Pleasant, and yet painful, are the memoirs of evening rambles along the beach watching the vessels as they came and went. One elegant yacht, which his artist eye detected among the numerous craft, is well remembered: he fixed her form in his mind, and destined her for "the drawing"—one of the many unfulfilled purposes.
The last sabbath came, and it was a day of peace. We worshipped God together; that hymn of Dr. Watts', so great a favourite of his from its touching contrasts,—
"Give me the wings of Faith to rise," &c.
opened the last service. As we walked home in the evening we felt mentally invigorated: he seemed more than ever penetrated with a sense of consecration to the service of God, and we communed of how, in our coming sojourn amid new scenes, He might best be served. "He will make it plain, He will point out our work for us," was my beloved husband's closing remark.
At three o'clock p.m. on Monday 17th June we embarked on board the steamer Orion for Scotland, hoping to reach Glasgow by ten, and Edinburgh by one o'clock the next day. Nothing could be calmer than the sea, and we walked for hours on the deck, watching any vessel that came in sight, and catching at intervals distant glimpses of the coast. Our favourite spot was a narrow ledge at the stern immediately behind the wheel. It just gave us footing, and enabled us to look over and watch the track left by the vessel as she cut rapidly through the waves. The white foam, the various shades of pale green, darkening as we seemed to look down into the depths of the ocean, recalled descriptions of the glaciers, and the correctness of the supposed resemblance my husband confirmed from his own recollections.
Evening wore on—we took our last meal together on deck. The Isle of Man came in sight; a sketch was taken for his approbation; and the bright smile that rewarded it is sunshine even now. All recollections of him are happy: the animation and hope with which he repeatedly expressed his belief that his daughter's health, which was not firm, would be completely established by the voyage; the quiet satisfaction of his manner as we sat enjoying the present, sometimes glancing forward to the morrow, all bespoke happiness. Indeed, all the characteristics of a happy life seemed to meet in those few hours. There was the earnestness and the tenderness of affection: there was, too, its playfulness. There was the thought of still holier things: strong was the wish he expressed that we could have been at the lowly meeting for prayer, which was announced the night before for that evening. There was the love and admiration of nature, as the glories of sunset deepened behind the Manx mountains, and from his post of observation he again and again, in his own earnest and animated manner, called me to his side.
Chess—that recreation which seemed ever to have the effect on his mind which exercise out of doors has on the jaded frame—was then resorted to; and having found an antagonist, he went down into the saloon for a game. As we were passing the light-house at the northern extremity of the Isle of Man, which he had expressed a great wish to see, I called him up. After watching it for a minute he went down again, remarking the game would soon be finished.
In order that neither lady should be left alone, particularly as one was in delicate health, it was arranged that he should take a berth in the gentlemen's cabin, and his daughter and I have a small cabin to ourselves, our cabin and his being as near as possible.
The last lady who remained above besides myself was the niece of Dr. Burns. We had very agreeable conversation. She had taken the trip many times, and I anticipated the pleasure my husband would have, when we met at the breakfast-table in the morning, in making so pleasant and intelligent an acquaintance.
When we parted for the night, between eleven and twelve o'clock, I went down into the saloon to make a few arrangements for the morning, and, half afraid lest a sudden diversion of his ideas should lose my husband the honour of victory, was just beginning some little apology for the interruption, when he looked up with a smile, that said, "you are no interruption," and replied "I am coming directly." I returned on deck only for a short time, when, thinking it better to retire, and finding beds were making up in the saloon for the night, I called the steward and committed his dressing case to his keeping. Oh, that I had waited! but had I, I should have lost that blessed promise of speedy re-union as the last words I ever heard from him.