Of the influence of love upon youth and inexperience, it can scarcely
be necessary to adduce any instances. I must, however, mention one fact
which occurred during the rebellion in ’45.
“When I was a young boy, I had delicate health, and was somewhat of a
pensive and contemplative turn of mind: it was my delight in the long
summer evenings, to slip away from my companions, that I might walk in
the shade of a venerable wood, my favourite haunt, and listen to the
cawing of the old rooks, who seemed as fond of this retreat as I was.
“One evening I sat later than usual, though the distant sound of the
cathedral clock had more than once warned me to my home. There was a
stillness in all nature that I was unwilling to disturb by the least
motion. From this reverie I was suddenly startled by the sight of a
tall slender female who was standing by me, looking sorrowfully and
steadily in my face. She was dressed in white, from head to foot, in a
fashion I had never seen before; her garments were unusually long and
flowing, and rustled as she glided through the low shrubs near me as if
they were made of the richest silk. My heart beat as if I was dying,
and I knew not that I could have stirred from the spot; but she seemed
so very mild and beautiful, I did not attempt it. Her pale brown hair
was braided round her head, but there were some locks that strayed upon
her neck; altogether she looked like a lovely picture, but not like
a living woman. I closed my eyes forcibly with my hands, and when I
looked again she had vanished.
“I cannot exactly say why I did not on my return speak of this
beautiful appearance, nor why, with a strange mixture of hope and
fear, I went again and again to the same spot that I might see her.
She always came, and often in the storm and plashing rain, that never
seemed to touch or to annoy her, looked sweetly at me, and silently
passed on; and though she was so near to me, that once the wind lifted
those light straying locks, and I felt them against my cheek, yet I
never could move or speak to her. I fell ill; and when I recovered, my
mother closely questioned me of the tall lady, of whom, in the height
of my fever, I had so often spoken.
“I cannot tell you what a weight was taken off my spirits when I learnt
that this was no apparition, but a most lovely woman; not young, though
she had kept her young looks,--for the grief which had broken her heart
seemed to have spared her beauty.
“When the rebel troops were retreating after their total defeat, a
young officer, in that very wood I was so fond of, unable any longer to
endure the anguish of his wounds, sunk from his horse, and laid himself
down to die. He was found there by the daughter of Sir Henry Robinson,
and conveyed by a trusty domestic to her father’s mansion. Sir Henry
was a loyalist; but the officer’s desperate condition excited his
compassion, and his many wounds spoke a language a brave man could not
misunderstand. Sir Henry’s daughter with many tears pleaded for him,
and promised that he should be carefully and secretly attended. And
well she kept that promise,--for she waited upon him (her mother being
long dead) for many weeks, and anxiously watched for the first opening
of eyes, that, languid as he was, looked brightly and gratefully
upon his young nurse. You may fancy, better than I can tell you, as
he slowly recovered, all the moments that were spent in reading, and
low-voiced singing, and gentle playing on the lute; and how many fresh
flowers were brought to one whose wounded limbs would not bear him
to gather them for himself; and how calmly the days glided on in the
blessedness of returning health, and in that sweet silence so carefully
enjoined him. I will pass by this, to speak of one day, which, brighter
and pleasanter than others, did not seem more bright or more lovely
than the looks of the young maiden, as she gaily spoke of ‘a little
festival, which (though it must bear an unworthier name) she meant
really to give, in honour of her guest’s recovery;’--‘and it is time,
lady,’ said he, ‘for that guest, so tended and so honoured, to tell you
his whole story, and speak to you of one who will help him to thank
you--may I ask you, fair lady, to write a little note for me, which,
even in these times of danger I may find some means to forward?’ To his
mother, no doubt, she thought, as with light steps and a lighter heart
she seated herself by his couch, and smilingly bade him dictate: but,
when he said ‘_My Dear Wife_,’ and lifted up his eyes to be asked for
more, he saw before him a pale statue, that gave him one look of utter
despair, and fell (for he had no power to help her) heavily at his
feet. Those eyes never truly reflected the pure soul again, or answered
by answering looks the fond inquiries of her poor old father. She lived
to be as I saw her,--sweet, and gentle, and delicate always, but reason
returned no more. She visited, ’till the day of her death, the spot
where she first saw that young soldier, and dressed herself in the very
clothes he said so well became her.”