A Lady of England 20
‘Do you remember the name of Thaurepas (?), the blacky General
who weakly surrendered his post to the French? What do you
think the grateful Monsieurs did to him? Nailed epaulettes on
his shoulders and a cocked hat on his head, and then threw him
with his wife and children into the sea! Would one believe
such things of men in the 19th century? I should like to know
something of the present state of Hayti, and whether the throne
is filled by a son of Henri I., for I suppose that Christopher
is hardly living still. If he were, would you not like to have
his autograph?
‘I have told you all this about Hayti, because I thought
that, like myself, you would be pleased to know what really
became of the characters in Miss Martineau’s Romance, and one
seldom meets with a book which throws any light upon such an
out-of-the-way subject.’
‘_Oct. 18, 1850._
‘DEAREST LAURA,--We have been luxuriating in the letters from
Paris.... All things look so bright and joyous! I have twice sung
“The World is so Bright” to-day _con amore_, and my heart is
so lightsome that I could dance. I do not think that I have
_once_ seen precious Father dull since my return. He desires me
to say that he cannot quite countenance a visit to Lebanon. It
is rather too far, and Lord Ellesmere was very ill on his way
thither; so dear ---- must give up her Blackbeard, and content
herself with Sir Peter. Now Mamma is reading St. George’s note.
Papa is smiling away,--his dear lips apart. He looks so nice in
Clara’s beautiful cap!
‘Henry thinks so much of you, dear. He says that you are a
sweet girl, and that he loves you extremely. I cannot tell you
all the kind things he says of you....
‘We are such a comfortable party, and our loved absent ones
help to make us more so.... This is a very disconnected sort of
note, a sort of patchwork, for my ears are as much employed
as my hand, and I have every now and then a message to darn
in,--then, O my chilblains! But I am determined to complain
of nothing, for I am so overloaded with blessings. Dearest
Parents are just going out. The weather is delicious. The world
is so bright, the world is so fair! Yes, even now, when she has
only a wreath of dahlias, and decks herself in yellow like the
sweet little Blossom!...
‘I should like to think that our dear trio are enjoying
themselves as much at Paris as I am at home. I hope and trust
that we may all have such a happy winter together, when “Love’s
shining circlet” has all its gems complete except the dear
Indian absentees.’
This was written in the autumn following Mr. Tucker’s dangerous illness.
After a long and tedious convalescence, his health had steadily improved
through the summer months, and during the autumn he seemed to be almost
himself again,--able to walk out regularly, able to read much and
thoroughly to enjoy being read to by his wife and daughters. In the
evenings he would delight in their music, varied by merry talk and by an
occasional rubber of whist.
With the coming of winter acute neuralgic pains took possession of him;
and though some little improvement was seen with the advent of spring, it
was not permanent. In the end of May 1851 he was taken to Brighton for a
few days’ change; after which he became worse and then again better. Amid
these fluctuations, which included at times very severe suffering, his
manly courage and patience were never known to fail.
On the tenth of June he seemed so far improved as to talk of going next
day to the India House, for the Wednesday’s Council. The Doctor strongly
opposed this; and Mr. Tucker went instead to a Flower-Show, with his
daughters. For two days afterward he seemed particularly well. On Friday
night there was no apparent change for the worse; and his usual tender
good-night to them all had in it no shadow of approaching calamity.
But the end was at hand. Before morning sharp illness had seized upon
him; and before twelve o’clock he had passed away.
It was a heavy blow to all who knew him; above all to his wife and
children. He had been the very life of the house, the very spring of
home-brightness. Charlotte’s little niece, Bella Frances, daughter of
the elder brother, Henry Carre Tucker, came to spend her first English
holidays in the house, not long after Mr. Tucker’s death, and she found
the whole family ‘plunged in gloom,’--Charlotte Tucker being exceedingly
sad and grave. The only one, indeed, of the whole party who was able to
speak cheerfully was Laura. It is probable that Laura had at that date a
dawning outside interest in her life, not possessed by any of the others,
which may have enabled her to bear up somewhat better than they could.
Many months earlier, after the sharp illness of the preceding year, Mr.
Tucker had written a letter to all his children, thanking them for their
‘late unwearied and devoted attentions’ to him. After desiring them
‘not to give way to strong emotions,’ he had gone on to say,--‘I have
reached a very advanced age, and must be prepared for a change. Old age
has its infirmities and suffering, and a prolonged existence is not to
be desired. Your care should now be to comfort and console your beloved
mother, who has been everything to me and everything to you all. I trust
that she will not leave this house, in which we have all enjoyed so much
happiness; and I feel assured that you will all tenderly watch over her,
and contribute by every means in your power to her future comfort.’
This wish was fulfilled. Mrs. Tucker never did leave No. 3 Upper Portland
Place, except of course for necessary change. It remained her home, and
the home of her daughters, from the year 1851, when her husband died,
until her own death in the year 1869.
How much of life’s sunshine had been swept out of Charlotte’s life by
the loss of her Father, it is perhaps impossible for any one to estimate
who did not personally know Mr. Tucker. Not that _all_ her sunshine
had departed! Apart from her own inherent elasticity of spirit, she
was devotedly attached to her Mother; and she had still the tender and
satisfying companionship of Laura.
That while deeply saddened, she was not crushed, is shown by the
following letter to her little niece, Bella F. Tucker, dated August 9,
1851:--
‘The sun has been shining so beautifully lately, and the
reapers have been busy in the fields. It is a sight to warm
the heart, to see the yellow sheaves covering the land, and
we should bless God for an abundant harvest. There is a
clover-field near us, and it looks like a beautiful carpet of
lilac and green. I was calculating that there must be more than
two million blossoms in that one field; and each blossom may
be perhaps the home of many insects.... Then what is that field
compared to all England, or England to Europe, or Europe to the
whole world? Neither your little head, nor the wisest man’s,
can imagine how many blossoms and how many insects there are
on this great globe,--it makes one almost giddy to think of
it,--and then to consider that all the world itself is only
like a speck in God’s Creation, that there are said to be
_eighty millions_ of fixed stars, each of which has very likely
worlds moving round it. And God made all. How very great and
wonderful He must be! It seems surprising that He should care
for every one on this little ball,--how much more astonishing
that He should have condescended to come and live upon it, to
have appeared as a feeble Child in one of the worlds that He
had made, and then actually to _die_, like one of the creatures
that He had formed! Is not God’s power wonderful, and His love
more wonderful still?
‘When you look at the bright blue sky, do you never long to fly
up like the birds,--no, much higher than the birds can fly,
to your Home, to your Father which is in Heaven? I hope that
time may come, sweet Bella, but now is the time to prepare.
I sometimes think that this life is our school-time. We are
now to learn lessons of faith and patience and love. When our
education is finished we shall be allowed to go Home; and Death
will be the gentle Messenger to say,--“Your Heavenly Father
sends for you; come and join your loved ones who have gone
before. O that will be joyful, when we meet to part no more!”’
There is a tone of quiet sadness running through the letter, in marked
contrast with those joyous epistles to her sister Laura quoted earlier in
this chapter. The world could never again be to her ‘so bright, so fair!’
as in the days when her Father was still upon earth. No doubt as time
went on the buoyancy of her temperament reasserted itself; but life was
no longer unshadowed; and other troubles soon followed.
One of these must certainly have been the marriage of her sister Laura,
though no letters are at hand to show what she felt. Mr. Otho Hamilton,
elder brother to the Rev. Frederick Hamilton, who had married Charlotte’s
eldest sister, sought Laura’s hand; and he was accepted.
Not entirely without hesitation. Perhaps few girls can say, or ought to
say, ‘Yes’ at once, without time for consideration. When the offer came,
Laura’s first impulse was, naturally, to go to her Mother for advice;
her second impulse was to go to her friend-sister. It is not hard to
realise what the thought must have been to Charlotte of losing this
dearly-loved companion,--her room-mate and the constant sharer of her
thoughts and interests from very infancy; nor is it difficult to believe
how bravely she would put aside the recollection of herself, viewing the
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