“Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow,
’Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary!
“Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disused and shine no more,
My Mary!
“For though thou gladly would’st fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary!
“But well thou play’dst the housewife’s part,
And all thy threads with magic art,
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!”
An interesting circumstance connected with needlework is mentioned in the delightful memoir written by lady Murray, of her mother, the excellent and admirable Lady Grisell Baillie. The allusion itself is very slight, merely to the making of a frill or a collar; but the circumstances connected with it are deeply interesting, and place before us a vivid picture of the deprivations of a family of rank and consequence in “troublous times,” and moreover offer us a portrait from real life of true feminine excellence, of a young creature of rank and family, of cultivated and refined tastes and of high connexions, utterly forgetting all these in the cheerful and conscientious discharge, for years, of the most arduous and humble duties, and even of menial and revolting offices. It may be that my readers all are not so well acquainted with this little book as ourselves, and, if so, they will not consider the following extract too long.
“They lived three years and a half in Holland, and in that time she made a second voyage to Scotland about business. Her father went by the borrowed name of Dr. Wallace, and did not stir out for fear of being discovered, though who he was, was no secret to the wellwishers of the revolution. Their great desire was to have a good house, as their greatest comfort was at home; and all the people of the same way of thinking, of which there were great numbers, were continually with them. They paid for their house what was very extravagant for their income, nearly a fourth part; they could not afford keeping any servant, but a little girl to wash the dishes.
“All the time they were there, there was not a week that my mother did not sit up two nights, to do the business that was necessary. She went to market, went to the mill to have the corn ground, which it seems is the way with good managers there, dressed the linen, cleaned the house, made ready the dinner, mended the children’s stockings and other clothes, made what she could for them, and, in short, did everything.
“Her sister, Christian, who was a year or two younger, diverted her father and mother and the rest who were fond of music. Out of their small income they bought a harpsichord for little money, but is a Rucar now in my custody, and most valuable. My aunt played and sang well, and had a great deal of life and humour, but no turn to business. Though my mother had the same qualifications, and liked it as well as she did, she was forced to drudge; and many jokes used to pass betwixt the sisters about their different occupations. Every morning before six my mother lighted her father’s fire in his study, then waked him (she was ever a good sleeper, which blessing, among many others, she inherited from him); then got him, what he usually took as soon as he got up, warm small beer with a spoonful of bitters in it, which he continued his whole life, and of which I have the receipt.
“Then she took up the children and brought them all to his room, where he taught them everything that was fit for their age; some Latin, others French, Dutch, geography, writing, reading, English, &c.; and my grandmother taught them what was necessary on her part. Thus he employed and diverted himself all the time he was there, not being able to afford putting them to school; and my mother, when she had a moment’s time, took a lesson with the rest in French and Dutch, and also diverted herself with music. I have now a book of songs of her writing when there; many of them interrupted, half-writ, some broke off in the middle of a sentence. She had no less a turn for mirth and society than any of the family, when she could come at it without neglecting what she thought more necessary.
“Her eldest brother, Patrick, who was nearest her age, and bred up together, was her most dearly beloved. My father was there, forfeited and exiled, in the same situation with themselves. She had seen him for the first time in the prison with his father, not long before he suffered;[124] and from that time their hearts were engaged. Her brother and my father were soon got in to ride in the Prince of Orange’s Guards, till they were better provided for in the army, which they were before the Revolution. They took their turn in standing sentry at the Prince’s gate, but always contrived to do it together, and the strict friendship and intimacy that then began, continued to the last.