Holiday House Part 23

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, G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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, antic.i.p.ated 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 G.o.d 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 fort.i.tude, 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 mult.i.tude 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 G.o.d. 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, G.o.d 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, "G.o.d 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 antic.i.p.ated. 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 pa.s.sed, 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.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LAST BIRTH-DAY.

Mere human power shall fast decay, And youthful vigour cease; But they who wait upon the Lord, In strength shall still increase.

Frank felt no unnatural apathy or indifference about dying, for he looked upon it with awe, though not with fear; nor did he express any rapturous excitement on the solemn occasion, knowing that death is an appointed penalty for transgression, which, though deprived of its sharpest sting by the triumphs of the cross, yet awfully testifies to all succeeding generations, that each living man has individually merited the utmost wrath of G.o.d, and that the last moment on earth, of even the most devoted Christian, must be darkened by the gloom of our original sin and natural corruption. Yet, "as in Adam all die, so in Christ are all made alive;" and amidst the throng of consolatory and affecting meditations that crowded into his mind on the great subject of our salvation, he kept a little book in which were carefully recorded such texts and reflections as he considered likely to strengthen his own faith, and to comfort those he left behind--saying one day to Major Graham,

"Tell grandmama, that though my days have been few upon the earth, they were happy! When you think of me, uncle David, after my sufferings are over, it may well be a pleasing remembrance, that you were always the best, the kindest of friends. Oh! how kind! but I must not--cannot speak of that----. This is my birth-day!--my last birth-day! Many a joyous one we kept together, but those merry days are over, and these sadder ones too shall cease; yet the time is fast approaching, so welcome to us both,

'When death-divided friends at last Shall meet to part no more.'"

In the evening, Major Graham observed that Frank made Mrs. Crabtree bring everything belonging to him, and lay it on the table, when he employed himself busily in tying up a number of little parcels, remarking, with a languid smile,

"My possessions are not valuable, but these are for some old friends and messmates, who will be pleased to receive a trifling memorial of one who loved them. Send my dirk to Peter Grey, who is much reformed now. Here are all the letters any of you ever sent me; how very often they have been read! but now, even that intercourse must end; keep them, for they were the dearest treasures I possessed. At Madras, formerly, I remember hearing of a nabob who was bringing his whole fortune home in a chest of gold, but the ropes for hoisting his treasure on board were so insufficient, that the whole gave way, and it fell into the ocean, never to be recovered. That seemed a very sudden termination of his hopes and plans, but scarcely more unexpected than my own. 'We are a wind that pa.s.seth away and cometh not again.' Many restless nights are ordained for me now, probably that I may find no resource but prayer and meditation. Others can afford time to slumber, but I so soon shall sleep the sleep of death, that it becomes a blessing to have such hours of solitary thought, for preparing my heart and establishing my faith, during this moment of need."

"Yes, Frank! but your prayers are not solitary, for ours are joined to yours," added Laura. "I read in an old author lately, that Christian friends in this world might be compared to travellers going along the same road in separate carriages--sometimes they are together--often they are apart--sometimes they can exchange a.s.sistance, as we do now--and often they jostle against each other, till at last, having reached the journey's end, they are removed out of these earthly vehicles into a better state, where they shall look back upon former circ.u.mstances, and know even as they are known."

Laura was often astonished to observe the change which had taken place in her own character and feelings within the very short period of their distress. Her extreme terror of a thunder-storm formerly, had occasioned many a jest to her brothers, when Harry used, occasionally, to roll heavy weights in the room above her own, to imitate the loudest peals, while Frank sometimes endeavoured to argue her out of that excessive apprehension with which she listened to the most distant surmise of a storm. Now, however, at Hammersmith, long after midnight, the moon, on one occasion, became completely obscured by dense heavy clouds, and the air felt so oppressively hot, that Frank, who seemed unusually breathless, drew closer to the window. Laura supported his head, and was deeply occupied in talking to him, when suddenly a broad flash of lightning glared into the room, followed by a crash of thunder, that seemed to crack the very heavens. Again and again the lightning gleamed in her face with such vividness, that Laura fancied she could distinguish the heat of it, and yet she stirred not, nor did a single exclamation, as in former days, arise on her lips.

"Pray shut the window, Laura," said Frank languidly, raising his eyes; "and be so kind as to close the shutters!"

"Why, Frank?--you never used to be alarmed by thunder!"

"No! nor am I now, dear Laura. What danger need a dying person fear?

Some few hours sooner or later would be of little consequence--

Come he slow, or come he fast, It is but death that comes at last.

Yet, Laura, do you think I have forgotten old times! Oh, no!--not while I live. You attend to my feelings, and surely it is my duty to remember yours."