X.
THE END IS PEACE.
At the beginning of 1861 the duchess was brought almost to death's door. To use the words of her biographer, "She was visited with a severe and all but fatal illness, which was inscribed by the Lord's own hand with all the characters of the believer's death-bed, except that He brought her up again from the gates of the grave, and prolonged her precious life for three years more." So alarming was the illness that she made all arrangements for her departure hence. Various remembrances were set aside for her relatives and friends, and directions were given that certain letters should be written for the promotion of the welfare of some whose interest she had at heart.
On the evening of her attack she asked her friend to repeat the hymn
"One there is above all others,
Oh, how He loves!"
She then observed that she had been depressed for some time with a sense of her many sins, but that the Lord was now giving her tranquil and joyful rest. She often spoke of the manner in which her soul was comforted, and that never-forgotten night. It is thus described by Dr. Moody Stuart, who was for many years her close friend: "There was nothing of the nature of a dream or trance; but as she lay sleepless, there appeared as if really before her eyes a white scroll unrolled, glistening with unearthly brightness, and with floods of vivid light ever flowing over it. Written at the head of the scroll, in large bright letters of gold, she read this inscription:—'THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS.' All her darkness was dispelled in a moment; with the glorious words, the Spirit imprinted on her heart and conscience the fresh seal of the pardon of all her sins; she believed and knew that the Lord Jesus Christ was of God made unto her 'righteousness,' and that His blood had made her whiter than snow. Her soul entered in a moment into perfect rest; the peace of God that passeth all understanding now kept her heart and mind through Christ Jesus; and she rejoiced in the full assurance that for her to die that night was to depart and be for ever with the Lord."
Day after day passed on, and she still lived. All her thoughts and words were about her Lord and the spiritual welfare of those around her. Her servants were a special care to her. As she was not allowed to see them individually, she sent them a message that they must not be content with trusting in a general way to the mercy of God, but that each of them must be found in the Lord our Righteousness if they would be saved. Throughout the illness her mind was kept in perfect peace, being emphatically stayed upon her Lord. One can well understand how prayers would be offered up for her by many that the valued life might be spared, if it were God's will.
During the time of her slow and partial recovery she occupied herself with learning hymns. She laid up a store which became in later months a great source of comfort to her. The hymn which she first committed to memory was one of her chief favourites:—
"A mind at perfect peace with God."
The second verse she specially valued:—
"By nature and by practice far,
How very far from God;
Yet now by grace brought nigh to Him,
Through faith in Jesus' blood."
As we have said recovery was only slow and partial. She tried to learn the lesson designed in this lengthening out of her earthly sojourn. "I thought my life was spared," she said, "to give the opportunity of devoting for a longer period my influence and substance to the cause of Christ, but I see now a deeper meaning in it. There is more personal holiness to be attained, more nearness to Christ, and more joy hereafter through a deeper work here in my heart."
Her old habit of early rising had of course to be abandoned. But the hours of the early morning were well spent, especially in meditation and intercessory prayer. As an example of the things that occupied her mind, we may quote words spoken to her maid as she entered the room: "I awoke very early this morning, and have been very happy and busily engaged. My thoughts have been much occupied with three things all so different, yet each needing God's help to-day. The first is the Queen's visit to Aberdeen to inaugurate the Prince Consort's memorial; the second is Mr. M.'s prayer meeting in London in a hall that had been a dancing-saloon in his parish; and (referring to a young man formerly in her service, but then studying for the ministry) the third is John's College examination."
At the end of 1863 the duchess expressed a strong wish that the ministerial conference at Huntly Lodge should be resumed. A meeting was held on the 13th of the following January. As she heard what had transpired she remarked, "I liked the meeting, and had only one thing to find fault with: some of the gentlemen prayed for me as if I was something, and I am nothing. I must speak about that before the next meeting." She invited all to meet again on the 10th of the following month. She little thought that they would indeed meet on that day, but only to lay her remains to rest. The 10th of February was to be her funeral day.
The fatal illness was of very short duration, and gave her little opportunity of thought. She was sorrowing over her inability to think when the words were given to her: "I am poor and needy yet the Lord thinketh upon me." "Yes, that's it," was her reply; "In Thy strong arms I lay me down." She was quoting from the following hymn, which she frequently repeated to her friends, and which she said more than any other expressed the present state of her feelings:—
"I only enter on the rest,
Obtained by labour done;
I only claim the victory
By Him so dearly won.
And, Lord, I seek a holy rest,
A victory over sin;
I seek that Thou alone should'st reign
O'er all, without, within.
In quietness then, and confidence,
Saviour, my strength shall be,
And 'take me, for I cannot come,'
Is still my cry to Thee.
In Thy strong hand I lay me down,
So shall the work be done;
For who can work so wondrously
As an Almighty One?
Work on, then, Lord, till on my soul
Eternal Light shall break;
And in Thy likeness perfected,
I 'satisfied' shall wake."
On the evening of the 29th of January the duchess attempted to ask for something. Miss Sandilands repeated the words, "My Beloved is mine, and I am His." "Yes," she answered. This emphatic token of assent to a truth which was essentially her own by appropriation was the last attempt she made to speak. She fell asleep at half-past seven on the Sabbath evening, the 31st of January, 1864. She went to the land where time is no more, in her seventieth year, just reaching the allotted term of life, as she had certainly in no ordinary degree performed its allotted work.
There was no need of hired mourners at her funeral. The depth of real grief was unprecedented. The sad procession was composed of many hundreds of mourners, and of nearly seven hundred children from her schools. The whole district was desolate and bereaved. The man was only speaking what many another was thinking when he said, "This is the greatest calamity that ever befell this district; of a' the dukes that reigned here there was never one like her; there's none in this neighbourhood, high or low, but was under some obligation to her, for she made it her study to benefit her fellow-men; and what crowds o' puir craturs she helped every day. And then for the spiritual, Huntly is Huntly still, in a great degree, but the gude that's been done in it is a' through her."
All that was mortal of this mother in Israel was laid to rest in Elgin Cathedral. That noble fane contained the remains of no one more loved than she. "I can't understand how people should love me," she used to say. Others could understand it. And now that they could love her in person no longer, they love her memory.