Our mother's continuation of her domestic memorials in her own hand-writing is dated Oxton Cottage, January 15th, 1838.

It has pleased God in His great mercy to bring me to my sixty-eighth birthday, and I am now writing in that cottage in my native village which was for some years inhabited by my aunt, Mrs. Fretwell, opposite to the house in which sixty-eight years ago I first drew breath, and where for eighteen years this day was annually celebrated as a day of rejoicing amongst friends and neighbours. All the merrymakers of those days are now in the grave except my aunt, Miss Hill, now in her eighty-sixth year, and myself, now well stricken in years; and the house is empty and desolate and falling into decay. It will be half a century next April since we left it.

My marriage day, the 16th of July, 1791, was one of the most sorrowful of my life. The pang of parting from my father and all my family had almost broken my heart, but I was not of a morbid temperament. Youth and hope, and affectionate confidence in my husband, soon reconciled me to the separation. I was received by Mr. Fletcher's circle of friends in Edinburgh with a warmth of hospitality and kindness I had never before met with among strangers. Each vied with the other who should show most kindness to the young bride of their friend.