation, rather 
 than seek a complete remedy, which could only be ob- 
 tained by an application to parliament, where secular 
 and party views seem to overbear the temper and 
 motives which ought to be engaged in ordering the 
 affairs of the Church of Christ. This is not the place 
 to discuss those weighty questions, which have since 
 that period agitated, and do still continue to agitate, 
 the Church of Scotland. It is enough to say, that one 
 of the first operations of the new law was the rejection 
 of Mr Duncan by the apparent majority of five. The 
 patronage of Urr is held by the Crown, and the parish 
 being divided between two candidates, Mr Duncan, a 
 third, was presented with a view of procuring the union 
 of both parties on his behalf; thus wisely " following 
 after things that make for peace." The people, however, 
 
164 MEMOIR OF 
 
 inexperienced in the recent law, flattered themselves 
 that it might be so worked as to place the unrestrained 
 power of electing their pastor in their own hands. It 
 was no stain on the character of the presentee to be re- 
 jected in these circumstances, as some of those who 
 exercised the veto against him declared openly, that 
 they would reject the Apostle Paul himself, if presented 
 by a patron. 
 
 But this attempt, if successful, threatened to coun- 
 teract the object of the Veto Law altogether, and to 
 convert a salutary arrangement into a source of hostility 
 between patron and people. Stimulated by this fear of 
 the perversion of the law, some of the very individuals 
 who aided in framing it, counselled Mr Duncan to per- 
 severe, not for the purpose of opposing the legitimate 
 operation of the newly acquired right, but of seeking to 
 restrain it within due bounds. He, therefore, zealously 
 supported by the well-educated and well-informed of 
 the parish, appealed from the decision of the Presbytery 
 which rejected him, to the higher Church Court, with a 
 view to prove a combination of the people, for the pur- 
 pose of defeating the presentation, irrespective of his 
 merits, and also to investigate the validity of a few of 
 the votes. 
 
 From these sketchy remarks, we must return to the 
 individual whose conduct under the rod was to be a 
 test of the reality of her former experience. 
 
 The sunny 7th of August is still bright in memory, 
 when she took her way to the Hall of the High School, 
 to witness that august moral spectacle, where the civic 
 authorities come forth as the patrons of education, and 
 distributors of honours acquired by the industry and 
 talent of their juvenile townsmen — her eye beaming 
 with joy at the expectation of seeing her little brother 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 165 
 
 bow his flaxen locks before the Lord Provost, on the 
 reception of his first prize — her heart bounding with 
 the expectation that an hour would bring her betrothed 
 with the glad news that all was passed in harmony and 
 love on the previous day, and that they might prepare 
 together to enter on the work they loved best, at Urr. 
 
 The coach arrived, and with it the honoured father, 
 not the son ; and on the street were Mary's steps turned 
 homeward by the disclosure of the event. It is not, 
 perhaps, well for one who partook deeply of that time 
 of trial to enter too minutely into the scene, or to de- 
 scribe the subdued emotion, the christian and almost 
 dignified calmness of the hour. She passed some time 
 in her closet, and obeyed the summons of the dinner- 
 bell, expecting she had self-command enough to acquit 
 herself as became one who believes that the Lord doeth 
 all things well. But she had taxed her strength too 
 heavily. She smiled, and conversed a little at first, but 
 the expression of love and sympathy in the surrounding 
 countenances was too much — the willing spirit suc- 
 cumbed to the weakness of nature, and she was obliged 
 to glide away. After allowing a time free from intrusion, 
 she was followed, and, with dismay, found extended on 
 the floor ; her over-exerted powers having for a time 
 retreated, from that severe strain, by a fit of fainting 
 sickness. Her disorder hung about her for some days ; 
 but no word of complaint, fretfulness, or impatience was 
 heard from her, and the peace which the world cannot 
 take away, soon acquired a renewed and stronger in- 
 fluence in her heart than before she was afflicted. But 
 she will speak best for herself. 
 
 In the diary, the entry is brief. After stating the 
 fact, and that she had been writing to cheer Mr Duncan, 
 when she sunk exhausted, she adds : — 
 
166 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " W.'s hopes ! where are they ? The sanguine pre- 
 dictions of many friends ! what has become of them ? 
 Man lays wise plans, but it is with God to bless or bring 
 them to nought. I want truly to say, 'Thy will be 
 done ;' but dread a spirit of settled sullenness or discon- 
 tent. My hopes were so precious ! Yet the child of 
 God can never be in despair. I — we — need chastening, 
 and it has been sent in love and mercy. We may yet 
 be happy ; at least resigned we must, and, by God's 
 help, will be." 
 
 To Mr Duncan. 
 " August 7. — I would write comfort to you, though 
 my aching eyeballs, and pained head, tell that I have 
 need of it too. Comfort, and sources of new hope, are 
 what we may be likely to turn to, though at present I 
 feel no temptation of that kind ; but do you not think 
 that we should rather search our hearts diligently, to 
 see wherefore our God contends with us? "We have 
 sinned in many ways. If we have not cast out those 
 sins before, let us do so now ! This is a voice that makes 
 itself heard. Let us strive for holiness of heart and life, 
 and then our God may give us so much heavenly peace, 
 that we shall be happier far than if all our wishes had 
 been fulfilled. He can do this ; in so far as it regards 
 man. I know you will not give place to any angry 
 feelings, but only pray for your enemies, and look on 
 all as coming direct from the hand of God. I feel that 
 He must have something to teach you ; and from this 
 very thing, while I weep, I derive encouragement ; for 
 many a careless shepherd is plunged at once into the 
 work of the ministry, while those, who are to be true 
 vessels of honour, are tried as the silver is tried ; but 
 our merciful Saviour watches the furnace, and does not 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 167 
 
 let it burn too fiercely. It may be, my dear W., that 
 we shall, at some time, look back on this cloudy and 
 dark day as one of the happiest of our lives, if it is the 
 beginning of better things to our souls. I had been 
 indulging in the delightful hope that your character 
 and graces would be best improved by the exercise of 
 preaching and the care of souls. But a wise God sees 
 that more of those disguised blessings, which come in 
 the form of trials, are needful for yon, and for me. Oh 
 I hope it is not through my sins, and my negligence, 
 that this has befallen you ! There is reason to think 
 He designs us both to glorify his name and to win souls, 
 or He would not take so much pains with us, and send 
 us back so often to examine the foundation. And shall 
 we turn away as if we were injured, repining and re- 
 belling against the will of God ? No ! let us rather kiss 
 . the rod that smites us, and exercise truer love than ever 
 to our King. We are short-sighted creatures, but our 
 precious faith teaches that all is well. . . . Pray 
 that the people and their pastor, whosoever he shall be, 
 may be blessed ; and we, too, doubt it not, shall not be 
 forgotten of God. He has blessings in store for us, more 
 precious than earth can offer. I grieve for you among 
 comparative strangers, to none of whom you can fully 
 open your own heart, oppressed as it must be. But the 
 throne is your sure refuge ; there you will find relief. 
 Never, when things seemed to smile, did my heart cleave 
 to you more than now. You have one earthly friend who 
 will never have divided hopes or interests from yours. 
 11 Farewell, dear W., and may God ever bless you 
 and keep you, prays your attached and sympathizing 
 
 Mary Lundie." 
 
 One cannot fail to observe the simplicity with which 
 
168 MEMOIR OF 
 
 she unites herself in the trial and in its causes, and also 
 with which she anticipates her position as the wife of a 
 clergyman, as being in a peculiar manner that of a 
 servant of the Church. Pier plan was not to be a help- 
 meet for her husband alone, but to be a succourer of 
 many, who would depend on his ministrations for 
 spiritual food. It is the happiest of all unions where 
 the wife has sufficient experience and love to be inclined 
 to follow up her husband's work among the females of 
 the flock, and to guide the lambs to the Good Shepherd. 
 These views of her office rendered the disappointment 
 in some degree of a character similar to that of the 
 young preacher ; and made the trial of a more searching 
 kind to her own heart. 
 
 The following letter was written with the same desire 
 to console and to derive improvement from the dispen- 
 sation : — 
 
 To Mr Duncan. 
 " Edinburgh, August 17. . . . You can, in active 
 employ, in reference to the aspect of things, and in 
 talking of them with friends, throw off some of those 
 feelings which, if all confined, might become too burden- 
 some ; all I can do is to keep still, and muse and pray, 
 and this I truly do ; and when thought would becom 
 rebellious, or earthly hope too vivid, prayer checks their 
 flow, and rekindles that trust in the love of God, and 
 that sense of the importance of that one thing — prepa- 
 ration for the unseen world — to which all the discipline 
 we undergo is subservient. What is it to the candidates 
 for a life of perfect bliss and endless duration, whether 
 their few years on earth are spent in preparing for it, 
 by delightful and easy lessons, or whether their upward 
 way is hedged round with thorns, and strewed with 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN, 169 
 
 those rough stones — privation and sorrow. We know 
 that ' the more we mourn and suffer here, the sweeter 
 rest will be. 1 Jesus trod the way of privation before 
 us — privation ! oh how far beyond what we can, in 
 dreariest moments, picture ! And, triumphantly as He 
 passed through it, He left a parting promise that all his 
 children should follow in his steps, and be supported 
 by his hand. Let us not, then, refuse, if called upon, to 
 partake those sufferings. His grace is sufficient for us, 
 and the fire may frighten, but cannot consume. These 
 thoughts are ennobling — they nerve us to bear what 
 might, without them, make us sink ; and faith is kindled, 
 and roused to lively exercise, by those very things which 
 our spiritual foes would fain employ to slay it. Should 
 evil be said of you falsely, should your hopes be frus- 
 trated with aggravations devised by malice, there is but 
 the more hope, as it seems to me, that you are to be a 
 polished and sharpened arrow in the quiver of the Lord. 
 AVe must try to praise, however it turns, and so will 
 God be glorified in us. Ah ! I would that you might 
 be polished by actual service, instead of long delay. 
 Well, our God is wise ; just is He, and hates every sin ; 
 but still He loves his people, and I trust all He does 
 will be in mercy, not in anger. Be prepared, then, dear 
 W., for whatever comes. Seek submission in constant 
 prayer— as you pursue your solitary path, or mingle 
 in the eager converse of friends, still be your spirit in 
 one place — with God. Seek to find Him, as Hall of 
 Leicester beautifully expresses it, ' the home of the 
 soul.' Rest firmly, confidingly in Him, and you possess 
 a support that the war of elements can never drive from 
 you. Examine well, lest even in your submission, there 
 be concealed a hope that this very state of mind will 
 lead Him to make a smooth way for you at Urr yet 
 
170 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I know it is not inconsistent with his dealings from the 
 beginning of time, that this may be. But we ?nust not 
 serve Him for his gifts ; and are always safer when we 
 can offer ourselves a living sacrifice, without reference 
 to what may here befall us. Search well, and seek to 
 give up every earthly thought, and merge your wishes 
 in a zeal for the promotion of his glory. I do not 
 advise you, because I think myself entitled, or you in 
 need of my counsel. No ; each day teaches me that I 
 am but dust and ashes ; and I believe that you are 
 taught by that most wise and Holy Spirit, whose 
 counsels are sufficient to lead you, without stumbling, 
 to the land of peace. Yet we should ' exhort one 
 another daily ;' and one, who has so often prayed for 
 you, may be excused for saying a few words from a 
 fulness of heart, beyond what she has often expressed. 
 . . . Yesterday, Mr Clark, of Inverness, preached 
 at St Mary's — a solemn sermon, on the witness of the 
 Spirit. He clearly set forth the peace of the heart that, 
 being undivided and sincere in its desire to serve God, 
 and resign all for Him, has this precious testimony. 
 Oh ! for such a state as would let it be ever here, even 
 in my soul, and would drive away all lingering endur- 
 ance of sin, and fit me for pure regions, sensibly feeling 
 that each day brought me nearer to them ! Let us 
 mutually pray that each person in the Holy Trinity 
 may work in us, that we may be complete, wanting 
 nothing, through the rich grace of God. . . . To- 
 day, Mr A. Murray has come to visit u& (a youth whom 
 you may have seen at Kelso) on his way to London, 
 whence he will shortly embark for the Samoan Islands. 
 It once seemed as if he would never have got forward, 
 but a way was opened for his education under Dr Pye 
 Smith ; his feeble health is much improved, and he is 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 171 
 
 on the eve of commencing his labours in the work lie 
 loves. I feel disposed rather to take encouragement 
 from the goodness of God to one for whom He has 
 provided education and friends, and cleared for Plim 
 so wide a sphere of usefulness. His time for you, too, 
 will come, and now He is but fitting you for it : so, 
 surely, all is best." 
 
 The final confirmation of the Urr veto, and the appeal 
 to the Synod, being at last communicated to her, she 
 wrote : — 
 
 " August 28. — Your sad letter came in due time ; 
 and now, what can we say, but ' the will of the Lord 
 be done?' I feel no disposition to think of men, good 
 or bad, who have been the instruments of this trial. 
 The Lord's hand is here, and to it let us look. Let me 
 entreat you to take away your mind from the outward 
 circumstances, and let the majesty of God, his holiness, 
 his right to do what He will with us, be much on your 
 mind. We are, I trust, of those whom He wills to 
 sanctify wholly to Himself; and shall we refuse to taste 
 the requisite chastisement ? Let us try to say, as a good 
 man did to Mr Venn, 'I love the rod ; how gentle are 
 the strokes I receive — how severe those I deserve ! ' 
 There is one danger I feel, perhaps you do also, and 
 which must be guarded against — that of praying less, 
 and sinking into a listless state, and indulging in a half 
 acknowledged feeling that our prayers have been dis- 
 regarded. But, no ; every prayer is heard, though in 
 wisdom our earnest request has been withheld. But 
 this let us learn — to let the glory of God have a larger 
 share in our prayers, and our own selfishness less. 
 Had this been, from the first, the mainspring of our 
 petitions, we must have felt clearly that they have been 
 granted ; for this is in strict accordance with the will 
 
172 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of God. But make a covenant with me, my dear friend, 
 that you will pray as often, and as earnestly, by the help 
 of God, for spiritual blessings, as we have for some time 
 done for temporal ones, and this sad check may be very 
 useful to us. Oh ! it would have been happy, as far as 
 we can see — I scarcely dare now let myself think how 
 happy ; but we know who rules : and, even humanly 
 speaking, we are both young yet, and Providence may 
 see it best to sharpen us better for the work, before He 
 puts it into our hands ; so let us use the time in com- 
 muning with Him, and studying his word," 
 
 To Mr Duncan. 
 
 "Sept. 19. — We shall have no cause to repent our 
 trials, for our foundation standeth sure, and our record 
 is with a compassionate Saviour. We know we have 
 much to learn — we know, too, that He is now teaching 
 us ; and shall we repine because we are in the school 
 of Christ, among all those who can ever hope to have 
 part in the first resurrection ? Our Master will not give 
 us one stripe too much, and, even in the midst, He smiles 
 on us, and addresses us in accents of surpassing love as 
 his ransomed ones, his beloved children. Glorious is 
 the dispensation under which we are placed ! It is no 
 new remark, that those whose labour He designs to 
 bless, are prepared for it by initiatory trials." 
 
 An entry in the diary, next day, shows her in her 
 closet, following up the desire to realize the benefits 
 which she expects from affliction. 
 
 Diary. — "Sept. 20. — After reading what Venn says 
 of the Holy Spirit, I have been entreating his influences 
 for W. and myself. I would seek to realize, in this 
 period of solitude, the time when I shall be no more one 
 of a kind family on earth, but shall stand before the 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 173 
 
 throne, and, in tlie midst of myriads, feel myself alone 
 with God. I want more of his daily presence and 
 blessing, and I want to be strong in Him, that I may 
 not sink under, but obediently submit to, w T hatever He 
 designs for me. All must come from above, for I can 
 do nothing but sin." 
 
 To her correspondent near London, she wrote, not 
 till a month had elapsed, on this subject : — 
 
 "Edinburgh, Sept. 26. — While the Head of the Church 
 has been training many souls, by suffering, for glory, 
 it has been his good pleasure not to leave me wholly 
 untried. Would that I could dismiss every feeling but 
 gratitude for it ! You heard of Urr, and you may 
 imagine how affecting your expressions in reference to 
 it were, and your hope that its shepherd might receive 
 grace to lead his flock, etc., when I tell you, that ere 
 they met my eyes, our hope with regard to that was 
 over. . . . You know how trying it must be, to 
 one full of energy, and desirous to devote it all to the 
 work of the ministry, to be stopped at the very door of 
 the temple, and told to go again, and stand yet another 
 hour, in the prime of the day, in the market-place ! 
 Your words went straight to my heart, ' Shall we teach 
 our Teacher how to instruct us ? ' Let us wait in faith ; 
 and, being kept in the hollow of the Father's hand, can 
 trial be an evil ? Blessed are they who do not see how 
 such a trial is to terminate, and yet have believed that 
 all is well. The links of the chain, that we cannot see, 
 are in the hands of unerring wisdom ; and it is sweet 
 just to let them remain there willingly, and to consent 
 that more should be hidden, if He wills it. I have been 
 ten days quite alone, a new thing for me, all the family 
 being in the country ; and I preferred returning from 
 a visit in beautiful Stirlingshire, to my quiet home. 
 
174 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Here 1 have time for thought ; and when thought 
 becomes perplexity, and faith grows weary, the mercy- 
 seat is near, and there my spirit is revived. r 
 
 In the diary, at this date, there is an observation on 
 one of the uses of social worship, which is true, but 
 will be new to those who have not experienced its 
 effect, by entering the sanctuary from solitude. 
 
 Diary, — " Sept. 27. — The close of another solitary 
 Sabbath. My present situation has shown me a use of 
 public worship, of which I never thought before — the 
 enlivening of those who dwell alone.. It is very re- 
 freshing to a spirit which has poured out its prayer to 
 God, but without one of human kind to express a feel- 
 ing to, to mingle with a large worshipping assembly in 
 praise and prayer. We are feeble, and need aids, and 
 this is a blessed one devised for us in much wisdom." 
 In this month, she wrote to a friend who had read 
 the Life of Byron : — " As to poor Byron, I am glad 
 you are but slamming the annals of his unhappy and de- 
 graded life, which I believe had better have been left 
 to perish in forgetfulness, than dressed in the smooth 
 language of Moore, to teach mankind the way to be 
 discontented and miserable. Blessed is the lowly and 
 humble saint, whose name is unknown, or known only 
 to be despised, but whose record is on high, and his 
 place secure in the purchased inheritance of. Jesus 
 Christ ! What a glorious spirit, what a vigorous 
 character, might the heaven-taught Byron have been ! 
 What engines of good he might have moved ! what soul- 
 stirring songs of praise he might have penned ! — songs 
 that should have filled the mouths of the joyous and 
 the young, and cheered the lonely sufferer in the sad 
 night watches ! But all his powers .were employed — 
 were ruined — in the service of the prince of darkness, 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 175 
 
 and his name stands like an upas-tree, scathed and de- 
 structive, as far as its influence can reach." 
 
 To her Sister, then in London at School. 
 
 " Edinburgh, September 26. — I rejoice to hear that you 
 are in health and happiness, and thank our gracious 
 God, who watches over my dear sister in her new 
 home. I am grateful to the kind friends who take so 
 much pains to improve you, and to make you all that 
 we desire. I have great pleasure in thinking of you, 
 under the kind care of Mrs Evans, whose power to 
 charm away home-sickness I had many proofs of in for- 
 mer days. 
 
 " . . . .1 have been some time at Stirling, and 
 found the pure air and beautiful prospects quite reviv- 
 ing. I used to walk along a path formed round the 
 crag on which the Castle stands, and look at the range 
 of mountains in the distance, of which Benledi is the 
 monarch ; and then, turning to the other side, I feasted 
 my eyes on the nearer Ochils, which change their hue 
 with every variety of the atmosphere, while the country 
 before them is like a blooming well-cultured garden, 
 and the Forth winds around it like a serpent. By the 
 way, it cannot be said of it, 
 
 * The river wanders at his own sweet will ;' 
 for the cause of this twisting, wa3 the thickness of the 
 ancient Caledonian forest, through which the poor 
 stream was fain to make its way as it best could. To 
 give you an idea of the windings, Alloa, which is seven 
 miles from Stirling by land, is twenty- two by the river ! 
 I had some pleasant drives in spite of heavy rains, and 
 was at Gargunnoch, the scene of a victory of ' the Wal- 
 lace wight' over the English. I visited Bannockburn, 
 and saw the ' Gilly's Hill,' down which the mock army 
 
176 MEMOIR OF 
 
 poured to spread terror among English hearts of bravery. 
 So, you see, I have been on classic ground, and I hope 
 you may visit those scenes ere long. 
 
 " Oh ! my sister, have you given your heart to our 
 blessed Saviour? Have you asked Him to take it en- 
 tirely for his own, and to cleanse it from all iniquity ! 
 Have you tried to love Him more, whose love to you 
 passeth knowledge ? Dearest child, may you be taught 
 by the Holy Spirit, how inadequate earth's dearest bless- 
 ings are to make us happy, without that love ; and how 
 firria and abiding is this portion in all outward changes. 
 Oh ! be you of those who early seek the Lord ; and 
 sometimes retire to your room, to pass a few minutes in 
 that communion with Him, which has made our wisest 
 and holiest men what they were. Tell H. I am charmed 
 with some portions of Coleridge's Aids to Reflection, 
 though occasionally he gets either out of my depth, or 
 his own, perhaps both. Miss M. and I are reading 
 together Ganganelli's Letters, which are written in 
 simple and easy Italian, and display, for a pope, no 
 small degree of candour and liberality. Our friends do 
 
 not forget J y, whose return will be a bright day 
 
 for all of us." 
 
 In the month of October, it was thought advisable 
 that she should taste a little more of the country air 
 before the winter closed in, and she enjoyed a brief ex- 
 cursion among kind friends in her native country. She 
 writes, " I greatly admire the country, which is pale 
 and lovely in its autumn dress, and often speak with 
 some of those dear young people, of the kind and gra- 
 cious Author of it all. AVe make little employments 
 here, as idleness is never happy. But no wish has ever 
 sprung up in my heart that such 'otium cum dignitate' 
 had been allotted to me, for though it is very pleasant., 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 177 
 
 I feel that my heart is so apt to grow to weeds, it needs 
 th« safeguard of steady employment ; and I think I 
 
 should trifle likely, if I had nothing to do but please 
 myself, as is the case now. I thank you, my dear 
 mamma, and I thank Isabella Gordon for teaching me 
 to till up and value time, though I have not always 
 practised your lessons to my own satisfaction. Dear 
 V. has introduced me to some of her favourite books, 
 and last night we enjoyed some of Herbert's rich quaint 
 old poems, which contain as much in a line as many 
 of late date do in a page. Ever since our affairs went 
 wrong, I have had a restless feeling, as if I should be 
 better elsewhere than where I am. This is a wrong 
 state of mind, and I do not give way to it." 
 
 To Mr Duncan. 
 
 " October 12. — The Sabbath was valued, and helped 
 
 to extend my thoughts 
 
 1 Beyond the dark and stormy bound 
 That girds our dull horizon round.' 
 
 Oh, how gracious is it in Him who seeth not as a man 
 seeth, to hear prayer whenever it is offered, and bless 
 and support the soul that leans its feebleness on Him! 
 I would be bound to his service as long as I live. It 
 makes me happy to be conscious that now, seeing as I 
 do all that wealth can give, the elegance, the luxury, 
 and the complete command of time, I feel no wishes 
 rising that your destiny or mine had been other than it 
 is. Obscurity is safest, and the graces blossom best in 
 connection with regular and daily employment, above 
 all, when this has the glory of God for its immediate 
 object. So, to the work when our God calls us, cheer- 
 fully we will go, nor shrink from any toil He lays on us, 
 assured of deriving strength from his omnipotent love." 
 
178 MEMOIR OF 
 
 During a morning drive with some of these amiable 
 friends, they visited the birth-place and former happy 
 home of their family, now deserted. In her poems of 
 this year is found one, which was probably never shown 
 to the much-loved companion to whom it was addressed. 
 
 " To V , on our Visit to the ' Bower Woods' 
 
 October 22, 1835. 
 
 Fairer than joy's meridian day of light, 
 
 Which with its radiance dims the dazzled eyes, 
 
 Is that calm twilight, soothing to the sight, 
 
 On whose pale gleam scenes dear to memory rise. 
 
 Hast thou not felt it, loved one, when thy heart 
 
 Refused to echo back the voice of mirth, 
 And mused, in its own solitude apart, 
 
 On former days, and friends released from earth ? 
 
 Yes ; and I felt it with thee, on the day 
 
 When we together sought thy native bowers, 
 
 And trod the wood-walks, where in infancy, 
 
 Thy playmates sweet beguiled with thee the hours. 
 
 Those glades were dear to thee as morning's beam ; 
 
 Each flowering thorn thou knew'st, each stately tree ; 
 And every mossy plant that fringed the stream, 
 
 And lowly wild-flower had a charm for thee. 
 
 Chill was the autumn breeze that o'er us blew, 
 Faint was the trembling warbler's greeting song, 
 
 And, sere and dry, the leaves of varied hue 
 Fell on the greensward as we passed along. 
 
 With thy fond thoughts the time accorded well, 
 A summer's day, too bright, had made thee sad, 
 
 For that lone bower, where memory loves to dwell, 
 No more resounds with voices young and glad. 
 
 Silent and torn, it seems to mourn the past, 
 
 Cold desolation marks its mossy wall ; 
 The bending trees that shade it from the blast, 
 
 Are monuments of joys beyond recall. 
 
 I marked the letters carved in that fair bower, 
 Simple and few, yet fraught with meanings deep — 
 
 Names traced by sportive hands in some gay hour, 
 O'er which thou lov'st to linger now and weep. 
 
MAItY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 17:) 
 
 Yet in tliy tears is Miss; what, though the voice 
 
 That was thy music, thrill thy heart DO more ; 
 Its tuneful tones in heaven-taught hymns rejoice; 
 
 Its melody is full, its faltering notes are o"er. 
 
 And thou canst smile, in musing on the past, 
 
 To hail the future beaming* on thy view, 
 Where never sorrow can thy eye o'ercast, 
 
 Or joys celestial fade, or prove untrue. 
 
 Then, dear one, though time's ruthless hand efface 
 Each name that marked the forest bower thine own, 
 
 And rolling years destroy each early trace 
 Of sunny hours, too bright, too quickly flown : 
 
 Oh ! be each name enrolled by love divine, 
 
 In life's blest volume, in Emmanuel's land, 
 Where glory beams on every deep-traced line, 
 
 And words by Him inscribed, through endless ages stand !" 
 
 Referring to these endeared friends, she says, in a* 
 
 letter to her sister, "Dear A , who has not been 
 
 well for three years, is in a very interesting state of 
 mind ; indeed there is in her a rare simplicity and 
 purity of spirit. She is kind and tender and humble, 
 ever ready to excuse others and to search herself. She 
 has some solitary times in consequence of her weakness, 
 and I am sure they are blessed to her. Her Bible is 
 all marked over, and her favourite little companion is 
 ' The Christian Year.' She is just my age, and it is 
 a striking lesson to see one so pretty and attractive, and 
 possessing all this world can give, save health, sub- 
 mitting without a murmur to the deprivations she is 
 obliged to undergo. Ah ! my sweet little sister, try to 
 fix your heart where hers is fixed, and then you too 
 will be at peace in all circumstances. It is on the state 
 of the heart that happiness depends, far more than on 
 outward things. I pray that you may be one of those 
 who shall rise up and call the Redeemer blessed. You 
 have many advantages at present ; I hope you try to 
 
180 MEMOIR OF 
 
 profit by the instructions of masters and of your kind 
 friends. Do you ever write notes of the sermons ? I am 
 glad to think you are improving fast, and very happy. 
 But you know I always told you it would be so. I 
 hope you and S. A. try at your leisure time to do each 
 other good." 
 
 Before her return home, she passed a few days in her 
 native place, to experience other and deeper emotions 
 than those of the friend who had so recently, along with 
 her, explored the once happy home of her childhood. 
 
 " Kelso, October 23. 
 
 " My Dearest Mother, — It is some hours since I ar- 
 rived at my beloved former home, after a drive through 
 the well-remembered country on the finest day that has 
 shone since I left you. Every thing looked beautiful 
 and bright, and though the tears started in my eyes as I 
 passed one object, then another, that spoke of past days, 
 I was in a more grateful state than usual (yet oh, how 
 little !) in the review of mercies continued and mercies 
 given. The Tweed is blue and sparkling, as when I 
 knew it first, and laughs along its course, as if no weep- 
 ing eye ever turned to it for sympathy. It is not a 
 foolish feeling, dear mamma, that makes every tree and 
 field around the home of childhood so very dear. It 
 was from them that the first impressions were derived, 
 and the first tinge given to the thoughts of a spirit that 
 cannot die, but will have its actings carried through 
 eternity. Our home I did not look at ; but I could do 
 so now." 
 
 In a scrap found among her papers, she has written : 
 — " It is my home no longer, and yet the Tweed flows 
 along in the sunshine as before ; the well known trees 
 are covered with autumn's pallid leaves ; the fields, i 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN, 181 
 
 walks, and houses, are what I remember since long ago. 
 To-day, when tracing some of my old haunts, 1 could 
 almost have thought I had never been an exile. Bui 
 ah ! there is a weight that does not go, a remembrance 
 
 that, when even not formed into a distinct thought, 
 extends its sad and shady influence through ah my 
 heart. Our tie to this place, its ornament, my revered 
 and beloved father, has passed from the face of the 
 earth. Life may have new joys and fresh colouring, 
 but can never again be the unscathed thing it was. His 
 memory sweetly lives here, and his child is welcomed 
 by many kindly voices and smiling faces for his sake. 
 Wherever I go I see his picture hanging. Oh ! do 
 they remember what he taught them, as well as how 
 he looked ! My inclination would have induced me to 
 wander alone in my retired walks, and prayerfully to 
 recall the past; but it may not be, and the society so 
 dear to my beloved papa must have a powerful interest 
 for me. To-morrow is Sunday — oh ! may it do me 
 good ; I rather dread going to church." 
 
 bbath night, 2b. — A Sabbath at Kelso has flown, 
 and waked as it passed main' a silent chord, and made 
 it vibrate with full-fraught feeling. Jt was painful to 
 i to church, and my courage melted into tears as I 
 passed the threshold. Painful, too, it was to see my 
 father's pulpit, the very spot where I have seen his fea- 
 tures glow with earnest tenderness, occupied by another 
 — a stranger once, but now the pastor of the flock he 
 fed. The tones of the band and the old tunes went to 
 ray heart. In the afternoon, Mr T. preached, and bap- 
 tized Mr Macculloclfs babe, with a solemn exhortation 
 to him. It made me think of the time when my own 
 papa held up his first-born, his little Mary, that she, 
 too, might be admitted into the pale of the visible church. 
 
182 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " We stayed in church for the Sabbath school, as the 
 school-house is being painted. I saw the youthful com- 
 pany assemble, and was affected at the small number 
 I recognized, and the change which three years has 
 wrought upon such as I did know. They took their 
 places under Mrs PL's kind eye, and I felt thankful that 
 such a directress is left them. N. T., my old scholar, 
 came there to see me, and gave me a cheerful affec- 
 tionate greeting. She is a woman now, and a steady 
 Christian. I urged her to try to meet with C. N. for 
 prayer, as in old times, and I think she will try. I was 
 led to a class, and getting into the pew among the little 
 ones, a flood of tears relieved me before I could begin 
 to teach them. They were too young to understand 
 the cause, and I heard whispers among them of ' Eh ! 
 she's greetin.' Poor things, they did not know how 
 dear that school is to me, nor how it is associated with 
 beings most beloved, and times most precious — with 
 holy lessons received by me in childhood, and in turn 
 given in youth ; nor how the employ used to revive 
 me, and make me feel that even I need not live quite 
 in vain." 
 
MAIIY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 183 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SORROW TURNED INTO THANKFULNESS. 
 
 The appeal to the Synod in the case of Uit, prolonged 
 the period of suspense very painfully, but the triumph 
 of trust in the wisdom and love of the divine dispensa- 
 tion is clearly exemplified in the following letter : — 
 
 To Mr Duncan. 
 ■ "Edinburgh, November 1G. — Submission is the Chris- 
 tian's duty ; the attainment of it his riches, the orna- 
 ment of his character, the test of his sincerity. And if 
 all these changes, and if many more disappointments, 
 result in teaching this, we shall not be able to say that 
 we could have dispensed with one. Holy, lovely heaven ! 
 change never comes thither, sin does not deface its joys, 
 and they cannot end. When we are there, we shall be 
 blest, and every thing should help us to prepare. 
 Gracious Lord ! who sendeth sorrows here to detach 
 our frail hearts, and set them free to rise ! O, shall 
 we not glorify Him ? Yes, alone or united, be it the 
 joy of our lives to show forth his praise, and to honour 
 his commands by earnestly seeking obedient hearts." 
 
 Such were the pious sentiments called forth by this 
 painful stroke, and with these exalted views of the 
 divine will did she at once sustain her own soul, and 
 convey comfort to the hearts of those she loved. But 
 
184 MEMOIR OF 
 
 a new and unexpected event soon changed the current 
 of her feelings, and converted her trustful resignation 
 into praise. While the appeal on the case of Urr was 
 depending, Mr Duncan had officiated for a short time 
 in Kinross-shire, as assistant to the minister of Cleish, 
 when that aged pastor died. The parishioners pre- 
 sented immediately an almost unanimous petition to 
 Mr Young, the patron, who resided in the parish, pray- 
 ing that Mr Duncan should be appointed successor. 
 To this petition the patron gave his hearty concurrence, 
 and Mr Duncan was in a few days presented to the 
 charge. The following entry in the diary expresses, in 
 a lively manner, the becoming sentiments with which 
 Mary received this gratifying intelligence, and affords 
 a new illustration of her habitual piety. 
 
 " Nov. 22. — Now the gloom is rolled away and the 
 bright sun of happiness appears. The buds of hope 
 and promise become green beneath his rays — the sad 
 heart revives and sends forth a song of joy and praise, 
 sweeter than the song of the birds at the approach of 
 spring. Bless the Lord, O my soul ! and delight thy- 
 self in the remembrance of Him. He has seen the tears 
 that feeble nature shed in the day of disappointed hope ; 
 He has marked the dread with which coming events 
 were anticipated, and He has with one word dispersed 
 those fears and changed the whole aspect of things. 
 He has, by his own hand, opened a way and pointed 
 W. to pursue it. He has desired him to pitch his tent 
 beside the flock at Cleish, and may we not trust that 
 His blessing will be with him henceforth, and that this 
 district may be brought into subjection to Jesus? 
 Away, distrust ! The Lord has provided. How sweet 
 an ending to an unquiet year ! Though the earthly 
 portion connected with it be slender, yet godliness with 
 
MAKY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 185 
 
 contentment is great gain ; and if I do not err, there 
 
 will be much more than contentment. The 10th was 
 the day of the presentation, and now we are doubly 
 hound by trial and care on one hand, and by abound- 
 ing goodness on the other, to have faith in Him who 
 leads his children every step, and even when they dash 
 their foot against a stone, turns the pain to advantage." 
 
 The following letter was addressed to Mr Duncan, 
 when at Ruthwell : — 
 
 " Edinburgh, Dec. 3. — Long may your thoughts rest 
 on your happy home with as much love for it as you 
 feel now ; and long may it flourish under the directing 
 eye of your beloved father. Your mention of the dear 
 departed one, 1 whose empty place saddens you now, 
 drew tears from my eyes. As years roll on, we learn 
 that we were born to die — we learn it often when those 
 who were life and light to us are taken away; and 
 anniversaries, marked by sorrow, thicken in the revolv- 
 ing seasons. But brighter in proportion should our 
 heavenly hopes become, and with more entire affiance 
 should we cling to the only friend who can never fail 
 A few mornings since, I lay awake, and thought 
 how sad it was that I had not my own papa to bless us 
 both, and share our joy now. But with a vividness I 
 cannot recall, the prospect of meeting him again, and 
 dwelling with him where he sees the light of his 
 Saviour's countenance, came before me, and checked 
 the momentary wish that he were in this poor dark 
 world again. Ah, what an unkind wish ! Be it ours, 
 wherever we are, to press for ward, and the pearly gates 
 shall be opened for us, and we shall be w T ith our covenant 
 God, and those He has taught us to love so well. . 
 
 1 Mr Duncan's mother. 
 
186 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " I find it necessary to join trembling with my happy 
 thoughts, for many lessons do I receive, that I know 
 not what shall be on the morrow. Yesterday M. A. 
 and I went among the Canongate poor, and tried to get 
 some of our absentees to school again. One poor man 
 I saw slowly dying of consumption at his work of shoe- 
 making. His sickly appearance interested me a year 
 ago, but I cannot get a word of him alone, for the small 
 room is always filled with his family, and I cannot 
 make out if he is ready for his awful change. O ! what 
 scenes of sorrow are in the world, when we come to 
 find them out ; and how many of them caused by sin ! 
 To-day I went to the Charity Workhouse to see the old 
 women at work, and, if God spare me strength, I shall 
 take a day, weekly, for spending an hour or two in 
 reading and talking with them. How much strength 
 is spent for nought — how little to the glory of Him 
 who gave us all things ; and yet awful as He is in his 
 anger, and justly severe in his punishments, He spares 
 the fig-tree still, and waits for the tardy fruits. Shall 
 we not praise Him by lives of consistent holiness ? O ! 
 we should live to Him ; and, after all, even if He had 
 suffered the clouds to blacken and the storm to beat, 
 Ave should have bad cause to love Him in that dark day, 
 for we know that He who spared not his own Son, can 
 send us nothing but what is in truth a blessing, though 
 it may come in the form of a very heavy punishment. 
 O ! pray more for me. I do feel that all things are 
 restless as ocean's waves, and could not make me blest 
 without the hope of a better life." 
 
 To her little Sister at School. 
 
 "Edinburgh, December 12, 1835. 
 " My own sweet Sister, — It always does me good 
 
MAET LUKD1E DUNCAN. 187 
 
 to hear about you, and, most of all, when I am led to 
 hope that our gracious God is beginning to guide your 
 feet into the way of peace, and to make you his humble 
 and obedient child. lie will do it, for He is full of love 
 to our poor race, and is not willing that any should 
 perish ; and He would not have put into your heart a 
 desire to love Him, without designing to give you the 
 requisite grace, and to teach you by the Holy Spirit. 
 Cease to look for anything good in yourself; for, should 
 you live to be 100 years old, you will never find it. The 
 corruption of our hearts lies too deep for anything but 
 
 the blood of Jesus to wash away, and O, my J y, 
 
 does it not fill you with love and sorrow to think how 
 willingly lie shed it, and how often you have refused 
 to wash and be clean ? Your evil heart will tempt you 
 to wait a little. But God says, seek me early, ' To-day, 
 if you will hear,' etc. ; and you must not wait; there 
 is no time to lose. Life is short, and should be employed 
 in preparing for the eternity that will quickly come. 
 Death would not wait if God sent him to you ; and 
 more than all, the good Shepherd is waiting now, and 
 smiling kindly on you, and asking you to come that 
 your soul may live ! Oh ! may He bear you in his 
 bosom, and hide you under his wings for ever." 
 
 To Mr Duncan. 
 
 " Edinburgh, December 30. — I rejoice to hear that 
 you preached with ease on Sunday, and hope some word 
 w T ent home to the conscience. When sermons are pre- 
 pared with prayer, may w T e not hope that they will prove 
 useful to some hearer, w T hose case we may be ignorant 
 of, but for whose sake the subject has been suggested 
 to the preacher by the Searcher of hearts ? I long to 
 know more about the people of Cleish, their chief charac- 
 
188 MEMOIR OF 
 
 teristics, and their state of advancement ; and, as you 
 become acquainted with them, you will let me know 
 the result of your observations. Oh ! my friend, have 
 we not cause to be happy and grateful ? We shall be 
 so indeed if we look to God as the first source of love, 
 the sun of our horizon, and regard each other's love, 
 however bright, however steady, but as the light of a 
 twinkling star which we may gaze on with delight, so 
 we never forget that no sweet beam would reach us but 
 for our glorious sun. But if w T e love the star too well, 
 and ascribe to it the fertility of the earth, and the bright 
 colouring of the flowers, have not our minds become 
 enfeebled and diseased, and shall we not one day look 
 back on our folly with grief and wonder ? . . . . 
 However well we may love, it shall not be idolatry, if 
 we are spiritually-minded, and give our first, our best, 
 our all to God. Seek to do this, I conjure you, and let 
 me feel at peace on your account. Let me not sink 
 under the thought that that attachment which I fondly 
 hoped would prove a source of nothing but good to you, 
 has loosened your hold of the cross, and made you tread 
 the pilgrim's path with slower and less resolute steps. 
 If it be so, can we expect to be spared to each other, or 
 that, being spared, we shall enjoy the peace we hope 
 for, or be shining lights in our day and generation ? 
 These are solemn thoughts, and the more so because 
 this year is just closing ; this year, in which we have 
 had so much to drive us to self- searching, as well as to 
 fill us with praise. . . . And now, let me wish you 
 a peaceful exit of the old, and a happy entrance on the 
 new year. When its first hour draws on, my hopes 
 and blessings will be towards you ; and if it be in 
 prayer, it cannot be wrong." 
 
 The events of the year 1835 were thus wound up, 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 189 
 
 and exhibit her full of love and zeal, active in duty, 
 patient in tribulation, instant in prayer. Souls, whether 
 of strangers or of endeared friends, were of inestimable 
 price in her sight: to win them to the Saviour, or to 
 purify her own, and render it more meet for the inheri- 
 tance of the saints, was her ceaseless aim. She had 
 selected the position of partner to a clergyman ; anil 
 now that his station was appointed, she prepared her- 
 self as sedulously for her share in the duties of a retired 
 country parish, as though she had resting on herself all 
 the pastoral responsibility. 
 
 Diary. — "January 1, 183G. — The year 1S35, with 
 all its perplexities and its joys, has mingled itself with 
 things which have been. It was begun with earnest 
 resolves to prefer God's law to all other things, to resist 
 temptation, and break snares, even when they were 
 twining most alluringly around me. These thoughts 
 and prayers were not without some effect. Yet — should 
 I have believed the vision had it been shown me when 
 the year began? Alas! human strength is but weak- 
 ness, and constantly contracted pollution needs constant 
 washing in my Lord's shed blood. How can I grieve 
 Him who gave his life for me ! My earthly friends I 
 have seen. There are some whose smile is dear to me 
 as the light of morning, and whose voice is melody to 
 my soul. Them. I do not forget. To them I could not 
 be untrue. Yet I am unmindful of Him whose eye is 
 ever on me, whose ear marks every word on my tongue, 
 who loves me, too, far better than any human heart 
 can love, and who will call me to account for all my 
 days of negligence and coldness. Great God ! take me 
 and make me holy, and melt me with thy love ; and 
 may this year be marked with a clear sense of forgive- 
 ness, and a constant dedication of myself to Thee. O ! 
 
190 MEMOIR OF 
 
 send a blessing larger than I can contain. This year 
 may produce permanent changes in my condition. We 
 cannot but hope, but would leave all to our King. 
 Meantime, may it be spent to his glory. I would ob- 
 serve a few points to aim at ; 1st, More openness and 
 confidence with my dearest mother ; 2d, Self-denial ; 
 8d, Diligent improvement of every hour; 4th, Lowliness, 
 esteeming others better than myself, not wishing to be 
 noticed or admired for my singing, looks, or conversa- 
 tion. Ah ! how mean and low is the state of the mind 
 that can let in such guests ! I would be emptied of self, 
 and made, like my Saviour, meek, lowly, humble, and 
 long-suffering." 
 
 Two lines written at this date show her ready sym- 
 pathy with the afflictions of others, referring as they 
 do to a neighbouring family of but recent acquaintance, 
 and remind us again of a never-failing method by which 
 we may succour the afflicted, even when we have no op- 
 portunity of ministering to them personally : — " Colonel 
 
 B died yesterday, and his wife and little ones are 
 
 desolate. Let me pray much for them." 
 
 Explaining her circumstances and prospects to her 
 friend Mrs Evans, she wrote : — " Do not, my beloved 
 friend, for one moment regret that I have not sought 
 wealth and its accompaniments in my choice for life. 
 You know I was not brought up to be rich ; my habits 
 do not require it ; and my real welfare is better ad- 
 vanced without what has proved a snare to many. I 
 love the work to which my friend has devoted himself, 
 and shall have more opportunities of seeking to glorify 
 God in doing good to my fellow-immortals than I might 
 probably have met with in any other station. I do hope 
 it is the God whom I desire to serve who has appointed 
 my lot. . . . Thus I have simply told you, my 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 11)1 
 
 second mother, the facte of the case. Mr Duncan loves 
 me very much, and, so far as human foresight can dis- 
 cern, I have a fair prospect of domestic happiness." 
 
 An extract from a letter to her sister, dated Feb. 12, 
 shows her sympathies still spread abroad on various 
 subjects, at a time when her own occupations and 
 anticipations might have swallowed up minds less in- 
 terested in the spread of justice and divine truth. "We 
 had a friend at breakfast, who gave us interesting ac- 
 counts of the theological and other seminaries throughout 
 the United States. He says many of the students are 
 candid truth-searching men ; and many of those now 
 coming forth into public life, will make a decided stand 
 
 against the system of slavery. Perhaps my J , we 
 
 may live to see the joyful day of freedom yet, in America. 
 
 11 We have a young minister in one of the Chapels 
 of Ease here doing much good. I feel that it would 
 be next to impossible to listen to his solemn prayers, 
 and not pray too. Pie has great nearness to God, 
 and, without very much talent, comes right to the 
 hearts of his hearers. I have heard some speak with 
 gratitude of the effect of his ministry on them. My 
 
 dear J , why should we not have this precious 
 
 access to God, this sweet savour of his love that would 
 make us truly happy, and a blessing wherever we go. 
 Great is our responsibility in regard to those around 
 us, and how can we commend in their sight the doc- 
 trine of godliness, if we do not keep our faces ever 
 turned towards the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, 
 Oh, never turn from Him ! wait on Him, gaze on Him 
 till you become like Him, as He commands. Do not 
 stop and loiter in the christian course, for it is all-im- 
 portant. Make it the chief object of every day to press 
 forward in the strength of our dear Redeemer, and only 
 
192 MEMOIR OF 
 
 in it, for without Him, we can do nothing. He knows 
 your fears, and will remove them if you earnestly ask 
 it, by giving you the witness of your own conscience, 
 and more, the witness of the Spirit of truth, that you 
 are born of God and adopted into his family. Then, 
 my sister, ' the point you long to know,' will be in 
 doubt no longer ; but far from all self-confidence, and 
 only laying hold on Jesus' all-prevailing atonement, 
 you will be able to say, * I am thine ! ' Do not weary 
 or be discouraged, for the good Shepherd will lead you 
 by the hand, and uphold every stumbling footstep." 
 
 To her lately found London school-fellow, after men- 
 tioning various works of taste, which they had mutually 
 been reading, such as De la Martine's Travels in the 
 East, and after them Goode on the Better Covenant, 
 and Edwards on Redemption, she adds, " Ah ! M. A., 
 dear, were our attainments equal to our advantages, 
 how different we should be ! As it is, the remembrance 
 of books and sermons, and converse that should have 
 quickened our steps towards our sinless heavenly home, 
 ought to lay us very low at the feet of Jesus, and to 
 make us feel that our best hours have need of being 
 washed in his atoning blood, and as it were annihilated, 
 at least as affording us the smallest ground of reliance. 
 Do you not feel safest and happiest when on your knees, 
 opening the secret places of your heart to God ? Let us, 
 dear, live more on prayer. Our minds seek other food, 
 amusement and instruction from other sources ; and it 
 is well. But through all this, sweet communion with 
 our Lord should be maintained, that we may grow into 
 his likeness, and transcribe his blessed example into our 
 lives." 
 
 Her friend, near London, who drew forth her sym- 
 pathies, and enlivened her piety to its most ardent , 
 
MAKY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 193 
 
 warmth, had been in deep and prolonged affliction. To 
 her she wrote in March in such a strain, that the reader 
 melts at the humility which ardour and exultation 
 serve but to increase : — 
 
 "March 1836. — It is a blessed thing to learn in 
 whatsoever state we are, therewith to be content. May 
 the Holy Spirit perfect the work of patience, and give 
 you bright and absorbing views of our better house 
 above ! Holy courts of our God ! we shall meet there 
 no longer to speak of sins and shortcomings, but to be 
 lost in the glory of the Eternal, and have but one aim, 
 full, satisfying, and enrapturing, to do Him honour, who 
 loved, and saved, and cleansed us, and gave us a place 
 before his throne. Should not such a hope make light 
 to arise even in darkness for us, and invigorate and cheer 
 us onward in the narrow way ? Oh ! for a clear and 
 never-failing evidence that we are advancing to this 
 bourne continually. ,, 
 
 To a Friend in Kelso. 
 
 " Edinburgh, April 29 To me this has 
 
 been a weary time, and I have sickened for fresh air 
 and green fields ; but I know that the smallest and 
 greatest events of my life are ordered by a gracious 
 God, and I think I am learning to be a little more 
 submissive, and not to look for so much happiness in 
 this poor world as I once did. ' He shall sit as a re- 
 finer and purifier of silver,' and make me and all his 
 dear children meet for a better world, by every turn of 
 his providence." To the same dear friend she wrote 
 nearer the time of her marriage : — " . . . Your 
 beautiful present will be very useful to me, and, stand- 
 ing before me in my private hours, will remind me of 
 you, and bring to my heart the cheering hope, that the 
 
194 MEMOIR OF 
 
 daughter of those who have been so dear to you, is still 
 helped and strengthened by your prayers. Ah ! do 
 pray much for me, dear friend. I feel that I need it 
 much at present, and I always shall. When a thought 
 of me glances across your mind, turn it into a petition; 
 for I would not be a barren fig-tree to stand before 
 the sacred courts of my God, and by a show of useless 
 leaves, hinder others from bearing the precious fruits 
 of righteousness. The situation on which I am about 
 to enter, is a most responsible one, for I must be in some 
 degree conspicuous to those around me, and if they get 
 evil instead of good by my influence, oh ! how shall I 
 answer it? But my hope is in Him, who increaseth 
 strength to those who have no might ; and when I 
 think of his Almighty arm being around all his re- 
 deemed ones, doubt and fear are changed to a calm and 
 trusting peace. But these things show you how much 
 I need the supplications of those to whom I am united 
 in Jesus Christ. I often remember the time when I 
 was your little bridesmaid, knowing little of the solem- 
 nity and the responsibilities of marriage, but sincerely 
 interested in your happiness. You have gained much 
 experience since that time ; why will you not help me 
 with it? You say, if I were not the daughter of my 
 dear mother, you would tell me some things that might 
 be useful. Do not refuse me one privilege because I 
 enjoy another. You may give me counsel in a diffe- 
 rent form, or tell me some things she may not think of, 
 and I shall be truly grateful if you will. ... I 
 took leave of my pleasant post among the aged women 
 in the Workhouse two days ago, and Providence sent a 
 young lady of deep piety to more than fill my vacant 
 place. I felt happy and thankful to be allowed to intro- 
 duce her among them, when I bade them farewell." 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 195 
 
 In the month of May she wrote to her friend near 
 London in rather a mourning strain, in consequence of 
 BOtue domestic obstacles, which for a time threw diffi- 
 culties in her way. But they, like other trials, led her 
 as ever to draw nearer to her Saviour. 
 
 " May 183G. — Could you have lived in my head for a 
 day or two this spring, you would have encountered 
 such a whirl of anxieties, and changes, and uncertain- 
 ties, and fears, as would have made you pity, and be 
 ashamed for, one of the sheep of the fold who could be 
 so affected by any thing that~did not take her away 
 from the green pastures and the still waters. In the 
 midst of all, I see the loveliness of Jesus, and the ex- 
 cellence of the portion He offers in clear contrast with 
 the fleeting bubbles of this world. I see, and love, and 
 admire. Yet I fear that all this spring's work has not 
 led me to a more entire surrender of self to Him. Many 
 wandering thoughts have mingled with my sacrifice, and 
 many vain thoughts have escaped me. But his deal- 
 ings with me are all right, and I most thankfully feel 
 that in Him I have what neither life nor death can de- 
 prive me of; and He would not have given me all those 
 subjects for thought, but to make earth seem less at- 
 tractive, and heaven shine on me with more of its own 
 glory. . . . The night wears away, and soon will 
 dawn a morning without clouds. How much to ani- 
 mate and to solemnize there is in this thought ! How 
 much to make us look past the small nothings of time 
 to the eternal hills ! My own friend ! to which of us 
 the call may come first we know not, but O ! how 
 sweet and firm is the love that binds us to Christ, and 
 in Him to each other ! and if it be so now, what will 
 it be when we have met to part no more, and have been 
 freed from all that dims the intellect, and chains the 
 
196 MEMOIR OF 
 
 spirit, and turns it from the objects to which it will then 
 be for ever and joyfully directed. Oh ! are not all 
 things ours who have a hope so full of immortality ? 
 When I come back from such precious hopes, warranted 
 by the word of a Saviour, and look at my own incon- 
 sistent heart and life, stained with much evil, I am 
 filled with sorrow. But my Intercessor never fails. 
 What a dispensation of mercy we live under !" 
 
 The difficulties being removed, she wrote to the same 
 dear friend, in her usual sweetly dependent and watch- 
 ing frame : — 
 
 " June 1836. — Oh ! what a Saviour is ours, that even 
 the depth of our own corruption should be the means 
 of making his love more manifest to us ! How can we 
 ever wilfully grieve this 'Friend, that sticketh closer 
 than a brother ? ' My steps in the heavenly course have 
 been slow and faltering, and many who commenced it 
 later, have far outrun me. I only wonder that' I have 
 not been withered away like the fruitless fig-tree. But 
 since I am spared, I trust it is a token for good. There 
 is no Lord like ours — none other would have had 
 patience with me. Oh ! I desire to love Him with all 
 my heart, and I feel with you that it will be joy un- 
 speakable to be received into that place, where it will 
 be impossible to sin. Pray for me, dearest, as a poor 
 wanderer, who would fain cling to her Lord, but often 
 feels her steps decline. Oh ! when will He visit me 
 with the light of his countenance, and make me feel 
 the loss of his favour, or of one degree of it — a sorrow 
 that all the bliss of this world could not make tolerable 
 to me for one hour. I have complete trust in Him. 
 I know that He is God, and every word of his is 
 truth; but I have felt my own weakness in so many 
 ways, that I sometimes fear to lift up my soul to Him. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 1 ( J7 
 
 He will never forsake me, a sinner, whom He very early 
 chose for a vessel of mercy ; but I mat/ be one of those 
 who are saved, 'yet so as by fire.' I may be much 
 lower in holiness and bliss in heaven, than those with 
 whom my heart is knit on earth. I may grieve, instead 
 of glorifying, my blessed Lord, by living for something 
 else more than for his honour. Ah ! do not cease to 
 entreat Him to show mercy to me, and sanctify me 
 wholly. I am very, very happy as regards my present 
 prospects. When I think of what I deserve, and what 
 I have, I am tilled with wonder. The clouds that 
 gathered round us for some time, are flying away, and 
 though it will never be all bright till we are in heaven, 
 there are many gleams of sunshine. A dear friend of 
 ours is dying fast. Many sorrows have turned her hair 
 too early grey, and given her a subdued, placid, heaven- 
 waiting look, unlike anything I ever saw. She is the 
 last of her race, and many of the strong and vigorous 
 have fallen before her. But what peace, what rapture 
 is in her heart and on her lips ! Amid her laboured 
 breathings, she speaks of the love of her Redeemer, 
 who is very near her in the day of her extremity, and 
 tells her friends to give thanks on her behalf. She 
 longs to be with Him, and feels no care now about 
 leaving the various useful works in which zeal for her 
 God had engaged her, and where her loss will be so 
 sadly felt. The Bridegroom calls, and she is ready to 
 go out to meet Him. May you and I thus die in the 
 sheltering arms of Jesus !" 
 
 To her Edinburgh class-fellow, then in the country, 
 she wrote in June : — 
 
 " We only visited the General Assembly once, at 
 the close. It was a tine scene. It was crowded with 
 
198 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ministers and people, and the Moderator addressed them 
 solemnly, summing up the business, and giving a view 
 of the condition of the Church. Then the full body of 
 voice in singing the psalm was quite spirit-stirring, and 
 the thought that there were present the teachers of 
 thousands of God's people, and that on their faithfulness 
 or apathy the fate of souls might rest, called forth an 
 earnest prayer, that the Lord of Sabaoth would strengthen . 
 and enlighten those labourers in his vineyard." 
 
 A poem to W. W. D., " with a hair brooch," was 
 written and presented about this time : — 
 
 1 Thou need'st not talisman or gem 
 To turn thy heart to me, 
 "While nature wears her diadem 
 Of star, and hill, and tree. 
 
 All, with a whisper sweet and low, 
 Breathe of the happy past — 
 
 It lives in sunset's golden glow, 
 Nor dies in night's chill blast. 
 
 A rose-bud from the bowers of spring, 
 
 A lily of the vale, 
 Better than gold or costly thing, 
 
 Can tell affection's tale. 
 
 Yet roses fade and lilies die, 
 Thou canst not stay their doom, 
 
 Or read of love that will not fly, 
 In their departed bloom. 
 
 But this memorial, not so bright, 
 
 Is not so frail as they ; 
 It will not shrink from frosts by night, 
 
 Or droop 'neath summer's ray. 
 
 Should heavenly wisdom ever tear 
 Thy loved one from thy side, 
 
 This little lock of shining hair 
 Shall near thee still abide. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 199 
 
 Should Ho with yean of pleasure bless 
 
 Thy long, thy faithful truth, 
 Thou still wilt smile upon the tress, 
 
 Bright with the dreams of youth. 
 
 Then guard the pledge upon thy breast, 
 
 The treasure in thy heart ; 
 And may we meet where love is blest, 
 
 And saved ones cannot part.*' 
 May 2G, 1S3G. 
 
 Diary. — " May 5. — This is the clay appointed for 
 humiliation and prayer ; and truly there is that in the 
 review of the past which ought to humble me. When 
 I glance back on many days of mercy, I see a crowd of 
 sins filling them, and perhaps those that have been 
 marked by the greatest outward happiness, have been 
 ihe most sinful. God has waited, and had patience 
 with me, and given me very many good things ; nor 
 has He withheld rebuke and fear. He has sought, in 
 all ways, to win me to himself; and how often, when 
 He looked for grapes, has He found wild grapes ! 
 The frequent prayer of my heart, in reference to my 
 prospects, has been, 'Thy will be done ;' and yet my 
 ways have often been quite opposed to that holy will. 
 1 In heaven,' dear F . writes, ' it will be quite im- 
 possible for me to sin.' Oh, blessed impossibility ! How 
 often have I deemed myself fenced round with what 
 would keep me from sin, and yet have been drawn 
 aside ! But then I shall be as my Saviour is ; and if 
 I, in truth, desire it, I must keep my model ever before 
 me here, and not shut my eyes on Him, to feed on 
 
 ashes. On my birth -clay, my dear "W was here. 
 
 Oh ! I should like to help him on to heaven ; and, if it 
 please God to fulfil our hopes, I shall be better able to 
 do it than now. Our God knoweth that we love Him, 
 and will, I do believe, bless and lead us all our life long. 
 
200 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I would pray much for our connection, that it may give 
 glory to God, and profit to us, and do much for the 
 spread of Jesus' kingdom in his people's hearts, and in 
 the whole world." 
 
 "June 5. — During the last month, prospects have 
 assumed an air of greater certainty, and hope and hap- 
 piness are my prevailing feeling, and sometimes thank- 
 fulness. But must mine always be the language of. 
 complaint ? I have felt earth twining round me, and 
 gaining on me. The needful preparations have en- 
 grossed my thoughts at seasons when I should have 
 been ashamed to allude to them by word or action. 
 They have mingled in my attempts to pray, and drawn 
 me aside when the word of truth was sounding in my 
 ears. Ah, deceitful heart, when shall I conquer thee ! 
 Shall eternity and its sublime and awful, but most de- 
 lightful realities, be driven into the second place, for the 
 sake of ' the meat that perisheth,' and with which, for 
 aught I know, I may be done in an hour or a day ? I 
 am a faithless child of Jesus, but still his child, because 
 He chose me in his free mercy, and ransomed me. Would 
 that I had such an heart, that I could serve the Lord 
 indeed, and keep his commandments. I am afraid of 
 the next five weeks, — the last spent ' in my mother's 
 house in my youth.' There will be many plans to form, 
 and much of extra exertion to be got through, and shall 
 I be carried farther from my King ? Now, let me have 
 more time for retirement and prayer ; my life must lan- 
 guish without it. Let me seek such a spiritual frame 
 as may enable me to look on ' time's things ' as nought 
 compared with my own and my neighbour's immortal 
 interests. I look with solicitude, but still more with 
 joy, to the approaching event. The lines have fallen 
 unto me in pleasant places. I pray my dear Saviour to 
 
BfABY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 201 
 
 make this union the means of promoting the life of faith 
 in our own souls, and of spreading his glorious kingdom 
 all around us. Great may be our fears from our own 
 sins and infirmities, but what may we not hope from 
 his large and remembered promises ? Shine on us with 
 thy light, O Lord ! revive thy work ! and bless the 
 attempts of that pastor of thine to win souls ; and let 
 us be as a garden of the Lord, watered with the rain 
 and dew of the Spirit that shall make us ever fresh and 
 green ! may holiness be written in our hearts and 
 lives ! May zeal for God surround us, and our own 
 things be to us as nothing, compared with the honour 
 of our Saviour's name ! " 
 
 This is the last entry in the diary before the 11th of 
 July, when the marriage was solemnized. 
 
202 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A NEW HOME. 
 
 Among the circumstances of her marriage-day only one 
 recurs to the imagination with the vividness of reality, 
 as worthy to be particularized, and it will bring the 
 image of her who is now a bride in heaven, in the beauty 
 of her holy, humble, beaming smile, to the mind of many 
 a loving and beloved friend. A party of lively and in- 
 terested cousins and friends had busied themselves in 
 decorating the drawing-room for the solemn service 
 during the morning. After their pleasant task was ac- 
 complished, and they had retired, one who felt a quieter 
 and more profound anxiety for her happiness, stole 
 gently to that room, which, for the time, seemed to 
 possess the air of a sanctuary. The door having been 
 opened noiselessly, the chamber was surveyed. There 
 hung the gay bouquets of flowers, which, in compli- 
 ment to the taste of Mary, were in unusual profusion. 
 There lay the gaily adorned bride's cake, which, accord- 
 ing to the fanciful custom of the country, is elevated 
 into great importance. There stood the sofa, wheeled 
 with its back to the light, from which the pair were to 
 rise to take their solemn vow ; and there in front of 
 that sofa kneeled the lovely bride, so deeply absorbed 
 in communing with her God, that she was unconscious 
 of the presence of an intruder. The occasion was too 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 203 
 
 sacred to admit of social union, even in prayer, and (he 
 door was closed as it had been opened, with a petition 
 that Jehovah would hear and accept her Sacrifice, with- 
 out her becoming conscious of the inspection of a human 
 eye. 
 
 The next entry in the diary is dated Barnes, a man- 
 sion-house in the parish of Cleish, where the young 
 couple resided for some time, while the manse was 
 preparing. 
 
 ^"Barnes* August 5. — On the 11th July, I was unite! 
 by Mr Grey Lo my beloved Wallace, and a new period 
 in my life began. How soon may it end ! Amid the 
 busy preparations, the gifts of kind friends, and the 
 numerous farewells, the thing itself did not, perhaps, 
 hold the prominent place that belongs to it ; and it was 
 well ; for, from what I have experienced since, I think 
 my feelings would have been overpowering. In the 
 firtt part of the ceremony, the effort not to weep made 
 me shake like a leaf, and dear aunt Jane held me up, 
 but before the close I was calm — it was short but 
 soothing and pious, and the firm emphatic tone, yet 
 full of feeling, in which my W; said the words ' I do,' 
 encouraged me greatly. I did not think so much ex- 
 pression could be put into two simple words. My 
 friends looked bright and kind, and there was a lovely 
 train of cousins and sisters — how soon some of them 
 will be settled far, tar from me and my little nook. 
 . . 21. — Returned to Ruth well — Friday was Fast- 
 day, my dear W. and I joined in prayer several times 
 in its course. After the last time in the evening, I felt 
 a bright glow of happiness, joy in being united to one 
 who would serve God with me, and in being permitted 
 to tell my thoughts and seek grace and strength from 
 that great Bein^ together. It was one of those hours 
 
204 MEMOIR OF 
 
 that are as green islands in the waste of ocean, often 
 and brightly remembered. . . We came home to 
 Barnes on Saturday, 30th July 1836, and had nearly 
 a week of wet weather. For some days, however, it 
 has been fine ; the sunbeams throw the shadows of the 
 trees on the grass, roses and willow herbs bloom around 
 me, deep woods shelter our spacious dwelling, and every 
 thing tells of happiness and hope, the gracious gifts of. 
 God. I have felt the separation from a mother so re- 
 vered, and all the loved home circle, more since coming 
 here than on the 11th, or even before, I think. But 
 my husband smiles so tenderly and beamingly on me, 
 that I feel I could give up still more for him. Oh ! let 
 me try to make him happy, and never let the tender 
 flower of love be nipped by hasty words ; let me try to 
 make his home comfortable, and study his tastes, even 
 in small things. Our income amply supplies our pre- 
 sent wants ; and when the thought of the future comes 
 over me, I turn it into a prayer for increase of faith, 
 for what have the future and I to do with each other ? 
 I mean not only to give orders, but sometimes to super- 
 intend their execution ; and I hope it may be proved, 
 in our experience, that godliness with contentment is 
 great gain. How numerous are our blessings ! W.'s 
 people love him ; the surrounding families here have 
 received me kindly ; we have lovely scenery around, 
 and are engaged in the most honourable work that can 
 employ mortal man. Shall we not raise here our 
 Ebenezer, and bless the Lord who hath done so great 
 things for us ? " 
 
 Such was the strain of gratitude which flowed in 
 unison with the fulfilment of that plan which had so 
 long appeared in the distance, and the accomplishment 
 of which formed one of the stages in life's brief journey. 
 
 . 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 205 
 
 But on this journey, where is perfect happiness I " The 
 depth says oi it, as of wisdom, It is not in me. The 
 sea saith, Not with me. It cannot be gotten for gold, 
 neither shall silver be weighed for the price thereof." 
 In acquaintance with God, there is peace ; in the know- 
 ledge of Christ Jesus, there is hope. But present happi- 
 ness, that joy which hath no unfulfilled desire, is not 
 au earthly joy. God understandeth the way thereof. 
 He knoweth the place thereof. It is in heaven. Even 
 a king's daughter — a bride of heaven, finds it not easy 
 to forget her own people and her father's house ; and 
 the more tender and grateful the heart, the keener the 
 longings after those who have been loved and left 
 behind. Sir W. Jones' translation of the adieus of an 
 eastern lady, though applying not to kindred but to 
 accustomed objects, in part exhibits the sentiment: — 
 
 " Wept o'er each flower, her garden's blameless pride, 
 Kissed the young fawn that sorrow'd by her side ; 
 Still to relieve her bosom's bursting swell, 
 To flower and fawn prolong'd the sad farewell." 
 
 Thus, amid the accomplishment of her wishes, wrote 
 the young wife : — " O, it is sad, this severing of early 
 ties ! and many a pang it costs me. I am very happy 
 with him for whom I gave them up, but still I am in a 
 land of strangers. Yet the mercy of the past makes 
 me hope for the future, that the kind hand of Provi- 
 dence will be over me still, to bless, and teach, and 
 succour me." 
 
 To her London School-fellow. 
 
 " Banies House, September 14, 1836. — I always loved 
 
 you, as I used to fancy, much more than you loved 
 
 poor me. But every letter you write makes me long 
 
 more for a renewal of that intercourse which was de- 
 
206 MEMOIR OF 
 
 lightful, but too brief. Now, we could hold sweet 
 counsel ot Him whom we have both found to be the 
 best of friends, and whom we both desire to honour 
 with the best of* our time and our affections. Ah ! 
 what an added charm there would have been in our 
 friendship, could we have done so then ! My heart is 
 full of thankfulness for you, dear friend, and I earnestly 
 hope that you, who began later, have far outstrip- 
 ped me in the Christian race ; for I have to deplore 
 many wanderings of heart from God, and much cold- 
 ness and ingratitude. Would that I could love Him as 
 the angels do, and find, at all times, my life, my solace, 
 in converse with Him ! But were I to permit my harp, 
 which is hanging on the willows, to emit the sounds 
 most congenial at this moment, you would have to 
 listen to a sad and plaintive lay ; so I must be less 
 selfish, and try to strike up a more cheerful strain, only 
 entreating you first to pray often for me. Dearest, 
 may I think that every Friday night you pray specially 
 for me ? This is what I mean to do for you, and I 
 think we should both derive much comfort from it. 
 Let me thank you warmly for your kindness in sending 
 Ion — charming Ion ! How I admire his noble char- 
 acter ! I feel almost as strong a wish to know Tal- 
 fourd as Meta did to know Klopstock, after reading the 
 Messiah ! W. could tell you that he thought I had 
 almost lost my senses while he read it to me — it pro- 
 duced so strong an effect. Yet it was not the beauty 
 of the poem alone, but my own state of mind, that 
 made me so alive to its strong touches of feeling ; for 
 I had just bid adieu to my mother and my pleasant 
 home, and was feeling the loneliness of my new position 
 more than, I hope, I shall ever feel it again. The 
 weather was dismal, and W. was much engaged in 
 
 
MAKY LUND1E DUNCAN. 207 
 
 >tudy ; and when I roamed about in this great un- 
 social looking house, I felt as if 1 had been dropped 
 down in the midst of a wilderness. . . . 
 
 " Now that we are settled in our retired and peace- 
 ful home, striving in some degree to fulfil the very im- 
 portant duties to which God has called us, W, is very 
 desirous to adopt every plan for the improvement of 
 his people, and has opened Sabbath-schools, and classes 
 for grown-up young persons — encroachments on Satan's 
 reign, unknown here formerly. Do pray for a blessing 
 <>n this little flock. I feel Howe's remark to be true, 
 that our words may come forth as idle breath, dispersed 
 before they reach the hearts to which they are addressed. 
 But let us seek the presence of the quickening Spirit, 
 who can call the dead to life, and then the work must 
 prosper. Write soon, love, to one who always prizes 
 your letters, and surely will not do so the less, because 
 she is now removed from all she loves except one, and 
 has a life of more solitude in prospect than she ever 
 had before. w 
 
 Occupation for the benefit of the strangers who were 
 to be in future her neighbours, was the best emollient 
 for the wounds inilicted by being unrooted from the 
 family of her youthful and constant associates, and the 
 objects of so much sisterly regard ; and before she had 
 been many days in her new station she writes: — " I hope 
 to begin a class of young women next Sunday morning. 
 Do pray for us." 
 
 In the diary, October 1, the aspirations after more 
 spirituality and usefulness are as ardent as ever. A 
 small portion of them is extracted. 
 
 " Well, I have always disappointed myself ! I thought 
 before, that when we were united, I should be able to 
 help W. more than I have done ; and what has become 
 
208 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of this hope ? But it is not too late yet. I trust God 
 will enable me to live much closer to Him, and then I 
 may reasonably hope to be useful to my dear partner ; 
 for in converse with God is my strength. Help me, O 
 Lord ! for if Thou do not always speak to me by thy 
 teaching Spirit, I must fall ; and oh ! let me not turn 
 a deaf ear to that sacred instructor." 
 
 " October 9. — Not at church, because I have had a 
 severe bilious attack the last two days ; I am much 
 better to-day, and enjoy the respite. I have had my 
 class — fourteen present. It was, on this occasion, 
 strictly preparatory to the Lord's Supper. We read 
 Matt, xxvi., and my heart was enlarged in speaking of 
 the necessity for self-examination, and of the blessed- 
 ness of saints in taking leave of ordinances for ever, 
 and being in the very presence of God. Mentioned 
 Matthew Henry's illustration, ' When the sun shines, 
 farewell candle.' Some looked anxious and serious. 
 Oh ! I hope the Lord has his own among them ! Of 
 
 M S I have good hope. But if more be not 
 
 true Christians, how grievous ! They all seek admit- 
 tance to the feast." 
 
 To a newly-acquired cousin she wrote: — "I must find 
 time to thank you for your very kind and welcome 
 lines. There are few people on whom affection is better 
 spent than on me, for it comes ' sweet as the south wind 
 breathing o'er a bank of violets,' and does not, like that 
 sweet odour, exhale as soon as diffused around me. I 
 am glad that my visit to Ruthwell has made me ac- 
 quainted w r ith you, and I am sure we shall not forget 
 each other ; for we are neither of us very cold, and 
 Christian love would live, even supposing our regard on 
 other grounds might dwindle. Wallace is a most kind 
 husband, and had I not breathed in infancy the air of. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 209 
 
 reserved Scotia, I should say much, much more about 
 him. He is hard at work in his parish, and I am very 
 desirous to assist him in the spread of gospel truth. 
 Pray that we may both find grace according to our day." 
 
 To her Correspondent near London. 
 "September 1836. — Sweet fellowship with God! would 
 I knew more of it, and drank deeper of the waters of 
 life, which take away all other thirst, and make the 
 things of this life seem as nothing ! Ah ! my friend, 
 let us try thus to look upon all the little crosses of life ; 
 they will last but through the winter. Spring — ever- 
 lasting spring — will soon come, and then how peacefully 
 shall we repose under the beams of the Sun of life, 
 and remember sorrow but as a departed friend, sent to 
 quicken our footsteps to our blessed resting-place. Dear- 
 est F., how we should love that Saviour who has given 
 us such immortal and unfailing hopes to nerve the spirit 
 to the conflict, and urge it to go on a little longer, assured 
 of quick and sure relief ! Let us love Him more. Whom 
 have we in heaven or on earth like the ' Friend that 
 sticketh closer than a brother?' In what is there so 
 great delight as in keeping his commandments? On- 
 ward, dear sister in Christ ! Each day brings us nearer. 
 Oh ! may each day quicken our progress to it ! Then 
 will be no more discouragement, or weakness, or mourn- 
 ing for sin ; but an overflowing of joy and love, in the 
 immediate presence of Him, whom, now unseen, we 
 love ; and who can tell how soon this blessed consum- 
 mation may be ours? We must not slumber at our 
 posts ; for behold, ' the Bridegroom cometh.' Alas ! 
 you do not know what a poor, feeble, faltering creature 
 is thus writing of the hopes revealed in the gospel ; yet 
 I may so write, for even to me these hopes have been 
 
 o 
 
210 MEMOIR OF 
 
 revealed ; and though often ready to halt and to stumble, 
 they are — oh, that they were more constantly and joy- 
 fully ! — my song in the house of my pilgrimage. Blessed 
 Saviour, who does not weary of loving and leading me ! 
 Blessed gospel, which is full and free enough for the 
 vilest ! 
 
 " Do you not find, as I do, that it is much easier, 
 and more congenial to the busy heart, to work than to 
 wait ? Both must be learned, and I have lately felt a 
 strong need of the latter lesson. I am too impatient, 
 longing too much to see some fruit — the conversion of 
 one soul, the melting of one hard heart. In short, I 
 fear I am like those of old, who asked for a sign. It 
 would be indeed a joy and delight, beyond what words 
 can utter, to be the instrument, in the hand of God, 
 for the rescue of one poor wanderer. But He has many 
 to work for Him, and many ways of working, and his 
 kingdom will surely extend, whether it be in the way 
 that pleases us best or not ; so I must seek to be patient, 
 and if I walk in darkness, and have no light, to trust 
 still. Even did the blessing of God descend on me so 
 richly as to give ' souls for my hire/ his wisdom might 
 see it good to hide it from me, and never let me know 
 it, till I am where I shall sin no more ; yet, when I 
 read and hear how eminently his grace has been made 
 manifest in other places, I cannot but cry, ' Hast Thou 
 not a blessing for me also, my Father ? ' " 
 
 Her sisterly counsels after the return to school run 
 thus : — 
 
 "Barnes j Oct. 5, 1836. 
 
 " My Dearest J , — I have your steam-boat 
 
 letter, and rejoice to hear of your safe and pleasant 
 arrival. Were you but beside me now we should have 
 
MARY LT7NDIE DUNCAN. 211 
 
 a famous sisterly chat I thought of you, dear, parting 
 with mamma and tossing on the waves, and felt a sweet 
 hope that you enjoyed the presence of that heavenly 
 Friend, who often seems nearest when outward joys are 
 removed. Did you feel that lie was near you when 
 you were rocked on the waves of his ocean ? and do 
 you feel it now amid your pleasant daily round of 
 duties? I wonder if you experience much of the hap- 
 piness of my school days — the ardent wish to improve 
 each hour, and the delight in overcoming difficulties 
 which made the days fly fast, and seem always too short 
 for their work. . . . Did dear S. A.'s eyes grow 
 brighter at the sight of you ? I know you must have 
 enjoyed each other much already. Remember, my dear 
 girls, to take counsel still of the things that belong to 
 your peace. Lest by trifling talk your impressions fade 
 and your hearts grow cold. Dear H. is no longer near 
 to steal up to your room at night, and help you by her 
 
 advice and prayers. So, dear J y and S. A., cling 
 
 close to your Lord, and be helpers to each other in 
 every thing pure and holy. Pray together when you 
 can find opportunity- , and you will feel much refreshed, 
 
 . . . I have found real friends in the Misses S , 
 
 whose piety and intelligence delight me. They are 
 very fond of my dear Willie too. Farewell, my lassie, 
 and remember toujours ta soeur affectionnee. 
 
 " Mary L. D ." 
 
 Shortly after this she writes : — 
 
 " We have had some evenings' work in preparing the 
 library books, which were circulated yesterday, to the 
 delight of the children. I took a class in the Sunday 
 school, and if I am as well as at present, shall rejoice 
 to do so regularly. Oh, I am thankful for this good 
 
212 MEMOIR OF 
 
 health ! I have never felt more alive to the necessity of 
 being diligent in the duties of every day, since I was 
 
 married, than I do now. Yesterday M S l 
 
 told me, with tears in her eyes, that she should come 
 to me no more, as she is going to place ; — she must go, 
 too, before the communion ; — so here I am deprived of 
 the girl I had most comfort in ; but I think she has 
 that in her which will keep her wherever she is." 
 
 Again she writes after their first communion ser- 
 vice : — 
 
 " We want christian friends sadly here ; but if the 
 Holy Spirit gives us more of himself, even this want shall 
 be a blessing. We have had a sweet season of com- 
 munion, and surely a blessing from on high. Pleasant 
 it has been to me to sit in the sanctuary, while my dear 
 husband's voice warned sinners to flee from the wrath 
 to come, and told tenderly of a Saviour's dying love. 
 I believe many felt it a blessed day ; and should it not 
 be always thus ? for how large the promises of the Insti- 
 tutor of the feast, to be present with his people at this 
 his own sacred table ! " 
 
 Of this service, her own personal enjoyment of it, her 
 hopes for the young people, her domestic arrangements, 
 etc., a farther view is given in the following extract. 
 To the families of the Manse, the arrangement is fami- 
 liar — to others it will be new : — 
 
 " We have had a sweet season of communion ' plea- 
 sant within and without,' as one of the elders said to 
 me. The day was fine, the church crowded, and dear 
 W., I think, received aid from his heavenly Father. 
 He dwelt much on the love of Christ constraining us to 
 live to his glory, and fenced the tables solemnly, com- 
 
 1 A young woman of the class. 
 
AfABY LUXDIE DUNCAN. 213 
 
 forting the penitent, and warning away the hardened. 
 
 I sat between him and Miss S , at the second table 
 
 — the very company that I should have chosen. Our 
 servant was a communicant, and by having almost every 
 thing done before going to church, I have not been ob- 
 liged to keep her at home from any of the services. The 
 elders dined here on their way home, and we had early 
 family worship before they left us. We prepared cold 
 dinner on Friday and Saturday, and there was no bustle. 
 My heart fills when I think of the young people. There 
 were about thirty who stood up in solemn self-dedica- 
 tion as they do at Ruthwell, on Saturday. They filled 
 the long pews fronting the pulpit. Oh, it would be 
 cheering could one believe them all animated by one 
 heart and one soul ! Pray that the service may be a 
 pillar of remembrance to us all, for the Lord hath done 
 great things for us, and shall we not praise Him with 
 our lives, as well as our lips? ... I feel that 
 much lies on me, and I must work while it is day ; but 
 my heart is very deceitful. Impressions fade easily. 
 If my Lord did not pour in oil, even when I ask Him 
 not, or ask Him feebly, my glimmering lamp would go 
 out. But I feel this will not be ; for He is faithful." 
 
 Among the pleasing employments of this winter, was 
 her preparation of various papers for Dr Duncan's work 
 entitled the " Sacred Philosophy of the Seasons," which 
 he delighted to make a family concern, by receiving a 
 few contributions. His contributors, however, had the 
 advantage of selecting their subjects from his list, while 
 he wrote on all those which failed to attract his circle. 
 Mary's papers were simple, discriminating, and adorned 
 with the elegance which her mind imparted to every 
 subject. " The Rose," " the Bat," " the Mouse," 
 " Sabbath Morning," and an " Autumnal Sabbath 
 
214 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Evening," are marked with her initials, M. L. D. In 
 a letter early in the year 1837, she inquires : — 
 
 " Has uncle Henry seen the Journal of a Naturalist, 
 which I am reading ? It would be after his own heart. 
 The description of the snow-drop there, suggested to 
 me a few verses, which I thought of sending, to see if 
 they are fit to appear in better company in his Spring 
 volume ; but I believe they will be too late for it." 
 
 " TO THE SNOW-DROP. 
 
 Hail ! rocked by winters icy gale, 
 
 And cradled in thy nest of snow, 
 Thou com'st to hear sad nature's wail, 
 
 When all, save thee, lies waste and low. 
 From joy's gay train, no garish hue, 
 
 Fair hermit, stains thy pearly form ; 
 But, to thy parents' sorrow true, 
 Thou meekly bow'st thy head before the sweeping storm. 
 
 Rising amid our garden bowers, 
 
 That yield to thee no sheltering screen, 
 
 Thou bidd'st us hope for brighter hours, 
 When spring shall weave her wreath of green. 
 
 Nor there alone, 1 in some lone glade, 
 Deserted now by all but thee, 
 
 Thou mark'st the spot where breezes strayed 
 'Mong summer's richest bloom, that lured the wandering bee. 
 
 Tho' one and all the smiling train 
 
 On the forsaken bank have died, 
 The dews of eve have fallen in vain, 
 
 And morn has called, but none replied ; 
 Yet lingering there in pensive grace, 
 
 Thou mourifst alone the wreck of time ; 
 The cottar's ruined dwelling-place, 
 The evening hearth of old, the happy voices' chime. 
 
 ' The damask rose, the daffodil, or the stock of an old bullace plum, will long remain, and 
 point out where once a cottage existed ; but all these, and most other tokens, in time waste 
 away ; while the snow-drop will remain, increase, and become the only memorial of man and 
 his iabours.---«/oiir/«a/ qf a Naturalist. 
 
MABT LUNDIE DUNCAN. 215 
 
 And sb;ill wo rail this earth our own, 
 
 Since longer lives thy feeble frame, 
 To deck the path when we are gone, 
 
 And none is left to tell our name? 
 No ! speed we to the holy shore, 
 
 Where souls made pure shall find their rest, 
 When earth and all her dreams are o'er, 
 And all the gathered flock are with their Shepherd blest ! 
 
 M. L. D." 
 
 
216 MEMOIK OF 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PAROCHIAL SOLICITUDES — MATERNAL EMOTIONS. 
 
 Two brothers and a cousin passed their week of respite 
 from study, at the close of the year, with her ; and it is a 
 subject of grateful remembrance, that from this visit, and 
 these efforts for his spiritual weal, one dear youth dates 
 his first awakening to the value and peril of his soul ; 
 and if shortly he shall have the honour to deliver the 
 message of reconciliation to others, her spirit in heaven 
 may be a partaker of the joy occasioned by the return 
 of those sinners whom he shall invite. George, then 
 at Glasgow College, wrote to his mother : — " I enjoyed 
 a pleasant Sabbath, and Mary took R. and me, after 
 church, to pass some time alone, when we all three 
 prayed. It reminded me forcibly of the time when we 
 used to meet with you for a similar purpose. ,, To him 
 she wrote, after he had returned to his studies : — " Kin- 
 ross, Feb, 7, 1837. I have stolen away from a friend's 
 drawing-room, to pen such a note as I have time for. 
 I am sorry you have had influenza, and hope you are 
 strong again. Such slight discipline should make us 
 look well to our ways, and see why our kind Lord 
 smites us ; lest by refusing the intended lesson, we 
 draw on us sorer punishment. I hope that, whether 
 confined in solitude, or in the midst of the lively 
 interest of your classes, you keep near Him, and seek 
 Him as the companion of all your ways. I was struck 
 lately by reading the answer of a good man by those 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 217 
 
 appointed to try if he was fit for the ministry. They 
 asked if he had felt a work of grace in his heart. He 
 replied, ' I call the Searcher of hearts to witness that I 
 make conscience of my very thoughts.' What a proof 
 of sincerity ! What a sure way to have the light of 
 God's presence shining on his path ! Often we chase 
 away the Spirit by indulging vain and profitless thoughts ; 
 and being thrown off our watch, we lose, through their 
 wily insinuations, our peace and joy in believing; and 
 our hearts grow cold, and our graces languish. These 
 vain thoughts produce vain words ; and we do a great 
 amount of mischief to those we ought to help onward 
 to our heavenly home. Oh, my dear brother ! let us 
 together try to guard those traitor thoughts, and keep 
 all the secret recesses of our spirits open for the pure 
 life-giving beams of the Sun of glory. Then we shall 
 fulfil the great end of our being, by growing into the 
 image of God, and we shall benefit our dear ones, and 
 all with whom we shall come in contact ; for do you 
 remember those words, so full of precept for us, ' The 
 tongue of the righteous is a fountain of life ;' and again, 
 ' The lips of the righteous feed many.' The best guard 
 against vain thoughts is a heart much at the feet of 
 Jesus, constantly drawing near to the mercy-seat, and 
 exercising itself in loving fervent prayer ; for how can 
 vanity find a place in the consecrated temple of the 
 living God ? I did not mean to write all this ; I know not 
 how I have been led to it ; but tell me soon the state of 
 your mind, and then I shall kaow better wdiat to say." 
 
 To her excellent friend, near London, who was con- 
 fined by bodily infirmity to a limited circle of occupa- 
 tions, she wrote, unfolding some of her fears, as to her 
 performance of duty : — 
 
 "Jan. 1837. . . . The sense of the tenderness 
 
218 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of that best Friend, and his watchful love in the hour 
 of sorrow, can not only make that sorrow tolerable, 
 but invest it with a peace and comfort unfelt at other 
 times. And such, dearest, has been your frequent ex- 
 perience, I trust ; for, shut out as you have been from 
 active life, you have dwelt in the secret of his presence, 
 and watched for the tokens of his love, and welcomed 
 every cheering promise as a message from your Father. 
 This lengthened period of delicacy grieves me for you, 
 and yet were it not best, the burden would be removed. 
 I can only pray that it may be borne for you by Him 
 who did not refuse to bear the cross for you and for 
 me, and that you may be brought to complete submis- 
 sion, and blessed with a heart-reviving view of another 
 and holier state of existence. My friend, when you are 
 admitted to that lovely home for which you wait, will 
 it not be joy to you, that so many days on earth were 
 spent in the sombre shade of trial, if so you have been 
 brought at all nearer to Jesus ? Even now you can 
 feel it so. How much more when the time of probation 
 is ended ! But these cheering hopes are not always ad- 
 mitted. If they were, sorrow would be all joy. The 
 downcast heart mourns the multitude of its sins, and 
 feels as if such comfort were not for it. How sweetly, 
 at such times, sounds the Saviour's voice, ' Be of good 
 cheer, I have overcome ! ' Then comes a feeling of 
 shame and contrition that we have doubted where there 
 is so much abounding love, such willingness to present 
 for us every feeble cry before the merey-seat, and we 
 return unto our rest — that quiet and beloved haven, 
 where we have so long been anchored ; and looking out 
 upon the storm and cloud which gathered when we left 
 it, we cling more firmly to the Saviour, who in giving 
 us himself, has freely given us all things. So wayward 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 219 
 
 is my heart, that in the midst of many mercies that enter 
 into my lot, I sometimes look at your retirement with a 
 Sigh. My burden is different from yours ; but the same 
 unfailing One will strengthen me for it. My position is 
 much less sheltered than ever it was before. You will 
 see how weak I am, when I tell you, that I often shrink 
 back, and wish I were not the person to act and make 
 decisions, but that I had a mother with me still, behind 
 whose shadow to retire as I was wont to do. I make 
 no allusion to situations in which my husband is called 
 to act ; there, though even to advise is a great respon- 
 sibility, it is not the chief. But there are many which 
 peculiarly belong to myself, and I daily feel the want of 
 wisdom to lead me on. I now feel these words ' Ye are 
 as a city set on an hill.' The character and advance- 
 ment of the simple and teachable people here depends, 
 under God, very much on my husband, and, there- 
 fore, a good deal on me. I always liked to work for 
 Him who has loved me, but now there is a different 
 feeling ; something like this — ' If I do not work, or if I 
 work wrong, the cause of God may be injured.' I fill 
 a place that some wise and holy child of God might 
 have filled, and many look to me for instruction, ex- 
 ample, and counsel — to me ! who have despised so many 
 mercies, and grieved my Master so many times. Does 
 this, dear F , let you into my mind ? Before, I la- 
 boured in co-operation with others, and moved on their 
 plans. Now, W. and I labour in some things alone ; 
 in others, with those who look to us to devise the 
 methods. Will you lecture me for my creature de- 
 pendence, and tell me of the fulness of my Lord? and 
 oh ! while you do this faithfully, pray that I may re- 
 ceive of that fulness, and that strength may be perfected 
 in my exceeding weakness. Were you near, I could 
 
220 MEMOIR OF 
 
 make you understand exactly how it is, and you would 
 say to me, as I often do to myself, ' Martha, Martha,' 
 etc. The root, I believe, of much of my anxiety is, that 
 I have lately been more cold in closet duties than I 
 used to be. At times I feel Jesus near, and the Spirit 
 helping me, but often other thoughts intrude, and the 
 gentle calls of my Lord have little power to win me to 
 a patient waiting in his presence. How long shall it 
 be so ? Ah, my own kind friend ! now, when you are 
 much shut up to prayer, remember me, a poor and help- 
 less, and, nir worse, a vile and ungrateful rebel, encom- 
 passed with blessings, and cold towards the Giver. My 
 short life has been filled with tokens of his faithfulness, 
 and yet I am often distrustful. Oh, my holy Saviour! 
 when shall I be made like Th'ee ? I hope this state of 
 things is not to last, but that the sweet glimpses which 
 are given sometimes of forgiving love, may become 
 abiding peace, and unwearied waiting on my God. I 
 have had great delight in dear George's late visit. His 
 heart is earnest in seeking, first, the kingdom of God, 
 and glowing with desire for the conversion of the 
 heathen. He has got into a circle of pious young men 
 at Glasgow College, and I think a spirit is among them, 
 whose fruits will be seen when they come out as minis- 
 ters of the everlasting gospel. 
 
 " I have had a warm interest in L ever since 
 
 you told me of her mother's removal. Her tender heart 
 will be torn with many pangs ; but for such are the 
 promises. I felt the deep treasure that is contained in 
 many of them, when the loss of a most tender and re- 
 vered parent made me one of the fatherless. God be- 
 came in a peculiar manner my Father then, and so He 
 will, I am sure, to this dear sufferer. It was a great 
 blessing that you were permitted to point the dying man 
 
MARY LUXDIE DUNCAN. 221 
 
 to his Saviour. May this be your privilege and mine 
 many times. It fills me with wonder that God con- 
 descends to employ his feeble children as instruments 
 of good to others : but He has told us why the treasure 
 is in earthen vessels. I shall be glad to resume with 
 you the communion that I never like to have inter- 
 rupted. It would be pleasant to learn an epistle — shall 
 it be that to the Colossians ? 1 shall begin on the 
 evening of Friday, and learn three verses regularly. If 
 you have another plan, tell me, and I shall adopt it. I 
 mention Friday, because I have a special love for that 
 evening, when a party of Christians, though far distant, 
 meet in spirit to entreat the outpouring of the Spirit on 
 themselves, the Church, and the world at large. Do 
 join us, my beloved friend. It is refreshing to me, and 
 it seems strange to belong to a community like this, of 
 which you are not one." 
 
 Her memory was naturally powerful, and it was her 
 delight to exercise it by treasuring up the word of life. 
 While she resided in Edinburgh, when her age emanci- 
 pated her from appointed tasks, she would, on a Sabbath 
 evening, after hearing the recitations of the juniors, 
 request some of them to hear her in turn ; on these 
 occasions she would repeat long chapters, or, as it might 
 be, a whole epistle. Her husband and she, together, 
 committed to memory the epistle to the Ephesians 
 during the winter they passed at Barnes. Her own 
 poetical efforts were not usually made with pen in hand, 
 but remembered, and written at her convenience ; and 
 during the winter of 1839, when confined to bed, it was 
 a common morning exercise, that her sister should rend 
 her a hymn, which, on the second hearing, she could 
 recite without mistake. 
 
 Pages might be occupied with specimens of the easy 
 
222 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and natural transition of her mind from earthly things 
 to the blessed hope which was her stay. We give but 
 one additional example. In the midst of writing about 
 health, household affairs, the marriage of a friend, and 
 such matters, is found this little sentence, which indi- 
 cates long and familiar reflection on divine things : — 
 " What a sad world this is, and how unlike the holy 
 and peaceful home we hope for ! May we all press to- 
 wards it more diligently, and receive an abundant en- 
 trance." 
 
 To her London School-fellow, 
 
 " Barnes, February 28. — We have lately been burn- 
 ing over a History of the Covenanters, whose awful 
 sufferings from Prelacy, or rather, perhaps, from Popery 
 under that name, are still felt keenly by every patriot 
 heart. Who can conceive the consequences, had James 
 succeeded in destroying the persecuted Presbyterians, 
 and, this impediment removed, had ordered his time- 
 serving bishops to own the holy Pope as their liege lord? 
 You and I to-day might have been most devoutly bow- 
 ing to the Virgin, or, feeling it folly, might in heart 
 have renounced all religion as mummery and supersti- 
 tion. I wonder if you, or indeed if any but the de- 
 scendants of these noble martyrs — those who have seen 
 their wild and lonely tombs, and heard the harrowing 
 tales of their sufferings, and breathed the same free air 
 that played around them, as they confessed their con- 
 stancy in the sight of heaven and earth — can be fired 
 with the same enthusiasm, and feel the same mingled 
 pi^y and indignation at those who thirsted for their 
 blood ? No wonder that we, in Scotland, love our 
 Church, which was sown among so many tears of our 
 best and bravest." 
 
 To her sister, at the same date, she writes : — 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 223 
 
 " I feel very grateful to dear M. A. B. for her kind- 
 
 no* to you. She has acted towards you the part of an 
 elder sister, and I know you return her love with en- 
 thusiastic affection. Your visit to D hill, too, 
 
 must have been very pleasant ; but what shall you do 
 
 if S. A. leaves you at Easter ? Take care, my J y, 
 
 and do not love this dear friend too much, or on that 
 very account she may be taken from you. You know 
 you have always been prone to set up idols in your 
 affections, and to love one or two objects, not exclusively, 
 but perhaps so as partly to shut your heart against 
 others for the time. Take care then, dear, and while 
 you delight in your friends, thank God for them, and 
 see in each a new token of his love. Cultivate that 
 spirit of expansive benevolence which our dear papa 
 so eminently possessed, and which graces and beautifies 
 a character more than almost anything else. For Chris- 
 tian love is 6 the best of the graces/ and makes us most 
 resemble our blessed Saviour who lived and died on 
 earth, because his heart was full of love to us. 
 
 u I should like to know what Italian, French, and 
 English books you are reading, what songs singing, 
 what pieces playing, what flowers drawing — every 
 thing, in short, that concerns you, and above all, if you 
 are tasting more of the peace that passeth knowledge. 
 Do you ever pray for a blessing on W.'s labours, and 
 on my Sabbath-morning class? I have now about 
 seventeen young women who take great pains in pre- 
 paring for me ; but God alone knows the heart. Ah ! 
 I wish they may not only increase in knowledge, but 
 be savingly converted." 
 
 To her Aunts Lnndie. 
 " I am much interested in my class of young persons. 
 
224 MEMOIR OF 
 
 It is most condescending in our gracious God to accept 
 such instruments as we, to bring souls to himself. Who 
 could have presumed to think, if He had not declared 
 it, that sinners should be fellow-workers together with 
 Christ ? O for a high estimation of such a privilege ! 
 
 " I am sorry you cannot now ' go up to the temple 
 to worship ;' but till this blessing is again permitted 
 you, you will seek and find a rich answer to secret 
 prayer. I often think of the beautiful prayer occasionally 
 used by my beloved father, for those who were debarred 
 from church. I am sure you remember it : — ' Teach 
 them that Thy presence is not confined to temples 
 made with hands, but the universe is Thy temple, built 
 by Thy power, and bright with Thy glory/ What a 
 sweet and cheering thought ! " 
 
 During the course of this spring, her diary contains 
 allusions to her prospect of becoming a mother, dic- 
 tated by the same submission, self-diffidence, and con- 
 fidence in her Saviour, which so long had given their 
 own peculiar colour to all her views. 
 
 Diary. — "January 25. — A few more months and (if 
 spared till then) a critical time will come, and why 
 should the husbandman let a barren tree remain in his 
 vineyard ? The future is in his hands, though hid from 
 me, and I have not many anxious thoughts about it. 
 The day shall declare it, and it will be in mercy, whether 
 for life or death. Yes ; I, a useless branch, can say so, 
 for / am a branch of the life-giving tree, and shall not 
 be left to fade. But what could He do, which is not 
 done for me, and where is the return ? The retrospect 
 ashames me. How different should I be if I realized 
 the prospect of shining as a star in the mediatorial 
 crown. What eagerness for good would there be then ! 
 What prayers for mercy ! What anxiety to i feed many' 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 225 
 
 from my lips by the truths the Spirit teaches ! O Lord, 
 undertake for me ! My spirit has less of solemnity about 
 it than it used to have, because my times of devotion 
 are not in perfect solitude, but with my dear husband 
 by, and I do not feel so much alone with God. . 
 I like to spend a few minutes in prayer, in the evening, 
 or at some other hour, but then often the world is in 
 my heart, and I have little to ask. I wish to walk 
 nearer to Jesus, and, by my converse, to set heavenly 
 things before my dear husband, and not to lure his 
 heart to settle on earth and me. The fear of God does 
 regulate this little family, but we want more life, more 
 love. Lord, hear my prayer, and come and save us ! " 
 " Sabbath, April 16. — All are on their way to church, 
 and I may not go — I may not join in prayer with God's 
 people, or listen to my dear husband's voice exhorting 
 his flock to choose the narrow way. I feared, yet did 
 not like to think, last Sunday, that it might be long 
 before I mingled in the services of the sanctuary. I 
 must bring my mind to be sometimes an exile from the 
 courts of the temple. But ' the universe is the temple 
 of my God,' and perhaps I may get nearer to Him 
 alone, than if I could act as my wishes prompt. He is 
 merciful in giving me warning of what is coming ; and 
 my disability to do as I was wont, reminds me that 
 soon I shall be in pain and in peril, and that, perhaps, 
 the bed of pain may be the bed of death. My antici- 
 pations are chiefly of recovery and of hours of happiness 
 with my most tender husband, and the little one whom 
 God may give to us. But I would be prepared for 
 either event ; and were my spirit beaming, as it ought 
 to be, with my Saviour's love, for what could I long so 
 ardently, as for a free and quick admission to his own 
 presence, and to ' Jerusalem, my happy home.' I do 
 
226 MEMOIR OF 
 
 not feel afraid to die, but, were death close upon me, 
 should I not quail ? I will never let go my only hope, 
 my precious Redeemer, but seek to follow Him more 
 closely, and shun sin and coldness. A fearful antici- 
 pation of the future at times shades my spirit ; of pains 
 such as I never endured ; of new and anxious responsi- 
 bilities ; but, through all this, grace can and will support 
 even me, and I will not fear, but pray more. As cares 
 increase, so will the aid of the Spirit be given me. Be 
 present in Thy house to-day, in the power of Thy Spirit, 
 and subdue souls to Thy dear Son." 
 
 " April 23. — My class is gone; there were thirteen. 
 When shall I see that any real good is done ? I must 
 pray more for them. I have been exhorting them to 
 try, like good old Berridge, to put the words of Scrip- 
 ture into the form of supplications, and use them as they 
 walk by the way. O for the teaching of the Spirit to 
 make them wise unto salvation ! I painfully feel my 
 own coldness and deadness, and would fain awake to 
 newness of life. My God has shut me up alone, while 
 others meet in his beloved courts. I do love them ! but 
 is it with the fervent love of earlier days, when the 
 words of truth were as manna to my soul ? I often look 
 back nine years to the time when I was first admitted 
 to the visible Church, and feel tempted to say, ' then it 
 was better with me than now.' What but the blood of 
 Jesus can ransom me ? I might have been far advanced 
 in the Christian race ere now, instead of being the weak 
 and erring child I am. When I come to die, I shall 
 not be able to say, like Paul, 'I have fought a good 
 light,' but through grace I will cling to my Saviour. 
 O that my dear husband and I lived daily nearer to 
 Him ! May a blessing be on his preaching to-day ! In 
 three days I shall have lived twenty-three years. In 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUN< AN. 227 
 
 the last, how many mercies has God given me, with 
 some slight chastisements that came threefold increased, 
 because I did not cast all my care upon Him, but kept 
 some of it to carry myself. I have the prospect of in- 
 troducing a new inhabitant into a world of sin, and, I 
 trust, an heir of glory to the dawn of an immortal 
 existence. O may my babe be one of Jesus' lambs ! 
 I scarcely dare form wishes for the future, but, at 
 present, my mind needs cleansing. I do not feel the 
 glow of Christian love to all ; my affections are too 
 much confined to a few objects. I am easily made 
 impatient, and this was not the case formerly. I want 
 the charity that thinketh no evil. My thoughts are 
 too much on self. Alas ! when shall I be like Jesus ? 
 In heaven ? — Yes ; but the likeness must begin on 
 earth. that the breath of prayer may be fervent 
 and unwearied ! " 
 
 It is worthy of remark here, that the deadness and 
 impatience of which she complains, were probably the 
 result of physical causes. The child of God is often 
 bowed down, and when he would " go forth, as at other 
 times," and serve the Lord, he finds that his power is 
 gone. Perhaps he is disposed to lay heavily to his 
 charge that which is caused by his infirmity, and feels 
 as if, like Samson, he has been inveigled into the shear- 
 ing of his locks by some temporal snare. But the 
 blessed High Priest, who is touched with the feeling of 
 his people's infirmities, knoweth, and when they attain 
 their glorified bodies, they shall know and discriminate 
 between the backsliding spirit and the tabernacle of 
 clay. This is one of the innumerable reasons why it 
 will be better to serve God in heaven than on earth, 
 that the aspirings of spirit will be no longer in bondage 
 to the drooping frame. The soul's ethereal communing 
 
228 MEMOIR OF 
 
 will no longer be restrained and drawn down by the 
 earthen vessel in which it is enshrined. 
 
 To her Friend near London, 
 
 " Barnes, April 27 '. — There was much in your last 
 letter that comforted and strengthened me. Oh ! I feel 
 grateful to you when you advise me ; for you understand 
 and enter into my feelings, and bring to my remem- 
 brance the sweet and reviving words of eternal truth, 
 which always bring health and healing to my spirit. 
 Do not refuse, my dear one, to give me counsel, for it 
 does help me, and I require all the help I can obtain. 
 I love to linger on the thought that I have a place in 
 your heart, and in your prayers, and that when you 
 draw near to our God, my name is breathed before 
 Him. May not some sweet glimpses of his love be 
 given to me in answer to these petitions, by Him who 
 has said, ' Pray for one another V O that I had more 
 of the spirit of prayer, and could more freely and 
 earnestly plead the promises, so boundless and so un- 
 failing ! I do at times ' roll my burden on the Lord,' 
 and find peace in doing so ; but too often I turn and 
 take it up again. Yet my wayward heart is in the 
 school of Christ, and will be disciplined at last. 
 
 " I do not know if I hinted to you in my last the 
 prospect that lies before me, that of becoming a mother. 
 Oh, my friend ! what a tide of feelings rushes upon me 
 as I write ! How great the responsibility of being 
 entrusted with the care of a young immortal — one who 
 may be a holy and zealous child of God, or care for 
 none of these things ! But here, again, the Lord will 
 lay no duty upon me, but what He will enable me to 
 discharge. Will you pray much for me, dearest F. ? 
 You will not know when I am suffering, or what the 
 
HART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 229 
 
 issue is at the time. But, oh ! commit me to a God of 
 compassions wery day, and then you will be able to feel 
 for me what, I hope, He will enable me to feel for 
 myself, a sweet confidence that all will be well, Yea : 
 it must be well ! It would be a mercy to be raised up 
 again, and restored to my tender husband and the duties 
 that lie before me. But if I am taken, I know whose 
 shed blood will gain access for even me. Yes, ' the 
 Friend that sticketh closer than a brother' will not 
 desert me then. But washed and cleansed in his blood, 
 and clothed in his righteousness, I believe that, should 
 He take me, He will give me a place in his own temple. 
 It will be the lowest place. It is wonderful indeed that 
 there should be one of any kind for me. But the ' many 
 mansions' are for the poor and needy, the sinful and the 
 helpless ; and. I am of that number. My precious 
 Saviour died that I might live. O that I could re- 
 spond to love and mercy so infinite, by the surrender 
 of my whole self! If I do not give every thought to 
 Jesus, how can I be sure that I am one of his, when 
 the universe, were it mine, could not repay the debt I 
 owe Him ? I cannot help feeling a wish to live, if it be 
 his will, but not otherwise. I would not change one 
 circumstance in my lot had I the power ; for He is 
 wise, and I should be sure to choose what would be 
 the worst and the most injurious. I know not what 
 sha^l be on the morrow, but I know in whom I have 
 believed, and that He will keep that which I have 
 committed to his charge ; Oh, what an anchor for the 
 soul is here ! We are far from church, and it is judged 
 prudent that I should not go ; so I am left alone to 
 prepare for what is before me in solitude and silence. 
 It is somewhat trying not to be permitted to unite with 
 the congregation of the Lord, and not to hear my dear 
 
230 MEMOIR OF 
 
 W.'s voice entreating them to cling to the Saviour ; 
 but you know much more of such privations than I do. 
 I can still meet my morning class, and feel comfort in 
 being allowed to say a word in my Saviour's cause. 
 
 " I sympathize in your enjoyment of the means of 
 
 grace at B n, and hope you may go on in the 
 
 strength thus obtained, for many days. It was a high 
 
 privilege to attend the ministry of such a man as , 
 
 and I hope he may be long spared to be a shining light. 
 But is it right for any Christian to work beyond the 
 strength that has been given him? Did not the six 
 months of absence from his flock, each as it rolled away, 
 say to the pastor's heart, that moderation even in labour 
 is a duty, and that the taper of life would longer shed 
 its rays on those around, if it were allowed to burn 
 calmly and steadily, than if exposed to the wasting 
 winds ? Few err on this side, but surely -holy and 
 devoted men would do well to remember that they 
 are stewards of their strength, and would do well to 
 put it out to the best interest. Will you resume our 
 valued evening intercourse, beginning in Bogatzky's 
 Treasury at the portion specified for whatever day it 
 may be?" 
 
 A postscript to this letter, by another hand, an- 
 nounces that a new object for the exercise of her affec- 
 tions was bestowed, in the birth of a daughter. From 
 her letters shortly after, may be gleaned a view of her 
 sentiments and emotions in regard to this new and 
 cherished gift. 
 
 " Oh, M. A., what a delightful thing it is to have a 
 baby ! It opens a new, fresh, full fountain in the heart, 
 and makes it, I think, kinder and more pitiful to every 
 thing that lives. . . I have been kindly dealt with, 
 and brought safely out of many dangers. My trust in 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 231 
 
 God has, I think, been increased by his goodness to 
 me at this time, and my baby is the dearest thing you 
 can imagine. She already notices a great deal, but 
 does not smile except in sleep. But, oh ! it is dreadful 
 to hear her cry when she is in pain, as helpless babies 
 often are. Our dear father, Dr D., is to baptize her 
 next Sunday ; so you prayed for us on the Avrong day, 
 love, but it would not be the less listened to." 
 
 To a Friend in Kelso. 
 "Barnes, Jane 4, 1837. — I want to thank you for 
 your kind letter, and the tokens of remembrance, the 
 kindness of which I feel very much, and hope you will 
 indeed give my little Mary Lundie a place in your affec- 
 tions. I rejoice in the thought that she has so many 
 praying friends, and I would plead for her the promise 
 which is unto Christians and their children. She was 
 baptized yesterday by her dear grandpapa, and the 
 service was most soothing and strengthening. I hope 
 strength will be given to us by that good Shepherd to 
 whom we have devoted her, to train her up for Him. 
 He loves the lambs of the fold, and surely this little 
 one will be among those whom He carries in his bosom. 
 When you remember those hours to which you allude, 
 in Kelso manse, where you heard from my dear parents 
 of a Saviour's love, will you let the thought remind 
 you to pray for their dear little grandchild. No one 
 can quite understand a mother's feelings till taught by 
 experience. It seemed like opening a new fountain in 
 my heart — a love unlike what I feel for any other ; 
 but not greater than all other love, as I have heard 
 some mothers say it is. I sleep with baby, and I am 
 a great deal with her ; and, oh ! I would have my heart 
 always filled with petitions for her." 
 
232 MEMOIR OF 
 
 To her Aunts Lundie. 
 " July 4. — It grieved me deeply to bear the tidings 
 of your fall, my beloved aunt. tbat you had my 
 arm to lean on ! How glad I should be to support and 
 help you ! But I know who has supported you through ■ 
 this affliction, and made it bear the fruits of peace in 
 your souls. It is a bright ray in the gloom of sickness 
 to feel that the Sun of glory has only drawn those clouds 
 around us for a time, that we may be fitted to receive 
 a clearer view of his cheering presence ; and even now 
 I trust his love is filling your hearts, and his light over- 
 shadowing your abode, more than in more joyous and 
 prosperous days. May you, my loved and revered 
 friends, become daily more near to Jesus, and taste in 
 every thing the expression of his protecting care and 
 tenderness. I know your hearts were much with us 
 when our sweet babe was given to us. Much mercy 
 attended the whole course of events. Mary- Lundie 
 grows fast. I should like to show you her round cheeks 
 and arms, and her eyes, which look very sweet when 
 she favours me with a smile. To-day her papa played 
 on the flute to watch its effect on her while she lay on 
 my knee. She looked intently on him for awhile, and 
 then smiled twice. I hope to introduce her to you soon." 
 
 To her Friend near London. 
 " Barnes, July 29. — My beloved friend, do not think 
 that I have been so long silent because all my love is 
 centred in my new and most interesting charge. It is 
 not so. My heart turns to you, as it was ever wont to 
 do, with deep and fond affection, and my love for my 
 sweet babe makes me feel even more the value of your 
 friendship, because I know that you do and will pray 
 for her. Oh, my dear F , how my heart longs that 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 233 
 
 this little one may be folded with the flock of JeSQS, 
 the loving Shepherd of helpless little children ; and I 
 have a cheering hope that so it shall be, for she is a 
 child of prayer, and our Father is a God of love. I 
 wish you were here, that I might pour out my heart to 
 you. It ought to be more filled with gratitude than it 
 is, for I have been floating on a stream of mercies. I 
 have been spared to know a mother's happiness, which, 
 before, I knew nothing of. And well may I seek to 
 give glory to my Lord, and own his name at all times, 
 for He has dealt very bountifully with me. Your dear 
 letter did me good, It came as a voice of love from 
 afar, sweetly in unison with the song of praise I was 
 feebly endeavouring to utter, and reminding me of the 
 heavenly love which makes Christian intercourse so de- 
 lightful on earth. . . Thank you, my own friend, 
 for cautioning me against loving my child too well. I 
 feel the danger, and pray to be kept from it. You say 
 your sister never thought her babe could die. It 
 was quite the reverse with me. From the first it 
 seemed to me that any little accident might snap the 
 thread of so frail a life, and I wondered w T hen I saw^ her 
 so well, and so quickly growing. Now, I sometimes 
 fear I count her too much my own. Oh ! pray that my 
 heart may be full of Christ ; and then nothing will be 
 an idol" 
 
 From this period the writing in the diary becomes 
 less frequent. Her hands were engaged by her do- 
 mestic duties ; but her solicitude for advancement in 
 the divine life grew and strengthened the more, that 
 under the responsibilities of a teacher of the females 
 of the parish, of a mistress with respect to the souls 
 of domestics, and under the drawings of heart for the 
 soul of her child, her spirit seemed more continually 
 
234 MEMOIR OF 
 
 prayerful. When suffering from headaches, so that 
 she could not herself partake of the refreshment of 
 the sanctuary, she would still teach her class and 
 despatch her maids to church ; for their soul's sake, 
 toiling to nurse her infant, and, with her Bible or 
 Hymn-book propt open near her, catching, as oppor- 
 tunity served, a morsel of that divine food after which 
 her heart longed. Her joyful and thankful notices in 
 letters, of the commencement of prayer meetings, the 
 establishment of missionary societies, or of any dawn- 
 ings of grace in the young persons of her own class or 
 elsewhere — her glad records of faithful sermons, or of 
 words of Christian counsel and love dropt by those with 
 whom she had intercourse — exhibit a heart going out 
 continually after spiritual improvement, and longing 
 after the growth of the Redeemer's kingdom. She 
 loved much, and had the felicity of being much and 
 tenderly beloved of many, and there was a constant 
 interchange of love-tokens going on between her and 
 friends in various situations and stations in society. 
 Even the gift of a bit of honey-comb from one of her 
 pupils, was too pleasant to her to be passed unnoticed 
 in a letter ; and she expresses her wonder that her 
 efforts to be useful to the girls of her class should all 
 along be returned by such kindness and love to herself. 
 " But," she adds, " I desire to be thankful, hoping that 
 to some of them the word has not been spoken in vain." 
 In a letter, written before her babe had attained its 
 eighth week, she says : — " On Saturday morning I had 
 my class, as I thought I should like to speak to the 
 girls before the communion. I brought my baby, 
 dressed in their frock, and told them she was come to . 
 thank them for it. They could not be satisfied till 
 every one had held her in her arms ; so, poor little 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 235 
 
 she had many transfers. We afterwards read 
 the parable of the wedding garment, and the pa 
 in Revelations about the marriage supper of the Lamb." 
 The minutes of subjects pursued in her class, inci- 
 dental notices of individuals, of their successful answers, 
 of any token of improvement, etc., show how judicious 
 and how hearty she was in her endeavours to do them 
 good. With a view to aid them in private devotion, 
 and hereafter to introduce them to social prayer, she 
 put them upon writing compositions of that description ; 
 and when any sentence pleased her, it found a place 
 in the minutes of her class. Thus the new year's prayer 
 of one girl, the new year's rules of another, etc. etc., 
 stand still in her writing, memorials of the loving teacher 
 and friend who was with them for a season, as well as 
 a fragment of prayer by one who did not survive to 
 finish it, concluded with the following affecting memor- 
 andum : — " ' Accept of my sincere thanks for health 
 of body and peace of . . ' Here the angel of death 
 arrested her, and now she sings praises in sweeter tones 
 in the presence of Him she loves." She also writes, in 
 reference to this young person, "M. G. communicated 
 for the second time, December 17 — died January 18 
 — in hope of glory." In a letter, writing of M. G., that 
 her disease was fever, she adds, M She has been ill 
 three- weeks, and I, partly from dilatoriness and partly 
 from fear of infection, have not gone to see her till 
 yesterday ; but alas ! she did not open her eyes, or 
 testify the least intelligence. I believe the dear girl to 
 be one of those who are gathered in the arms of the 
 Saviour. There has been a seriousness and earnestness 
 about her in particular during the past few months, 
 very encouraging to witness. She has carried on family 
 worship for her grandmother ; and often in fine morn- 
 
236 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ings, early, her neighbours have seen her alone in the 
 garden with her Bible ; and often in the field her voice 
 has been raised to reprove wicked words and jesting 
 in those around her. Her poor granny told W. and 
 me yesterday, with many tears, that we had made M. a 
 new woman. O that this bitter sorrow might teach her 
 ivho it is that changes hearts, by making her own new ! 
 M. G. may recover ; but I greatly fear her sands are 
 almost run, and she has had no one to care for her soul, 
 or to speak to her in the language of Zion ; and now, let 
 me be ever so anxious, it is too late. Oh, mamma, I have 
 been very wrong ! I hope this may be a lesson to me. 
 I wish I more fully believed and trusted the promises 
 in the ninety-first psalm." 
 
 If such was her lively interest when tokens of good 
 appeared, and such her severe rebukes of herself, when 
 not quite clear that her own actions or motives would 
 bear to be weighed in the balance of the sanctuary, how 
 deep was her grief, how mournful her lamentation, 
 upon any outbreaking of the old leaven in the parish ! 
 Holidays and fair-days, and those occasions when 
 persons, uniformly correct in habit at other seasons, 
 strangely think they have got a dispensation for sin, 
 were days of heaviness to her — days of mourning, as if 
 her children had fallen into sin, and of much prayer 
 for restraining grace. 
 
 Having poured out her grief on account of some 
 transgression, the rebuking of which had produced re- 
 taliation by the enemy's old weapons^— censure and 
 slander — consolatory advice had been tendered. In 
 reply she writes : — " I am very much obliged for your 
 good advice, and hope it may help us to steer our course 
 so as to give no unnecessary offence. It would require 
 us to be wise as serpents, and that, I fear, we shall 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 237 
 
 never be. Bat it is a happiness to suffer for the truth ; 
 
 my chief source of sorrow when unpleasant things occur, 
 is the fear, lest by a want of caution, or by something 
 wrong in the way of managing, we have caused the 
 way of truth to be evil spoken of." " These things 
 make us anxious to let our light shine, that mouths 
 may gradually be stopped. How difficult it is for a 
 simple-hearted person to manage with those who are 
 wise in their own eyes ! Grace could soften them. 
 "When will it come ? We have need of patience, and 
 to be always looking to Jesus, our meek and holy 
 pattern." 
 
 11 Wallace appealed to his people on Sunday, on the 
 use they had made of his ministry. It was very touch- 
 ing, and went through my heart at least. I could not 
 but feel as if it was the beginning of a blessing on the 
 elders' prayer meeting. But when shall the fulness of 
 it come, and the people be aroused to flee to the city of 
 refuge ? I am dwelling with great delight on Pike's 
 Guide to Young Disciples, and think of making it a 
 text-book for my class. I am not free from headaches. 
 Last Sabbath afternoon I was quite useless. Oh, if 
 they would not come on Sunday, how glad I should be ! 
 For when I have them, to keep awake is impossible, 
 and I just doze the weary time away." At another 
 time she writes : — " I am not likely to write a very 
 bright letter, but you will make allowance for my 
 headache. Oh, if headaches were abolished, I think 
 half the invalids in the kingdom would be cured!" 
 Again : — " My head has been better since I wrote. 
 I feel a sadness at the coming on of winter ; the cold, 
 the bleak country, the want of improving society, make 
 me long for some whom I have known and loved, and 
 who are far away. I must engage in some pursuit that 
 
238 MEMOIR OF 
 
 will occupy my mind, for I have a good deal of mere 
 housekeeping and sewing, and of dancing my little fairy, 
 who jumps when she is pleased." 
 
 To her Friend near London. 
 " Nov. 2. ... I do not like the idea of a sheet 
 filled by you being lost, and thankfully own that no 
 letter of yours comes without reviving my desire to 
 keep in the safe and narrow way. I count it one of 
 my chief privileges to be permitted to correspond with 
 
 you. Do not frown on me, dearest F , or think that 
 
 I flatter you. It is not so. I never dare say the half 
 of what I feel on this subject. My love for you is very 
 great, and this probably makes what you say come with 
 more impression than it might from another quarter ; 
 but it also pleases me to think that it is in answer to 
 your prayers for me, that you are permitted to write in 
 a way that does me good. Is it not cheering to.think, 
 that while our plans and attempts to glorify God in 
 winning souls so often fail, if we live in a waiting frame, 
 we may be made useful when we have not especially 
 intended it ? Words that we have forgotten, may be 
 as 'the good seed that took root, and have eternal conse- 
 quences. Ah, how watchful this should make us over 
 every word ! Surrounded as we are by those who are 
 by nature lost, and who, if saved by grace, still have, 
 like us, a conflict to maintain against powerful foes, we 
 are under unceasing responsibility to seek their good. 
 If we forget this, some incautious word, or inconsistent 
 action, may cast them back, and we may incur the curse 
 of those ' who make a brother to offend.' This is our 
 collateral responsibility ; but we must dwell as seeing 
 Him who ever looks on us, and seek to let his Spirit 
 breathe on the chords of our hearts, and keep them in 
 
MAKY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 239 
 
 tune ; or we cannot teach others to sing the melodies 
 of heaven. . . . O that, pilgrim-like, I were ever, 
 staif in hand, journeying on without looking back ! 
 Then, I am sure, I should grow in likeness to God. 
 It is sad to bear the name of Christian, and to dishonour 
 Christ by a careless walk. But why should I trouble 
 you with my complaint, when you are too far off to 
 understand its source exactly, or to see its actings ! 
 Would that you were near me, my own friend ; to you 
 I could tell about this deceitful heart better than I could 
 to almost any other human being. You would help 
 me to search out its sins, and seek God with me. But 
 this cannot be, and I must love you at a distance, and 
 rejoice to know that, in the hour when earth is shut 
 out, and you are alone with God, I am not forgotten. 
 It is a sweet thought, and, if not forgotten by you, how 
 much less by Him who has graven my name on the 
 palms of his hands. It is this very fact, that He is so 
 kind and faithful in all his dealings with me, that makes 
 me wonder so much at my own ingratitude to Him. 
 I do long sometimes to hear the voices of those I love ; 
 but it is sin to long for what I have not — sin against 
 Him who has in perfect wisdom and love disposed my 
 lot, and given to me, who deserve nothing, all that is 
 for my good. Do you remember a poem by one whom 
 I greatly admire, the excellent Herbert, ' Thou shalt 
 answer, Lord, for me ? ' How lightly his heart rests on 
 every earthly thing ! How happy was he in his one 
 satisfactory portion ! It is vain to think that this or 
 that would add to our happiness ; or that we should 
 be more holy if such and such were the case. Happi- 
 ness is in the spirit that dwells in the secret of the 
 Lord, and holiness springs from the same source. So 
 I may have both to overflowing, even if the blessings 
 
240 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I have, and in which my very soul is bound up, were 
 withdrawn. Have you much encouragement in your 
 work ? Ah ! this question tells more than was meant 
 by it ; for I am too apt to work for encouragement, in- 
 stead of resigning all into the hand of God, and being 
 content to be nothing, and let whom He wills be the 
 instruments, so his work be done. It would be delight- 
 ful to feel thus, quite renouncing self, and the gratifica- 
 tion arising from a belief that ice have been useful, and 
 yet not to relax our exertions. Will you tell me your 
 thoughts on this subject, for it is one that often dwells 
 on my mind with a degree of perplexity? It seems 
 difficult to unite the willingness to see no fruit following 
 our individual labours, with an earnest desire for the 
 spread of the Redeemer's kingdom. ... I feel, as 
 you do, the great importance of a clear declaration of 
 the blessed doctrines of justification and sanctification. 
 This must be taught by the Spirit. I feel a strong con- 
 viction that no ministry can be eminently useful, when 
 his power is not distinctly owned, dwelt on, and im- 
 plored. It is the Spirit that quickeneth. May his 
 power be shed abroad on both pastor and people here 
 and with you ! " 
 
 To her Sister. 
 "Barnes, Nov. 2, 1836. — I hope, dear, you are in 
 better spirits than your last letter showed you to be. 
 It is duty to keep up, and make the best of every thing, 
 and to try to take an interest in all you have to do. 
 Never mind being laughed at, rather try to laugh too, 
 and then you will not find it half so bad. I hope, for 
 your sake, that dear S. A. does not leave school at 
 Christmas. There are crosses in every lot, and one 
 great secret of happiness is to cultivate a cheerful spirit; 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 241 
 
 but the chief one is to have much converse with God, 
 Your present little trials will soon fly away, and then 
 you will wonder how light they will appear. 1 wish I 
 wore by you sometimes, to lay your dear head on my 
 shoulder, and hear all your thoughts and circumstances. 
 Do you think I could comfort you, my lassie?" 
 
 Theyearclosed upon the little Christian family settled 
 comfortably in the manse, and encircled, for one week, 
 by dear brothers and cousins from the universities, with 
 whom, as usual, private spiritual converse and mutual 
 prayer were cultivated by this Christian sister and friend. 
 
 To her Aunts Lundie. 
 
 " Dec, 30. — It grieves me to hear that my dear aunt 
 is yet so little restored to the power of motion ; my hopes 
 had ran much faster than the reality, and I am greatly 
 disappointed. I do trust she will not long be detained 
 from those privileges she so highly values, nor you, my 
 dear aunt, obliged to go alone. May there be many 
 happy days yet in store for you, days in which you 
 may walk to the house of God in company, and return 
 to converse on the great things that have been showed 
 you fhere. Meantime, may Jesus, the friend of the 
 afflicted, overshadow your dwelling with the wings of 
 his love, and fill you with all joy and peace in believing. 
 "When. He speaks to the heart, there is less need of hu- 
 man teachers. Sometimes He removes them far from 
 us, to teach us to draw instruction directly from him- 
 self. 
 
 " I need not attempt to tell you how much we have 
 enjoyed this week with the dear young people ; but it 
 is far too short, and one is grieved that it is impossible 
 to cut the pinions of time, and detain the enjoyment 
 that is borne away on the flying hour. They will tell 
 
 Q 
 
242 MEMOIR OF 
 
 you of us, and describe the house and our employments. 
 To-day being very fine, we have had a lovely walk to 
 the top of one of our hills, where there are many 
 irregular summits, and some lochs lying among them, 
 wild and treeless. The view of Kinross and Lochleven 
 is finest from thence, and we enjoyed running down the 
 declivities all in a body. What a pity that we are so 
 soon to part ! Your Christmas present reminded us of 
 the long gone days when we used to hail the arrival of 
 ' aunt's basket ' as one of the brightest events of the 
 year, to look forward to it for weeks, and find in it 
 enough to interest our young fancies for weeks more. 
 Those were happy days — and they are gone. The 
 beaming smile that sprung to greet our happiness is 
 gone, and the kind voice is silent that used to melt into 
 such tones of tenderness when addressing us — favoured 
 children as we were. But that voice is sweeter now, 
 and tuned to nobler themes, and oh! blessed. hope, we 
 shall see the smile again, bright with heavenly joy. 
 There was something about my beloved father which 
 I have never seen in any other human being. Can 
 you, who knew his mind so well, help me to find out 
 what it was ? There was a humility, a simplicity, a 
 grace, in the midst of all the power of mind that marked 
 his conversation and actions. A beautiful tenderness 
 that sheltered the meanest from a wound, a brilliant wit 
 — so peculiarly lovely when employed, as it sometimes 
 was, to avert the danger of dispute. All these were 
 charming, and yet blended together so as to produce a 
 character which it would be impossible^*) describe, and 
 whose resemblance I do not expect ever to see on earth. 
 I have dwelt long on this dear theme, but not too long, 
 I know, for you." 
 
 This picture of her father, which never faded from 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 243 
 
 her view, may be fitly followed by a fragment of poetry 
 which adds another trait to the delineation — his Sab- 
 bath-day aspect and converse : — 
 
 " A FRAGMENT. 
 
 Farewell, ye Sabbaths of my early years ! 
 Your latest comes apace and soon will fly ; 
 But your blest memory my spirit cheers, 
 And stiil shall cheer, till my departing sigh. 
 Sabbaths of Peace ! How happy was your flight, 
 "When, gladden'd by a father's smiles and love ! 
 So tender when he spake of Heaven's delight, 
 It seemed a blest reflection from above.'* 
 
 A portion of the sentiments committed to the diary 
 shall wind up the year. 
 
 Diary. — "Dec. 10, 1837. — How many mercies have 
 gone over my head since last I wrote the expression of 
 my anticipations here ! Do I praise my God by a life 
 of holiness, remembering that ' thanksgiving is very 
 good, but thanks-living is far better ? ' Next Sabbath 
 we hope to encompass the sacred table of Christ ; and I 
 long to do so with a true heart, having a sweeter taste 
 of his love, and more lively desire to be with Him, and 
 more earnest striving to put off the old man, and be one 
 with Him, than I have known before. In my own 
 frames I put no confidence, many times they have de- 
 ceived me ; and ardour, that, at the moment of its 
 height, seemed as if it would surely rise into a flame 
 that should not be extinguished till it melted into the 
 blaze of celestial glory, has faded away, and left me poor, 
 helpless, cold, and stumbling. But, blessed be my God, 
 my frames are not my Saviour. He stands firm amid 
 all the fluctuations of the deceitful heart. He bears 
 with my infirmities, He pities my weakness, He watches 
 the feeble spark that seems about to expire, and pours 
 
244 MEMOIR OF 
 
 in streams of oil, even his own precious love, so that 
 it revives again, and shines forth to his praise. I have 
 been anxiously remembering for some time that Chris- 
 tians should let their light shine before men ; and that 
 in our situation, our light, whatever it be, cannot be hid. 
 If the light in us be darkness, how can we hope to be 
 made the instrument of enlightening others? If it be 
 false, polluted with earth, dim and imperfect, it cannot 
 win men to seek light for themselves. If it be unsteady 
 and wavering, ready to be blown out by every breeze, 
 it may be a beacon of warning, but it cannot be alight 
 in the hand of God to our fellow-sinners, pointing out 
 the safety and blessedness of Zion's pilgrims. O that 
 our light were purified, and kept clear and steady ! 
 Then, though feeble, it must be useful in its fleeting 
 day. What a pity, when our days on earth are so few, 
 to be content to let any of them pass in dimness ! The 
 utmost we can do for Christ is small enough.: we need 
 not make it less. But those cheering words of David 
 have often rested on my mind : — 
 
 'The Lord will light my candle so, 
 That it shall shine full bright ; 
 The Lord my God will also make 
 My darkness to be light.' 
 
 In this will I be confident ; and when I find my light 
 has been misrepresented, and been the unwilling cause 
 of leading others astray, I will seek unto my God to 
 make it so bright with his own beams of love, that all 
 may see that it was lighted by Ilim, and will soon shine 
 in heaven. Animating hope ! but unlike the reality. 
 Much is to be done in my soul ere it can be thus. Oh? 
 my God ! come and work in me by Thy good Spirit, 
 and make me delight in the great work ; knowing that 
 
MARY LUNDIK DUNCAN. 245 
 
 the time is short, the account soon to be given in and 
 for ever made up. 1 wish all the Church on earth had 
 their naze so bent on God that their faces might shine 
 as did the face of Moses on the mount. Ah ! but who 
 will, like him, be forty days in fasting and prayer, and 
 close converse with God ! Were there more of this, 
 the holy name would not be so often evil spoken of 
 through our inconsistencies. 
 
 " Next Sunday, baby's maid is to come, for the first 
 time, to the table. I have stayed at home to-day that 
 ^she may go to church. I write with my lively babe on 
 my knee. May I get help to train this sweet gift of 
 God for himself !" 
 
246 MEMOIR OF 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GROWTH IN LOVE. 
 
 It is delightful to observe Mary's advancement in Chris- 
 tian love, which is so conspicuous as her few years rolled 
 away. Love is " of all the graces best." Hwjiility in 
 its exercise is inevitably connected with mournful con- 
 victions of unworthiness — even Hope, that day-star of 
 the soul, is not satisfied with the present, it embraces 
 future bliss ; but Love, in whatever measure" it exists, 
 is actual enjoyment. Blessed be He who constructed 
 the human heart ; its capacities for loving are im- 
 measurable ; its elasticity, its expansive powers, are 
 commensurate with the objects of attraction. Even in 
 an evil world, and with a heart fettered by remaining 
 corruption, and trammelled by its case of clay, its- 
 capabilities are boundless ; and, instead of being at- 
 tenuated by expansion, it is consolidated, and becomes 
 capable of still greater and greater efforts of usefulness, 
 of self-denial, of tender and watchful observance. Exer- 
 cised in solitude, its breath is prayer, its thoughts are 
 sympathy, its devices are usefulness. Exercised in 
 .society, its track is mercy, its eye-beam is benevolence, 
 its words are peace. Exercised towards the reconciled 
 God in Christ Jesus our Righteousness, it is gratitude, 
 praise, humble adoration, joyful anticipation, peace — 
 
HART LUND1B DUNC ' '24.1 
 
 eternal, unconquerable peace — begun below, but haying 
 its stronghold far above, out of sight of earth. 
 
 " The love that leans on a celestial urn, 
 Scatters a thousand streams,— nor seeks return; 
 For she doth draw from her own hidden well, 
 That flows for ever, — and would flow unseen, — 
 But that the freshening flower and livelier £r 
 Betray her, hastening' with her God to dwell." 
 
 So was it. She was u hastening with her God to 
 dwell." Many expressions in the diary and letters con- 
 vey the idea, that her anticipations of an early removal 
 from this scene had been frequent and strong. Yet it 
 does not appear that this arose from any conscious in- 
 firmity ; for her exertions were increased rather than 
 relaxed. It was her longing to be free from sin, to see 
 the face of Him whom " having not seen she loved ; " 
 — it was her consciousness of the ungenial clime that 
 earth afforded, which led her to be looking out as for 
 the dawn, and to be asking, with " the Pilgrim/' " How 
 far from home, O Lord, am I ? " — and which produced 
 such expressions as that just quoted from her diary, 
 " that all may see that it was lighted by Him, and will 
 soon shine in heaven." 
 
 To her sister, she writes of her father, on the sixth 
 anniversary of the day when he was taken from us : — 
 " I had a quiet and solitary morning on the 16th, re- 
 calling all the past, and seeking grace for the future. 
 How sweet is every remembrance of our beloved father ! 
 His tenderness to his children, his compassion for the 
 sorrowful, his sorrow for the sinful, and his desire to 
 win them by love — come back in sweet memorial to 
 my heart, and furnish a model I should love to imitate." 
 She then adds, — " I hope, dear, you have been able to 
 attend the ' the preachings' with comfort and profit. Ah, 
 
248 MEMOIR OF 
 
 how much too seldom that sweet ordinance comes in 
 our country ! I, for one, am sure it would quicken me 
 greatly to have it often ; but the presence of the Master 
 of the feast is the great matter, and I trust He was made 
 known to you in the breaking of bread." 
 
 To her surviving parent her sympathizing love was 
 so true, so extensive, so minute, so intelligent, that it 
 seems a thing alone, in counting up " wilderness mer- 
 cies." Many children receive parental kindness and 
 exertion as matters of course — and so they are ; but 
 Mary counted and dwelt on each new act as a new and 
 undeserved treasure ; anticipated each meeting as a joy 
 almost too much for earth, and never, on any parting, 
 could restrain her tears. The sketch of her faithful 
 heart would be incomplete, without a glance into that 
 deep well of love. In reference to the indisposition of 
 a member of the family, she writes : — " I feel concerned 
 at what you say of his health ; but, my dearmamma, 
 I think that, having been long enough in this weary 
 world to see the fading of those you loved, you are 
 perhaps more alarmed than the things you have men- 
 tioned sanction. But be assured that, while I write 
 this, I am keenly alive to every thing that makes you 
 anxious, and shall make it matter of prayer, as well as 
 of the most tender sympathy. I trust, my mother, 
 there are yet in store for you many days of peace and 
 happiness here, ere you are called to the blessed land 
 where grief will be remembered but as a dream of the 
 night." " Uncle Henry says it is possible you may come 
 too. Oh, my dear, dear mamma ! I dare hardly think 
 of it lest you should not. It would be indeed a delight 
 beyond what I have dared to hope, to see you so soon, 
 again. If you can co?ne, do write soon, and give me 
 the happiness of knowing it. You will now, I hope, 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 249 
 
 come and see your longing children. It will renew 
 your youth (at least it does mine) to see your merry 
 little youngest daughter laughing and springing, and 
 shaking her sage bit head at you." 
 
 "February 27, 1838. — My heart was with you on 
 Sunday, when I believe you were engaged at the Lord's 
 Table; and yesterday, when you would be in church, 
 I read a sermon of J. B. Patterson's on the subject. I 
 trust you were refreshed and strengthened to go on your 
 way rejoicing, looking for and hasting to the blessed 
 time when there shall be no more sickness of heart, but 
 abounding peace in the presence of Ilim who has re- 
 deemed us. O that this delightful hope had more effect 
 on our daily life, making us seek more close and frequent 
 communion with God, and bringing every thought, and 
 word, and disposition into subjection to his will ! " 
 
 Of her father-in-law she writes : — " I could scarcely 
 love him more, if he were my very own father. I 
 feel most tenderly alive to every thing connected with 
 him. I wish he would write to me twice a year or so." 
 
 Few have felt more tenderly, or yet endured more 
 cheerfully, that which all must feel who love ardently, 
 and are divided from what they love. The following 
 extract from a letter, w r ritten after parting from her 
 new-year's party of youthful relatives, is introduced 
 here rather beyond its date, because it at the same time 
 expresses her love for them, and something of her delight 
 in being a mother : — 
 
 " Cleish, Jan. 1838. — My dearest E , this is 
 
 Wednesday, and though I have survived the departure 
 of the dear young party, I have felt weary, and my 
 head has ached ever since ; missing them at every turn, 
 and remembering twenty things I meant to have said, 
 but did not. Time flew with such envious speed, that 
 
250 MEMOIR OF 
 
 many things were left undone ; it is difficult to appor- 
 tion every hour aright, 
 
 * When all the sands are diamond sparks, 
 That glitter as they pass.' 
 
 Oh ! it is sad to be parted from all one's early circle — 
 from every face that helped to make childhood happy ; 
 and this is perhaps more felt in a solitary place than it 
 might be elsewhere. I want to express my joy that 
 the painful part of your dear sister's affair is over, and 
 the happy time is come. She will be astonished at the 
 degree of her own happiness, I believe, when her little 
 new one twines himself about her heart with absorbing 
 power. I long to know how she does feel. With me, 
 when the shock was over, my predominant emotions 
 were wonder, and gratitude, and dependence. I felt 
 completely in the hands of God, and saw his wisdom 
 and love in events from which I should otherwise have 
 shrunk. It was a very happy state, and the new foun- 
 tain of love opened in my heart, seemed to flow out to 
 every body, as well as to the dear little object of it. 
 I trust your nephew is one of those little ones 
 who are precious in the sight of the kind Shepherd. 
 My brother George is not strong. He had frequent 
 indisposition while here, and had so many holiday exer- 
 cises, that it was scarcely holiday at all for him, poor 
 fellow ! He is a most dear and affectionate brother, 
 and so considerate and loving that he really is not like 
 any other youth I ever knew. To be sure I have not 
 known many as I know him. He used to come to the 
 piano about nine for his greatest treat, and he is so fond 
 of music that the simplest little melody is not lost on 
 him. He said he should not take well with the bache- 
 lor-hall they keep in Glasgow after this. He is very 
 
M VIJY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 2 f> L 
 
 much in earnest about divine things ! Oh ! how I wish 
 it were possible for me to be near him, and of any com- 
 fort and use to him ! " 
 
 Of her elder brother she wrote : — " We enjoyed the 
 six days Corie spent with us very much. While I 
 complained of the shortness of the visit, he said it was 
 an uncommonly long one for him. He was most kind 
 and brotherly, and observant in a degree I could not 
 have expected from one so used to live alone. We had 
 a little very pleasant conversation on eternal things, and 
 on Sunday I read him great part of Philip's ' New Song 
 in Heaven/ which he liked very much." 
 
 Though many proofs of her interest in the parish, and 
 longings for its spiritual welfare, have already appeared, 
 as the present chapter is devoted to exhibit the expan- 
 sion of her love, this may be the best place to insert 
 some other expressions of it. " I have just begun to 
 distribute tracts, and hope those little silent visitors may 
 prove messengers of peace to some around us. I have 
 only undertaken fifteen houses, as my time will hardly 
 admit of more." " I like the work very much, as it 
 enables me to speak of eternal things, making an opening 
 for me. There are in the parish a few drops of blessing, 
 but oh ! where is the refreshing shower that should 
 make our wilderness blossom as the rose ? " " My class 
 is rather in an interesting state at present, at least I hope 
 so. W. has resumed his for young men, which is well 
 attended." " I am enjoying Leighton on Peter very 
 much. How much might we learn if we, like this holy 
 man, studied the Bible verse by verse, and word by 
 word, imploring the teaching of the Spirit. His deep 
 wisdom, and intense enjoyment of Scripture, make me 
 grieve that I have so little entered into the hidden 
 meanings there. I hope I shall learn a salutary lesson 
 
252 MEMOIR OF 
 
 from this book. It is a great help to me in instructing 
 my class." 
 
 Of an aged woman she writes to her friend near Lon- 
 don : — " I have both hope and fear for her. She has 
 had many sorrows, but never was so broken down 
 as by the last blow. Yet I fear she may drive away 
 reflection by bodily exertion. She is still bearing the 
 burden and heat of the day, though with her it is even- 
 ing time. Oh ! may it soon be light ! Will you, 
 dearest, and any other Christian friend that you can 
 
 ask, help me to pray for poor old P ? She can have 
 
 but short time to stay ; and oh ! how awful will be her 
 account, if the earnest entreaties and lovely example 
 which were set before her, and her present sorrow 
 pass, without being effectual means of bringing her to 
 Christ!" 
 
 "July 16. — Typhus fever is still lingering among us. 
 One mother of five children has died of it, and now the 
 father and eldest girl are both ill. Woe is me for the 
 little ones ! Another Keltie man has it, and yesterday 
 one of my girls was absent from class because her 
 mother has been seized. O that the voice of the Lord 
 might be heard in the awakening of dead souls by 
 this visitation ! " 
 
 " Cleisk, Sept. — We have still a number of cases of 
 typhus fever at Keltie, principally among children. It 
 has lingered long among us. O that it might act as a 
 warning voice! W. has just established a missionary 
 society, into which I hope the people will heartily 
 enter." 
 
 " Oct. 1. — We have had very fine weather for a week, 
 and our people are rejoicing that harvest, so long re- 
 tarded by rain and cold, has come at last under such 
 bright auspices. We long to see them giving heartfelt 
 
MAKY LINDIE DUNCAN. 253 
 
 thanks for this blessing ; and, while they throng the 
 fields with busy cheerful looks, we say, ' O that men 
 would praise the Lord for his goodness ! ' He appeared 
 in the early season to teach us by judgment, and now 
 that it is turned into great mercy, shall we not see the 
 hand that has blessed us P It is sad to think there be 
 few that fear the Lord, and yet I do trust there are many 
 hidden ones of whom we know not, and who shall be 
 owned at last as ransomed. Shall we unite to pray 
 that such may be strengthened and enabled to take the 
 field as good soldiers of Christ, that so the Church may 
 be strengthened, and the number of those increased who 
 are earnest and courageous in their endeavours to 
 augment the number of her sons ? " 
 
 At the time of the summer communion this year, 
 w 7 hen her health was in so delicate a state, that her own 
 attendance on the services must have exerted all her 
 powers, she writes: — M We had a comfortable time at 
 the communion. I liked Mr M k Cheyne, who preached 
 on ' His commandments are not grievous/ drawing a 
 beautiful contrast between fear and love, and the kinds 
 of obedience they produced. As there was evening 
 sermon on the Sunday, and an interval, I was led to 
 ask many to come in and get refreshment, and I think 
 we were about thirty-four in all — parlour, study, and 
 kitchen, being well filled. I felt sorry it was impossible 
 to ask them all." 
 
 Almost every letter quoted has exhibited her pure 
 experience of the pleasures of friendship. To its pains 
 also the was no stranger. The "rejoicing and weeping 
 sympathies'' were with her as an ever flowing fountain. 
 It were unwise to number minutely the associates in 
 whose society she was refreshed in her own neighbour- 
 hood. But of all their kindness she had a sweet and 
 
254 MEMOIR OF 
 
 grateful sense ; and in all their intercourse felt herself 
 the party obliged and benefited. But as her pilgrim 
 heart has ever turned towards her heavenly home, it 
 was the one or two whose visits were taken advantage 
 of, to unite in seeking the footstool of mercy, whose 
 society was prized, and whose return was coveted most 
 earnestly. We shall give scanty extracts from letters 
 to friends in various positions, which exemplify the 
 fulness of her love, and the truth of her sympathy. 
 
 To a Friend on her Family quitting and selling the 
 
 Family Seat, 
 " April 1838. — Since receiving your letter, I have 
 had my thoughts much filled with what you tell me, 
 and grieve with you in the changes that are taking 
 place, though I am sure you will have peace in the 
 sacrifice. I know your bitter feelings, love, in separat- 
 ing from the wild wood walks, and green fields,, and all 
 the host of sweet associations that are coeval with life 
 itself. All the summer rambles, all the evenings of 
 peace in scenes so beautiful and so beloved are past, 
 and you scarcely dare to hope that another spot on 
 earth will entwine itself about your heart as this dear 
 home of childhood has done. I can enter into your 
 every feeling on the subject with the painful correct- 
 ness of one who has felt the like trial in all its heavi- 
 ness, for C cannot be more dear to you than my 
 
 beautiful home among woods and rivers was to me. 
 I was early called to leave it, when every tree seemed 
 a friend that could enter into my sorrow, and every 
 golden ripple of the Tweed spoke to my heart of him 
 who loved to watch its play ; but the great sorrow was 
 so overwhelming as to make this seem small indeed. 
 Your beloved parents are with you still, and the pain 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 255 
 
 of parting with the place you love is all you are called 
 to feel. How small compared with the other! I hope 
 it may be blessed in detaching your heart from earth, 
 and fixing its highest hopes on the eternal city. These 
 nests we build for ourselves below, sometimes delay 
 our heavenward flight ; and then in mercy they are de- 
 stroyed, that we may fix our eyes there, and exert every 
 power to win the desired country." 
 
 To her earliest Correspondent and ever-beloved Cousin. 
 
 " Many a time when I am sitting alone in this room, 
 with my books or work, I long to see you, and to hear 
 the sound of your voice again, and wonder why it is 
 that those who love each other should be so completely 
 separated. What a great obstacle is a small tract of 
 country ! Had I the wings of that humble bird, the 
 carrier-pigeon, I should be with you in an hour or two, 
 and yet all my thoughts, recollections, and affections — 
 powers much superior to that of flying — will not bring 
 me to you. Well, there must be a good reason for it, 
 or He who careth for the little birds would have made 
 the gratification of our wishes easier. . . . We are 
 enjoying Melville's sermons, which give one some new 
 ideas, and throw light on some passages. I trust your 
 mind, my dearest cousin, is resting in perfect peace on 
 Jesus,, our sure refuge." 
 
 The announcement of a projected visit from her 
 London school-fellow produced a flood of joy. We 
 quote a small portion of her letter : — 
 
 " Last night, my beloved M , your letter was put 
 
 into my hands, and it made me so happy that I would 
 have answered it instantly, but that I was obliged to 
 finish a piece of work. So I got rid of my superfluous 
 effervescence, by committing to memory, while I sew r ed, 
 
256 MEMOIR OF 
 
 a long passage from my favourite Keble. Are you 
 really coming to us at last, my own dear friend ? Shall 
 I have the long-wished-for joy of welcoming you here, 
 and of telling you how much the seven years .that have 
 intervened since we met have endeared you to me ? 
 . As for me, I know that in many things you will 
 be disappointed, for I am sadly disappointed in myself. 
 But I know, too, my kind friend, that you will love me 
 still, and I do not desire that you should think too well 
 
 of me. . . Oh, M , my heart is full ! To think 
 
 that we are to meet again after the changes of seven 
 years have gone over us — after the receipt of so many 
 mercies, and so much discipline — is at once joyful and 
 solemn. May it be to the glory of our great Father ! " 
 
 To a friend who had formed a very happy matrimonial 
 engagement, she wrote with the lively sympathy and the 
 meekness of wisdom which experience had taught : — 
 
 " Often, my M , I think of you, and of your hap- 
 piness. Perhaps few periods of your life will be brighter 
 than the present. You are still with your dear parent, 
 from whom, even in the midst of joy, it will be sorrow 
 to part ; and you have the devoted affection of one who 
 promises to watch over your future years, and to be the 
 friend to whom, of all on earth, you can best open your 
 heart, and from whom you will receive never-failing 
 sympathy, and counsel, and love. There is, also, a 
 degree of excitement produced by the bright visitant 
 hope, who hovers over you, and bids you look upon a 
 sunny future ; and though in this excitement there may 
 be some illusion, I think we shall agree that it is de- 
 lightful. Marriage, with all its blessings, brings cares, 
 and some sorrows and trials, too, dearest, which you 
 know not yet ; and it is well, or we should be too much 
 bound to a world that is but a pilgrimage, and forget 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 257 
 
 the lovely land where pilgrims rest. Let us at all times 
 keep that in view, and strive to come nearer to it, and 
 the things of earth will not have power to exalt or cast 
 us down unduly. . . It must be difficult, and require 
 a good deal of resolution, to prevent too much time 
 being occupied both in expecting and receiving a guest 
 whose residence affords him every facility for coming. 
 There is danger of being too much engrossed, and living 
 in a sort of dream ; but the safe and only remedy for 
 this is to seek much communion with God, and to do 
 each duty as it arises with stedfast purpose, without ad- 
 mitting any of the numerous excuses that so obligingly 
 offer themselves the instant their services appear likely 
 to be accepted." 
 
 To her Friend near London. 
 "March 1838. ... I know that the longest 
 silence will not make you cease to remember me in the 
 way I love best to be remembered — at the throne of 
 grace. There you breathe my name, where no sincere 
 prayer is disregarded, and entreat for my soul, as well 
 as for your own, the constant * sprinkling of the blood 
 of Jesus,' which alone can wash us from daily pollution. 
 Continue thus to pray for me, my own sweet friend, 
 and I will try to stir up my poor cold heart to more 
 abundant supplications for you ; and then how happily 
 shall we meet when mortality is swallowed up of life, 
 and those who have stayed up each other's footsteps in 
 the wilderness shall rejoice together, clothed in ever- 
 lasting strength in the new Jerusalem ! Happy place ! 
 Happy period ! There shall be no more coldness, no 
 more looking back to Sodom, and longing for its deceit- 
 ful pleasures, but all the powers of the soul concen- 
 trated in intensest love to Him, of whose glory and 
 
258 MEMOIR OF 
 
 excellence we shall find that i the half hath not been told 
 us.' Does not every thing seemed tinged with redeeming 
 love when we think of these things f The placid skies, 
 the quiet earth, health, friends, and even the frequent 
 crosses and disappointments that chequer our way, all 
 seem what indeed they are, blessings from the hand 
 of Him who counted not his life dear for our salvation. 
 . . . The greater part of our people are four miles 
 distant, and in the snow-storm which has continued for 
 nine weeks, they have been unable to attend church, 
 and their pastor has been able only once to get through 
 to them, so that the people have been as sheep without 
 a shepherd, so far as an earthly one is concerned. But 
 we must be content to leave them to the care of God, 
 assured that He loves them better than we do. I am 
 not so anxious for those who are his already, as for 
 the poor wanderers who refuse to hear his voice. Time 
 and hope fly fast, and whither are they going? But 
 such thoughts as these are useful in one way. They 
 quicken prayer, and He to whom we pray, could, by 
 one thought driven in upon the conscience, do more for 
 them than all the exhortations and entreaties we could 
 offer in the course of years. It is a difficult, but a most 
 essential lesson, that man can do nothing — God all." 
 
 To the Same. 
 " Cleisk, August 1838. ... My own F , 
 
 we are united by a bond less perishable than that which 
 cements earthly friendships, and it is one of my sweetest 
 pleasures to think that I have a friend by whom I 
 venture to hope I am daily remembered at the mercy- 
 seat. Much do I require — and deeply, deeply do I 
 prize — such remembrance. So many things demand 
 my constant thought and attention, that I feel in great 
 
MA11Y LUNDIE DUNCAN. 259 
 
 danger of being drawn away from the secret place where 
 prayer is made and heard. Perhaps something darts 
 into my mind that must be done — a direction to give, 
 or messages to send, or my little darling cries, and I 
 cannot help running to the nursery to take her, fearful 
 that her attendant is mismanaging her temper. Can 
 you, my dear friend, with all the quietness you enjoy, 
 enter into this ? You are sheltered in the bosom of a 
 large family, while I am obliged to think, and plan, 
 and act continually; and housekeeping requires a good 
 deal of thought in the country, far from shops, and with 
 out-door concerns as well as those within. All this 
 may show you how r much I require your prayers. O 
 do not cease to entreat a blessing for me and mine, even 
 the blessing of Him who dwelt in the bush ! . . . 
 Have you had converse with many pious friends, who 
 have lent you a helping hand on your journey? This 
 is a refreshment for which I often long, both for my 
 dear husband and myself; but I hope our Father is 
 teaching us by the — in this respect — almost solitary 
 situation in which we are placed, to say, 'All my 
 springs are in Thee. 9 My nature is to lean too much to 
 earthly aid, counsel, and teaching, and of this I see I 
 must be broken ; and oh that I could feel how much 
 sweeter it is to be taught by my Father in heaven, 
 than through any earthly medium ! . . . Mary ran 
 out of her maid's arms ten days ago. It was her first 
 attempt to walk alone, and I could not have imagined 
 how very joyful the sight would be. O to be enabled 
 to train up this treasured one for God, to see her walk- 
 ing in the safe and pleasant way to Zion, and, from 
 infancy, a lamb resting in her Shepherd's arms ! Do 
 give this dear one a frequent place in your prayers." 
 The above reference to housekeeping cares, and their 
 
260 MEMOIR OF 
 
 disturbing effect on her higher pursuits, brings to mind 
 the unflinching assiduity with which she pursued her 
 domestic arrangements, never excusing herself on the 
 score of illness, and even taking charge of out-door 
 concerns, when she found that they would be neglected 
 if she did not. Some persons have a genius for manag- 
 ing ; they are in their element when the gardener, and 
 the ploughman, and the cook, and the house-maid, are 
 all waiting their instructions. It required but to see . 
 Mary, and hear her gentle melodious tones, to be aware 
 that this element was not hers. Mental cultivation, the 
 muse, converse with the intelligent, >vorks of taste, and 
 acts of benevolence — these were her elements. But 
 while all saw her apply herself strenuously to the occu- 
 pations that she loved not, no one ever heard her com- 
 plain, except from the embarrassment of mind which 
 threatened to impede her spiritual progress. 
 
 Her method of receiving rebuke is scarcely known, 
 for few have lived and given so little occasion for it. 
 But one example exists, which bears so much the mark 
 of Christian meekness, and desire to conquer every evil, 
 that it must not be passed over. She had been much 
 hurried in providing for the wants of her household, 
 while on a brief visit to Edinburgh, in the summer, and 
 was in that condition which reduces the meek and 
 placid frequently to a state of irritability. Some token 
 of this state of things, so slight, that itself and the re- 
 buke it produced had both passed from the memory of 
 the reprover, was thus noticed by herself, in writing, 
 after she had returned home : — 
 
 " Your remark, on Thursday, about my impatience, 
 my dear mother, I hope is doing me good. I did not 
 answer, but it sunk deep, and has shown me to myself 
 in some degree. I desire to watch against it, and to 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 2G1 
 
 cultivate a meek and quiet spirit ; and oh ! when it 
 overtakes me, may it humble me, and lead me to 
 prayer ! My error has been too great confidence in the 
 equality of my temper ; and therefore, being off the 
 watch-tower, it is not wonderful that I have been sur- 
 prised. Care, responsibility, and other causes, have 
 helped to produce the same effect ; but I hope I shall 
 receive ' help from the sanctuary ' to overcome it. It 
 is a grief to me to think that I may have spoken hasty 
 words. Will you tell me that I am forgiven ? " 
 
 Another extract from a letter to that highly esteemed 
 friend, whose image dwelt in her admiring affection, 
 and whose Christian fellowship and prayers quickened 
 her devotion, and cheered her confidence, forms a con- 
 clusive evidence of the growth of love, both human and 
 divine, in her heart. 
 
 To her Friend near London. 
 " Oct. 1, 1838. . . . However I am occupied, 
 my heart is never so much so as to trench on the por- 
 tion of it that has long been yours. How refreshing it 
 would be to see you again ! The dear form that is as 
 distinct in my mind, as if I had parted from you but 
 yesterday, and the voice that has so often spoken to me 
 from afar, assisting me onward when weary, and arous- 
 ing me when my course has become slow and spiritless — 
 that voice I still hear from time to time, and enjoy it 
 as much as absence and distance will permit ; and this is 
 one of the blessings for which I thank the Giver of all 
 good. I long to profit by its admonitions, and being 
 thus reminded of my union with all the family of 
 Christ scattered abroad on the earth, to become more 
 like them, and grow in all that characterizes them, and 
 fits them for his own presence above. 
 
262 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " I can most deeply sympathize in what you say of 
 temptation to lifelessness in closet duties, want of 
 warmth and vigour in approaching God, and depend- 
 ence on outward help for reviving the spirituality of 
 the soul. Alas ! how often have I to mourn these 
 things ! I find that when I am hurried in closet duties, 
 all other things droop and languish, and the tares 
 spring up thick and fast where the heavenly husband- 
 man had planted wheat. Then I seem to have fewer • 
 wants, and less to ask for. The world looks larger and 
 more important, and the bright light that cheered Pil- 
 grim at the end of the narrow way, grows pale and 
 dim. . . I sometimes long for a little of the inter- 
 course I used to find so reviving in former times, 
 and think it would quicken me greatly ; but had my 
 heavenly Father seen this good for me, it would 
 not have been denied me. Therefore, I must beware 
 how I charge my coldness on circumstances; such ex- 
 cuses do not stand before one season of self-examination, 
 much less will they be availing at the awful bar, where, 
 under the all-searching eye, we shall be unable to see 
 things but in their true light. Ah ! how unduly do I 
 
 estimate many things ! Sometimes, dear F , I 
 
 almost fear to tell you, and yet God knows it all. 
 Daily remember me when you enter into your closet, 
 my beloved one, and quicken me to dwell more in mine, 
 by telling me of the happiness you are sometimes per- 
 mitted to enjoy, and of your struggles to obtain it when 
 it is withdrawn. I know a time of quietness must 
 come ere long, when I shall be unable to engage in 
 active duties, and when, if my dear mamma can come 
 to me, I shall be relieved from anxiety — and I trust 
 this may be a time of love, and that my soul may be 
 strengthened thereby, and greatly drawn to my Saviour ; 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNXAN. 203 
 
 but I long to be nearer Him now, to make his law 
 my delight, and to listen for the whispers of his voice. 
 O that I could live in closer union with Christ now, 
 and read my title more clearly to the holy mansions 
 prepared for the faithful followers of Jesus, without a 
 doubt, or a wish for an hour of delay. His grace is 
 sufficient for me, and I know when I feel a lack of any 
 thing, it is because my own heart cannot receive what 
 He is ever willing to impart. But in all times, if He 
 but permit me to cling to Him, I cannot perish. Oh ! 
 is it not cheering, when every other enjoyment is low, 
 and faith is weak and trembling, to return to this, and 
 to resolve that, let the waves swell to their utmost 
 height, still we will cling to Jesus, and, while we are 
 all worthless and unclean, present Him his own spot- 
 less righteousness as our plea of approach, and thus He 
 cannot, and will not reject us ? There is no such friend 
 as Jesus. The more worthless we feel ourselves to be, 
 the more He adorns us with his pure robe ; the more 
 feeble and unable to cling, the more He helps our in- 
 firmities, and binds us to Himself, so that our weakness 
 becomes the cause of an increase of strength ; and when 
 we would leave Him, attracted by some fair and deceit- 
 ful bait, He speaks to us in the tones of pitying love : 
 — ' How shall I give thee up, Ephraim ? How shall I 
 make thee as Admah ? How shall I set thee as Zeboim I ' 
 Sweet words ! often have they recalled the wanderer, 
 and made him come with weeping and with supplica- 
 tions to the foot of the cross. There let us often meet, 
 my own friend, and so shall our faith be strengthened, 
 and we shall gain a nearer sight of the land where the 
 cross is exchanged for a crown, and faint glimpses of 
 our Saviour's beauty for his immediate presence, 
 without one shade of sin to hide Him from us. 
 
264 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " I have been enjoying Blunt's Lectures on the 
 Epistles to the Seven Churches of Asia. How much 
 is to be learned from that portion of Scripture ! how- 
 plain are the warnings, how kind the invitations, and 
 of what boundless extent the kingly promises ! " 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE MUSE RECALLED — A SON GIVEN TWO BROTHERS 
 
 WITHDRAWN. 
 
 The poetical efforts, which in early youth were nu- 
 merous, became restrained during the first period of 
 womanhood. In a letter not now within reach, she 
 explains the reason : — Miss Isa. Gordon, who had 
 observed the cast of her mind with intelligence and 
 solicitude, far from uniting her voice to that of the 
 friends who commended her poetry, and applauded 
 her pursuit of it, " unstrung her lyre," as she said, by 
 judicious criticism, and cautions against dwelling too 
 much in the region of fancy, and consuming time and 
 talents which ought to be employed in more substantial 
 acquirements. It was not till her country residence 
 left a little leisure, which in other circumstances might 
 have been enlivened by society, that she seemed again 
 to replace the chords of her lyre, and to touch them 
 frequently in varied tones. We cannot fail to remark 
 that, however she delighted in inviting her friends to 
 ascend Benarty, and however zealously she toiled to the 
 rugged summit of Dumglow — however she rejoiced, 
 from these airy heights, to explore the Grampians on 
 the horizon line, or the lofty Lomonds, with the placid 
 Lochleven sleeping at their feet, with its isle and its 
 ruin, fraught with recollections of the unhappy Mary 
 Stuart — and however much she was familiarized with 
 
266 MEMOIR OF 
 
 those scenes which had become associated with many 
 of her heart's best sentiments — yet, if the muse was to 
 be recalled, if the spirit of poetry was to be evoked, it 
 w r as to " Tweed's familiar shore," to the genius of her 
 father, and the realm of imagination, dedicated in the 
 hours and scenes of childhood, that her spirit turned. 
 
 In the summer of this year, w r e find a poem, too 
 long for complete insertion, a portion of which shall be 
 presented. 
 
 " THE MUSE RECALLED. 
 
 Full many a toilsome day has past, 
 And many a cloud my sky o'ercast, 
 
 Since those bright hours went by ; 
 "When listening nature's voice was mute, 
 And echo heard the breathing lute, 
 
 And murmur'd in reply. 
 
 Yet 'mid the tasks that life engage, 
 The cares that wait on riper age, 
 
 And time and spirit fill, 
 Back to the past my feelings tend, 
 And thou, the muse, my childhood's friend, 
 
 I fondly love thee still. 
 
 Say, for thy child — a wanderer long 
 From all the lovely realms of song — 
 
 Wilt thou again appear ? 
 Exiled from Tweed's familiar shore, 
 From joys that can be mine no more, 
 
 Wilt thou my spirit cheer ? 
 
 Strike thy sweet lyre, and let the strain 
 Revisit Judah's mourning plain, 
 
 And Jordon's sacred wave ; 
 The stately hills, with cedar crown'd, 
 The fallen shrines, with roses bound, 
 
 And Salem's mouldering grave. 
 
 Then of that better Salem sing, 
 Where holy joys perennial spring — 
 
 The city paved with love; 
 Where never day is closed in night, 
 Nor cloud obscures the holy light 
 
 That fills the land above. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 267 
 
 Visit the fields where David stray'd, 
 Loading his flock in palmy shade, 
 
 And hymning praise on high ; 
 And learn in anthems clear to sing 
 That nobler, meeker Shepherd King, 
 
 Who for his sheep could die." 
 
 At the close of this year, she was again expecting 
 to add another member to the large family on earth. 
 Solemn are the sentiments which press on the heart of 
 a Christian parent at such a prospect. " Yesterday 
 that child was nothing ; but when will it cease to be ? 
 Never ! Immortality is written upon it, and the in- 
 scription is indelible, for it was traced by the finger of 
 God. The mind has but begun its play ; its instincts 
 and its faculties but now move with incipient life. Even 
 dull and worthless matter is of older date, ' Of old didst 
 Thou lay the foundations of the earth.' Ages of its 
 history had passed before it was said of him, ' A child 
 is born into the world.' History will continue its annals, 
 matter its combinations, the heavens their course ; but 
 he shall survive them all ! ! " x 
 
 With such thoughts of the birth of an immortal being, 
 she besought the aid of supplication for her increasing 
 objects of solicitude, on the part of her friend ; at the 
 same time, steadily considering the probability that this 
 period might form the termination of her pilgrimage. 
 
 To her Friend near London. 
 "Dec. 28. 1838. — I commit you to the tender mercy 
 of Him who never forsakes his own, believing that He 
 will surely order all things concerning you for good. 
 Ah ! how much I should value one hour's converse 
 with you, ere my hour of trial comes ! I feel as if it 
 
 1 Rev. R. Watson. 
 
268 MEMOIR OF 
 
 would tend to strengthen my faith and courage, and be 
 unspeakably refreshing. But you would refer me to 
 the only quarter ? whence cometh my help,' and tell me 
 to give greater diligence to seek it there. I have been 
 trying to look straight to Him, and to keep in their own 
 place those subordinate and human helps, to which my 
 heart is so prone to cling. These are precious, and oh ! 
 how essential to our weakness ! but it is He who gives 
 them ; they are but an expression of his love — a love 
 which is unfathomable and unwearied, and which will 
 support to the uttermost those who are stayed on it. I 
 wish I could realize it more ; keenly alive, as we are, 
 to the affection of friends, to a look or word of kind- 
 ness, or to an act of self-denying love from them, how 
 is it that the love of God in Christ is so slow to win its 
 way to our souls? It is expressed in all that is around 
 us, even in vexation, anxiety, sickness, or pain, which 
 are sure tokens that He does not forget us, but deals 
 with us as with sons. And would it not make these 
 things easy to endure, could we, at the tune of suffering 
 them, view them in connection with that love, ever 
 strengthening our minds by the remembrance of Him 
 who endured all kinds of trials in their heaviest forms, 
 because He loved us ? It is ease and rest indeed to cast 
 our burden upon Him, and never does He refuse to bear 
 
 it for us. I hope, dearest F , that you are praying 
 
 for me, and that you will do so yet more and more. 
 Remember as my ties to life multiply, I have more need 
 for your prayers on my own behalf and theirs. Have 
 you not prayed often for my dear little Mary, that she 
 may be a lamb of the fold, precious in the sight of the 
 tender Shepherd ? And will you not abound in sup- 
 plications for all of us, that we may be thoroughly 
 washed, and made meet for the land where all is purity, 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 2 GO 
 
 and nothing that is unholy can enter ? Now, dearest 
 
 F , fare well. Whether life or death be appointed, 
 
 may we soon meet where there is no parting, and no 
 sin ! " 
 
 Diary. — " Dec. 1838. — I have the near prospect of 
 being mother of a second babe. I pray for grace to 
 bear my trial as a child of God, in patience and willing- 
 ness to suffer according to his will. I was rebellious 
 the last time, and bore the pain, not because God sent 
 it, but because I could not escape it. May it be different 
 now ! 
 
 * His love in time past forbids me to think 
 He'll leave me at last in peril to sink.' 
 
 ' When I pass through the waters, He will be with me.' 
 His exceeding great and precious promises encourage 
 me to hope and enable me to cling, though weaker than 
 a child, to the cross, which rises, as my prop and stay, 
 amid these deep waters. If it should be the will of . 
 God that these should prove for me the waters of the 
 Jordan, still He has said, ' I will never leave nor forsake 
 thee.' Often my faithless heart has forsaken Him — 
 been occupied with creature affections, with worldly 
 cares, or with the too engrossing pleasures of imagina- 
 tion, or sloth has prevailed and made me forget that 
 the time is short wherein I may do my Master's work. 
 I have but a life of leaves with very little fruit, and yet 
 my Saviour would willingly work in me the same fair 
 fruits that have adorned his most favourite children. 
 Shall He have to say to me, i and thou wouldst not ? ' 
 Beloved Saviour, I entreat Thee to mould my spirit as 
 entirely to Thy pleasure as Thou didst my frame at first. 
 Let me feel Thee near, and be Thou to me the chief 
 among ten thousand. When I see Thee face to face, 
 T shall love Thee as I ought, and rejoice, being satisfied 
 
270 MEMOIR OF 
 
 with Thy likeness. Till then, O for a more prayerful 
 spirit, and more zeal to work — more grace in my heart, 
 to hallow my converse with ! " 
 
 Here terminates the diary. Her designs are recorded 
 in his presence, " who formed the wind and knoweth 
 man's thought." She is satisfied, serving Him as she 
 ought, and seeing his perfect likeness. And the little 
 book — the sacredly hoarded diary ! — it is vain to search 
 it3 remaining unstained leaves ; not a comma is added. 
 
 Her son was born on the 7th January 1839, the day 
 of the memorable hurricane. Her spirits were tranquil 
 and patient, and her grateful love was like a flood that 
 would overflow its banks during her recovery. Her 
 mind was active beyond her strength, so that it was 
 sometimes necessary to decline reading to her ; and her 
 happy nurses denied themselves, in trying to avoid ex- 
 citing her too much. They were led to smile, however, 
 at their futile caution, on discovering that, instead of 
 resting and " thinking of nothing," she had woven a 
 poem of many stanzas, from a story which was read to 
 her from Todd's Sabbath-School Teacher. The story 
 was that of a German family settled in Pennsylvania, 
 whose dwelling was burned during the war of 1754, 
 when several members of the family were slain. One 
 girl, " Regina," was carried captive, and dwelt, for ten 
 long years, in bondage with a tribe of Indians. She 
 preserved in memory, the while, the texts of Scripture 
 which her parents had taught her, and one hymn which 
 she often repeated or sung. At length an English 
 officer reached the place of their captivity, and rescued 
 upwards of four hundred white captives. He brought 
 them to Carlisle, and invited all parents who had lost 
 children to claim their lost. The mother of Regina 
 went up and down gazing at the captives and weeping, 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 271 
 
 unable to discover her own ; at length she raised the 
 hymn which she used to sing with her children. 
 Scarcely had she sung two lines, when Regina rushed 
 from the crowd, singing it also, and threw herself into 
 her mother's arms. 
 
 From this anecdote, versified, we select a few stanzas. 
 They were dictated to, and written by, her sister, by 
 the side of her couch, sometimes as many as five or six 
 at once. 
 
 ■ There are many voices on the gale, 
 There are wild strange forms in the peopled vale ; 
 They are captives from Indian bondage led, 
 "Whom friends have forgot, or mourn'd as dead; 
 And a throng', with their hopes to frenzy tossM, 
 Have come to search for their loved and lost. 
 Ah ! many a heart that beat high that morn, 
 From the search at night must shrink forlorn. 
 
 And one with sad and wistful gaze 
 Is passing slow through the crowded maze ; 
 But to blooming woman her child is sprung, 
 And with Indian garb and Indian tongue 
 She cannot trace her, though standing nigh. 
 Must they part, unknown to live — to die ? 
 No ! God is faithful, the promise sweet 
 To those who trust it, and they shall meet. 
 
 At length was a thought by heaven inspired — 
 With sudden hope is her wan cheek fired ; 
 ' She raises the hymn of melody 
 
 She sung with her babes in years gone by. 
 The lost one hears— 'tis the well-known strain 
 That has soothed her oft in her lone heart's pain ; 
 She lists, she trembles with glad surprise, 
 To her mother's bosom Regina flies. 
 
 That mother had laid her babes to rest, 
 In their earliest hours, on the Saviour's breast : 
 She had sown good seed and had fearM it dead, 
 But the Lord of the harvest his sunshine shed, 
 
272 MEMOIR OF 
 
 And one of her lost was restored again, 
 By the mem'ry of Zion's sacred strain : 
 How high shall their grateful praises swell, 
 When to earth and time they have bid farewell !" 
 
 January 1839. 
 
 A letter to her London school-fellow will relate, in 
 her own manner, the furnace of trial, both of the heart 
 and the weary frame, in which it pleased her heavenly 
 Father to place her during the winter months. It is 
 the more important to exhibit this, because her consti- 
 tution never overcame the shock it then received, and 
 because her expectation of temporal rest, though never 
 lively, was so much weakened, that her pilgrim staff 
 was assumed with a more resolute hand, and she ad- 
 dressed herself more determinedly to the simple per- 
 formance of duty, feeling all things vain that had no 
 spiritual bearing, and " looking for, and hasting unto, 
 the coming of the Lord." 
 
 " Cleish, February 27, 1839. . , . This has been 
 to me a winter of many events, many anxieties, and 
 constant occupation. How it would have cheered me 
 sometimes, when my heart was overwhelmed, could I 
 have poured it out to you, and been pointed by you to 
 the consolations which / ever found sweet, but which 
 were sometimes obscured by sufferings of various kinds. 
 I must try to give you a history of the winter — scenes 
 from real life, dearest, while you are enjoying life's 
 brightest dream. . . . When I was weary, and 
 not able to do much, my dear little sister was most 
 helpful, as well as kind and cheering ; and, after 
 mamma joined us, we had a fortnight of quiet enjoy- 
 ment before our troubles began. Ah, M dear, it 
 
 is a blessing to have a mother ; no words can express 
 what mine has done for me, all my life through ! 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 273 
 
 " At the close of the year Cornelius came to pass a 
 few days with us, when he was seized with the most 
 serious illness he had ever known. But our God was 
 merciful to us, and he recovered. The 6th of January 
 was a Sabbath, and I read to my invalid brother, while 
 the family were at church. That night the wind blew 
 a hurricane, and the snow fell thick and fast, and that 
 was the night selected for my little Harry to come and 
 make trial of the world, and to bring people from their 
 warm repose to succour him and his poor mamma. I did 
 not regain strength fast, nor, indeed, do I feel by any 
 means strong yet. I had some pleasant hours when on 
 the bed of sickness : many sweet promises were brought 
 to my mind, and I felt the richness and complete efficacy 
 of the divine word, as well as its unchangeable truth. 
 There is sometimes great enjoyment and profit in being 
 taken aside for a season from the world and its daily 
 round of duties and cares, and laid in stillness and 
 weakness to remember Him whose sufferings purchased 
 all our blessings. I passed some weary nights of fever- 
 ish tossings, but sought to follow the example of the 
 sweet singer of Israel, and meditate on my Saviour in the 
 night watches. When baby was a week old, my poor 
 little Mary became ill. She endured great pain, and 
 screamed at times from terror of necessary remedies, 
 which' was painful to everyone, and as much as my nerves 
 could well endure. She was very feverish, etc. . . . 
 
 "Before she recovered, mamma left us. It was 
 hard to part with her and resume housekeeping, while 
 scarcely able ; but this would have been little, if Mary 
 had been well. She became worse, and for one day I 
 thought the Friend of little children was going to call 
 
 her to a better world. Oh, my M , you will never 
 
 understand the agony of such a day, unless you are some 
 
 s 
 
274 MEMOIR OF 
 
 time a mother. But, though tried, we were spared ; the 
 rod was raised over us, and then graciously withdrawn. 
 Medical treatment was made the means of restoring our 
 darling to health ; and now, though she cannot go out, 
 she keeps us lively with her prattle. I live a good deal 
 in the nursery now ; and, when my babes are well, it 
 is a happy life. While in the midst of all this sickness, 
 the cook burnt her foot, and was incapacitated ; so that 
 I have had my hands and heart full this winter. My 
 sister was unexpectedly called from me, to go home 
 with George, the beloved, who is ill. They hid it from 
 us, because we had already so much to do and bear. 
 His medical advisers have prescribed an immediate 
 change to a warmer climate, and have consented to his 
 going to Australia with his brother, where the climate 
 is delightful. Oh, may it be blessed to his restoration ! 
 Oh, it is sad to part with two dear brothers, to the dis- 
 tance of half the globe, and one of them an invalid ! 
 The God of their fathers will be their guide. George 
 writes in a sweet frame of mind, seriously desiring to 
 glorify God in every clime and situation. I, alas ! shall 
 not see my brother ere he leaves Britain." 
 
 To her Sister. 
 " Cleish Manse, Feb. 26, 1839. . . Yesterday was 
 bright and fair, and we rejoiced for the sake of you who 
 were travellers. I hope dearest George is not the worse 
 for his long weary day's work. Now, it is pleasant to 
 think of him in the peaceful shelter of Ruth well for a 
 time, cared for by his own mother and other dear ones. 
 Is George in good heart about his journey ? Tell me 
 how he lives, and if he is allowed to go out, or restricted 
 to the house, and all about him. Thank him for his 
 kind letter to me, and ask him to write me more if he 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 275 
 
 can do so without fatigue. Your last account of him 
 has made me very sad. I wish he were fairly out of 
 this isle of mists. . . 
 
 " We are going on quietly and orderly at present ; 
 but that would not be the case if one of our maids were 
 called home to nurse her sick mother, which seems very 
 likely. You see, dearest, if I am disposed to be over 
 anxious, I am likely to be cured, not by a removal, but 
 by an increase of causes for it. So, perhaps, if I can 
 get over it, and not only pray about things, but leave 
 them at the footstool, I may be less tried in the common 
 round of events. This, however, is but a sinister motive, 
 and there are better ones to urge me. . . Wallace 
 reads to me a little every evening, and makes much 
 of me, as if to indemnify me for the loss of my dear 
 little sister. I hope you are feeling more reconciled to 
 George's departure. O use the time you have with 
 him to strengthen dependence on his heavenly Guide, 
 who has said, ' I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.' " 
 
 The departure of both brothers, without her having 
 the mournful pleasure of saying farewell to either of 
 them, dwelt much on her mind, as a purposed and sub- 
 duing discipline from the hand of her heavenly Father. 
 It was to her tender spirit a heavy aggravation to the 
 trial of their departure ; but was met with resignation. 
 She did not fret nor murmur, but felt with Madame de 
 Guion : — 
 
 " Wishing fits not thy condition, 
 Acquiescence suits thee best." 
 
 Her letters are much occupied on this subject at the 
 period. One passage, showing from what hope she 
 derived resignation, is the only one w T e can quote. 
 
 u I remember the happy days of childhood — gone 
 for ever — when we were all united, as we likely never 
 
276 MEMOIR OF 
 
 shall again be in this world. But this thought makes 
 heaven look lovelier. 
 
 ' When I arrive on yonder shore, 
 There shall be calm enough for me.' 
 
 " These lines are seldom out of my mind; and, I 
 trust, every one belonging to us will be gathered where 
 there is no parting, but perfect union of spirit in the 
 praise of Jesus." 
 
 Longing that each might derive profit from the dis- 
 pensation, and willing to gather the fragments of conso- 
 lation, she addressed her third brother : — " I often think 
 of you now, deprived of both our dear brothers, and of 
 the pleasant prospect of living with George while at 
 college, and having his good advice and example. But, 
 
 my dear R , there is One who sticketh closer than 
 
 a brother ; and if you seek and find Him, He can never 
 leave you. I hope you will make this time, when your 
 dear brothers leave you, the time for seeking that best 
 of all friends. He is waiting with a heart full of love 
 to receive you ; if you only seek Him with all your 
 
 heart, He will not keep you waiting. Oh, R , does 
 
 not the agony our Saviour bore for us, show you how 
 much He loves us? And can any of the trifles of this 
 fast passing world make up for that peace which passes 
 all understanding, and which lasts for ever? The days 
 are gone when we were all together and happy at Kelso ; 
 but there is a better home where I hope we shall all 
 meet again. You would be amused to see your niece 
 now — she is full of fun and joy. She makes me smile 
 sometimes, when I cannot smile about other things. 
 How should I? — George so unwell, and both going so 
 far ! Write when you can to your ever affectionate 
 sister Mary." 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 277 
 
 Among George's papers left behind is one letter from 
 his sister. 
 
 k< Cleish, February 20, 1839. — I cannot tell you, my 
 beloved brother, the many anxieties that have filled my 
 heart for you, since we heard of your present state and 
 prospects. You are going with Corie to the far country 
 where we shall no more be near you. But oh ! if it is 
 blessed to the establishment of your health, how joy- 
 fully shall we look on the separation that grieves us 
 now ! I am much distressed that your native clime is 
 too stern for you ; but God will be the guide of your 
 way, and will, I trust, make a pleasant home for you in 
 the wilderness, as long as it is his pleasure to continue 
 you there. May you be able to say, 
 
 1 1 can be calm and free from care, 
 On any shore, since God is there. 1 
 
 " You must help each other to run in the heavenly 
 way. You can do that as well in Australia as here. 
 The ear of the hearer of prayer is as open to the sup- 
 pliant there, as in this land of privilege. He is himself 
 the fountain of blessing, and sometimes gives it in the 
 greatest abundance when He has made us feel that we 
 have little outward help. He puts the means that we 
 are so apt to rest in out of reach, that we imvy look 
 straight. up to Him ; and when we do this, what showers 
 of grace and comfort does He pour into the heart ! He 
 shows us what a God of love and mercy He is, and 
 how safe we are, amid the many slippery places and 
 weary steps of our journey, walking in his light, and 
 resting under his shadow. He is weakening your 
 strength in the w T ay, my dear brother, that you may 
 lean, more undividedly, on Him who is strong to save. 
 He is changing the plan we all loved to think of, that 
 
278 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of your soon being a messenger of glad tidings, a shep- 
 herd of the flock of Jesus. But I trust it is that you 
 may see more of the glory and beauty that shine in the 
 face of this precious Saviour, and may learn the depths 
 of his tender sympathy ; for oh ! what is human love 
 to this ? And then, having learned the lesson in the 
 school of Christ, how fervently will you declare to poor 
 sinners the riches of his grace ! and what a blessing 
 will follow your labours, if, in after years, you are per- 
 mitted to feed the flock ! But I must check the utter- 
 ance of these hopes ; which, however, will dwell in my 
 own bosom while we are divided. Oh, George ! if I 
 did not know who is at the helm of events, I should 
 call it cruel that you are to go ; and I am not even to 
 see you, or bid you farewell. But it is oar Father's will, 
 and this must be enough for me. I have a wavering 
 heart that often departs from Him, and He sees it 
 needful to subdue it in many ways — and this is one of 
 them. I should have felt it a happiness to contribute 
 to your comfort, and have some sweet converse to think 
 of, when seas are between us. But this may not be. 
 Oh, may it please God to make me willing to submit to 
 
 this ! Dear J will be with you, and do for you all 
 
 that a kind sister can ; but do not forget that you have 
 another sister, whose heart is with you ; and do not 
 forget to pray for me. Oh, 1 have need that all who 
 love me should do so. Pray for Wallace, too, that he 
 may live nearer to Christ every day, and win many 
 souls by his ministry ; and pray for our dear babes, 
 that they may be among the children whom Jesus 
 blesses. Henry Robert was devoted to Him in baptism 
 yesterday ; may the mantle of both his dear grandfathers 
 rest on him ! The weeks you are now to spend in 
 Scotland will be very precious — remembered by those 
 
 
IfABT LUNDIE DUNCAN. 279 
 
 who go, and by those who stay. May they promote tlie 
 growth of grace in each ! And may I, too, grow, though 
 not with you ! I was hoping to have had a few quiet 
 weeks with you, before the General Assembly. Alas ! 
 when may we have a quiet week together again ? " 
 
 u Cleish Manse, Monday night. 
 
 " My Darling Janey. — Though I have not time to 
 write to you, I cannot forbear sending one line to tell 
 you how much I think of you in all your sad yet pleas- 
 ing duties. May you receive strength to be a support 
 and comfort to others in the time of need ! Keep up 
 George's spirits, and after he is gone, do all that is 
 possible to comfort mamma. This will make you for- 
 get self, and you will receive part of the comfort you 
 try to impart 
 
 " Every day, now, is precious with George ; and you 
 will long dwell on the remembrance of this blessed 
 time. Let it be consecrated by much prayer and con- 
 verse on the things that do not pass away* Would it not 
 be pleasant if you could fix with our dear brothers some 
 time, perhaps once a week, when we might all unite in 
 prayer, and feel that, though separated, our hearts are 
 one in Jesus ? It might quicken us all in prayer for 
 each other. Good night, my pet; remember your own 
 
 Mary." 
 
 We here introduce her valedictory poem, addressed — 
 
 ^ To my beloved Brother, George Archibald Lundie. 
 
 Since o'er the wave thy Father's mandate calls thee, 
 And hids thee seek thy home in climes afar, 
 
 Sweet brother, part in peace ! whate'er befalls thee, 
 Still may his presence be thy guiding star, 
 
 To point with heavenly light thy pilgrim way, 
 
 And shine in warning love when thou would'st stray. 
 
280 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Trusting, we yield thee to the mighty ocean, 
 
 For * in the hollow of his hand ' it lies, 
 And on its bosom vast, with meek devotion, 
 
 Thou'lt look from its calm wave to calmer skies, 
 And bless the love that reigns through every clime — 
 The God who fills the universe sublime ! 
 
 When Albion's shores, from thy strained gaze receding, 
 
 Are fading in the dim uncertain haze, 
 And sad affection is thy spirit leading 
 
 Back to the beauteous home of former days, 
 Oh ! may a voice divine be in thine ear — 
 ' Fear not, thou'rt still at home, for God is here ! ' 
 
 Should languor come, thy gentle frame oppressing, 
 And tremble in thine eye the silent tear, 
 
 That now no more thou hear'st a parent's blessing, 
 Nor tender words, that sickness' self could cheer, 
 
 Be Jesus' sheltering banner o'er thee spread — 
 
 His everlasting arms support thy head ! 
 
 Should'st thou, in spirit to thy home returning, 
 Behold the lessen'd circle sigh for thee, 
 
 And each, with mournful love and ardour burning, 
 For thee, retiring, bend the suppliant knee, 
 
 May faith's assurance soothe thy soul to rest — 
 
 ' Their prayers are heard, thou shalt be surely blest/ 
 
 With thine, our prayers shall rise, to Heaven ascending, 
 Nor seas, nor furthest space, a barrier prove, 
 
 And, at the shrine of mercy, sweetly blending, 
 Shall find acceptance through redeeming love ; 
 
 In lands remote our parted course may run ; 
 
 But nought can sever hearts in Christ made one. 
 
 How bright has been our hope to see thee feeding 
 
 His little flock in these our quiet vales ; 
 With watchful care the faint and wounded leading 
 
 To living streams, whose water never fails; 
 Aiding the feeble from the dust to rise — 
 A man of God — a herald of the skies ! 
 
 But go ! Heaven's blessing on thy path attending, 
 Where nature's glories shine on frozen hearts, ■ 
 
 And as the sun, the veil of darkness rending, 
 His morning splendour o'er creation darts, 
 
 May gospel beams diffuse resplendent day, 
 
 To guide the hapless flock that darkling stray ! 
 
 
MART LtTNDIE DUNCAN. 281 
 
 Hon beautiful, on earth's dark liills Appearing, 
 
 Day's harbinger, the messenger of peace : 
 How Bweet his earnest voice, the wanderer cheering, 
 
 That tolls of morn arising, ne'er to cease ! 
 Bear thou those tidings o'er the heaving main, 
 And turned to songs shall be our parting pain ! 
 
 CUithf April. 
 
 A year after, when the banished pilgrim was plough- 
 ing his way through the waves to the still more distant 
 station of the English missionaries on the Samoan Isles, 
 he addressed these remarks to his sister, retracing, 
 doubtless, in his solitary contemplations, the subjects of 
 converse long since passed. 
 
 " What profession, or what employment on earth, 
 can compare with that of a Christian minister or mis- 
 sionary? It is to be, by profession and always, doing 
 the work of God — doing that which is the duty of every 
 Christian, and that, too, without the continual barrier 
 which active employment in any other pursuit presents. 
 When shall I hear from you ? I fear it must be long. 
 But I love your poem, which is dearer to me every 
 time I look upon it. The last verse seems to me now 
 to be prophetic, and fulfilled in part by my present 
 movement. It is sweet and soothing from beginning to 
 end. I wonder if you will write me another !" 
 
 No, dear brother, she will never write you another. 
 The concluding stanza, which you deemed prophetic, 
 was doubly so ; for while you are bearing the tidings 
 of peace over the heaving main, her parting pain was 
 turned to songs. We dwellers in this discordant world, 
 with our ill-attuned hearts, wot not of the songs that 
 now employ her ; but we do know that the voice of 
 praise, ascending from the swarthy thousands of the 
 South Pacific Islands, fills the realm, which is now her 
 home, with joy. Shall we not join them in our feeble 
 
282 MEMOIR OF 
 
 measure, and, bowing to his holy will, say — Blessed 
 be the name of the Lord ! 
 
 The lapse of three years unfolded the remainder of 
 that brother and sister's history as it relates to time. 
 He lived to bedew with tears the letters which told that 
 she was gone from our sight. He expended the strength 
 vouchsafed to him in teaching " native teachers " how 
 to declare that gospel which his heart would have pub- 
 lished to the heathen, had voice been bestowed. When 
 even that exertion became too much for him — when 
 increasing pains and waning strength limited his occu- 
 pations, one of his last efforts was, while resting on a 
 sofa, to place beside him some letters from home, and, 
 as he was able, to read from one and another. These 
 letters, the medium of his last sympathies with the 
 objects of his love from childhood, made into packets 
 by himself, have again girdled the half of our globe, 
 and returned to Scotland. From those of his sister we 
 contribute a few extracts. 
 
 When her brother first revealed to Mary the concern 
 that he experienced in reference to his soul's health, she 
 wrote to him at college : — 
 
 " Cleish, December 1836. — It is a great comfort that 
 Mr Dennison 1 is one to whom you can open your 
 mind, and whose piety and experience will enable him 
 to counsel you. Do not, dear George, shrink from 
 telling him your heart, the very effort will do you good ; 
 you will find that ' thoughts disentangle, passing o'er 
 the lips;' and sometimes, while he is giving you the 
 comfort you seek, you w T ill wonder what kept you from 
 seeing things in their proper light before. Do not be 
 discouraged because your heart is cold and backward. 
 
 1 Now member of the Free Church Mission to the Jews. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 283 
 
 Was it not always so, though you did not feel it before } . 
 And is it, think you, a bad sign that you have now 
 begun to feel it and deplore it? Would it be a bad 
 sign if a man, who had, in the delirium of fever, thought 
 himself well and safe, were to come to his senses, and 
 bemoan himself for the pains that were on him ? No, 
 dear George ; all his friends would rejoice, and, in 
 trembling hope, watch for symptoms of farther amend- 
 ment. Who is it that showed you the coldness and 
 inconsistency of your heart? Did you find it out your- 
 self? Ah, no! you were by nature dead, and in that 
 state could not feel. But the blessed Spirit has had 
 pity on you, and breathed on you, that you may live, 
 and so you marvel at the evils you find within — you 
 did not know before that you were such a rebel. If, 
 then, the Spirit has spoken to your soul, should you not 
 regard this as a token for good, and wait on Him that 
 He may be further gracious ? He is not wont to begin 
 a work and not complete it ; and do not think that your 
 sins are so many, and your instability so great, that even 
 He cannot purify and Hx you. Ah ! had He communed 
 with none but the holy, which of Adam's sinful children 
 would ever have been saved ? There is great hope in 
 thinking of Him, as He is the Spirit of patience. In spite 
 of forgetfulness, and fleeting impressions, and wavering 
 and doubtful suspense on our part, now looking to God 
 as our portion, and then back again to the false allure- 
 ments of earth, He does not w r eary of us, but comes 
 again and whispers with a still small voice, and covers 
 us with shame, that we have wandered, and kindly wins 
 us back to the way of life. ' How can we sink with 
 such a prop ? ' Do not be afraid to look at the depth 
 of your own corruption, rather search it out as with 
 lighted candles, and try to see and to confess to God the 
 
284 MEMOIR OF 
 
 very worst ; take to Him all your sins, and when you 
 feel hard, and not sorry for them, take that very hard- 
 ness to Him as a new sin ; and when you cannot pray, 
 and feel the dullness of alienation from God cramping 
 all your efforts, just confess that too to Him, for who 
 else can cure you ? Do not wait till you feel fervent 
 in spirit, for that is but a device of Satan, to keep you 
 from coming at all ; but come poor and wretched, and 
 the gracious Saviour will wash out all your sins in his 
 ever-flowing blood. Besides, do not think that you are 
 not coming rightly — that deceitful self is always intrud- 
 ing in some shape, and this is a favourite one ; but look 
 away from yourself and up to Jesus, and then you will 
 wonder what made you ever hesitate when you see his 
 looks of love beaming on you, and hear his tender 
 accents saying, in words that never can fail, ' Whosoever 
 will, let him come and take of the water of life freely.' 
 There is enough to revive your spirit and satisfy your 
 thirst ; and God has in mercy made you thirsty that 
 you may drink, and not be of the many who let the 
 living water flow past them, and never pause to drink 
 its healing streams. I feel very anxious about you, my 
 brother, and that God himself may be your guide and 
 leader, shall be my constant prayer. Good bye, dearest 
 George ; believe me your much attached sister, 
 
 "Mary." 
 Another letter, of two years later date, is numbered 
 among those which had a place among his treasures, 
 carried as far as Tutuila. The example of her sweet 
 mode of justifying herself from an erroneous imputa- 
 tion of pride, and her deep solicitude about the state 
 of the parish, are renewed specimens of the Christian 
 character which the other portions of her life have 
 exhibited. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 2$L) 
 
 u Cldsli, January 1838. . . . For once in your 
 life, my dear discerning brother, you have made a mis- 
 take. I do not think there was any pride, or any thing 
 but pure sisterly love, in my sending you the Olney 
 Hymns, and I hope they may prove as refreshing com- 
 panions to you as they have been to me. When your 
 birthday came, and I had no little love-token to give 
 you, I was very sorry, and grieved over my distance 
 from shops. When I have been happy, as in a meeting 
 with all of you, I like some little memento of the time, 
 and in this light I peculiarly value 4 the Glimpse.' I 
 wanted you to have some such memorial. I found 
 some little thing for each of the others, and it would 
 have been hard to have nothing for you, so now you 
 are convinced that you may love the hymns without 
 fearing that they came to speak to you of pride — rCest 
 ce pas. 
 
 " Have you been hearing your favourite Mr Duncan, 1 
 since your return to Glasgow ! I wish I could some- 
 times enjoy that privilege with you. Tell me if he says 
 any thing that strikes you as peculiarly useful. Last 
 Sunday Wallace preached at Kelty, and as it was fine 
 I went with him ; the chapel was crowded, and he 
 preached about the robe of righteousness, and contrasted 
 the wages of sin with that gift of God. It was one of 
 the simplest, most original and colloquial addresses I 
 ever heard him deliver, and the people are all pleased. 
 I wish I knew about their being edified too. Truly we 
 need the hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces ; one 
 and another drops away, and which of them shall we 
 meet in the kingdom of God ? O pray for this people, 
 
 ! Now Professor of Hebrew in the Free Church College, Edin- 
 burgh. 
 
286 MEMOIR OF 
 
 and for their pastor, that grace may be poured into his 
 lips, and that an unction from on high may attend all 
 his labours ! I hope there are hidden ones among us — 
 some who love the Lord unknown to us. If there are 
 not, we are in a woeful case ! I entreat you to be fer- 
 vent in prayer for us. Surely you will not refuse me 
 this. Suppose you were to agree to pray more especi- 
 ally for Cleish one or two forenoons in the week. It 
 would thus be sure to be remembered, and God might 
 bless us in answer to your prayers. When He does stir 
 up a special spirit of prayer, it is a sign He means to 
 send a special blessing. Oh, may we both live in 
 prayer ! and take every department of our minds, and 
 every thing that occupies us, up to God, to be purified 
 and sanctified. When we live in prayer, it is as if we 
 breathed a pure healthful atmosphere, every draught of 
 air giving new vigour to our frames, and new elasticity 
 to our footsteps. With what cheerful alacrity do we 
 run the heavenly race when we feel that our Father's 
 eye of love is on us, and hear his voice sounding in our 
 ears who cheered his disciples with those farewell words, 
 ' A little while, and where I am there shall ye be also ? ' 
 It is only when we forget the near presence of our good 
 Shepherd that we are faint and listless. If we main- 
 tained a constant remembrance of Him, and an earnest 
 desire to do his will, nothing could be uninteresting 
 that comes in the shape of duty, for all is sent by Him, 
 and should be performed to Him. Nothing is too mean 
 to attract his eyes. He notes down all, and we shall 
 hear of it again. Oh, my dear George, why are we 
 not more in earnest to please Him ? Why are his 
 words of truth not ever sweeter to us than honey? How 
 full and how tender is the love with which He looks on 
 us ! He would draw us from every danger that He 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 287 
 
 sees us approaching, and very often we require to be 
 drawn. He would set our feet in a large place, giving 
 us for a portion the glorious liberty of the gospel ; but 
 often we prefer the prison of some favourite sin, and 
 live in sickly damp and darkness, when the bright light 
 of heaven is beaming and diffusing health and gladness 
 among those who look on it. When shall we be wise? 
 May Jesus make us so now ! May our blind eyes be 
 opened and strengthened to see the light ! and then 
 never did we watch the tints of the rainbow with half 
 the delight it will diffuse ; for its hues are truth and 
 peace, and mercy is the bright tint that pervades and 
 enriches all the others. If we live in this light, and 
 walk in it, sweet will be the transition to its native land, 
 where it will beam on us free from the mists of sin, that 
 dim our feeble vision here. Our eyes shall be as the 
 eagle's, gazing in rapture on the fountain of light." 
 
 " Manse of Cleish, September 1839. . . . Do you 
 remember, dear George, to pray that the names of my 
 babes may be written in the Lamb's book of life, and 
 their hearts made white and clean from their infancy ? 
 O help me to pray for them ! I think what sin, what 
 suffering will be saved, if they belong to the Lord from 
 the first, and what a blessing it would be to have little 
 ones who are striving with all their powers to glorify 
 God their maker ! 
 
 " My class of young women is not large, but I trust 
 a blessing attends it. We have dwelt about two months 
 on the person and offices of the Holy Spirit — a subject 
 full of instruction and edification. How many things 
 there are in the Jewish ceremonies that shadow forth 
 his offices ! how many passages in the writings of the 
 prophets that may be referred to Him ! As every class 
 in the Sunday-school had a teacher, and I had no Glass, 
 
288 MEMOIR OF 
 
 I hunted out all the infants I could find, that is, those 
 who could read little or none, and have now a nice 
 little company, who manage to learn a verse or two in 
 the week. It is good preparation for my own babes, 
 to try to simplify every thing so as to be within their 
 comprehension. I only met with 'The Happy Chris- 
 tian' last week, and send it to my darling George, that 
 it may be the medium of a little sympathy between us. 
 You are sometimes disheartened, dearest George — this 
 little book has a striking collection of reasons why a 
 Christian should be happy, and I hope you will act on 
 them. Often the bodily health has a strong power 
 over the spirit, and is it not cheering at such times to 
 think of the Saviour, who knows the frailty of our 
 frame? He never changes. Love is in his heart and 
 in his promises. He is full of compassion and for- 
 bearance, and his consolations distil as the dew over 
 the parched and weary spirit. How reviving to turn 
 from a world of folly to Him whose wisdom is only 
 equalled by his love ! How vain to look for any thing 
 in ourselves to merit this love ! It is free as the air, 
 and life-inspiring as the morning sunbeam. He loves 
 us because his heart is full of love, not because we can 
 ever deserve it ; but this fact is the very thing that 
 should constrain us to love Him with the warmest and 
 freshest of our affections, with a cheerful and self-for- 
 getting love, that makes us willing to labour or to suffer 
 for his sake, as He may require. To live in love to 
 Jesus, is to live in the atmosphere of heaven. O that 
 we, dear brother, may do so, and meet when God 
 pleases, to revive and improve each other ! Alas! when 
 may that be ? But our hopes are not bounded by this 
 narrow circle of time and its concerns — they centre in 
 the everlasting country to which our revolving years 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 289 
 
 are bringing us, and there we shall find no disappoint- 
 ment, no sting of sin, to mar our peace. There we 
 shall be parted no more. Oh, the joyful thought I 
 Let us daily seek to be made meet for such bliss, and 
 k pray for one another.' 
 
 " God bless you, my precious brother ! and with 
 much love from us both, believe me your warmly at- 
 tached sister, Mary L. Duncan." 
 
 This, Mary's last letter to that beloved one, reached 
 him in his far-off isle of the South Sea, in 1840, and 
 bears traces of belonging to the number that he used 
 to unfold with dying hands, and read. It required 
 but revolving months, not years, to unite them in the 
 everlasting country. 
 
290 MEMOIR OF 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 SYMPATHY WITH AFFLICTION — MATERNAL LOVE AND 
 ANXIETIES — INFANTINE RHYMES. 
 
 In the midst of these touching interests, her watch for 
 the souls of the people was as vigilant as ever ; and 
 though her writing became less, her cares being in- 
 creased as well as her headaches, gleanings appear in 
 her letters of that which interested her. For example : — 
 
 " John I , of whose illness you heard when here, 
 
 appears dying fast, and gives brightening evidence of 
 preparation for his change. He says the Saviour has 
 been ' a sweet Christ to him.' He cannot now conduct 
 family worship, but he collects his family round his 
 bed, and prays as he can. W. is much cheered about 
 him." 
 
 Her engagements with her class are thus spoken of : — 
 
 " I am enjoying Serle's Horce SolitariaB on the Titles 
 of Christ. My class brought above two hundred, and 
 also a great many titles for the Church. It was a great 
 pleasure to me to arrange the titles of Christ and of the 
 Church opposite each other, and to find out what would 
 suit." 
 
 Of her domestic enjoyments she writes to her dear 
 school-fellow : — 
 
 " You will not have so many cares as I have, and 
 I trust you will have as many pleasures. Mine are 
 great, as I feel when following my little dancing Mary 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 291 
 
 round the nursery, or speaking to Harry, to gain a 
 sweet smile from him. I have a good deal of my hus- 
 band's company just now, and pleasant evening hours 
 of reading with him. I seldom see any one else, my 
 own dear ones being gone, and the season not tempting- 
 visitors ; so that I have time to think, and would fain 
 use it to some purpose, remembering that eternity will 
 soon wind up all that I am now engaged in." 
 
 The poem entitled "The Return of Israel," was written 
 in the spring. 1 To account for the repeated allusions 
 to the Canticles which it contains, it may be right to say 
 that, during her confinement, she read or listened with 
 great enjoyment to Fry's Critical Commentary, which 
 beautifully spiritualizes that little understood portion of 
 Scripture. 
 
 In the month of May, there was a numerous gather- 
 ing of the family in Edinburgh, on the occasion of Dr 
 Duncan's presiding as Moderator of the General As- 
 sembly ; and, with others, the little family at Cleish 
 migrated for the time. The impression left on the 
 minds of her anxious friends from that period, was 
 that Mary was over-exerting her strength continually. 
 Restless nights with her babe, anxious days because of 
 a nurse that she could not confide in, an affectionate 
 longing to enjoy the society of her friends, hungering to 
 embrace every spiritual opportunity within her reach, 
 providing for her summer housekeeping in the country, 
 and occasional snatches of a debate in the Assembly, 
 seemed all, or any of them, to wear her out. Though 
 some moments of sweet converse were enjoyed — and it 
 was delightful to watch her countenance beaming intel- 
 ligence when listening to Dr Chalmers, or Dr Duff, or to 
 
 1 See Appendix, No. I. 
 
292 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Mr Bickerstetb as he pleaded for Israel — yet the abid- 
 ing thought, after the hasty days had passed, was, that 
 her energy was more than her frame was equal to, and 
 that she must procure repose, or presently be stretched 
 on a sick-bed. Her letters were fewer than usual, and 
 repeatedly the accounts given by friends of their visits, 
 included the description of an evening passed on the 
 sofa by her, quite unable to lift her head. What 
 vigour she had left was awake to the theme on which 
 hung all her hopes. On the 8th of July, writing of her 
 intercourse with a relative whom the Lord had seen 
 meet to smite very sore, she remarks : — " To speak for 
 
 myself, I have felt the better for G 's visit. His 
 
 complete submission, as it regards his losses, strikes me 
 much ; and not the least in reference to his little chil- 
 dren. Instead of wishing he had them to soothe his 
 loneliness, he esteems it a special blessing that they 
 were safe in heaven before they felt the- want of a 
 mother's care. Thankfulness for their happiness, and 
 that of their mother, seems almost to swallow up his 
 grief. These are among the wonders wrought by the 
 religion of Jesus ; and when I remember the agonizing 
 struggle I had in winter, when I thought my Mary was 
 to be taken from me, I wonder whether the power of 
 grace could ever be so manifested in my earthly heart. 
 But G has had long training in the school of afflic- 
 tion, and his heart is much subdued. We have felt it a 
 privilege to have him, and to do what we could to 
 cheer him." In the same letter, she replies to remarks 
 on the expectation of the personal reign of Christ: — "I 
 do not think it the legitimate effect of a belief in the 
 personal reign of Christ to stop missionary exertions ; 
 that arises from carrying it too far, and fixing the time, 
 for which there is no warrant in Scripture. It should 
 
MART LUNDIfl DUNCAN. 293 
 
 excite to greater exertion, that the nations may be wait- 
 ing to receive Him. I feel much interested in the Bub- 
 ject, yet almost tear to study it, lest I should go wrong. 
 The word of divine truth cannot be too reverently 
 handled ; and I shrink from a fanciful and erroneous 
 application of any part of it." To her sister, at the same 
 date, she writes : — " It is good, you know, to bear the 
 yoke in your youth, and I hope this temporary weak- 
 ness may be the means of lasting good, raising your 
 views beyond life, bright with the hues of youth, to the 
 better land, where alone hope is realized, and joy per- 
 fected. I often wish for you, dear, and feel that, how- 
 ever kind others may be, my sister is wanting. Where 
 are our dear wanderers now ? perhaps enjoying the 
 beauty of a southern shore, after their sojourn on the 
 water. Farewell, dearest : let us help each other to 
 pray for them ; and pray for me, that the cares of the 
 world and other tilings may not choke the word, and 
 make me unfruitful*" 
 
 A little poem, bearing date the 29th of July, seems 
 to be the first of many which were addressed to her 
 children ; the ideas in some of them suggested by the 
 mistakes and questions of her little girl. 1 
 
 As we approach the last of her letters to various cor- 
 respondents, each expression of the brevity of life, and 
 of its imperfect enjoyments, arrests the attention ; yet, 
 withal, there was no anticipation of the close being at 
 hand. On the contrary, there were plans for future use- 
 fulness, extending to an indefinite date. To a friend, 
 on the eve of marriage, she writes thus : — 
 
 "September 28. — I trust, dearest, that all has been 
 smiling around you. When should there be a gleam 
 
 1 See Appendix, No. II. 
 
294 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of sunshine in this changing scene, if not at such a 
 time as this, when hope is realized, and those whom 
 similarity of taste and principle have united, are given 
 to each other, to aid, to cheer, to improve, and sustain 
 each other through the rest of life's short journey ? Yet 
 in my own case, the earliest days of marriage were not 
 the happiest; but I was peculiarly circumstanced — taken 
 to a place of perfect solitude, in a wet and gloomy season, 
 while my husband was so much occupied by unavoid- 
 able duties, that he had very little time indeed to spend 
 with me. I thought often and fondly of the dear circle 
 I had left, whose tenderness had shone out the more as 
 the time of parting approached. But I must not dwell 
 on the process my mind underwent then ; as time rolled 
 on, I got more accustomed to my new situation and 
 duties, and felt that W.'s affection was a blessing for 
 which I could not be too grateful ; and now, with my 
 darling children, if I lived in the wilds, I-should not 
 feel it solitary. . . What an advantage the Christian 
 has over others ! While they form plans in their own 
 wisdom, and are bitterly disappointed if they fail, he is 
 resting on his Father, and saying, ' if the Lord will, 9 in 
 all that he proposes ; and when his hopes are frustrated, 
 still, l U is the Lord's will 9 that makes him meekly submit. 
 You, dearest, know this refuge, and, in the midst of 
 new prospects and new responsibilities, you will find 
 it a sweet and sufficient one. You must not be over 
 anxious as those who are orphans by their own choice, 
 for your Father in heaven will order all your lot, and 
 fit you for all its duties. His love is an anchor, as well 
 in the dangerous hour of prosperity as in dark adversity, 
 and I trust every situation in which you are placed 
 will open to you fresh and brightened views of that 
 love. . . We have the prospect of a quiet winter, 
 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 295 
 
 which I hope we shall have grace given us to improve. 
 Wallace will now have more time to read to me, as his 
 Hebrew Lexicon, the labour of years, is finished. I 
 must visit the poor around us as much as I can." 
 
 The hymns, presented in succession, show her pur- 
 pose of educating her offspring in the service of her 
 Lord. 1 Her plan for keeping the Sabbath-day holy, 
 and yet making it delightful, associating habits of 
 restraint with animating and interesting occupation, 
 reveals what would have been her object had the term 
 of life been prolonged. As the event is ordered, He 
 who accepted the purpose of his servant David to build 
 Him an house, and raised up a successor to fulfil his 
 design, may, in condescending compassion, take those 
 dear little immortals, and fit them for his spiritual 
 temple, by means of hands which He has left to pursue 
 her work, and accomplish her matured purposes. We 
 are no meet interpreters of the plans of the Eternal — 
 it becomes us, like Aaron, to hold our peace. 
 
 The last days of September were passed in a High- 
 land excursion, kindly planned by her husband, with a 
 view to invigorate her frame after nursing her boy. 
 
 She hailed the charms of nature with never-tiring 
 delight, and gave permanence to some of her thoughts 
 in the verses which follow. Her spirit rose from created 
 and visible excellence to the divine hand, and to the 
 perfections of the dwelling-place of the Creator, and her 
 own hope of entering there. This journey, in common 
 with all other exertions, terminated in a severe head- 
 ache. She mentioned in writing, shortly after this, 
 " My head is very bad sometimes, but my general health 
 is excellent," 
 
 1 See Appendix, Nos. III. to XL 
 
296 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " VERSES WRITTEN AT CALLANDER, SEPT. 30TH. 
 
 How pure the light on yonder hills, 
 
 How soft the shadows lie ; 
 How blythe each morning sound that fills 
 
 The air with melody ! 
 
 Those hills, that rest in solemn calm 
 
 Above the strife of men, 
 Are bathed in breezy gales of balm, 
 
 From knoll and heathy glen. 
 
 In converse with the silent sky, 
 
 They mock the flight of years ; 
 While man and all his labours die, 
 
 Low in this vale of tears. 
 
 Meet emblem of eternal rest, 
 
 They point their summits grey 
 To the fair regions of the blest, 
 
 Where tends our pilgrim way. 
 
 The everlasting mountains, there, 
 
 Reflect undying light ; 
 The ray which gilds that ambient air, 
 
 Nor fades nor sets in night. 
 
 Than summer sun more piercing bright, 
 
 That beam is milder too ; 
 For love is in the sacred light 
 
 That softens every hue. 
 
 The gale that fans the peaceful clime 
 
 Is life's immortal breath; 
 Its freshness makes the sons of time 
 
 Forget disease and death. 
 
 And shall we tread that holy ground, 
 
 And breathe that fragrant air, 
 And view the hills with glory crown'd, 
 
 In cloudless beauty fair ? 
 
 Yes ! for the glory is the Lord's, 
 
 And He who reigns above 
 Is faithful to the gracious words 
 
 That breathe forgiving love. 
 
 Then on ! then on ! ye pilgrim throng, 
 
 And ever as ye run, 
 Break forth in strains of heavenly song, 
 
 Till home and rest are won. 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 297 
 
 Look up ! look up ! to yonder li^ht 
 
 That cheers the desert grey : 
 
 It murks the close of toil and night, 
 The dawn of endless day. 
 
 How sweet your choral hymns will blend 
 
 With harps of heavenly tone ; 
 When #lad you sin^ your journey's end 
 
 Around your Father's throne ! " 
 
 In the month of October they received a visit from 
 an old clerical friend of her father, who left his young 
 daughter for a time, hoping to strengthen her constitu- 
 tion by a residence in the country. There is reason 
 to believe that this visit was blessed to a higher and 
 more permanently sanitary effect than strength of a 
 physical character ; for the dear girl looks back on that 
 as the interesting turning-point in her heart's history, 
 when the instructions and prayers of Christian parents 
 were made to take root and bud. Describing the time 
 past with Mrs Duncan, she mentions being taken up 
 on Sabbath afternoon to her chamber, where she "talked 
 with her affectionately, prayed with her earnestly, and 
 tried to persuade her, in her own sweet way, to seek 
 Jesus." She also tells of her singing sweetly to her 
 while they sat at work, and taking her to Kinross to 
 amuse her, though, as she remarks with great simplicity, 
 " I was happier and liked better to be with her, than 
 any friend she could take me to." She describes the 
 delight dear Mary experienced in planning some little 
 tilings to send to her distant brothers, and the many 
 headaches she gave herself by labouring at a piece of work 
 which was designed as a remembrance to a dear friend, 
 on her approaching marriage ; each of which little 
 marks will be observed as characteristic. Her industry 
 accomplished what furnished matter of amazement to 
 many. She seemed, as a friend remarked. " to do so 
 
298 MEMOIR OF 
 
 much of every thing for every body," at the same time 
 looking well to her household, and not allowing her 
 own mind to run to waste. Her open book upon her 
 work-table, and her powerful memory laying in stores, 
 while her needle was plied, gave no indication of the 
 suffering head, which allowed itself no respite, though 
 much required. 
 
 Several poems for her children were written towards 
 the end of autumn. 1 
 
 In the end of October she attended the marriage of 
 a beloved cousin in Edinburgh, whom she " had always 
 regarded as a dear elder sister." Her husband returned 
 home without her, as she designed to suffer a double 
 operation from a dentist, and allow herself a day or two 
 of respite between that and her journey. A transient 
 feverish fit in her little son, excited some anxiety in 
 him who was but too willing to find a reason for hasten- 
 ing the return of his beloved partner, and she was 
 hurried home. A fortnight after, she describes her 
 emotions in a letter: — "It was an anxious journey, 
 and many a fearful vision did I conjure up of what 
 might await my return. It was well it was dark, for 
 those in the mail would have been frightened by my 
 face. AYallace said he had never seen such a picture 
 of woe as I was when he met me in Kinross. I dared 
 not even ask how my sweet Harry was. Great was 
 my relief to find him pretty well. I thank the Giver 
 of all good that He heard my cry 'out of the depths' 
 of dread, and sent relief. Oh, how sweet it is to know 
 that there is a home for little children m the Saviour's 
 bosom ! — that when they are taken home, they are 
 taken from sin and sorrow that they have never known, 
 
 1 See Appendix, Nos. XII. to XIV. 
 

 MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 299 
 
 to the full flood of joy and love, to the sweet gush of 
 angel melodies, and all the bliss, and all the hidden 
 things, which are still seen but through a veil by the 
 oldest and most experienced pilgrims on earth. My 
 babes are lent to the Lord, and I feel a delightful hope 
 that, in life or in death, He will accept the offering, and 
 then how can it be with them but well? Yet my heart 
 is weak, and the bare whisper of parting rends it. Will 
 you — do you, my dear friend, pray for them and for 
 me ? Oh ! it is dreary to think of our loved 
 
 ones scattered all over the globe — when to return. 
 Never mind ; there is a meeting place, where love is 
 permanent, and parting unknown ; and, best of all, 
 where hearts are so full of God that his presence is 
 enough to make their happiness perfect." 
 
 Letter to a young Cousin who had recently visited her. 
 
 " Cleish, November 12. . . I have often thought 
 
 of you since you left us, dearest F , and longed to 
 
 know whether you have yet made choice of the one 
 thing needful t there is no time to lose ! Life is 
 flying fast away, and every day bears its account before 
 God. The longer we delay, the more difficult it is to 
 come at all. We can never be safe, and never truly 
 happy, till we have closed with the offer of Christ, and 
 become his for life or death. How kindly He calls us ; 
 how patiently He waits for us ! When He sees us be- 
 ginning to return, how quickly He j runs ' to meet us, 
 like the father of the prodigal ; and how joyfully He 
 welcomes us to all the blessings purchased by his 
 sorrows ! O what a dreadful account we shall have 
 to give in if we resist all this love, and refuse to be led 
 by the good Shepherd in his own pleasant pastures ! 
 Now He is all kindness, all gentleness, winning us to 
 
300 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Himself by love ; longing to have us with Him through 
 a blessed eternity. But if we refuse, He will be our 
 judge ; and oh! how awful to be judged by one who 
 laid down life itself for our sakes. How shall we stand 
 before his piercing eye, or bear his frowns ! But, my 
 beloved cousin, I hope better things of you. Perhaps 
 you have already come to Jesus, and given your heart 
 to Him, entreating Him to purify it by his Spirit, and 
 to bless you, and dwell with you in time and in eternit}'. . 
 If so all must be ivell ; for God will bless you, and make 
 all things work together for your good. But, my dear 
 
 F , do not satisfy yourself with the kind of religion 
 
 which is too prevalent. Do not be content with a 
 partial surrender of yourself to Him. Give all your 
 heart, f Where Jesus comes, He comes to reign.' He 
 will not accept a heart that does not desire to be wholly 
 his. But, if you do desire it, though you may feel your 
 faith weak, your love too cold, and your prayers want- 
 ing in fervour, you need not be cast down for this ; for 
 He has promised that He will be found of those that 
 seek Him. He gives us every encouragement to come. 
 He will supply all our need, and make our sins pass 
 away like a thick cloud before the sun. How sweet is 
 the peace which He gives ! . Those who know Him 
 have a refuge in sorrow, and a double joy in prosperity, 
 because they receive it as from the love of a tender 
 parent. In all times when the heart is sad, they can 
 pour out its sadness before Him, and find rest and relief. 
 When other sources of joy fail, as fail they must ere 
 long, this one but becomes the brighter. It endures 
 down to grey hairs, and rises with fulness of delight 
 when we put on the garment of immortality. 
 
 "How sweet to begin in youth and spend a whole 
 life for God ! How many after pangs are spared ! how 
 
MAKY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 30L 
 
 much work may be done in his cause if we begin in 
 the morning of life ! O how bitterly shall we regret the 
 wasted hours when the evening conies, and the shadows 
 fall, and we feel that the time for exertion is past and 
 gone ! Again, how great an honour it is to be employed 
 in our Saviour's cause — to w r ork for Him who died for 
 us — to be instrumental in winning souls to Him. We 
 may all be useful in some way, if we are desirous to be 
 so ; and if we pray to be shown how, the Lord will 
 guide us to the means. 
 
 " Have I tired you, dear F , with this long letter ' 
 
 I have written it out of real love, and an earnest desire 
 for your soul's welfare. May I ask you to pray over 
 it, that the blessed Spirit may work all that is holy in 
 you ? Please do not show this to any one ; it is for 
 yourself alone. I should like much to hear from you 
 sometimes, if you can spare time. Wallace joins me 
 in kindest love to you and all our dear friends. Do 
 not, dear F , forget your affectionate cousin." 
 
 At this time the gracious awakening of many souls 
 at Kilsyth and elsewhere, made many to look up and 
 lift up their heads, seeing that the Lord had returned 
 in his power, to visit and redeem his people. Prayer 
 meetings were multiplied, and the spirit of waiting on 
 the Lord was given ; the glad tidings were revealed to 
 many souls ; and to those w T ho had, in time past, en- 
 joyed the same blessing, it seemed now richer and more 
 precious. The pastor and parish of Cleish partook of 
 this gracious impulse ; and Mary, " to her power, and 
 even beyond her power," was abundant in hope, in 
 prayer, and in holy converse. It seemed as if she 
 were more fully enriched with the spirit of Christ, and 
 would have extended the arms of her love to embrace 
 
302 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the universe. While she and many with her were re- 
 joicing in the glorious things that were doing in our 
 earthly mount Zion, He who holds the cords of life 
 was quickening her spirit for that holy place 
 
 " Where hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth, 
 Lies asleep on the bosom of bliss." 
 
 She described herself shut out from the moving 
 world, " but tied by pleasant bonds to the nursery, 
 which was her world." " It cannot be told," she adds, 
 " how large an amount of thought, feeling, and time it 
 engrosses. I seem almost to forget other things some- 
 times, but never those in which my heart is interested." 
 Her family, the parish, the church, the glory of Zion's 
 King, these were the never-forgotten objects ; and, in 
 caring for these, her hours passed away ; now and then 
 weaving a rhyme, and again singing forth her thanks- 
 giving in the presence of " the Lord her righteousness." 
 
 When going to an evening prayer-meeting, during 
 one of the last weeks that she was in health, she had 
 detained a Christian friend while she made a nursery 
 arrangement. On hastening to join her, she remarked 
 that she had such delight in her children, and her cup 
 of domestic comfort was so full, that she could not 
 anticipate its long continuance in such a chequered 
 scene as this world. Few days intervened between this 
 grateful acknowledgment of her happiness and its in- 
 terruption, when the same faithful friend was summoned 
 by her own Christian love, in company with another 
 attached member of the congregation, to share to the 
 very closing moment the fatigues and griefs of her last 
 sufferings. 
 
 On the 21st of November, on witnessing the glories 
 of a winter evening sky, she wrote a few stanzas, which 
 
BfARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 
 
 seem left, like a voice of monitory consolation, to him 
 whose earthly fabric of happiness was just about to be 
 shivered to fragments. 
 
 " GATHER THE FRAGMENTS. 
 
 Thin clouds are floating o'er the sky, 
 
 And in the glorious west 
 Lingers the rose's brilliancy, 
 
 "Where sank the sun to rest. 
 A streak of light is hovering- there. 
 
 Unwilling to depart ; 
 And soft and still the wintry air 
 
 Breathes o'er the grateful heart. 
 
 Though summer's step of joy is tied, 
 
 Her voice of music hushed, 
 Her shades of living verdure dead, 
 
 Her flowery chaplets crushed ; 
 Sweet nature still hath power to bless, 
 
 By mercy's hand array 'd, 
 Her morn in fairy loveliness, 
 
 Her eve in dove-like shade. 
 
 So, when the days of joy are past, 
 
 And life's enchantment o'er; 
 "When we have bowed to sorrow's blast, 
 
 And hope is bright no more ; 
 There still are mercies full and free 
 
 Mixed in the cup of woes ; 
 And where the mourner cannot see, 
 
 In faith he onward goes. 
 
 Then weep not o'er the hour of pain, 
 
 As those who lose their all ; 
 Gather the fragments that remain, 
 
 They'll prove nor few nor small. 
 The thankful spirit finds relief, 
 
 In calm submissive love, 
 Toils hopeful on, amidst his grief, 
 
 And looks for joys above." 
 
 We find, bearing the date November, some other 
 poems addressed to her children. 1 
 
 1 Appendix, Nos.- XV. and XVI. 
 
304 MEMOIR OF 
 
 To a friend in affliction she wrote among the last of 
 her letters : — 
 
 " Manse of Cleish, November 25, 1839. 
 
 " My Dear Madam, — Although I hesitate about 
 intruding on you in the time of sorrow, I cannot rest 
 satisfied without the expression of my true and heartfelt 
 sympathy with you. Three days since, the notice of 
 your heavy bereavement reached me. I can feel a 
 deeper sympathy for you now than I could have done- 
 before I understood the depths of a mother's love. 
 Alas ! how mysterious is the providence which has 
 called from you your beloved and only son ! How 
 many hopes are withered ! How much love has gone 
 down to the silent grave ! But you know and feel, I 
 trust, so powerfully as to sweeten even this bitter cup, 
 that love is in this dispensation, and that it is the hand 
 of a heavenly Father that holds the rod. O what 
 comfort there is in this thought! He will- not use it 
 further than He sees it needful and salutary ; and He 
 tells you, even while doing so, that ' w T hom the Lord 
 loveth He chasteneth.' Yes, my dear afflicted friend, 
 blessings even greater than the possession of your 
 precious boy may become yours through his removal. 
 If the love that was so warmly his is more firmly 
 centred in Jesus — if heaven appears more like home, 
 and earth more like the pilgrimage it is — and if thus 
 your steps are quickened towards it, shall it not be ivell f 
 We never feel the true meaning and value of our Lord's 
 promises, till we are in the situation to which they are 
 especially suited ; and many and sweet are those ad- 
 dressed to the afflicted. I trust you are now enabled 
 to feed on them, and find them as the refreshing manna 
 to Israel in the desert. The voice of human sympathy 
 is vain ; friends can only weep with you ; but Jesus, 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 305 
 
 that most empathizing of all friends, has power to 
 comfort too. He has early taken your darling from an 
 evil world, to be, I trust, with Himself for ever; and 
 is there not joy in this ? May you feel his own hand 
 supporting your drooping head, and turning the tears 
 of sorrow into tears of submissive love ! Forgive, my 
 dear madam, this feeble attempt to express my sympathy. 
 Receive Mr Duncan's with mine ; and offer it with true 
 
 kindness to Mr , and your dear little girl, whom 
 
 it has pleased God to leave lonely. Be assured of the 
 feeble prayers of yours, with most sincere regard, 
 
 " Mary Lundie Duncan." 
 
306 MEMOIR OF 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SPIRITUAL REFRESHMENT IN DUNFERMLINE — DILIGENCE' 
 
 IN DUTY LAST SABBATH IN GOD'S HOUSE SICKNESS 
 
 SUFFERING RELIEF FROM IT FOR EVER. 
 
 Those who had the privilege of intercourse with her 
 at this time, remark that Mary never appeared more 
 sweetly lovely in her liveliness. The idea of the Spirit 
 of the Lord being at work, and about to be poured out 
 in fuller measure on her own parish and her country, 
 seemed to have called all her powers into animated and 
 joyous action ; so that while she prayed more fervently, 
 and more ardently looked up expecting an answer, her 
 pulses seemed quickened, and her common engagements 
 were pursued with more elasticity. 
 
 The news that a meeting was to be held in Dunferm- 
 line, under the direction of Mr W r . Burns, the young 
 pastor whose ministrations had been blessed elsewhere 
 to the arousing of many, led her to desire to unite with 
 the friends of the Redeemer there in prayer and suppli- 
 cation, and in hearing the word of the Lord. Her 
 husband having a professional engagement elsewhere, 
 she went in company of a female friend. Her desire 
 was fulfilled — a large share of spiritual influence rested 
 on her — and as she was leaving the sanctuary in the 
 evening, she said to her friend, " I thank my God that 
 I have been permitted to come here, and feel assured 
 
MARY LUXDIi: DUNCAN. 307 
 
 faith and confidence fill my soul." The words of Mi' 
 Grey, in her funeral sermon, well describe this bright 
 experience, so close upon her entrance into the shadowy 
 valley : — " Her heart was full of divine love, her soul 
 was much drawn out in prayer, and she spoke sweetly 
 of Jesus to many. In the evening of that day, and 
 again the following morning, she read the Scriptures, 
 and conducted prayer in the family in which she passed 
 the night, where several female friends were assembled ; 
 and in these exercises she was remarked to be, as it 
 were, 'filled with the Spirit/ her i heart burning within 
 her/ and giving eloquence to her tongue. Many were 
 edified by her conversation, and one young person, who 
 had for a long time experienced much distress of mind, 
 appears to have been guided by her to the sure consola- 
 tions that are in Christ. Next day, visiting a lady's 
 charity school, she spoke affectionately to a little group 
 of girls on their soul's concerns, some of whom were 
 much impressed, and were noticed, on a succeeding 
 night, engaged in earnest attendance on the religious 
 exercises in church. The visit was blessed to her own 
 soul, and, we trust, has proved a blessing to others." 
 On her return, before she reached home, the damp cold 
 air of the evening had fallen. This confirmed a cold, 
 which probably originated in her having continued till 
 a very late hour in her chamber the previous night, in 
 devotional exercises, and in taking notes of what she 
 had heard in church, so that she went to bed exces- 
 sively chilled. But ten days elapsed before her health 
 appeared to have sustained serious injury. On that 
 subject she remarked, " if her body was harmed, her 
 soul was refreshed." On the Sabbath, she read the 
 notes she had taken of Mr Burns' sermon, to her class 
 of young women ; pouring out her heart in earnest 
 
308 MEMOIR OF 
 
 entreaties that they would make sure work of their 
 souls' safety, by surrendering them now to Christ. 
 During that week, her time was, as usual, fully occupied 
 with work, ticketing and cataloguing Sunday-school 
 library books, and making a list of those which had 
 not been returned, visiting the sick, reading to the aged, 
 and teaching the young. A domestic remarked that, 
 for a long time before, she never stayed a few minutes 
 in the nursery, without mentioning some plan for the 
 benefit of some one. Her husband observed her in- 
 creased activity, and when he urged her to delay various 
 exertions till her cough should be relieved, she seemed 
 as if she felt time too short and precious — she must 
 work to-day, for the night was coming. Even her 
 delight in music was swallowed up in the pursuit of 
 Christian duties and spiritual occupations, so that, for a 
 long time, the evening hour had not been cheered by 
 her strains. 
 
 At this time she wrote to Dr Patterson, whose Chris- 
 tian exertions in Russia and elsewhere, have made his 
 name familiar in all the churches. Her object was to 
 promote the education of a youth in the neighbourhood, 
 who was not solicitous to what body of Christians he 
 was united, so that he might become qualified to seek 
 lost souls ; and she felt it a pity that any portion of 
 zeal and love should be lost for want of a little exertion. 
 The good man, in his reply, expressed his pleasure in 
 observing that catholic spirit, which, in these days of 
 division and estrangement, dwelt uncontaminated in her 
 breast, and enabled her to apply to a dissenter with as 
 free a heart as to a churchman ; and, it is for the pur- 
 pose of exhibiting this trait of her character, which 
 could not have been perfect in love without it, that the 
 incident is named. All who loved the Lord Jesus 
 
^^ 
 
 My Saviour bo thou near me, 
 Tliio' litcs' nigh! , 
 I (iv, .Hid (lion >vill lir.n BBC, 
 Be niv li»1ii! 
 Mv dim si-lu admig, 
 frt'iitlv iliourl malting; 
 Moo\ li)i awaking-, 
 
 Where all is hri-lil. 
 
 
Ef A Jl K. 
 
 Tlno' lif'cs' 
 
 r gn i jj^ 
 
 P 
 
 ^ 
 
 £ 
 
 li^n ! 
 
 /? H* 
 
 dim si«'1il 
 
 ^ essss i - ^ — ' "^Z- 
 
 XZ3 S_ 
 
 ^#? 
 
 J i n f n s 
 
 iK iii«.-, When 
 
 * 
 
 -g| 1 1 
 
 m 
 
 * . 
 
 ^ 
 
 i : ! k :-j 
 
 -J H 
 
 flno' mile's swelling ocean , 
 
 Be inv f rnidc ! 
 From tempests wild ctnmuotioi] 
 Hide, hide' 
 I. df's ( i \ si.tl rfvei , 
 Storms ruffle never, 
 Anchor nit ever 
 
 On that (.dm tide 
 
 VI. L I). 
 

BfAHT LlNDli: DUNCAN. 309 
 
 Christ in sincerity, mv/v her brethren on earth ; all who 
 love Him in sincerity, are her brethren in her eternal 
 
 abode. 
 
 There exists, in the minds of many, a feeling of the 
 deficiency in the collection of Paraphrases for the use 
 of praise in our Church, not in number and variety only, 
 but in Christian love and doctrinal faithfulness. A 
 missionary compartment, in particular, would form a 
 valuable addition ; and the Church of Scotland's Mis- 
 sion to the family of Israel having been pointed out to 
 Mary, she at once entered into the idea, and a para- 
 phrase on a portion of Isaiah was the result, also 
 that address to " the Isles of the Gentiles." 1 
 
 Several poems collected in the Appendix cannot be 
 arranged exactly according to their dates ; but whether 
 composed at an earlier or later period, whether the sub- 
 jects are of heaven or of the smallest of God's works, 
 the same holy remembrance of her Covenant Head is 
 seen in all — his skill, his love, and the prospect of his 
 presence, enhance her admiration, and render her hope 
 more ardent. 
 
 To a Greek air, which a dear friend loved to hear 
 her sing, she composed, at the piano-forte, the annexed 
 stanzas, not being satisfied with the trilling words at- 
 tached to it. They bear date the 20th December, the 
 last effusion of her muse, and the prayer of their peti- 
 tion was about to be answered speedily. It has been 
 remarked, says Novalis, that we are less dazzled by the 
 light at awaking, if we have been dreaming of visible 
 objects. Happy are those who have here dreamt of a 
 higher vision ! They will the sooner be able to endure 
 the glories of the world to come. 
 
 i Appendix, Nos. XVII. and XVIII. 
 
310 MEMOIR OF 
 
 It was either on this day or that which succeeded it, 
 that a friend returned from Dunfermline, fraught with 
 good tidings of many being pricked to the heart, and 
 inquiring the way of salvation. While the narrator 
 proceeded, Mary sat with clasped hands and eager gaze, 
 and for a time she could find no utterance. When she 
 did, her lips poured out the emotions of a heart rejoicing 
 in the glory of the Redeemer, and the rescue of the 
 perishing; and she said, among other things, "I have 
 felt for some time past as if the business of my life was 
 to pray for Christ's kingdom." 
 
 A note inviting her brother to pass his week of col- 
 lege leisure at Cleish, shows how little she suspected 
 that the dart of the King of Terrors was already fixed 
 in her bosom. " We are living in the hope of seeing 
 you next week, and trust we shall have a merry Christ- 
 mas together. I have a bad cold, but the joy of seeing 
 you will drive it away." 
 
 " On Saturday," as Mr Grey continues in his sermon, 
 " she was exposed unconsciously for a long time to a 
 current of cold air, which chilled her whole frame. Yet 
 next day she rose and applied herself to her Sabbath 
 duties with her usual zeal, taught her class of young 
 women in the morning, and after attending church, her 
 class in the Sabbath school, having felt particular plea- 
 sure in the service of the sanctuary, and shown great 
 earnestness in the instruction of her interesting pupils." 
 She returned chilled and shivering, and, as the servants 
 observed, " bent almost double," from the school ; but 
 still the unwearied spirit led her to lament that her 
 strength was all exhausted, so that she could not visit 
 "Old Kate," a very aged person, to whom she frequently 
 repeated great part of the sermon. "Thus," continues 
 Mr Grey, " was the last Lord's day of her conscious 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 311 
 
 communion with the saints on earth spent in the Lord's 
 service, with her loins girt, and her lamp burning. To 
 her power I bear record, yea, and beyond her strength 
 she was willing and zealous to do good, still to the end 
 devising and executing plans of Christian kindness. The 
 fever had already seized her, which, though not alarm- 
 ing to the inexperienced persons around her at first, 
 advanced rapidly, and, a few days after, deprived her 
 of the power of commanding her thoughts, inducing 
 convulsive effort and incoherent expression. In the 
 earlier part of her illness, she murmured words of her 
 father, her mother, often of ' Jesus/ ' his blood/ and 
 once, when asked who Jesus was, she answered, ' The 
 man of sorrows.' When her husband expressed his 
 concern for her great sufferings, she replied, 'Quite con- 
 tent;' and on one occasion he repeated the passage, 
 'These are they that came out of great tribulation, and 
 have washed their robes and made them white in the 
 blood of the Lamb ; therefore they are before the throne 
 of God/ etc. ; Rev. vii. 14-17. The words 'wonderful 
 peace' passed her lips, as if expressing her own experi- 
 ence in reference to the sentiment. On another occa- 
 sion, she said, ' I would give all the world to be with 
 Christ.' Being asked if she would like a revival, her 
 whole countenance kindled into a glow as she replied, 
 '.Sweetly, sweetly.' That was her last smile, and it 
 was given to Jesus and his cause. Such were the testi- 
 monies to her Saviour, that her dying lips were per- 
 mitted to utter. At one time, turning to her husband, 
 without any appearance of wandering, she inquired, 
 ' Do you not hear that beautiful music?' He asked 
 what it resembled, when she attempted to imitate it in 
 her own silvery tones, but the effort was too great, and 
 she relapsed into a comatose state. 
 
312 MEMOIR OF 
 
 " On an early day of her illness, when she probably 
 felt, what her husband was unconscious of, that the 
 sentence of death was in her, she expressed a most 
 tender farewell to him, which, a short time after, the 
 accession of disease would have rendered impossible. 
 About the same time, when he, within her hearing, 
 mentioned his surprise that she did not inquire for the 
 children, she said, unexpectedly, C I want to see my 
 children ; I am heart-sick for want of them.' Her 
 mother, distressed at finding that, although sometimes 
 called for by the poor sufferer, she was not recognized, 
 and could not awaken a sense of her presence, made it 
 her petition to the compassionate Lord, that, though 
 she should never be recognized, He would grant her 
 one word, but one word, from her child's lips, declaring 
 what her hope was. At this time, the patient had sunk 
 into a state of stupor rather than repose. When roused 
 out of it, her husband, unconscious of the petition which 
 had been spread before the mercy-seat, put the question, 
 4 What is your hope ? ' to which she clearly and distinctly 
 answered, 4 the cross.' Brief, but ample testimony ! 
 Revealing two solemn truths — the one overwhelming 
 with grief — the other mighty in consolation. The 
 answer to the petition seemed to say she must depart 
 from us ; for were she to be restored, she might have 
 future opportunities of professing her faith, and, there- 
 fore, this one had been unnecessary. But that it was 
 answered so speedily indicated that He who hung upon 
 the cross was nigh to us in this hour of woe, faithful to 
 his word of old, ' In all their afflictions He was afflicted, 
 and the angel of his presence saved them.'" 
 
 In the sermon the following comparison is added : 
 — " These words were articulately and intelligently 
 uttered ; and while they undesignedly fulfilled her 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 313 
 
 mother's prayer, and confirmed her husband's confidence, 
 though by no means necessary for the consolation of 
 either, they may justify us in conjoining her with the 
 interesting group of the same name who, with the be- 
 loved John, attended the Saviour in his dying moments, 
 when the other disciples had forsaken Ilim and fled ; 
 for, we are told, ' there stood by the c?*oss of Jesus his 
 mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, 
 and Mary Magdalene.' And as these stood by the cross, 
 and clung to the Saviour, though at the time very im- 
 perfectly apprehending the nature of his sufferings — 
 so our beloved Mary clung to the cross as her hope, 
 however imperfect her apprehension of all things else." 
 
 How precious were the isolated w r ords that dropt 
 from her parched and indistinct lips ! When all our 
 feeble communings were shut out from her, the Spirit 
 of Peace infused his own consolations. We were by 
 these words at times furnished with a key by which we 
 interpreted volumes of thought which she could not 
 reveal. Words sprinkled over a watching time which 
 knew no night of respite, are left as the index of that, 
 the perfect reading of which is not for earth but for 
 heaven. 
 
 How solemn is the evidence of God's holy indignation 
 against sin, that though the blessed Jesus has removed 
 the sting of the last enemy, yet even from his own dear 
 children He has not seen fit to withdraw his terrors ! 
 Who can behold a beloved member of the body of 
 Christ, whose glorious Head is in heaven, writhing in 
 pain, shrieking in feverish energy, and not feel that 
 death is a fearful enemy, sent at first as an evidence 
 that sin can have no share in eternal life, and continued 
 even to the ransomed, to prove to all more surely, 
 that their victory is not of themselves, but of Ilim 
 
314 MEMOIR OF 
 
 who, to wash them from their sins, expended his own 
 blood ? 
 
 How formidably are the characters written, "dust 
 thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return ! " " There is 
 no discharge in that war." What now has befallen that 
 fair high intellectual brow ? Darkened and speckled 
 by fever, knitted and wrinkled by pain. Those beam- 
 ing, loving, smiling eyes — alas ! are they these starting, 
 bloodshot, parched and sightless balls? From scenes 
 like this, the world hides itself; it veils them, and calls 
 the act delicacy. But the divine hand that inflicts has a 
 divine purpose in the infliction ; and shall the servant 
 of God " walk delicately," and turn away from the 
 humbling spectacle ? No ; let us see what desolations 
 sin hath wrought on the earth, and then heal the torn 
 feelings by the consideration that the child of God has in 
 this encountered his closing conflict ; that, from hence- 
 forth, not only peace and ease will be his portion, but 
 fulness of joy at God's right hand, and pleasures for 
 evermore. 
 
 " I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starr'd 
 With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul ; 
 Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marrd, 
 Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal ; 
 I know thou hast drank of the Lethe that flows 
 Through a land where they do not forget ; 
 That sheds over memory only repose, 
 And takes from it only regret. 
 
 And though, like a mourner that sits by a tomb, 
 
 I am wrajit in a mantle of care ; 
 
 Yet the grief of rny bosom — oh, call it not gloom — 
 
 Is not the black grief of despair. 
 
 By sorrow revealed, as the stars are by night, 
 
 Far off thy bright vision appears; 
 
 And Hope, like the rainbow, a creature of light, 
 
 Is born, like the rainbow, in tears." l 
 
 1 T. K. Hervey. 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 315 
 
 AVIiile death was working his fearful havoc on the 
 ear tli en tabernacle, and a word of peace occasionally 
 dropping from the lips, there was one indication that 
 the poor soul was still struggling, and perhaps in these 
 solemn moments suffering from the fiery darts of the 
 adversary, who, when he cannot interfere with the final 
 security of the sheep of the fold, will still hang on their 
 skirts, and make their hearts tremble ; for has not the 
 word, which cannot lie, described him " as a roaring 
 lion, seeking whom he may devour?" On one occa- 
 sion, when she was repeating her often murmured call, 
 4i Mother, come ! come ! " unconscious that she was 
 hanging over her, the stanza was recited — not, how- 
 ever, anticipating that it would be observed : — 
 
 " Jesus thy blood and righteousness, 
 My beauty is, my glorious dress. 
 'Midst flaming worlds, in these array M, 
 With joy will I lift up my head." 
 
 The pupils of her eyes, generally contracted to the 
 smallest point, dilated suddenly ; she looked with 
 anxious intelligence, till she uttered slowly, word by 
 word, " but — I — doubt/' — The gleam was past, the ex- 
 panded eye-beam closed to its former blank ; she spoke 
 no more. How vainly, then, for aught that appeared, 
 were the words poured out upon her vacant ear — " To 
 them that believe will He give power to become the 
 sons of God;" "I will never leave thee, nor forsake 
 thee ;" " He that cometh to me I will in no wise cast 
 out," etc., etc. And was it possible that this mournful 
 gleam, which had been permitted to dart from the cloud 
 which shrouded her mental powers, was meant as an in- 
 dication that she was still, in the midst of feebleness and 
 anguish, liable to conflict with that daring foe ? It is 
 probable that the thought passed, and never afflicted her 
 
316 MEMOIR OF 
 
 soul again ; but even this tremulous expression teaches 
 that the prey is taken from the mighty — that it is the 
 lawful captive whom Christ delivers — that the wilder- 
 ness, even to the crossing of Jordan, is still the wilder- 
 ness, and that sustaining and comforting power is with 
 Christ, and Him only. 
 
 The struggle of the young life in her, however, was 
 subsiding. Those weary tossings were gradually be- 
 coming still. Those long rich mournful tones, which • 
 had made the chambers ring for days, were hushed — 
 tones, whose pathetic sweetness was all that remained 
 by which she might have been identified. 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 babes. She had no leave to 
 take of any one, and wanted nothing more of any of us 
 but a grave. That day fortnight, at mid-day, she had 
 joined the voice of the multitude who kept holiday in 
 the sanctuary. That day week the door of the sanc- 
 tuary was closed. God was preaching to Cleish by his 
 solemn providence. But on that day — fourteen days of 
 anguish having terminated the conflict — shortly after 
 the hour of noon was past, her own sweet countenance 
 returned, her breathing sunk away, and her emanci- 
 pated soul passed into the world of spirits. There no 
 pause occurs in the acts of worship. Where the Sab- 
 bath is eternal, it requires no returning seventh day to 
 bring back the congregation to re-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. Death is a 
 dark and gloomy porter, but it has been his office, and 
 
MARY LUNDIE DUNCAN. 317 
 
 will be to the end, to open the realms of everlasting 
 day to all who are united to Christ. 
 
 The snowdrop may droop its pallid head over the 
 turf that covers that precious clay, and the primrose, 
 that she loved, may open its fragrant petals, amid the 
 grass, showing that the hand of lingering affection has 
 been there : mourning love may raise its modest tablet 
 to tell whose child, whose wife, whose mother, and whose 
 friend is taken from the earth — that is the 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 endureth for 
 ever ; dwelling in that light which is ineffable and full 
 of glory ; and desiring that all she ever knew and loved 
 on earth may, through like precious faith, join her in 
 the kingdom and glory of the same precious Saviour. 
 
 A few lines from the conclusion of the funeral sermon 
 must wind up the character, which needs no touch but 
 that of truthful delineation : — " Mary, as one pure and 
 holy, kept by divine grace in nearness to, and reliance 
 on, her God and Saviour, seemed a merciful selection 
 in point of fitness, if one were to be withdrawn from 
 our circle. But how heavy the loss ! Where was a 
 creature more beloved, more esteemed, and blessed by 
 every heart's good wishes ? This stroke has all manner 
 of consolation of a spiritual kind in it. No one could 
 be more willing to go. She has got her wish, or at 
 least, if her tender and considerate care for others did 
 not suffer her directly to wish, yet what her choice 
 would have been, no contending cares interfering. In 
 her diary she expressed it several years before : — ' When 
 I think of heaven it seems so blessed, that I wish I 
 were there. . . I shall be there for ever ; so let me 
 seek more fitness for it every day.' She is safe, happy 
 
313 MEMOIR OF 
 
 — free from care, sin, sorrow, from henceforth. Her 
 light shone brightly here, and leaves a train of softened 
 radiance behind. How indefatigable was she in doing 
 all she could for others, labouring for their interests in 
 spiritual and in common things, amid duties and occu- 
 pations of her own immediate charge that are enough 
 to wholly engross most people ! We used to wonder at 
 the trouble she took about every body ; her sweet, mild, 
 Christian manner, giving a touching, edifying grace to 
 all she did. God gave her grace to accomplish more, 
 and made her light to burn the more brightly, that it 
 was soon to be extinguished. " 
 
 A white marble tablet, with a black framework, is 
 erected within the porch of the church by her husband. 
 Some members of the congregation, not satisfied that 
 the grave, also, should not possess a memorial of their 
 departed friend, raised a stone in the churchyard, not 
 more a testimony to departed worth, than Jo their 
 affectionate gratitude for spiritual benefits derived from 
 her whose remains rest there in hope. 
 
 " Seed sown by God 
 To ripen for the harvest. 1 " 
 
 Such was the simple epitaph of Klopstock over his 
 Meta. — Seed sown in God's field. We have rejected 
 the appropriate and ancient Saxon name of " God's- 
 Acre," and have adopted the name of churchyard, thus 
 losing sight of the august proprietor. This is the only 
 acre in the parish which yields no crop for man. Man's 
 seed-times and harvests make their annual round. He 
 ploughs and sows, reaps, consumes, and sows again. 
 No inch of territory is left unclaimed which the hand 
 of industry can render fruitful save this little spot, and 
 it is God's husbandry. Man, the sower, himself be- 
 
MART LUNDIE DUNCAN. 319 
 
 comes the seed, and death prepares him for the earth. 
 The lord of all the surrounding hind here requires no 
 more space than does the poverty-stricken man, who 
 never before called a foot of earth his own. Here is 
 found room for both. God's harvest-time seems long 
 — scoffers have dared to say, Where is it? " for since 
 the fathers fell asleep all things continue as they were." 
 But it approaches — it ripens apace. His " harvest is 
 the end of the world." The power that caused the 
 dead walls to crumble in years gone by, at the blast 
 blown by feeble priests who bore the ark of the Lord, 
 will cause dead man to rise up, and stand ripe for the 
 sickle, when the last trumpet shall sound, and the an- 
 gelic hosts shall come forth as reapers in the presence 
 of the Lord. The Lord of the harvest has promised to 
 receive the fruits of the travail of his soul into his 
 blessed and eternal mansions. 
 
 " And so shall we ever be with the Lord. — Where- 
 fore comfort one another with these words." 
 
320 
 
 MEMOIR. 
 
 Inscription on the Marble Tablet in the Parish 
 Church of Cleish : — 
 
 Co tl)t fHcmorj? of 
 MARY, 
 
 DAUGHTER OF THE LATE 
 
 REV. ROBERT LUNDIE, OF KELSO, 
 
 AND WIFE OF 
 
 THE REY. W. WALLACE DUNCAN, 
 
 OF CLEISH. 
 
 IN THE MORNING OF LIFE, 
 
 THE SWEET AFFECTIONS OF HER HEART, 
 
 AND EVERY ENERGY OF 
 
 A POWERFUL AND 
 
 HIGHLY REFINED INTELLECT, 
 
 WERE CONSECRATED, BY THE HOLY SPIRIT, 
 
 TO THE SERVICE OF 
 
 JESUS CHRIST. 
 
 LOVELY, ALIKE IN PERSON AND IN CHARACTER, 
 
 SHE DISCHARGED WITH FIDELITY THE DUTII 
 
 OF A WIFE AND OF A MOTHER, 
 
 AND PRAYERFULLY SOUGHT TO IMPROVE 
 
 EVERY OPPORTUNITY OF USEFULNESS 
 
 AMONG THE PEOPLE OF THIS PARISH ; 
 
 TILL, 
 
 UNEXPECTEDLY, BUT NOT UNPREPARED, 
 
 SHE FELL ASLEEP IN JESUS, 
 
 ON THE 5TH DAY OF JAN. 
 
 A.D. 1840. 
 
 AGED 25. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE RETURN OF ISRAEL. 
 
 Where is the beauty of that ancient land, 
 Where patriarchs fed their flocks by living- streams? 
 
 Still tower to heaven its mountain summits grand, 
 Still o'er them flings the sun his glorious beams : 
 
 But bowed on Lebanon the cedar's pride, 
 Nor vine nor olive waves on Carmei's rugged side. 
 
 Where is the melody of sacred song 
 That.floated tuneful down the vales of yore, 
 
 Where David led triumphant choirs along, 
 Or Miriam's timbrel swelled on Elim's shore ? 
 
 Faint are the quivering notes, and sad, and low, 
 That now, in doubt and gloom, from Judah's children flow. 
 
 The cultured plains, once rich with milk and wine, 
 Are turned to deserts 'neath a stranger's tread ; 
 
 The land, in ashes, mourns her banished line, 
 Nor yields her fruits, a tyrant's board to spread : 
 
 While, through remotest climes, her thousands sigh 
 To reach their lovely home, and bless it ere they die. 
 
 For, be their dwellings in earth's fairest plains, 
 
 They still an exile's pensive spirit bear ; 
 To them, nor hope, nor joy, nor wish remains, 
 
 But, turned to Zion, fondly centres there ; 
 They mourn it now, as on the willowy shore, 
 Where far Euphrates rolls, of old they wept it sore. 
 
 A time draws nigh to bid your sorrows cease, 
 
 Seed of the Highest ! Yet a little while, 
 And all your wanderings shall close in peace : — 
 
 Again for you shall Canaan's beauty smile ; 
 And where the cloud of Heaven's dire vengeance lowered, 
 O'er the rejoicing land Heaven's sunshine 1 shall be poured. 
 
 1 Cant iv. and viii. 
 
322 APPENDIX. 
 
 Then shall the gathering tribes, from Sinai's height 
 And dewy Hermon, strain their eager gaze, 
 
 To view, through distance blue, or vista bright, 
 Each vale, each sacred stream of former days ; 
 
 While from Ainana's top shall burst the voice 
 Of loudest praise, and bid the listening earth rejoice. 
 
 No more shall dark Moriah's brow be crowned 
 With idol forms, that shame the blushing day. 
 
 Her King again shall bless the hallowed ground, 
 The hills of myrrh ! exultant own his sway : — 
 
 His temple rising, evermore shall stand, 
 The glory of all earth, the joy of every land. 
 
 With trembling awe shall Judah's children throng 
 To tread the sides of blood-stained Calvary, 
 
 And bless the Man of Woes — rejected long — 
 For love that lived through all his agony, 
 
 And watched, through ages, their ungrateful race, 
 That hatred gave for love, and scorn for pardoning grace. 
 
 His pitying look shall melt their contrite souls, 
 
 His smile celestial comfort shall infuse : 
 As on to endless day time's chariot rolls, 
 
 From pole to pole shall spread the joyful news ; 
 Till earth, with rays of Salem's glory bright, 
 To darkness bids farewell, and springs to life and light. 
 
 II. 
 
 POEMS AND HYMNS FOR HER CHILDREN (TO XVI. INCLUSIVE). 
 
 THE FLY. 
 
 My merry little fly, play here, 
 
 And let me look at you ; 
 I will not touch you though you're near, 
 
 As naughty children do. 
 
 I see you spread your pretty wings, 
 
 That sparkle in the sun ; 
 I see your legs — what tiny things ! 
 
 And yet how fast they run ! 
 
 You walk along the ceiling now 
 
 And down the upright wall ; 
 I'll ask mamma, to tell me how 
 
 You walk and do not fall. 
 
 1 Cant. iv. and vL 
 
APPENDIX. 323 
 
 Twai God that taught you, little fly, 
 To walk along the ground, 
 
 And mount above my head so high, 
 And frolie round and round. 
 
 I'll near you stand to see you play, 
 
 But do not be afraid ; 
 I would not lift my little hand 
 
 To hurt the thing He made. 
 
 III. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 Jesus, Saviour, pity me ! 
 
 Hear me when I cry to Thee ! 
 
 I've a very naughty heart, 
 
 Full of sin in every part ; 
 
 I can never make it good — 
 
 Wilt Thou wash me in Thy blood ? 
 
 Jesus, Saviour, pity me ! 
 
 Hear me when I cry to Thee ! 
 
 Short has been my pilgrim way, 
 Yet I'm sinning every day ; 
 Though I am so young and weak, 
 Lately taught to run and speak ; 
 Yet in evil I am strong — 
 Far from Thee I've lived too long : 
 Jesus, Saviour, pity me ! 
 Hear me when I cry to Thee ! 
 
 When 1 try to do Thy will, 
 Sin is in my bosom still ; 
 And I soon do something bad, 
 That makes me sorrowful and sad. 
 Who could help or comfort give, 
 If Thou didst not bid me live ? 
 Jesus, Saviour, pity me ! 
 Hear me when I cry to Thee ! 
 
 Tho' I cannot cease from guilt, 
 Thou canst cleanse me, and Thou wilt ; 
 Since Thy blood for me was shed, 
 Crowned with thorns Thy blessed head 
 
324 APPENDIX. 
 
 Thou, who loved and suffered so, 
 Ne'er wilt bid me from Thee go ; 
 Jesus, Thou wilt pity me ! 
 Save me when I cry to Thee ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 A MORNING PRATER, 
 
 I thank Thee, Lord, for quiet rest, 
 
 And for Thy care of me : 
 O ! let me through this day be blest, 
 
 And kept from harm by Thee. 
 
 O ! take my naughty heart away, 
 
 And make me clean and good ; 
 Lord Jesus, save my soul, I pray, 
 
 And wash me in Thy blood. 
 
 O, let me love Thee ! Kind Thou art 
 
 To children such as I ; 
 Give me a gentle holy heart; 
 
 Be Thou my friend on high. 
 
 Help me to please my parents dear, 
 
 And do whate'er they tell ; 
 Bless all my friends, both far and near, 
 
 And keep them safe and well. 
 
 V. 
 
 AN EVENING PRAYER. 
 
 Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me ! 
 
 Bless Thy little Lamb to-night ! 
 Through the darkness be Thou near me, 
 
 Watch my sleep till morning light ! 
 
 All this day Thy hand has led me — 
 And I thank Thee for thy care ; 
 
 Thou hast clothed me, warmed and fed me — 
 Listen to my evening prayer. 
 
 Let my sins be all forgiven, 
 
 Bless the friends I love so well ! 
 
 Take me, when I die, to heaven, 
 Happy there with Thee to dwell ! 
 
APPENDIX. 325 
 
 VI. 
 
 PREPARING FOR SUNDAY. 
 
 Haste! put your playthings all away, 
 To-morrow is the Sabbath-day ; 
 Come ! bring- to me your Noah's ark, 
 Your pretty tinkling- musie-eart ; 
 Because, my love, you must not play, 
 But holy keep the Sabbath-day. 
 
 Bring me your German village, please ! 
 With all its houses, gates, and trees ; 
 Your waxen doll, with eyes of blue, 
 And all her tea-things, bright and new; 
 Because, you know, you must not play, 
 But love to keep the Sabbath-day. 
 
 Now take your Sunday pictures down — 
 King David with his harp and crown, 
 Good little Samuel on his knees, 
 And many pleasant sights like these ; 
 Because, you know, you must not play, 
 But learn of God upon his day. 
 
 There is your hymn-book — You shall learn 
 A verse, and some sweet kisses earn ; 
 Your book of Bible stories, too, 
 Which dear mamma will read to you ; 
 I think, although you must not play, 
 We'll have a happy Sabbath-day. 
 
 VII. 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT. 
 
 The week is passing fast away, 
 
 The hours are almost done ; 
 Before I rise, the Sabbath-day 
 
 Will surely be begun. 
 
 Through all this week, what have I done? 
 
 Have I been kind to all ? 
 Have I sought any thing but fun, 
 
 And run at every call ? 
 
326 APPENDIX. 
 
 Have I been still when I was bid, 
 And ceased to make a noise ? 
 
 Have I been good in all I did, 
 At lessons or at toys ? 
 
 I'm naughty every day I live — 
 Say many a foolish word ; 
 
 But God can all my sins forgive, 
 Through Jesus Christ my Lord. 
 
 An infant's prayer He will not scorn :— 
 
 I'll pray before I sleep, 
 And ask his love ; then rest till morn, 
 
 For He my soul will keep. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE SABBATH BELL. 
 
 What sound is this, that gently falls 
 
 Upon the quiet air ? 
 It is the Sabbath-bell, that calls 
 
 Men to the house of prayer ; 
 For there God promises to meet 
 All those who worship at his feet. 
 
 Yes, listen to that chime, my love ! 
 
 Sweeter than earthly song : 
 It tells us of that home above, 
 
 Where we shall praise ere long : 
 For if we serve our God below, 
 With heavenly harps our songs shall flow. 
 
 On earth the Sabbath soon is o'er, 
 
 The day we love is done : 
 In heaven there shall be night no more, 
 
 For God will be our sun. 
 The happy soul, in Jesus blest, 
 Enjoys an endless day of rest. 
 
 How gracious has our Father been, 
 
 In giving Sabbaths here, 
 To rest our hearts, like pastures green 
 
 The weary flocks that cheer ! 
 Oh, let us thank Him for his day, 
 And find it sweet to praise and pray ! 
 
APPENDIX. 327 
 
 IX. 
 
 GOING TO CHURCH. 
 
 Whither are these people walking? 
 
 Dear mamma, I want to know. 
 Some are with each other talking-, 
 
 Some alone and silent go I 
 Through the wood and down the hill, 
 Many more are coming still. 
 
 Hark ! my love, the bells are ringing, 
 
 Tis to church the people turn : 
 Soon sweet psalms they will be singing, 
 
 Soon of Jesus' love they'll learn. 
 Each with Bible in his hand, 
 Goes to pray at God's command. 
 
 When to God we join in praying, 
 
 I, my child, will pray for thee. 
 O how kind was Christ- in saying, — 
 
 " Little children come to me !" 
 Will you come and be his own ? 
 Give your heart to Him alone. 
 
 THE GREEN PASTURES. 
 
 I walked in a field of fresh clover this morn, 
 AVhere lambs played so merrily under the trees, 
 
 Or rubbed their soft coats on a naked old thorn, 
 Or nibbled the clover, or rested at ease. 
 
 And under the hedge ran a clear water-brook, 
 To drink from when thirsty, or weary with play ; 
 
 And so gay did the daisies and buttercups look, 
 That I thought little lambs must be happy all day. 
 
 And, when I remember the beautiful psalm, 
 
 That tells about Christ and his pastures so green ; 
 
 I know He is willing to make me his lamb ; 
 And happier far than the lambs I have seen. 
 
 If I drink of the waters, so peaceful and still, 
 That flow in his field, I for ever shall live ; 
 
 If I love Him, and seek his commands to fulfil, 
 A place in his sheepfold to me He will give. 
 
328 APPENDIX. 
 
 The lambs are at peace in the fields when they play, 
 The long summers day in contentment they spend ; 
 
 But happier I — if in God's holy way 
 
 I try to walk always, with Christ for my friend. 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE LAMB'S LULLABY. 
 
 The pretty little lambs that lie 
 
 To sleep upon the grass, 
 Have none to sing them lullaby 
 
 But the night winds as they pass. 
 
 While I, a happy little maid, 
 
 Bid dear papa good-night ; 
 And in my crib so warm am laid, 
 
 And tucked up snug and tight. 
 
 Then Annie sits and sings to me, 
 
 With gentle voice and soft, 
 The Highland song of sweet Glenshee, 
 
 That I have heard so oft. 
 
 Or else some pretty hymn she sings, 
 
 Until to sleep I go ; 
 But the young helpless lambs, poor things ! 
 
 Have none to lull them so. 
 
 O, if the lambs to me would come, 
 
 I'd try to sing Glenshee ; 
 And here in this warm quiet room, 
 
 How sound their sleep would be ! 
 
 Haste, kind mamma! and call them here, 
 
 Where they'll be warm as I ; 
 For in the chilly fields, I fear, 
 
 Before the morn they'll die. 
 
 mamma's answer. 
 
 The lambs sleep in the fields, 'tis true, 
 
 Without a lullaby ; 
 And yet they are as warm as you, 
 
 Beneath the summer sky. 
 
APPENDIX. 329 
 
 They choose some dry arid grassy spot, 
 
 Below the shady trees ; 
 To other songs they listen not, 
 
 Than the pleasant evening breeze. 
 
 The blankets soft that cover you, 
 
 Are made of fleeces warm, 
 That keep the sheep from evening dew, 
 
 Or from the wintry storm. 
 
 And when the night is bitter cold, 
 
 The shepherd comes with care, 
 And leads them to his peaceful fold : 
 
 They're safe and sheltered there. 
 
 How happy are the lambs, my love, 
 
 How safe and calm they rest ! 
 But you a Shepherd have above, 
 
 Of all kind shepherds best. 
 
 His lambs He gathers in his arms, 
 
 And in his bosom bears ; 
 How blest — how safe from all alarms — 
 
 Each child his love who shares ! 
 
 O ! if you'll be his gentle child, 
 
 And listen to his voice, 
 Be loving, dutiful, and mild — 
 
 How will mamma rejoice ! 
 
 Then, when you've done his will below, 
 
 And you are call'd to die, 
 In his kind arms your soul shall go 
 
 To his own fold on high. 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE BEE AND THE FLOWERS. 
 
 Ah ! do not— do not touch that bee ! 
 Stand still, its busy course to see, 
 
 But take your hand away ; 
 For, though 'tis neither large nor strong, 
 It has a sting both sharp and long, 
 
 And soon could spoil your play. 
 
330 APPENDIX. 
 
 I did not know the bee could sting — 
 I see it fly, on rapid wing, 
 
 Among the garden bowers ; 
 And now it lights upon a rose, 
 Now to a jasmine branch it goes ; 
 
 Say will it sting the flowers ? 
 
 It settles where the woodbine sweet 
 Twines round the tree — it plants its feet — 
 
 How firm and fast they cling ! 
 Oh, how I love the pretty flowers, 
 That bloom through all the sunny hours ! 
 
 Pray do not let it sting. 
 
 You need not fear ; it loves, like you, 
 The flowers of varied form and hue — 
 
 They yield it honied spoil ; 
 It only stings the thoughtless train 
 Who seek its life, or give it pain, 
 
 Or stop its happy toil ; 
 
 Or idle drones, which labour not, 
 But eat the honey it has sought, 
 
 To store the crowded hive; 
 Or insects that would enter there, 
 To steal the food it brings with care, 
 
 To keep its race alive. 
 
 In search of flowers this food that yield, 
 It flies abroad through hill and field, 
 
 With pleasant humming sound ; 
 It rests on many a blossom bright, 
 That opens, far from human sight, 
 
 To deck the lonely ground. 
 
 Flowers were not made for man alone, 
 But freely o'er the earth are strewn, 
 
 To bless the creatures too ; 
 And many an insect nation dwells 
 Among fair buds and mossy cells, 
 
 That we shall never view. 
 
APPENDIX. 331 
 
 Mamma, you told me it was God 
 
 Who clothed with flowers the ground I trod — 
 
 Oh, I will love Him well ! 
 He made the flowers to feed the bee, 
 And to delight a child like me, 
 
 Who scarce his praise can tell. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 THE WET SPARROW. 
 
 How heavy the rain is that falls on the ground ! 
 
 How cold is the wind through the garden that blows ! 
 It shakes the large drops from the branches around — 
 
 And see ! it has torn all the leaves from that rose. 
 
 I'm glad I'm within doors, so warm and so dry, 
 
 Where the rain cannot wet me that beats on the pane — 
 
 But what is that, hopping so quietly by ! J 
 'Tis a poor little sparrow, that's out in the rain. 
 
 It cannot find shelter, for wet is each tree, 
 
 And no clothing it has to protect it at all. 
 Ah ! poor little creature, how cold it must be ! 
 
 Mamma, may I take the poor sparrow a shawl ? 
 
 A shawl would but trouble the sparrow, my child ; 
 
 It has clothing still softer and warmer than yours ; 
 Which never wears out, nor by wetting is spoiled ; 
 
 For through summer and winter its beauty endures. 
 
 Now, look at it closer, and see how 'tis drest — 
 It is covered with feathers of many a shade: 
 
 Its tail sober brown is, and white is its breast, 
 And in coat black and grey it is neatly arrayed. 
 
 For God, who so kindly gives comforts to you, 
 Takes care of the sparrow, and clothes it, and feeds ; 
 
 He warmly protects it from rain and from dew, 
 And gives it the shelter and rest that it needs. 
 
 And see ! it has flown to its home in the tree, 
 
 'Mong the thick bowery leaves, where secure it can hide, 
 
 Or can soar on its pinions, all joyous and free, 
 As happy as you, when you sport by my side. 
 
332 APPENDIX. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 MY LITTLE BROTHER. 
 
 Little brother, darling boy, 
 You are very dear to me ! 
 
 1 am happy — full of joy, 
 
 "When your smiling face I see. 
 
 How I wish that you could speak, 
 And could know the words I say I 
 
 Pretty stories I would seek, 
 To amuse you every day : 
 
 All about the honey bees, 
 Flying past us in the sun ; 
 
 Birds that sing among the trees, 
 Lambs that in the meadows run. 
 
 I'll be very kind to you, 
 Never slap or make you cry, 
 
 As some naughty children do, 
 Quite forgetting God is nigh. 
 
 Shake your rattle^ here it is — 
 Listen to its merry noise ; 
 
 And, when you are tired of this, 
 I will bring you other toys. 
 
 XV. 
 
 THE HEATH. 
 
 This is a pretty flower indeed, 
 You've brought to show mamma to-day ! 
 
 Though common, 'tis no vulgar weed, 
 Fit only to be thrown away. 
 
 It is the heath, or heather-bell ; — 
 I guess you found it on the bilk: 
 
 Its purple buds, its fragrant smell, 
 Are nursed by mountain breezes still. 
 
 And many a heathy hill I've seen, 
 
 All bright and purple with its flowers, 
 
 That bloom among the leaves so green, 
 Fairer than those of garden bowers. 
 
APPENDIX. 333 
 
 The humming bee oft wings its way, 
 To seek the honey from its breast ; 
 
 It toils each sunny autumn day, 
 In winter 'twill have time to rest. 
 
 Nay, do not cat it, simple one ! 
 
 For you will rind no honey there ; 
 But when the bees their work have done, 
 
 You in their sweets perhaps may share. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THE SHADOWS. 
 
 The candles are lighted, the fire blazes bright, 
 The curtains are drawn to keep out the cold air : 
 
 What makes you so grave, little darling, to-night, 
 And where is your smile, little quiet one, where ? 
 
 Mamma, I see something so dark on the wall, 
 It moves up and down, and it looks very strange ; 
 
 Sometimes it is large, and sometimes it is small ; 
 Pray, tell me, what is it, and why does it change ? 
 
 It is mamma's shadow that puzzles you so, 
 And there is your own close beside it, my love ; 
 
 Now run round the room, it will go where you go ; 
 When you sit, 'twill be still — when you rise, it will move. 
 
 I don't like to see it— do please let me ring 
 For Betsy to take all the shadows away. 
 
 No ; Betsy oft carries a heavier thing, 
 But she could not lift this should she try a whole day. 
 
 These wonderful shadows are caused by the light 
 From fire and from candles upon us that falls ; 
 
 Were we not sitting here, all that place would be bright, 
 But the light can't shine through us, you know, on the walls 
 
334 APPENDIX. 
 
 And, when you are out some fine day in the sun, 
 I'll take you where shadows of apple-trees lie ; 
 
 And willows and cottages too, — every one 
 
 Casts a shade when the sun's shining bright in the sky. 
 
 Now hold up your mouth, and give me a sweet kiss, 
 Our shadows kiss too ! don't you see it quite plain ? 
 
 O yes ! and I thank you for telling me this ; 
 I'll not be afraid of a shadow again. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ISAIAH LXII. -5. 
 
 For Zion's sake— chastised of God — 
 
 I will not hold my peace ; 
 For Salem — smitten by his rod — 
 
 My labours shall not cease. 
 
 I'll daily wrestle at his throne 
 
 For mercy to the race 
 Of Judah ; are they not his own ? 
 
 Shall they not find his grace ? 
 
 Yes ; when his Church is stirred to pray 
 
 O Salem ! for thy line, 
 As orient light of breaking day 
 
 Thy righteousness shall shine. 
 
 As lamp that cheers the gloomy night, 
 
 Shall thy salvation be ; 
 Gentiles shall hail thy rising light, 
 
 And kings thy glory see. 
 
 Emerging from the cloud of woe, 
 As God's own fold confest ; 
 
 A nobler name He shall bestow, 
 And men shall own thee blest. 
 
 Thy Lord himself shall thee uphold — 
 
 A crown of glory bright, 
 A diadem of royal mould, 
 
 For ever in his sight. 
 
 Forsaken thou no more shalt lie — 
 No more thy land shall pine ; 
 
 Beulah shall be its title high, 
 And Hephzi-bah be thine. 
 
APPENDIX. 335 
 
 Thy scattered sons, from many a shore, 
 Shall eager throng to thee ; 
 
 Widowed and desolate no more — 
 Thy land shall married be. 
 
 In thee, as bridegroom o'er his bride, 
 
 Jehovah shall rejoice, 
 For evermore thou shalt abide 
 
 The people of his choice. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 THE ISLES OF THE GENTILES. 
 
 Calm on the bosom of the deep 
 
 A thousand beauteous islets lie ; 
 While glassy seas that round them sleep, 
 
 Reflect the glories of the sky. 
 
 How radiant 'mid the watery waste, 
 
 Their groves of emerald verdure smile 
 Like Eden-spots, in ocean placed, 
 
 The weary pilgrim to beguile. 
 
 Graceful through forest vistas bright, 
 
 The fair Mimosa's shadows spread ; 
 And 'gainst those skies of amber light, 
 
 The palm-tree lifts its towering head. 
 
 Alas ! that in those happy vales, 
 
 Meet homes for pure and heaven-born love, 
 
 Unholy discord still prevails, 
 And weeping peace forsakes the grove. 
 
 Alas ! that on those lovely shores, 
 
 Where earth and sky in beauty shine, 
 And heaven profusely sheds its stores, 
 
 Man should in heathen bondage pine. 
 
 O haste ! ye messengers of God, 
 
 With hearts of zeal, and tongues of flame — 
 
 Go ! spread the welcome sound abroad, 
 That all may "bless Messiah's name." 
 
 That where the smoke of offerings base, 
 
 From idol fanes obscures the day, 
 May rise the incense of a race, 
 
 Whose souls are taught by Heaven to pray. 
 
336 APPENDIX. 
 
 When shall the solemn Sabbath-bell 
 
 Chime through those plains at morning prime, 
 
 And choral hymns of praises swell 
 
 Through those deep woods, in notes sublime ? 
 
 Soft mingling with the wave's low moan, 
 The sound shall float o'er ocean's breast, 
 
 To tell the wave-tossed wanderer lone, 
 " The ark of mercy here doth rest." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ON HEARING A CONCERT OF MUSIC. 
 
 There's music on the listening air, 
 
 That, faint as evening's parting breeze, 
 
 Seems in its soft low tones to bear, 
 Combined, a thousand melodies! 
 
 Now swells the strain, and gaily now 
 From harp and voice in union bland, 
 
 Such light and graceful measures flow, 
 As lead the sports in Fairy-land ! 
 
 Now falls the strain ; but silent still, 
 As hearing yet that charmed sound, 
 
 Rests a bright band — for rapture's thrill 
 Yet vibrates in each bosom's bound. 
 
 The hush is o'er ! the beaming smile 
 
 And low-toned whispers breathe delight ; 
 
 O could those strains that time beguile 
 Yet float upon the wings of night ? 
 
 Ye lovely throng ! a sweeter lay 
 Than this ye yet may learn to sing; 
 
 And harps of deeper melody, 
 Your hands, in fairer climes, may string. 
 
 Was music given to cheer your souls ? 
 
 'Tis purer where the angels dwell ; 
 Through heaven the lofty anthem rolls, 
 
 As thousand lyres the chorus swell. 
 
 Love ye the soft, the pensive calm, 
 
 That earth-born numbers round you shed ? 
 
 The soul that wins the victors palm, 
 Shall hymn ecstatic joys when time is fled ! 
 
APPENDIX. 337 
 
 XX. 
 
 A WISH. 
 
 Written in M. A. B's Album. 
 
 I ask not that where pleasure tunes 
 
 Her syren voice to song", 
 Thou to the fairy strains may'st list 
 
 Amid the giddy throng ; 
 For well 1 know that happiness, 
 
 Fair child of heavenly birth ! 
 Approaches not the glittering scenes, 
 
 That bear her name on earth. 
 
 I ask not that where folly wheels 
 
 Her gay and ceaseless maze, 
 Thou may'st with others pass the best, 
 
 The earliest of thy days. 
 For ah ! when sadness shades the brow, 
 
 And sorrow dims the eye, 
 Her visions of enjoyment cease, 
 
 Her fair illusions die. 
 
 I ask not that in fragrant bowers 
 
 Thy sunny days may fly, 
 Where every tranquil object smiles 
 
 Beneath a cloudless sky ; 
 For then would earth be paradise, 
 
 And thou would'st wish to dwell 
 For ever 'mid its smiling plains, 
 
 And love its charms too well. 
 
 But may'st thou find that holy peace, 
 
 The calm, the pure, the blest, 
 Which as thou journey \st through the world 
 
 Will keep thy heart at rest. 
 For it will shed its radiant beam 
 
 On thine untroubled heart, 
 And thou shalt bless the love of Him 
 
 Who could such joy impart. 
 
 And when thy dying hour shall come, 
 
 And earth can charm no more, 
 'Twill shine with brightness yet unknown, 
 
 Till thy last breath is o'er. 
 Peace was the parting gift of Him 
 
 Whose life on earth was love ; 
 And what we taste but dimly here, 
 
 Is perfect bliss above- 
 
 Y 
 
338 APPENDIX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 11 FORGET ME NOT." 
 To a Friend. 
 
 There is a little fragile flower, 
 That bends to every passing breeze ; 
 
 It lingers near the leafy bower, 
 Amid the shade of summer trees. 
 
 No gaudy hue attracts the gaze 
 Of those that pass its humble bed, 
 
 No odours fill the forest maze 
 By its expanding blossoms shed. 
 
 Yet dearer is its bending stem, 
 And cup of blue, that grace the bower, 
 
 Than many a costly orient gem 
 That blazes in the crown of power. 
 
 For oft fond friends, when doomed to part, 
 Its lowly resting-place have sought, 
 
 And whispered, with a sadden'd heart, 
 " Look on it, and forget me not." 
 
 And oft, when wandering in a land 
 That's dearly loved by thee and me, 
 
 We gathered with a gentle hand 
 This emblem of sweet constancy. 
 
 Accept, though small its value be, 
 This token of my love sincere, 
 
 And glancing on it, think on me, 
 Forget me not ! thou ever dear ! 
 
 May it to faithful memory, 
 
 Recalling many a long-loved spot, 
 
 For distant Scotland and for me, 
 Breathe softly, sweet " Forget me not ! " 
 
 For though no more thou view'st the flower, 
 Nor hail'st its blossoms opening fair, 
 
 Yet lov'st thou to recall the hour, 
 When we have marked its beauties there t 
 
APPENDIX. 339 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ADDRESS TO SCOTLAND. 
 
 When at school she wrote the following poem, in reply to the 
 bantering of B southern friend. The plan she adopted to indicate 
 that the style of ridiculing her country was unpleasant to her, 
 was not only mild, but, skilful in one so young. 
 
 Thou art the country of my birth, 
 
 And wheresoe'er I rove, 
 Thou art the spot of all the earth 
 
 1*11 never cease to love. 
 
 Thou art the land where first my eyes 
 
 Were open to the day; 
 Where first I heard the lullabies 
 
 That soothe my pains away. 
 
 And first among thy grassy dales 
 
 My infant footsteps strayed, 
 .And first in thy beloved vales 
 
 My happy childhood played. 
 
 And first beneath thine azure sky 
 
 I learned that sacred name 
 Which breathes of immortality, 
 
 And feeds love's holy flame. 
 
 The morning and the evening breeze 
 
 That o'er thy valleys stray, 
 Played round me when I bent my knees 
 
 And raised my heart to pray. 
 
 Oh ! there's a charm in those sweet scenes, 
 
 Which now are past away, 
 That o'er me steals like early dreams 
 
 Of life's first opening day. 
 
 And every spot of that sweet land, 
 Where childhood's years were passed, 
 
 Is bound by love's most tender band, 
 That with my life must last. 
 
 Scotland ! though many a mile may lie 
 
 Between thy shores and me, 
 Ne'er can that sweet affection die 
 
 That knits my heart to thee. 
 
340 APPENDIX. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Written about the same period. 
 
 There is a rnagic in the name of home, 
 A charm which even the callous bosom knows, 
 
 And O, when from its precincts far we roam, 
 How brightly each loved scene in memory glows! 
 
 When wandering in a scene of strife and cares, 
 'Mid those, alas ! we may not deem our friends, 
 
 How fair a form each scene of childhood bears I 
 How warmly each dear distant object blends ! 
 
 The Eolian lyre, touched by the passing gale, 
 When wrapt in silence deep it slumbering lay, 
 
 Wakes all its strings to burst in wildest wail, 
 Or in a softened murmur melts away. 
 
 So to the heart, when all things dark appear, 
 And sad, it shuns the gay and giddy throng ; 
 
 The name of home, but whispered in the ear, 
 Can tune that mournful heart to hope and song. 
 
 Ah, then ! the sudden gleam of happiness 
 That lights the eye, erewhile so sad and dim ; 
 
 The smile, the sigh, we vainly would suppress, 
 Show that a soul of feeling dwells within. 
 
 Sweet home ! loved dwelling-place of peace and rest, 
 When chill the blasts of scorn around us blow, 
 
 To thee, as hies the turtle to her nest, 
 We speed, to taste thy joys that peaceful flow. 
 
 Sweet home ! O pitied be the frozen soul 
 
 Which flies affection's bland and melting light, 
 
 And wooes the gleams that flash around the pole, 
 Cold, cheerless, fleeting — offspring of the night ! 
 
 Which shuns the sunshine of domestic peace, 
 Like summer morn, all lovely and serene, 
 
 Whose pleasures but with lengthening years increase, 
 While friendship's sweetest smiles illume the scene. 
 
 Sweet happy home ! O can I e'er forget 
 
 Thy charms — thy flowery bowers, thine azure sky — 
 
 And those dear friends who in thy bounds are met? 
 Ah, no ! ah, no ! " 111 love thee till I die." 
 
APPENDIX. 341 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 This letter was addressed to her pastor in Edinburgh, by a friend 
 who often ministered to his people at communion seasons : — 
 
 " Though scarcely acquainted with your departed friend, yet none 
 could see her without feeling very deeply interested. The first 
 time my eyes beheld her, was as I came down your pulpit stairs 
 one Sabbath evening-. She was in your pew conversing- with your 
 daughter. The setting sun shed a hallowed radiance over her 
 heaven-born countenance. She smiled a very angel of light! I 
 need not tell you that I hastened to inquire who she was. But 
 alas! these eyes will behold her no more on earth. Yet she has 
 not lived in vain. How many sources of comfort are there when 
 we look back and dwell on her life ! and how much also to soothe 
 in her death ! If the power of recognition is given to beatified 
 spirits, O how it must exhilarate her father's adoration to know, 
 that the voice of one whom he taught to lisp in grace, now swells 
 the song of the heavenly choir ! " 
 
 The following is quoted from her friend in America, the Rev. 
 Dr Cox : — 
 
 " I feel as if, like Job's friends, I could commence my introduc- 
 tion to your altered state, with seven days and seven, nights of mute 
 confusion, wondering and vainly discrediting the realities I know. 
 Were I to tell you all that I have said and thought since my return, 
 of that dear one now in glory, it would appear extravagant and 
 fictitious. But I will not attempt to send you such a document. 
 Suffice it, that I loved your dear Mary, and love her yet, as one of 
 the rarest specimens of woman ! Lovely creature ! 1 often said 
 that I bore from Europe no impression of loveliness and worth more 
 complete than those given me by Mary Lundie. And now, my dear 
 madam, what shall I say to you? Disciplined as you have been 
 to weep for yourself and others, and to find consolation in God 
 equal to your day, I would prefer, if I could, to mourn by your side, 
 and listen to your words, and let you comfort me as I should tell 
 you how bleeds my heart — what a pleasant and lovely friend, and 
 endeared correspondent, has left me alone, as to her, in the world, 
 and what sorrow it has piled on me, that I cannot bear ! " 
 
342 APPENDIX. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 SKETCH OF HER CHARACTER BY HER CORRESPONDENT IN 
 LONDON. 
 
 " My opinion is merely the echo of that expressed by a circle of 
 intimate friends, who, whenever her name was mentioned, univer- 
 sally agreed in their estimate. All speak with love and admiration 
 of the rare combination of excellencies she exhibited. Her piety, 
 natural dispositions, intellectual attainments, accomplishments, and 
 personal attractions, would, if held separately, have distinguished 
 their possessors in society, but when united in one individual, like 
 the colours in the heavenly bow, each added beauty to the rest. 
 
 " To begin with the evanescent qualities, I am glad a portrait was 
 not attempted. It would have been too much to hope for a like- 
 ness. It is not a matter of surprise that it should be difficult to 
 transfer to canvass those features, chiseled in the highest style of 
 Grecian beauty, and lighted up as they usually were, with an ex- 
 pression almost seraphic — and it is better that nothing unjustly 
 purporting to be a representation should appear. I well remember, 
 when at school, a weight having accidentally fallen on'dear Mary's 
 head, she was obliged to recline on a sofa ; the fright had sent 
 away the colour from her cheeks, and she lay with her eyes closed. 
 We were all seated round the table with our drawing. My own 
 pencil relaxed for a few minutes to gaze on that alabaster face, as I 
 thought I had never before seen anything so beautiful. On glancing 
 round, each eye was found attracted to the same spot, and an in- 
 voluntary murmur of admiration escaped every lip. This little in- 
 cident has often been referred to by those who were present, and I 
 confess it is among my most vivid recollections. Perhaps to many 
 it may appear unworthy of being mentioned, as beauty is such a 
 secondary thing in reality. Still to deny its great influence betrays 
 little knowledge of human nature ; and as it often forms a strong 
 temptation to its possessor, a deliverance from the snare is an 
 additional proof of the power of divine grace, and as such is worthy 
 of record. We have the authority of one of our most celebrated 
 clergymen for the declaration, that * since beauty is the gift of 
 God, and a good gift, the beautiful woman is as accountable to Him 
 for the use she makes of her beauty, as the man of intellect is for 
 the talents bestowed on him.' 
 
APPENDIX. 343 
 
 " The term holy, which can seldom be used in reference to indi- 
 viduals dwelling in this world of sin, always seemed singularly ap- 
 plicable to dear Mary. She was one of the very few In whom, for 
 days together, you might endeavour to trace her actions to their 
 source, and find they originated in right motives, — any one who 
 has tried such an experiment will know that this result is not com- 
 mon. The godlike disposition to promote the happiness of every 
 sentient being, was displayed in acts of kindness to every person 
 and living thing within her reach. Large indeed were the sympathies 
 of that unselfish heart. 
 
 " Refinement of mind and taste was perhaps her most striking 
 characteristic. The one purely natural, as it must ever be, the 
 other partly owing to her early and intimate acquaintance with the 
 best classic authors in her own language. Her companionable 
 qualities were appreciated even by those who had no opportunity of 
 judging of the deeper parts of her character. She had a most 
 happy mode of imparting information — that suggestive manner, 
 which seems to give the superiority to the hearer. Her store of 
 general knowledge was very large, and she was at great pains for 
 its constant increase. Not a visit was paid^ a book read, or the 
 prospect of a lovely landscape enjoyed, without an after investiga- 
 tion as to the amount of new ideas and images received. Her en- 
 thusiastic enjoyment of the beauties of nature and poetry, might 
 have tempted one to suppose that an atmosphere of poetical ex- 
 citement was that which she constantly breathed. But a more 
 minute acquaintance with her character, produced the conviction 
 that she had a just appreciation of more solid pursuits united to 
 very active habits, founded on a principle of duty. 
 
 " Her industry was indefatigable. During my visit to her after 
 her marriage, when her delicate health seemed to call upon her to 
 take rest, from six in the morning till near midnight she was un- 
 ceasingly occupied. And when we remember that her natural 
 character was not of that bustling, energetic kind which delights in 
 action, but decidedly of a meditative cast, surely we must acknow- 
 ledge and admire the strength of that principle which obtained so 
 complete a mastery over constitutional tendencies. Many who are 
 conscious of possessing far greater bodily stamina, would shrink 
 from much which she encountered in her visits to distant cottages 
 in stormy weather — or in preparations for classes when her aching 
 head much needed repose. But with her, at all times, mind nobly 
 conquered matter/' 
 
344 APPENDIX. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 STANZAS ON READING THE MEMOIR OF MARY LUNDIE 
 
 DUNCAN. 
 
 BY MRS LYDIA H. SIGOUUNEY. 
 
 Sweet bird of Scotia's tuneful clime, 
 
 So beautiful and dear, 
 Whose music gush'd as genius taught 
 With heaven's own quenchless spirit fraught, 
 
 I list — thy strain to hear. 
 
 Bright flower — on Kelso's bosom born, 
 
 When spring her glories shed, 
 Where Tweed flows on, in silver sheen, 
 And Teviot feeds her valleys green, 
 
 I cannot think thee dead. 
 
 Fair child — whose rich unfoldings gave 
 
 A promise rare and true, 
 The parent's proudest thoughts to cheer, 
 And soothe of widow'd woe the tear — 
 
 Why hid'st thou from our view ? 
 
 Young bride— whose wildest thrill of hope - 
 
 Bowed the pure brow in prayer, 
 Whose ardent zeal, and saintly grace, 
 Did make the manse a holy place, 
 
 We search — thou art not there. 
 
 Fond mother — they who taught thy joys 
 
 To sparkle up so high, 
 Thy first-born and her brother dear 
 Catch charms from every fleeting year : — 
 Where is thy glistening eye ? 
 
 Meek Christian — it is well with thee, 
 
 That where thy heart so long 
 Was garnered up, thy home should be ; — 
 Thy path with Him who made thee free ; — 
 
 Thy lay — an angel's song. 
 
 Hartford, Connecticut, Feb. 22, 1842. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 
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