YEAR 1799
THERE are but two things to make me remember this year; the first was the
marriage of my daughter Janet with the reverend Dr. Kittlewood of
Swappington, a match in every way commendable; and on the advice of the
third Mrs. Balwhidder, I settled a thousand pounds down, and promised
five hundred more at my death if I died before my spouse, and a thousand
at her death if she survived me; which was the greatest portion ever
minister’s daughter had in our country side. In this year likewise I
advanced fifteen hundred pounds for my son in a concern in Glasgow,—all
was the gathering of that indefatigable engine of industry the second
Mrs. Balwhidder, whose talents her successor said were a wonder, when she
considered the circumstances in which I had been left at her death, and
made out of a narrow stipend.
The other memorable was the death of Mrs. Malcolm. If ever there was a
saint on this earth, she was surely one. She had been for some time
bedfast, having all her days from the date of her widowhood been a tender
woman; but no change made any alteration on the Christian contentment of
her mind. She bore adversity with an honest pride; she toiled in the day
of penury and affliction with thankfulness for her earnings, although
ever so little. She bent her head to the Lord in resignation when her
first-born fell in battle; nor was she puffed up with vanity when her
daughters were married, as it was said, so far above their degree, though
they showed it was but into their proper sphere by their demeanour after.
She lived to see her second son, the captain, rise into affluence,
married, and with a thriving young family; and she had the very great
satisfaction, on the last day she was able to go to church, to see her
youngest son the clergyman standing in my pulpit, a doctor of divinity,
and the placed minister of a richer parish than mine. Well indeed might
she have said on that day, “Lord, let thy servant depart in peace, for
mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”
For some time it had been manifest to all who saw her, that her latter
end was drawing nigh; and therefore, as I had kept up a correspondence
with her daughters, Mrs. Macadam and Mrs. Howard, I wrote them a
particular account of her case, which brought them to the clachan. They
both came in their own carriages; for Colonel Macadam was now a general,
and had succeeded to a great property by an English uncle, his mother’s
brother; and Captain Howard, by the death of his father, was also a man,
as it was said, with a lord’s living. Robert Malcolm, her son the
captain, was in the West Indies at the time; but his wife came on the
first summons, as did William the minister.
They all arrived about four o’clock in the afternoon, and at seven a
message came for me and Mrs. Balwhidder to go over to them, which we did,
and found the strangers seated by the heavenly patient’s bedside. On my
entering, she turned her eyes towards me, and said, “Bear witness, sir,
that I die thankful for an extraordinary portion of temporal mercies.
The heart of my youth was withered like the leaf that is scared with the
lightning; but in my children I have received a great indemnification for
the sorrows of that trial.” She then requested me to pray, saying, “No;
let it be a thanksgiving. My term is out, and I have nothing more to
hope or fear from the good or evil of this world. But I have had much to
make me grateful; therefore, sir, return thanks for the time I have been
spared, for the goodness granted so long unto me, and the gentle hand
with which the way from this world is smoothed for my passing.”
There was something so sweet and consolatory in the way she said this,
that although it moved all present to tears, they were tears without the
wonted bitterness of grief. Accordingly, I knelt down and did as she had
required, and there was a great stillness while I prayed. At the
conclusion we looked to the bed, but the spirit had, in the mean time,
departed, and there was nothing remaining but the clay tenement.
It was expected by the parish, considering the vast affluence of the
daughters, that there would have been a grand funeral, and Mrs. Howard
thought it was necessary; but her sister, who had from her youth upward a
superior discernment of propriety, said, “No, as my mother has lived, so
shall be her end.” Accordingly, everybody of any respect in the clachan
was invited to the funeral; but none of the gentry, saving only such as
had been numbered among the acquaintance of the deceased. But Mr.
Cayenne came unbidden, saying to me, that although he did not know Mrs.
Malcolm personally, he had often heard she was an amiable woman, and
therefore he thought it a proper compliment to her family, who were out
of the parish, to show in what respect she was held among us; for he was
a man that would take his own way, and do what he thought was right,
heedless alike of blame or approbation.
If, however, the funeral was plain, though respectable, the ladies
distributed a liberal sum among the poor families; but before they went
away, a silent token of their mother’s virtue came to light, which was at
once a source of sorrow and pleasure. Mrs. Malcolm was first well
provided by the Macadams, afterwards the Howards settled on her an equal
annuity, by which she spent her latter days in great comfort. Many a
year before, she had repaid Provost Maitland the money he sent her in the
day of her utmost distress; and at this period he was long dead, having
died of a broken heart at the time of his failure. From that time his
widow and her daughters had been in very straitened circumstances; but
unknown to all but herself, and HIM from whom nothing is hid, Mrs.
Malcolm from time to time had sent them, in a blank letter, an occasional
note to the young ladies to buy a gown. After her death, a bank-bill for
a sum of money, her own savings, was found in her scrutoire, with a note
of her own writing pinned to the same, stating, that the amount being
more than she had needed for herself, belonged of right to those who had
so generously provided for her; but as they were not in want of such a
trifle, it would be a token of respect to her memory, if they would give
the bill to Mrs. Maitland and her daughters, which was done with the most
glad alacrity; and, in the doing of it, the private kindness was brought
to light.
[Picture: The Millwright]
Thus ended the history of Mrs. Malcolm, as connected with our Parish
Annals. Her house was sold, and is the same now inhabited by the
millwright, Mr. Periffery; and a neat house it still is, for the
possessor is an Englishman, and the English have an uncommon taste for
snod houses and trim gardens; but at the time it was built, there was not
a better in the town, though it’s now but of the second class. Yearly we
hear both from Mrs. Macadam and her sister, with a five-pound note from
each to the poor of the parish, as a token of their remembrance; but they
are far off, and, were any thing ailing me, I suppose the gift will not
be continued. As for Captain Malcolm, he has proved, in many ways, a
friend to such of our young men as have gone to sea. He has now left it
off himself, and settled at London, where he latterly sailed from, and, I
understand, is in a great way as a shipowner. These things I have
thought it fitting to record, and will now resume my historical
narration.