SECTION I.—SELINA, COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON.

“She stands, indeed, so connected with almost all which was good in the last century, that the character of the age, so far as religion is concerned, was in some measure her own. It is not insinuated that she alone impressed that character on the Church, but that she entirely sympathised with it, and was not a whit behind the foremost in affection for souls and zeal for God, in spirituality of mind and fervour of devotion, in contrivance and energy for the extension of the gospel, in a large and disinterested soul.”

Christianity breathes a spirit of the most diffusive charity and goodwill; and wherever its power is felt, it moulds the character into the image of benevolence. The great principles of the religion of Jesus secure to woman, as an unquestionable right, that elevation and high position in society, which His conduct and that of His followers conferred. Immorality trembles, domestic tyranny retires abashed, before the majesty of religion, and peace pervades that dwelling where power was law and woman a slave. The gospel belongs to neither sex, but to both. It wears no party badge, but as by a zone of love, elastic enough to be stretched round the globe, seeks to bind the whole race together. The most effectual method of degrading woman is to barbarize man, and the surest means of dignifying her is to Christianize him. A council in the fifth century, we believe, discussed the question whether woman was included in the redemption; but it is now only, we think, among the Jews of Tunis that any such belief is maintained. Happily, too, we are past the time when good old Coverdale, the celebrated translator of the Bible, could write with some kind of real or affected surprise, “He maketh even women to be declarers of His resurrection!” It is now a matter of extreme surprise that the half of the human race should at any time, in civilized lands, have had their share in Christ’s atonement for the world disputed.

Lady Selina Shirley, the second daughter of Washington Shirley, was born at Stanton Harold, long the seat of the Shirley family, on the 24th August, 1707. The mansion was situated in a fine park of one hundred and fifty acres, well wooded, and diversified by hill and dale. It stood near the ancient town of Ashby-de-la-Zouch. The grounds were laid out with great taste, and a spacious lake of ornamental water reflected a handsome stone bridge, which was thrown across it. She inherited the talents and benevolent disposition of her father, and from a very early age sought Divine direction in all that she did. When only nine years old, she saw a corpse about her own age carried to its last resting place. She followed it to the grave, and with many tears cried earnestly to God on the spot, that whenever He should be pleased to take her away, He would deliver her from all fears, and give her a happy departure. She often afterwards visited the grave, and always preserved a lively sense of the affecting scene.

She received an education which successfully drew out the talents of her mind, the disposition of her heart, and the graceful deportment of her manners. Her acquirements were much beyond the ordinary standard of the age in which she lived. When she grew up, and was introduced into the world, and made her appearance at court, she manifested no inclination to follow the example of her companions in the gaieties of fashionable life. The habitual realization of Divine things preserved her amid scenes of great danger.

Lady Selina Shirley often prayed that she might marry into a serious family, and on June 3rd, 1728, she was united in matrimony to Theophilus, the ninth Earl of Huntingdon. None kept up more the ancient dignity and heraldic glory than the house of Huntingdon; but the strict decorum and outward propriety which she observed were far more grateful to her than riches or renown. Mary Queen of Scots was for some time confided to the keeping of the Earl of Huntingdon; and King James the First and his consort were often visitors at the famous castle of Ashby. Lady Huntingdon maintained, in this high estate, a peculiar seriousness of conduct. Though sometimes at court, she took no pleasure in the fashionable follies of the great. At Donnington Park she was known as the Lady Bountiful by her neighbours and dependants. Often might she have been seen standing over the sick and dying, administering to their temporal wants, and reading the Scriptures to them.

Her heart was now truly engaged to God, so she laid her coronet at the Redeemer’s feet, and resolved, according to her ability, to lay herself out to do good. In 1738, when John and Charles Wesley preached in the neighbourhood of Donnington Park, she sent a kind message to them, acknowledging that she was one at heart with them, bidding them good speed in the name of the Lord, and assuring them of her determination to live for Him who had died for her. The oratory of the Methodists was fervid and powerful; and the spiritual fire which glowed within, animated their discourses, and attracted many to the standard of the cross. The number of ordained ministers was insufficient to meet the demands for their services. But a new agency was now springing up: holy and gifted laymen began to preach, and their labours were crowned with greater success than those of the most illustrious men sent from colleges and universities. It should never be forgotten that we owe all the blessings which the world has received from lay preachers chiefly to the good sense and spiritual discernment of Lady Huntingdon.

In the summer of 1743, the Earl and Countess of Huntingdon, with the Ladies Hastings, visited Yorkshire, where the work of the Lord was making great progress. Soon after her return she was called upon to endure severe domestic trials. Two of her beloved sons died within a short period of each other, one aged thirteen, and the other aged ten years. In April, 1746, Lady Huntingdon was attacked by a serious illness; but by the skill of her medical attendants, and the blessing of God, she was restored to health and strength. Scarcely had she recovered from the loss of her children, and her own illness, before she was bereaved of her husband, Lord Huntingdon, who died at his house in Downing Street, Westminster, October 13th, 1746. But these and subsequent personal and family afflictions only awakened her mind toward religious concernments, and caused her to be more energetic in the diffusion of Christian principles. Lord Huntingdon left his widow in uncontrolled command of an income amply sufficient for maintaining her position, with her surviving children, in the style which befitted her rank; but confining her expenditure within narrow limits, she regarded her fortune as a trust which it was her happiness to administer in furtherance of the highest purposes.

Lady Huntingdon now became the open and avowed patroness of all the zealous ministers of Christ, especially of those who were suffering for the testimony of Jesus. In the spring of 1758 she threw open her house in London for the preaching of the gospel. Many of the distinguished nobility attended the services; among whom were the Duchess of Bedford, Grafton, Hamilton, and Richmond; Lords Weymouth, Tavistock, Trafford, Northampton, Lyttleton, Dacre, and Hertford; Ladies Dacre, Jane Scott, Anne Cronnolly, Elizabeth Kepple, Coventry, Hertford, Northumberland, etc., etc. She was far in advance of her times in catholicity of spirit and liberality of sentiment, and frequently stimulated the great leaders of Methodism to extend their operations, when they were inclined to restrict them to certain modes of action. She loved all who loved the Lord Jesus Christ, and formed an acquaintance with many pious and distinguished Dissenters.

Hitherto, her Ladyship had confined her exertions to England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales; but in 1772, in consequence of becoming proprietrix of possessions in the province of Georgia, she organized a mission to North America. On the 27th of October, the missionaries embarked, and after a passage of only six weeks, reached the place of their destination, without having experienced one day of real bad weather. Their labours were crowned with singular success.

Her labours increased with her years. She saw the spiritual darkness which was overclouding the people; was thoroughly acquainted with the character of the agency already in existence, and knew how insufficient it was to reach the mass of the people. But instead of being honoured for endeavouring to bring the sound of the gospel within the hearing of the people, her labours were denounced as irregular, and her name was blackened with reproach. Towards the close of 1781, her mind was greatly distressed by unpleasant differences which sprang up in her congregation at Reading. Still it was evident that God was blessing her labours, that the fields were white unto the harvest. The Countess, therefore, determined to appoint four of her most distinguished clergymen to itinerate through England, and blow the gospel trumpet. Many were converted to the Lord, and small congregations were gathered, which grew into important churches.

It had always been the earnest desire of Lady Huntingdon that neither she nor her Connection should sever the tie that bound them to the Church of England. But in consequence of processes instituted in the Ecclesiastical Courts, and the law laid down on the subject, no alternative was left them. Accordingly, in 1783, they reluctantly assumed the position of Dissenters, at the same time retaining the liturgy with some modifications, the forms and even the vestments of the Church of England, without its Episcopacy. A confession of faith was drawn up, and a declaration was set forth, that “some things in the liturgy, and many things in the discipline and government of the Established Church, being contrary to Holy Scripture, they have felt it necessary to secede.” Hitherto the great burden of conducting the affairs of her Connection had mainly devolved upon the Countess herself; but now feeling the infirmities of age, she bequeathed by her will, dated January 11th, 1790, all her churches and residences to trustees. Her family confirmed this disposition of her property, and the trustees strictly carried out the intentions of the testatrix.

Now, almost at the close of her long and arduous course, the venerable Countess truly experienced the blessedness of those who die in the Lord, and whose works do follow them. Sometimes she appeared to catch a glimpse of the celestial mansions, and then her weather-beaten features were lighted up with a heavenly glory. The bursting of a blood-vessel was the commencement of her last illness. She manifested the greatest patience and resignation, and said to Lady Ann Erskine, “All the little ruffles and difficulties which surrounded me, and all the pains I am exercised with in this poor body, through mercy affect not the settled peace and joy of my soul.” On the 12th of June, 1791, a change passed over the Countess which afforded apprehensions of approaching death. A little before she died, she frequently said, “I shall go to my Father to-night;” and musingly repeated, “Can He forget to be gracious? Is there any end of His loving-kindness?” Her physician visited her, and shortly after her strength failed, and she appeared to sink into a sleep. A friend took her hand, it was cold and clammy; he felt her pulse, it was ceasing to beat; and as he leaned over her, she breathed her last and fell asleep in Jesus. She died at her house in Spa Fields, June 17th, 1791, in the eighty-fourth year of her age.

The news of her decease plunged the Christian world into grief and sadness. She was interred in the family vault at Ashby-de-la-Zouch. Her principal places of worship were hung in black; and not only her own ministers, but many in the Establishment and among the nonconformists, preached a funeral sermon to testify to her worth. Many tears were shed at the mention of her name; a medal was struck off as a memento of her death; and her well-known features were embalmed in the hearts of her people.

According to some, only the scum and offscourings of society need to be born again. We believe that the purest, gentlest, loveliest, must undergo this change before they enter the kingdom of God. It is a radical reform, great in its character and lasting in its consequences. Lady Huntingdon’s outward conduct was always blameless, and she had moreover a zeal of God, yet for many years she was an utter stranger to the spiritual nature of the gospel of Christ. She saw not the depravity of the human heart; she knew nothing of salvation by faith in Jesus Christ, and of the regenerating power of the Holy Spirit. She entertained high opinions respecting the dignity of human nature; and aspired to reach, by her own works, the lofty standard she had placed before her. Liberal in her sentiments, prudent in her conduct, courteous in her deportment, and profuse in her charities, she surpassed her equals by birth, and the multitudes around her. But the Countess was far from enjoying the happiness which she anticipated would result from her endeavours to recommend herself to the favour of Heaven. Her sister-in-law Lady Margaret Hastings had been awakened to see the value of religious truth, and often conversed with her respecting the concerns of her soul. Her experience formed a contrast to the state of Lady Huntingdon’s mind. A severe illness soon laid the Countess low, and brought her to the confines of the grave. She looked back to her past life, but the piety, virtue, and morality in which she had trusted, appeared to be tainted with sin. The report of the earnest preaching of certain clergymen, who were called Methodists, reached Donnington Park; the truth impressed some members of the Hastings family; and through them Lady Huntingdon was directed to the truth as it is in Jesus, and obtained lasting peace. The change in her heart exerted a beneficial influence on her body; her disorder took a favourable turn; she was restored to perfect health; and she solemnly dedicated herself to God as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to the Lord.

Full salvation through full trust in Jesus is at once the provision and the demand of the gospel, and is, of course, the privilege and duty of all. But the truth that the Lord Jesus is the righteousness of the believer, in the sense of sanctification as well as in the sense of justification, many are slow to perceive. Yet Scripture and the lives of the great and good abundantly prove, that in both senses Christ is complete to the believer, and in both, the believer is complete in Christ. The Countess of Huntingdon is a true and noble type of the real, whole-souled Christian. Religion took a strong hold upon her inner nature, and her apprehension of Christ in His fulness was so clear, that she was filled with heavenly consolations. The language of her heart, as well as of her lips, was beautifully expressed by her friend Dr. Watts:—

The fashionable circle in which she moved was astonished; and unable to comprehend the spiritual darkness through which she had passed, and the spiritual light she now enjoyed, ridiculed her as a fanatic. Some nobles even wished Lord Huntingdon to interpose his authority; but he refused to interfere with her religious opinions. Dr. Southey, unblushingly asserted that the religious feelings of Lady Huntingdon originated in a decided insanity in her family; and adds that all the arguments of Bishop Benson failed in bringing her to a more rational sense of devotion. “Such a statement,” remarks her latest biographer, “would not have deserved notice, were it not that the talents and reputation of the poet laureate might be regarded by many as a guarantee for its validity.” When the rupture took place between the Prince of Wales and his father, George II., and the Prince set up his own court at Kew, Lady Huntingdon attended it occasionally; but her frequent absence was noticed, and provoked sarcasm. One day the Prince of Wales inquired of Lady Charlotte Edwin where Lady Huntingdon was that she so seldom visited the circle. Lady Charlotte replied with a sneer, “I suppose praying with her beggars.” The Prince shook his head, and, turning to her Ladyship, said, “Lady Charlotte, when I am dying, I think I shall be happy to seize the skirt of Lady Huntingdon’s mantle, to lift me up with her to heaven.”

The religious sentiments and the glowing eloquence of the most remarkable evangelist of modern times soon attracted the attention of the Countess of Huntingdon, and, in 1748, she made George Whitefield one of her chaplains. She then, and for many years afterwards, thought that, as a peeress of the realm, she had a right to employ the clergymen of the Church whom she had appointed as her chaplains in openly proclaiming the everlasting gospel. Whitefield often preached in the drawing-rooms of the Countess to large numbers of the most highly distinguished nobility. Gifted by nature in an unusual degree as a public speaker, her chaplain, despite the vilest aspersions, spoke as one who had received a commission from on high to proclaim the unsearchable riches of Christ; and this mission he fulfilled with unabated ardour and success for nearly forty years. In the New World as well as the Old, Whitefield had his trophies, and was listened to with great delight by the princes of intellect and the beggars in understanding. If souls would hear the gospel only under a ceiled roof, he preached it there. If only in a church or a field, he proclaimed it there. In temples made with hands, the parliament of letters, of fashion, of theology, of statesmanship,—such men as Hume, Walpole, Johnson, Goldsmith, Reynolds, Garrick, Warburton, and Chesterfield, acknowledged the power of the preacher. On Moorfields, Kennington Common, and Blackheath, vast crowds were powerfully impressed, and cried out for salvation. He preached at Kingswood, and the miners came out of their coal-pits in swarms—thousands on thousands flocked from Bristol, till about twenty or thirty thousand persons were present. The singing could be heard for two miles off, and the clear, rich, and powerful voice of Whitefield could be distinctly heard for about a mile. This is his own world; he loves, he says, to “mount his field throne.” These colliers are as ignorant of religion as the inhabitants of negro-land—as hardened as the islanders of Madagascar—without feeling or education, profligate, abandoned, ferocious. He addresses them, and what is the result? Tears flow from eyes which perhaps never shed them before. Those white streaks which contrast so strongly with the dark ground on which they are interlined, tell of the emotion that is going on within. This celebrated preacher, in his letters speaks of Lady Huntingdon in very flattering terms. He says, “She shines brighter and brighter every day, and will yet I trust be spared for a nursing mother to our Israel.”

A few years afterwards, the Countess took under her protection William Romaine, by appointing him one of her chaplains. He had for a long time occupied an important position in London, where he published several popular treatises, and a great number of separate discourses. But the preaching of the gospel was his enthusiastic work, and the Calvinistic aspects of truth were put and kept in uniform prominence by him. He was a man of fervent piety,—and to shelter him from persecution, Lady Huntingdon secured his services to preach to the nobility in her drawing-rooms, the poor in her kitchen, and to all classes in her various places of worship.

About 1764, she added to the number of her chaplains the Hon. and Rev. Walter Shirley, rector of Loughrea, in Ireland. His connexion with her ladyship raised a violent storm of persecution against him in his own county. But his heart was too deeply impressed with the truth to allow his tongue to be silent. He became a warm and devoted labourer in the various churches erected by the Countess. Thomas Haweis, LL.B., was also chaplain to the Countess. Mr. Haweis took a prominent part in the formation of the London Missionary Society, published many sermons, a commentary on the Bible, and other works. He was a man of great zeal and piety, and highly respected.

At the time when the two leaders of Methodism, Wesley and Whitefield, took adverse positions on points of theology—the former, zealous for what was termed the Arminian; the latter, for the Calvinistic, mode of holding and proclaiming the one Christian truth, which gives all glory to God, and leaves human responsibility unimpugned; Lady Huntingdon warmly professed her approval of Calvinistic doctrine, and gave the whole of her influence to that side of Methodism. Whitefield conscious of his want of ability to govern a community, wisely abstained from the attempt to found a denomination, and gave his powerful aid to his noble patroness in her wide-spread endeavours to maintain and spread Calvinistic Methodism. It was in this way that her ladyship became the head of what was termed “the Countess of Huntingdon’s Connexion.” This costly movement included the erection of many spacious churches, the support of ministers, and the founding and endowing of a college at Trevecca, in Wales, for the education of young men, who were left at liberty, when their studies were completed, to serve in the ministry of the gospel either in the Countess’s Connexion, in the Established Church, or in any other of the Churches of Christ. In 1792, the college was removed from Trevecca to Cheshunt, where it still exists in a state of efficiency and usefulness. Her pecuniary resources were not large, yet she devoted upwards of £100,000 towards the spread of evangelical religion. Although the term “Connexion” is still applied to the body, they do not exist in the form of a federal ecclesiastical union. The congregational form of Church government is practically in operation among them, and several of the congregations have joined that communion.

She was not what is usually termed beautiful, yet there was a grace and sweetness about her features which fully compensated for more perishable charms. Her figure was noble and commanding; her eyes were large and lustrous; her nose slightly acquiline; her lips well-formed and expressive; her forehead bold and intellectual. Her head-dress was plain and quite unfashionable; her bonnet unpretending; and her gown invariably black silk.

Lady Huntingdon possessed great natural talents. This is vouched for, not so much by her letters as by her actual administrative performances, by what she did in governing so long a large association, and in directing and controlling the minds of many educated clergy and uneducated lay-preachers. The leading and most noted public men, such as Chesterfield, Bolingbroke, and several of the bishops, listened with enthusiasm to her conversation. The celebrated ladies who ruled the court, and drew the flower of the nobility to their feet, were powerfully influenced by her Ladyship. Her conversational powers were remarkable. There was scarcely a subject on which she could not talk with freedom.

The Countess sympathised with human misery in all its forms, and to the utmost of her ability relieved it. Her nature was exceedingly generous. One of her ministers once called on her Ladyship with a wealthy person from the country. When they left, he exclaimed, “What a lesson! Can a person of her noble birth, nursed in the lap of grandeur, live in such a house, so meanly furnished; and shall I, a tradesman, be surrounded with luxury and elegance! From this moment, I shall hate my house, my furniture, and myself, for spending so little for God and so much in folly.” Religion with her was not a creed, nor an ecclesiastical position, but a living power. She admired consistency, and exemplified it in her life. It must not be supposed that she was perfect. She had her frailties, which she was aware of, and mourned over. But her private virtues and her public acts have ranked her among the most illustrious reformers of the Christian Church.

“The Church of Christ has often been indebted to ladies in high station whose hearts the Lord touched, who devoted themselves with singular ardour to the extension of His kingdom; using the graciousness of their rank and breeding to strengthen His ministers, and win favour for His holy cause; and who in so doing had a peculiar heavy cross of self-denial and reproach to bear. Had we lived in days when the gracious dead were canonized, and supposed to be helpful in heaven as they had been on earth, we should doubtless have had a Scottish Saint Elizabeth, in the last Duchess of Gordon.”

Christians have generally sprung from humble life. We love to see piety anywhere; but the histories of those who have come from the ranks always lay deepest hold of the Christian mind. When the poor woman in the almshouse takes her bread and her water, and blesses God for both; when the homeless wanderer, who has not where to lay her head, lifts her eye and says, “My Father will provide,” it is like the glow-worm in the dark, leaving a spark the more conspicuous because of the blackness around it. The evangelization of the poor is a sure sign of Christ’s gospel. But let us rejoice, that though it hath been hitherto, we are afraid, incontestably the rule, that not many of the wise, mighty, and noble have been called, yet there have been many splendid exceptions. There have always been some Christians of noble birth and rank and wealth. Not only is the gospel translatable into every tongue, and suitable to all the varying phases of human intellect; but it can descend to the lowliest cottages, and rise to the most gorgeous palaces and gild their very pinnacles with celestial light. Philosophy has wept at the recital of the story of the Cross; wealth has offered its houses for the Saviour who had for His home the cold mountain wet with the evening dew; science has cast her brightest crowns at the bleeding feet of Emmanuel; and art has entreated the rejected Redeemer to call her most fashionable temples His own. We could produce a long catalogue of illustrious names to prove that religion can command the homage of genius, taste, and rank. The religion of Jesus is not the monopoly of the poor; it is designed for those who are surrounded with objects which flatter their vanity, which minister to their pride, and which throw them into the circle of alluring and tempting pleasures. It places all on the same level in regard to salvation. There is no royal road to heaven. All are saved in the same way. In our own times there are not wanting some who have laid rank and wealth on the altar of God.

Elizabeth Brodie, was born in London, on the 20th of June, 1794. There had been Brodies of Brodie for many generations. The most noted of her ancestors was her grandfather Alexander, commonly called Lord Brodie, who lived in the days of the Covenant, and was one of the judges of the Court of Session. Her father was Alexander Brodie; who having acquired a large fortune in India, returned home, purchased the estates of Arnhall and the Burn, in Kincardineshire, and became member of parliament for Elgin. Her grandmother was Lady Betty Wemyss, one of the Sutherland family; and her mother was Miss Elizabeth Wemyss, of Wemyss Castle, a grand-daughter of the Earl of Wemyss. Her progenitors were not only illustrious, but virtuous. Grace is not of blood, but of God; yet in the heritage which the righteous leave to their children, a moral resemblance may often be traced even through intervening generations.

The first six years of her life were spent at Leslie House, in Fifeshire, and were rendered memorable by the death of her mother. In what she called “her mother’s box,” were found reminiscences of that parent and of her own infant days. She stayed for some time with her maiden aunts at Elgin, which she always regarded with affection as the home of her early years. At the age of eight she was sent to a boarding-school in London. Here she had, with immense difficulty, to unlearn her native Scotch, and acquire a command of English words and English pronunciation. Her education was thorough in all the ordinary branches, and she was imbued with a taste for intellectual and scientific pursuits. Before seventeen, Miss Brodie came out into society at the Fife Hunt, in Cupar, with her cousin, the beautiful Miss Wemyss, afterwards Countess of Rosslyn.

In the reign of the first Charles, Lord Lewis Gordon, afterwards Marquis of Huntly, rushed over the possessions of the gentle Lord Brodie, burnt his mansion and laid waste his lands. But in the times of the third George, another Marquis of Huntly came to Brodie on a different errand. The Rev. A. Moody Stuart pleasantly says, “Unlike his wayward ancestor, he ran no warlike raid through the plains of Moray, and brought back no forceful prey to adorn his castle at Huntly. But the gallant soldier made a better conquest. In the ever strange circling of events he sought and won the hand of the young and beautiful Elizabeth Brodie, and conducted his bride with festive rejoicings to his home in Strathbogie. There she shone a far nobler treasure than the spoil of her father’s house; for in due time she was called to inherit the untold riches of that Father’s grace, and so to shed a brighter lustre on the coronet of Gordon than it had ever worn before, illuminating it with a heavenly radiance ere it was buried in her tomb.” At the age of nineteen, the Marquis of Huntly was Miss Brodie’s accepted suitor, and on the 11th of December, 1813, they were married at Bath. Her husband, as colonel of the 92nd, or Gordon Highlanders, had seen hard service, and could show his wounds. They had one great trial in common to bear: their childless wedlock sealed the fate of the house of Gordon. After their marriage they went abroad. On the 16th of June, 1815, they drew near Brussels, ignorant of what was happening in the immediate neighbourhood. The Duchess of Richmond had given her famous ball, and now all was confusion and dismay. Troubled minds were set at rest by the British squares at Waterloo.

The Marchioness of Huntly spent the first few years of her married life, in much the same way as ladies of her rank generally do. She drank freely of the pleasures of the world, and God was not in all her thoughts. In the autumn of 1815, she returned to Scotland, and Lord Huntly determined to give her a festive reception on her coming home to Strathbogie; and because the winter was not suitable, he deferred it till her birthday in June. The place of meeting was the castle park; the people danced on the greensward, and Lady Huntly distributed small silver coins to the children with that large-hearted love for the young so remarkable in her after career. She took still greater pleasure in a festive tour which followed a few years after. On this occasion the spirit of the old highland clanship was revived; fiery crosses blazed from hill to hill; and Lady Huntly passed in true Celtic style over the Gordon estates, receiving the homage of her vassals. In 1819, Lord Huntly resolved to give a highland welcome worthy of his rank, to Prince Leopold, at the beautiful lodge of Kinrara. With the ardent loyalty of the highlands, the clansmen held themselves ready to honour their own chief and to welcome his royal guest. With his highland bonnet, and kilted in the dark tartan of his clan, Huntly invited the prince to ascend the hill of Tor Alvie, which commanded a fine view of the lofty mountains, and the noble Spey. There they found the marchioness and her party waiting to receive them. But the tartaned highlanders were nowhere to be seen. Their chieftain stood with eagle plume:—

“Ah,” exclaimed the Prince, surprised and delighted, “we’ve got Roderick Dhu here!”

In the summer of 1827, the old Duke died, and the Marquis and Marchioness of Huntly became the Duke and Duchess of Gordon. The hereditary influence of the Gordon family in other days was scarcely less than regal in the north of Scotland; and even at the time to which we refer, retained a strong element of clanship added to that of wealth and rank. Amidst the enthusiastic rejoicings of the numerous tenantry, the Duke and Duchess took possession of the noble castle. It had been called a “castle of felicity,” and nothing was wanting to make it so, if the good things of this life could satisfy the soul. The Duchess had learned how poor earth’s highest joys are in themselves. She therefore identified herself more with the people and cause of Christ. No balls were given at Gordon Castle during the nine years she was its mistress. In May, 1830, William IV. came to the throne, and his queen, the sainted Adelaide, selected the Duchess of Gordon as Mistress of the Robes at the coronation, and honoured her ever afterwards with her special friendship. This was a strong temptation to return to the world, and become a leader of fashion; but into the court, as into the ducal palace, she carried a simple, fervent exhibition of Christian principle. Most of her time, however, was spent at Gordon Castle, where she presided with queenly grace over the numerous and noble company always sure to be there. All things were ordered according to her own high spiritual ideal.

In May, 1836, George, last Duke of Gordon, was suddenly taken from her side in London. The blow was heavy, but her sorrow was assuaged by the assurance that he slept in Jesus. So little was his death expected, that the Duchess had turned an ugly quarry into a beautiful garden, and was looking forward to the pleasure of driving her invalid husband thither, and winning a smile from his sick and weary face. But alas! he was carried past her blooming paradise in his coffin.

The first year of the Duchess’ widowhood was spent on the Continent; after which she returned to Huntly Lodge, where she had spent her married youth. It now became a serious question how far she should continue to maintain the style and living of a Duchess. To have lived on a thousand a year instead of ten thousand would have saved her from many temptations, and spared her much money for the Church’s treasury. But having been numbered by the Lord in the rank of the “not many noble” that are called, she decided to abide therein with God. We think she was right. The light that shines through the cottage window will cheer and guide the lonely wanderer who happens to come within its narrow range; but the lamp on the lighthouse is seen far and wide, and directs thousands to the sheltering harbour.

The Scotch are a devout and fervent people. But in some localities the inhabitants were religious only in name. Strathbogie was chequered by bright lights and dark shadows—the latter, alas! by far the more numerous. The ministers preached that it was good to be good, bad to be bad, and wise to eschew fanaticism; and the communicants deemed family worship an excellent thing in the stanzas of the “Cottar’s Saturday Night.” In answer to prayer, mighty apostles visited the dark land. With every movement which seemed to bring life to the spiritually dead district, the Duchess identified herself; and, therefore, although she did not till long afterwards sympathise with the position taken up by the party headed by Dr. Chalmers, she opened her house to him and the other eminent men who came to preach the gospel in Strathbogie.

In 1847, after a severe struggle, she became a member of the Free Church of Scotland; and in August partook of the Lord’s supper for the first time along with the people at Huntly, as a member of their own communion. Chiefly through her instrumentality the popular mind suddenly awoke to the importance of religion; clergymen became deeply fervent, and the morals of a large portion of the people rose at once to the high Christian level. In 1859, a young man who had been long halting between two opinions, was overheard disputing in a byre with an old self-righteous man, and saying, “Na, na that’ll no do; if ye dinna get Christ first, ye can do naething.”

The end is soon told. She spent the winter of 1862-3 in London. A conference of ministers was held at Huntly Lodge on the 13th of January, 1864, and another was appointed for the 10th of February; but between those dates the unexpected summons of death arrived. She fell asleep at half-past seven on Sabbath evening, the 31st of January, in her seventieth year.

On the 9th of February her Grace was buried. The spectacle was deeply affecting as the procession passed through Huntly; and in the midst of deep silence, respect, and universal regard, the corpse was carried through Elgin to the vault of the noble Dukes of Gordon. The coffin was placed beside her husband’s, in the only remaining space for the deceased wearers of the ducal coronet and their children. Till the last trumpet shall sound, that tomb shall remain closed on the last and the best of an illustrious race.

In 1821, the Marchioness of Huntly began to feel anxious about her soul. God can break the hardest rock with the feeblest rod, and from the mouth of a babe ordain strength. A highland servant whom the Duchess Jane had left at Kinrara, with all reverence for the chieftain’s lady, ventured to drop a quiet remark which sank into her heart and was never altogether forgotten. Lady Huntly was discovered in the act of reading the Bible by one of the leaders of aristocratic gaiety, and the incident was declared to be the best joke they had heard of for many a day. They thought, however, that a little clever quizzing would soon make her return to her old ways. But they were mistaken! They called her “Methodist,” and she said within herself, “If for so little I am called a Methodist, let me have something more worthy of the name;” and set herself to read the Bible still more earnestly. In her new course of Bible reading she came to the passage, “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?” The words arrested her, and from that time she began to pray for the Holy Spirit. In 1822, she accompanied Lord Huntly to Geneva, and there found an enlightened friend in Madame Vernet, whom she afterwards looked upon as her spiritual mother. From Geneva she went to Paris, and, while travelling, read Erskine’s “Internal Evidences,” which she found very profitable to her soul. In Paris she found counsel and help in the house of Lady Olivia Sparrow; and at length, during a visit at Kimbolton Castle, the residence of the Duke of Manchester, she was brought to believe savingly on the Lord Jesus Christ.

The commencement of the year 1827 forms an epoch in the spiritual history of Lady Huntly. She and her husband were on the Continent with two nieces, when one of them died suddenly at Naples. The bereavement was keenly felt, but greatly sanctified. About this time she read Leighton on Peter, to which she attributed a great deepening of the work of grace; and she afterwards wrote—“Pray keep Leighton for my sake, for I have a particular value for that copy. I truly rejoice to find that you can read Leighton with pleasure. I know by experience it is a test of the state of the mind.”

When placed in a situation which required the heart to be hot like a furnace, and the lip to be burning like a live coal, she found that grace was proportioned to duty. To the first period of her Christian life she thus refers: “In my own case, I believe that for two years I was a saved sinner, a believer in the Lord Jesus Christ, and yet that during all that time I did not see the exceeding sinfulness 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 be saved; but I had no deep sense of sin,—of my sin. Since then, I believe I have passed through almost every phase of Christian experience that I have ever read or heard of; and now I have such a sense of my 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.” So marked was the growth of grace at this time that she used to talk of it as a second conversion. For several years she had apprehended Christ as her title to heaven; but she now saw that He was also her meetness for heaven, and was filled with peace and joy.

At her departure from Huntly Lodge, to Gordon Castle, she received what we must call a token from God. With some other ladies, she paid a visit to the old castle at Huntly, on the banks of the Deveron, and within the fair demesne which she was to leave for a time. In an ancient hall, with carved escutcheons on its walls, they were attracted by an inscription on a scroll high above them, which neither the Duchess nor her visitors could decipher. They moved on, but she remained gazing at the carved figures. Suddenly the sun burst out from behind a cloud, and she read in the light of its rays these words:

It was as if a voice from heaven had spoken. She had gotten a motto for her future life; and ever after, Romans viii. 28, was one of the pillars that upheld the temple of God in her heart—one of the elements that leavened her spiritual life.

On the Saturday before her first communion as a Presbyterian, it was evident that the church would be too small on the following Lord’s-day. The Duchess therefore immediately placed the broad green area of what had been the old castle court at the service of the congregation. A naval captain with two or three visitors set up some military tents, and the ancient fortress was turned into a temple. The soldiers’ tents, with their white canvas and scarlet mountings, had a very picturesque appearance. On the Sabbath morning a large congregation assembled under the blue vault of heaven.

Before the close of that service more than one was constrained to say, “God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined into our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” In 1859, she wrote in reference to evangelistic efforts: “There were eight thousand tracts given away at the feeing-market yesterday.” In the summer of 1860, many thousands assembled in the castle park, at the invitation of the Duchess, to listen to the silver trumpet of the gospel sounding the year of jubilee. Similar gatherings were held during the three following years. On some of these occasions it was computed that seven thousand persons were present; on others, ten thousand. The Lord’s people were refreshed, and many careless ones were awakened. In 1863, the Duchess writes: “I cannot but wonder to see the meetings increasing in numbers and interest every year; not as a rendezvous for a pleasant day in the country, but really very solemn meetings, where the presence of the Lord is felt and the power of His Spirit manifested.” Clergymen of a certain school may sneer at lay evangelists; she could not join them in their sneers. It may be that these men are not always prudent—that their zeal sometimes outruns their discretion. Well, what then? Would we have the sentinel to walk with measured military step, who is on his way to trample out the lighted match which has been set to a train of gunpowder? If not human lives, are human souls to be sacrificed to the martinetism of the excessively prudent? If we are to contend against a thing merely because of its abuse, then all preaching must come to an end, clerical as well as lay.

A firm believer in the doctrine of a free salvation through the mercy of God and the merits of Christ the Duchess of Gordon ever echoed the exhortation of the apostle, “Be careful to maintain good works.” So far from holding good works cheap, she believed that by them God was glorified, and by them on the great day she would be judged. “The tree is known by its fruit.” “Every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire.” At Gordon Castle a room was fitted up as a little chapel for morning and family prayers, and where, aided by the tones of an organ, the Sabbath evenings might be rendered profitable to the visitors. She had always some benevolent scheme on hand, but was frequently hampered as to the means. When anxious to build a chapel and infant school, she took a gold vase worth £1200 to London in the hope of getting it sold. But as she had difficulty in finding a purchaser, she writes, “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 has 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 worth, or rather, what brought that, for they cost more than double.” The Sabbath was pre-eminently honoured. No departures or arrivals took place on that day. To those who think that the gratuitous and instant forgiveness of the gospel must be fatal to future obedience, it might be sufficient to remark, that the noblest patterns of piety, and the most finished specimens of personal worth, are those who counted their own excellence the merest dross, and yet felt assured that for another’s sake they were precious in God’s sight. But the gospel itself assures us that the faith which receives the Saviour is the first step of new obedience—that it is only when God’s righteousness is accepted, that morality begins.

From the pages of her accomplished biographer, we learn that in her youth she had a robust physical frame; and H. P. Willis, Esq., the American traveller, tells us, that she was a tall and very handsome woman, with a smile of the most winning sweetness. Peculiarly attractive in her manner, her expression, which in old age was quite heavenly, so lighted up all her features as to convey the impression that she must have been very beautiful when young. But it was not her handsome features which called forth admiration so much, as her tall and graceful form, added to which was a countenance beautified by intelligence and life and winning gentleness.

Her intellect was as vigorous as her body was robust. She availed herself of the power of invigorating her mental faculties, of acquiring knowledge from experience, of pursuing knowledge for its own sake, of deriving knowledge from the past, and of rendering the possession of knowledge an enjoyment. Thus she wanted less than most girls a mother’s arm to lean upon; and needed less than most wives a husband’s intellect to guide. She seems to have arrived at her conclusions slowly; but having arrived at them, she held them firmly.

Kind words and good deeds will be legible, when sculptured inscriptions are illegible. These speak when the granite and the marble are silent. The benevolence of the Duchess was world-wide. Perhaps her lavish hospitality was sometimes taken advantage of; but the keenest cavillers must admit that her own eye and heart were single. Her aim seemed to be to convince her guests that the house and all that was in it was their own. The day after the funeral, an aged man, with moistened eyes made these remarks. “This is the greatest calamity that ever befel this district; of a’ the Dukes that ever reigned here, there was never one like her; there’s nane in this neighbourhood, high or low, but was under some obligation to her; for she made it her study to benefit her fellow-men; and what crowds o’ puir craturs she helped every day!” A soldier who had been in the Crimea, said: “You know that I have seen much to render my heart callous, but I never was unmanned till now; I never knew before how tenderly I loved that honoured lady.” She had a strong feeling of nationality, and a great love for everything Scotch, such as the Jacobite songs. But when she received new life, these were exchanged for the songs of Zion. Her spirit was most catholic, and she longed to see conflicting sentiments blended into brotherhood, and to hear the grand text repeated throughout all lands: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.”

SECTION III.—MARY JANE GRAHAM.

“Her pursuits were only valuable in proportion as they were consecrated. In everything ‘to her to live was Christ.’ Nothing else seemed worthy of the name of Christ.”

In dealing with many who avow themselves unbelievers in Christianity, we not unfrequently meet with an objection by the help of which they attempt to construct an argument against our religion. The tendencies of the mind we are told, are entirely dependent on the development of the brain, and the external influences operating upon these, make up together the sum of the influences concerned in the production of the faiths of the world. These sceptical reasoners tell us that it is just as irrational to expect Christianity to spring up in the universal mind, as to expect to paint the whole globe with one particular flower. The soil has laws which determine its products; and the mind has laws which determine its beliefs. How shall we meet this? We might deny that the faith that worketh by love, purifieth the heart, and overcometh the world, is the product of suggestion, which is multiform; and assert it to be the judgment of reason, which is one and the same over all the world, in every mind and age. But we prefer appealing to the practical refutation afforded us by experience. It is a fact that our Christian religion has already traversed the globe, rooting itself in every soil, and bearing fruit in every climate. When civilization has done her utmost, Christianity can out-dazzle her sublimest triumphs. In the clime where philosophy holds court with refinement—where poor vulgarity cannot breathe, we challenge the world to point out a single instance in which the gospel was unable to accommodate itself to the peculiar requirements of the people. What has been its effects in the land of terror, upon the savagest of human beings. It has lifted the cannibal from his pool of blood, and led him like a little child to the altar of consecration. The door of the world has been thrown open, and the Lord’s servants have been commanded to enter in. India has been made accessible to the missionaries of every Church. The gospel is advancing rapidly among the teeming millions of the celestial empire. In Africa, degraded Fingoes, stupid Hottentots, and warlike Kaffirs, have had their understandings enlightened, and their hearts softened, by Divine truth and grace.

for piety is independent of circumstance.

Mary Jane Graham, was born in London, on the 11th of April, 1803, where her father was engaged in a respectable business. She was the subject of early religious convictions. At the age of seven, her habits of secret prayer evidenced the influence of Divine grace upon her soul. During the greater part of her childhood, and the commencement of her riper years, she was enabled to walk with God in sincerity, and without any considerable declension.

Her school career began before she was eight years old. She was, however, shortly removed, because of ill health, and when about the age of ten was sent to a different kind of school. As far as it was lawful she always screened the faults of her companions, and was ever ready and willing to plead for them when in disgrace; and so powerful was her advocacy, that her preceptress was constrained to remove out of her way when her judgment compelled her to persevere in her discipline.

At the age of twelve her delicate health again occasioned her removal from school. Her illness lasted about two months, and during that time, when confined upon a sofa, she committed to memory the whole Book of Psalms. She was delighted with Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and for many successive mornings repeated three hundred lines. After her recovery she spent several months by the seaside. About the age of sixteen she was brought to the ordinance of confirmation, and publicly joined herself to the Lord in a perpetual covenant never to be broken.

About the age of seventeen, Miss Graham fell, for a few months, from the heavenly atmosphere of communion with God, into the dark and dismal shades of infidelity. The metaphysical structure of her mind, combined with a defective apprehension of her sad state by nature, induced a spirit of self-dependence; which led to backsliding from God. In the frivolities of the world she sought in vain for that priceless boon, a quiet conscience. Wearied at length, she turned to religion for comfort, but found that she had no religion; she had refused to give glory to God, and now her feet were stumbling upon the dark mountains. The Divinity of Christ had often been to her an occasion of perplexity. Repeated examination had fully convinced her that it was a scriptural doctrine; yet so repulsive was it to her proud heart, that she was led from thence to doubt the truth of the Bible itself. After a few months’ conflict, she was brought, to the light and liberty of truth, and the once abhorred doctrine became exceedingly precious. “From that time,” to use her own words, “I have continued to sit at the feet of Jesus, and to hear His word, taking Him for my teacher and guide, in things temporal as well as spiritual.”

Miss Graham continued to reside in London, and to devote herself more unreservedly to various studies and active labours in the service of God her Saviour. During her residence in the metropolis, the ministry of the Rev. Watts Wilkinson, and a deep study of the sacred volume, were the means of advancing her knowledge and experience of scriptural truth. Adorned by God with high intellect, which she cultivated with care, and sanctified for her Master’s service, she thirsted for knowledge, and relished its acquisition with peculiar delight. She wrote a treatise on the intellectual, moral, and religious uses of mathematical science, which abounds with wise and judicious observations on the objects and motives of the worldly and Christian student.

But her studies were not confined to the severer branches of knowledge. In some of her more lively exercises of mind she took up the subject of chemistry. She wrote a short but accurate development of the principles of music. Botany also attracted her attention. She had prosecuted, as one of her chiefest studies, the noble literature and tongue of Britain. The best writers on the philosophy of mind were familiar to her. With the principles of Locke she was thoroughly acquainted. She had profited much by Stewart. “Butler’s Analogy” was also upon her first shelf. She had cultivated an acquaintance with the classics of ancient Greece and Rome, and was perfectly familiar with the French, Italian, and Spanish languages. In order to improve herself in the knowledge of the languages, she made considerable use of them in mutual correspondence with her young friends.

Her peculiar singleness of aim stimulated her to apply her literary acquisitions to valuable practical purposes. The discovery of a strong tincture of infidelity among the Spanish refugees, combined with the recollection of her own fall, excited a compassionate, earnest, and sympathetic concern on their behalf. The following extract from a letter written in September, 1825, gives a touching view of her feelings towards these unhappy men. “I have read one part of ‘Las Ruinas,’ and in reading it I was struck with the reflection that the best answer would be a continual reference to the word of God. I thought therefore of placing my observations on the blank pages, and of filling the margin of the printed paper with references. I beseech you to pray, that if I be not a fit instrument for the conversion of the souls of these poor Spanish exiles, the Holy Spirit would be pleased to raise up some other.”

Upon her removal from London to Stoke Fleming, near Dartmouth, Devon, which took place in consequence of protracted indisposition; her energies were still employed in the service of her Redeemer, and of His Church. During the first summer of her country residence, she regularly attended the parish workhouse at seven o’clock, to explain the Scriptures to the poor previous to the commencement of their daily labour. The children of the parish were the objects of her constant solicitude. She drew out questions upon the parables and miracles as helps for Sunday-school teachers; and, when prevented by illness from attending the school, she assembled the children at her own house for instruction. The young women also in the parish occupied a large share of her anxious thoughts, and she appropriated a separate evening for their instruction. She was a constant cottage visitor. The following passage from her mathematical manuscript is beautiful, and shows clearly the high and consecrated spirit with which she connected this humble ministration with her intellectual pleasures. “Do you ever experience this proud internal consciousness of superior genius or learning? God has placed a ready antidote within your reach. The abode of learned leisure is seldom far from the humble dwelling of some unlettered Christian. Thither let your steps be directed. ‘Take sweet counsel’ with your poor uneducated brother. There you will find the man, whom our ‘King delighteth to honour.’ His mean chamber, graced with one well-worn book, is as ‘the house of God, and the very gate of heaven.’ Observe how far the very simplicity of his faith, and the fervour of his love, exceed anything you can find in your own experience, cankered as it is with intellectual pride. God has taught him many lessons, of which all your learning has left you ignorant. Make him your instructor in spiritual things. He is a stranger to the names of your favourite poets and orators; but he is very familiar with the sweet psalmist of Israel. He can give you rich portions of the eloquence of one who ‘spake as never man spake.’ He can neither ‘tell you the number of the stars, nor call them by their names;’ but he will discourse excellently concerning the Star of Bethlehem. He is unable to attempt the solution of a difficult problem; but he can enter into some of those deep things of God’s law, which to an unhumbled heart are dark and mysterious. He will not talk to you ‘in words which man’s wisdom teacheth;’ but oh! what sweet and simple expressions of Divine love are those ‘which the Holy Ghost has taught him’! He ‘knows nothing but Christ crucified;’ but this is the excellent knowledge, to which all other knowledge is foolishness. He has ‘the fear of the Lord; that is wisdom. He departs from evil; that is understanding.’ When your soul is refreshed by this simple and lovely communion with one of the meanest of God’s saints, return to your learned retirement. Look over your intellectual possessions. Choose out the brightest jewel in your literary cabinet. Place it by the side of ‘the meek and quiet spirit’ of this obscure Christian. Determine which is the ornament of greater price. Compare the boasted treasures of your mind with the spiritual riches of your illiterate brother. Run over the whole catalogue. Let not one be omitted; the depth of your understanding and the strength of your reasonings, the brilliancy of your fancy, the fire of your eloquence. Be proud of them. Glory in them. You cannot. They dwindle into insignificance.”

About a year after her settlement in Devon, she became a decided invalid, and except in the year 1827, she never moved beyond the garden, and only two or three times ventured into the outward air. For the last two years she was entirely confined to her room, and unable to be dressed. During the whole of that period she was watched over by her mother, and surrounded by books. Her beloved Bible was always under her pillow, the first thing in her hand in the morning and the last at night. For a short time before her death, the enemy was permitted to harass her soul, and her lively apprehensions of the gospel were occasionally obscured. Her bodily sufferings were most severe, arising from a complication of diseases. Life terminated at last by a rapid mortification in one of her legs. The last words she was heard to utter, were: “I am come into deep waters; O God, my rock. Hold Thou me up, and I shall be safe.” The next morning, Friday, December 10th, 1830, without a sign or struggle, she entered into her eternal rest. Her lungs, which had been supposed to be sound, were discovered after death to have been fatally diseased. Her heart also was found to be enlarged.

Thus upheld by the good hope of the gospel, this blessed sufferer, ransomed sinner, and victorious believer, fell asleep in the arms of her Saviour and her God. With hearts clad in the habiliments of sorrow, relatives and friends followed all that could die of Miss Graham to the lonely graveyard. The Christian has always a garden around the sepulchre. To such death is not the penalty of sin, but the gracious summons of the Saviour—the introduction to that world where the pure earth, unsmitten by a curse, shall never be broken for a grave.

From her own history we learn that Miss Graham was converted to God when only seven years old. Yet it must be admitted that instability marked her early course in the ways of religion. The general tone, however, of her spiritual feeling manifested the habitual operation of a high measure of Divine influence; while her occasional depressions seem not to have sunk her below the ordinary level, and were doubtless connected with those exercises of humiliation described in her correspondence which will find an echo in the hearts of all generous Christians. A deep sense of her own unworthiness was a prominent feature of her life. In all her natural loveliness, with all her gentle and amiable attractions, she lay down before God profoundly in the dust, and poured out from the very bottom of her heart the often repeated cry, “God be merciful to me a sinner.” The Holy Spirit had taught her, that the Searcher of hearts sees guilt in the fairest characters; and that to be saved she must be Divinely renewed, and to see the kingdom of God she must be born again. While Miss Graham was, in the estimation of her parents and of all the members of the household, all that their hearts could wish, she felt her need of an entire and implicit dependence on Jesus Christ for salvation. She was also deeply anxious to bring others to the Saviour, that His Cross might be covered with trophies, and His crown blaze with jewels. If she heard of any that were awakened to a sense of their state and condition in the sight of God, it was always with great delight. Often has she been known on such occasions to shed tears of joy. While her love for the ministers and ordinances of God are worthy of special remark, we must not forget to mention her love to the brethren—these are conscious and unequivocal marks of vital Christianity.

The fine, powerful, and spiritual mind of Miss Graham, is abundantly illustrated in her writings and correspondence. For sound divinity, clear reasoning, and fervent piety, there is probably no book in the English language superior to her “Test of Truth.” Scott’s “Force of Truth,” though a valuable work, will bear no comparison with it. In a posthumous work, “The Freeness and Sovereignty of God’s Justifying and Electing Grace,” she furnishes us with a full, clear, and scriptural statement on the humbling doctrine of original sin. “It is the very first lesson in the school of Christ: and it is only by being well rooted and grounded in these first principles that we can hope to go on to perfection. The doctrine is written in Scripture as with a sunbeam. If we do not feel some conviction of it in our own hearts, it affords a sad proof that we still belong to that ‘generation that are pure in their own eyes, and yet is not washed from their filthiness.’” After adducing most convincing Scriptural evidence, she forcibly illustrates the subject by the case of infants, and appeals to the sacred records of Christian experience. To the doctrine of the total depravity of man, she thus applies the reductio ad absurdum method of proof: “If man be not utterly depraved, he must be in one of these two states—either perfectly good, without any mixture of sin; or good, with some mixture of evil and imperfection. The first of these suppositions carries its own absurdity upon the face of it. The second is plausible, and more generally received. Yet it is not difficult to prove, that if man had any remaining good in him, that is—towards God—he could not be the creature he now is. There could not be that carelessness about his eternal welfare, that deadness to spiritual things, which we perceive in every individual whose heart has not been renewed by Divine grace.” Thus she finds that the doctrine of man’s partial depravity involves absurd consequences—conclusions wholly at variance with fact. The utter helplessness of man she adduced with great clearness and power, to prove that the work of grace is all of God. Then having proven her statement by Scripture, she proceeds to exhibit in connection with it, the perfect freeness of Divine grace. Miss Graham must not be confounded with those exclusive writers who address the free invitations of the gospel to the elect only. The freeness of Divine mercy—not the secret decree of the Divine will—was the ground and rule of her procedure.

On subjects of theological discussion she is as much at home as on the great doctrines of the gospel. She thus concludes a discussion on the consistency of conditional promises with free salvation: “The great question then about the promises seems to be, not so much whether they are conditional, as whether God looks to Christ, or us, for the performance of those conditions. If to Christ, the burden is laid upon one that is mighty: if to us, then we are undone: ‘for the condition of man after the fall is such, that he cannot turn and prepare himself, by his own natural strength and good works.’” This is strong and uncompromising; yet it is neither unguarded, unscriptural, nor discouraging. Her views of the personality of the Holy Spirit were remarkably clear. She was accustomed, as her “Prayer before Study,” plainly proves, to address Him in direct, and probably frequent supplication. In reference to the deceitful and superficial arguments of infidelity, she observes, “Let us disentangle the artful confusion of words and ideas. Let us set apart each argument for separate and minute scrutiny. Let us analyse the boasted reasonings of the infidel philosophy. We shall find that they may be classed under two heads: assertions which are true, but no way to the purpose; and assertions which are to the purpose, but they are not true.” Her remarks upon the millennium are interesting, but to attempt an analysis of these views, is foreign to our purpose.

On the way of salvation, Miss Graham’s correspondence is highly interesting and instructive. It is delightful to observe in all her letters, not only extensive and accurate views of science and sound theological opinions, but unostentatious piety, glowing love to the Saviour, and a tender, earnest longing for the salvation of souls. No service is more valuable to the sincere but intelligent inquirer, than to enter into his case with tenderness and forbearance. In these letters there are no vague and ill-defined directions—no deficiency of spiritual understanding. They are rich in evangelical sentiment. Pardoning grace is proclaimed to the guilty; melting and subduing grace to the hard-hearted; and sanctifying grace to the unholy; grace to live and grace to die.

It is a truth endorsed by universal Christendom, that the more we are disentangled from speculative inquiries, and occupied in the pursuit of practical realities, the more settled will be our conviction of the genuineness of the testimony, and our consequent enjoyment of its privileges. Miss Graham was naturally open to the temptation of a cavilling spirit. She was prone to begin with the speculative instead of the practical truths of revelation, and to insist upon a solution of its difficulties as a prerequisite to the acknowledgment of its authority, and personal application of its truths. To this we trace her painful, though temporary apostasy. The following passage, written about two months before her death, gives an interesting view of her own search after truth, and indicates a practical apprehension of the gospel: “I am grieved that you should for a moment imagine that I think our dear —— must be lost, because she does not subscribe to the doctrines of Calvin. I do not so much as know what all Calvin’s doctrines are, or whether I should subscribe to them myself. I have read one book of Calvin’s, many parts of which pleased me much: I mean his ‘Institutes,’ which Bishop Horsley says ought to be in every clergyman’s library. Further than this I know nothing of Calvin or his opinions. I certainly did not form one single opinion from his book, for I had formed all my opinions long before from the Bible. You may remember my telling you some years ago I declined greatly, almost entirely (inwardly) from the ways of God, and in my breast was an infidel, a disbeliever in the truths of the Bible. When the Lord brought me out of that dreadful state, and established my faith in His word, I determined to take that word alone for my guide. I read nothing else for between three and four months, and the Lord helped me to pray over every word that I read. At that time, and from that reading, all my religious opinions were formed, and I have not changed one of them since. I knew nothing then of Calvin. I have said so much, dear ——, because I think it a very wicked thing to do, as you seem to think I do, to call Calvin or any man ‘master on earth,’ or to make any human writer our guide in spiritual things.” Miss Graham’s religion consisted in receiving the whole Bible without partiality or gainsaying, loving God, and doing good to man.

The source of all progress and power to the child of God is union, an abiding union with Jesus. Miss Graham felt this for years, and longed for it as the one thing needful to satisfy the cravings of her own soul, and increase her usefulness to others. The abiding graces of the Christian life, faith,—hope, and charity—are also its abiding forces. Christians should learn to live, as well as learn to die. The twofold significance of the text, “The just shall live by faith,” struck deep into the generous soil of her ardent heart and active mind. The just shall be made alive first, and afterwards learn to live by faith. The just shall be justified before God first, and afterwards learn the way to become just also in heart and life by faith. “If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you. Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples. As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you: continue ye in my love. If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love: even as I have kept my Father’s commandments, and abide in His love. These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.” Simply to abide in Jesus is the whole philosophy of progress and power.

The biographer of Miss Graham, has been constrained to compensate for the paucity of incident—furnished by her life, to introduce large extracts from her writings and correspondence. From these extracts, and a portrait taken four years before her death, we learn that her physical constitution was rather too finely strung. Bred delicately in a great city, shut up in a nursery in childhood, and in a school through youth—never accustomed to air or exercise, her beauty faded quickly, and she was cut off in the midst of life. To preserve health it is not necessary to visit some distant clime, nor to do some great thing, but simply to obey her laws.

A striking feature of her intellectual character, was a total concentration of every power of thought and feeling in the object of pursuit immediately before her. In youthful games she engaged with the same ardour which she afterwards applied to languages and sciences. Indeed, she followed Solomon’s advice in everything she undertook: “Whatsoever thine hand findeth to do, do it with thy might!” It was impossible to divert her mind from the object that was engaging her attention to any other employment or recreation. To subjects of taste, she brought a glow of feeling and imagination; matters of a graver cast, are drawn out with the sober accuracy of a reflecting and discriminating judgment.

One of our poets glowingly exclaims,—

Miss Graham’s love to her Saviour was one of her most prominent characteristics. Those parts of Scripture that brought her into closer contact with the subject nearest her heart. Every evening she devoted an hour to intercessory prayer. She also set apart special times for secret dedication and communion with God. The sacred book was her constant food and study. Her love for the ordinances of God deserves special remark. Messengers of the gospel she loved for their work’s sake, and for their Master’s sake. “Pray before, as well as after your visit” was her solemn entreaty to her own beloved minister.

SECTION IV.—FIDELIA FISKE.

“In the structure and working of her whole nature, she seemed to me the nearest approach I ever saw, in man or woman, to my ideal of our blessed Saviour as He appeared on the earth.”

The peculiarities of Christianity form a most important and powerful argument in favour at once of its truth and of its Divine origin. A comparison of Christianity with other religions not only proclaims it to be the only religion worthy of God and suitable for human nature; but proclaims at the same time, and with equal power and effect, the utter futility of the infidel maxim,—that all religions are alike. A false religion, whether recorded in the pages of the Koran or the Shaster, may contain many important truths; but the fact that it is a human instead of a Divine, a false instead of a true religion, indelibly stamps it as unacceptable in the sight of Him who is “Holy in all in His works;” and unadapted to meet the wants of sinful creatures. There is only one religion in entire accord with all the phases, aspects, and transitions of the human mind; and that is the religion of the Bible. Christianity is adapted to you as an intellectual being—it records a history—it reveals a theology—it unfolds a philosophy—it affords scope for reasoning—it appeals to the imagination. Christianity is in harmony with your moral nature. Truly and beautifully has Sir Thomas Browne said, “There is no felicity in what the world adores—that wherein God Himself is happy, the holy angels are happy, and in whose defect the devils are unhappy—that dare I call happiness.” Your character is entirely sinful and depraved. Christianity presents to you the ideal of your original rectitude, and would win you to the love of holiness, as a thing of beauty and majesty. Christianity is adapted to you as an emotional being. The facility in shedding tears at the remembrance of sin, or at the cross, is no evidence of repentance; joy in the belief that sins are forgiven is no proof of conversion. Yet weeping is a mighty thing. Our Saviour never fell into sentimentalism or affectation, but His great soul ran over His eyes when on earth; and it would do the same if He dwelt with us now. Christianity excites the deepest emotion, and wakes up all the tumultuous feelings of the soul. Christianity is in harmony with your social nature. It takes your state under its auspices; and its tendency is, by its laws and influences, directly or indirectly, to etherealize the affections of the family, to ennoble the love of country, and to inflame all the enthusiasms which point to the good and glory of the race. Christianity is adapted to you as a suffering being. Trials are ill to bear. They are not “joyous, but grievous.” Yet he who believes that all things work together for good, will thank God for medicine as well as for food; and for the winter that kills the weeds, as well as for the summer that ripens the fields. Christianity is in harmony with your immortal nature. You are full of “thoughts that wander through eternity;” and Christianity establishes the truth of a future state—secures its glory—prepares for its enjoyment. It makes the hope of heaven a guiding principle in life, adapting its disclosures and descriptions of the future inheritance to the varied circumstances of the present. What a religion this!—it is the power of God, and the wisdom of God. “How shall we escape, if we neglect so great salvation?”

Fidelia Fiske was born on the 1st May, 1816, at Shelburne; a decayed town in Nova Scotia. Her father, a man of noble form, benignant face, and saintly character, who lived to the patriarchal age of ninety-two; was descended of ancestors who had emigrated from England to America. Her mother was a woman of great activity and equability; a native of Taunton, Massachusetts. This colony took its name from the circumstance that it was founded by a number of Christian men and women, who went forth from St. Mary Magdalene church, Taunton, Somerset, in the days of Archbishop Laud. The home of her childhood was a plain one-storey farmhouse, the large family room of which served as kitchen, nursery, dining and sitting room. In that mountain-home life was quiet and simple, yet by no means dull and monotonous. Around the blazing fire the little circle gathered every evening, while sewing, knitting, reading, and story-telling filled up the swift hours; till at length the great Bible was brought forth, a chapter read, and a fervent prayer offered. At early dawn they renewed their peaceful pursuits, amid the ceaseless and ever-varying voices of nature. As a child, Fidelia was unusually thoughtful and observing. She always weighed consequences, and nothing could escape her notice.

When about four years of age, she began to attend the district school near her father’s house. Here for some ten or twelve years she pursued the studies usually taught in country schools. Though by no means a prodigy, she had next to no labour in acquiring the art of reading; and easily outstripped others of the same age, and won the place of honour in her class. On the 12th of July, 1831, Fidelia made a public profession of her faith in Christ, and became a member of the Congregational church at Shelburne. In 1839, Miss Fiske entered the middle class in Mount Holyoke seminary. This institution enjoyed a high reputation for its educational and religious tone. Miss Lyon, who presided over it, was a most gifted, fascinating, and holy woman. Early impressed by religious truth, Fidelia here found herself in a thoroughly congenial element. The diligence and thoroughness of study required suited her mental habits; while the prominence given to religious instruction and religious duties met the wants of her rapidly-developing religious life. As might have been expected, she soon formed an attachment for Miss Lyon, which was reciprocated, and which time only intensified. At the close of her first year, a malignant form of typhoid fever appeared in the academy. Miss Fiske returned home to her parents. Two days after, she was seized with the disorder, and for many days lay at the gate of death. During that season of sickness she learned, for the first time, the real feelings of the sick and dying, and how to care for them. Nor were these the only lessons she learnt. The malady passed from her to her father, who went through the gate that seemed to have opened for his daughter. Her younger sister also, who had been converted in answer to her prayers, followed her father into the land of the immortals. The autumn of the following year found her again at Mount Holyoke, a member of the senior class. After graduating, she became a teacher. Although high culture marked in a distinguishing degree this seminary, it was unlike many of the schools in England for ladies, where the tinsel of accomplishments is preferred to the ennobling influence of piety.

We have now reached the great crisis in her history. At the meeting of the American Board at Norwich, Connecticut, in the autumn of 1842, Miss Lyon was very anxious that her seminary should be more thoroughly pervaded with the missionary spirit. Calling a meeting of such as were present, she told them that the institution had been founded to advance the missionary cause, and that she “sometimes felt that its walls had been built from the funds of missionary boards.” Miss Fiske little knew how much that meeting would cost her. While she and others were earnestly pleading for the heathen, the Lord’s messenger was approaching her with a call to become a missionary herself. Dr. Perkins came to Mount Holyoke, and made a request for a young lady to go with him to Persia. Miss Fiske sent a note to him with these brief words, “If counted worthy, I should be willing to go.” On her decision becoming known at the seminary, Miss Lyon said, “If such are your feelings, we will go and see your mother and sisters;” and in an hour they were on their way. A thirty miles’ ride, on a cold wintry Saturday, through snow-drifts in which they were several times upset, brought them to the Shelburne hills. The family were aroused from their slumbers to receive unexpected guests, and to hold an unexpected consultation. Prayers and tears mingled with the solemn and tender discussions of the hour. Before the Sabbath closed, her mother was enabled cheerfully to say, “Go, my child, go.” Other friends could not withhold their consent, and the great question was definitely decided.

On Wednesday, March 1st, 1843, Miss Fiske, with others destined for the same general field, embarked on board the Emma Isadora. At half-past four o’clock p.m. the barque left her wharf, and moving down the harbour was soon out of sight. The voyage was pleasant. A storm overtook them, but no fear disturbed Miss Fiske; despite the anxious countenance of the captain, and the need for vigilance on the part of the crew, she writes: “I look out from my cabin window to trace a Father’s hand in this wild commotion.” She did not wait until she arrived in Persia, but began her ministry of love by taking under her special care the young daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Perkins, guiding her studies and leading her to the Saviour. On the 8th of April, the ship anchored before Smyrna. After a week’s rest the Austrian steamer left, and in thirty-eight hours reached Constantinople. The perils and hardships of the sea were past, but seven or eight hundred miles still lay between our missionary friends and their Persian home. However, under the skilful guidance of Dr. Perkins, they passed safely to Urumiyah, their destined field of labour.

According to English gazetteers, Urumiyah is a walled town, and contains upwards of 20,000 inhabitants, of whom about 10,000 are Nestorians, 2000 Jews, and the rest Mohammedans. It claims to be the birthplace of Zoroaster, and in the vicinity are several mounds supposed to be the hills of the ancient fire-worshippers. The Nestorians derive their name from Nestorius, a heretic of the fifth century, who taught that Christ was divided into two persons. Nestorius acquired so much distinction by his learning, pulpit eloquence, and purity of life, that, in 428, he was elevated to the patriarchate of Constantinople. But fourteen centuries had wrought terrible degradation in Persia. There was little of Christianity, except the name, when the American Board of Commissioners established a mission and educational agency in 1834. The language of the Nestorians contained no words corresponding to home and wife, the nearest approach to them being house and woman. To a person of refinement and delicacy, like Miss Fiske, it must have been shocking to see women treated by men as drudges and slaves: wives beaten often and severely by their husband; yea, a whole village of these coarse and passionate creatures engaged in a quarrel among themselves, their hair all loose and flying in the wind. Miss Fiske’s chief solicitudes were given to the educational agency. By great tact she effected considerable reformation in the schools, and corrected the prevalent habits of lying and stealing among her pupils. She also found time to visit the Nestorian women, to pray with them, and read the Scriptures. In 1844, her labours and plans were suddenly interrupted by a storm of persecution which burst upon the mission. When the missionaries had most reason to fear expulsion, Miss Fiske thus wrote:—“I knew not before that my affections had become so closely entwined around this poor people, nor how severely I should feel a removal from them.” In the providence of God their enemies were thwarted; and they were permitted to remain and go on with their work, though not without great opposition. Towards the end of the year, Miss Fiske resumed her duties. How hard she laboured; with what holy fire her bosom burned; how earnestly she longed for a brighter day to dawn on the wretched Persian women; with what success she enforced upon mothers as well as pupils their relative duties; how brilliantly she illustrated the text, “Dying, and behold we live; unknown, and yet well known; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, yet possessing all things”! In 1849, the first public examination of the school was held, and about two hundred guests listened with unabated interest to the exercises till the sun went down. The pupils were examined in ancient and modern Syriac, Bible history, geography, and natural philosophy. The following year opened upon them in a new, large, and convenient building. In the autumn of 1856, the Persian government again tried to break up the educational agency. Askar Khan visited the seminary, and explored every part of it. He questioned one of the girls who could speak Turkish, but was baffled by the discreet replies of the pupil; yet in a decided manner he condemned female education, and told the girls that their former condition was the only proper one for them.

When we think of the physical labour, the mental effort, the practical wisdom, the ready discernment of character, the unconquerable perseverance, and the devoted piety necessary for discharging the functions of a female missionary; we do not wonder that sixteen years produced a wearing and exhausting effect upon Miss Fiske’s health. The time had come when change was imperatively demanded; and as Dr. Perkins and Mrs. Stoddard were expecting to leave for America the following summer, it was decided that she should accompany them. During the intervening months she received ample evidence of the permanency of the work of grace that had been wrought in the land of her adoption. On the morning of her departure, about seventy former pupils gathered about her, and asked the privilege of one more prayer—meeting with her in her room, “the little Bethel,” as they called it. Six prayers were offered, all tender and comforting—one particularly so; and this one she had frequent occasion to remember in the course of her long journey, and always felt comforted and encouraged by it.

The population of Nova Scotia is now chiefly composed of a native race, sprung directly or indirectly from the three great families of the United Kingdom. They are situated on the confines of a frozen ocean, but their hearts are not chilled, nor their friendships blunted by its influence. Miss Fiske soon recognised many in the group which surrounded her at the old sanctuary on the first Sunday after her return. During 1860, she visited Boston, to say farewell to a band of missionaries destined for the Nestorian field. Although glad that labourers were being sent forth, she could not repress a pang of regret that she could not go with them. Most extensive and blessed was the work she carried on during her sojourn in America; but amid it all the noble woman turned her face to the East and longed to be among the daughters of Persia. Feebler and fainter, however, became that hope; and soon it was certain that no journey but that to the “beautiful land” lay before Miss Fiske.

For six weeks she was confined almost entirely to her bed. She was able, however, to write many letters of counsel and comfort. One written May 26th, 1864, and addressed to Dr. Wright, on his leaving America for Persia, indicated her never-failing interest in the work to which she had consecrated the best years of her life. The disease, which at first was supposed to be cancerous, proved to be a general inflammation of the lymphatic vessels. For two or three nights she was obliged to remain in a sitting posture. Her last loving message to the teachers and pupils of Mount Holyoke, closed with the words, “Live for Christ; in so doing we shall be blessed in time and in eternity.” On the Sabbath morning she asked to have a number of the tracts entitled “Immanuel’s Land” laid upon her table, so that every person visiting her might carry away one. The Rev. E. Y. Swift called to see her on Tuesday, July 26th. She held out her hand to welcome him, and feebly said, “Will you pray.” These were her last words. As the prayer ascended, her spirit was caught up to learn the strains of the everlasting song of praise.

Not in the land of the Persian, but in her native country—the soil from which spring the children of freedom, the hearts of honesty, and the arms of bravery—was the body let down to the grave, in the full assurance that the soul was in heaven. At the funeral, one who knew her well, said: “God sent her to benighted Persia, that those poor people might have there an image of Jesus, and learn what He was like; not by cold theories, but by a living example. He brought her back to us, that we might see what sanctified human nature can become, and might gain a new view of the power of His grace.” Some old grey heads, more becoming grey, and many bright in manhood and womanhood, breathed the prayer:—

Miss Fiske could neither remember the time when she was unimpressed by religious truth, nor the precise period at which she was born again. To her father she was indebted for that remarkable acquaintance with the Bible, which often surprised and delighted her friends. Fond of general reading, he took a special pleasure in consulting the lively oracles. He honoured the Bible in the family. When his children manifested a distaste for their lessons in the catechism, he permitted them to substitute the inspired for the uninspired word. He believed that it was quite as safe to drink at the fountain-head as at the stream. When thirteen years of age, her Sabbath-school teacher—a daughter of her pastor—one day faithfully addressed her class on the subject of personal religion. That night Fidelia lay on her bed wakeful and tearful. At length her anxiety became too great to be concealed. Her mother suspecting the true state of the case, and alluding to the fact that something seemed to be troubling her, one day kindly said, “What is it, my child?” The full heart instantly overflowed with the long pent-up feeling, as she answered, “Mother, I am a lost sinner.” She had a wise counsellor, who led her to look well into the grounds of her hope; and the result was a Christian profession, not only free from palpable defect, but unusually enriched with the fruits of the Spirit. When an infant leaves the womb, although the same, it may be said to be a new creature. Now, just because the change wrought on the soul in conversion is also great, it is called a birth. That is the first; this is the second, and better birth. Better! because in that a daughter of man is born but for the grave; whereas in this a daughter of God is born for glory.

She soon began to take a deep and active interest in the spiritual welfare of others. Her heart went forth most tenderly towards the poor of Christ’s flock, amongst whom she spent a large portion of her time, seeking not only to comfort them, but to improve her own piety by listening to their simple records of Divine goodness. She loved the Lord’s poor intensely; and could not bear to hear their infirmities too freely animadverted upon. She delighted unbidden to soothe the sorrows of those who were in distress, no matter how bad their previous conduct may have been. To activity in her kind offices she joined perseverance. Her charity was an evergreen, preserving its verdure at all seasons.

The Sabbath-school was to her a most congenial sphere of usefulness, and to its labours she gave herself with full purpose of heart. She had a high idea of the importance of this work; spent much time in preparation for her class; and was an example of punctuality, regularity, kindness, and devotion. Her interest in her pupils was not confined to the hour spent with them on the Sabbath. She sought, in various ways, to win them to Christ, often calling the pen to her aid. Verily she believed that the whole Church was formed of individual members, and the whole tide of Christian exertion made up of single acts; just as the ocean is formed of drops, the globe of particles, and the nocturnal glory of single stars. Her sentiments were in harmony with the following inspiring verses:—

Miss Fiske had the spirit of a missionary, before she had the most distant conception of ever being engaged in the work. Her missionary life would not suffer by comparison with that of the most devoted agents who ever entered the field. At Seir, the Lord gave her an earnest of the blessing He was about to bestow on her self-renouncing labours in Persia. When the intelligence was received by her of sixty young ladies who were unconverted at the time she left Mount Holyoke, and all but six of whom were now rejoicing in hope, she burst into a flood of grateful tears.

When the American missionaries went to Persia, there was but a single Nestorian female who could read. She was Helena, the sister of the Patriarch, whose superior rank secured her this accomplishment. The rest were not only ignorant, but content to remain so. In addition to this, the poor Nestorians groaned under the bondage of a Mohammedan yoke, whose rule was capricious and tyrannical. In entering on her missionary duties, Miss Fiske writes: “Soon after our arrival, one of the elder members of our circle remarked that he did not know of five in the whole Nestorian nation whom he could look upon as true Christians.” The female seminary, which has done so much for the social, intellectual, and spiritual improvement of woman in Persia, was, during the first five years of its existence, simply a day-school: the pupils boarding at home, and spending only a few hours daily with their teachers in the school-room. From the first, she was very desirous of changing the character of the school, making it a boarding-school, in which pupils might remain several years, and be under the exclusive care and training of the teachers. The very idea of such a school was so repugnant to all the hereditary views of social propriety among the Nestorians, as to seem almost chimerical. Most of the girls were betrothed before they were twelve years of age; and the parents were afraid to give up those who were not, lest they should lose some favourable opportunity of marriage. They were also apprehensive that if their daughters were put to a boarding-school, they would not be able to carry heavy burdens, nor wield the spade so successfully as their companions who had never learned to read. But notwithstanding these difficulties, Miss Fiske succeeded in establishing a flourishing school conformed to her own ideal.

Her efforts to interest the women in the Bible were sometimes amusing. After reading the history of the creation, she asked, “Who was the first man?” They answered, “What do we know? we are women.” Then she told them that Adam was the first man, and made them repeat the name till they remembered it. The next question was, “What does it mean?” Here too they could give no answer; but were delighted to find that the first man was called red earth, because he was made of it. This was enough for one lesson. It woke up faculties previously dormant. She was not content with the few women who came to receive religious instruction at the seminary; but visited them at their homes, going from house to house, where filth and vermin would have repelled any woman of refinement whose heart did not glow with love to Christ, and love to perishing souls for whom He died.

The great study of Miss Fiske was to be Christ-like. She lived but for one object—the glory of the Redeemer in connection with the salvation of immortal souls. Hence, she carried with her a kind of hallowing influence into every company into which she entered; and her friends were accustomed to feel as if all were well when their measures met with the sanction and approval of the young missionary. In January, 1846, the work of the Holy Spirit became deep and general. The first Monday of the new year was observed by the mission as a day of fasting and prayer. “We had spoken,” writes Miss Fiske, “of passing that day in wrestling for souls. But we had only begun to seek, not to wrestle, when we learned that souls were pleading for themselves.” The intellects of the girls seemed greatly quickened by the grace in their hearts; thus illustrating the power of the gospel, to elevate and improve the whole character and life. The conversion of Deacon Gewergis, one of the vilest of the Nestorians; and his subsequent devotion to Christ, is too beautiful and of too profound significance to be omitted. After much faithful and affectionate conversation, Miss Fiske said to him, “When we stand at the bar of God, and when you are found on the left hand, as you certainly will be if you go on in your present course, promise me that you will tell the assembled universe that, on this 22nd day of February, 1846, you were told your danger.” She could say no more; her heart was full. He burst into tears, and said, “My sister, I need this salvation.” On the 12th March, 1856, he died in the Lord. The year 1849 witnessed one of the most interesting and extensive revivals that ever occurred in connection with the Nestorian mission. All the girls in the female seminary over twelve years of age, were hopefully converted, and many of them were, from that time, bright and shining lights in that dark land. The secret of these conversions may surely be said to be the spirit of entire dependence upon God. The imagination was not appealed to by terrors. There were no dramatic scenes to awaken fear. There was no mere got-up excitement. It was as if flowers that had been in darkness were persuaded to crave the blessed sunlight.

Some of our great writers portray the physique of their heroes and heroines so minutely that they start into life before our eyes. Height, size, complexion, conformation of features, to a gauntlet or ribbon, all are on the graphic page. But the excellent memoir recently published in England, gives us no account of the personnel of Fidelia Fiske. Judging from her portrait, she was about the middle size, finely formed features, rather delicate, loving eye, mild face, naturally diffident, yet cheerful, trustful, and hopeful.

She was a singularly gifted woman, and could accomplish with comparative ease what would be quite impracticable, or very difficult, to others. There was the quick comprehension, and the executive tact, which hardly ever made a failure, or put forth an inefficient effort. Every stroke and every touch from her always told in every undertaking. There was not the slightest bluster nor pretension about her. So quiet and unostentatious were her movements, that they would not have been observed, but for their marvellous results. If endowed with genius; it was unaccompanied by eccentricity or folly.

We need scarcely add that she was a noble specimen of true Christian womanhood. With the testimony of Dr. Kirk, the eminent Congregationalist minister of Boston, we close our pleasant task. “I wish to speak carefully; but I am sure I can say I never saw one who came nearer to Jesus in self-sacrifice. If ever there should be an extension of the eleventh chapter of Hebrews, I think the name of Fidelia Fiske would stand there. That is a list of those who either had remarkable faith, or who suffered for the truth. She was a martyr. She made the greatest sacrifice. She had given up her will; and when you have done that, the rest is easy. To burn at the stake for awhile, to be torn on the rack, to be devoured by wild beasts, is as nothing when you have torn out your own will, and laid it upon God’s altar.”