LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.
I had been absent from home for several weeks, and after my return,
sickness in the family confined me closely, so that I knew little of
what had been occurring in the neighborhood. Miss Letty, through whom
my information usually came, was seldom seen abroad, to the great
surprise and inconvenience of many families who had learned to look
upon her frequent visits as an indispensable part of their domestic
arrangements.
“What has happened to Miss Letty?” I inquired of Lilian Lester, at a
meeting of our Aid Society, as I noticed the look of gravity which
seemed strangely out of place on her countenance, usually so cheerful.
“I am not aware of any cause for it,” Lilian replied, “and yet she
certainly does look as if she were carrying a weight of care. Dear Miss
Letty, I hope nothing has happened to trouble her, for she is so kind
and unselfish that she ought to be very happy.”
As I left the house, Miss Letty came up, and proposed to accompany me
home, an offer which I gladly accepted, for it was evident that there
was something she wished to communicate, and I hoped, by sharing her
anxieties, to alleviate them. We walked for a few steps in silence,
and then my companion, in an embarrassed tone, very different from her
ordinary manner, inquired,
“Mrs. Glenn, have you ever seen Mr. Thurston when he has been here
preaching for Mr. Ryder?”
“Mr. Thurston,” I repeated; “is he the home missionary stationed at
M----, among the mountains? If so, I have seen him, and heard him
preach; but why do you ask that question?”
Strange to say, I had not a suspicion of the state of affairs,
notwithstanding the confusion of my companion, for I had never heard of
the death of Mr. Thurston’s wife, and therefore was not likely to think
of him in connection with Miss Letty.
“Why,” she said, “I only wanted to know whether you had ever seen him,
and how you liked him, if you had; for you see he has been over here
several times lately, and called on me with Mr. Ryder, and--pshaw, how
silly I am--well, he has asked me to marry him.”
Miss Letty actually blushed like a young girl as she made this
confession, which took me so utterly by surprise, that for a moment I
had not a word to say.
“I see you are astonished at it, and no wonder; I told him that
everybody would wonder that he should offer himself to me, a
seamstress, and without one cent of money in the world; but he only
smiled, and said he wanted a wife for himself, and not to suit the
public; that he didn’t want a young girl, nor a rich wife either, to
look down on him and his poor people.”
“You are mistaken,” I replied; “it isn’t that which surprised me, but I
had never heard that he was a widower; and then the thought of losing
you is something so new, and not very pleasant, I assure you. What
shall we do without you?”
“I thought of that,” was the reply, for Miss Letty had too much
simplicity of character to pretend to be ignorant of her importance in
the community, though she was truly humble in her estimate of herself;
“and I told Mr. Thurston I had been here so long, and had got so into
the habit of doing every thing for everybody, that I was afraid they’d
miss me a good deal. But he said if that was the case, I was just the
one for a poor minister, who had to contrive to make ends meet, and
that his children needed me more than the folks in Woodbury did. You
see he just brushed away all my objections like so many cobwebs, so
that I couldn’t say another word.”
“I am glad he seems to appreciate your worth; if we must give you up,
it will be a comfort to know that you are happy.”
“Oh, as to that I don’t know; I suppose people at my age haven’t very
romantic notions of happiness; I’m sure I haven’t; but if I can do any
good to one of the Lord’s servants, I shall be glad. But when I think
how much will be expected of me, I am so frightened I feel like giving
it all right up. You see, when I was a child they didn’t care much
about education in our town, and though I’ve picked up some ideas here
and there going through the world, I don’t know very much. Then I’m
plain and homely in my ways, and I’m afraid he’ll be ashamed of me some
time when he sees me by the side of other ministers’ wives; but when I
told him so he only laughed, and said if that was all my difficulty, he
should look on it as settled; so I had to say yes, for he wouldn’t hear
to any thing else.”
I said every thing in my power to encourage Miss Letty, for I felt that
Mr. Thurston had made a wise choice for himself and his children, and
that our little seamstress, with her fund of good sense, energy, and
activity, and above all, with her unwavering trust in God, would make
a far better wife for a clergyman than many an educated and refined
woman who was deficient in these qualities, as too many are.
“And how soon are we to lose you?” I inquired; “I trust not
immediately; you must give us a little time to become reconciled to the
thought of such a change.”
“Mr. Thurston is very anxious that I should go right away; he says
he has been alone so long, and his children need me so much; but I
told him I must see to the work I had on hand, so as to leave you all
comfortable, or I shouldn’t be easy in my mind about going. It’s hard
to leave such friends as I have got here, and to go away from dear
little Willie’s grave too; but Mr. Ryder seems to think it is my duty
to go, because there are so few that would be willing to take such a
place. I don’t see how that can be, for I’m sure Mr. Thurston is one of
the best of men, and I think any woman might be happy with him.”
From the earnestness with which this was said, I saw that Miss Letty
was really interested in the good minister, and not about to sacrifice
herself from a sense of duty merely; and I was glad to believe
this, for I feared she might not be as comfortable under her new
responsibilities as she had been in Woodbury.
The wedding took place in church; and after an hour or two spent at
the parsonage, where the friends of the bride called to offer their
congratulations and to bid her good-by, the happy pair left for their
mountain home, from whence we have repeatedly heard of the new Mrs.
Thurston, as useful and beloved beyond any of her predecessors in that
place.
Mrs. Fenton had been for months rapidly failing, and her symptoms were
now such as to indicate a speedy release from her sufferings. She was
intensely anxious to see her long-absent son once more on earth, and
this strong maternal feeling seemed actually to hold back the spirit,
already pluming its wings for flight. “I shall not die till I have seen
him again,” was her constant reply to the inquiries of her friends. “He
will come in time to receive my parting breath, and I am content.”
Stanwood Fenton had never recovered from the wound received at South
Mountain, and after months of terrible agony, had recently been
obliged to submit to amputation of the hand as the only means of
saving his life. He was now recovering slowly, and had been sent to
the convalescent camp, when a letter from Elinor informed him of
the condition of his mother. In spite of the remonstrances of his
physicians he obtained, through the influence of Col. Lester, a
dismissal from the camp, and started for home under the care of Capt.
May, a former member of the Twenty-sixth, and now commander of a
company in Col. Lester’s regiment, who had a furlough in consequence of
ill health.
Mrs. Fenton had seemed to be in a dying state for several hours, but
her frequent inquiries showed us that she still expected the arrival of
her son, though no word had reached her of his intention to start for
home.
“It is my only earthly care,” she said, “and I think my Father will
grant me this request.”
She had been apparently sleeping, and all was perfectly still in and
around the house, when suddenly starting and opening her eyes, she
exclaimed, “He is coming; I hear the wheels; he is almost here; thank
God.”
None of us could hear a sound; but the mother’s ears, quickened by
affection, caught the distant rumbling, though the moment before death
seemed about to close them for ever. A few moments brought the carriage
to the door, and Elinor and Lilian flew to meet and welcome the
returning wanderer.
“Is my mother still living?” was his first inquiry; and on receiving an
answer in the affirmative, the strength which had sustained him on the
way suddenly deserted him. He sank into a chair, and covering his face,
gave way for a few moments to the emotions which shook his frame, while
Elinor threw her arms around his neck, and wept silently. But Lilian,
who knew the anxiety of her dying aunt, said tenderly,
“Dear cousin, this will never do. Think of your mother, whose life
is now counted by moments, and who is waiting for you. All your
strength will be needed for this interview, and you must be calm, since
agitation might be instantly fatal to her.”
“I know it,” was his reply, “and you shall see me a man again soon; but
I have feared the worst all the way home, and the revulsion of feeling
overcame me at first. May you never know, dear girls, what it is to
have remorse added to the sorrow of such an hour as this.”
The interview between the dying mother and her erring, but penitent
son, was witnessed only by members of the family; and at its close,
she was so exhausted as to be almost insensible. But the lamp of life
burned up brightly once more before going out for ever. She bade us all
farewell, with a few tender and appropriate words to each; then turning
to her son, who was kneeling at the bedside, with his face buried in
the pillows, she said, as she laid her cold hand upon his head, “My
dear boy, I once asked for you in my blindness length of days and
temporal prosperity. Now I trust I have sought better things of God for
you; but you must seek him for yourself, or you will never see his face
in peace. With my dying breath I charge you, make it the business of
your life to meet me in heaven.”
After a few loving words to her husband, Elinor, and Lilian, with a
kind message to Col. Lester, she said, in a voice clear and distinct as
in health,
“I wish to give it as my dying testimony to all here present, that
not one good thing has ever failed in my experience, of all that the
Lord has spoken. The religion of the Bible has been to me an infinite
blessing. I have lived on it for years, and it has supported me in
suffering and sorrow, and now I am dying in perfect peace; for Jesus is
with me, and his rod and staff, they comfort me.”
Her voice died away, but the smile on her countenance was like the dawn
of heaven in its brightness; and it may have been the reflection of
that radiance, for before her words had ceased to echo in that hushed
chamber, the spirit had escaped from its wasted tenement, and was
already rejoicing before the throne of God.
Col. Lester came home to see her buried, but stayed only a few days,
as active service was soon expected. He was in good health, and seemed
very happy, and as Lilian was to return with him to Washington, there
was nothing to mar her enjoyment of his brief visit. After their
departure, Elinor and her brother were very lonely, and Capt. May,
whose leave of absence had been extended, was a frequent visitor at the
Tyrrell House, and a great favorite with all its inmates, from Mr.
Fenton down to Mammy Venus, and Pete recently promoted to the dignity
of coachman.
To know Elinor Fenton intimately was to love her, and the young soldier
found, before he had dreamed of danger, that his heart was no longer in
his own possession. He could not with propriety make known his feelings
to Elinor so soon after her bereavement, but from his friend Stanwood
he received all the encouragement which a brother’s best wishes could
give; and when he rejoined his regiment, he carried with him a hope
which brightened his darkest hours, and made every hardship seem light.
Young Fenton had been at home but a few months before he became a
universal favorite, as we discovered the acquisition we had made in
his society. He was ardent, impulsive, and generous even to a fault,
and possessed the best traits of Southern character, with an ingenuous
frankness peculiarly his own. Often led astray by the warmth of his
feelings, he was quick to perceive and retract his errors, and eager to
make reparation for them. It was impossible to associate with Stanwood
Fenton without being constantly reminded of the Saviour’s remark to the
young man who came to him, and who awoke so deep an interest in his
benevolent heart: “One thing thou lackest.” Deep religious principle
was the one thing wanting in his character, the balance-wheel without
which his movements were erratic and uncertain, guided rather by the
impulse of the moment than by any sense of accountability to God.
His original plan had been to enter the Union army as soon as possible
after the death of his mother, but his health had suffered greatly
from long confinement in the hospital; and the loss of his hand,
together with the entreaties of his father and sister, induced him to
relinquish the idea, and devote himself to the care of his father’s
business, which had suffered from neglect. The light came back to
Elinor’s eye, and the bloom to her cheek, as she saw her brother once
more in his proper place at home; and though her beloved mother was
still fondly remembered and her loss deplored, it was with a chastened
sorrow, as she felt that for her to die had been great gain.
Winter, with its storms and sunshine, its triumphs and reverses, wore
away at length, and with the first blossoms of May Lilian came back
to us, more welcome to our hearts than the breath of spring or the
fragrance of forest flowers. She was accompanied by Captain, now Major
May, who was on the staff of Gen. Lester, and who eagerly availed
himself of an opportunity to revisit the spot where his earthly hopes
were centred. During her stay at the head-quarters of her husband,
Lilian had learned to appreciate the worth of the young _aide-de-camp_,
and ardently hoped he might be successful in his suit. Why should I
narrate the progress of events? It was the same old story repeated
once again, a tale as old as the history of the race, yet new in the
experience of every human heart--the story of faithful love meeting its
reward at last in the affection of the beloved object. As Elinor heard
from her cousin the recital of the gallant exploits of Major May, of
his courage and devoted loyalty, she loved him not only “for the perils
he had passed,” but for the high principle which had thus far shielded
him from the peculiar temptations of a soldier’s life; and before his
departure he won from her a promise, that when the war was ended, or
his term of service expired, he might claim his reward.
Months have passed, and still the cloud of war overshadows the land,
and still our beloved ones are absent from us, some with the heroic
Sherman in Northern Georgia, scaling the heights of Kennesaw and
Lookout mountains, and driving the eagle from his eyrie, as they plant
the stars and stripes among the clouds; some are in the sultry swamps
and bayous of Louisiana, exposed to a foe more insidious and deadly
than the rebel armies; and others, among whom are our best and bravest,
are swelling the ranks which threaten the Confederate capital.
“The time has come when brothers must fight
And sisters must pray at home.”
But while we look up to Him who alone can send help and deliverance,
it is our privilege to labor as well as to pray, and while we wait
upon God, to watch for every opportunity of doing whatever our hands
find to do in the good cause, with our whole heart.
The heavens are dark above us, and the earth rocks wildly under our
feet, but God has a divine purpose underlying all these convulsions,
and it is fixed and immutable as his throne. Faith sees in the
overturnings around us the majestic march of his providence, preparing
a way in the tempest, and making the wrath of man to praise him, while
he restrains the remainder thereof.
It is good for us sometimes, when hope deferred makes the heart sick,
to go back to first principles, that we may gather strength from a
review of our past history and of God’s dealings with us as a nation.
The American republic was unique in its inception and establishment.
The pilgrim band who came to New England in the Mayflower were not
a company of commercial adventurers, led hither by the hope of gain;
still less were they a party of military freebooters, actuated by the
lust of conquest, like the Spaniards, who carried fire and sword among
the unoffending inhabitants of Southern America. The principle which
led those noble men and women to forsake kindred and home, and to brave
the perils of a howling wilderness, and which sustained them amid all
their privations and sufferings, was not earthly or perishable. It
was the burning, quenchless thirst for religious liberty, the strong
determination to worship God according to the dictates of their own
conscience, though the roof of their temple were the boundless sky and
their altar the rough stones of the forest, that actuated the founders
of this republic in their sublime enterprise.
They came to these wilds of nature that they might found a colony
and build up a church, and advance the interests of the Redeemer’s
kingdom, and serve as stepping-stones to others in the great work of
human progress. And never has the divine declaration, “Them that honor
me I will honor,” been more signally fulfilled than in the growth of
the infant nation thus established. Every step of the way in which,
as a people, we have been led, from the landing on Plymouth rock to
the proud position which we have hitherto occupied among the nations,
has been marked by special interpositions of Providence, no less real,
though less miraculous, than the pillar of cloud and flame which guided
the ancient Israelites to the land of promise.
But in our prosperity we have forgotten the Rock whence we were hewn,
and have rebelled against our father’s God, and refused to obey
his commands, until in his righteous indignation he has come out in
judgment against us, and left us to our own ways and to eat the fruit
of our own devices. As a nation we have deeply sinned. As a nation we
are suffering a fearful punishment.
But let not the enemies of liberty in the old world or the new, exult
in the belief that the republic is about to be rent in fragments,
and the last hope of the oppressed millions of Europe to be for
ever entombed. We are bearing the indignation of the Lord because
we have sinned against him; but when his purposes concerning us are
accomplished, he will arise to execute judgment for us.
No careful observer of God’s providence can doubt that he has reserved
America for a grand destiny--that our country has a mission to
perform of the sublimest import, and a grand agency to exert in the
regeneration of the world.
If we read aright the divine purpose in reference to this nation, and
the historical causes here concentrating, we must believe that the
vital forces inherent in our government and institutions will, with
the blessing of God, master all the antagonisms now threatening their
overthrow; and that, having passed through this baptism of blood and
fire, we shall emerge cleansed and purified, and stand as a beacon
light to the struggling nations of the old world, until suffering
humanity everywhere, regenerated and redeemed, shall rejoice in one
grand jubilee of liberty, Christianity, and universal brotherhood.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.