Tribute of a Loving Friend to the Memory of a Noble Woman

“GOD bless her sweet face! she’s not a bit the worse for being a duchess ! ”

So spoke a good old broad-brimmed Quaker, when he bought at the Antislavery Fair the splendid engraving of the late beautiful Duchess of Sutherland.

The old Quaker heard around him sneers, as if a republican and a Quaker should be ashamed to exhibit enthusiasm for the pictured form of one who then stood at the head of modern aristocracy. And he spoke words that embody a deep truth, that a truly grand and noble woman has a worth and value of her own altogether superior to that of rank or station, and that at her feet even the most unworldly may bow, giving homage to her and not to her position.

The late Duchess of Sutherland was one of those few individuals in this world who may be said in the general drift of life to have been completely fortunate. By lineage she was of the noblest English blood. Her ancestral grandmother on the mother’s side was the celebrated Duchess of Devonshire, whose beauty, wit, and genius, and the warm and decided part which she took in the liberal and progressive politics of her day, have become matter of history.

She was the ornament and pride and patroness of that very strong party in England which, during our Revolutionary War, sympathized with our leaders in their assertion of human rights, and remonstrated against the suicidal policy of England.

The Duchess of Devonshire was not only a charming and admired woman in society, but gifted with some considerable degree of literary talent. Thus we find among Coleridge’s “ Occasional Poems ” an “ Ode addressed to Georgianna, Duchess of Devonshire,” on the twenty-fourth stanza of her poem, entitled " Passage over Mount Gothard.”

We shall quote the opening lines of this Ode, as they suggest an idea which is a leading one in the consideration of a character like that of the Duchess of Sutherland. They are written upon the following quatrain of the Duchess’s poem : —

Of this the poet says : —

On a first view, it certainly would appear that the influence engendered by aristocratic institutions, on those who are born inheritors of their privileges, would be one entirely contrary to any deep and generous sympathy with the mass of mankind ; and such, as a general thing, has been the influence of aristocracy on the minds that have been formed by it.

The utter want of sympathy with humanity in the aristocracy of France was what precipitated their downfall in the Revolution. But in the English nation it is a noticeable fact, that the long struggle by which liberal ideas and the rights of the common people have been steadily advanced has found some of its most efficient supporters among the nobility.

The Duchess of Devonshire, although living in an age of great fashionable extravagance and dissipation, is celebrated by the poet as a good mother, who nursed her own children, and formed their minds and character herself. The Countess of Carlisle, the mother of the Duchess of Sutherland, did credit to the system under which she was brought up. It was our fortune to know her, in the serene old age of a beautiful life, spent in a conscientious fulfilment of every duty. Cultivated, polished, refined, remembering most of the men and things best worth knowing in her period, her conversation and her letters, even after her seventieth year, were delightful. Nothing in the progress of mankind escaped her, — every good cause, every heroic movement in any land or country, had her intelligent and appreciative sympathy.

The Earl of Carlisle, her husband, was a man well known in his day for his liberal patronage of art and letters. Castle Howard, the family residence, has one of the finest collections of pictures and statuary in England. It was here that the youth of the Duchess of Sutherland was passed. She was gifted generously by nature, first, with beauty, which in its mature hour, might well have been chosen as the perfected type of English loveliness ; but, independent of her beauty, and greatly superior to it as an endowment, she received from nature the gift of a large and generous heart, with such a breadth and capacity of love, such powers of sympathy and tenderness and friendship, as are given to few. Her nature was as magnificent in its wealth of the affectional and emotive powers as in personal charms.

In some respects, her face and head reminded one of traits in the Venus de Milo, particularly in the shape and character of the eyes ; but no marble and no painting can ever do justice to the beauty of those eyes, in their varied moods of expression. Their general character was that of serious tenderness, but a tale of injury or wrong, the suggestion of anything like meanness or unfairness or harshness and cruelty would bring lightnings from those blue eyes and an expression of indignation to the beautiful face.

Her goodness was not mere physical softness, or love of ease, or aversion to earnest thought. Much of what is called amiability, in beautiful ladies, is little more than the purring of a sleek, well-fed cat, happy and contented, because every animal sense is gratified. That of the Duchess of Sutherland, while it had its foundation in a harmonious and well-developed animal nature, was a deeper principle, a clear, discriminating virtue. Her sense of justice was as broad and deep as her powers of emotion. Everywhere, both in her own country and in all other countries, she hated wrong, and she loved right, with a passionate enthusiasm.

Her mother, the Countess of Carlisle, belonged to that generation in which the abolition of slavery on English territory was conceived and executed. Some of the most untiring friends of that great reform were to be found in the list of her personal friends among the English nobility ; and Lady Carlisle educated her children in the principles of universal liberty, as in a religion. It was, therefore, no fine lady’s whim, or passing caprice of fashionable sentiment, that led the Duchess of Sutherland always to manifest the deepest sympathy with those in America who were struggling to bring about the same reform which had already been wrought in England.

The Boston Antislavery Fair at which the good Quaker bought the engraving of the Duchess was held some time during those eventful years between 1831 and 1866, when the battle for human rights and human liberty was being fought out in this country. About this time, in the good city of Boston, this same Antislavery Fair represented a class of persons whose position resembled that of certain others mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles as the “sect that is everywhere spoken against.” The few stanch spirits that kept up that Fair were of the old heroic blood of Massachusetts, and could trace their lineage back through generations of men who never flinched from a principle.

For a simple effort to carry out logically the principles enunciated in the Declaration of Independence, the members of the American Antislavery Society were ostracized from the polite circles of Boston ; they lost standing everywhere, and in every respect, and good society — meaning by this the majority of what was cultivated, refined, and even professedly religious — could not do enough to express contempt of them. If a distinguished European stranger in those days chanced to be sharing Boston hospitalities, he was always sure to be invited by some zealous member to show himself at this Fair, and give, at least, the comfort of his countenance to the effort that was being then made for the cause of universal liberty. It would not be difficult to furnish a list of distinguished. Europeans who, when safely across the water, could testify, like the very Apostles and Prophets, against American slavery, but who, brought to this simple test in the city of Boston, refused then and there to acknowledge the only men and women who were doing anything efficient against it. There was, however, one marked exception : the Earl of Carlisle and brother of the Duchess of Sutherland, then Lord Morpeth, visited the United States in those days, and while in the city of Boston, notwithstanding the officious warnings of the unpopularity of the act, went to the Antislavery Fair, and took pains in the most marked and significant manner to avow his sympathy with the object represented. The Duchess of Sutherland, also, sent contributions to this Fair, accompanied with expressions of sympathy.

When Mr. Garrison, then the object of unmitigated obloquy and contempt in America, visited England during these years, he was invited to Stafford House by the Duchess, and made to feel at ease there by that matchless charm of manner of which she had the gift, and which enabled her. to shed over the splendors of a palace the charm of a simple, warm-hearted home. At her request he sat for his picture to Richmond, the celebrated crayon artist ; and the picture occupied an honored place in Stafford House. At this time several high rewards had been offered in Southern States for the head of Garrison, and he said to the Duchess, when she made the request, that desires had been frequently expressed to obtain his head, but that they had never come in a form so flattering.

It was for many years said that the severe denunciatory language of the Garrisonian Abolitionists, and their want of Christian charity in their mode of carrying on the movement, were a sufficient reason why every one should fall away from them, and leave them to work alone. We believe, however, that the disclosures which have been made in this late struggle, of the awful character of the evil which they attacked, have wrought such a change in the public mind, that, should Mr. Garrison’s early articles on this subject be now published, people would inquire with surprise, Where is the strong language, and where the excessive denunciations ? Mr. Garrison was like a man on the front cars of a swift-rushing train, who sees terrific danger not seen by those at the other end. The cries that he uttered in time came to be uttered by every one in the United States, as in their turn the real meaning of the situation flashed upon them.

The sympathy which was felt with the American antislavery struggle in England was in part the continued burning of that fire of enthusiasm which had been kindled by the labors of Clarkson and Wilberforce. When the appearance of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” roused this smouldering enthusiasm once more in England, there is no manner of doubt that all good people there regarded it as an outbreak of pure virtue. England, so they thought, had come through this great struggle victoriously ; she had emancipated all her slaves, and declared the soil of Britain everywhere free. And why should not America do the same ?

When the Duchess of Sutherland opened Stafford House for an antislavery meeting of the women of England, she was acting as a representative Englishwoman, standing but a little lower than the throne, and representing in herself the whole sentiment of English womanhood.

Very gentle and sisterly and tender were the words of that address of "The Englishwomen to their Sisters in America.” They spoke of a common lineage, a common religion ; they acknowledged the fault and shame of England in bringing this great evil upon the American Colonies ; they made this acknowledged fault a reason why they should endeavor to speak to them of the remedies that might yet possibly lie in the power of American women,

Under the circumstances, probably no form of words that covered so very objectionable a deed as this memorial could be more unobjectionable. More than half a million of women sent it with their signatures, which, beginning at the foot of the throne, embraced names of every rank and order, down to the wife of the meanest laborer, who could sign her name. These signatures, in eighteen folio volumes enclosed in a cabinet of English oak, were sent to America and exhibited at the Boston Antislavery Fair.

Let us not doubt that every signer of that celebrated document, at the time she put her name to it, was for the moment yielding to a true and noble impulse. Our poor human nature is not so very well off in matters of virtue that we Can afford to deny it thus much. But in signing that memorial, as well as in uttering certain petitions in the Lord’s Prayer, the fair petitioners were asking for a great deal more than they were actually willing to receive. We who say, from Sunday to Sunday, “Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” are often utterly confounded when God’s will is done in a way that sweeps off all our cherished plans and expectations.

When the efforts to which the women of England exhorted their sisters had actually been made, and resulted in a great battle, — a battle which it was instinctively felt would necessitate other and similar conflicts throughout Europe,— then it was that the ladies of England shrank from the spirit which they had evoked. And among all the half-million who signed the remonstrance, there was only here and there one to encourage the party that fought for freedom.

It is due, however, to truth, to say that among these few the Duchess of Sutherland, with her daughter and sonin-law, the Duke and Duchess of Argyll, stood firm, though standing almost alone.

The Duchess of Sutherland, during those days, had retired from society, and was an invalid, but of the constancy of her heart, and the clearness of her perceptions of the right, none who knew her could doubt.

The immediate consequence of the letter of the ladies of England to those of America was a storm of indignant rejoinder from the Southern States. The sisters across the water, in terms far less conciliatory and language far less guarded than their own, were reminded of all the objectionable features of English society, and politely requested to look at home and let their neighbors’ housekeeping alone.

The papers were full of stories of the Duchess of Sutherland, in which all the barbarities said to attend the Sutherland clearances, years before she became connected with the family, were laid at her door. It was she who had pulled down cottages over the heads of defenceless old women, and turned out the sick and starving to wander and to beg. Whether things like these ever were done under the rule of the Duke’s mother the Duchess, Countess of Sutherland, is not a point here to be discussed.

The history of the Highland clearances and evictions is to this day a sore spot in the minds of the Scotch people, and it is a subject on which one must never hope for a dispassionate inquiry. It was one of those instances where a change necessary for the good of a country excited such vehement bitterness of, feeling, and such a collision of passion, as to leave lasting and ineradicable soreness and indignation, even although society has undoubtedly settled into a very much better form in consequence. But whatever objectionable incidents might have been connected with the clearances of the Highlands, it is quite evident that the Duchess of Sutherland had nothing to do with them, since the system was first introduced in 1806, the same year that she was born, and some of the alleged inhumanities dated back to 1811, when she was a child of five or six years, playing in the halls of Castle Howard.

The Duchess was married to the Duke of Sutherland, then bearing the title of Earl Gower, in the year 1823. She was at that time in her seventeenth year, and the Duke was thirty-seven, being twenty years her senior. The match, however, was not only one of the most brilliant in regard to worldly possessions which a subject could make in England, but it was a peculiarly happy one, considered simply in relation to the quality of the individual.

The Duke of Sutherland was one of those refined and delicate characters whose worth can only be fully appreciated on an intimate acquaintance. An unfortunate infirmity of deafness prevented his ever taking part in the public duties of his station, and caused him to bear in the great and brilliant society in which he moved the part of spectator rather than actor.

An observer who has associated with the English nobility much must have noticed that a certain shrinking shyness is rather characteristic of them. Madame de Slaël, in her “ Corinne,” gives the result of her observations on this point in her character of Lord Nelvil. Much that passes for haughtiness and reserve is often neither more nor less than the remains of an extreme diffidence. In the Duke of Sutherland this shyness was increased by the consciousness of an infirmity which he feared in every company might embarrass those who wished to communicate with him. Master of one of the largest estates in Great Britain, with Stafford House, Trentham Hall, and Dunrobin Castle, each of which could compare favorably with any of the royal residences in Europe, the Duke was always the simplest, the most unostentatious, the most humbly conscientious of human beings. There was something peculiar about his manners in their lowliness and humility : he seemed to ask pardon of the world for holding more of its wealth, power, and splendor than ought to be engrossed by one human being.

In person he was tall and graceful, and his manners were marked by a charm of considerate thoughtfulness for others that was very peculiar. Although his consciousness of his infirmity would have led him to shrink from society, yet he had so considerate a regard for guests in his own house as to always endeavor to make some conversation with each when under his roof ; and with such skill and tact did he manage this, that the reply could generally be expressed by a negative or affirmative.

In conversation with those of inferior rank, the same lowly courtesy of manner was often visible. Not many years since, an old tenant of the Duke of Sutherland’s now living in Andover, Massachusetts, related this anecdote of him. He had charge of a mill on the Duke’s estate, and one day left it to the care of a young man who had newly come into his employ, and to whom the Duke’s person was unknown. On his return, the young employee said to him : “There has been an old man to see you : he is quite deaf, poor old gentleman ! he said he was sorry to make me speak so loud, and seemed to feel very badly about the trouble he gave me.” “ Ah ! then you have seen the Duke,” replied the miller to the astonished apprentice ; “ that’s our Duke ! ”

Standing thus apart from the gay and brilliant scene in which he moved, the Duke meditated deeply on the great question of society. His well-known benevolence, and the conscientious care that he gave to the discharge of his duty to his dependants, constantly brought him into contact with the two extremes of life. He saw his own, so brilliant, so abundant ; he saw the poor laborer’s, so restricted, and so uncertain and confined, and saw it with a deep feeling of sadness akin to selfreproach. All that he could do by the most conscientious and unintermitting efforts seemed so little to bridge over the awful chasm.

The writer well remembers one evening during a stay of some days at Dunrobin Castle. The dining-hall was, as usual, brilliantly lighted, and a company of about forty persons, including some of the first in rank and beauty among the nobility, were present. The service of the table was even more than usually exquisite in taste and ornamentation, but the Duke sat at the head of all with the gentle thoughtfulness of manner so habitual with him. Alter a few moments he wrote and passed to the writer these lines of Milman: —

In the conversation that followed, it was evident that his was a delicately and sensitively conscientious spirit, oppressed by worldly greatness as an awful trust and serious responsibility, and pained by many things in the constitution of society which he felt powerless to alter.

Of his immense possessions he evidently regarded himself only as a steward. The total population of the Sutherland estate at this time was 21,784; and the care of such a property of course occupied the whole of his attention during those months of every year which he spent upon it. The estate was divided into three districts, each under a superintendent, who communicated with the Duke through a general agent. The Duke devoted every Monday to seeing such of his tenants as wished to have personal interviews, and, lest his infirmity of hearing should cause him to misunderstand any case, he took the further precaution to have it always submitted in writing.

In addition to the three factors who had the general care of the estate, a ground officer was maintained in every parish, and an agriculturist in the Dunrobin district, who gave particular attention to instructing the people in the best methods of farming.

Since the year 1811 four hundred and thirty miles of road have been constructed on the Sutherland estate, and thirteen post-offices and sub-offices been established in the county. Since that time, also, there have been fourteen inns either built or enlarged by the Duke. Thousands of acres of land, since that time, which were supposed to be worthless for cultivation, have been reclaimed by means of agricultural knowledge, and made productive. Large forests of woodland have been planted, improved breeds of cattle of all sorts have been distributed through the county, and a large fishing-village established, which affords employment to thirty-nine hundred people. Savings banks have been established in every parish, of which the Duke of Sutherland is patron. He has been also a liberal patron of education. Beside the parish schools, the Duke of Sutherland contributed to the support of several schools for young women, at which sewing and other branches of industrial education were taught. In 1844 he agreed to establish twelve general schools in such parts of the county as were out of the sphere of the parochial schools, and to contribute annually two hundred pounds in aid of salaries to teachers, besides furnishing house, garden, and cows' grass. Three medical gentlemen on the estate received a yearly allowance from the Duke of Sutherland for attendance on the poor, in the district in which they resided.

The mere suggestion of the labors of superintending such an estate must strike any one ; and then, if we consider another large estate to be cared for in Staffordshire, and three or four smaller ones in different parts of England, and twelve parishes at the Duke’s disposal in appointing clergymen, we can see how great must be the cares of a man of delicate moral nature, humble in his estimate of himself, judging himself severely, and with high ideas of what should be expected from the possessor of such great resources.

The writer once spent a pleasant day with the Duke and Duchess in riding over their estates, and viewing the various improvements which they were planning for their people. The sensitiveness which the Duke seemed to exhibit to the good or ill fortune of his poorer tenants was quite touching. It had been a very wet season, and when the Duke passed a little patch of wheat, just reaped, and lying exposed to the rain, it really seemed to give him more pain than anything which could have touched himself. Whatever the temptations of rank and station may be to men who look upon them in a different way, it is certain that to the Duke life was one long practice of the duties of fatherly consideration for others.

The Duchess was of a character in many respects different from that of the Duke, but harmoniously adapted to it. She was generous, frank, and confiding, with great powers of enjoyment herself, as well as great power of dispensing joy to others. Life, from the point of view of a beautiful woman, whose very smile makes summer where she moves, cannot be the same that it is to a thoughtful man, who feels chiefly the burden of its responsibilities.

The Duchess inherited no tendency to any form of creative literary or artistic talent; she did not write poems like her grandmother, nor occupy her leisure hours with drawing or painting. The great charm of her nature was its appreciativeness. Artists, poets, and literary men all found in her just enough of their own nature to enable her to understand them. With all the soft repose of manner which highbreeding gives, she possessed the gift of a peculiar magnetic warmth of nature, which dissipated reserve, and in a few moments placed the most diffident at ease with her. This natural advantage had been improved and turned to the best account by culture. If there be any one word which expresses the beginning, middle, and end of what is taught to a young woman carefully brought up in the upper ranks of English life, it is CONSIDERATION. Noblesse oblige is a motto never lost sight of in their early training. As soon as a child can open a book or appreciate a picture, it is taught its duty to show something or do something that may contribute to the enjoyment of some friend or visitor ; and life is thus made a study of thoughtful attentions to others. Such a training as this and such early habits gave to the Duchess of Sutherland, in her magnificent beauty, a sort of divining power by which she was enabled always to say and do precisely the right thing, and to give pleasure to every one who approached her.

One instance of her thoughtfulness is worth mentioning here. In a party that arrived at Dunrobin Castle, one evening, were two young American girls, who never had been in society in their own country. As the party arrived late, they were not dressed in season, when the brilliant dinner-company assembled in the drawing-room, previous to passing out to the dinnertable. The Duchess herself, however, attended these guests to their rooms, and saw to their comfort, and, appreciating the natural diffidence of young persons, she bade them not to give themselves any uneasiness, as she would send after them in time for dinner. After a little while, instead of sending a servant to convoy them to the drawing-room, she came herself to their apartments, and said, graciously, “ I hope I have not kept you waiting ” ; and, taking a hand of each, with motherly tenderness, she led them with her into the drawing-room.

On another occasion, an American lady was riding out with her, and seemed particularly struck with the variety and beauty of the heather, which fringed the path, and made many inquiries about it.

On returning from the drive, while this lady was dressing for dinner, a basket was brought to her apartment, in which every species of heather known in Scotland was represented, — each kind with a neat label affixed to it, giving its botanical name. That evening the floral ornaments of the dinnertable were all of heather, — the centre-piece being a beautiful statuette of Highland Mary ; and the Duchess wore heather for her head-dress, saying to her friend : “You see what pleasure it gives us Scotch people to have our native productions appreciated.” A service of china was used on the dinner-table, on which heather was exquisitely painted. This could not, of course, have been got up to order, and its existence among the repositories of the castle showed that the Duchess must have appreciated the flower long before.

One other anecdote will illustrate the spirit of the Duchess’s whole family circle.

Her sister, Lady —, was returning from an afternoon drive with two guests, when they expressed a curiosity to see a certain building which had been a matter of conversation, and she said, “ I will tell the driver to take us there before we return to the castle.” The coachman, however, was a little deaf, and the lady’s order did not reach him ; and therefore, instead of taking the turn which she expected, he drove directly to the castle.

“ There, now, poor little man ! ” was her comment ; “ he did n’t understand me. I could n’t tell him now, it would mortify him so that he would never get over it; but I will take you there tomorrow.”

In all the relations between these powerful people and those who depended upon them the iron hand of power was always concealed under the softest glove of consideration.

The only sense in which the Duchess could be said to be a creative artist was in the embellishment of every dwelling-place she inhabited, in which artists, architects, and landscape-gardeners carried out her poetic conceptions, and gave expression to her exquisite tastes. Her house, however gorgeous and splendid, had always that indefinable charm of home comfort about it which comes from the individual thoughtfulness of the possessor for the tastes and feelings of others.

During the time of the writer’s stay in Dunrobin Castle, thirty or forty guests, each with servants and dependants, were visiting at the castle, yet everything moved on with that air of tranquillity and home quiet which belongs to a small, well-regulated family.

The Duchess, at the head, kept her eye on all, thought of all, provided for all. Every day to each was proposed such varied forms of occupation or amusement as it was imagined would be most agreeable. The supervision of the happiness and comfort of all was perfect, though invisible. The results could only be accomplished by that perfect domestic system which has for ages been the striking characteristic of English family life. Everything there has a precedent, an established order ; every person knows his exact place, and is exactly fitted for it ; and it is quite possible for a generous and magnanimous nature, full of hospitality and thoughtfulness, to infuse itself into every coworker, down to the meanest attendant.

The exact disposition of hours also give to the heads of establishments a great deal of uninterrupted time, which they may at pleasure devote to reading, study, business, or the care of children. A day at Dunrobin Castle was spent much in this fashion. Between eight and nine o’clock the guests began assembling in a charming little boudoir adjoining the grand drawingroom, where the breakfast was always served. Here the Duchess, always fresh and radiant, and with something appropriate and kind to say to each one, waited for a few moments before leading the way to a room where the servants of the family were assembled for family worship. On the entrance of the Duchess and her guests all rose respectfully, and remained standing until they were seated ; after which the Duchess read morning prayers, concluding with the Lord’s Prayer, in which all joined audibly. Breakfast, which immediately followed, was on the whole the most charming meal of the day, — the table being spread in the brightest and airiest room of the house, whose windows overlooked the tree-tops of the forest and the blue waters of the German Ocean. It was a meal of unconventional freedom and ease ; every one’s letters were laid beside his plate, and the opening and reading of these, and the passing backwards and forwards of cheerful bits of information gathered from them, formed a very pleasant feature of the hour. After breakfast there was a little season of chatting and lounging in the parlors, while the Duchess arranged with some of her friends a thoughtful programme of the day, which included provision for the comfort and amusement of every guest ; and these arrangements being understood, the Duchess could command her time until luncheon at two o’clock.

The gentlemen of the family, as a general thing, were supposed to spend the day in the open air, as this was the shooting season.

After lunch at two o’clock, the guests generally drove out, and spent the afternoon in excursions to different points of interest in the surrounding beautiful country, returning in season for an hour of rest and refreshment before the dressing-bell rang for dinner.

Dinner at eight o’clock was the grand reunion of the day ; all, however divided in pursuits, were expected to meet then, and spend the evening thenceforward in each other’s society. Music and conversation diversified the evening, and at twelve o’clock the Duchess dismissed each of her guests, handing her a night-lamp with some appropriate kind word.

The disappearance of the beautifully dressed ladies up and down the longcorridors of the castle, with these silver night-lamps in their hands, and their passing behind the draperied portals of the different doors, was like a scene in the opera.

The Duchess was never insensible to the poetry of the life she was living. The romantic castle by the sea had its charms for her, and she enriched its architecture and arranged its apartments with many graceful suggestions.

The boudoir, where we assembled in the morning, was lined with sea-green satin, and the cornices of the curtains were of white enamelled shells and coral. The tables and furniture of the room were adorned with shells and coral ; even the small mouldings were wrought in the form of sea-shells.

Nothing could be thought of more quaintly beautiful than the terraced walks, the magnificent staircases, the lovely gardens with their fountains and their flowers, that surrounded this castle.

With the warm inspiration of the Duchess’s lovely and life-giving presence, Dunrobin seems to us like a beautiful dream. And though the rose of England is now faded, though leaf by leaf dropped from it in that long and weary trial of debility and sickness which must end the most prosperous life, yet it is comforting to think that the noblest and sweetest part of what gave the charm there is immortal.

Patient continuance in well-doing was the great effort and end of her own life and her husband’s. And of all that they possessed, this patient continuance is the only thing that retains permanent value in the eyes of God or man.