A Lady of England 31

A Lady of England 31

‘It was not with dry eyes, my beloved Laura, that I could

read what was written in those volumes, to which a tenfold

value is given by their being last Remembrances from your

lately suffering, now blessed boy. Oh, with what a heavy heavy

heart must you have put up those parcels, and written those

inscriptions! It will perhaps be a long time before you can

realise with calm thankfulness that it is indeed so “well with

the child” that you can rejoice in his safety, his happiness....

I am now much more disposed to praise for my angel-girl than to

weep for her.... I can see so clearly the Love and Wisdom that

took her Home. Presently, my precious sorrowing sister, you may

feel the same about your boy. Your intense love will remain,

for love is immortal; your sorrow will die, for sorrow with

Christ’s people is _not_ immortal, thank God.--Your tenderly

loving

 

‘C. M. TUCKER.’

 

TO THE SAME.

 

‘I have enjoyed your dear letter, and it makes me feel

thankful. I have often thought that freed spirits probably lead

a life of delightful activity; none of the “burdens of the

flesh” to fetter them down. The idea of spirits preaching to

spirits is, however, rather new to me. But there seems nothing

against it, and probability rather in its favour. That verse in

St. Peter, to which you refer, certainly strengthens the idea;

for the disciples are permitted in so many ways to follow their

Master.

 

‘It is thus possible that, while you are weeping for your

darling, if your eyes were opened, you might see him the

bright, joyful centre of a little group of spirits of Indian

children,[15] repeating to them the lessons which he first

learned from you, but which he would now know better--oh, how

much better!--than you could ever teach him. I am sure that you

would not wish to take him back again to pain and weakness from

such an occupation.’

 

TO THE SAME.

 

‘_April 14, 1868._

 

‘MY OWN SWEET LAURA,--I feel that this month must be full of

heavy recollections to you; and oh, it is hard to have a bright

face to hide a bleeding heart. I hope that you will not put

any restraint upon yourself with me.... Easter has its peculiar

message of hope and joy to the mourner. Nature, bursting into

new life and beauty, repeats the message, gives it to us as it

were in an illumination of green leaves and bright blossoms.

The Church says, “Christ is risen indeed!”--and all around

us joyfully adds, “And _we_ shall rise again!” Your parting

with your boy is over; now only the meeting is before you. The

shadows fall behind; the glowing sunshine is in front.’

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XII

 

A.D. 1868-1872

 

THE OLD HOME BROKEN UP

 

 

One letter at about this time gives particulars of how Charlotte tried

to influence, not without results, a poor Roman Catholic woman, whom

she came across in the Infirmary. Another makes allusion to the Ragged

Schools and their work, in which she was always greatly interested. Yet

another contains the answer to an inquiry from a niece about a book

which should be bought, probably for a gift. The suggested choice ranges

between Sir Walter Scott, Felicia Hemans, Jean Ingelow, the Author of

_The Schonberg-Cotta Family_, and Miss Sewell,--a rather curious mixture.

 

TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.

 

‘_July 7, 1868._

 

‘I met a mole the other day in a field. It did not attempt to

get away, but let me stroke it; and had I chosen I could easily

have taken it up in my hand. This seems quite a country for

moles. I have seen them repeatedly. I take a greater interest

in them, from that book, _Homes Without Hands_, which your

father kindly gave me.’

 

TO THE SAME.

 

‘_Aug. 11, 1868._

 

‘We have strange pets here. There are numbers of wasps; I never

saw so many at any one time, I think. They sting our poor maids

in the kitchen, but behave in such a gentlemanly way in the

drawing-room, that, instead of a plague, they seem a pleasure

to dear Grandmamma. She watches them, feeds them, admires

their beauty, and calls them her babies. One got within Aunt

C----‘s jacket, which naturally rather alarmed her. She drew

the jacket off, and I found the wasp in the sleeve. It had been

between it and C----‘s bare skin, and yet had never stung her.

 

‘I dare say that you are rather impatient to be settled in

Firlands.’

 

TO THE SAME.

 

‘_Sept. 21, 1868._

 

‘On Saturday ---- and I read my _Castle of Carlsmont_ aloud

to dear Grandmamma. I have been amused at ----‘s little

criticisms, and shall like to know how far yours agree with

hers, if you read my Tragedy. ---- says that “Clara is rather

stupid”; that she likes Agnes best. “I have rather a sneaking

likeness for Agnes,” says she. She says that the ending

disappoints her; she would cut off the last page and the four

preceding lines, which would completely alter the whole ending.

The ending stood originally just as she would have it; but

years afterwards I added the page and four lines, which _I_

think an improvement.

 

‘Tell me frankly what you think, and whether you approve of

the style of binding. You remember when I talked to you about

the Tragedy, as we sat together in the garden. The two things

that occurred to you were,--how could I get the work, when

printed, _sold_; and that people would not like it in pamphlet

shape. Messrs. Nelson have obviated the first difficulty; and

by having covers put on by the Jewish Society, I have obviated

the second. I am sure my wee book will have your good wishes,

dear, that it may bring in a little sum to dear Auntie Fanny’s

Mission purse.

 

‘You will wonder what has become of that work of mine, of which

I read part to you last year. I can only warn you, my dear

Leila, when you write a story, don’t call it _On the Way_,--for

it seems to be always on the way, and never to arrive.

 

‘What a long note I have written! Pay me back by a review of my

Tragedy, and be as blunt as ever you like; for if you tell me

that my poor lady is “very stupid,” instead of “rather stupid,”

you will only make me smile.’

 

TO THE SAME.

 

‘_Feb. 4, 1869._

 

‘It is only fair that I should send you a long account of the

wedding.[16] I thought that I should be the first of the party

in church, for I went early; but I was mistaken. Gradually

a large family party gathered.... There was a good deal of

how-d’ye-doing and kissing and that kind of thing, before the

word was heard, “The bride is coming.”

 

‘Dear Bella looked nice and sweet, leaning on the arm of her

father. A large Honiton lace veil fell over her pure white silk

dress; her lovely hair plaited, instead of made into an ugly

chignon, appeared graceful under the white wreath, from which

a spray drooped down her neck. I did not think the bridesmaids

looking picturesque; there was too square a look about the

purple trimming of their white alpacas. The bridegroom

and bride stood side by side. I could see Bella’s profile

distinctly, and could hear every sentence, both when James and

when she repeated their vows.... There was no crying that I could

see.... You know that there were eight little children present,

four little boys and four little girls. Some of them were given

flowers from an ornamental basket, to strew in the path of the

bride, as her husband led her down the aisle.’

 

TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.

 

‘_June 12, 1869._

 

‘Sweet Grandmamma continues much the same,--serene,--without

pain, not exactly ill, but so delicate that she is still