THE ARRIVAL.
What is life?----a varied tale,
Deeply moving, quickly told.
Willis.
"Oh! what a lovely cottage!" exclaimed Laura, in an ecstacy of joy, when
they stopped before a beautiful house, with large airy windows down to
the ground; walls that seemed one brilliant mass of roses; rich flowery
meadows in front, and a bright smooth lawn behind, stretching down to
the broad bosom of the Thames, which reflected on its glassy surface
innumerable boats, filled with gay groups of merry people. "That is such
a place as I have often dreamed of, but never saw before! It seems made
for perfect happiness!"
"Yes! how delightful to live here with Frank and uncle David!" added
Harry. "We shall be sailing on the water all day!"
The cottage gate was now opened, and Major Graham himself appeared under
the porch; but instead of hurrying forward, as he always formerly did,
to welcome them after the very shortest separation, he stood gravely and
silently at the door, without so much as raising his eyes from the
ground; and the paleness of his countenance filled both Harry and Laura
with astonishment. They flew to meet him, making an exclamation of joy;
but after embracing them affectionately, he did not utter a word, and
led the way with hurried and agitated steps into a sitting room.
"Where is Frank?" exclaimed Harry, looking eagerly round. "Why is he not
here? Call him down! Tell him we are come!"
A long pause ensued; and Laura trembled when she looked at her uncle,
who was some moments before he could speak, and sat down taking each of
them by the hand, with such a look of sorrow and commiseration, that
they were filled with alarm.
"My dear Harry and Laura!" said he solemnly, "you have never known grief
till now, but if you love me, listen with composure. I have sad news to
tell, yet it is of the very greatest consequence that you should bear up
with fortitude. Frank is extremely ill; and the joy he felt about your
coming, has agitated him so much, that he is worse than you can possibly
conceive. It probably depends upon your conduct now, whether he survives
this night or not. Frank knows you are here; he is impatient for you to
embrace him; he becomes more and more agitated every moment the meeting
is delayed; yet if you give way to childish grief, or even to childish
joy, upon seeing him again, the Doctors think it may cause his immediate
death. You might hear his breathing in any part of this house. He is in
the lowest extreme of weakness! It will be a dreadful scene for you
both. Tell me, Harry and Laura, can you trust yourselves? Can you, for
Frank's own sake, enter his room this moment, as quietly as if you had
seen him yesterday, and speak to him with composure?"
Laura felt, on hearing these words, as if the very earth had opened
under her feet,--a choking sensation arose in her throat,--her colour
fled,--her limbs shook,--her whole countenance became convulsed with
anguish,--but making a resolute effort, she looked anxiously at Harry,
and then said, in a low, almost inaudible voice,
"Uncle David! we are able,--God will strengthen us. I dare not think a
moment. The sooner it is done the better. Let us go now."
Major Graham slowly led the way without speaking, till they reach the
bed-room door, where he paused for a moment, while Harry and Laura
listened to the gasping sound of Frank struggling for breath.
"Remember you will scarcely know him," whispered he, looking doubtfully
at Laura's pallid countenance; "but a single expression of emotion may
be fatal. Show your love for Frank now, my dear children. Spare him all
agitation,--forget your own feelings for his sake."
When Harry and Laura entered the room, Frank buried his face in his
hands, and leaned them on the table, saying, in convulsive accents, "Go
away, Laura!--oh go away just now! I cannot bear it yet!--leave
me!--leave me!"
If Laura had been turned into marble at the moment, she could not have
seemed more perfectly calm, for her mind was wound up to an almost
supernatural effort, and advancing to the place where he sat, without
attempting to speak, she took Frank by the hand--Harry did the same; and
not a sound was heard for some moments, but the convulsive struggles of
Frank himself, while he gasped for breath, and vainly tried to speak,
till at length he raised his head and fixed his eyes on Laura, who felt
then, for the first time, struck with the dreadful conviction, that this
meeting was but a prelude to their immediate and final separation. The
pale ashy cheek, the hollow eye, the sharp and altered features, all
told a tale of anguish such as she had never before conceived, and a
cold tremor passed through her frame, as she stood amazed and bewildered
with grief, while the past, the present, and the future seemed all one
mighty heap of agony. Still she gazed steadily on Frank, and said
nothing, conscious that the smallest indulgence of emotion would bring
forth a torrent which nothing could control, and determined, unless her
heart ceased to beat, that he should see nothing to increase his
agitation.
At length, in a low, faint, broken voice, Frank was able to speak, and
looking with affectionate sympathy at Laura, he said, "Do not think,
dear sister, that I always suffer as you see me now. This joy has been
too much for me. I shall soon feel easier."
Major Graham observed a livid paleness come over Laura's countenance
when she attempted to answer, and seeing it was impossible to sustain
the trial a moment longer, he made a pretext to hurry her away. Harry
instantly followed, and rushing into a vacant room, he threw himself
down in an agony of grief, and wept convulsively, till the very bed
shook beneath him. Hours passed on, and Major Graham left them to
exhaust their grief in weeping together, but every moment seemed only to
increase their agitation, as the conviction became more fearfully
certain that Frank was indeed lost to them for ever. This then was the
meeting they had so often, and so joyously anticipated! Laura sunk upon
her knees beside Harry, and prayers were mingled with their tears, while
they asked for consolation, and tried to feel resigned. "Alas!" thought
she solemnly, "how truly did grandmama say, 'If the sorrows of this
world are called 'light afflictions,' what must be those from which
Christ died to save us!' It is merciful that we are not forbid to weep,
for, oh! who ever lost such a brother?--the kindest--the best of
brothers!--dear, dear Frank!--can nothing be done! Uncle David!" added
Laura, clinging to Major Graham, when he entered the room, "oh! say
something to us about Frank getting better,--do you think he will? May
we have a hope?--one single hope to live upon, that Frank may possibly
be spared; do not turn away--do not look so very sad--think how young
Frank is,--and the Doctors are so skilful--and--and oh, uncle David! he
is dying! I see it! I must believe it!" continued she, wringing her
hands with grief. "You cannot give us one word of hope, though the whole
world would be nothing without him."
"My dear,--my very dear Laura! remember that consoling text in holy
Scripture, 'Be still, and know that I am God;'--we have no idea what He
can do in saving us from sorrow, or in comforting us when it comes,
therefore let us seek peace from Him, and believe that all shall indeed
be ordered well, even though our own hearts were to be broken with
affliction. Frank has seen old nurse Crabtree, and is now in a
refreshing sleep, therefore I wish you to take the opportunity of
sitting in his room, and accustoming yourselves, if possible, to the
sight of his altered appearance. He is sometimes very cheerful, and
always patient, therefore we must keep up our own spirits, and try to
assist him in bearing his sufferings, rather than increase them, by
showing what we feel ourselves. I was pleased with you both this
morning--that meeting was no common effort, and now we must show our
submission to the Divine will, difficult as that may be, by a deep,
heartfelt resignation to whatever He ordains."
Harry and Laura still felt stupified with grief, but they mechanically
followed Major Graham into Frank's room, and sat down in a distant
corner behind his chair, observing with awe and astonishment his pallid
countenance, his emaciated hands, and his drooping figure, while
scarcely yet able to believe that this was indeed their own beloved
Frank. After they had remained immoveably still for some time, though
shedding many bitter tears, as they gazed on the wreck of one so very
dear, he suddenly started awake, and glanced anxiously round the room,
then with a look of deep disappointment, he said to uncle David, in low,
feeble accents,
"It was only a dream! I have often dreamed the same thing, when far away
at sea,--that would have been too much happiness! I fancied Harry and
Laura were here!"
"It was no dream, dear Frank! we are here," said Laura, trying to speak
in a quiet, subdued voice.
"My dear sister! then all is well! but pray sit always where I can see
you. After wishing so long for our meeting, it appears nearly impossible
that we are together at last."
Frank became exhausted with speaking so much, but pointed to a seat near
himself, where Harry and Laura sat down, after which he gazed at them
long and earnestly, with a look of affectionate pleasure, while his
smile, which had lost all its former cheerfulness, was now full of
tenderness and sensibility. At length his countenance gradually changed,
while large tears gathered in his eyes, and coursed each other silently
down his cheeks. Thoughts of the deepest sadness seemed passing through
his mind during some moments, but checking the heavy sigh that rose in
his breast, he riveted his hands together, and looked towards heaven
with an expression of placid submission, saying these words in a
scarcely audible tone, though evidently addressed to those around,
"Weeping endureth for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." "We know
that if our earthly house of this tabernacle be dissolved, we have a
building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."
"Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him; _but_ weep sore for him
that goeth away: for he shall return no more, nor see his native
country."[1]
[1] Jeremiah xxii. 10.
These words fell upon the ear of Harry and Laura like a knell of death,
for they now saw that Frank himself believed he was dying, and it
appeared as if their last spark of hope expired when they heard this
terrible dispensation announced from his own lips. He seemed anxious now
that they should understand his full meaning, and receive all the
consolation which his mind could afford, for he closed his eyes, and
added in solemn accents,
"I must have died at some time, and why not now? If I leave friends who
are very dear on earth, I go to my chief best friend in heaven. The
whole peace and comfort of my mind rest on thinking of our Saviour's
merits. Let us all be ready to say, 'the will of the Lord be done.'
Think often, Harry and Laura, of those words we so frequently repeated
to grandmama formerly:
'Take comfort, Christians, when your friends
In Jesus fall asleep,
Their better being never ends,
Why then dejected weep?
Why inconsolable as those
To whom no hope is given?
Death is the messenger of peace,
And calls 'my' soul to Heaven.'"
Frank's voice failed, his head fell back upon the pillows, and he
remained for a length of time, with his eyes closed in solemn meditation
and prayer, while Laura and Harry, unable so much as to look at each
other, leaned upon the table, and wept in silence.
Laura felt as if she had grown old in a moment,--as if life could give
no more joy--and as if she herself stood already on the verge of the
grave. It appeared like a dream that she had ever been happy, and a
dreadful reality to which she was now awakened. "Behold, God taketh
away! who can hinder him? who will say unto him, What doest thou?"
"Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils." These were texts
which forced themselves on her mind, with mournful emphasis, while she
felt how helpless is earthly affection when the dispensations of God
are upon us. All her love for Frank could not avert the stroke of
death,--all his attachment to her must now be buried in the grave,--and
the very tenderness they felt for each other, only embittered the
sorrows of this dreadful moment.
From that day, Harry and Laura, according to the advice of uncle David,
testified their affection for Frank, not by tears and useless
lamentations, though these were not always to be controlled in private,
but by the incessant, devoted attention with which they watched his
looks, anticipated his wishes, and thought every exertion a pleasure
which could in the slightest degree contribute to his comfort. Frank, on
his part, spared their feelings, by often concealing what he suffered,
and by speaking of his own death, as if it had been a journey on which
he must prepare with readiness to enter, reminding them, that never to
die, was never to be happy, as all they saw him endure from sickness,
became nothing to what he endured from struggling against sin and
temptation, which were the great evils of existence,--and that from all
these he would be for ever freed by death. "Those who are prepared for
the change," added he, solemnly, "can neither live too long, nor die too
soon; for when God gives us His blessing, He then sends heaven, as it
were, into the soul before the soul ascends to heaven; and I trust to
being gifted with faith and submission for all that may be ordained
during my few remaining hours upon earth."
Yet, with every desire to feel resigned, Frank himself was sometimes
surprised out of his usual fortitude, especially when thinking that he
must never more hope to see Lady Harriet, towards whom he cast many a
longing and affecting thought, saying once, with deep emotion, "If I
could only see grandmama again, I should feel quite well!" One evening,
as he sat near an open window, gazing on the rich tints of twilight, and
breathing with more than usual ease, a wandering musician paused with
her guitar, and sung several airs with great pathos and expression. At
length she played the tune of "Home! sweet home," to which Frank
listened for some moments with intense agitation, till, clasping his
hands and bursting into tears, he exclaimed, in accents of powerful
emotion,
"Home! That happy home! Oh! never--never more,--_my_ home is in the
grave."
Laura wept convulsively while he added in broken accents, "I shall still
be remembered--still lamented--you must not love me too well,
Laura,--not as I love you, or your sorrow would be too great; but long
hence, when Harry and you are happy together, surrounded with friends,
think sometimes of one who must for ever be absent,--who loved you
better than them all,--whose last prayer will be for you both. Oh! who
can tell what my feelings are! I can do nothing now but cause distress
and anguish to those who love me best!"
"Frank, I would not exchange your affection for the wealth of worlds. As
long as I live, it will be my greatest earthly happiness to have had
such a brother; and if we are to suffer a sorrow that I cannot name, and
dare not think of, you are teaching me how to bear it, and leaving us
the only comfort we can have, in knowing that you are happy."
"Many plans and many hopes I had for the future, Laura," added Frank;
"but there is no future to me now in this world. Perhaps I may escape a
multitude of sorrows, but how gladly would I have shared all yours, and
ensured my best happiness by uniting with Harry and you in living to
God. If you both learn more by my death than by my life, then, indeed, I
do rejoice. With respect to myself, it matters but little a few years or
hours sooner, for I may say, in the words of Job, 'though He slay me,
yet will I trust in Him.'"
Frank's sufferings increased every day, and became so very great at
last, that the Doctor proposed giving him strong doses of laudanum, to
bring on a stupor and allay the pain; but when this was mentioned to
him, he said, "I know it is my duty to take whatever you prescribe, and
I certainly shall, but if we can do without opiates, let me entreat you
to refrain from them. Often formerly at sea I used to think it very sad
how few of those I attended in sickness were allowed by the physician to
die in possession of their senses, on account of being made to take
laudanum, which gave them false spirits and temporary ease. Let me
retain my faculties as long as they are mercifully granted to me. I can
bear pain,--at least, God grant me strength to do so,--but I cannot
willingly enter the presence of my Creator in a state little short of
intoxication."
Many days of agony followed this resolution on the part of Frank, but
though the medicine, which would have brought some hours of oblivion,
lay within reach, he persevered in wishing to preserve his
consciousness, whatever suffering it might cost; and though now and then
a prayer for bodily relief was wrung from him in his acute agony, the
most frequent and fervent supplications that he uttered night and day
were, in an accent of intense emotion, "God have mercy upon my soul."
Harry and Laura were surprised to find the fields and walks near London
so very rural and beautiful as they appeared at Hammersmith, and to meet
with much more simplicity and kindness among the common people than they
had anticipated. The poorer neighbours, who became aware of their
affliction, testified a degree of sympathy which frequently astonished
them, and was often afterwards remembered with pleasure, one instance of
which seemed peculiarly touching to Laura. Frank always suffered most
acutely during the night, and seldom closed his eyes in sleep till
morning, therefore she invariably remained with him, to beguile those
weary hours, while any remonstrance on his part against so fatiguing a
duty, became a mere waste of words, as she only grew sadder and paler,
saying, there would be time enough to take care of herself when she
could no longer be of use to him. The earliest thing that gave any
relief to Frank's cough every day, generally was, a tumbler of milk,
warm from the cow, which had been ordered for him, and was brought
almost as soon as the dawn of light. Once, when Frank had been unusually
ill, and sighed in restless agony till morning, Laura watched
impatiently for day, and when the milkman was seen, at six o'clock,
slowly trudging through the fields, and advancing leisurely towards the
house, Laura hurried eagerly down to meet him, exclaiming in accents of
joy, while she held out the tumbler, "Oh! I am so glad you are come at
last!"
"At last, Miss!! I am as early as usual!" replied he, gruffly. "It's not
many poor folks that gets up so soon to their work, and if you had to
labour as hard as me all day, you would maybe think the morning came too
soon."
"I am seldom in bed all night," answered Laura, sadly. "My poor sick
brother cannot rest till this milk is brought, and I wait with him, hour
after hour till daylight, wearying for you to come."
The old dairyman looked with sorrowful surprise at Laura, while she,
thinking no more of what had passed, hurried away; but next morning,
when sitting up again with Frank, she became surprised to observe the
milkman a whole hour earlier than usual, plodding along towards his
cattle at a peculiarly rapid pace. He stayed not more than five minutes,
only milking one cow, though all the others gathered round him, and as
soon as he had filled his little pail, he came straight toward Major
Graham's cottage, and knocked at the door. Laura instantly ran down to
thank him with her whole heart for his kind attention, after which, as
long as Frank continued ill, the old dairyman rose long before his usual
time, to bring this welcome refreshment.
Frank desired Laura to beg that he would not take so much trouble, or
else to insist on his accepting some remuneration, but the old man would
neither discontinue the custom, nor receive any recompense.
"Let me see this kind good dairyman, to thank him myself," said Frank,
one night, when he felt rather easier; and next morning, Laura invited
poor Teddy Collins to walk up stairs, who looked exceedingly astonished,
though very much pleased at the proposal, saying, "May be, Ma'am, the
poor young gentleman would not like to see a stranger like me!"
"No one is a stranger who feels for him as you have done," replied
Laura, leading the way, and Frank's countenance lighted up with a smile
of pleasure when they entered his room. He held out his thin emaciated
hand to Teddy, who looked earnestly and sorrowfully in his face as he
grasped hold of it, saying, "You look very poorly, Sir! I'm afraid,
indeed, you are sadly ill."
"That I am! as ill as any one can be on this side of eternity! My tale
is told, my days are numbered; but I would not go out of this world
without saying how grateful we both feel for your attention. As a cup of
cold water given in Christian kindness shall hereafter be rewarded, I
trust also that your attention to me may not be forgotten."
"You are heartily welcome, Sir! It is a great honour for a poor old man
like me to oblige anybody. I shall not long be able for work now, seeing
that I am upwards of threescore and ten, and my days are already full of
labour and sorrow."
"To both of us, then, the night is far spent, and the day is at hand,"
replied Frank--"How strange it seems, that, old as you are. I am still
older; my feeble frame will be sooner worn out, and my body laid at rest
in the grave! Let me hope that you have already applied your heart to
wisdom, for every child of earth must, sooner or later, find how short
is every thing but eternity. While I appear before you here as a
spectacle of mortality, think how soon and how certainly you must
follow. May you then find, as I do, that even in the last extreme of
sickness and sorrow, there is comfort in looking forward to such
blessings as 'eye hath not seen, nor ear heard.' Farewell, my kind
friend! In this world we shall meet no more, but there is another and a
better."
The old man, apparently unwilling to withdraw, paused for some moments
after Frank had ceased to speak. He muttered a few inaudible words in
reply, and then slowly and sorrowfully left the room, while Frank's head
sunk languidly on the pillows, and Laura retired to her room, where, as
usual, she wept herself to sleep.
When Harry and Laura first arrived at Hammersmith, Frank felt anxious
that they should walk out every day for the benefit of their health; but
finding that each made frequent excuses for remaining constantly with
him at home, he invented a plan which induced them to take exercise
regularly.
Being early in June, strawberries were yet so exceedingly rare, that
they could scarcely be had for any money; but the Doctor had allowed his
patient to eat fruit. Frank asked his two young attendants to wander
about in quest of gardens where a few strawberries could be got, and to
bring him some. Accordingly, they set out one morning; and after a long,
unsuccessful search, at last observed a small green-house near the road,
with one little basket in the window, scarcely larger than a thimble,
containing two or three delicious King seedlings, perfectly ripe. These
were to be sold for five shillings; but hardly waiting to ascertain the
price, Laura seized this welcome prize with delight, and paid for it on
the spot. Every morning afterwards, her regular walk was to hasten with
Harry towards this pretty little shop, where they talked to the gardener
about poor Frank being so very ill, and told him that this fine fruit
was wanted for their sick brother at home.
One day the invalid seemed so much worse than usual, that neither Harry
nor Laura could bear to leave him a moment; so they requested Mrs.
Crabtree to fetch the strawberries, which she readily agreed to do; but
on drawing out her purse in the shop, and saying that she came to buy
that little basket of fruit at the window, what was her astonishment
when the gardener looked civil and sorry, answering that he would not
sell those strawberries if she offered him a guinea a-piece.
"No!" exclaimed Mrs. Crabtree, getting into a rage; "then what do you
put them up at the window for? There is no use pretending to keep a
shop, if you will not sell what is in it! Give me these strawberries
this minute, and here's your five shillings!"
"It's quite impossible," replied the gardener, holding back the basket.
"You see, ma'am, every day last week a little Master and Miss came to
this here shop, buying my strawberries for a young gentleman who is very
ill; and they look both so sweet and so mournful-like, that I would not
disappoint them for all the world. They seem later to-day than usual,
and are, may be, not coming at all; but if I lose my day's profits, it
can't be helped. They shall not walk here for nothing, if they please to
come!"
When Mrs. Crabtree explained that she belonged to the same family as
Harry and Laura, the gardener looked hard at her to see if she were
attempting to deceive him; but feeling convinced that she spoke the
truth, he begged her to carry off the basket to his young friends,
positively refusing to take the price.