Our marriage was celebrated at her sister’s house in Edinburgh; and I may be pardoned for recalling a little event that characterized the occasion. My youngest brother, then tutor to a gentleman studying at the University, stepped forth at the close of the ceremony and recited an _Epithalamium_ composed for the day. For many a month and year the refrain, a play upon the Bride’s name, kept singing itself through my memory:— “Long may the Whitecross banner wave By the battle blasts unriven; Long may our Brother and Sister brave Rejoice in the light of Heaven.” He described the Bride as hearing a “Voice from the far Pacific Seas”; and turning to us both, he sang of an Angel beckoning us to the Tanna-land, to gather a harvest of souls:— “The warfare is brief, the crown is bright, The pledge is the souls of men; Go, may the Lord defend the Right, And restore you safe again!” But the verse which my dear wife thought most beautiful for a bridal day, and which her memory cherishes still, was this:— “May the ruddy Joys, and the Graces fair, Wait fondly around you now; Sweet angel Hopes and young Loves repair To your home and bless your vow!” My last scene in Scotland was kneeling at the family altar in the old Sanctuary Cottage at Torthorwald, while my venerable father, with his high-priestly locks of snow-white hair streaming over his shoulders, commended us once again to “the care and keeping of the Lord God of the families of Israel.” It was the last time that ever on this Earth those accents of intercession, loaded with a pathos of deathless love, would fall upon my ears. I knew to a certainty that when we rose from our knees and said farewell, our eyes would never meet again till they were flooded with the lights of the Resurrection Day. But he and my darling mother gave us away once again with a free heart, not unpierced with the sword of human anguish, to the service of our common Lord and to the Salvation of the Heathen. And we went forth, praying that a double portion of their spirit, with their precious blessing, might rest upon us in all the way that we had to go. Our beloved mother, always more self-restrained, and less demonstrative in the presence of others, held back her heart till we were fairly gone from the door; and then, as my dear brother afterwards informed me, she fell back into his arms with a great cry, as if all the heart-strings had broken, and lay for long in a death-like swoon. Oh, all ye that read this page, think most tenderly of the cries of Nature, even where Grace and Faith are in perfect triumph. Read, through scenes like these, a fuller meaning into the words addressed to that blessed Mother, whose Son was given for us all, “Yea, a sword shall pierce through thine own soul also.”