The light of her young life went out, As sinks behind the hill The glory of a setting star; Clear, suddenly, and still.--WHITTIER.
YOU ask me to tell you of her, the sweet friend we have loved andlost. You impose on me a difficult task; I find it so harrowing tomy feelings, and I also find that my pen is inadequate to thetribute my heart would pay.
I would that the privilege of knowing and loving her had been yours,for to know her was to love her.
In former letters I told you something of her; how she came to us alovely bride of just nineteen summers; how anxiously we looked forher first appearance in church, for they arrived late Saturdayevening, and no one had seen her. I told you how my heart went outto her as I looked on her sweet, bright, yet somewhat timid face;there was a perfect witchery in her eyes. I felt that I could gazeinto them for ever; there was about them a spell, a fascination thatI have never seen in others; they laughed as they looked at you, andyet they were not merely laughing eyes; perhaps the long, droopinglashes somewhat modified the expression, and helped to give thepeculiarity so strikingly their own.
Her dress and whole appearance were captivating; the simple lightstraw hat, with the little illusion veil, and the pure white dressfitting so prettily the slender form. I could hardly wait for thenext day, so anxious was I to see and speak with her, for I lovedher already.
I had been prepared to love her, for our young pastor had told usmuch of his future bride. You know our house was one of his homes,and to us he had spoken often and enthusiastically of his Mary. Itseemed to me that first Sabbath, that his prayers were particularlyimpressive, and his thanks to the Author and Giver of every perfectgift unusually appropriate; he seemed overpowered by a weight ofgratitude and love.
How I admired the two as I glanced from one to the other! And I knowthat many prayers went up from that assembled congregation for longlife and blessings on them.
It was a beautiful home that had been prepared for her. Herfurniture had been sent on previous to their marriage, and ourlittle band had vied with each other in arranging with a view bothto taste and comfort. How we did wish for a peep into her own home,to get a hint with regard to arranging her things, so as to behome-like!
You know there is often so much in association, and we would haveloved the new strange place to have a familiar look to her at firstsight. Oh! what visions we conjured up as we arranged the room whichwas to serve both as parlour and dining-room; for the house wassmall, and Mr. B.'s study must be on the first floor. There wasthe best place for the piano between the windows, which looked intothe garden; we heard in anticipation the sweet voice which was tofill the little room with melody, as the roses and flowers of Junenow filled the garden with fragrance. The pretty fire-screen muststand in a conspicuous corner, for that spoke particularly of home,and of the hours delightfully passed in the dear family circle whiletracing it stitch by stitch; and I fancied that into each brightflower which stood out so life-like from the canvas some emotion ofher heart had been indelibly wrought. How many lovely homeassociations will the pretty fire-screen bring up!
How we arranged, and disarranged, and re-arranged, before all was toour minds; and how we hoped, when all was finished, that it wouldlook as charming to her as it did to us! And we were notdisappointed; for, on the following Monday, when we called to seeher, nothing could exceed the enthusiasm of her expression andgratitude; everything was lovely, perfect; she saw all en couleurde rose.
She had left indulgent parents, and a home of refinement and luxury,and we feared for her the untried duties of her new position; but anintimate acquaintance proved her eminently qualified for theresponsibility she had assumed. She adapted herself with charminggrace and readiness to her present circumstances. She was a mostdelightful acquisition to our limited circle; a favourite with all;and she blended so beautifully the graces of religion with those ofher natural temperament that she became our idol.
The "parsonage" seemed to me a paradise, surrounded by none butbright and holy influences. There the poor always found a welcome, awilling heart, a ready hand, and listening ear; however sad anddesponding on entering, they invariably came out cheerful andhopeful. There seemed a magic spell cast around every one who soughtthe presence of our dearly loved pastor and his wife.
With what pleasure I used to watch for their steps as they tooktheir morning walks together that bright first year of their marriedlife! They seemed to have the life and vivacity of children. Shealways accompanied him in his walks, in his visits to the poor, inrelief to the sick, by the bedside of the dying; she was like hisshadow, and always haunted him for good. It might be said mostemphatically of both, "When the ear heard them it blessed them, andwhen the eye saw them it gave witness to them, because theydelivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that hadnone to help him; the blessing of him that was ready to perish cameupon them, and they caused the widow's heart to sing for joy."
Thus several years passed away; new cares and new duties devolved onthem; but all were cheerfully met and delightfully performed; andthey basked in the sunshine of God's love. Beautiful children sprangup around them, and we felt that "earth never owned a happier nest"than that which was placed in our midst.
How proud Mr. B. was of his family, and with what reason, too, forwe all felt it with him; his wife so beautiful, so good, so in allrespects fitted to make home happy, with her never-failing sunshineand light-heartedness; his two little girls, our impersonation ofcherubs; and the youngest a noble boy, so dear to his mother'sheart. Oh! how many attractions within that charmed circle!
I shall never forget an evening I passed in the nursery with thatdear one surrounded by her happy little band. Willie, "the baby," asshe called him, although more than two years old, was sitting in herlap, twirling one of her long, beautiful ringlets round his tinyfingers.
"Sing, mamma!" he said.
"Oh, do!" joined in Effie and Minnie, putting their bright innocentfaces and soft brown curls close to hers; "sing The Dove, mamma,please."
She laughingly asked me to excuse her, saying, she always devotedthe twilight hour to amusing and instructing the little ones. Ibegged her to allow my presence to be no restraint upon her usualcustom. She then commenced, and I thought no seraph's voice could besweeter, as she sang one of Mary Howitt's beautiful translations:--
"There sitteth a dove so white and fair All on the lily spray, And she listeneth how to Jesus Christ The little children pray; Lightly she spreads her friendly wings, And to Heaven's gate hath fled, And to the Father in Heaven she bears The prayers which the children have said.
And back she comes from Heaven's gate, And brings, that dove so mild, From the Father in Heaven, who hears her speak, A blessing for every child. The children lift up a pious prayer-- It hears whatever you say, That heavenly dove, so white and fair, All on the lily spray."
I joined heartily in the thanks and admiration the childrenexpressed when she had finished.
As she laid them in their little beds, and kissed their rosy lipsand dimpled cheeks, she said, "I can never thank God enough forthese sweet children." She then added, "Oh! what an affliction itmust be to lose a child; I think if one of mine should die, I shoulddie too; but," she added, "I should not say so; could I not trustthem with Him who doeth all things well?" She little realized howsoon she was to be put to the test. I called there a few days after.She was in the garden raising and tying up some drooping carnationswhich the rain of the preceding day had injured.
"Willie is not well," said she. "I have just sung him to sleep, andMr. B. said I must take a little fresh air, for I was fatigued withholding him, and I thought I would confine myself to the garden, tobe near, if he should wake."
Soon a cry from the nursery was heard; she sprang up the steps innervous haste, while I quite chided her anxiety. I followed her intothe room, and was surprised and shocked to find the dear boy in ahigh fever; his little arms tossing restlessly, and his lips dry andparched. Mr. B. sent immediately for the physician; we waitedanxiously his arrival, hoping secretly that we were unnecessarilyalarmed; but his coming did not reassure us; he saw dangeroussymptoms; but still, he said, he hoped for the best. I went home, asMr. and Mrs. B. both declined my services for the night, saying theywould rather attend him alone. The next day I was pained to hearthat his symptoms were more unfavourable; that the medicine had hadno effect, and the physician was becoming discouraged. I flew overto the "parsonage;" the wildly anxious look of the mother distressedme. I begged her to lie down a little while, and allow me to takeher place by the baby.
"Oh, no," she said, "I cannot leave him; who but his mother shouldbe by his side?"
It seemed to me that I had never seen greater distress on anycountenance. Mr. B. endeavoured to soothe her, though his anguishwas apparently as keen as her own.
"If our Saviour would remove this little flower to his own garden,shall we refuse to give it up? Shall we not rather bless and thankhim for allowing us to keep it so long?"
"Oh, yes!" she said, "He doeth all things well; I know that he doesnot willingly afflict nor grieve the children of men. I know thatwhom He loveth he chasteneth, and I can say, 'Thy will be done.'Nature is powerful, but my Saviour feels for me, and will forgivethe inward struggle."
All that night they watched his little life fast ebbing away.Towards morning his sufferings seemed to cease; he smiled upon hisparents. Hope for a moment revived in their hearts, but soon to bedisplaced by bitter anguish. Daylight showed the marked change inhis features and complexion that told too plainly the messenger wasvery near.
"Speak to me, Willie," she exclaimed, bending over him in an agonyof grief.
"Mamma," he said, and, with the effort, his little spirit took itsflight.
Much has been said and written upon the death of infants, but whenwe see so much of wickedness in the world, so much of sin to blight,so much sorrow to fade, can we wonder that the Lord of Paradiseloves to transplant to a fairer clime these frail buds of earth,there to have a beautiful and unfading development!
We saw no more of our precious friends till the day of the funeral.This was their first affliction, and none liked to intrude on thesanctity of their grief, though many tears were shed, and heartswent out to them; but we felt that they knew whom they had trusted,and that under the shadow of His wings they could rest securely tillthe storm was past.
A neighbouring clergyman was to perform the last sad office for thedead. Most lovely did little Willie look in his coffin. Thechild-like, beautiful expression still lingered. Rare flowers, thesmallest and whitest, had been placed in the tiny hand, and shedtheir fragrance throughout the room.
Oh! how sad and sick appeared the mother, as she bent to take thelast look at the little form she had loved and cherished sotenderly! Her nights of anxiety and watching had left their tracesupon her face; her usually light and elastic step was feeble andslow, and she rested heavily upon the arm of her husband. His formalso was bowed, and his countenance bore traces of the deepestgrief.
One of those sudden changes which we so often experience in this ourmost changeful climate, took place that day. At noon it was verywarm and bright, but before we returned from the funeral it wascloudy and cold.
The next day Mrs. B. was quite sick with severe cold, and theeffects of the past excitement and grief. We flattered ourselvesthat rest and quiet, with good nursing, would soon restore her; andyou may judge of our dismay upon learning, the day after, that shewas dangerously ill.
"Oh no," we thought and said a hundred times, "it cannot be so; shewill surely be better to-morrow."
We could not have it otherwise. We could not for an instant admitthe idea that she would not recover. The bare supposition was agony.Oh! how harrowing to me is the remembrance of those long summerdays, and those wakeful moonlight nights, in which, prostrated bydisease, lay that young and lovely being so idolized by us all, butwhom, indeed, we were destined to see no more on earth.
The Divine fiat had gone forth, and hearts were agonized, and looksgrew sadder and sadder, as day after day sounded like a knell in ourears the fearful words, "Not materially better." But we could notgive her up; hope would linger. No one was permitted to see her butthe family and nurses, for the doctor said all excitement must becarefully avoided. We said, "She will not die; God will raise herup." In our weakness and blindness, we could see no mercy nor wisdomin this terrible bereavement, this scorching desolation of thealready heavily-stricken servant of the Most High. He was naturallyof a most hopeful disposition, and this, notwithstanding thediscouraging words of the physician, buoyed up his soul, and he withus hoped against hope. They could not persuade him to leave her fora moment. Whole nights he watched by the side of her he loved beston earth, anticipating every word and look, and administering to hercomfort.
How you would have felt for us, dear Anna, had you been here! Wewould walk by the house, and look up at the windows or door, notdaring to knock for fear of disturbing her, but hoping to see one ofthe physicians or some one of the family, of whom to make inquiries.Oh, the nervousness of those days! the restless, weary nights wepassed, till our fears and apprehensions became a racking torment,and we felt almost that we must die ourselves or beout of suspense; but when, on the evening of the tenth day after herillness, a messenger came with pallid face and almost wild look tosay that she was dead, we were stunned. I really think we werealmost as much shocked as though we had not heard of her illness;for we felt that, at the eleventh hour, some favourable turn musttake place. I think we expected a miracle to be performed, socertain were we, or wished and tried to be, that she would recover.
But God's ways are not as our ways; truly, they are past findingout. We felt like putting our hands on our mouths, for fear ofrebelling against His most righteous decrees. "Be still, and knowthat I am God," was all that we could say. It was hard to realizethat the sun was still shining behind the cloud, for this was adarkness that might be felt. There seemed a pall over the earth andsky. Oh, how unsatisfactory seemed all on earth! how dark andstrange! how mysterious and unreal! We could not weep, we werestunned, and it seemed at the time that we could never come back toearth without her. But when the touching relation of her last hourswas made to us, the fountains of grief were unsealed, and we wept,as it were, rivers of tears.
I can give you no idea on paper of the beauty and sublimity of thatdeath-scene as it was painted to me. We imagined that the heart mustshrink, or at least draw back before the entrance into the darkvalley. But all was peace; it flowed in upon her like a river, andshe felt that underneath were the everlasting arms. Her husband andtwo remaining children stood by the bed. Oh, the bitterness of thecup he was called upon to drink! He shrank from it. As he bent overher, she said,
"Do not weep, love. How good God has been to give us so many bright,happy years together! Surely the lines have fallen to us in pleasantplaces, and I"--raising her beautiful eyes to heaven--"have a goodlyheritage. I go to my Saviour. How should I feel at this moment had Inot a hope in him? Oh, I am going home! I see Willie beckoning me tohasten. I will bear him in my arms to the Saviour's feet, andtogether we shall sing the 'new song.' I do not love you nor thesesweet darlings less; but I love the Saviour more. I wish you couldlook in my heart and see the love I bear you. Thank you for all yourindulgence, for all your kindness in bearing with my manyinfirmities. If I am permitted, I will be ever your guardian angel.Remember me with much and undying love to all the dear friends whohave been so kind to me."
She appeared buoyed up with unnatural strength, though her end wasso near. She broke into a sweet hymn; and it was, they said, asthough the angel's voice had anticipated the few short momentsbefore she should sing the "new song." She lay quiet for a littletime, holding the hand of her husband in her own; then, opening hereyes and seeing the last rays of the departing sun, "I shall neverlook upon that bright orb again; but there is no need of the sunthere. I draw near to heavenly habitations, and I would not retreatfor what the world can give. Dearest, be faithful to your trust."And, imprinting a kiss upon his lips, her pure spirit wentpeacefully home.
We draw a veil upon the feelings of that bereaved one; too sacredare they to be looked upon; his house was left unto him desolate.That form, which had been to his eye like the well in the desert orthe bow in the sky, was now cold in death.
Oh! thought we, why needed this affliction to be sent upon one sonear perfection? Surely, he, of all others, needed not thisdiscipline; and then came to our minds, soft, sweet, and soothing,the words, "Every branch in me that beareth fruit, he purgeth itthat it may bring forth more fruit."
We felt that it was hard to lay in the grave the form of our dearfriend; it was hard to part with the casket which had enshrined theprecious jewel. Beautiful in life, she was so in death. Thedeparting spirit had left a ray of brightness on its earthly house,and, in looking at the calm brow and peaceful smile, death seemeddivested of its terror. We had twined the pure white flowers sheloved around and amongst the rich dark masses of wavy hair, and shelooked like a beautiful bride more than a tenant for the grave. Thememory of that day will live ever in our minds. It was the last dayof summer, and there seemed a beautiful appropriateness in theseason; it seemed to us that the summer of our hearts had gone withher.
A sad and mournful procession, we followed her remains to the churchso dear to her in life. It was but a few days since she entered itin her loveliness and bloom, and for the last time on earthcommemorated a Saviour's dying love. She will partake with us hereno more. May we be counted worthy to sit down with her at ourFather's board in heaven! Mournful was the sight of the black pallwhich covered the coffin; mournful the drapery which shrouded heraccustomed seat and enveloped the chancel; mournful the badges whichall, as by consent, had adopted as expressive of their feelings onthe occasion; but, oh! most mournful and heart-rending was the sightof that husband and father leading by the hand on either side allthat remained to him of his beautiful family. It was difficult torecognise in him the man of two short weeks before; twenty yearsseemed added to his life; the eyes, usually beaming with light, nowcast down and swollen with weeping--the countenance, index of aheart full of peace and joy, now so sorrow-stricken. Truly, heseemed "smitten of God and afflicted." We turned our eyes away as hestood by the grave which contained almost his earthly all.
It was a beautiful spot where they laid her to rest by the side ofher baby. The sun was just going down in a golden flood of light,betokening a glorious morrow (beautiful emblem of the resurrection,when this perishing body should be raised in glory), and the shadowsof the trees were lengthening on the grass. Every sound was in sweetaccordance with the scene; the soft twittering of the birds as theysought their resting-places for the night, the quiet hum of theinsects, and the sweet murmuring of the brook which flowed at alittle distance.
A holy calm pervaded our minds as we wended our way between thetrees and down the slope which bounded this lovely spot; and, as weleft the gate, we involuntarily paused and looked back long andearnestly on the sweet view. Every object was bathed in that goldenhaze so peculiar to the last days of summer and the beginning ofautumn; but at this time it seemed to us that the flood of softlight had escaped from the gate of heaven which we imagined hadopened to receive the form lost to our sight.
Oh, we miss her more and more, everywhere! in our walks and visits;in the missionary circle, of which she was so ready and active amember; in the Sunday school; in her accustomed seat in church; andwe miss the soft tones of her voice in prayer, and the richoutpourings of her melody in praise.
The poor of the parish have, indeed, lost a friend, as their tearsand remembrance amply testify when they recount her kindnesses, hergentle words, her deeds of charity and love. "Flowers grew under thefeet of her," said one wretchedly poor, yet, I thought, quitepoetical old woman, whose declining days she had lightened of muchof their weariness. A track of glory seems that which she has leftbehind; and there was so much that was beautiful and consoling inher last hours that it were selfishness to wish her back. She iswith the Saviour she loved; she folds again to her heart the littleone whose loss she had not time to realize on earth; together theyhave entered on their "long age of bliss in heaven."
Does not that death-scene speak volumes in attestation of thereligion she professed, of the Saviour she adored? That young fairbeing, surrounded by all that makes life happy; friends who loved, ahusband who idolized, children who clung to her; with a heart fullof love and sympathy for all, rejoicing with those who rejoiced, andweeping with those who wept; of rare beauty and rareraccomplishments, a sunbeam on the face of the earth; yet shewillingly left all when her Father called her. Is not her faithworth striving after?
We have reason (blessed be God!) to see already some good effectsfrom the contemplation of her life and death. The young havereceived a warning, thoughtlessness a check. We have realized thatneither youth nor beauty is a security against the ravages of thespoiler.
God grant that our dear pastor may experience the truth of the wordsof the Psalmist: "Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy." Hefeels that his treasure is laid up in heaven, and we know that hisheart is there. To see his dear one happy had ever been his chiefdesire, and he would not call her back, for he knows that she is nowin the enjoyment of a bliss that the world cannot give.
Though cast down, he is not destroyed; he has come unscathed fromthis furnace of affliction because one like the Son of God was withhim. With eyes turned heavenward, he waits his appointed time. Thereligion of the cross glistens like a gem on his dark-robedfortunes, and points him to fairer worlds, where the love that grewhere amidst clouds will be made perfect in a light that knows noshadow, where he and his departed ones will again have one home, onealtar, and one resting place.
Like his Divine Master, he goes about doing good. Oftener than everis he found amongst the sons and daughters of affliction; more thanever are they objects of his special care; his precept is blessed byhis example, and thus many a prodigal son has he recalled from hiswanderings, many an outcast gathered into the fold, many a waywornpilgrim pointed to his true rest, many a mourner comforted. They sawthat the resignation he preached to others he practised himself;they saw that the hand of the Lord was heavy upon him, but that yethe turned not backward; they saw that he went his way as a pilgrimpressing forward to a better country. Most brilliant will be thediadem which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give him in thelast day, for are not these words of Holy Writ, "They who turn manyto righteousness shall shine like the stars for ever and ever?"
THE END.
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