A Lady of England 32

A Lady of England 32

‘I am ashamed of such an untidy scrawl as this. I do not know

how that blot on the first page made its appearance. Of course

the _writer_ was not to blame!... I could chat much longer with

you, dear one, but I have other notes to write; and my pen, or

ink, or paper, or something or other, will go wrong to-night,

so as to make the act of writing irksome, as well as the note

untidy.’

 

Another heavy blow, not less heavy because sooner or later inevitable,

was now drawing very near. Mrs. Tucker, who had reached the age of

eighty, had of late failed steadily; and Charlotte must have seen that

this dear Mother was soon to pass away from their midst. Before the

close of July the call came; and already every word that she spoke was

treasured up by her daughter, as may be seen in the following letter:--

 

TO MRS. HAMILTON.

 

‘_July 12, 1869._

 

‘So many thanks to my beloved Laura for her valuable and

gratifying gift, which reaches me to-day. Dear Mother has heard

your sweet music twice over already, and both she and Clara

admire it. So do I. I wish that your song were published,

that more might benefit from it. I am pleased that you occupy

yourself in composing, love. I dare say Mother will often ask

for her Laura’s song. “Is not she a darling?” exclaimed Mother

to-day.

 

‘I not unfrequently sing, “Hark, my soul,” to sweet Mamma.

It is better to go over and over the same than to give much

variety, though I sometimes sing “Rock of Ages” also. I heard

Mother saying to herself one day, “Jesus speaks, and speaks

to me”; and she once observed of that hymn, “That takes one to

heaven.”

 

‘Dear Mother is much the same; not ill; with no fever, no pain;

just very delicate and weak. She was so particularly sweet

yesterday, Sunday. She looked lovely sitting by the large open

window, with a light gauze veil to keep off the flies. Mother

said that it had been “a holy day”--“a solemn day,”--and twice

asked me to read the Bible to her.... Once after waking she

observed that she felt “between Heaven and earth.” Mother has

repeatedly alluded to her dream of being in Heaven with Mrs.

Thornhill; and often talks of her father,--“such a holy man!”

 

‘She said yesterday, “I have been dreaming.” I observed, “I

hope they were pleasant dreams.” “Mostly prayerful,” was her

reply.... She is very serene and peaceful, which is such a mercy.’

 

TO MRS. HAMILTON.

 

‘_July 24, 1869._

 

‘BELOVED LAURA,--So tenderly and so gently the Lord has dealt

with our sweetest Mother! She woke this morning, and told

Cousins that she herself had slept too long. There was a slight

feeling of sickness about eight, which made Cousins call poor

Clara. In about an hour she gently fell asleep.... No pain

nor even consciousness at the last. I had gone to London on

business, as you know. I was telegraphed to; but ere I arrived

she--the sweet, the beloved--was where she had wished to be. O

Laura, Laura, she has long been drinking the _dregs_ of life,

however sweetened by affection. I felt for her. But I seem

as if I could hardly write connectedly. All the three dear

brothers have been here. St. George still is here. Poor dear

Fanny also,--she is to have my room, for she is so thankful to

be here. We have, however, only been allowed one very brief

glimpse and kiss of the revered remains. _Only_ remains, my

Laura. Think of her bliss! _She_ is not here.... Your fond

 

‘C. M. T.’

 

In Charlotte’s desk, kept as one of her greatest treasures, and found

there, years later, after her own death, was the last note ever written

to her by Mrs. Tucker. It contained these words--‘_My precious Charlotte,

you have been such a comfort to me!_’ No wonder the loving utterance was

treasured up by the daughter through the rest of her life.

 

During forty-eight years Charlotte Tucker had known but one home--No.

3 Upper Portland Place. Now at length in her forty-ninth year the

inevitable family break-up had come; and the dear home of her infancy,

of her girlhood, of her middle age, could be hers no longer. No. 3 had

to be given up; and the sisters had to go forth into fresh scenes. The

trial must to all of them have been great; perhaps least so to the gentle

Fanny, already on the border-land of the Life beyond.

 

As a first move, Charlotte and Fanny went together for about two months

to Sutton. An idea had, however, arisen of a home, at least for a time,

with their brother, Mr. St. George Tucker, and his wife; and the next

step was to join them at Wickhill, Bracknell, in the month of September

1869. This was Fanny’s last move. She was taken thither, from Sutton,

most carefully by Charlotte, in a post-chaise; and the long drive does

not appear to have materially affected her. Although by this time wasted

to skin and bone, Fanny still kept about in the house; spending much time

in her own sitting-room, yet often coming down among the rest for a short

time; and during this autumn Charlotte seems to have chiefly devoted

herself to Fanny. Before the close of November, however, the end of the

long illness was reached.

 

One day, when speaking to her brother, in allusion to her earlier good

health and plumpness, Fanny observed: ‘My dear St. George, I have been

imprudent.’ She did not specify what manner of imprudence hers had been.

Probably, like many another in a thoroughly healthy family, she had not

soon enough read the true meaning of suspicious symptoms. During some

four years past she had been steadily failing; and the end could but have

been a joyous release to one so ready to go.

 

Thus blow upon blow had fallen between the years of thirty and fifty upon

the golden staff of Charlotte Tucker’s Will. Her Father’s death; the

death of Robert; the death of Letitia; the death of her Mother; the death

of Fanny; all these one after another make a list of sorrows. Doubtless,

_the_ most keen and bitter losses which she had to endure were, above

all, the death of her almost idolised Father, and the death of Letitia.

No other pain would equal these, dearly as she loved her brother Robert,

her Mother, and Fanny, until her own peculiar sister-friend, Laura

Hamilton, should be summoned away. Mercifully, that blow was not allowed

to fall until a very short time before her own call Home.

 

Charlotte was not crushed by these sorrows. This is plainly to be seen.

Although the wild spirits and abounding glee of her childhood were toned

down, she was still active, still buoyant, still able to enjoy life.

She sorrowed, but by no means as one without hope; and if her life was

shadowed, it had not lost its spring. As time went by, the spirit of fun

and mirthfulness revived; and the little ones in her new home could not

fail to be a fresh delight to one who so greatly loved children. Even the

earlier letters after her Mother’s death are not only calm but cheerful.

 

TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.

 

‘_Aug. 23, 1869._

 

‘I cannot help hoping very sincerely that Uncle St. G. may find

a house near Bracknell, large enough to hold Aunt Fanny and

myself, as well as his own party. Would it not be nice? But I

am rather guarded about setting my heart on anything of the

sort. Aunt Fanny would like it very much.... It would be like a

haven to me. I think I know one young maiden who would not be

sorry to have her old godmother within reach of a walk. But I

am quietly waiting to see how things are arranged for me.... I

have to manage things for Aunt Fanny, as well as for myself,

just as if I were her husband. It is very new work to me. I am

not, like your dear Mother, accustomed to think and arrange

about a mass of property.’

 

TO THE SAME.

 

‘_Dec. 2, 1869._

 

‘I hope that my sweet Leila has not thought me unmindful of

her loving sympathy because I have not thanked her before

for her note. I am sure that you have heard of us from your

beloved Mother, who so tenderly shared my watch by the bedside

of my heart’s sister. O Leila dear, does not such a peaceful,

holy departure show us that our Lord has indeed taken the

sting from death? Without Him, how terrible would be the dark

Unknown!--with Him, how bright is the valley!

 

‘Sweet Aunt Fanny quoted to me not long ago, I suppose in

reference to departure,--“When Thou wilt; where Thou wilt; how

Thou wilt!” I think that the last chapter which I read to her

was Romans viii. It is such a long chapter, that I stopped at

about the 25th verse, fearing to tire the dear invalid; but she

made me finish the chapter.

 

‘I went out of the drawing-room window before sunrise to-day,

to gather flowers to make into wreaths. The gardener had not

opened the greenhouse; but I found much more than I should

have expected in the beginning of December,--even rosebuds.

The ferns look lovely still. A few days ago I made a wreath of

myrtle. I thought it like an emblem of my own sweet sister;

sweetest when bruised; with an unfading leaf; and a white,

simple-looking, yet lovely blossom.