For some time after her return from the Continent, Agnes Jones resumed her former work in Dublin, labouring more energetically than ever. In 1856, however, she and her mother returned to Fahan, the old home on the shore of Lough Swilly, always a favourite spot with her, not only because of the beauty of its scenery, but also because her beloved father was there laid to rest.
To the Christian who is ever on the watch opportunities for service are never lacking, and Agnes soon found her hands full. Did a child fall into the fire—a very common accident in that district—she must be fetched, for so gentle yet so firm was her touch in dressing wounds that the fame of her skill had spread for miles, and she was sent for from far and near, to Protestants and Roman Catholics alike. Was some one dying, still it was she who must come to smooth the pillow and speak the words of life.
The spiritual side of her work she never lost sight of, but made the rest subservient to this, as a means to an end, always reading the Bible if allowed, and following the reading by a simple but practical and faithful explanation. She was indeed "instant in season" and out of season. In all weathers she might be seen speeding along the lonely mountain roads, setting off soon after breakfast, to be at work the whole day, with the exception of the early dinner-time, and often not returning until after dark. She was tempted, as every other worker is, to relax her energies and to stay at home if the weather were bad, or if she were not feeling well; but instead of yielding, she would, if a bad headache came on, start off the earlier, that she might not lose the chance of a visit through the pain increasing. Yet her duties at home were never neglected. Rather than omit them, she would rise at five, that she might anticipate the wants of others, and save her mother trouble.
Agnes herself, in her intense humility, considered that she was an unsuccessful worker, and was inclined to condemn herself for lack of zeal and earnestness. But her work was a great joy to her, and especially did she love her happy talks with some of the aged Christians amongst the sixty families she regularly visited.
He is a rash soldier who ventures into the battle without a weapon tried and proved, and he can only be an unsuccessful Christian worker who does not make the Word of God the rule and guide of his life. To Agnes Jones the Bible was a constant study. She was a most earnest student of God's Word, and delighted to meditate upon it. In her journal she writes:—"What should I be without my Bible?" And again, realising the truth of the promise, "He that watereth shall be watered also himself," she says:—"God's Word often comes home more strongly to my own heart as I read to the poor, and try to make a few simple remarks." Little wonder is it that, knowing and loving His Word as she did, Christ was to her a very personal Saviour and Friend. Her one longing was for more and more likeness to Him.
However strong and good our wishes may be, it is never safe to force on their accomplishment. They are never the losers who wait God's time, and the wisest course of all is the one which Agnes Jones pursued, of telling her wishes to God, and then, in perfect submission to His will, leaving the issue with Him.
It was not until seven years after her visit to Kaiserswerth that the way was made open for her to return there. This step had been suggested by her mother five years previously, but the filial spirit was so strong in her that, although she eagerly desired a more thorough training for God's service, she felt that her mother stood first, and refused to leave her alone. Now the case was different, and she gladly seized the opportunity. Still she was nervously fearful lest after all she should not be following the guiding pillar.
It was in the autumn of 1860 that she arrived at Kaiserswerth, where she immediately entered heartily into the work. Her intention was to stay for only a month, or at the most six weeks; but after she had been there but a short time, the pastor so strongly represented the great advantage it would be to her to spend the whole winter in the institution, that she felt constrained to write for her mother's permission to do so. As ever, she was full of prayer for God's guidance, and that whatever was done might be only for His glory. Her mother leaving the choice entirely with her, she decided to remain, believing that the training would be of inestimable use to her in her future work.
The Deaconesses' Institution at Kaiserswerth had a very small beginning. Pastor Fliedner, having heard of Mrs. Fry's work amongst female prisoners, was filled with longing to follow her example, and received two discharged prisoners, whose friends had refused them, with the object of giving them the chance of retrieving their character. He set them to work under the personal supervision of himself and his wife. The work soon increased, and assistance was needed. To the penitentiary were added an orphanage, a training-school, a hospital, and a lunatic asylum. More and more workers were drawn in, and at the time of Agnes Jones's first visit there were fifteen branches of the institution in different parts of the world. This number by the time of her second visit had increased to fifty.
The deaconesses as novices passed through every department of the work, and received a thorough training in both nursing and household work, the pastor wisely considering that if, when in visiting the poor, they could render them practical help, their words would prove far more effective. Much was made of Bible study, both public and private, and this, as well as theStille Stunde(quiet hour), a half-hour daily set apart for prayer and meditation, could not but tend to give a spiritual tone to the whole work. Agnes revelled in all this, and found great happiness in the daily routine, in spite of much which was, perhaps, somewhat needless drudgery, such as sweeping and dusting her room, washing up after meals, and even black-leading stoves. She had, however, well learned the lesson that no action can be mean to the Christian if it come in the way of duty. Sometimes, indeed, it seemed a waste of strength to spend so much of the day in manual work, especially work which so injured her hands that for some time she was obliged to keep them poulticed, and was thus unable to assist in the hospital. Still she was, as she said herself, "as happy as the day is long, and it does not seem half long enough," in spite of a longing sometimes "for home sights and voices."
Soon after her arrival at Kaiserswerth, fourteen sick boys were given into her care for twelve hours a day. This was no easy task, particularly when she was left in sole charge of them, some being too far recovered to lie in bed, and needing to be kept at lessons or work. As the weeks rolled by, her work was changed, and in addition to other employment, she instructed a number of classes in English, both in the training-school and among the deaconesses. As for herself, she was daily becoming more proficient in German, and in a very short time was able easily to follow the sermon. This was a great enjoyment to her, as she much valued the truly evangelical teaching at Kaiserswerth.
At the end of three months of steady work, she spent a few days with an uncle and aunt who were staying at Bonn, but the gay boarding-house life contrasted so unfavourably with the happy Christian fellowship at Kaiserswerth, that she was thankful to return to her duties, playfully writing:—"The nun will not soon again leave her cell, for it was with very nun-like feelings she met the world again." Yet she was no misanthrope. She did not bring to God a heart which had tried earth's pleasures and had found them wanting, nor a life jaded with pursuing them. From the first, she had cast aside the love of worldly things, and had chosen to be wholly the Lord's.
During the latter part of her stay at Kaiserswerth, her duties lay entirely in the hospital. In January she wrote:—"My duties are in the children's hospital, all ages from two to twelve. It is a new life for me in a nursery of sick children, and a busy one too, for every moment they want something done for them."
A month or so later she was appointed superintendent of the boys' hospital, a post of peculiar responsibility and difficulty. It was one, too, from which she shrank, holding the mistaken idea that she possessed no powers of government. Certainly it was a position to tax the patience, for the children were not too ill to be noisy and disobedient, or even sometimes to unite in open rebellion, while the task was not rendered easier by the necessity of speaking in a foreign tongue.
Altogether she had a very busy life. She rose at 5.O A.M. every day, and kept hard at work, with the exception of the intervals for meals and theStille Stunde(quiet hour), until night. "The cleaning and keeping my dominion in order is such a business," she writes. "Sweeping and washing the floor of the three rooms every morning, two stoves which must be black-leaded weekly, each taking an hour, weekly cleaning of windows, tins, dinner-chests, washing-up of bandages, &c., besides the washing-up after each of our five meals, keeps one busy." She must have been strong in those days, for she wrote:—"I come over from the other house every morning at six, the ground white and windows frozen over; often at three in the afternoon the water outside is still frozen, yet night or morning I never put on bonnet or handkerchief, unless when I go out for a walk."
From the first the hospital patients with their varied needs were a great interest to her. Now it is a dying man, beside whom she has to watch, longing to minister words of comfort, yet unable to do so, fearing that her then want of fluency in the language might trouble him in his weakness. Yet as she heard the poor man's cry, "Lieber Heiland, hilf mir" (Dear Saviour, help me), her prayers, too, rose for him to the compassionate Saviour. Now it is a little boy with a bad back, terrible sores, and a racking cough, who would let no one else touch him. "Every night," she says, "I used to pray with Otto after they were all in bed, and he used to put his poor little arm round my neck as I knelt beside him; but last night (the night before he died) he said of himself, 'I will only now pray that Jesus may take me to heaven, and that I may soon die,' and as I had put my face near him to hear, he said, 'Lay your cheek on mine, it does me so much good.'"
We have seen quite enough of Agnes Jones by this time to know that she never shrank from a duty, however repulsive. Her love for her Master, and her desire to serve others for His sake, preserved her from any fastidiousness. In spite of her sensitive and sympathetic nature she could bear to witness the most painful operations without flinching, for she kept before her mind the ultimate good which would accrue from the present suffering.
One day news reached Kaiserswerth of the deplorable condition of one of the English hospitals in Syria. Sick and well, it was stated, were crowded together in a place where rubbish of every kind was thrown, an insanitary condition anywhere, but especially so in an Eastern climate. Helpers, they said, were much needed. Agnes longed to step into the breach, and in a letter to her mother she says:—"The English send plenty of money, but hands are wanting. It is no new thought with me that mine are strong and willing; I would gladly offer them. Could my own mother bear to think of her child for the next few months as in Syria instead of Germany? It is but temporary, and yet an urgent case. My favourite motto came last Sunday, 'The Lord hath need;' if He has need of my mother's permission to her child He will enable her to give it. This is but the expression of a wish, and if my own mother were to be made too anxious by the granting it, let it be as if unasked by her own Agnes."
Her standard of filial obedience was indeed a high one, though no higher than the standard of God's Word. Before this, in asking permission to remain longer at Kaiserswerth, she had written to her mother:—"Your wishes shall be my guide, now and for the future, as long as I am blessed with such a loving counsellor. I trust my present training in obedience will not be lost in reference to home."
Although she thought the whole training at Kaiserswerth invaluable she wrote long after:—"I believe all I owe to Kaiserswerth was comprised in the lesson of unquestioning obedience." Those who would rule must first learn to obey, and certain it is that she would never have been fitted to be afterwards the head of a large institution hundreds to care for and govern, had she not so truly imbibed the spirit of obedience.
While she had a profound admiration for Kaiserswerth, she could still see that the life of a deaconess, shielded though it is from the world, is not exempt from danger. Some fancy that the life of a deaconess, or of any one similarly set apart, must be much more free from temptation than that of any ordinary person. "I think," she wrote, "every one is as much called on as a deaconess is to work for Him who first loved us; but if this does not constrain us as Christians, neither will it as deaconesses, and certainly the 'Anstalt' (Institution) is a world in which the Martha-spirit may be found as well as in the outer world. There are many most deeply taught Christians here, many whose faces shine, but I should say, comparing my home life (but few have such a home) with that of the deaconesses here, I should say that, in many positions here, there are more, not only daily but hourly temptations."
The fact that nursing was her vocation had for a long time been dawning on her mind, but the way to go to Syria did not seem open, and the Lord had other work for her. Almost by the same post there arrived two letters, one from Mrs. Ranyard, so well known as the originator of the London Bible Mission, suggesting that she should go and help her in the great work of superintending and training the Bible women, the other from a philanthropic gentleman, unfolding a plan for a proposed nurses' home in connection with an infirmary, and asking if she, after a few months' special training, would become its superintendent. Thus, while one door was shut, two others unexpectedly opened to her.
But which should she enter? This was the question which she prayerfully debated. She wished to lay out her life to the best interest for God, and both schemes had special attractiveness to her; the one, because of its intensely spiritual work; the other, because of her love for nursing, and the boundless possibilities for good there might be in training nurses. She feared, however, that as superintendent of the nurses' home she might be fettered in more definite Christian work. She felt she must be left in no uncertainty on this point. In her letter replying to the gentleman who had written to her, she said:—"You sent me the ground plan of the building, but I would ask, is its foundation and corner stone to be Christ and Him crucified, the only Saviour? Is the Christian training of the nurses to be the primary, and hospital skill the secondary object? I ask not that all should be of one Christian denomination, but what I do ask is that Jesus, the God-man, and His finished work of salvation for all who believe on Him, should be the basis, and the Bible the book of the institution. If this be your end and aim, then will I gladly pass through any course of training to be fitted to help in your work."
Soon after writing this letter she bade farewell to Kaiserswerth. Her plan was to go first to London to consult with Miss Nightingale and other friends as to her future. The seven months in Germany had been most happy ones, and she was ever thankful for the time she had spent there. She fully saw the great need of Christian training institutions. In those days the Evangelical Protestant churches, unlike the Romanists, who for many centuries had largely availed themselves of it, were not alive to the importance of the ministry of women. There were no institutions in England where Christian women could be trained to work for Christ, that work of all others the most important, and some, to secure the training they longed for, and could not get elsewhere, had even entered Roman Catholic sisterhoods. Times are changed now, thank God, and although there is still the need of more, there are many institutions where Christian women can be thoroughly and efficiently trained for service of different kinds at home and abroad.
As we have already seen, Agnes Jones distrusted her power to rule. This fact, added to her mother's dislike to her entering a hospital determined her, for the present at least, to join Mrs. Ranyard in the work of the Bible Mission, for she knew that while she would be relieving her friend of some of the burden of her work she would have ample opportunities of discovering whether she were fitted to govern.
She was soon busy in many ways, in mothers' meetings, Bible classes, industrial kitchens, dormitories, refuges, and in visiting with the Bible women. In every department of that varied work she was most helpful to Mrs. Ranyard, even taking the whole charge of the mission for two months while the latter was absent in Switzerland. She found her knowledge of German very useful, and turned it to the best account on several occasions when she met with German immigrants.
In the narrow courts and lanes of London, unthought of and unheeded by the busy throng, she found many of the Lord's jewels who, though poor in this world's goods and sick in body, were yet rich in faith and strong in soul. One of these, a woman who for thirty-two years had been a terrible sufferer, would whisper, "Blessed Jesus, in everything suitable. Just the Saviour suitable for me." Another, whom she several times mentions in her letters, and to whom she delighted to minister as a nurse, a poor cripple who had only the use of her thumb, and who from lying eighteen years in one position had terrible bed-sores, could yet say, "I am ashamed to talk of my suffering when I think of all Jesus suffered for me."
[Illustration:]
Her happy work in London was brought to a premature conclusion by a telegram announcing that her sister was ill of fever in Rome, followed by another begging her to go to her at once. A journey thither was not such an easy one then as it is now, but, after arranging all her work so as to give Mrs. Ranyard as little trouble as possible, Agnes bravely undertook it. A heavy storm was encountered at Marseilles, where she embarked for Italy, and this delayed her arrival in Rome, so that on reaching there she found her sister out of danger. A cousin, however, who had formed one of the party, had fallen ill of the same fever, and needed careful nursing, so that she found her hands full, and, as the recovery of both invalids was slow, she determined to give up her London work, and devote herself to them.
Some months were spent in Italy; but her strength, which had been greatly tried by the work in London, again becoming enervated, and her nursing duties being at an end, she proposed that she should go to Switzerland and visit the deaconesses' institutions there. This plan she carried out, and visited several of the Swiss institutions, which she considered compared unfavourably with Kaiserswerth, both in organisation and spiritual tone. She visited besides some of those in Germany, and at Mannedorf had the joy of spending several days with that wonderful woman of faith, Dorothea Trudel.
All her experience had now gone to prove that her special gift was hospital work, and on rejoining her mother she definitely laid before her her wish to devote herself to the work of nursing, and with her consent entered into a correspondence with Miss Nightingale with the idea of entering St. Thomas's Hospital as a Nightingale probationer.
It is very clear that all through her life she was satisfied to be doing the "next thing," whatever that next thing should be which was pointed out to her by the guiding of God's Holy Spirit. She never ran counter to her mother's wishes, knowing that no blessing could be expected when the command, "Honour thy father and thy mother," was not observed; but when home no longer needed her, she was glad to enter the larger field to which God had opened the way.
It has been said that "every woman is by nature more or less a nurse," but like most sayings it is by no means always true. Many who possess the gentleness and sympathy which are so necessary in nursing the sick, yet lack the ready nerve, deftness, and promptitude. Who has not beheld the sad spectacle of women anxious to help, yet helpless because of their ignorance and want of training? That will be a happy day when a course of training in nursing, though it be but a short one, is considered a necessary part of every woman's education. Miss Nightingale truly says, "There is no such thing as amateur nursing … Three-fourths of the whole mischief in women's lives arises from their excepting themselves from the rule of training considered needful for man."
Agnes Jones was a "born nurse;" but although she had had many opportunities both at Fahan and at Kaiserswerth of developing her talent, she would not attempt to teach others what she had not thoroughly grasped herself. The post in Liverpool, of Superintendent of the Training School of Nurses for the Poor, was still open to her and, in spite of her fear that she lacked the capacity to govern, had many attractions for her, and so she said, "I determined at least to try, to come to St. Thomas's Hospital, and to see whether in so great a work as that of training true-hearted, God-fearing nurses, there were not some niche for me. If every one shrinks back because incompetent, who will ever do anything? 'Lord, here am I, send me.'"
Let no one think that the resolve cost her nothing. As a matter of fact it meant giving up a great deal, but to follow in the steps of Him who freely gave up all for us, she cheerfully surrendered her lovely Irish home for the dreary walls of a London hospital, where her companions were, as a rule, neither Christians in the true sense of the word, nor her equals in society. Yet who that knows the Lord Jesus as "a living bright reality" can talk of sacrifice? To know the need of the Lord's poor was sufficient for her, and she counted nothing too much to give up joyfully for Him and His. Nor was this choice, which she felt to be a life-choice, a thought but of yesterday. Not long after she went to Kaiserswerth she had, as she herself writes, "much watching of a poor dying man; sitting alone by him in that little room, day after day, it went to my heart to hear some of his requests refused, and to see the food given him, so unfitted to his state. And I sat there and thought, 'If these be the trials of the sick in an institution conducted on Christian principles, oh, how must it be in those institutions in our own land, where no true charity is in the hearts of most of the heads or hands that work them!' and I then and there dedicated myself to do what I could for Ireland, in its workhouses, infirmaries, and hospitals." She felt too, that although she could do good service for her Lord in ordinary Christian work, she could do still better if, possessing as she did a God-given talent for nursing, she could, like her Master, both speak a "word in season" and minister to the needs of the body.
So St. Thomas's was entered, entered with the hope and prayer that both amongst nurses and patients God would use her. And use her He did, as He does all who cry, "Lord, what wilt Thou have me do?" and then watch for the opportunity to do it. It was not long before she sought and gained permission to establish a Bible class for the other Nightingale nurses, which proved a great blessing to several of them. In her ward, too, she was often able to speak a word for Christ to the patients.
She was very happy in her busy life, writing, "I am so growingly happy in it, and so fond of nay work." Of its importance she became more and more convinced, and in a letter written from Barnet, where she was spending a few happy days with her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Pennefather, she says:—"My work, I more and more feel it, for the worst things only make me realise how Christian and really good nurses are needed."
But it was to Ireland that her thoughts ever turned, and it was of work in Ireland that she was thinking even while training in London For by this very training she hoped to be the better fitted for work in her own beloved country. "Ireland is ever my bourn," she wrote. And again:—"My heart is ever in Ireland, where I hope ultimately to work."
After a year at St. Thomas's, and a short visit home, she returned to London to take the superintendence of a small hospital in connection with the Deaconesses' Institution in Burton Crescent. Here she had all the nursing to do, as there were but few patients, and she had great joy in ministering to them. "I trust," she writes in a letter to her aunt, "I am gaining a quiet influence with my patients; they are my great pleasure." And again: "I am very happy here among my patients, and often feel God has sent me here; I have two revival patients; one had found peace before she came, the other is seeking it, and to both I can talk. Then I have a poor woman with cancer, who likes me to speak of Jesus, whom I believe she truly loves; so you see I am not without work."
A short time at this hospital, and a few months as superintendent at the Great Northern Hospital, ended her work in London. The work at the latter tried her much both in body and mind, for not only did the whole responsibility of it rest upon her shoulders, but owing to the inexperience of her assistants, most of the nursing devolved on her as well. One patient who was critically ill she was obliged for six weeks to nurse entirely both by night and day. Nervous debility was the natural consequence of such overwork, and a deafness from which she had suffered at Kaiserswerth so much increased that the doctor ordered her to rest. That was not immediately possible, as there was no one to take her place, and when at last a successor had been found, and she was able to return home, she was so weary both in body and mind that she failed to find her usual delight in the loveliness of Fahan. A few weeks' stay, however, in the bracing air near the Giant's Causeway restored her to her wonted health.
The winter was passed at her home, resting quietly in preparation for the work in Liverpool, of which the offer has been already mentioned. In the spring of 1865 she left for ever the old familiar spot with its beautiful hills and glens, and its cottages, to many of whose inmates she had been the means of bringing comfort and peace; Liverpool, with its needy poor and its many difficult problems, claiming her for the last three years of her life.
In the year 1698, William III. stated in a speech that:—"Workhouses, under a prudent and good management, will answer all the ends of charity to the poor, in regard to their souls and bodies; they may be made, properly speaking, nurseries for religion, virtue, and industry." But could the good king who anticipated so many advantages from workhouses have only seen our poor law institutions a hundred and fifty or sixty years later, he would have been pained to learn how far they had fallen short of his sanguine expectations. The sick and helpless were entrusted to the care of women who, being paupers themselves, and of a low class, and being for the most part in the workhouse through loss of character, were found to be almost incapable of training. Rough they were, and in many cases brutal as well, while their roughness and brutality were intensified by the free use of intoxicants. Their language was terrible, and not only did they quarrel constantly amongst themselves, but fights were of frequent occurrence.
To endure such treatment and to witness such scenes was the daily lot of a sick pauper, who knew also that when dead he would have little better than the burial of a dog, since it was the common custom in many workhouses to bury corpses naked, with no covering but a few shavings thrown over the body. Little wonder was it that the poor, when overtaken by age or disease, shrank from the thought of entering a place which to them seemed worse than a prison, choosing rather to die without attention than to be treated in such a barbarous manner.
It seems strange that it was so long after a great reformation had been wrought in the management of our prisons that any one was found to lift up a voice in behalf of the much enduring inmates of our workhouses. There seemed to be no one who could spare a thought for the thousands of sick and poor in these institutions. But it was the old story of "out of sight, out of mind," for if only the evil had been apparent our English nation with its love of justice would have seen it righted long before. Workhouses were to be found all over the land, yet the public seemed not at all curious, much less interested, in the question whether they were properly managed or not. The guardians were often ignorant men, and were very slow to admit visitors, perhaps from a foreshadowing suspicion of the exposure which was in store for them, and the consequent necessity and expense of change, so that we need not wonder that the opposition which was called forth when first the evils of the workhouse system were exposed was tremendous, and that the task of awakening real interest seemed well nigh hopeless.
In the Liverpool Workhouse the state of things was no worse than in many others, and in many respects it was not so bad. There was a good committee, and therefore there was nothing like the wholesale starvation and cruelty which existed in too many other workhouses There was also some measure of thoughtful care for the sick ones, for Agnes Jones in a letter written after her first visit, says:—"There seemed care for the patients too; a few plants and flowers,Illustrated Newspictures on the walls, and a 'silent comforter' in each ward, not the utterly desolate look one often meets in such places." Still, there were no trained nurses, and it was impossible for any committee, however zealous, to counteract all the evils of pauper nursing. The need for reform was great, and happily for Liverpool and for the country at large, there were not only eyes to see the need, but a mind which had grasped the only solution of the difficulty, and a large and sympathetic heart which prompted the hand to open wide the purse to accomplish it, for Mr. William Rathbone, ever foremost in all schemes for ameliorating the condition of the poor and needy, had long been alive to the necessity of substituting for pauper nurses trained paid ones. He it was who not only suggested the change, but offered himself to bear the whole expense of the scheme for three years, feeling assured that by that time the guardians would be so convinced of its practical good that they would adopt it permanently.
Having obtained the committee's consent to the trial of his plan, Mr. Rathbone offered the post of lady superintendent to Agnes Jones, then at the Great Northern Hospital in London. After consultation with Miss Nightingale and Mrs. Wardroper, the Lady Superintendent of St. Thomas's Hospital, and receiving their approval and also the promise of twelve Nightingale nurses from St. Thomas's for her staff, she accepted it. Still there was a delay of some months, which was partly due to the nurses' need of further training, and partly to the imperative necessity that she should have entire rest in order to recruit the strength which had been so sorely overtaxed at the Great Northern Hospital. She did not therefore enter on her duties until March 31, 1865. Even then she began her new and untried work in much trembling and with great distrust of herself, though her trust in her Saviour never failed. "It often seems strange," she wrote, "that I, who have so little self-reliance, and would like every step directed, am obliged to take such an independent position; and yet I have been so led that I could not help it, and I only trust I may be more and more led to look to the guidance of the ever-present and all-wise Heavenly Friend."
After her arrival she was still obliged to wait some weeks for the advent of her staff, consisting of twelve Nightingale nurses and four probationers. But although she was not yet in possession of the reins of government, and so was debarred from doing anything in the way of nursing, she was yet allowed free access to the wards, being only prohibited to speak on religion to the Roman Catholic patients. So the intervening time was not lost, for she found many opportunities of bringing cheer and comfort to sad and weary hearts and of pointing lost ones to the sinner's Saviour. Agnes Jones was not one of those who are always
"Seeking for some great thing to do,"
and ignoring the many small opportunities of service which lie ready to hand. She was quite content, since the larger field was not yet open to her, to occupy a smaller one. In a letter to her aunt she wrote very characteristically:—"I am trying and succeeding more and more in fixing my eyes on all the little things we shall be able to do. I believe in this is our safety, doing the dailylittlesas opportunity is given, and leaving the issue with God. It is theindividualinfluence we shall have, the individual relief and the individual help for mind and body, that will be ours. If it is His will, He can make others see the many littles as one great whole, or they may see nothing done, while we have the comfort of the littles we know have been done."
The nurses and probationers arrived in the middle of May, and then work began in good earnest. The post of lady superintendent was by no means a sinecure. At 5.30 every morning she might have been seen unlocking the doors for the kitchen-women. She was often round the wards at 6.0, and all through the busy day until 11.0 at night she was kept fully employed, giving out stores, superintending her nurses, presiding at meals, and visiting patients, besides all the hundred-and-one duties and calls which fall to one in the like position. Her unselfishness was as conspicuous as ever, and she never thought of sparing herself in any way, her joy being to make the lives of others bright and happy.
The patients were quick to discover the benefits of the newrégime. Instead of the old system of roughness and neglect, they found now a very different order of things, as nurses, perfectly trained, with soft voice and gentle footfall, passed from bed to bed, ministering to the sick and dying. Interesting and helpful books for those who were well enough to read found their way into the wards. Flowers—for Agnes Jones, who loved intensely all God's works in Nature, had great faith in the ministry of flowers—were there to give brightness in the midst of depressing surroundings. Visits from friends were rendered more easy. Christmas was made happy with special festivities. Indeed, she seemed always to be planning something to cheer the sick under her care. She very soon began Sunday evening Bible readings in the wards where there were only Protestant patients. Many crowded in, even Romanists, whom she was not allowed to invite, and listened with rapt attention, the late-comers slipping off their shoes, lest they should disturb her. After nearly two years' work, she commenced daily evening Bible readings, having an attendance of from twenty to thirty, while on the Sunday evening there were often more than a hundred.
It was no wonder that such devotion met with a ready response from the sad and friendless, and that her loving sympathy evoked love from the seemingly unloving.
Let us follow her as she passes through the wards. A thorough lady, quiet and self-possessed, she commands respect from even the roughest, and all look up with eager expectancy, hoping for just one word from her. Here is an old man, whose brightening face shows how welcome are her visits. As she stops we hear him murmur, "I never had a friend in all my life till I came here. You are my only friend." Another, who is drawing very near to the gates of death, taking her hand in his, says:—"I want to take leave of you—I never told you before, but do you remember speaking of the 'Gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord?' I got that gift then." And when she has gone, a poor man may be heard saying to the nurse:—"The lady can never know what she has done for me … I think I am in heaven when she comes."
Her nurses were thoroughly one with her. How could they be otherwise when she was so thoughtful and considerate for them? Before introducing them to their wards, she commended them to God in prayer, asking His blessing on them and their work. She had a Bible reading for them, but, not content with speaking to them collectively, she would frequently talk to them individually of the Saviour she so loved. Although she never passed over their faults, they were sure of her ready sympathy in their troubles, and as they poured them into her ear she would say, "Have you told Jesus so?"
The success of the work was an astonishment to all. The patients could at first scarcely understand why the nurses did not swear at them like their former ones. The police wondered as they saw women able to deal with those whom they had found utterly untameable; while the committee were so pleased with the success of the experiment, that, a year before the specified time, they decided permanently to adopt the system of trained nurses.
But such work was not without its trials. During the first year there was great difficulty with the ex-pauper women who were being trained, many who seemed to be doing well returning to their drunken habits. Dirt, disorder, insubordination, and grumbling had to be contended with. The vilest sins were practised even by children, and so shameful was the conduct of many of the inmates that Agnes Jones said, "I can only compare it to Sodom, and wonder how God stays His hand from smiting."
The isolation from home and friends was a trial in itself, while her anxiety about her work was so great that she scarcely allowed herself a holiday. A further trouble was that from morning till night she was never alone. It is small cause for wonder that with such a terrible strain, overtaxed nerves and strength should result in depression, a fact only revealed by her journals, for to others she was ever bright, and it was often said of her, "She is like a sunbeam."
A life lived at high pressure cannot long continue without failing partly or altogether, and the end came at last. In the beginning of 1868 there was much fever and sickness of various kinds, there being three hundred patients above the normal number, while the nursing staff was reduced by illness. A nurse, who had been ill with bronchitis, developed symptoms of typhus, and Agnes Jones, fearing that her life might be sacrified, were she removed to the fever wards, gave up her bedroom to her, sleeping herself on the floor of her sitting-room. She was soon attacked by the same disease. For a week she progressed very favourably. Then dangerous symptoms showed themselves, and finally inflammation of both lungs.
Many were the touching inquiries from the patients of "How is the lady?" Nurses and friends watched anxiously the terrible progress of the disease. Much prayer was made, but the Lord had need of His servant, who had been so faithful to the trust committed to her here, for a more perfect service; and at the age of thirty-five she passed away peacefully into the brightness of His presence in the early morning of February 19, 1868, the beginning to her of a glorious day which should know no twilight gloom.
On the following Friday, when the coffin was carried into the hall, and placed in its case ready for removal across the Irish Channel, the landing and stairs were filled with patients who had crept there from the wards to see the last of one who had brought so much happiness into their wretched lives. And when she was carried to her last resting-place in the picturesque churchyard of Fahan, within sound of the rippling waters of Lough Swilly, she was followed, as was fitting, by nearly the whole population, many of whom could thank God for blessing which she had been the means of bringing to them.
Until the resurrection morning she might be hidden from the eyes of those who loved her; but none who knew her could ever forget her. Hear the testimony of one of the workhouse officials to the writer, more than twenty-five years after, when the question, "Do you remember Miss Jones?" was asked. "Remember her? I should think I do. I could never forget her. She used to have a Bible class on Sunday afternoons and on a week-day evening in that little vestry belonging to the church. She began it for the nurses, but there were only about fifteen of them then, and so she used to let us officers go as well if we liked. I used to love it, for it was beautiful to see her sitting there so homely and nice, and then she used to pray with us and expound the Scriptures. Oh, it was a real help, I can tell you! But it was a wonder to me how she lived those last few weeks of her life. You see the cholera broke out, and there was a lot of fever besides, typhus and different sorts, and she could never rest for looking after and caring for them all. Why, I've seen her in those wards there myself between two and three o'clock in the morning. Ah! she was a Christian, she was. Saint was the word for her, for if ever there was a saint upon this earth, it was Miss Jones. She seemed to me to live in heaven, and heaven was in her and about her and all around her."
"Only a tender love,Stilling the restless moan,Soothing the sufferer,Cheering the lone.
* * * * *
Only a woman's heart;Yet she forgot her care,Finding on every sideBurdens to bear.
* * * * *
Humbly she walked with God,Listening to catch His voice,And 'twas His work for her,Not her own choice.
And when that work was done,Life's quiet evening come,What then awaited her?Only a tomb?
Nay, but a mansion fairNear to the great white throne,And the dear Master's wordSaying, 'Well done.'"
Just a hundred years ago there was born one who in a marked degree endeavoured to do her duty in that state of life to which it had pleased God to call her. That state of life was a very exalted one, with many opportunities of doing good. The Duchess of Gordon had many talents given to her for improvement, and she was not unmindful of the stewardship with which she was entrusted. Her rank and wealth were held as trusts for her Master's use.
Dr. Moody Stuart tells us in his interesting and graphic memoir of the last Duchess of Gordon[1], from which the following incidents are taken (by kind permission of both author and publishers), that Elizabeth Brodie was born in London on the 20th of June, 1794. Her father was Alexander Brodie, a younger son of Brodie of that ilk. Amongst her ancestors there were many remarkable men, some remembered for their faithful service of their heavenly as well as of their earthly King. The memory of one has passed down to posterity in the phrase "the Good Lord Brodie." His diaries reveal a life lived in great humility and special nearness to his Lord. Those around him found in him not only a benevolent neighbour but also a faithful instructor in the highest learning. His delight was to visit the sick, and to declare the love of Christ whenever he had the opportunity. He longed for his children to be great in grace, rather than in worldly distinction. His wish for them is expressed in the words he left on record, that he would not be detained "one hour from glory, to see those come of him in chief honour and place in the world."
[Footnote 1:Life and Letters of Elizabeth, last Duchess of Gordon, byRev. A. Moody Stuart, D.D. Messrs. J. Nisbet & Co., London.]
The mother of Elizabeth Brodie was a member of the family of Wemyss, a granddaughter of the Earl of Wemyss. Her father had acquired a large fortune in India, and returned home to the large estates in Kincardineshire which he had purchased. The little girl had soon to experience the greatest loss that can befall a child. When she was only six years old her mother died, leaving her alone with her father. The next two years were spent with maiden aunts at Elgin, where she enjoyed a liberty which was bracing to both mind and body. School life began early. When she was only eight years old, she was sent to a boarding school in London, one special object being to eradicate the broad Scotch from her lip and thought. At school she became a great favourite with both teacher and companions, already exercising that power of winning attachment which was a feature all through her life. At the same time she is described as having "a very independent spirit." In matters indifferent she was ever yielding in her disposition; but it was impossible to move her from any principle she had deliberately adopted. Courage was another characteristic that early manifested itself. Her groom, who had served her forty years, delighted to recall instances of her fearlessness. On one occasion, when her party were crossing the Spey in a pony-chaise in a boat, the bridge having been carried down by the floods, her companion asked, "Isn't this dangerous, duchess?" "I never see danger," was the quiet reply.
When she was about sixteen Miss Brodie left school. The winters were now spent in Bath, the summers in Scotland. She had launched into the society of the world, and to a great extent she did as they did. One reproof she received made a lasting impression. It was from the lips of a little child who was exceedingly fond of her. Miss Brodie had joined others in playing cards on the Sabbath. The next day, contrary to all custom, the child kept away from her, and when asked to sit on her knee, gave a flat refusal, adding the reason, "No, you are bad; you play cards on Sunday." Her answer and resolution were ready: "I was wrong, I will not do it again." And those who heard her and knew her character were quite sure she would not do it again.
Elizabeth Brodie was still very young when she entered upon the duties and trials of married life. Between the house of Brodie and the house of Gordon there had been a standing feud. About the middle of the seventeenth century the youthful and impetuous Lord Lewis Gordon had made a raid upon the property of the Laird of Brodie. He burned to the ground the mansion and all that was connected with it, the family escaping to the house of a cousin. This Lewis Gordon became third Marquis of Huntly, and was the ancestor of one who made a better conquest, the gallant Marquis of Huntly, who sought and won the hand of Miss Brodie. They were married at Bath on the 11th of December, 1813. The union thus formed was never afterwards regretted. When, fifteen years later, he experienced great losses of property, his sorrow found expression in these words, "All things are against me: I've been unfortunate in everything, except a good wife." What that wife did for him in spiritual as well as temporal comfort, the sequel will show.
The Marquis of Huntly was a thorough man of the world at the time of his marriage. And for a time his wife joined him in the fashionable circle in which he found his chief pleasure. Both in London and in Geneva, where they spent the greater part of the first portion of their married life, she became very popular. But she soon realised that true joys were not to be found in the mere attractions of society. For some years her life cannot be described otherwise than as unprofitable. One instrument used by God for her awakening was a Highland servant. This girl was grieved to see that the interest of her mistress was absorbed by the things of time, which left no room for the contemplation of the things of eternity. She ventured to make a wise and well-weighed remark. It was a word fitly spoken, and did not fail in its purpose. The young lady's eyes were further opened by what she saw of the sins of the worldly circle in which she moved. She began to realise the sentiment of her ancestor, the good Lord Brodie:—"God can make use of poison to expel poison: in London I saw much vanity, lightness, and wantonness." His aspiration was also soon echoed from her own heart—"Oh, that the seeing of it in others may cure and mortify the seeds of it in myself!" She could not help observing the shameless vice that passed unrebuked, by many hardly noticed. The observation gave a shock to her sensitive soul. Her distress was great, and in her distress she turned to the right quarter. She sought solace in the Bible. That hitherto neglected Book enchained her attention, and she became a most diligent searcher into its hidden truths. Some of the gay friends of the society in which she moved found her occupied in this Bible reading. It supplied them with a new amusement, telling how the attractive marchioness had become a "Methodist." Hers was not the nature to be turned aside from its purpose by a taunt. "If for so little I am to be called a Methodist, let me have something more worthy of the name." Such was her reflection, and her Bible reading was continued with renewed earnestness.
In the course of that reading the work of the Holy Spirit was impressed upon her attention. The promise met her eyes, "If ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask Him?" "From that time," she records, "I began to pray for the Holy Spirit." To the end of her life she increasingly realised and brought others to realise the paramount importance of the personal work of the Holy Spirit. Lady Huntly could not now join in the pursuits of the world as she had formerly done. Her husband did not fully sympathise with the change in her views, but he saw enough of the sinful emptiness of mere gaiety to make him refrain from insisting upon her taking part in its pursuits. More than this, he gave every facility to her for carrying out her wishes, even when he could not understand the spirit which was their motive.
When in Geneva, after her Bible reading had begun, she found a very helpful friend in Madame Vernet. "If any one is to be called my spiritual mother," she said, "it is Madame Vernet of Geneva." That good Christian unfolded to her plainly the plan of salvation, showing her first her lost condition, and then the way of redemption by Jesus Christ. Lady Huntly was also helped by her intercourse in Paris with Lady Olivia Sparrow and others who frequented her house for the sake of the religious society.
On her return from Paris the winter was passed at Kimbolton Castle, the seat of her brother-in-law, the Duke of Manchester. That place was memorable in her spiritual history. "I knew Christ first," she afterwards said, "if I really know Him, at Kimbolton; I spent hours there in my dressing-room in prayer, and in reading the Bible, and in happy communion with Him." Lady Huntly referred to this period of her spiritual life in these terms, some one having made the remark that deep conviction of sin is almost invariably the beginning of the work of God in the soul: "I did not quite agree with that statement, and do not think it is by any means always the case. In my own case I believe that for two years I was a saved sinner, a believer in Jesus Christ, and yet that during all that time I did not see the exceeding sinfuluess of sin. I believed in a general way that I was a sinner, who deserved the punishment of a righteous God; I believed that whosoever came to Jesus Christ should he saved; but I had no deep sense of sin, of my sin. Since then I believe that I have passed through almost every phase of Christian experience that I have ever read or heard of; and now I have such a sight of my own utter vileness and unworthiness, that I feel that the great and holy God might well set His heel on me, so to speak, and crush me into nothing." This sense of absolute unworthiness was always a feature of her life. "A useless log" was the term she applied to herself.
One means of profit which Lady Huntly much enjoyed was her intercourse with a friend of bygone days, Miss Helen Home. They were now both walking in the same way. The Bible readings at the house of Miss Home were felt to be of great service.
Lady Huntly soon introduced family prayer in her home. She felt that if God was to be heartily served, His altar must be set up in the house. At first she gathered together her servants and any lady visitors in the house. But later, as we shall see, the whole establishment took part.
The old Duke of Gordon, Lord Huntly's father, died in the summer of 1827. The subject of this biography became Duchess of Gordon, a title which involved increased responsibilities and increased anxieties. Happily she realised her position, and determined, by the help of God, to show more clearly that, in whatever rank of life she was, she was striving to be a faithful servant of her Heavenly Master. She felt that she must confess Christ more boldly, that she must be more decided for Him, however much this profession might appear singular in her recently-acquired rank.
A short time before leaving Huntly for Gordon Castle, she explored the old Huntly Castle with a party of friends. The duchess was at the time greatly bowed down by a sense of the responsibility of her changed life. There were certain inscriptions round the ceiling of a great hall in the old castle. No one could make them out. But whilst the duchess was standing alone in deep thought, her companions having gone off to examine other curiosities, the sun burst out from a cloud through one of the broken window mullions and shone brightly on the opposite wall, and in the light of his rays she read:—
"It was," she used to say, "a message from the Lord to my soul, and came to me with such power that I went on my way rejoicing." Ever after this text was a favourite one. She always looked upon it as peculiarly her own. Very practical was her reading of God's Word. She, indeed, expected to find in it a word from Him. Just at the time of her setting out for her new home she read as usual her daily portion in Bogatsky'sGolden Treasury. Through two leaves of the book being stuck together, she had missed the portion appointed for the day before. But now it presented itself to her eye—and no less surely to her heart: "Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest." Her comment was, "That was another message from the Lord, that put strength into me."
Many years afterwards she wrote: "It was this day sixteen years that the text in Bogatsky was given to me from Joshua 1. 9, and truly I have found the goodness of the Lord with me, and everything temporal that I committed to Him He has indeed kept. It is really most wonderful when I see trials and trouble all around me, to see how everything I prayed for regarding my own home has been accomplished; and shall I not trust Him for my soul, and for all that guidance I so greatly need in all that He would have me to do? Surely He will guide me in spiritual as well as in temporal things; and the more I cease from man, and from any child of man, the more I shall be enabled to live simply to His glory." Another sixteen years passed. The duchess was within a few days of her death. She heard that a young man was in anxiety about his preparation for the ministry. "He looks to difficulties; give him for a New Year's message from me, Joshua 1. 9: 'Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; neither be thou dismayed.' These words were given to me after Duke Alexander's death, and from that day onward they have been a help to me."
The duchess did not write a regular diary. But for one week in the first year of her residence at Gordon Castle such a record was kept. Extracts from it may serve to give some insight into her thoughts and life. The reader will be struck with the marked self-humiliation which was so characteristic of this child of God. "I desired to have resolution to commence and continue a journal, that I might obtain a clearer view of my own heart, which I know, alas! to be deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Well may I say with Job, 'I abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes.'" "A day lost though well begun; more peace, more clear belief, but, alas! not less indifference, not less hardness of heart; great idleness; after breakfast little or nothing done. O Lord, deliver me from pride and vanity, and make me a humble and devoted follower of the meek and lowly Jesus. He indeed is our peace." "Another unprofitable day; but when, alas! is any day otherwise with me?" "Sins of the week: unbelief proceeding from pride of reason, selfishness, carelessness, hardness of heart, vanity, evil speaking." These extracts are sufficient to show that there was a very severe introspection—a very real shrinking from sin, and sense of unworthiness. Some of the faults she lamented seemed to others remarkably absent in the duchess Evil speaking, for example, was about the last thing she could be accused of. There was no one more careful of the character of those with whom she had to do.
This short diary also shows her busily occupied in attending to members of her household, ministering to one maid, who was sick, instructing another in theShorter Catechism. Happy was the household that had such a mistress at its head!
In 1830 William IV. came to the throne. The Duchess of Gordon was selected by Queen Adelaide as Mistress of the Robes at the Coronation. The Queen bestowed upon her many marks of favour and friendship. But the promotion to the highest honours of the Court was not allowed to militate against her soul's welfare. The service of the King of kings was always put first.
It is needless to say that the duchess was always a regular attendant at God's house. For thirty years she made a practice of taking copious notes of the sermons. The notes were copied out carefully during the week. This note-taking—sometimes a slight embarrassment to the preacher—was a great help to the hearer. As at least two sermons a week were thus noted, there must have been a great mass of manuscript before the thirty years were expired. Amongst those whose sermons she much enjoyed were Mr. Howels of Long Acre, Mr. Harington Evans, and Mr. Blunt, of Chelsea.
Good works were promoted by the duke and duchess at the cost of much self-denial. The duke's predecessor had left the estates heavily burdened. The consequence was that they were put under trust, only a limited income being allowed to the duke. This made contributions to charitable objects less ample than they would otherwise have been. But generous help was bestowed that cost the givers something to give. The duchess set her heart on building and endowing a chapel in connection with the Church of England. To render this possible the duke proposed to sell some of his horses. For the same purpose the duchess left a golden vase valued at £1200 to be sold. To quote her own words to explain what resulted from this charitable idea: "The Duchess of Beaufort, hearing of my vase, thought of her diamond ear-rings, which she got me to dispose of for a chapel in Wales, and her diamonds made me think of my jewels; and as the duke had always been most anxious for the chapel, he agreed with me that stones were much prettier in a chapel wall than round one's neck, and so he allowed me to sell £600's worth, or rather what brought that, for they cost more than double. The chapel is going on nicely, and I have still enough jewels left to help to endow it, if no other way should open. I do think I may with confidence hope for a blessing on this. It is no sacrifice to me whatever, except as it is one to the duke, who is very fond of seeing me fine, and was brought up to think it right."
The strict observance of family prayer has already been referred to. A room had been fitted up in the castle as a little chapel. The duke was always present, and now, in the absence of the chaplain and the duchess, used to conduct the prayers himself. In later years, when the widow returned to Huntly Lodge, exactly at half-past nine in the morning and evening the household assembled for prayers. Both indoor and outdoor servants were first gathered together. The butler then came to the duchess, and in words which we are assured were never varied by one syllable or accent during the twenty-seven years of her grace's widowhood and his own stewardship, announced, "They're all assembled." A brief blessing was asked, a psalm or hymn read, the organ led the voice of praise, a passage of Scripture was read and frequently explained. A prayer followed, in which the duchess wished that the Queen should never be forgotten.
Very faithfully the duchess sought to do her duty in bringing the interests of religion before those with whom she had to do, especially those of her own household. "But you do not know the difficulty I have in speaking to any one who does not meet me half way. I think if I could see my way clearly, I might get over this painful shyness, which I then know would be want of faith. But I cannot see that, situated as I am, it is my duty; and moreover, IfancyI have not the talent, and it is not one which I have to account for; for I have so often done more harm than good, even when I have prayed to be directed; indeed, I trust I have not often had to speak without that prayer…. Oh! I do pray for more zeal for souls, more true sense of their infinite value; for I think if I felt it as Iseeit, I should do more."
In the summer of 1835 the duke and duchess made a tour on the Continent. Even amidst all the movements and difficulties connected with hotel life, family prayers were not neglected. Every morning before starting they assembled together to ask God's blessing. The duchess on this tour had daily opportunities of reading the Bible with her husband. She was very anxious about his soul's welfare. His testimony to his old friend, Colonel Tronchin, at Geneva, was very significant. "Tronchin, I am a very changed man to what you once knew me, and I owe it all to my dear wife." She herself writes with reference to the duke—"He has done and said many things since he came here which almost give me hope that the Spirit of God is really at work, and that he begins to experience something of the blessedness of those who fear the Lord."
The greatest trial in her life was now approaching the duchess. He who had been her support and joy for so many years was to be taken from her. On the 27th of May, 1836, she was told by the doctors that the duke had only a short time to live. The terrible news was of course overwhelming, but she knew whither to turn. "I had not realised till then the hopelessness of the case. I retired to another room and fell on my knees; and as if they had been audibly uttered, these words were impressed upon my heart, 'Thy Maker is thy Husband; the Lord of hosts is His name; and thy Redeemer the Holy One of Israel; the God of the whole earth shall He be called,' and I rose up to meet the trial in His strength." The next day the duke died. Full proof was given of the sufficiency of God to support His servants in their darkest hours. Two days afterwards she wrote—"I must tell you of the blessed consolation I have in thinking of the perfect peace which my beloved husband enjoyed uninterruptedly, and the presence of the Comforter from the Father and the Son to my own soul. Pray for me. Although I feel indeed in the wilderness, yet like her who was led there, I would desire to lean on the arm of the Beloved One, who has truly given to me 'the valley of Achor for a door of hope,' and who is a very present help in time of trouble. The comfort I have is at present almost without alloy. It is only when earthly things pull me from my resting-place that I see the desolation of all earthly joys; and yet I am not excited, out as the Lord has enabled me to stay my mind on Him, He has kept me in perfect peace." When the beloved remains were removed into their last resting-place in Elgin Cathedral, she dedicated herself afresh to God. "When the coffin was lowered into that vault, I felt as if God had shoved under my feet all that was most dear to me, the only one on earth to whose love I was entitled, and that now I must live to Himself alone."
After her husband's death her wish was to return at once to Huntly Lodge, where she had spent the first years of her married life, and which was now hers by the marriage settlement. But a lease which the tenant was unwilling to resign prevented this for a time. Accordingly she made up her mind to travel abroad for some months. During the winter of 1836 she lived at Pau. The return home was made the following summer. Naturally she dreaded coming back to the now desolate home—the same place, but all so changed. But God was good, and the grace sufficient for the day was given. "Huntly Lodge, 31st August, 1837.—The Lord has been better to me than all my fears. Wagstaff (the duke's factor), accompanied by both Mr. Bigsby (of the English Chapel at Gordon Castle) and Mr. Dewar (minister of Fochabers), received me. My heart was so full of the Lord's goodness, that there was no room for bitterness; and after a few moments alone, I could not rest till we had thanked our tender Father; Mr. Bigsby was the organ of our thanksgiving. The three gentlemen, Annie (Sinclair), and I joined in prayer then, and at night with all the people of house, stable, and farm; this morning Mr. Dewar's prayer was very much what I needed. My blessed Lord Jesus is very present, and I know I cannot come to my Father without Him. Oh, pray that I may be more and more awakened, and never fall asleep again. Oh, for the quickening grace of the Holy Spirit to realise continually that blessed presence! 4thSept.—My heart is full of thankfulness and wonder as to myself. I dreaded above all things the bitterness of desolation on my return here; and behold the Lord made His presence so manifest that I am now, as in times past, rejoicing in His unmerited love."