* It was the dying request of Miss Jessie Russell, Inverness, that this little booklet should be printed in the Magazine, but owing to it having gone amissing, it was only recently found by the kind friend who so tenderly nursed Miss Russell in her last days, and in obedience to the dying wish of that saintly follower of the Lord, we reprint the booklet with a few omissions. The author of the tractate was the father of the young woman whose experiences are described.—Editor.
I.
THIS is now the fifth time within the last thirty-four months that I am called upon to announce the demise of a very dear one. The excellent and beloved wife, the three dear and promising daughters in peace at home, and the brave and good son in war abroad (Donald fell at the siege of Sebastopol in 1855, at the age of 19 years), having in that short space been removed from me. Sore bereavements, indeed, but my dear Lord enables me to bear all wonderfully. He took them clean through life, and in death He made them more than conquerors. Having already given an account of the last illness and comfortable dying hours of the others, I now offer to attempt giving you the following in the case of my good Mary Ann—a rich and rare monument of divine grace. My regret is that it has not fallen to the lot of an abler hand to describe and declare such a remarkable instance of redeeming love. However, what I say is true, the Lord knoweth. As you are aware, although naturally a healthy and cheerful girl, her health was gradually declining for some time back. Being of a loving temper, the repeated and sore trials we have had weighed heavily upon her. With sorrow I was observing this, but was cherishing the fond hope that, by the blessing of God upon careful attention, she might regain her usual good health. The All-Wise Being, however, had otherwise determined. To use her own words, which she often uttered during her last days, “He loved her too much to leave her long in the wilderness.”
Since Jessie’s death, who, as you know, was called home exactly seven weeks before her, she sank rapidly; but was up every day except the last eighteen. She herself was fully aware of her state, more so than I was, though anxious enough. On Wednesday, the 29th of April last, as I was sitting alone, much wearied in mind and body, having travelled a good deal the day before, she, in her usual sweet and smiling manner, came and sat right before me, and with a solemnity and composure which I shall never forget, and which nothing but a Gospel hope could impart, freely disclosed her mind, and gave it as her assured persuasion that her sojourn also was now nigh over, at the same time comforting me by the assurance that, although she had as much happiness here as she could wish for, nevertheless her chief desire was to depart and to be with Christ. At the same time also she, being the only managing person about me, gave such directions about this and that as might do honour to the attainments of an aged and confirmed disciple. For a week afterwards she continued to rise, until Wednesday, the 6th of May, when she got so ill that it was necessary for her to keep her bed. As the servant girl was on that day removing some things out of the way, she, observing her new mourning bonnet and frock carried past, said, with a broad smile, and with holy fire in her eyes, which she fixed on me, “I shall never more see these; but will soon and for ever wear a crown of glory, and the white robe secured for me in my lovely Jesus from all eternity. Oh, I long to be with Him!”
From this time until her departure her soul was one burning flame of desire—first, to get home to the full enjoyment of her Lord; and next, that all mankind might partake of the love of Jesus—the name by which she most frequently named her beloved Saviour. Of this there are many living witnesses, for all the country, from the highest to the lowest, visited her. The clergymen of the parish, both Established and Free, were very assiduous in their attention, and witnessed to the mighty power of Divine grace as manifested in her case. All who saw her, and whose testimony is worth the having, declare that they “never saw it on this fashion.” It was not blind enthusiasm: she knew in whom she believed; all her hope and joy emanated from the Bible Saviour, who, as she often said to herself, loved her, and gave Himself for her, and who gave her such special and sensible manifestations of His love. Often from a reverie, with uplifted hands and eyes fixed heavenwards, would she break out in raptures such as these—”Oh, love of heaven! who can but love Thee; art Thou not altogether lovely? I love Thee, sweet Jesus, and I know Thou lovest me with an everlasting love. I long to see Thee and enjoy Thee in Thy glory. Come, Oh, come and take me home, for I cannot live but in Thy presence!”
Although she derived much help and comfort from other sources, yet in the Bible lay all her well-springs. One evening, as I sat beside her at worship, I read the 45th Psalm in metre. This I did in course, not intentionally. During the reading of the Psalm she appeared to have fallen into a sweet slumber, which continued until all was over, when she opened her eyes, and beckoned as if wishful to speak to me. When I bowed my ear to her, she said, with the ever happy smile, “Yon is the way I’ll go home.” I asked, “What way?” “The way,” said she, “you sang. Do turn it up and read it again.” I did so, as it is contained in the 13th, 14th, and 15th verses, and to give you an idea of the effect it had upon her is more than tongue or pen can describe. This was the last passage she committed to memory, and a sweet morsel it was to her to the end.