MR. BELFORD, TO ROBERT LOVELACE, ESQ.
THURSDAY NIGHT.
I may as well try to write; since, were I to go to bed, I shall not
sleep. I never had such a weight of grief upon my mind in my life, as
upon the demise of this admirable woman; whose soul is now rejoicing
in the regions of light.
You may be glad to know the particulars of her happy exit. I will try
to proceed; for all is hush and still; the family retired; but not one
of them, and least of all her poor cousin, I dare say, to rest.
At four o'clock, as I mentioned in my last, I was sent for down; and,
as thou usedst to like my descriptions, I will give thee the woeful scene
that presented itself to me, as I approached the bed.
The Colonel was the first that took my attention, kneeling on the side of
the bed, the lady's right hand in both his, which his face covered,
bathing it with his tears; although she had been comforting him, as the
women since told me, in elevated strains, but broken accents.
On the other side of the bed sat the good widow; her face overwhelmed
with tears, leaning her head against the bed's head in a most
disconsolate manner; and turning her face to me, as soon as she saw me,
O Mr. Belford, cried she, with folded hands--the dear lady--A heavy sob
permitted her not to say more.
Mrs. Smith, with clasped fingers, and uplifted eyes, as if imploring help
from the only Power which could give it, was kneeling down at the bed's
feet, tears in large drops trickling down her cheeks.
Her nurse was kneeling between the widow and Mrs. Smith, her arms
extended. In one hand she held an ineffectual cordial, which she had
just been offering to her dying mistress; her face was swoln with weeping
(though used to such scenes as this); and she turned her eyes towards me,
as if she called upon me by them to join in the helpless sorrow; a fresh
stream bursting from them as I approached the bed.
The maid of the house with her face upon her folded arms, as she stood
leaning against the wainscot, more audibly exprest her grief than any of
the others.
The lady had been silent a few minutes, and speechless, as they thought,
moving her lips without uttering a word; one hand, as I said, in her
cousin's. But when Mrs. Lovick, on my approach, pronounced my name, O
Mr. Belford, said she, with a faint inward voice, but very distinct
nevertheless--Now!--Now! [in broken periods she spoke]--I bless God for
his mercies to his poor creature--all will soon be over--a few--a very
few moments--will end this strife--and I shall be happy!
Comfort here, Sir--turning her head to the Colonel--comfort my cousin
--see! the blame-able kindness--he would not wish me to be happy
--so soon!
Here she stopt for two or three minutes, earnestly looking upon him.
Then resuming, My dearest Cousin, said she, be comforted--what is dying
but the common lot?--The mortal frame may seem to labour--but that is
all!--It is not so hard to die as I believed it to be!--The preparation
is the difficulty--I bless God, I have had time for that--the rest is
worse to beholders, than to me!--I am all blessed hope--hope itself. She
looked what she said, a sweet smile beaming over her countenance.
After a short silence, Once more, my dear Cousin, said she, but still in
broken accents, commend me most dutifully to my father and mother--There
she stopt. And then proceeding--To my sister, to my brother, to my
uncles--and tell them, I bless them with my parting breath--for all their
goodness to me--even for their displeasure, I bless them--most happy has
been to me my punishment here! Happy indeed!
She was silent for a few moments, lifting up her eyes, and the hand her
cousin held not between his. Then, O Death! said she, where is thy
sting! [the words I remember to have heard in the burial-service read
over my uncle and poor Belton.] And after a pause--It is good for me
that I was afflicted! Words of scripture, I suppose.
Then turning towards us, who were lost in speechless sorrow--O dear, dear
gentlemen, said she, you know not what foretastes--what assurances--And
there she again stopped, and looked up, as if in a thankful rapture,
sweetly smiling.
Then turning her head towards me--Do you, Sir, tell your friend that I
forgive him!--And I pray to God to forgive him!--Again pausing, and
lifting up her eyes as if praying that He would. Let him know how
happily I die:--And that such as my own, I wish to be his last hour.
She was again silent for a few moments: and then resuming--My sight
fails me!--Your voices only--[for we both applauded her christian, her
divine frame, though in accents as broken as her own]; and the voice of
grief is alike in all. Is not this Mr. Morden's hand? pressing one of
his with that he had just let go. Which is Mr. Belford's? holding out
the other. I gave her mine. God Almighty bless you both, said she, and
make you both--in your last hour--for you must come to this--happy as I
am.
She paused again, her breath growing shorter; and, after a few minutes
--And now, my dearest Cousin, give me your hand--nearer--still nearer
--drawing it towards her; and she pressed it with her dying lips--God
protect you, dear, dear Sir--and once more, receive my best and most
grateful thanks--and tell my dear Miss Howe--and vouchsafe to see, and to
tell my worthy Norton--she will be one day, I fear not, though now lowly
in her fortunes, a saint in Heaven--tell them both, that I remember them
with thankful blessings in my last moments!--And pray God to give them
happiness here for many, many years, for the sake of their friends and
lovers; and an heavenly crown hereafter; and such assurances of it, as I
have, through the all-satisfying merits of my blessed Redeemer.
Her sweet voice and broken periods methinks still fill my ears, and never
will be out of my memory.
After a short silence, in a more broken and faint accent--And you, Mr.
Belford, pressing my hand, may God preserve you, and make you sensible of
all your errors--you see, in me, how all ends--may you be--And down sunk
her head upon her pillow, she fainting away, and drawing from us her
hands.
We thought she was then gone; and each gave way to a violent burst of
grief.
But soon showing signs of returning life, our attention was again
engaged; and I besought her, when a little recovered, to complete in my
favour her half-pronounced blessing. She waved her hand to us both, and
bowed her head six several times, as we have since recollected, as if
distinguishing every person present; not forgetting the nurse and the
maid-servant; the latter having approached the bed, weeping, as if
crowding in for the divine lady's blessing; and she spoke faltering and
inwardly--Bless--bless--bless--you all--and--now--and now--[holding up
her almost lifeless hands for the last time] come--O come--blessed Lord
--JESUS!
And with these words, the last but half-pronounced, expired:--such a
smile, such a charming serenity overspreading her sweet face at the
instant, as seemed to manifest her eternal happiness already begun.
O Lovelace!--But I can write no more!
***