’Until his strength failed him, he was carried at times into the verandah, and showed by words and looks his constant admiration at the grand evidences of God’s power and goodness in the magnificence of the scenery before him; and on one such occasion was delighted with the sublime description of the wonders of nature in the 38th and 39th chapters of the Book of Job.

’At times he was able to enter into conversation and argument on serious subjects.  When, under the pressure of his sufferings, he was one night entreating to be released—­“O that God would in mercy come and take me”—­ Dr. Macrae reminded him of the dread of pain and death which seems to be expressed in the account of the Agony of Gethsemane, and he appeared to find much comfort in the thought, repeating once or twice that he had not seen it in this light before, and several times saying with fervour, “Not my will, but Thine be done.”  At other times, he could even be led, by way of steadying his wandering thoughts amidst the distraction of restlessness, to fix them on his school and college days, to tell anecdotes of his hard reading, or to describe the visit to Oxford of his venerable friend Dr. Chalmers.  He dwelt in this way on a sermon of Dr. Chalmers at Glasgow, which he remembered even in detail, and from which he quoted some eloquent passages, bringing out the general scope of the sermon, to the effect that, rather than teach people to hate this bad world, we should teach them to love and look up to a better one.[5]

’It will naturally be understood that long converse was nearly impossible.  As occasions rose, a few words were breathed, an appropriate verse quoted, and a few minutes were all that could be given at any one time to discourse upon it.  It is characteristic of his strong, cheerful faith, even during those last trying moments, that he on one occasion asked to have the more supplicatory, penitential Psalms exchanged for those of praise and thanksgiving, in which he joined, knowing them already by heart; and in the same strain of calm yet triumphant hope, he whispered to himself on the night when his alarming state was first made known to him, “Hallelujah; the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.  We shall all meet again.”

’That thought was raised to its highest pitch by the sight of a portrait of a beloved son, who had died in England during his absence.  It arrived in the close of those sad days.  He recognised it with a burst of tenderness and delight which at once lifted his mind above the suffering of his mortal illness.  Again and again he desired to see it, and to speak of it, with the fixed conviction that he and his “angel boy,” as he called him, would soon meet in a better world.  “Oh, when shall I be with you?” “You know where he is; we shall all go to him; he is happy.”

’Every care had been taken for the public interests, and for the interests of those still nearer and dearer to him.  He had laid the most solemn charge on his faithful secretary to conduct Lady Elgin home on her mournful and solitary voyage.  He had given to Dr. Macrae, with the tenderest marks of affection, a turquoise ring:  “We have had a long struggle together; keep this in memory of it.”  He had dictated a telegram to the Queen resigning his office, with a request that his successor might be immediately appointed.