"----Whene'er the good and just
Close the dim eye on life and pain,
Heaven watches o'er their sleeping dust,
Till the pure spirit comes again.
Though nameless, trampled, and forgot,
His servant's humble ashes lie,
Yet God has marked and sealed the spot,
To call its inmate to the sky."
It was one of those brilliant and transparent days of June, never
surpassed in any climate. The little church stood clearly defined
against the deep blue sky. The ocean, as the sun shone on it, was gemmed
with a thousand glancing diamonds, and here and there a light sail rose
and fell upon it, like the wings of a bird. It was so still that the hum
of the noontide insects was distinctly heard. At intervals, the slow
tolling of the little bell sent its echoes back from the surrounding
forest.
It was the day of the funeral of the beloved pastor, and small groups of
the parishioners began to collect about the church and the house.
Heartfelt grief seemed to shadow every countenance, but the severe and
reserved character of the New England Puritans allowed them to make no
demonstration of sorrow: they shut up within themselves every trace of
emotion, and spoke only in whispers, with a stern, determined air.
The garb and appearance of the people was rough and homely. There were
farmers with their wives, on pillions; fishermen with their rough
sea-coats; aged women, bent and wrinkled, who had come to lay in the
grave one whom they had hoped would have prayed at and blessed their own
burial.
The house at length was filled with those who had the nearest claim, and
the ministers of the surrounding villages darkened, with their black
dress, the little apartment.
The two slaves stood near the bier, and the excitable temperament and
violent grief of the poor Africans contrasted with the stern, and
solemn, and composed countenances around them.
Edith at last came in. She was calm, but very pale; and, as she entered
the room, she gave her hand to those who stood nearest. She tried to
speak, but the words died on her lips. Dinah was in a moment at her
side. Her delicate and youthful beauty contrasted by her sable friend,
and her lonely, unprotected state touched the hearts of these stern, but
also tenderly affectionate Puritans, and there were tears in many eyes,
as they looked at her with respect and interest.
The windows were all open; the concert of joyous birds, in their season
of love and happiness, showed no sympathy with man in his grief. It was
so still that the silvery sound of the waves, as they touched the beach,
was distinctly heard; and the voice of prayer, as it broke the silence,
was the only human sound.
The voice of prayer ceased, and the quick hoof of a horse was heard. In
a few moments Seymore entered. He had heard of the death of his friend,
and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, he could not remain at his
studies. As he entered he was violently agitated, for death and sorrow
were new to him.
The color rushed to Edith's pale cheek, as she silently gave him her
hand; but she felt a calmness which she could not herself understand. A
change had been wrought in her character by that nightly death-bed, and
by four days of lonely sorrow. She felt that she must rely on herself.
The changes that are wrought by sorrow and reflection in a timid woman
are not less apparent than those wrought by love. They seem, at first,
to take from the exquisite feminineness of the character, but they bring
out the latent beauty and strength of her spiritual nature. It is said
"that every wave of the ocean adds to the beauty of the pearl, by
removing the scum that reveals its interior and mysterious light." It is
thus with time and sorrow: they reveal to ones self the inward pearl
beyond all price, on which we must forever rely to guide us.
The oldest of the parishioners now approached, to bear their beloved
pastor on their shoulders to the silent grave-yard. The ceremonial of a
country burial is extremely simple, but they had then an affecting
custom which has since been discontinued. As they bore the body to the
grave, they sang an anthem, and, as it entered the little enclosure, the
groups on each side receded, and uncovered their heads. The boys were
hushed to awe, as the anthem rose on the evening air; the sun sank
behind the forest, and its last rays were reflected from the grave of
this servant of God.
The exquisite beauty of the scene oppressed and wearied Edith as she
returned to her solitary home. She felt that though nature may
sympathize with our joy, there is nothing in her bosom that responds to
our sorrow.
But she did not return alone: Seymore had followed her; and, as they
entered the deserted room, her father's arm-chair was in its accustomed
place: even his slippers had been accidentally placed ready for him. The
curtain had been removed from her mother's picture, and as she
approached it, she met its pitying eyes fixed upon her. The unnatural
tension of the nerves, which had denied her, for the last four days, the
relief of tears, gave way, and the very fountains of her soul seemed
opened. She sank down on a chair, and yielded to the overwhelming
emotion.
There are states of the mind when the note of a bird, the fall of a
leaf, the perfume of a flower, will unlock the bars of the soul, as the
smallest sound will loosen the avalanche. The unexpected sight of her
mother's picture had overpowered Edith. O that we should receive a
mother's love in infancy, when we cannot value or understand it; and, in
after life, when we need it most, when we long for the heart that has
cherished us, "we must go back to some almost forgotten grave," where
that warm heart lies that loved us as no other will ever love us.
Seymore was terrified: he had never seen grief like this, and he walked
the room with rapid and agitated steps.
Edith longed to be alone. She tried to conquer her emotion, but the sobs
that came from the bottom of her heart shook her whole frame. At last
she said, "Pray leave me; I wish to be, _I must_ be alone."
Seymore could not leave her thus. He took her passive hand. "O," said
he, "would that I could spare you one of these tears! If you could know
how I reverence your sorrow, how my heart bleeds for you--O pardon
me--if you could see my heart, you would see there a devotion, a
reverence, such as angels feel in heaven. Might I dare to hope that you
would forgive, that you would pardon the poor, unknown, homeless
scholar, that he has dared to love you?"
Edith had become calm as he spoke thus impetuously, and her hand grew
cold in his. She looked up: a beautiful and timid hope shone in her
eyes; and, though her tears fell fast, a smile was on her lips. "We are
both homeless," she said,--"both orphans."
He caught from her expression a rapturous hope. At this moment the
faithful slave Dinah opened the door to look after her young mistress.
It was the first time since her childhood, that the face of her sable
friend had been unwelcome to Edith; but perhaps it was happy for both;
it arrested their tumultuous emotions, and gave Seymore, who left the
room immediately, time to arrange his thoughts, and reflect on the
blissful prospect opening before him.
Edith held out her hand to her friend. I have before remarked the
figurative expressions in which Dinah clothed her thoughts. Her language
and her feelings were fervid, like her climate.
"I thought," she said, "the heartsease had withered in your bosom; but
it has sprung up, and is blooming again." Then seeing the crimson
overspread Edith's cheek, she added, "perhaps your warm tears have
revived it." But, as if ashamed of having said something not perfectly
true, she took Edith's hand, looked earnestly in her face, as if asking
an explanation of this sudden change.
Edith was wholly overcome. She threw herself into the arms of the
faithful slave, and longed to hide herself there. None but a mother
could understand her feelings, or one who had been to her in the place
of a mother, and knew every beating of her innocent heart.
There are moments when woman needs the sympathy of a mother, that first
and dearest friend of every human being. Dinah could not understand the
imaginative character of Edith's mind; she could not sympathize with her
thirst for knowledge, her love of the beautiful and the unknown; but the
tear in her eye, and her quivering lip, as she pressed her child closer
and closer to her, as though she would cherish her in her inmost heart,
showed that she understood her nature, and sympathized in her happiness
with all a woman's heart.
That night, when Edith laid her head on her pillow, she felt a secret
joy, a lightness of heart, which she could not understand. She
reproached herself that she could feel so happy so soon after the death
of her father. She did not know how insensibly she had suffered an
interest in Seymore to grow in her heart, and that the sentiments of
nature are weak when brought into contact with an absorbing passion.
When she came to offer her prayer for guidance and protection, a feeling
of gratitude, of thankfulness, overpowered all other emotions, and she
closed her eyes, wet with grateful tears.