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 BV 3705 .L599 M4 1870 
 
 
 Memorial of Mrs. Mary K. 
 
 
 Lowrie 
 
 
 

 
 
 
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* APR 8 1911 * 
 
 ME MORI A^t^'il'lV^ 
 
 MRS. MARY K. LOWRIE 
 
 ^rinteb for ^ribdc gistributioii. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 1S70. 
 
NOTE. 
 
 npHE original thought of this Memorial was simply to give some 
 account of the last days of Mrs. Lowrie, for the satisfaction of 
 her numerous friends to whom it was impossible to write individually. 
 At the earnest desire of many of these, the plan was extended to embrace 
 a brief sketch of her life. It is but a sketch, in which, of necessity, 
 much has been omitted that would have been of interest in reference 
 both to herself and to those with whom, at different times, she was 
 associated. 
 
MEMORIAL. 
 
 A T the foot of the mountain range that forms 
 the eastern boundary of the valley of the 
 Connecticut, as this most beautiful of the rivers 
 of New England flows through the southern part 
 of Massachusetts, lies the town of Wilbraham, 
 originally a part of Springfield. The place 
 itself with its one broad street, its substantial 
 dwellings, its plain but not unattractive churches, 
 its school-houses, and its broad farms, is a not 
 unfavorable representative of the many villages 
 scattered all over New England, and which so 
 impress and delight the traveller. From the 
 mountain that rises on the east of the town, one 
 of the most beautiful panoramic views of the 
 Connecticut Valley is obtained. For miles west 
 and north and south stretches a scene of wonder- 
 ful beauty and loveliness. 
 
Here, on the loth of March, 1813, the subject 
 of this Memorial was born. It was the home of 
 her maternal ancestors. While she was 3^et an 
 infant, her parents — Joshua and Susan King 
 Childs — removed to Springfield, where she re- 
 sided until her nineteenth year. 
 
 It is difficult to describe her character, in 
 strictest truth, without an appearance of exagger- 
 ation. With a mind that easily acquired and 
 retained knowledge, and with a marked and 
 decided individuality even in childhood, a lead- 
 ing characteristic of her early as of her later 
 years was the exceeding loveliness of her dis- 
 position. Connected with this was the cheerful 
 fidelity with which she met and fulfilled, at any 
 sacrifice, the duties of every relation. As a 
 child, a sister, a pupil, a friend, it is believed 
 she was as blameless as it has ever been given 
 one to be. 
 
 Nothing could exceed her filial tenderness ; 
 and the home that her infancy gladdened, her 
 maturer life never failed to bless. As a sister, 
 she was from childhood to her death the object 
 of a love, a confidence, and a reverence as strong 
 as they were spontaneous and irresistible. Her 
 wish was law, because it was always the wish 
 of wisdom and of love. 
 
Mary was early the subject of religious influ- 
 ences. Parental faith and prayer and instruction 
 were combined with an example whose power 
 could not fail to be recognized and felt by all who 
 came under it. It was not far from the time when 
 the churches of Massachusetts had been shaken 
 by the Unitarian controversy. Her mother had 
 united with the First Congregational Church of 
 Springfield, the former pastor of which had em- 
 braced the Unitarian views. The pastor at this 
 time was the Rev. Samuel Osgood, through 
 whose instrumentality, under God, the Church 
 was saved to the evangelical faith. With this 
 Church Mary united in May, 1827, when she was 
 a little more than fourteen years of age. To the 
 Church, as well as to its beloved pastor, she ever 
 retained a strong attachment. 
 
 Her studies were carried on with such advan- 
 tages of public and private schools as the place 
 then aftbrded. At fifteen years of age she 
 opened a small private school of her own, which 
 she conducted with such success as to attract at 
 once attention to her qualifications as an instruc- 
 tor, and she was soon engaged in a wider sphere. 
 At eighteen she received an invitation to a posi- 
 tion in a private school for young ladies in the 
 city of Washington, D.C. This invitation she 
 
accepted ; and it decided, in the providence of 
 God, her whole future history. 
 
 In Washington she first met him with whose 
 life and labors her own were soon to be merged. 
 Mr. Lowrie was at that time the Secretary of the 
 Senate of the United States. They were mar- 
 ried by her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Osgood, in 
 Springfield, Massachusetts, on the 3d of October, 
 1833. 
 
 LIFE IN WASHINGTON. 
 
 Her position and duties were now changed, 
 but they effected no change in her character. 
 The same quiet self-possession and dignity, with 
 unaffected simplicity, gentleness, and joyous love, 
 marked her life whether she moved in the circles 
 of Washington, then brilliant with the intellect 
 of Webster and Clay and Calhoun, or wandered, 
 as she loved to do in her seasons of rest, with 
 the friends of her childhood over the fields and 
 mountains of her native place. 
 
 The object of this Memorial — designed only 
 for personal friends — will more than justify here 
 the testimony of one who from this period sus- 
 tained to Mrs. Lowrie a relation of the most 
 tender mutual affection ; an affection strengthened 
 
by every passing year, and never stronger than 
 when its offices were for a season arrested by 
 death : 
 
 " My first impressions of my dear mother, formed 
 when I was a boy ten years old, are most pleasant. 
 Although many years have elapsed since that time, 
 I still see her bright and sunny face, as she greeted 
 my younger brother and myself in our new house in 
 C Street, Washington City. Her gentle manners and 
 kindly care, her ready sympathy with our little griefs 
 and joys, won our hearts. I loved her then because 
 she made my early years happy ; and through all the 
 intercourse of school, college, and home life, I cannot 
 recall one unkind look or word on her part. She was 
 in every sense of the word to me a mother. I yet feel 
 her sweet good-night, her kindly morning welcome. 
 I never can forget her faithful Sabbath talks, and her 
 persevering work in instilling ' line upon line, pre- 
 cept upon precept,' of whatever of truth and love of 
 integrity and purity, can be imparted by motherly 
 solicitude into the wayward heart of a boy. Thirty- 
 six years of unselfish love ! How pleasant the memory 
 of her tender regard for me even in my faults ! How 
 lively her solicitude that I should be happy and good ! 
 How lovingly she rejoiced in my joys, and sympathized 
 with my cares and sorrows ! 
 
 " For some months my brother and myself recited 
 daily lessons to her, and she proved herself to be an 
 apt and faithful teacher. She had a form of rewards 
 — her own beautiful handiwork — which we prized 
 beyond measure. These pleasant hours of home in- 
 
8 
 
 struction soon yielded to the demands on her time 
 made by the declining health of our sister Eliza. 
 Beautiful, gifted and accomplished beyond her years, 
 she returned from school to our father's house in 
 feeble health, to find in our mother the care and sym- 
 pathy, kindly and tenderly offered, which her case so 
 much needed. It was our father's custom to spend 
 the summer months of each year in his old home in 
 Butler, Pennsylvania. This was before the days of 
 railway travel, and the journey was accomplished in a 
 light carriage in easy stages of twenty-five to thirty- 
 miles, occupying from two to three weeks. We all 
 enjoyed the crossing the mountains, and we hoped 
 much for prolonged life to our sister from such a 
 journey extended to Niagara Falls. I still recall the 
 sad face of my mother, and the touching patience of 
 my invalid sister, supported in my dear mother's arms 
 during the last few days of that long journey. She 
 died within a few days after we returned home. 
 
 " My brother Walter, who in after years became a 
 missionary, derived a very large share of his enjoy- 
 ment of life from her love. His letters to her, many 
 of them published in his Memoir, and his journals, are 
 the beautiful evidence of deep, warm-hearted affection 
 for her. Indeed, in our home life we all loved her. 
 Her domestics, during a long series of years, were 
 seldom changed ; once in her home, it became theirs, 
 and they identified themselves with the family. Some 
 of them were hopefully converted while in her service. 
 An economist in all the details of household expenses, 
 of living, clothing, furniture, &c., from principle, — 
 that more might be given to the Lord, — she yet made 
 
home attractive in its old-fashioned but true simpHcity. 
 With an exquisite taste for the beautiful in art and in 
 nature, it was a marvel how mucli of beauty and com- 
 fort she gathered around her at a mere trifle of ex- 
 penditure. Her beautiful shells and novelties of foreign 
 art came to her from distant mission stations, in kindly 
 recognition of personal favors received at her hands. 
 Every picture and book told a story of loving remem- 
 brance. 
 
 " To my honored father she was ' the prudent wife 
 from the Lord,' in whom he reposed entire confidence. 
 She cordially sympathized with the great object of his 
 life's labors. She was his counsellor and his tender 
 comforter in sickness and in sorrow. He rested in her 
 love. She was indeed a helpmeet for him, in labor 
 and in responsibility. Her manner toward him was 
 beautiful, ever loving and gentle, yet full of vivacity 
 and cheerfulness. She revered his noble aspirations 
 for good, thoroughly appreciated his sacrifices of 
 worldly interests in his entire consecration to the cause 
 of Foreign Missions, and loved him all the more be- 
 cause he was so unselfish and great in his quiet sim- 
 plicity of character. I have never seen a happier 
 married life than was theirs. Knowing how depend- 
 ent my fother was on her tender care, in his frequent 
 attacks of illness, she had made it the subject of 
 prayer that she might survive him, so that his last 
 hours might be cheered by her love. This prayer 
 was answered." 
 
 No one familiar with the family life here 
 brought to view need be told how tender and 
 
lO 
 
 deep were the respect and affection Mrs. Lowrie 
 received from those to whom she bore the rela- 
 tion of mother ; nor with what sincere and un- 
 changing love these feelings were returned. 
 
 Of her life in Washington we are now able to 
 gather few details. A younger and only sister 
 had made her home with her, and was an inmate 
 of the family while they remained in Washing- 
 ton. To this sister, — not inferior to herself in 
 many of the quiet and substantial traits of her 
 character, — as well as to her children afterwards, 
 Mrs. Lowrie's heart was bound by the strongest 
 ties. She could hardly have loved them more 
 if they had been her own children ; and when 
 the circle was broken, and one after another 
 of its dear members was removed by death, 
 none felt the successive strokes more keenly 
 than she. 
 
 One who remains from that smitten group 
 writes : 
 
 " I cannot tell you how I have shrunk from attempt- 
 ing to express my recollections of my dear aunt Mary : 
 I feel that any account that I might give would be so 
 unworthy of her. Indeed, hers was a character of 
 such beautiful roundness, that it is hard to recall any 
 striking points. If there was one thing about her, 
 however, which has impressed me more than another, 
 
II 
 
 from a child, it was the illustration which her life 
 afforded of the truth that ' godliness hath the promise 
 of the life that now is ; ' for, as she was one of the 
 most practical Christians, so she was one of the most 
 uniformly cheerful and happy persons that I ever 
 knew ; and she seemed to radiate happiness as natu- 
 rally as the sun his light. From my earliest infancy, 
 to be with her was happiness enough for me, and I 
 always preferred her society to that of any play- 
 mates of my own age ; and in the most frivolous 
 days of my youth I was always ready to forego 
 any worldly amusement for the sake of an evening 
 with her. 
 
 '' I do not think that I ever knew any one who 
 made religion so attractive to every one with whom 
 she came in contact, to the young and to the old, and 
 that in such a quiet, unobtrusive way ; for you never 
 saw her religion as a thing apart, a thing to be re- 
 marked upon : it was just the controlling principle of 
 all her life and the spring of all her happiness. How 
 many have been attracted to the Saviour by the 
 ' beauty of holiness ' as it shone out in her life, the 
 light of eternity alone can show. 
 
 " I know that she always loved us with a mother's 
 love, for she showed it in every possible way ; and 
 most sincerely do we mourn her loss." 
 
 Occupied with his public duties, Mr. Lowrie 
 gave the care of his household almost entirely into 
 the hands of his wife. Their home was ever the 
 centre of sacred and happy influences. No one 
 
12 
 
 could be in it without realizing that it was a 
 home whose character was not made by ex- 
 ternal circumstances. Mr. Lowrie never failed 
 to recognize the claims of his Divine Master 
 as higher than all others. Beyond any man 
 the writer ever knew, he was indifferent to all 
 human opinion, if it conflicted with his views 
 of his duty to Christ. At the crowded table of 
 the President of the United States, he did not 
 hesitate to be alone in refusing those indulgences 
 which his conscience condemned. 
 
 He could sacrifice any political friendship or 
 prospect, but he would not sacrifice a Christian 
 principle. His inflexible integrity, his thorough 
 purity, his solid judgment, won from Daniel 
 Webster the enthusiastic declaration that — 
 though of opposite political views — if he were 
 ever President of the United States, Walter 
 Lowrie should be the Secretary of the Trea- 
 sury. 
 
 It is believed that it was at Mr. Lowrie's house 
 in C Street, Washington, that the first Congres- 
 sional prayer-meeting was held. It is certain 
 that the meetings were continued there for some 
 time. 
 
 They were at first confined to the members 
 of Congress themselves ; but were afterwards 
 
13 
 
 opened to their families. Of these meetings 
 Mrs. Lowrie used to speak with interest. She 
 was probably the last survivor of those who 
 attended them then. 
 
 LIFE IN NEW YORK. 
 
 In 1836 Mr. Lowrie resigned his place in the 
 Senate to take direction of the work of Foreign 
 Missions, upon which the Presbyterian Church 
 as a body was then entering. The change w^as 
 made with great sacrifice of worldly advantages, 
 but without regret or hesitation, when the way 
 of duty and of usefulness was made plain. The 
 family removed from Washington to New York, 
 and Mrs. Lowrie's life was henceforth identified 
 with the work of Foreign Missions. How well 
 she fulfilled her part in that work need not be 
 told. The powers of her mind and body were 
 consecrated to it. For years their house was 
 the home of the missionaries going out or 
 returning ; and every missionary seemed to be- 
 come a personal friend in whose welfare she 
 ever after retained an interest, and for whom 
 she was ready to render any service to which 
 she might be called. None but members of 
 
H 
 
 her own family could know the amount of labor 
 she performed for missionaries in the field, as 
 well as for those preparing to go, and those 
 returning after years of absence. 
 
 In the early period of the work especially, 
 it was no uncommon thing for two or three 
 families to be guests together at Mr. Lowrie's. 
 
 The chief care of this came upon Mrs. 
 Lowrie, and most cheerfully was it met. The 
 most crowded house never disturbed her equa- 
 nimity. The most perplexing circumstances never 
 seemed to annoy her, or to interfere with the 
 perfect order and peace of her household. 
 
 It is true she never m.ade any essential change 
 in her arrangements, or went to any unnecessary 
 trouble for her guests. Her house was open, and 
 they were welcome. Whatever she had to give 
 was given freely. Whatever she could do was 
 done so gladly that we venture the assertion 
 that none ever enjoyed the hospitality of that 
 home without feeling that it was a mutual 
 pleasure. 
 
 One who knew her under such circumstances 
 writes : 
 
 " It was at their house in New York that we first 
 became acquainted with, and learned to love and 
 esteem, dear Mr. and Mrs. Lowrie. You remember 
 
IS 
 
 the time perhaps, twenty-six years ago, when Mr. W. 
 and myself, having just parted with home and relatives, 
 were detained in New York for many weeks, there 
 being at the time no ship to take us East. It was 
 then and there that we saw R. and yourself at study 
 around the table after tea, in the evening. Under the 
 circumstances, we felt that our sojourn with these dear, 
 kind friends was particularly pleasant and profitable. 
 For Mrs. Lowrie, who was to me a mother, sister, 
 and friend, I formed an attachment very strong, and 
 which was always increased by visiting her and cor- 
 responding with her. . . . 
 
 " I regret, however, to say that the many letters 
 I received from her while we remained in China, 
 together with those written soon after our return to 
 this country, owing to circumstances, have all been 
 destroyed. The war, as you might suppose, inter- 
 rupted our correspondence ; but as soon as communi- 
 cation was again restored, she was among the first to 
 write, and offer her sympathies in our afflictions ; 
 manifesting, as ever, a heart full of love for us, and 
 interest in us and ours. My recollections of her are 
 most pleasant. Possessed of so much dignity, one 
 could not but respect and admire her, and at the same 
 time love and esteem her, for her gentleness and deep- 
 toned piety. Her memory will ever be precious to 
 me, and I trust, ere long, to be permitted to join her 
 again in heaven." 
 
 Few ever knew the labor and responsibility 
 connected with the work to which Mr. Lowrie 
 
i6 
 
 was called, and in which his wife bore so im- 
 portant and 3^et so unseen a part. One who was 
 himself intimately associated with the work 
 says : 
 
 " We had no acquaintance in New York dearer to 
 us than jMrs. Lowrie ; and, now that she is gone, none 
 whose memory we cherish with more heart-felt fond- 
 ness. Her meek, quiet, gentle, cheerful, and agree- 
 able Christian temper always exerted a powerful 
 influence over my own feelings ; and I do not know 
 that I ever left her quiet mansion, even In times of the 
 greatest anxiet}', without being comforted and en- 
 couraged in the arduous work that had been assigned 
 us. To ^Ir. Lowrie I feel very much Indebted for all 
 practical wisdom I may possess In directing the mis- 
 sionary aflairs of the Church : but questions were con- 
 stantly arising that required all the delicacy of woman's 
 intuitive perceptions to discern and settle ; and In all 
 such cases I could rely upon INIrs. Lowrle's judgment 
 and good sense with almost Implicit confidence. It 
 was a great comfort for me to be assured by her that 
 I was remembered by her dear husband to the last 
 with all the regard of former years. ISIr. Lowrie was 
 undoubtedly one of the great men of the generation that 
 is passing away." 
 
 It was not in labor alone that the interest of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lowrie in the cause of Christ 
 among the heathen was shown. They had con- 
 secrated themselves to the work. Nothing that 
 
17 
 
 they had to offer was held back. From their 
 home in New York two sons went forth to toil 
 and die for their Master in China. In these 
 sacrifices Mrs. Lowrie bore her full share. 
 
 The strong attachment between her and those 
 to whom she had taken the relation of mother 
 has already been noticed. If any confirmation 
 of this were needed, it may be found abundantly 
 in the published letters of *one whose early mar- 
 tyrdom, on the threshold of perhaps as brilliant 
 and promising a life as ever went out amid the 
 darkness of heathenism, was mourned by the 
 w^hole Church. 
 
 The Rev. Walter M. Lowrie writes from 
 Manilla, Sept. 6, 1842 : 
 
 " Mv Dear jMotheU, — When m}' journal comes 
 to hand, which I hope it will before very long, you 
 will have a fuller account of the various adventures 
 and hair-breadth escapes of the voyage from Alacao to 
 this place. It is rough and uncouth in many ways ; 
 but it has been a companion to me in loneliness and 
 in dangers and in pleasures. It made me think of 
 home and of friends when the storm howled around 
 me, and the billows tossed our ship as if they would 
 overwhelm her and us in the black gulf beneath us. 
 It made me think of home, too, in the calm sunset 
 hour at sea, and it brought the tears to my eyes more 
 than once, as the quiet hours of the Saturday and the 
 
i8 
 
 Sabbath closed around me. I have laughed over 
 some of its little tales, and wept over others, and in- 
 sensibly it grew like a friend in whose w^elfare I was 
 deeply interested ; and when I sat in my silent cabin, 
 and was sorrowful that I had no friend to feel for 
 me or sympathize with me in my solitude, I laid my 
 hand upon its pages, and said, ' Wait awhile ; when 
 she to whom it is addressed has read it, I shall lack 
 no sympathy,' and the very anticipation relieved me. 
 Thus though in itself it has small merit, yet its associ- 
 ations and nameless influences give it a value in my 
 eyes that I trust will not be wholly wanting with you." 
 
 Again he writes from Macao, May 14, 1843 : 
 
 "Dear Mother, — I cannot express my thanks 
 to you sufficiently for that letter. You seemed to fear 
 that it would aftbrd me little gratification ; but it has 
 been the most interesting letter I have yet received 
 from you. 
 
 " I like ' news ' very w^ell ; but I like kind w^ords 
 and warm expressions of affection a great deal better, 
 when I knozu that they come unstudied from the heart. 
 I cannot describe to you how much I value such a 
 sentence as ' It is past nine o'clock, and all are waiting 
 for me for prayers, where we always remember him in 
 ^foreign land.' It brought the warm tears to my eyes 
 (I can hardly see now); pictured before me — oh, 
 how distinctly ! — the scenes of other days, when I too 
 knelt with you, and when my voice was heard among 
 you. I could see again the quiet room with its cheer- 
 ful fire, and the table with its well-remembered cover 
 
19 
 
 and lamp, and the family Bible with its broken bind- 
 ing, and each fiimiliar face, aye, and the accustomed 
 seat in which each one sat. I could hear the voice 
 that read ; I almost fancied I could join in the familiar 
 tune that was sung ; and so I can^ though separated 
 from you by half the circumference of the world. 
 The praises we sing, though sung on opposite sides 
 of the globe, ascend to the same gracious God, and the 
 prayers we offer reach the same mercy-seat, and the 
 same grace that sustains you is sufficient — more than 
 sufficient — for me." 
 
 Of the home, a glimpse of which is here given, 
 the writer can hardly trust himself to speak. For 
 years his own home, in the sacred influences of 
 which he was prepared for whatever of good it 
 may have been given him to do here, or to look 
 forward to hereafter, he cannot without emotion 
 recall it with its sweet scenes, or realize that all 
 its dear inmates have gone out to return no more. 
 
 This, at least, he may say with the calmest de- 
 liberation : it was the most perfect example of a 
 Christian home that it was ever his lot to know. 
 Nor is he alone in this judgment. Others who 
 have been for a season under that roof, have left 
 with impressions that will never be forgotten. 
 Christians have been strengthened and comforted. 
 Those without a Christian hope have felt the 
 wonderful power and beauty of a living holiness. 
 
20 
 
 If there was a spot on earth in which a worn 
 and weary and troubled soul seemed almost un- 
 consciously to find rest, it was there. 
 
 And yet there was never the least show of piety. 
 Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Lowrie was in the habit of 
 speaking much of personal religious feeling. 
 Their power was not in talking of religion, but 
 in living it. It was their whole life, the life of 
 the household, the life of Christ in it, calm, 
 cheerful, happy, self-sacrificing, toiling, invaria- 
 bly consistent, day by day, and year by year, — 
 it was this that made that home always as the 
 gate of heaven, without a particle of gloom or 
 sanctimoniousness, but radiant with the light and 
 peace of God. 
 
 It would be difficult to point to a more perfect 
 and happy married life. The arrangements of 
 the household, always simple, were made with 
 an order that left the day free for every duty. 
 Undoubtedly there were the usual perplexities of 
 a family, but they never seemed to be felt. 
 There was no jar ; and this was chiefly due to 
 her who assumed the entire charge of the cares 
 of the household without and within, that her 
 husband might be left free from interruption in 
 his work. Incessantly and laboriously occupied 
 at his office during the day, Mr. Lowrie always 
 
21 
 
 found a cheerful and happy home waiting his re- 
 turn at night. 
 
 Their evenings — we speak now of the years 
 that preceded the development of fatal disease in 
 Mrs. Lowrie's system — were generally spent in 
 reading, singing, and cheerful recreations. Mrs. 
 Lowrie usually read aloud to her husband a part 
 of each evening. Her voice was pleasant and 
 musical, and through her life she was a sweet 
 singer. This gift added greatly to the enjoyment 
 of the household. Until near the close of their 
 united life on earth, singing was a delightful part 
 of the morning and the evening worship. The 
 beauty of household religion has had few brighter 
 illustrations than in this family. 
 
 Both Mr. and Mrs. Lowrie were possessed of 
 remarkable self-control. One needed to know 
 the profound depth of feeling in their natures to 
 appreciate that wonderful calmness with which 
 every event of life was met. It was the perfect 
 peace of those whose minds are stayed on God. 
 
 Once only do we remember to have seen this 
 self-possession broken. It was the day that the 
 intelligence came of Walter's death, at the hands 
 of pirates in the China sea, — Monday, the 27th 
 of December, 1847. Mr. Lowrie had received 
 the sad intelligence at the office, and immediately 
 
22 
 
 returned home. His wife came in, and laying 
 her hand upon his shoulder, as she was wont 
 to do, said in her cheerful tone: "Why are you 
 home so soon?" "Walter is dead," was all the 
 reply. With a smothered cry of anguish she 
 fled to her room, which she did not leave until, 
 through a long and silent struggle, she had cast 
 the terrible burden upon Him who alone could 
 bear it. 
 
 That evening the family were gathered as usual 
 for worship. Mr. Lowrie read the Scriptures ; 
 the hymn was commenced, — but the voices fal- 
 tered and broke, — and the sacrifice w^as left upon 
 the altar, with groanings that could not be ut- 
 tered. 
 
 To both parents this affliction was inexpres- 
 sibly severe. None could feel the personal loss 
 more than Mrs. Lowrie. To Mr. Lowrie, his 
 private trial was so mingled with grief for China, 
 that it seemed hard to say which was the more 
 intense. His love for the cause of Christ, and 
 his yearning for the perishing heathen, never 
 seemed so wonderful and so sublime as in the 
 struggle in which he bowed to the will of God in 
 the loss of this beloved son. 
 
 Mrs. Lowrie's labors in New York were by no 
 means confined to the interests of Foreign Mis- 
 
23 
 
 slons. She first fulfilled her duties at home. 
 Then, whatever time and strength she had re- 
 maining she gave to her Master's work, wherever 
 she seemed called. For years she was actively 
 engaged in labors for "The House of Industry;" 
 serving for a long time as its Treasurer, and re- 
 linquishing the work only when compelled to do 
 so, almost within the shadows of the grave. 
 
 She was deeply interested in the establishment 
 of the "Presbyterian Home for Aged Women." 
 To this, too, she gave her strength while it lasted ; 
 remembering it liberally also in her final benefac- 
 tions. 
 
 Of the details of her work for these objects we 
 have been unable to obtain any account, beyond 
 that contained in the statements which follow. 
 
 One who knew her well in all the relations she 
 sustained, says : 
 
 " The details of her active life will be hard to de- 
 scribe. Certainly activity was a marked feature of 
 her character ; but it was so gentle and unobtrusive 
 and so unremitting, that to describe it seems to mar it. 
 
 " In the estimation of others, she never came short 
 in any thing she put her hand to ; in her own estima- 
 tion she did. 
 
 " I knew her first as a teacher of the Bible class. 
 She endeared each member of it to herself, but above 
 all, to her Saviour. Without an exception, she led 
 
24 
 
 each one to a consecration of herself to His service in 
 which her own life was wholly occupied. Notwith- 
 standinof other engfagements, she found time to devote 
 the whole of every Friday afternoon to her class, when 
 she formed a sewing society for them. She improved 
 these occasions also to impart much useful information. 
 
 " As the wife of an Elder, she labored in the con- 
 gregation, visiting much, particularly among the sick, 
 or wherever there were to be found sorrowing hearts, 
 for whom she had a keen sympathy. 
 
 " Her hospitality knew no bounds, save that it was 
 mostly extended to those who were of the household of 
 faith. Extremely systematic in every thing, she was 
 able to accomplish in one day what in ordinary cases 
 would be spread over the week. The increase of her 
 household from two to seventeen was met with the 
 quietness which was a part of her strength. She has 
 formed the connecting link between the scattered 
 members of her family by her interesting, faithful cor- 
 respondence ; her letters were always hailed with joy ; 
 they were concise, clear, full of love and interest in the 
 person to whom they were addressed. Here the 
 breach which her removal has made is most keenly 
 felt. 
 
 " With the commencement of the ' House of Indus- 
 try ' she was identified, acting from the first as its 
 Treasurer. Her accounts were all neatly made ; and 
 if the difference of one cent existed, she would never 
 rest until the matter was cleared. This benevolent 
 work brought to her notice many of the poor, who ever 
 found in her a judicious adviser and a kind, active 
 friend. 
 
25 
 
 " At the first suggestion of a ' Home for Aged 
 Women,' she threw all her sympathies into the effort. 
 She not only gave her hearty co-operation in the under- 
 taking, and acted as Treasurer again in this connection, 
 but she felt a deep interest in every detail, and en- 
 deared herself to many of those who have found there 
 a happy home in the evening of their life. 
 
 '^ There was no good work undertaken by her 
 Church which did not find in her a firm friend and 
 active supporter. She loved the ways of Zion. I 
 have never met with any one who seemed to have 
 fewer drawings to the world, — the world as the 
 enemy of God, — while she took a deep and intelligent 
 interest in all the questions of the day which agitated 
 it. . . . Her love for the house of God was wonder- 
 ful. It overcame every obstacle. In the winter of her . 
 last sickness this seemed to me a weekly miracle. She 
 received strength to dress and walk to church by half- 
 past ten, and never showed the least disposition to 
 sleep, while every other day she was perfectly over- 
 come by sleep until about eleven. 
 
 "Every other Wednesday during March (1S69) we 
 attended the female prayer-meeting at the Tabernacle. 
 It required a great exertion to go up to Thirty-fourth 
 Street ; but she seemed always to feel that it was good 
 to be there." 
 
 Another adds : 
 
 " It is very hard to realize that one whom we have 
 loved and honored so much will return to us no more. 
 I cannot tell you what a blessing she was to the 
 
26 
 
 Church, or how much we miss her loving voice and 
 gentle ministries ; nor all she was constantly doing to 
 make others happy." 
 
 One writing in behalf of the managers of the 
 " House of Industry," says : 
 
 " We realize that in her death our society has sus- 
 tained a great loss. Her thorough accuracy in ac- 
 counts, her gentleness, and her dignified and Christian 
 demeanor won the respect and confidence of all associ- 
 ated with her. The industrious poor are bereft of a 
 true friend. For seventeen years her pen v^^as used 
 most faithfully in their service in this institution. She 
 now rests from her labors, and her works do follow 
 Jier." 
 
 What 'Mrs. Lowrie was as a friend all who 
 enjoyed her friendship can testify. From a child, 
 her power to win affection was wonderful, and 
 those who knew her longest and best, loved her 
 most. The evidence of this might be gathered 
 from all parts of our land, and from the heathen 
 world. 
 
 One qualified by many years of friendship to 
 testify writes : 
 
 *' It was a great grief to me that during these long 
 months of her greatest suffering and of her deepest 
 consolation, when to see her would have been a privi- 
 lege, I was unable to do so. I shall regret it while I 
 
27 
 
 live. And when we turned from the vault where she 
 was ' buried out of our sight,' it was, as relates to this 
 world, blank and comfortless to me. I longed for 
 some remembered word and look on which to dwell. 
 ... I have indeed been blest, for thirty-two years, in 
 holding constant intercourse with one of the sweetest, 
 jDurest, and most gentle of human beings. It is rare 
 to see such a union of true womanly softness with a 
 strength of mind and will equal to any emergency, — 
 a spirit so bright and glad, so full of enjoyment in life, 
 and yet, when the blight came, submissive at once, 
 willing to suffer and to die ; as she said to me [when 
 first informing the writer of the fatal nature of her dis- 
 ease] ' / ain resigned; I would not have it other- 
 wise^ — words which grace alone could have enabled 
 her to feel and to say. For life was full of enjoyment 
 to her. She was gifted with all that could make exist- 
 ence happy. The grace to live as she did, know^ing 
 that the last enemy was ever near, — how near none 
 could tell, — is accorded to few, and was the crown of 
 a faithful life. . . . She was blended with my life 
 during all these years, and the loss of her consoling 
 and cheering society will be felt in the few and darker 
 years that may lie before me." 
 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 
 
 The first symptoms of the disease alluded to 
 above appeared about ten years before its fatal 
 termination. From the first, it contained the 
 sentence of death ; yet it never seemed to in- 
 
28 
 
 terrupt that perfect serenity of spirit with which 
 Mrs. Lowrie met every event of life. 
 
 Indeed it was not until the last year of her life 
 that some of her most intimate friends and rel- 
 atives were aware that her health was fatally 
 affected. She suflered at times greatly, but 
 never complained ; and indeed made so little 
 of h^ illness, that probably none of her friends 
 suspected the extent of her suffering. Her 
 manifold duties w^ere discharged as promptly as 
 ever : and when, in the progress of the disease, 
 she lost entirely the use of her right arm and 
 hand, she at once applied herself with the utmost 
 cheerfulness to supply their place with her left. 
 Her accounts were kept, and her correspondence 
 conducted with her left hand, the slope of the 
 letters simply being reversed. Very touching it 
 is to observe now these silent but expressive 
 evidences of that remarkable energy of character 
 combined with entire submission to the will of 
 God, which, while accepting His Providence 
 without a murmur, would nevertheless serve 
 Him to the end. 
 
 Side by side with this affliction was now that 
 of the failing healtli of her husband. Thirty-six 
 years they had walked together in the sweetest 
 earthly relation. Thirty-six years of united, 
 
29 
 
 incessant, hallowed toil for Christ ! Thirty-six 
 years . of sowing, for others to reap ! It was 
 towards evening, and the day was far spent. 
 The Master was coming to give the servants 
 release and rest. 
 
 Mr. Lowrie had resigned his office at the Mis- 
 sion House in 1867. He however continued his 
 labors gratuitously as long as his strength per- 
 mitted him to reach the office. A fall in the 
 spring of 1868 gave his system a shock from 
 which it never rallied. In the autumn of that 
 year Mrs. Lowrie wrote to a beloved relative : 
 " Mr. Lowrie does not vary much from day to 
 day, but one thing after another is left off; the 
 walks through the rooms are fewer and shorter ; 
 the daily paper is now never asked for, but the 
 'chapter' in his daily reading for years is seldom 
 omitted." 
 
 Again she writes : " He prays morning and 
 evening in family worship, and shows no weak- 
 ness of mind there. One night, after a very 
 restless time, I repeated to him the verses 'For 
 I am persuaded that neither death, nor life,' &c. 
 He said ' It would be hard to add any thing to 
 those texts.' Another night I said: 'My text 
 to-day is "Ye are complete in Him.'" He said, 
 'Yes, that is 2i great text.' One Sunday he said 
 
30 
 
 to me: ^I am very low-spirited.' *I will read 
 to you,' I replied. 'Oh,' he said, 'I am proof 
 against reading.' 'But it is the Bible I am going 
 to read.' 'Oh, the Bible ! ' he exclaimed. 'One 
 can never hear that without wanting to hear it 
 again; it has been the comfort of my life.' I 
 read the fourteenth chapter of John, and it quieted 
 him at once." 
 
 All his powers were now failing together. But 
 the great work of his life pressed upon him to 
 the end. "For several weeks before his death 
 his mind wandered upon every subject but that 
 of religion." He was working hard for missions. 
 "The High School in Liberia," — we quote from 
 a letter of Mrs. Lowrie, — " he planned over and 
 over with old Dr. Alexander's advice, and I 
 heard him praying in the most earnest manner 
 for it, so real was it all to him. The Indians too 
 he was constantly planning for. He was gentle 
 and patient to the last." 
 
 It was very affecting to see the once powerful 
 frame, which for so many years had never failed 
 to bow in the morning and the evening sacrifice, 
 unable to kneel in prayer. With his head bent 
 upon his hand, as he sat in his chair, he con- 
 ducted the worship of the family. At length this 
 became impossible, and he gave the service into 
 
31 
 
 her hands who, in the days of his strength, never, 
 in his absence, suffered the fire to go out on the 
 household altar. 
 
 Mrs. Lowrie writes : "The change in us all is 
 very great, but we have many mercies, — a quiet, 
 peaceful home, with abundance for our comfort, 
 and, I trust, an interest in the precious Saviour, 
 which will give us entrance to His everlasting 
 kingdom." 
 
 It had been, as we have seen, the earnest 
 prayer of Mrs. Lowrie that she might be spared 
 to minister to her husband in his last days on 
 earth. This prayer was granted, and then her 
 own work seemed done. On the 14th of De- 
 cember, 1868, Mr. Lowrie was released from 
 the work in which he had been so lonof and 
 so unselfishly engaged, and passed from the 
 tenderest earthly ministries to the presence of 
 his Lord. His mission was finished. The 
 wonderful lines of Providence, by which he had 
 been fitted for and borne into and carried 
 through that mission, had now converged. It 
 only remained " that mortality should be swal- 
 lowed up of life." Calmly as he had lived, so 
 calmly and peacefully he entered into rest. 
 There was no rapture ; there was no audible 
 testimony. That was given and completed by 
 
32 
 
 his life. Death could add nothing to it. His 
 witness was in heaven ; his record was on 
 high. 
 
 Leaning on the Arm that had smitten, the 
 widowed sufferer now gathered up her strength 
 to finish the journey of life alone, — a journey 
 of which so little now remained. 
 
 A few days after the death of her husband, 
 Mrs. Lowrie w^rote : "Your dear father's death 
 was sudden to me. I had seen him fail so 
 gradually for seven months nearly, it was hard to 
 realize that the end was near. He was confined 
 to his bed a little over two weeks. Every morn- 
 ing, and, if necessary, in the evening, he was 
 lifted out of the bed, and sat long enough to have 
 it made, and I looked for weeks of such strength. 
 
 R came on Thursday morning. I felt that 
 
 ^the steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord.' 
 It was a comfort to me beyond expression to 
 have him. His father knew him, though he said 
 very little that we could understand, or that was 
 coherent, after he came. Saturday and Sabbath 
 he failed very rapidly, but had no suffering ; and 
 literally fell asleep, at half-past three o'clock 
 Monday morning. . . . His distressed counte- 
 nance changed entirely a few minutes before he 
 went, and the face was lovelv to the last look. 
 
33 
 
 It was my desire to be permitted to attend him to 
 the end, for I knew the trial of a change would 
 be greater to him than to me ; but I can give you 
 no idea of the loneliness. ... I was able to go 
 to the church [at the funeral services] , and was 
 
 thankful that I was able. Dr. P 's address 
 
 was to me very satisfactory and comforting." 
 
 Speaking of the offers she had received of a 
 home with different friends, — with all of whom 
 her presence would have been esteemed a bless- 
 ing, — she expresses the apprehension that the 
 spring will be as long as " she shall need any 
 earthly home," and adds, "I try to leave it all in 
 the hands of God." 
 
 Again she writes : " My mind is not disturbed 
 with anxieties, as when the reality first came on 
 me. ... I feel restful and trustful in some 
 degree since a most comforting visit from Dr. 
 
 P last Thursday. . . . Yesterday morning I 
 
 went to church and came home in a snow-storm ; 
 otherwise I should have gone comfortably. I 
 was not able to go to communion." 
 
 It was soon evident that the struggle between 
 life and death, in her own case, was to be close 
 and incessant. She realizes it, and waits for its 
 issue with the same submission to God, the same 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 fulfilment of duty, the same interest in the Re- 
 deemer's cause, the same cheerful communion 
 with friends, that had marked her life. 
 
 On the 29th of January, 1869, she writes : " I 
 went down to breakfast yesterday for the first 
 time in a week, but I am not equal to what I was 
 before. I suppose every attack takes a pin out 
 of the tabernacle. I trust your hope that the 
 Holy Spirit was with you is realized. I love to 
 hear of His workings." 
 
 Alluding to her purpose to break up her home, 
 she writes on the 29th of March : " I came to the 
 decision by a very slow process, but I have now 
 no doubt that I have decided rightly, and another 
 month will find me more a stranger and pilgrim 
 than I have ever felt myself to be ; that is, if I 
 shall be well enough to move. ... I am quite 
 
 satisfied. The truth is, dear M , I have no 
 
 home-feeling. The light of this dwelling went 
 out when your father died. I heard of dear old 
 Mrs. Henry's death last week, and I could not 
 help wishing myself among them. . . . My pres- 
 ent plan is to go to T 's first, and in June, if I 
 
 am well enough, go to R 's for the rest of the 
 
 summer. ... I have no health to attend to any 
 thing. My right hand and arm are worse than 
 useless ; they are so swollen and heavy as to 
 
35 
 
 render me very uncomfortable. I seldom go out 
 except to church, and strange to say I am al- 
 most every Sunday able to go. It is my greatest 
 
 joy-" 
 
 The intimations are not faint or few now that 
 there may soon be for her greater joy in a higher 
 and unsuftering service. She is " never a moment 
 free from pain." The faithful left hand does its 
 work, but the letters are briefer and fewer. On 
 the 8th of May she writes : 
 
 " My Dear R : I have had another long attack 
 
 of rheumatism and helplessness. I was well enough 
 to ride out day before yesterday, and took more cold, 
 and now am not able to bear my weight on my foot. 
 It is very discouraging, and has delayed my getting off, 
 
 though I hope to go next week on Thursday. A 
 
 has been here two weeks or more, and will stay until 
 I get away. I am not able to do one thing for myself, 
 and hardly to give directions. 
 
 " The shells [a favorite cabinet of sea-shells] have 
 been put into boxes, and the delicate ones I had 
 brought upstairs. How beautiful they are ! and they 
 revive such tender recollections ! There is not one 
 that your dear father and I had not handled and 
 admired together. I felt glad they were going to you 
 
 and T . ... I have now no idea of being able 
 
 to go to you this summer ; but they tell me I am easily 
 discouraged. My verses yesterday were Ps. cxlvii. 
 lo, II, and they comforted me." 
 
36 
 
 It will have been seen that Mrs. Lowrie's 
 original plan, in leaving New York, was to 
 divide her time between the home of her brother, 
 to which she removed, and that of one to whom 
 for thirty-six years she had borne the most tender 
 relation of mother. As her disease progressed, 
 however, it became evident that this plan must 
 be surrendered. She yielded it, not without dis- 
 appointment, but without the least complaint or 
 dissatisfaction. Indeed, divine grace had so far 
 accomplished its work that no earthly disappoint- 
 ment seemed to disturb her. She had gone 
 through the worst, and " the fruit of righteous- 
 ness was peace." 
 
 The testimony of her physician is, that " When 
 she became aware of the serious nature of her 
 disease, she was for a while depressed with the 
 fear that she should not be spared to take care 
 of her husband as long as he lived. But her 
 perfect trust in the goodness of God soon restored 
 her usual cheerfulness ; and confident in her 
 Saviour, that He would do for them both that 
 which would be for their good and His own glory, 
 she appeared to say : 
 
 ' I'll go and come, 
 Nor fear to die, 
 Till from on high 
 Thou call me home.'" 
 
37 
 
 Referring to the sufferings under which her 
 " active services " were rendered for causes of 
 benevolence, the same friend adds : " Under all 
 these trying circumstances, she was uniformly 
 cheerful and composed. It was more than natu- 
 ral strength of character : it was the perfect rest 
 and quiet that are given only to those whose 
 hope is fixed on a surer foundation than this 
 world can afford." 
 
 THE LAST CHANGE. 
 
 Her final departure from her home in Twelfth 
 Street was made with as much composure and 
 serenity of spirit as if she were going simply 
 for a morning ride. Yet it could not be that 
 that step should have been taken without a strug- 
 gle. She was leaving a home in which the most 
 sacred associations of a quarter of a century were 
 gathered. She was leaving friends on whose 
 unfailing kindness and sympathy she had never 
 had occasion to depend in vain, and on whose 
 friendship she m.ight rest for all the offices that 
 friendship could render to the end. She was 
 leaving a Church dear to her beyond expression. 
 She was leaving the field of her life's best work, 
 the scenes of her holiest joys, and of her most 
 sacred sorrows. These were bonds that could 
 
38 
 
 not be broken without pain. But whatever the 
 conflict, it was over before the hour came. The 
 path once made plain was entered with peace 
 and gratitude, and even joy. 
 
 She removed to the house of her brother, in 
 Norwalk, Connecticut, on the 13th of May, 1869. 
 She was very feeble when she left New York, 
 and it was with difficulty that she was able to 
 reach the carriage. She bore the journey, how- 
 ever, by the cars remarkably well. Indeed she 
 felt so much better before the end of it, that 
 she was already planning the enjoyment of a 
 speedy return to visit her friends in New York. 
 The next day she was still better, and walked 
 through the yard and garden of the Parsonage 
 with great delight. For some days she appeared 
 to rally. She rode out frequently, enjoying in- 
 tensely the numberless beautiful drives in the 
 vicinity of her new home. Her favorite drive 
 was by the sea-shore, where she could inhale 
 the refreshing breeze and enjoy the exquisite 
 beauty of the scenery, ever varying with the 
 changing atmosphere ; — the distant Long Island 
 coast ; the blue stretch of water between ; the 
 numerous islands, with their remarkable diversity 
 of form and extent; the vessels passing and re- 
 passing — all furnished a source of enjoyment 
 with which she never wearied. 
 
39 
 
 The rooms appropriated to her use had been 
 fitted up with furniture, pictures, and ornaments 
 from her home in New York. Being upon the 
 first floor, she was able to join the family at their 
 meals, — a pleasure of which she had long been 
 deprived, and which she enjoyed greatly. Her 
 presence was no less valued by the family. No 
 meal seemed complete without her. Her uni- 
 form vivacity and affection threw light on every 
 gathering. Her room — while she was able to 
 bear it — was the gathering place of the family 
 whom she loved to have around her. Here, too, 
 she received the occasional visits of friends from 
 a distance, as well as of those who, though 
 strangers before, had endeared themselves to 
 her by many acts of generous and thoughtful 
 attention. One of her last and strongrest ex- 
 pressions of gratitude, was for the kindness of 
 these dear friends whom she had never known 
 before. 
 
 Her sufferings, after her removal to Nor walk, 
 seemed to be mitigated. She had hardly a 
 serious attack of the rheumatic trouble which 
 had been so painful before. Her physician from 
 New York visited her once, and then transferred 
 her case to the care of one whose attention and 
 fidelity were unremitting to the end. 
 
40 
 
 To those who had known her whole life of 
 active service for others, and her freedom from 
 dependence, and the energy with which she had 
 maintained that freedom to the last degree of 
 strength, nothing was more remarkable than 
 the ease and cheerfulness with which she con- 
 sented to be utterly dependent on others. "You 
 never expected to see me like this, did you?" 
 she once said, with a smile, to a dear relative 
 from a distance, as he entered her room. Her 
 manner throughout was of one to whom it was 
 
 " Sweet to lie passive in His hands, 
 And know no will but His." 
 
 * She continued to ride out as long as she could 
 be borne to the carriage. On the 6th of July, 
 she had ridden with the family to Westport. 
 The next morning, while dressing, a severe 
 hemorrhage prostrated her, from which she never 
 fully rallied. She lingered for six weeks, watched 
 over with a care which it seemed a pleasure rather 
 than a duty to render. Occasionally she would 
 so far recover strength as to be rolled out upon 
 the piazza, where she would lie enjoying the 
 
 * From this point, the sketch is continued principally from 
 notes written just after Mrs. Lowrie's death. 
 
41 
 
 passing scenes and the beauties of nature. Most 
 of the time she was quite helpless, requiring four 
 persons to move her from the bed to the lounge, 
 and from the lounge back to the bed. Still she 
 was so invariably cheerful and happy that it 
 never seemed like a room where we were waiting 
 for death. 
 
 Having arranged her worldly affairs, nothing 
 remained for her but to wait for the coming of her 
 Lord. It was our custom, to the last, to have our 
 evening prayers in her room, and in the morning 
 the door to her room was left open while the 
 family occupied the one adjoining. This was a 
 privilege she greatly prized, and missed if for 
 any reason the arrangement was interfered with. 
 She enjoyed, as she had always done, the singing 
 in the worship of the family. Through her 
 whole sickness, one of the children would ar- 
 range the book for her upon the bed, and she 
 would join with delight in our songs of praise. 
 This she did almost to the ver}^ last. She loved 
 also to hear and to unite with the children in 
 their little Sabbath-School hymns ; some of 
 which — such as "He leadeth me," "Jesus paid 
 it all " — she was very fond of. The Sabbath 
 evenings in " Aunt Mary's " room are among 
 the sweetest recollections of the household, and 
 
42 
 
 as far removed from the gloom of death as 
 possible. 
 
 Mrs. Lowrie had never been in the habit of 
 speaking freely of her religious feelings. She 
 referred to them now at times, and it was painful 
 to find that her mind was not clear as to her 
 personal acceptance with God. This gave direc- 
 tion to much of our thoughts and readings and 
 prayers. 
 
 Our first earnest request had been that God 
 would interpose for her recovery. We knew 
 there was no human hope, but we knew that 
 with God all things were possible. When it 
 became evident that this prayer was not to 
 be answered, — that God had prepared better 
 things for her, and Christ's blessed intercession 
 was prevailing over ours, — we then asked 
 that she might be delivered from great suffering. 
 This prayer God was pleased to grant. She^ 
 was relieved to a great extent from acute pain, 
 and her position in sleep became more com- 
 fortable. 
 
 Towards the close of her life, in her extreme 
 weakness, her mind and body sympathized. She 
 became incapable of exertion, and of connected 
 thought, and her mind at times wandered. Of 
 this she was herself conscious ; and wished us 
 
43 
 
 to pray that she might be delivered from this 
 trial at least for a season before she should 
 pass away. This prayer with others was strik- 
 ingly answered. 
 
 In relation to her doubts, her brother was at 
 one time speaking to her of the hope that arose 
 from a consideration of what God had already 
 done for her, — that if He had not desired and de- 
 signed her salvation He could not have done all 
 He had done, — and quoted the words : " He 
 that spared not His own Son, but delivered Him 
 up for us all, how shall He not with Him also 
 freely give us all things." She replied sweetly : 
 "That ought to be enough." 
 
 In all these anxieties, however, when nothing 
 else gave relief, she would fall back upon the 
 simple assurance : " He that bcUeveth shall be 
 saved ; " saying " / do believe.'" 
 
 On one occasion, while conversing with her 
 
 sister, she said: "I must speak to M " (a 
 
 servant in the family, whom she had not seen). 
 
 "What do you wish to say to her?" she was 
 asked. 
 
 " I would tell her that my trust is in Christ ; 
 and that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from 
 all sin." It was clear that in the darkest hour 
 she was clinging to the only Name. 
 
• 44 
 
 Her strength failed day by day ; and more than 
 once, as we watched her, the hour of her de- 
 parture seemed to have come. On Thursday 
 evening, the 12th of August, there was a marked 
 change. The evening prayers of the family had 
 just been attended in her room. Her brother had 
 left the room, when she sent for him again to 
 pray with her. She desired him earnestly to ask 
 that she might have the clear use of her mind 
 once more before she died. Its wandering now 
 was but partial. Her sister played and sung 
 the beautiful h3'mn of Lyte, — the last gift of the 
 dying poet to the Church, — written when the 
 final darkness was deepening around him, and 
 the morning was breaking beyond, — 
 
 '' Abide with me ; fast falls the eventide." 
 
 It was a favorite hymn of Mrs. Lowrie ; ^one 
 that she always delighted to hear, and yet one 
 that she could never hear without emotion. 
 Towards the close of her life, it was sung to her 
 daily.* 
 
 Afterwards we all united in singing, — 
 
 " Jesus, Lover of my soul." 
 
 During the night, as we watched with her, she 
 said : " I do not expect to live any time ; God is 
 
 * See page 64. 
 
45 
 
 showing me that He can do without me here." 
 And she added : " God makes no mistakes.''' 
 
 An alhision was made to what God had enabled 
 her to do for others. She immediately and ear- 
 nestly interrupted the remark: "Oh, do not say 
 that ! Do not speak of what I have done ! " 
 
 Thus the night passed, and she was still with 
 us The three following days she slept much, 
 and her mind wandered. The end was evidently 
 near, and our prayers had not been fully answered. 
 The cloud had not been lifted. But God had not 
 forgotten His promises. 
 
 On Sunday night, or rather Monday morn- 
 ing, Aug. i6, about one o'clock, we were again 
 called. She was apparently dying. As we bent 
 over her, it was evident that she was attempting 
 to speak, but her strength seemed gone. At 
 length we caught the words of fervent prayer. 
 It is impossible to describe it. None who listened 
 to it could control their feelings. She prayed for 
 the dear Church with which she was connected, 
 and in which she had enjoyed so many privileges ; 
 for its Pastor by name ; and for all its members, 
 pleading that they might be blessed, and be use- 
 ful Christians ; for her relatives and friends and 
 servants with great particularity ; and for the 
 people among whom her last days had been 
 spent, and who had been so kind to her. 
 
46 
 
 It seemed almost sacrilege to listen. Her very 
 physical strength appeared renewed as she waited 
 on the Lord. When her prayer was closed, it was 
 evident that our desires had been granted. Her 
 mind was quite clear again. Recognizing us, she 
 left her messages of affection for absent friends, 
 and spoke with gratitude of the change she felt. 
 "I have no pain of mind or body. I wonder 
 if the doctor would think I am dying : it is 
 pleasant to be lying here." 
 
 She spoke with delight of the prospect of meet- 
 ing her husband, and the sister whose death 
 several years before had fallen so heavily upon 
 her. 
 
 To one who had been her almost constant com- 
 panion and attendant while she was with us, she 
 said : " What a sister you have been to me ! '^ 
 
 To her brother she regretted that she should 
 " take so much of his precious time ; but," she 
 added, "it won't be long." She was assured that 
 it was only a precious privilege to minister to her 
 while the opportunity was given. 
 
 To another brother and sister, who were also 
 with her during the last few days of her life, she 
 expressed the deepest love and gratitude. 
 
 As she was evidently sinking, some stimu- 
 lant was oftered her, with the remark: "It will 
 
47 
 
 strengthen you." She dedined it, saying: "Is it 
 worth while to bring me back ? " 
 
 As we united in prayer, the shadow of the 
 cloud still rested on her. "Pray," she said, "that 
 I may be a true member of the body of Christ." 
 None but herself could doubt that she was and 
 had long been a living member of that sacred 
 and mystical body. Again the favorite hymn was 
 
 sung : 
 
 " Abide with me." 
 
 This was followed by that noblest and sweetest 
 hymn of a living and a dying faith : 
 
 " Rock of Ages." 
 
 As the night passed on, she became quiet, and 
 remained thus until morning. Through the fol- 
 low^ing day there was no essential change until 
 towards evening. She then sent for her brother, 
 who was with her. at once. Her mind was still 
 clear, but sorely pressed with doubts. She wished 
 prayer to be offered, that she might not be de- 
 ceived. Apart from the general darkness that 
 overhung her, she was struggling with what 
 seemed to be a direct suggestion of the tempter. 
 She had relished the delicacies that had been pro- 
 vided for her, and that were so necessary to her 
 support; and now, in her weakness, the thought 
 
48 
 
 was pressed upon her, that she could not be a true 
 child of God, and think so much of these things 
 at such a time. This thought she expressed to 
 one who stood by her side. " Why," was the im- 
 mediate reply, "the Saviour Himself, when He 
 was dying, cried, ^ I thirst.'" 
 
 She looked up, and her whole soul seemed to 
 come into her countenance as she caught the 
 thought, and exclaimed : " That is wonderful! " 
 
 We engaged in prayer, in the midst of which 
 the burden of her responsibilities seemed to weigh 
 so upon her that she interrupted the prayer with 
 a reference to them. " No matter," was the reply, 
 " what our sins or short-comings have been : the 
 blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin, even from 
 weakness of faith itself. Now leave all your 
 anxieties here." The prayer was then con^^inued. 
 The last word was hardly spoken before she ex- 
 claimed : " It is gone ! it is all gone ! Jesus is 
 precious ! Jesus is glorious ! Blessed Jesus ! His 
 blood cleanseth from all sin." Then immediately 
 turning her head, and looking around the room, 
 she said, with reference to her former doubts, "I 
 hope there is no one here who can be injured by 
 my want of faith." 
 
 She then slept for a while. When she woke, 
 she looked at her left hand, the use of which she 
 
49 
 
 had also lost, and observed that it did not seem 
 as stiff' as it had been. Then turning to the 
 physician who was by her side, she said : " Doc- 
 tor, this is the last; but perhaps," she added, 
 " there is more yet." 
 
 Her sister spoke of what the Saviour had done 
 for her. 
 
 " I never saw any thing like it," she exclaimed 
 again and again. 
 
 There had never been any excitement in her 
 experience. No high state of feeling was now 
 to be expected. There was no rapture. She 
 referred to this, saying: "To some God gives 
 triumph, but He will not give that to me." The 
 reply was : " The great promise is of peace, not 
 triumph ; and He has given you this." She 
 assented, saying again, "I never knew any thing 
 like it." This was repeated with an expression 
 almost joyous: "I do not seem," she said, "to 
 have a care : every thing is done for me." 
 
 Her sister repeated to her one of her own re- 
 marks, — that the more we can be like little chil- 
 dren towards Christ, the better He is pleased. 
 She said, " I think I feel so ; but I am so remiss " 
 
 Nothing was more remarkable to us who knew 
 her whole life's devotion to the welfare and happi- 
 ness of others — whose only recollections of her 
 
 4 
 
so 
 
 were those of self-sacrificing unselfishness — than 
 the expressions of her grief at her selfishenss. 
 This, which she so bitterly lamented, we are sure 
 was never discovered by any human eye but her 
 own. 
 
 Each hour was now loosening the silver cord. 
 Her remaining strength was gradually but surely 
 failing. With broken utterance she left once 
 more her messages of afi:ection for absent friends. 
 They were messages not only of gratitude, but 
 of strong desire for their participation in the love 
 and redemption of Christ. 
 
 She then slept again, and we watched her 
 through the night and another day. That day 
 her life seemed spared that she might meet once 
 more on earth with one to whom she was ardently 
 attached, and who had hastened from a distance 
 to her bedside. The interview was most tender 
 and grateful ; and then the ties of life were un- 
 bound and laid aside. 
 
 Tuesday night, the 17th of August, was the 
 last in which she needed our earthly ministries. 
 There was no marked change, but increasing 
 weakness. About two o'clock she was heard 
 again engaged in prayer. The last expression 
 we can now recall was this : " Christ has been so 
 good to me ! " Yes, goodness and mercy had fol- 
 
51 
 
 lowed her all the days of her life, and she was 
 now to dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. 
 Beyond her and our fears, Jesus led her gently 
 and without a struggle through the valley. At 
 half-past one o'clock on Wednesday afternoon, 
 the i8th of August, 1869, she fell asleep. 
 
 Another hand, that ministered to her unwea- 
 riedly through the closing months of her life, 
 writes : 
 
 " The solemnity of the dying moments of dear Mary 
 deepens on my mind more and more. I confess, 
 the presence of death awed me, and I was constantly 
 nerving myself to look upon the physical suffering 
 which might attend the hour. It was a great source 
 of gratitude with us that she was spared this. She 
 lay perfectly quiet, evidently retaining her conscious- 
 ness to the last. 
 
 " I saw the great change come over her, as I stood 
 
 alone by her bedside, and immediately called Mr. C . 
 
 He was with her at once ; and as he leaned over 
 her, smoothing her forehead, he said, ' Mary, is Jesus 
 with you?' — 'Yes,' she replied. 'Do you know 
 us?' — 'Yes.' So she passed away. We could not 
 speak except by giving her up once more in earnest 
 prayer. Jesus was present, and was tarrying with us : 
 we knew it. But did she not see Him? Her mind 
 was evidently occupied beyond our vision ; and all we 
 could do was to watch the coming and going of each 
 breath, until we knew she was parted from us, and 
 had followed her dear Redeemer, as He led the way. 
 
52 
 
 " The hour of her death was a strong contrast to 
 the repeated occasions on which we had before been 
 called to her, fearing that hour had come. At these 
 seasons, it seemed as if she poured her whole soul out 
 in love and gratitude and fervent prayer for those she 
 was leaving. But when death actually came, her 
 whole aspect seemed to say, though words were want- 
 ing, 'Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there 
 is none upon earth that I desire besides Thee.' 
 
 " It was easy to believe this ; for the sweet impress 
 of her heavenly spirit seemed given to those dear 
 remains, and it was hard to realize that she had left 
 us, to be with us no more on earth." 
 
 The funeral services were attended at the house 
 of her brother in Norwalk, on Friday, August 
 20th, the Rev. Dr. Rankin of Fairfield conduct- 
 ing them. The body was then removed to New 
 York, to be placed in the vault of the First Pres- 
 byterian Church of that city. Services were held 
 in the church. In the absence of the Pastor, 
 these were conducted by the Rev. Drs. Plumer, 
 Wells, and Stead. After prayer by Dr. Stead, 
 and a few impressive remarks by Dr. Plumer, 
 with an address by Dr. Wells, the body was 
 borne to the vault, to rest by the side of her hus- 
 band, with whom she had shared so long the 
 work of the Master on earth, and from whom, in 
 the Master's glory^ and rest, she was for so short a 
 time separated. 
 
ADDRESS 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. J. D. WELLS, D.D., 
 
 Of Brooklyn, N.Y, 
 
ADDRESS. 
 
 THIS service is more for consolation than eulogy. 
 And our comfort may grow into joyfulness. If we 
 look to the earth we see shadows and tears, — mourn- 
 ers going about the streets. If we lift our eyes to the 
 heavens, the tongue cannot tell all that is revealed for 
 the comfort and learning of those whose friends have 
 fallen asleep in Jesus. I do not think we make enough 
 of Christ's joy in receiving His blood-bought servants 
 to Himself. As He loved His own which were in the 
 world to the end of His life, so He does to the end of 
 theirs ; and precious in His sight is the death of His 
 saints. He sees of the travail of His soul, and is satis- 
 fied. 
 
 Moreover, there is an unfathomable depth of mys- 
 tery and consolation in the gladness of the eternal 
 God when His sons and daughters are brought to glory, 
 through the sufterings of Christ, the Captain of their 
 salvation. 
 
 Nor is it an extravagant thought that all the angels 
 of heaven are moved to emotional and heart-felt joy 
 whenever a weary pilgrim rests from his journey and 
 toil in the City of God. Enjoying their faithful minis- 
 try through life, and in the article of death, we ought 
 to rejoice for their sake, when we reflect how much 
 
56 
 
 reason they have for unfeigned gratitude and gladness, 
 as often as they see an heir of salvation taking his 
 place among those who are as the angels of God. 
 
 And what can be said of the sacred pleasure that 
 fills the hearts of kinsfolk and acquaintances, when 
 those whom they left weeping on the earth are them- 
 selves admitted into heaven? Nor is the pleasure 
 limited by recognition : the great multitude of souls 
 beneath the altar and around the throne are part of 
 one family, named by the same Father, and after the 
 same Christ. It brings common joy to all, to have 
 the song of redemption sung by new voices, the glory 
 of God recognized and shown forth by others than 
 themselves. 
 
 Few, in any case, are the mourners here, in com- 
 parison with the multitudes rejoicing above. And 
 there is nothing to hinder a sacred joyfulness, even 
 when we weep, with Jesus, because our earthly homes 
 are made very desolate. 
 
 There is lying before us here the shrouded and 
 coffined body of one whom we all sincerely loved. In 
 a few moments the grave will hide her from our eyes. 
 We must leave this precious form to darkness and 
 decay. But may w^e not think, too, that this body of 
 His saint is dear to Jesus? Is it not joined forever to 
 His living person? We know assuredly that it will 
 share in all the benefits of redemption by His blood. 
 Wasted and weary with the labors and sicknesses and 
 sorrows of life, it is to rest in the grave, as in a bed, 
 until the resurrection, and then to be changed and 
 fashioned like unto Christ's glorious body. '' For if 
 we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so 
 
57 
 
 them also that sleep in Jesus will God bring with 
 Him." Oh, the mystery and sweetness of these words ! 
 JesLis died. He bore the penal consequences of our 
 sin. For this reason, though our body is dead because 
 of sin, our spirit is life because of righteousness. Our 
 relation to death as the punishment of sin is forever 
 changed, and we sleep in Jesus. And even now we 
 rise in Him to walk in newness of life ; and out of our 
 graves God will bring us with Him, and up to His 
 throne and presence too, like unto Jesus in character, 
 and like Him in body. So that, in the fact of present 
 rest for the weary, and the assured hope of a resur- 
 rection to life and glory, we have strong consolation 
 while mourning for our pious dead. 
 
 But we are greatly afflicted by the removal from us 
 of the living person, with the sentient mind, the warm 
 heart, the lovely character. The child that rewarded 
 the love and care of her parents by gratitude and de- 
 votion, — the sister, wife, mother, dear to other hearts, 
 — has finally left all the homes of her kindred who 
 survive, and gone to be with Christ and those who 
 entered into rest before her. 
 
 Mrs. Lowrie will not be seen again in any of the 
 places of Christian toil that she loved so well. Till 
 God took the honored head of her house to Himself, a 
 few months ago, her own family very properly received 
 the largest share of her thought and labor ; but it was 
 not the only sphere in which her influence was felt. 
 
 To the great w^ork belonging to the Church she 
 gave herself with humble faith and zeal. She loved 
 her own particular Church. So, too, she loved the 
 whole Church, which is the body of Christ, the fullness 
 
S8 
 
 of Him that filleth all in all, and did not forget its wel- 
 fare or its woe. 
 
 She was a faithful and successful teacher in the 
 Sabbath school, — an example in this to other mature 
 Christians who have strength and opportunity to feed 
 Christ's lambs. She aided largely in the beneficent 
 plans and labors of the House of Industry, and in this 
 work exhibited more than ordinary executive ability 
 and skill of hand. She was deeply interested in the 
 beginnings and early success of the Presbyterian Home 
 for Aged Women. 
 
 She shared her husband's work and prayers and 
 self-denial for the spread of the Gospel and the found- 
 ing of all its blessed institutions among the heathen. 
 Upon her as well as him fell the sorrow of parting 
 with noble sons, when they went to the foreign field ; 
 and of waiting long, even till death, before greeting 
 the two that laid down their lives for Jesus. If she 
 had not been in fullest accord with them regarding the 
 great object of their mission, we had never seen the 
 thirty published letters of Rev. Walter M. Lowrie, 
 addressed to his mother from the land of Sinim. 
 
 We could not witness the breaking of so many 
 ties, the interruption of ail these Christian labors, and 
 feel no pangs. We had great joy while they lasted, 
 and God meant we should weep when they came to 
 an end. But thanks to His name that tears do not 
 drown our joys. These earthly ties were not broken 
 till they had answered well the great ends for which 
 they were formed. The Christian worker and sufferer 
 found rest none too soon for her own relief and her 
 Master's glory. She hid her own weakness and pains 
 
59 
 
 while there was need of her ministry at home. To 
 his manifest joy, she accompanied her husband in his 
 pilgrimage through its last and most painful stages, 
 and lingered only a short time after his departure. 
 When her home was broken up, and the time for 
 her final suffering had fully come, she found all the 
 relief and help and consolation that could be given In 
 the house of her brother, the Rev. Thomas S. Chllds, 
 D.D., at Norwalk, Conn. There she felt the furnace- 
 heat of temptation ; and there, too, she found beside 
 her one like unto the »Son of God. She saw and said 
 that " God makes no mistakes," in dealing with his 
 children. She learned that " He could do without 
 her.'' And with an earnest rejection of all dependence 
 on any " works that she had done ; " with a simple 
 trust In Him whose "blood cleanseth from all sin," 
 and of whom she could testify, "Jesus is precious, 
 Jesus is glorious," she entered into rest. Jesus came 
 for her ; and she recognized His presence and glory? 
 and gladly departed to be forever with Him. 
 
 It would be interesting to trace the gracious lineage 
 of Mrs. Lowrie ; to mark the influences that con- 
 trolled her first thoughts on religious subjects ; to 
 observe her home life with her parents and her hus- 
 band ; and to speak of the methods adopted by the 
 Holy Spirit in revealing to her the plague of her heart, 
 and drawing her to Christ, and maturing her for 
 glory. She passed through all the stages of the com- 
 mon Christian experience. She learned to be still 
 under the rod, and to rejoice in the possibility and fact 
 of assimilation to Jesus, through suffering. And just 
 as soon as the work of His grace in her was finished. 
 He took her to Himself. 
 
6o 
 
 In view of her character, made lovely and noble by 
 a true Christian culture, — of her honorable and use- 
 ful life, — and of her blessed departure to be with 
 Christ, — how strong is the consolation afforded her 
 kindred and friends, now that she is taken from them ! 
 
 But what if all such consolation were denied us? 
 " The God of all comfort" lives, and He is our refuge 
 and strength, a very present help in trouble. With 
 His statutes as our songs in the house of our pilgrimage, 
 and His Spirit dwelling in our hearts to sanctif}^ and 
 comfort us, we may follow them who through faith 
 and patience inherit the promises, until, inheritors 
 ourselves, we see them again face to face, and share 
 tlie bliss of being forever with the Lord. 
 
EXTRACT FROM A SERMON 
 
 REV. J. K. WIGHT, OF NEW HAMBURGH, N.Y. 
 
 Having spoken of the character and life of 
 Mr. Lowrie, Mr. Wight said : 
 
 " As we turn to consider, for a few moments, the 
 character of Mrs. Lowrie, we notice the manifestation 
 of the same faith and grace in an entirely different 
 sphere. 
 
 " In her we see, not so much the choice, as the 
 hearty acquiescence in the choice, of her husband. 
 Not only was there no repining at that choice, — no 
 longing after that which tliey might have enjoyed, but 
 there was a cheerful, cordial sympathy with him in 
 his plans ; and with a love, not merely for him, but 
 for the same Master and the same cause, she sought to 
 carry out his plans : not only threw no obstacles in 
 the way of their accomplishment, but materially as- 
 sisted in their successful prosecution, even w^hen it 
 involved self-denial on her part. And while his nature 
 seemed to have the firmness of the rock and the 
 strength of iron, it was her mission to help bring out 
 
62 
 
 in him and to manifest herself those tender sympathies, 
 that genial sunshine and kindness, which drew the 
 hearts of many missionary families around the world 
 not only to the office, but to the home, of the honored 
 Secretar}' and his wife. 
 
 " Whatever her duties or state of health, she had 
 her words of kindness, her sensible advice, or her quiet 
 and efficient plans of assistance for all who sought her 
 aid or her friendship. 
 
 *' It was wonderful how quickly and quietly the 
 wives of missionaries felt drawn to her as to a mother 
 or an elder sister. There was no assuming of position 
 or authority, no volunteering of advice, but she showed 
 herself friendly when she might have been reserved or 
 have excused herself; and won, without apparently 
 any desire for it but to serve her Master, many friends. 
 Such svmpathy and cordial assistance in her sphere, 
 illustrate most admirably the zeal and valuable help 
 wdiich woman may silently though efficiently give to 
 the cause of Christ 
 
 " Mrs. Lowrie was also an efficient and judicious 
 laborer in the Church, and in many schemes of benev- 
 olence. It was also her lot to sutier. The cheerful- 
 ness and heroism with which, during the last ten years 
 of her life, she bore affliction, from which from the 
 first she knew there was no relief, were remarkable. 
 She abated nought of service while any strength re- 
 mained. Her place in the Church and prayer-meeting 
 was filled, when it was an astonishment to others 
 how she could be there. • And the same quiet and 
 friendly smile lighted up her countenance when life 
 was fast passing away, as in days of health and strength. 
 
63 
 
 " The excellency of these eminent senants of God 
 was in their life of faith, and their earnest and hearty 
 consecration of themselves to the service of God. 
 They were indeed placed in a position of usefulness 
 which few are called upon to occupy. But many 
 might hold the same position and yet not have the 
 same zeal and self-denial. Their life was not the 
 result of circumstances ; but we have not a doubt, 
 though not familiar with their inner spiritual history-, 
 that it came, as with the cloud of witnesses who have 
 gone before, through faith in the promises of God, 
 which lifted them above liv^ing for the present, — a 
 faith which was nourished by prayer, and resulted in 
 a complete consecration of all that they had — life, 
 ser\'ice, and means — to the cause of Christ." 
 
CHANT. 
 
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 "Abide with us, for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent." 
 
 Abide with me : fast falls the 'even-tide ; 
 The darkness deepens : Lord, with 'me abide. 
 When other helpers fail, and 'comforts flee, 
 Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me. 
 
 Swift to its close ebbs out life's 'little day ; 
 Earth's joys grow dim ; its glories 'pass away ; 
 Change and decay in all around I see ; 
 
 Thou, who changest not, abide with me. 
 
 1 need Thy presence every 'passing hour ; 
 
 What but Thy grace can foil the 'tempter's power ? 
 Who, hke Thyself, my guide and 'stay can be .'' 
 Throuofh cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me. 
 
65 
 
 I fear no foe with Thee at 'hand to bless ; 
 Ills have no weight, and tears no 'bitterness ; 
 Where is death's sting ? where, grave, thy 'victory ? 
 I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. 
 
 Hold Thou Thy cross before my 'closing eyes ; 
 Shine through the gloom and point me 'to the skies ; 
 Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain 'shadows flee 
 In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me. Amen. 
 

 
 
 
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