A Lady of England 33
The following extracts from letters belong all to the two or three years
after her Mother’s death:--
TO MISS LAURA V. TUCKER.[18]
‘_Feb. 10, 1870._
‘I took Sir Frederick and Lady Abbott[19] to-day to the Infant
School at Bracknell. They seemed to be much pleased, and so I
am sure were the Infants, as their visitors treated them with
sugar-plums and lemon-cakes, in return for a number of songs....
A translation of my _War and Peace_ has been made by Madame de
Lambert, and is coming out in the _Musée des Enfants_,--under
the name, I believe, of _Le Soldat Aveugle_.’
TO THE SAME.
‘_Dec. 12, 1870._
‘A lady was here the other day, who has a curious taste for
different creatures. She has had a slow-worm round her arm as
a bracelet--has kept an oyster which seemed to know her--and
taught frogs to come out of the water at the sound of their
names. One day, when she was quite young, she showed an old
gentleman one of her dear snakes, coiled up. He thought it an
imitation-one, and said something about good imitations,--when
the reptile began to hiss at him.
‘“O you horrid girl, it’s alive!” exclaimed the poor old
gentleman, forgetting his politeness in his sudden alarm and
disgust.
‘Baby is now thriving nicely, and getting quite fat. It is
funny to see her looking at the picture of the white kittens
and cherries. She gets quite excited, trying to clutch hold of
the cherries with her tiny hands.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘_May 12, 1871._
‘Many thanks, my sweet Leila, for your affectionate letter, and
also for your kindness in going to see Sarah Jones.
‘My darling Letitia! Notwithstanding all that has passed since
she was last pressed to my heart, the sudden blow of her loss
has left, I think, a deeper scar than any trial before or after
it. I seldom mention her name; and now my heart seems rising
into my throat as I write of her....
‘I feel tired, dear one, so will not write a long letter. I had
a long business walk before luncheon, and then the overland
letter to Uncle Willy to write, and a great deal of proof-sheet
of the _Lady of Provence_ to correct.’
TO MRS. J. BOSWELL.
‘_Nov. 13, 1872._
‘I am very busy, for there seems an almost endless field for
work in making foreign wall-texts; quite a new occupation
for me. In Italy and Spain they will now be warmly
welcomed,--India, Syria, China, Labrador, all offer openings.
I feel it so gracious in my dear Master to give me this little
work for Him, now that the power of composing seems to be taken
away. I find delight in going over and over the precious texts,
which I have to copy in various tongues. I do not think that I
ever before so realised their sweetness. I tried to gild my own
little works with scripture truths; but now I have pure gold
to give to others,--without admixing with it any alloy of my
own.’
For awhile at about this time she seems to have lost almost entirely her
power of writing; the failure being no doubt due to the state of her
health, or to re-action from the strain of all that she had gone through
in past years. She therefore spent many an hour in painting texts in
different foreign languages, on a large scale, to be sent abroad.
The sacred poem which closes this chapter was written in the summer of
1871. It appeared in a little volume, called ‘_Hymns and Poems_‘, by A.
L. O. E.
A DREAM OF THE SECOND ADVENT.
‘I dreamed that in the stilly hush of night--
Deep midnight--I was startled from my sleep
By a clear sound as of a trumpet! Loud
It swelled, and louder, thrilling every nerve,
Making the heart beat wildly, strangely, till
All other senses seemed in hearing lost.
Up from my couch I sprang in trembling haste,
Cast on my garments, wondering to behold
Through half-closed shutters sudden radiance gleam,
More clear, more vivid than the glare of day.
What marvel, then, that with a breathless hope
That gave me wings, forth from my home I rushed,
Though heaved the earth as if instinct with life,
Its very dust awakening. Can it be--
Is this the call, “Behold the Bridegroom comes!”
Comes He, the long-expected, long-desired?
Crowds thronged the street, with every face upturned,
Gazing into the sky,--the flaming sky--
Where every cloud was like a throne of light.
None could look back, not even to behold
If those beloved were nigh; one thrilling thought
Rapt all the multitude,--“Can HE be near?”
Then cries of terror rose--I scarcely heard;
And buildings shook and rocked, and crashing fell,--
I scarcely marked their fall; the trembling ground
Rose like the billowy sea,--I scarcely felt
The motion; such intensity of hope--
Joy--expectation--flooded all my soul;
A tide of living light, o’erwhelming all
The hopes and fears, the cares and woes of earth.
Could any doubt remain? Lo! from afar
A sound of “Hallelujah!” Ne’er before
Had mortal ear drunk in such heavenly strain,
Save when on Bethlehem’s plain the shepherds heard
The music of the skies.
Behold! Behold!
Like white-winged angels rise the radiant throng
That from yon cemetery’s gloomy verge
Have burst, immortal--glorious--undefiled!
Bright as the sun their crowns celestial shine,
Yet I behold them with undazzled eye.
Oh that yon glittering canopy of light
Would burst asunder, that I might behold
Him, whom so long, not seeing, I have loved!
It parted--lo! it opened--as I stood
With clasped hands stretched towards Heaven; my eager gaze
Fixed on the widening glory!
Suddenly,
As if the burden of the flesh no more
Could fetter down the aspiring soul to earth,
As if the fleshly nature were consumed--
Lost in the glowing ecstasy of love--
I soared aloft, I mounted through the air,
Free as a spirit, rose to meet my Lord,
With such a cry of rapture--that I woke!
‘O misery! to wake in darkness, wake
From vision of unutterable joy;
Instead of trumpet-sound and song of Heaven,
To hear the dull clock measuring out time,
When I had seemed to touch Eternity!
In the first pang of disappointed hope,
I wept that I could wake from such a dream;
Until Faith gently whispered, “Wherefore weep
To lose the faint dim shadow of a joy
Of which the substance shall one day be thine?
Live in the hope,--that hope shall brighten life,
And sanctify it to its highest end.”
‘Fast roll the chariot wheels of Time. HE comes!
The Spirit and the Bride expectant wait,--
Even so come, Lord Jesus! Saviour--come!’
CHAPTER XIII
VARIOUS CHARACTERISTICS
In the last few chapters we have had glimpses of Charlotte Tucker’s
life rather from within than from without; chiefly in reference to her
successive losses, and her own feelings connected with those losses or
with passing events. Now we will try to obtain a few glimpses of her,
rather from without than from within; to see her as others saw her, not
so much as she saw herself. I do not for a moment mean to imply that the
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