IV.—­Years of Lamentation

I was named in the year 1779 for the General Assembly, and Mrs. Balwhidder, by her continual thrift, having made our purse able to stand a shake against the wind, we resolved to go into Edinburgh in a creditable manner.  We put up at Widow M’Vicar’s, a relation to my first wife, a gawsy, furthy woman, taking great pleasure in hospitality.  In short, everybody in Edinburgh was in a manner wearisome kind.

I was delighted and surprised to find Lord Eglesham at the levee, and he introduced me to his grace the Commissioner, who required me to preach before him.  Fain would I have eschewed the honour that was thus thrust upon me; but both my wife and Mrs. M’Vicar were just lifted out of themselves at the thought.  After the sermon the Commissioner complimented me on my apostolic earnestness, and Mrs. M’Vicar said I had surprised everybody; but I was fearful there was something of jocularity at the bottom of all this.

The year 1781 was one of dolour and tribulation, for Lord Eglesham was shot dead by a poaching exciseman, and Lady Macadam died of paralysis; but the year after was one of greater lamentation.  Three brave young fellows belonging to the clachan, who had gone as soldiers in America, were killed in battle with the rebels, for which there was great grief.  Shortly after this the news came of a victory over the French fleet, and by the same post I got a letter from Mr. Howard, the midshipman, telling me that poor Charles had been mortally wounded in the action, and had afterwards died of his wounds.

Mrs. Malcolm heard the news of the victory through the steeple hell being set a-ringing, and she came over to the manse in great anxiety.  When I saw her I could not speak, but looked at her in pity, and, the tears fleeing into my eyes, she guessed what had happened.  After giving a deep and sore sigh, she inquired, “How did he behave?  I hope well, for he was aye a gallant laddie!” And then she wept very bitterly.  I gave her the letter, which she begged me to give to her to keep, saying, “It’s all that I have left now of my pretty boy; but it is mair precious to me than the wealth of the Indies!”

V.—­Death of the Second Mrs. Balwhidder

Some time after this a Mr. Cayenne, a man of crusty temper but good heart, and his family, American loyalists, settled among us.  In the year 1788, a proposal came from Glasgow to build a cotton mill on the banks of the Brawl burn, a rapid stream which ran through the parish.  Mr. Cayenne took a part in the profit or loss of the concern, and the cotton mill and a new town was built, and the whole called Cayenneville.  Weavers of muslin were brought to the mill, and women to teach the lassie bairns in our old clachan tambouring instead of hand-spinning.

Prosperity of fortune is like the golden hue of the evening cloud that delighteth the spirit and passeth away.  In the month of February 1796, my second wife was gathered to the Lord.  Her death was to me a great sorrow, for she was a most excellent wife, industrious to a degree.  With her I had grown richer than any other minister in the presbytery.