"And e'en to wakeful conscience unconfest,
Her fear, her grief, her joy were his alone."
COLERIDGE. {sic}
{Reginald Heber (English poet, 1783-1826), "Morte d'Arthur: A
Fragment" lines II.534-535}
THE melancholy disaster of the Petrel happened on Monday; it was
not until the Thursday following that the evil tidings reached
Longbridge.
Elinor, accompanied by Mary Van Alstyne, set out quite early in
the morning to pay some visits at different country-houses in the
neighbourhood. They had been out some little time, having driven
several miles, and made three or four calls, when they reached
Mrs. Van Horne's. On entering the parlour they found the mistress
of the house was not there, but a much less agreeable person, the
elder Mrs. Tibbs, the greatest gossip in Longbridge.
"I am glad to see you this morning, young ladies," she said.
"Thank you, ma'am; it is a very pleasant morning, certainly,"
replied Elinor, as she took a seat on the sofa.
"Very pleasant, yes; but I was fearful you might have been kept
at home by the bad news we Longbridge people have just heard."
"It does not seem to have kept you at home either, Mrs. Tibbs,
whatever it may be," replied Elinor, smiling; for she knew that
any news, whether good or bad, always set this lady in motion.
Little did the poor young girl suspect the nature of the
intelligence that awaited her!
"No; I thought my good friend, Mrs. Van Horne, might feel uneasy
about her son, and came over to be with her."
"Mrs. Van Horne! Has anything happened to the family?"
"You haven't heard the news then?--I am surprised at that. But
here is an account of the accident in the New Haven Eagle. It has
made us all feel quite dreadfully at home!"
"What has happened?--Pray tell us!" exclaimed Elinor, now looking
alarmed.
"Here is the account; but perhaps you had better let Miss Mary
read it; she was not so intimate with the deceased."
"What is it?--let me see the paper, Mary. An accident to one of
the Van Hornes!" and she took the sheet from the table. Her eye
immediately fell on the following article:
"Our city was painfully excited this morning by the intelligence
which reached here, of a distressing accident to a beautiful
little schooner, the property of Hubert de Vaux, Esq., of New
York, which was seen in our waters only a few days since, and
attracted universal admiration in our port."
Elinor's eyes could see no farther; she stretched out the paper
to her cousin, saying in a faint voice, "Mary, read!"
Mary Van Alstyne took the paper, and continued silently to look
over the passage.
"This little schooner, bound on a cruise of pleasure, had reached
Martha's Vineyard, when, during the sudden squall which passed
over this section also on Monday, she capsized, and melancholy to
relate, four persons lost their lives. The party consisted of Mr.
de Vaux himself, Colonel Stryker, and Mr. Van Horne, of New York;
Charles Hubbard, Esq., the distinguished young artist; Henry
Hazlehurst, Esq., our secretary of Legation to the court of
Russia, where he was shortly to proceed with Mr. Henley, our
Envoy; and also Frederick Smith, Esq., a young gentleman from
Philadelphia. There were in addition five men in the crew. We
regret to add that Mr. Hazlehurst and Mr. Hubbard, a negro sailor
known as Black Bob, and another man, name not mentioned, were
drowned; the bodies were all recovered, but every effort to
restore life proved unavailing."
Mary Van Alstyne had strong nerves, but the suddenness of these
melancholy tidings, and a dread of the effect upon Elinor, made
her turn deadly pale.
"Tell me, Mary," said her cousin faintly.
Mary waited a moment to recover herself, when the question was
anxiously repeated. She took Elinor's hand and sat down by her
side, using every precaution of delicacy and tenderness in
breaking the bad news to her cousin; she approached the worst as
gradually as she could, and mentioned every favourable
circumstance first; while Elinor sat trembling in every limb, yet
endeavouring to retain command over her senses and her feelings.
But it was in vain; when Mary was at length forced to confess
that two of their friends were among the lost, Elinor put her
hand to her heart, while her eyes were fixed on her cousin's
lips; when the name of Hazlehurst was at length reluctantly
pronounced, she started from her chair, and fell quite insensible
on the floor, at her companion's feet.
It was a long time before she could be restored. Mrs. Van Horne
and the doctor, who was happily in the house, did all in their
power to relieve their young friend; and Mrs. Tibbs was really
quite distressed and mortified, when she found the effects of her
allusion to the accident were so serious.
"Poor young thing!--I'd no notion, Mrs. Van Horne, that she would
have taken it so much to heart. Do you suppose she was engaged to
one of the young gentlemen?"
An imploring look from Mary Van Alstyne said to the doctor as
plainly as look could speak, "Do send her away!"
The doctor was very ready to do so, and by virtue of his medical
authority requested the gossip to walk into the other room, where
he permitted himself to give her a sharp reprimand for having
been in such haste to tell the evil tidings.
It was some time before Elinor fully recovered her consciousness;
her first words expressed a wish to be carried home.
"Home, Mary," she said faintly.
Mrs. Van Horne, who was deeply interested in her young friend,
was anxious she should remain where she was until her strength
had entirely returned.
"I am strong now," said Elinor feebly, making an effort to rise.
Mary looked inquiringly at the doctor.
"You shall go in a few minutes, my dear Miss Elinor," said the
doctor after an instant's hesitation; he thought it best that she
should do so, but determined that his wife and himself would
accompany her to Wyllys-Roof.
"Mary," said Elinor, with an effort, looking towards Mrs. Van
Horne, "ask if--"
Mary guessed that she wished to know if the Van Hornes had heard
anything in addition to the account in the paper. Without
speaking, she looked the question.
"We have had a few lines, sent us by Mrs. de Vaux from New York,"
said Mrs. Van Horne, gently.
Elinor closed her eyes, and fell back again on the cushion.
"You must not talk, my dear," said the doctor kindly.
Young de Vaux had in fact written a line or two to his mother,
who was in New York, by the boat which he sent off immediately to
engage a small steamer, as soon as the squall had passed over;
and this note had been considerately forwarded by Mrs. de Vaux to
the Van Hornes, as it mentioned the safety of their own son. It
ran as follows:
"Martha's Vineyard.
"MY DEAR MOTHER:--We are greatly distressed by a melancholy
accident which befell us scarce an hour since. The Petrel
capsized; most of our party are safe; but two of my friends are
gone, Hazlehurst and Hubbard! You will understand our grief; mine
especially! We shall return immediately.
"Your son, H. de V."
The doctor handed this note to Mary, at a moment when Mrs. Van
Horne was bending over Elinor.
In a few minutes Elinor made another request to be carried home.
"Pray take me home, doctor," she said; "I can go now."
The doctor felt her pulse, and observing that although very
feeble, she seemed to have command of herself, he thought the air
and motion would be of service. The carriage was ordered, she
took a restorative, and making a great effort to rally, leaning
on the doctor's arm she walked to the door. Dr. and Mrs. Van
Horne accompanied her, as well as her cousin.
"Thank you," she said with her usual gentleness, as she remarked
their kind intention, and then throwing herself back in her seat
she closed her eyes; her face was deadly pale, large tears would
force themselves slowly from beneath her eyelids, and a shudder
pass over her limbs; and yet it was evident she made a strong
effort to control her emotion. There was something in her whole
expression and manner, that bore all the stamp of the deepest
feeling; it was no common nervousness, no shock of sudden
surprise, nor merely friendly sympathy; it was the expression of
unalloyed grief springing from the very depths of a noble heart.
Even Dr. Van Horne, whose nerves had been hardened by the
exercise of years amid scenes peculiar to his calling, could
scarcely refrain from shedding tears, as he looked with
compassion and with respect at his young friend. She seemed quite
indifferent to the observation of others; her heart and mind were
apparently engrossed by one idea, one feeling, and all her
strength engaged in facing one evil.
Mrs. Van Horne had not supposed that the bad news would have
affected her so deeply, nor was Mary Van Alstyne prepared for the
result; but however Elinor might have hitherto deceived herself,
however much her friends might have misunderstood her, the truth
was now only too clear; her heart had spoken too loudly to be
misunderstood--it was wholly Hazlehurst's.
They drove on steadily and slowly, the silence only interrupted
by occasional remarks of Elinor's companions, as they offered her
some assistance. When they came in sight of the Hubbard cottage,
Mary Van Alstyne's heart sunk anew, as she remembered the blow
which had also fallen upon their good neighbours.
Elinor's efforts for self-command increased as she drew near
home--for the sake of her friends, her aunt and grandfather, she
strained every nerve; but on reaching the house it was in vain,
her resolution gave way entirely when she saw Bruno lying in his
usual place on the piazza. She became so much agitated that it
was feared she would again fall into a deep swoon, and she was
carried from the carriage to a sofa in the drawing-room. Neither
Miss Agnes nor Mr. Wyllys was at home; they had gone to their
afflicted neighbours the Hubbards. An express had brought a
report of the melancholy catastrophe, not half an hour after
Elinor had left Wyllys-Roof in the morning; the lifeless body of
our poor young friend, Charlie, was to reach Longbridge that
afternoon, and Hubert de Vaux had come to request Miss Agnes to
break the sad truth to the bereaved mother and sister. Jane also
was absent, she was in New York with the Taylors; but Elinor's
faithful nurse and the old black cook came hurrying to her
assistance, as soon as they knew she had reached the house so
much indisposed.
{"express" = special messenger}
Miss Agnes was sent for; but Elinor had revived again when her
aunt returned, though she was still surrounded by the anxious
circle, Mary, the Van Hornes, her nurse, and old Hetty. When she
heard the footsteps approaching, she made an effort to raise
herself, with a sort of instinctive desire to spare her aunt a
sight of all her weakness.
"You had better lie still, my dear Miss Elinor," said the doctor
kindly, offering her a glass of some restorative.
Miss Agnes entered the room and advanced anxiously to the sofa.
"My poor child!" exclaimed Miss Wyllys. "What is it,
doctor?--illness?" she added anxiously.
The doctor shook his head. "She heard the news too suddenly," he
said.
Mr. Wyllys now followed his daughter. Elinor turned her eyes
towards the door as he entered; a cry burst from her lips--she
saw Hazlehurst!
Yes, Hazlehurst standing in the doorway, looking pale and
distressed, but living, breathing, moving!
In another second Elinor had started to her feet, sprung towards
him, and thrown herself in his arms--heedless of the family,
heedless of friends and servants about her, forgetting in that
one sudden revulsion of feeling, the whole world but Harry.
{"revulsion" = a sudden change of feeling}
Hazlehurst seemed quite forgetful himself of the everyday {sic}
rules of society, and the merely friendly position in which they
had stood at parting, but a week before; his whole expression and
manner now betrayed an interest in Elinor too strong to be
disguised, and which could be explained in one way only.
All this was the work of a moment; the various degrees of
amazement, produced by the sudden appearance of Harry, on some
individuals of the group of spectators, the surprise of others at
the strong emotions betrayed by the young couple had not
subsided, when an exclamation from Hazlehurst himself again fixed
their attention entirely on Elinor.
"She has fainted!" he cried, and carried her to the sofa.
But joy is life to the heart and spirits; Elinor lost her
consciousness for a moment only. She raised her eyes and fixed
them upon Hazlehurst, who still held one of her hands.
"It is Harry!" she exclaimed, and burst into tears. She felt that
he was safe, that he was by her side; she already felt that he
loved her, that they understood each other; and yet she was still
quite incapable of giving anything like a reason for what had
passed. It was all confusion in her mind, all indistinct but the
blessed truth that Harry was safe, accompanied by a hope she had
not dared to cherish for years. She was still feeble and
agitated, her colour varying with every beat of her heart; her
face now covered with a deep natural blush at the sound of
Harry's voice, at the expression of his eye; now deadly pale
again as she caught some allusion to the Petrel.
The doctor recommended that she should be left alone with Miss
Wyllys. Her grandfather kissed her tenderly and left the room, as
well as the rest of the party; with one exception,
however--Hazlehurst lingered behind.
Having reached the adjoining room, explanations were exchanged
between the friends. Mr. Wyllys learned that Elinor and the Van
Hornes had supposed Harry lost, from the paper, and the first
hurried note of de Vaux. When they arrived at Wyllys-Roof, there
was no one there to give them any later information; Mammy Sarah,
the nurse, knew no more than themselves; she had heard the
Broadlawn story, after having seen young de Vaux leave the house
with Miss Agnes, when they first went to the Hubbards'.
Hazlehurst had not accompanied his friend, for he had seen Mr.
Wyllys in a neighbouring field, and went there to give him the
information; and thence they had both gone to the cottage, where
they remained until Mrs. Clapp and Mr. Joseph Hubbard arrived
from Longbridge. Neither Mr. Wyllys nor Miss Agnes had received
the least intimation of the accident, until they heard a correct
account from de Vaux, and Harry himself; consequently they had
not felt the same alarm for Hazlehurst.
Dr. and Mrs. Van Horne were much gratified by hearing, that
Hazlehurst's restoration was owing to the devoted perseverance of
their son; for it was only after every one else had given up the
hope of reviving him, after long and ceaseless exertions, that
signs of life were discovered. They also now learned the
circumstances of the accident, the fact that two instead of four
persons were lost, and they found that it was in endeavouring to
save Charlie that Harry had so nearly lost his own life. But we
leave them together to express their natural feelings of
gratitude for those who had escaped, sympathy with the sufferers,
their surprise at Harry's appearance, and all the varying
emotions of such a moment.
While this conversation was passing in one room, Elinor was in
some measure recovering from the first sudden shock of the
morning in the other. Harry seemed fully determined to maintain
his post at her side, and still kept possession of her hand; in
fact, the solemn, anxious moment, hallowed by grief, at which the
disclosure of their mutual feelings had been made, seemed to
banish all common, petty embarrassments. Miss Agnes and Harry
required but a word and a look to explain matters; the aunt
already understood it all.
"Poor Charlie!" exclaimed Elinor, with a half-inquiring look, as
if with a faint hope that he too might have returned, like Harry.
"Our friend is gone, dearest!" said Harry, his eyes moistened
with tears as he spoke.
Elinor wept, and a silence of a minute ensued. "His poor mother,
and his sister!" she exclaimed at length.
"His two mothers, rather," said Harry, with a faltering voice.
After another silence, Elinor turned to Hazlehurst with an
anxious look, saying:
"And your other friends?"
"All safe; love."
"The crew too?"
"One of the crew is lost; Black Bob, a sailor from Longbridge."
"I remember him; he had no family I believe, Aunt," she said.
"None, my child, that I have ever heard of."
"The heaviest blow has fallen upon the Hubbards," said Harry.
After a pause, in which aunt and niece had prayed for the
mourners, Elinor again made some inquiries.
"Were all in the Petrel at the time?" asked Elinor.
"Smith and our poor Charlie, the negro and a boy were crossing a
bay in the Petrel, when she capsized, by the bad management of
the negro, who had been drinking. The rest of us were on shore."
"You were not in any danger then?" said Elinor, as if relieved
that he had not even been exposed to past peril.
"I owe my life to my friend Van Horne," he replied.
Elinor shuddered, and turned deadly pale again. Harry threw his
arms about her and embraced her fervently, until Elinor, who had
now partially recovered the common current of her ideas, made a
gentle struggle to release herself.
"But you were not in the Petrel?" she said again, as if anxious
to understand all that related to him.
"We all went to our friends as soon as we saw the schooner
capsize," said Harry.
"Hubert de Vaux told me that Harry swam some distance, with the
hope of saving poor Charles, who could not swim himself," said
Miss Agnes. "It was in that way, my child, that he was exposed."
"To save Charlie!--that was like you," said Elinor, with a glow
on her cheek.
"There was no danger--no merit whatever in doing so--I have often
swum farther," said Harry; "the only difficulty was caused by my
becoming entangled in some ropes, which drew me under water."
"But where was the boat?"
"It was not at hand at the moment; they brought it as soon as
possible."
"Did Charlie speak?" asked Elinor, sadly.
"My poor friend was insensible when I reached him."
Again a moment's pause ensued.
"I must not forget to tell you, love, that we owe a great deal to
another friend of ours," said Harry, smiling. "You will be glad
to hear that Bruno behaved nobly; he first discovered the ropes
in which we were entangled."
"Bruno!--Where is my noble dog? Pray call him; let me see him!"
Harry went to the door, and there was Bruno lying across the
threshold, as if waiting to be admitted; he came in at Harry's
call, but not with his usual bound; he seemed to understand that
if his old master had been saved, his master's friend was lost.
The noble creature was much caressed by Miss Wyllys and Elinor;
and we are not ashamed to confess that the latter kissed him more
than once. At length, Miss Agnes observing that her niece was
very much recovered, rose from her seat, and stooping to kiss
Elinor's forehead, placed her hand in that of Harry, saying with
much feeling, as she joined them, "God bless you, my children!"
and then left the room.
As for what passed after Miss Agnes left her young friends, we
cannot say; Bruno was the only witness to that interview between
Harry and Elinor, and as Bruno was no tell-tale, nothing has ever
transpired on the subject. We may suppose, however, that two
young people, strongly attached to each other, united under such
peculiar circumstances, did not part again until a conclusive and
satisfactory explanation had taken place. Harry no doubt was
enabled to quiet any scruples he may have felt with regard to
Ellsworth; and probably Elinor was assured, that she had entirely
mistaken Hazlehurst's feelings during the past summer; that Mrs.
Creighton was his friend's sister, and a charming woman, but not
the woman he loved, not the woman he could ever love, after
having known his Elinor. Then, as both parties were frank and
warm-hearted, as they had known each other for years, and had
just been reunited under circumstances so solemn, there was
probably more truth, less reserve, and possibly more tenderness
than usual at similar meetings. Doubtless there were some smiles;
and to judge from the tone of both parties on separating, we
think that some tears must have been shed. We are certain that
amid their own intimate personal communications, the young friend
so dear to both, so recently lost, was more than once remembered;
while at the same time it is a fact, that another communication
of some importance to Harry, the disclosures of Stebbins, was
forgotten by him, or deferred until the interview was
interrupted. Mr. Wyllys entered to let Harry know that Hubert de
Vaux had come for him.
"De Vaux is here waiting for you, Harry," said Mr. Wyllys,
opening the drawing-room door.
"Is it possible, my dear sir?--Is it so late?" exclaimed Harry.
It was in fact de Vaux, come to accompany Harry to Longbridge, to
meet the body of our poor Charlie: so closely, on that eventful
day, were joy and sadness mingled to the friends at Wyllys-Roof.
Elinor had risen from her seat as her grandfather approached.
"You feel better, my child," he said kindly.
"I am happy, grandpapa!--happy as I can be TO-DAY!" she added,
blushing, and weeping, and throwing her arms about his neck.
"It is all right, I see. May you be blessed, together, my
children!" said the venerable man, uniting their hands.
After an instant's silence, Elinor made a movement to leave the
room.
"I am going to Longbridge, but I shall hope to see you again in
the evening," said Harry, before she left him.
"When you come back, then. You are going to Longbridge, you say?"
"Yes," Said Harry sadly; "to meet Van Horne and Smith, with--"
Elinor made no reply; she understood his sad errand; offered him
her hand again, and left the room. She retired to her own
apartment, and remained there alone for a long time; and there
the young girl fell on her knees, and offered up most fervent,
heartfelt thanksgivings for the safety of one she loved truly,
one she had long loved, so recently rescued from the grave.
That afternoon, just as the autumn sun was sinking towards the
woods, throwing a rich, warm glow over the country, a simple
procession was seen moving slowly and sadly over the Longbridge
highway. It was the body of Charlie Hubbard, brought home by his
friends, to pass a few hours beneath his mother's roof, ere it
was consigned to its last resting-place under the sod. We have
not yet dared to intrude upon the stricken inmates of the old
grey cottage; we shall not attempt to paint their grief, such
grief is sacred. The bereaved mother, half-infirm in body and
mind, seemed to feel the blow without fully understanding it:
Patsey, poor Patsey felt the affliction fully, comprehended it
wholly. Charlie had been her idol from infancy; she had watched
over the boy with an engrossing affection, an earnest devotion,
which could be only compared to a mother's love, which might
claim a mother's sacred name. She was entirely overcome when the
young artist's body was brought into the house, and placed in the
coffin, beneath his father's portrait.
"My boy!--my brother!--Charlie!" she cried wildly; all her usual
calmness, her usual firmness giving way at the moment, as the
young face she loved so tenderly was first disclosed to her view,
pale and lifeless. But the fine features of the young artist,
almost feminine in their delicate beauty, returned no answering
glance--they were rigid, cold, and partially discoloured by
death.
Hazlehurst and de Vaux passed the night beside the body of their
friend; Miss Agnes and Mrs. Van Horne were with the bereaved
mother and sisters.
Early on the following morning, Mr. Wyllys and Elinor came to
take a last look at their young friend.
'Can it indeed be true?--Charlie gone for ever, gone so
suddenly!' thought Elinor, as she leaned over his body, weeping
with the sincere, heartfelt grief of a true friend, until
Hazlehurst, pained by her emotion, gently drew her away; not,
however, before she had bent over poor Charlie, and gently kissed
the discoloured forehead of her young companion, for the first
and the last time.
Patsey's grief, though not less deep, was more calm than at
first. Again and again she had returned to her young brother's
coffin, with varying feelings; now overwhelmed by poignant grief,
now partially soothed by the first balm of holy resignation; now
alone, now accompanied by her friends. Once, early that morning,
the infirm mother was brought into the room to look for the last
time on the face of her son; she was carried in a chair and
placed by the coffin, then assisted to rise by Miss Agnes and her
daughter Kate. Her tears flowed long, falling on her boy's cold,
but still beautiful features; she wiped them away herself, and
with an humble phrase of resignation, in the words of Scripture,
expressed the thought that ere long she should be laid by his
side. Her's was not the bitter, living grief of Patsey; she felt
that she was near the grave herself. Tears of gentle-hearted
women were not the only tears which fell upon Charlie's bier; his
uncles, his elder brothers, and more than one true friend were
there. But amid all the strong, contending emotions of those who
crowded the humble room, who hung over the coffin, still that
youthful form lay rigid in the fearful chill, the awful silence
of death; he, whose bright eye, whose pleasant smile had never
yet met the look of a friend without the quick glance of
intellect, or the glow of kindly feeling. Patsey felt the change;
she felt that the being she loved was not all there, the dearer
portion was already beyond her sight--and with this reflection
came the blessed consolations of Christian hope; for the
unfeigned faith and the penitent obedience of the Christian, had
been known to Charlie Hubbard from childhood; nor had they ever
been forgotten by the young man.
Soon after sun-rise, friends and neighbours began to collect;
they came from miles around, all classes and all ages--for the
family was much respected, and their sudden bereavement had
excited general compassion. The little door-yard and the humble
parlour were filled, with those who justly claimed the name of
friends; the highway and an adjoining field were crowded with
neighbours.
After a solemn prayer within the house, those who had loved the
dead fixed their eyes for the last time on his features; the
coffin was closed from the light, the body was carried for the
last time over the threshold, it was placed on a carriage, and
the living crowd moved away, following the dead, with the slow,
heavy movement of sorrow. The mother, the sisters, and the
nearest female friends remained in privacy together at the house
of mourning. As the funeral train moved along the highway towards
Longbridge, it gradually increased in length; the different
dwellings before which it passed had their windows closed, as a
simple token of sympathy, and on approaching the village, one
bell after another was heard, tolling sadly. The hearse paused
for a moment before the house of Mr. Joseph Hubbard; those who
had come thus far in carriages alighted, and joined by others
collected in the village, they moved from there on foot. Several
brother artists from New York, and other associates of the young
man's, bore the cloth which covered his coffin; and immediately
after the nearest relatives, the elder brothers, and the uncles,
came Hazlehurst and de Vaux, with the whole party of the Petrel,
and the crew of the little schooner: and sincerely did they mourn
their young friend; it is seldom indeed that the simple feeling
of grief and compassion pervades a whole funeral train so
generally as that of the young artist. But our poor Charlie had
been much loved by all who knew him; he was carried to the grave
among old friends of his family, in his native village--and there
were many there capable of admiring his genius and respecting his
character. As the procession entered the enclosure it passed
before a new-made grave, that of the negro sailor, who had been
decently interred by the directions of de Vaux, on the preceding
evening, the party of the Petrel having also attended his
funeral. On reaching the final resting-place of the young artist,
among the tombs of his family, by the side of his father the
minister, an impressive prayer and a short but touching address
were made; the coffin was lowered, the earth thrown on it, and
the grave closed over Charlie Hubbard: the story of his life was
told.
{"entered the enclosure" = at Christ Episcopal Church, in
Cooperstown, which Susan Fenimore Cooper attended,
African-Americans were at this time buried just inside the
churchyard entrance, away from the other graves; "was told" = was
ended}
Harry was the last to leave the spot. While the funeral train
returned with the mourners to the house of Mr. Joseph Hubbard, he
remained standing by the grave of his friend, his mind filled
with the recollection of the brilliant hopes so suddenly
extinguished, the warm fancies so suddenly chilled, the bright
dreams so suddenly blighted by the cold hand of death. The solemn
truth, that the shadow of death had also passed over himself was
not forgotten; life in its true character, with all its real
value, all its uncertainties, all its responsibilities, rose more
clearly revealed to him than it had ever yet done; he turned from
Charlie's grave a wiser man, carrying with him, in the
recollection of his own unexpected restoration, an impulse for
higher and more steadfast exertion in the discharge of duty.
But if Hazlehurst's thoughts, as he retraced his solitary way
towards Wyllys-Roof, were partly sad, they were not all gloomy.
Wisdom does not lessen our enjoyment of one real blessing of
life; she merely teaches us to distinguish the false from the
true, and she even increases our happiness amid the evils and
sorrows against which we are warned, by purifying our pleasures,
and giving life and strength to every better thought and feeling.
When Harry entered the gate of Wyllys-Roof, his heart beat with
joy again, as he saw Elinor, now his betrothed wife, awaiting his
return on the piazza; he joined her, and they had a long
conversation together in the fullness of confidence and
affection. They were at length interrupted by Miss Agnes, who
returned from the Hubbards'. The young people inquired
particularly after Miss Patsey.
"She is much more calm than she was yesterday; more like herself,
more resigned, thinking again of others, attending to Mrs.
Hubbard; she seems already to have found some consoling
thoughts."
"It seems, indeed," said Harry, "as if Hubbard's memory would
furnish consolation to his friends by the very greatness of their
loss; his character, his conduct, were always so excellent; the
best consolation for Miss Patsey."
"It is touching to see that excellent woman's deep affection for
one, so different from herself in many respects," observed Mr.
Wyllys.
"Fraternal affection is a very strong tie," said Miss Agnes
gently.
She might have added that it is one of the most honourable to the
human heart, as it is peculiar to our race. Other natural
affections, even the best, may be partially traced among the
inferior beings of creation; something of the conjugal, paternal,
and filial attachment may be roused for a moment in most living
creatures; but fraternal affection is known to man alone, and
would seem in its perfect disinterestedness, almost worthy to
pass unchanged to a higher sphere.
"I have often thought," said Mr. Wyllys, "that the affection of
an unmarried sister for a brother or a sister, whose chief
interests and affections belong by right to another, if not the
most tender, is surely the most purely disinterested and generous
which the human heart can know: and single women probably feel
the tie more strongly than others."
Mr. Wyllys was thinking when he spoke, of his daughter Agnes and
Patsey Hubbard; and he might have thought of hundreds of others
in the same circumstances, for happily such instances are very
common.
"I have never had either brother or sister, but I can well
imagine it must be a strong tie," said Elinor.
"I flattered myself I had been a sort of brother to you in old
times," said Harry smiling.
"Your romantic, adopted brothers, Nelly, are not good for much,"
said her grandfather. "We tried the experiment with Harry, and
see how it has turned out; it generally proves so, either too
much or too little. Don't fancy you know anything about plain,
honest, brotherly affection," he added, smiling kindly on his
granddaughter, who sat by his side.
Probably Harry was quite as well satisfied with the actual state
of things.
"But Charlie was also a son to Miss Patsey," he added, after a
moment.
"Yes; he had been almost entirely under her care from an infant,"
replied Miss Agnes.
"Poor Charlie!--little did I think that bright young head would
be laid in the grave before mine!" said Mr. Wyllys.
A moment's pause ensued.
"Much as I loved Hubbard, much as I regret his loss," said Harry,
"I shall always think of him with a melancholy pleasure."
"Excepting his loss, there does not seem indeed to be one painful
reflection connected with his name," observed Miss Agnes.
"Cherish his memory then among your better recollections," added
Mr. Wyllys, to Harry and Elinor. "And an old man can tell you the
full value of happy recollections; you will find one day the
blessing of such treasures of memory."
"It is a legacy, however, which the good alone can leave their
friends," said Miss Agnes.
And so it proved, indeed; after the first severe grief of the
sudden bereavement had passed away, the young man was remembered
among his friends with a peculiar tenderness, connected with his
youth, his genius, his excellent character, his blameless life,
and early death. Life had been but a morning to Charlie Hubbard,
but it was a glowing summer morning; its hours had not been
wasted, abused, misspent; brief as they were, yet in passing they
had brought blessings to himself, to his fellow-beings; and they
had left to those who loved him the best consolations of memory.