This was a fascination to her. We were blind at the time, and did not see afar off. Now it is manifest that even then she was preparing to go to “Jerusalem the only.” She was tenting in the Land of Beulah.
For years past Mary had almost ceased to write letters. Neither her physical nor mental condition had permitted it. But a letter is found written on the 2d of February, 1869, which must have been the very last she ever wrote. Along with it she sent a copy of some of the stanzas from Hora Novissima, which at this time were such an enjoyment to her. The letter is addressed to Isabella, in China. She writes: “Your last letter, written October 5, ’68, was received January 5, 1869. All your letters are very precious to us, but this is peculiarly so. Perhaps I have written this before; but if I have, I am glad again to acknowledge the joy it gives me that our Father gives you faith to look gratefully beyond the passing shadows of this life into the abiding light of the life to come.
“Was the 19th of First Chronicles the last chapter we read in family worship before you left home? If so, the 13th verse must be the one you read: ‘Be of good courage, and let us behave ourselves valiantly for our people, and for the cities of our God: and let the Lord do that which is good in his sight.’ Even so let it be. May you ever ‘be strong in the Lord.’”
We had passed the nones of March. It was on Tuesday, the 10th, as I well remember, the day of the ministers’ meeting, which was held at the house of the Presbyterian minister Rev. Mr. Alexander. Mary had been planning to attend in the evening. But the day was chill and cold, as March days often are. She had been out in the yard seeing to the washed clothes, and had taken cold. In the evening she was not feeling so well, and decided to stay at home. For several days she thought—and we thought—it was only an ordinary cold, that some simple medicines and care in diet would remedy.
On Saturday, as she seemed to be growing no better, but rather worse, I called in Dr. Taggart, who pronounced it a case of pneumonia. The attack, he said, was a severe one, and her lungs were very seriously affected. Her hold on life had been so feeble for several years that we could not expect she would throw off disease as easily as a person of more vigor. But at this time her own impression was that she would recover. And the doctor said he saw nothing to make him think she would not.
But soon after the physician’s first visit, the record is, “She was occasionally flighty and under strange hallucinations, caused either by the disease or the medicines.” On the following Thursday, she evidently began to be impressed with the thought that she possibly would not get well. She said she felt more unconscious and stupid than she had ever felt before in sickness. When, in answer to her inquiry as to what the doctor said of her case, I told her he was very hopeful, she said, “He does not know much more about it than we do.” At one time she remarked, “I feel very delicious, the taking down of the tabernacle appears so beautiful”; and she desired me to get Bernard’s Hymn, and read such passages as “Jerusalem the Golden” and “Exult, O dust and ashes.”
“Friday, March 19, noon.
“I watched with your mother last night. Her strength seems to keep up wonderfully well, but the disease has quite affected her power of speech. When it came light, I perceived a livid hue about her eyes, and became alarmed. We sent for Dr. Taggart. The propriety of continuing the whiskey prescriptions seemed quite doubtful, especially as the mother was taking them under a conscientious protest. When the doctor came, he appeared to be alarmed also, and changed his treatment from Dover’s powders to quinine, but wished the whiskey continued.
“During the morning she spoke several times about the probabilities of life. ‘God knows the best time,’ she said; ‘but, if I am to go now, I do not wish to linger long.’ She had been able, she said, to do but little for years, and there was not much reason for her living—but she would be glad to stay longer for the children’s sake. At one time she remarked, in substance: ‘I have tried all along to do right; I don’t know that I should be able to do better if the life was to be lived over again.’”
“Saturday noon, March 20.
“It is a privilege that I never knew before to watch and wait in a sick chamber where one is in sympathy and contact with the spirit that is mounting upward. It does seem as if the pins of the tabernacle were indeed being taken out one by one, and the taking of it down is beautiful—how much more beautiful will be its rebuilding!
“Anna and I watched the first part of last night—or, rather, she watched, and I lay on the lounge and got up to help her. In the latter part, Alfred took Anna’s place. So we watch and wait. Her mind-wandering continues at intervals, and she complains of her dulness—so stupid, she says. Christ, she says, has been near to her all winter, and is now. A little while ago, she remarked that she had been once, at St. Anthony, as low as she is now, and God had restored her. So she wanted us to pray that God would restore her yet again. This forenoon she had a talk with Henry, Robbie, and Cornelia separately. When Mr. Warner came in, she asked to see him, and said she hoped to have seen him under different circumstances than the present—and then commended Anna to his gentle care.”
“Saturday evening.
“One feels so powerless by the side of a sick loved one! How we would like to make well, if we could! But the fever continues to burn, and we can only look on. Then the mind wanders and fastens on all kinds of impossible and imaginary things. We would set that right, but we can not. Dr. Taggart has just been here, and speaks encouragingly of your mother. He thinks if we can keep her along until the fever runs its course, then careful nursing will bring her up again. The neighbors are very kind in offering us help and sympathy.”