Give my love to Jim, and to your sister too. I see her boy goes to Madras.
I had hoped to see him here, if only for a week.
In three weeks I am deposed. I have no wish to see England; but nevertheless I am, dear George,
Yours most sincerely,
DALHOUSIE.
The winter which followed Mr. Lockhart's death at Abbotsford was a mournful one. Mrs. Hope-Scott had been deeply attached to her father. She had shared his griefs, as we have seen. Her earlier years had been somewhat lonely; her disposition, with all its reserve, was excessively sensitive and excitable, and a change of scene had doubtless begun to be felt necessary, when Mr. Hope-Scott bought a Highland estate, situated at Lochshiel, on the west coast of Inverness-shire, north of Loch Sunart, and nearly opposite Skye. The history of the purchase of this property, and of all that Mr. Hope-Scott did for it as a Catholic proprietor, is very interesting and curious, but involves so much detail, that I reserve most of it for a future chapter. He built a residence there, Dorlin House, a massive, comfortable mansion, practically of his own designing, abounding in long corridors, to enable the ladies and children to have exercise under shelter in the rainy Highland climate, and various little contrivances showing that few things were too minute for his attention. Here, as everywhere, he used a kindly and noble hospitality. Much of the charm of the place consisted in its remoteness and solitude, which caused just sufficient difficulty in obtaining supplies to afford matter of amusement. The post also came in and out only three times a week, and the nearest doctor was twelve miles off. All this, however, is now considerably changed by the greater vicinity of railways. A few lines from a letter of Mr. Hope-Scott's to Dr. Newman, dated 'Lochshiel, Strontian, N.B., September 25, 1856,' will give a better notion of its surroundings than I can offer:—
We are here on the sea-shore, with wild rocks, lakes, and rivers near us, an aboriginal Catholic population, a priest in the house, and a chapel within 100 yards. We hope Badeley may turn up to-day, but are in doubt whether he will be as happy here as in Paper Buildings. The first necessaries of life sometimes threaten to fail us, and we have to lay in stores as if we were going on a sea voyage. At this moment we are in doubt about a cargo of flour from Glasgow, and our coal-ship has been long due. What Badeley will say to oat-cakes and turf fires remains to be seen.
On Christmas Eve of the following year (1857) Dr. Newman writes to Mr.
Hope-Scott, in a letter I have already quoted from (p. 143):—
I was rejoiced to hear so good an account of your health, and of all your party. I suppose you are full of plans about your new property and your old. Your sister tells me you have got into your new wing at Abbotsford. As for the faraway region of which I have not yet learned the name, I suppose you are building there either a fortress against evil times, or a new town and port for happy times. Have you yet found gold on your estate? for that seems the fashion.
Mr. Hope-Scott did not indeed find gold at Dorlin, but he spent a great deal over it, which he was sometimes tempted to regret; but, on the whole, thought that the outlay had been devoted to legitimate objects, and that, as an experiment, it had succeeded. He built two chapels on this property, at Mingarry (Our Lady of the Angels) and at Glenuig (St. Agnes); and his letters are full of unconscious proof how the interests of Catholicity were always in his mind. A long wished-for event had lately thrown a bright gleam of sunshine over the house. On June 2, 1857, Mrs. Hope-Scott gave birth to a son and heir, Walter Michael, which was cause of rejoicing, not only to the whole Scottish nation, but wherever the English language is spoken, as promise of the continuance of the name and the line of Scotland's greatest literary glory. And, to complete the circle of happiness, on September 17 of the following year, 1858, was born also a daughter, Margaret Anne. Three months after this had scarcely passed, when the mother and both her infants were no more.
Mrs. Hope-Scott had never really recovered from her first confinement. In the spring of 1858 she had had a severe attack of influenza, and consumptive symptoms, though not called by that name, came on. Towards the end of October arrangements had been made to take her to the Isle of Wight for the winter, but she never got further on her journey than Edinburgh. When she called, a day or two after her arrival there, on the Bishop, Dr. Gillis, he said to himself, 'Ah! you have been travelling by express train!' Very soon after this, bronchitis set in, and rapidly became acute, and the case was pronounced hopeless. To herself, indeed, it was perhaps more or less sudden, though she had virtually made a retreat of preparation during the preceding six months, and left everything in the most perfect order at Abbotsford. She had said to 'Cousin Kate' (Miss Lockhart) that God had been very merciful to her in sending her a lingering illness; yet, on the last night, was heard to say,' Hard to part—Jim—Mamo [Footnote: Mamo: an affectionate abbreviation for Mary Monica.]—God's will be done.' She accepted her death as God's will. On being told of its approach, and after receiving the last sacraments, she said, 'I have no fear now.' Bishop Gillis gave her the last absolution, Fr. Noble, one of the Oblate Fathers from Galashiels, assisting. Her husband's disposition never allowed him to believe in misfortune till it had really come, and, almost up to the last hour, he had failed to see what was plain to all other eyes; the parting, therefore, with him and with her little daughter Mamo (who could scarcely be torn from her) was sad beyond expression. The end came rapidly. She died on Tuesday, October 26, and on December 3 her baby daughter, Margaret Anne; and on December 11 the little boy, whose birth had caused such gladness. All three were buried in the vault of St. Margaret's Convent, Edinburgh; the mother on November 2 (All Souls' Day), her two children on December 10 and 17, 1858. Bishop Gillis spoke on November 2 and December 10, but his addresses were unwritten; Dr. Grant, Bishop of Southwark, on December 17. His address, and a beautiful one indeed it is, has fortunately been preserved.