A.D. 1864-1866
A HEAVY SHADOW
The afternoon shadows were again to darken around Charlotte Tucker; and one blow after another had to fall. Her mother was growing old, and in no long time would be called away. The health of her gentle sister, Fanny, had begun to fail, never to be entirely restored. But a yet sharper sorrow, because utterly unlooked for, was to come before the loss of either her mother or her sister, like a flash of lightning into the midst of clear sunshine.
Of all the many whom she dearly loved, none perhaps lay closer to her heart than Letitia, the only daughter of her brother Robert,—the youngest of ‘the Robins.’ The two boys were now out in the world, one in India, one at sea; but Letitia hitherto had never left her, except for visits here or there among relatives and friends. One who knew them both well describes the contrast between aunt and niece at this period,—Charlotte Tucker, ‘so upright and animated, very thin, fair, with auburn hair, not very abundant, but which curled slightly, naturally,’—and Letitia, ‘grave, with beautiful dark eyes and hair, and rather dark complexion.’ Another speaks of Letitia as tall and handsome, with dark eyes, dark chestnut hair, regular features, and sweet smile.
The gravity seems to have been a marked characteristic of this gifted young girl. From very babyhood she was[127] earnestly religious, and of a peculiarly serious temperament; though at the same time energetic and sometimes even lively. She had not her aunt’s spirit of fun; but the two were alike in generosity and in determination. Perhaps Charlotte Tucker’s training had especially developed these traits in her niece. A favourite proverb of Letitia’s was—‘Perseverance conquers difficulties’;—and it would have served equally well for A. L. O. E.
Letitia was also very fond of little children, and she worked much among the poor. She was an exceedingly good and fearless rider; and at twenty years old there was already promise of a literary gift. Her passion for reading was so great that Hallam’s History was a recreation in her eyes. She had written at least one short story, which had found its way into print, and many pretty, simple verses, chiefly of a religious character. One of her hymns, composed at the age of eighteen, may be given here:—
‘My soul was dark, for o’er its sight
The shades of sorrow fell;—
In Thee alone there still was light,
Jesus, Immanuel!
‘And all around me and above
There hung a gloomy spell;—
I should have died without Thy love,
Jesus, Immanuel!
‘For in my sinking heart there beat
An ever-sounding knell;—
But still I knew the “promise sweet,”
Jesus, Immanuel!
‘I looked to Thee through all my fears,
The pain and grief to quell;—
Thy Hand hath wiped away my tears,
Jesus, Immanuel!
[128]
‘I heard a low, “a still small voice,”
Soft whisper, “It is well”;—
And knew the Saviour of my choice,
Jesus, Immanuel!
‘And still, o’er all life’s changing sea,
In calm or stormy swell,
I’ll look in faith straight up to Thee,
Jesus, Immanuel!’
On November 28, 1864, Letitia left English shores, to join her uncle, Mr. St. George Tucker and his family, in India. Letters of Charlotte Tucker, referring to the event, have not come to hand; but she must have felt the separation very keenly, whatever might have been the precise reasons which led to the move. Letitia had now been practically her child for eighteen years; and a close tie existed between the two. But no doubt Charlotte looked upon the parting as of a very temporary nature; as merely sending her child away for a longer visit than any preceding. The real anguish of separation came a year later, when suddenly the young girl was summoned to her true Home.
The few following extracts lie between these two dates,—the going of Letitia to India, and the tidings of her death.
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Jan. 3, 1865.
‘Many thanks, my dear Leila, for your affectionate note.... There was another nice cheerful note from my Letitia to-day. She wrote it when on the Red Sea, which she evidently found very warm, for she described the ship as a “hothouse,” and said that she and her fellow-passengers would be “fine exotics” before they arrived. There had been two Services on board on Sunday, and Letitia had heard two excellent sermons. Mary Egerton had her harmonium on board, which had been brought up from the hold, so there was nice hymn-singing too. How sweet the music must have sounded on the water![129] I think that, steaming over the Red Sea, one would have liked to have raised the song of the Israelites—
“Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea,
Jehovah hath triumphed, His people are free!”
‘My dear sailor is to leave us on the 17th or 18th for China. I believe that he is to travel part of the journey in the same vessel as the Cuthbert Thornhills, who were to have taken charge of Letitia had our first arrangements held good. They will have one Robin instead of the other. Poor dear Mrs. Thornhill, what a sad parting is before her! I had a loving note very lately from my Louis. He fears that he will not get leave to see his dear sister for a twelve-month.
‘The weather here has been chilly. None of the ladies have ventured out of the house since Saturday; but Charley has in vain longed for skating. Ice forms, then melts again. Dear Grandmamma keeps wonderfully free from cold; but then she remains in the house.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON. (Undated.)
‘My loved boy left us yesterday, quiet and firm, shedding no tear. We (Mamma) had a little note from him this morning,—such a simple one,—you might have fancied that he had only left us for a week. Dear boy! I trust that he is going into sunshine; above all I hope and pray that his Father’s God will ever be with him. It would not have been well for him to have remained much longer in London with nothing particular to do. Active life is most wholesome to a fine strong man like my Charley....
‘Dear Mother keeps well. Sweet Fan I cannot give so good an account of. I have urged Mother to have further advice; and I believe that there will be a little consultation on Friday; but perhaps you had better not write about this, except to me.’
TO THE SAME.
‘Nov. 15, 1865.
‘What a bright account you give of your dear busy young party! Tell dear Otho that I shall be charmed if he makes the discovery of a magenta-coloured caterpillar, or a mauve earwig; and that as it will be ten times as curious as the Spongmenta Padella, it ought to have a Latin name ten times as long. I don’t despair of the great sea-serpent[130] Did I tell you that dear Mrs. Thornhill had, when a girl, conversed with a Mrs. Hodgeson, wife of one of the Governors of our West Indian possessions, who had watched the movements of two that were fighting in the waves for about ten minutes?
“’Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,
One glance at such a fray!—”
I took down the particulars, as I thought them very curious....
‘This is my sweet Letitia’s birthday; she is just twenty.... My Letitia is going to pay Louis a visit at Moultan.’
No foreboding whisper in her heart spoke of what that visit to Moultan, so lightly mentioned, would mean to them all. When the two next letters were penned, little as Charlotte dreamt of what was coming, the blow had already fallen, and Letitia had passed away.
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Jan. 2, 1866.
‘May the best blessings of the opening year rest upon my beloved Laura, and her dear circle.
‘I hope that dear Leila received my Rescued from Egypt in the Christmas box. I put it up for her, and to the best of my knowledge it went to Bournemouth; but as neither she nor you have mentioned seeing it, I feel half afraid that in some way I cannot imagine it has missed its destination, and the dear girl has fancied that when sending little remembrances to her brothers I had forgotten her.
‘Such a delightful budget of letters I had from Letitia by last Southampton mail! She writes that she is “very very happy.”’
TO THE SAME.
‘Jan. 3, 1866.
‘I feel that I have not said half enough to your dear husband for his splendid book. I was in such a hurry to write and thank him, that I only gave myself time for a cursory glance.... Dear Fanny enjoyed looking at the pictures with me; and to-day I carried up my book to dear Mother, that she might have the pleasure also. She admires your dear husband’s gift greatly, and we agree that it is just the book to take to the Cottage. It seems to be quite a treasure of curious and interesting knowledge; a volume to keep for reference as[131] well as for perusal. Do thank dear Mr. Hamilton again for me, and tell him that I consider Homes Without Hands as a family acquisition.
‘We are all much in statu quo. Our time is now passing swiftly and pleasantly. Mother looks so bright and bonny and young! We were talking together to-day of your and your dear husband’s kindness to sweet Fanny. I am sure that it has not been lost.’
Then came the mournful news; and a hasty short scrawl conveyed the first intimation of it from Charlotte Tucker to her niece, ‘Leila’ Hamilton; a note without any formal beginning:—
‘Break to your sweet Mother and Aunt Mina that God has taken my darling Letitia. His Will be done,—Your sorrowing Aunt,
‘C. M. T.
‘All was peace,—smiling!’
The illness had been short,—a severe attack of erysipelas, while Letitia was in her brother’s house at Moultan. Somewhat early in the illness she had said,—‘I am sure I shall die; but one ought not to mind, you know.’ While delirious she was heard to say distinctly,—‘Ta,’—her pet name in the past for her aunt Charlotte; but the message, if there were one, could not be distinguished.
After much wandering, she regained sufficient consciousness to assure those around that she was suffering no pain; and five or six times she repeated to her brother,—‘I am very fond of you!’ This was on a Wednesday. The next day, Thursday, she was too weak for speech; though in the morning, recognising her brother, she gave him a sweet smile. Thenceforward the dying girl was entirely peaceful; as said by one of those present,—‘constantly smiling. Her whole face was lighted up as with extreme pleasure.’ All day this continued, as she slowly sank; the face remaining perfectly calm and untroubled; till at length, when she passed away, soon after eleven o’clock at night, ‘she ceased to breathe so gently that she seemed[132] to have fallen into a deep sleep.’ But the placid smile was still there, unchanged, till the sweet young face was hidden away.
Charlotte Tucker, writing to her sister, Mrs. Hamilton, about these sad particulars, which yet were not all sad, observed:—
‘I am sure your heart has been aching, and your eyes have been weeping. Such a sudden—such an unexpected stroke! But God is Wisdom and Love....
‘Darling—my own darling Letitia! Oh, when she looked so happy, did she not see the angels—or her beloved Father—or the Bedwells and old Rodman whom she had so tended,—perhaps all coming to welcome her,—or the loving Saviour Himself? I do not grudge her to Him; but oh, what a wealth of love I have (apparently) lost in that one young heart! Her last parcel of letters to me contained sweet commissions for her poor.... I dare say that I shall hear from you to-morrow; but it is a relief to me to write now to you, who were so kind and dear to her. I went out before breakfast this morning. A thrush was singing so sweetly. I saw the first crocus of the year. My flower,—my lovely one,—she may now be singing in joy, while we sit in sorrow.’
This letter was dated January 21; and three days later another went to Mrs. Hamilton, not from Charlotte, but from Fanny:—
‘My own dearest Laura,—Your dear letters have been very soothing to our Charlotte, and have helped to remind her of the mercies mingled with the bereavement. The sure sweet hope that her darling is safe, and for ever happy, has been her strong consolation; and God is mercifully supporting her, I am thankful to say. Last Sunday she went both to Church and to the Workhouse.
‘I am thankful to be near her, to minister to her,—but wish I were a better comforter, such as you would have been, dear.
‘The sad tidings were most gently broken to our dear Mother by Clara. She was therefore mercifully spared the shock of the sudden intelligence.
‘With kindest remembrances to dear Mr. Hamilton, and love to your dear self and your dear ones, believe me, dearest Laura, your very affectionate
‘F. Tucker.’
[133]
C. M. T. TO A COUSIN.
‘Jan. 24, 1866.
‘Many thanks for your kind sympathy. My sweet consolation indeed is that my own darling girl sleeps in Jesus. When such a bright look of “extreme pleasure” lighted up the dear face of one called away in the bloom of her youth and beauty, was she not realising her own sweet lines,—
“I heard a Voice, ‘a still small Voice,’
Soft whisper, ‘It is well,’
And knew the Saviour of my choice,
Jesus, Immanuel”?’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘Feb. 6, 1866.
‘Did I ever tell you that my darling wrote to me when she was at the Hills, saying that she did not wish me to be altogether disappointed in regard to her, and asking me whom I would wish her to try to resemble. I mentioned you,—for I thought that as her disposition was lively, it would be more easy for her to try to be like you than dear Fanny; besides she had seen you as a wife and mother, and I did not know whether the Almighty might not destine her to be such. He had something “far better” for my loved one.
‘It will interest you to know that G—— (P——‘s protégée), after winning honours at Cambridge, wishes to be baptized as a Christian. Amy H—— and her husband are to be two of his witnesses, and he is anxious that dear Henry[11] should be the third; for it was Henry’s consistent character which first showed him what Christianity really is.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Feb. 13, 1866.
‘I thank you lovingly, dearest Leila, for your letter. I prize your affection,—you write to me almost as my own darling used to write. If my health had broken down, so that I could not have been a comfort to dear Grandmamma and Aunt Fanny here, I should thankfully have accepted the invitation which you so affectionately press; but as I keep pretty well, I do not think that it would be[134] well for me to leave my post at home. Dear Grandmamma seems to cling to me so,—she is so loving! I am thankful that she keeps so well. Dear Aunt Fanny was not so well for two days, but is better again....
‘My darling once wrote and asked me whose character I would like her to try to copy as a pattern. I gave her your sweet Mother’s. She replied that it would be difficult, but that it was well to aim high. I think that you will like to know this. You have the same sweet model always before you; you, dear one, have advantages that my darling had not.
‘Though I have cried over this note, it has soothed me to write it; I have felt as if I were taking another dear young niece to my heart,—a sad heart, but I trust not an ungrateful one for the earthly affection which is God’s gift, and of which I have been granted much.—Your affectionate Aunt and Godmother
‘C. M. T.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘1866.
‘I send you on the other page a few lines which came into my mind yesterday in regard to my sweet Letitia:—
‘A Thought.
‘She travelled to the glorious East; she met the rising sun,—
And even so her day of heavenly bliss was soon begun;
I knew ’twas sunrise with my child, while night was o’er me weeping,
E’er closed my weary day, my darling was serenely sleeping.
And so Thou didst ordain, O Lord, as Thou didst deem it best,—
That hers should be the earlier dawn, and hers the earlier rest.’
TO MISS B. F. TUCKER.
‘May 22, 1866.
‘I have been learning a new art, and am thankful to find that I have sufficient energy left in me to do so. I sent for some reading in embossed letters for a blind man here, and amused myself by puzzling it out myself. I have succeeded in reading right through the fourteenth of St. John in two sittings of about an hour and twenty minutes each. It was an effort of memory as well as attention, as some of the letters are utterly unlike those to which we have been accustomed. The poor blind man promises well to acquire the art, I think.’
[135]
TO THE SAME.
‘July 16, 1866.
‘Have you seen the mysterious sky-visitor? On Friday evening our maids saw something like three stars, one red,—but they disappeared. On the following night Cousins[12] called me to look on what I would not have missed seeing for a good deal. About thirty degrees above the horizon, I should think, shone what was like a star, but more splendid than any that I had ever beheld, of a brilliant magenta colour. It was no falling star passing rapidly through the sky, but appeared quite fixed in the heavens for—perhaps ten minutes. As I gazed with something like awe on its wondrous beauty, suddenly its colour utterly changed; the magenta became white, with a greenish tinge; and then—as suddenly—the star disappeared; not as if hidden by a cloud, but as if put out.
‘I watched for the mysterious light last night, but could not see it; the evening had been so strangely dark that we had lighted candles an hour before sunset, though our window looks to the west. No star was visible to me; but our maids had a short glimpse of a strange light. I am sitting by the window now to watch for the visitor in the north-west.... I searched The Times to-day to see if there were any mention of it, but could find none.’
Evidently Charlotte Tucker had been fortunate enough to see a very fine meteor; though probably the supposed duration of ten minutes was in reality a good deal shorter. The idea of watching for the same meteor next night is somewhat amusing. The maids doubtless saw what they expected to see; but Charlotte Tucker, though non-scientific, was far too practical so to indulge her powers of imagination.
In another letter written during this same July to Mrs. Hamilton occurs one little sentence well worth quoting, for it is a sentence which might serve as a motto for many a seemingly empty and even purposeless life—
‘It is sweet to be somebody’s sunshine.’
In June Mrs. Tucker had written to a friend,—‘Charlotte[136] walked twice to church, and thinks she is stronger.’ And in a letter to Mrs. Hamilton, on the 23rd of July, Charlotte said of herself,—‘I am quite well now, and up to work’;—yet the following to a niece, on September 1st, does not speak of fully restored energies:—
‘I have so much to be grateful for, I wish that I were of a more thankful spirit. It seems as if this year had aged me. When I saw a bright creature like ——, I mentally contrasted her with myself, and thought,—“She has not the gee out of her. Cheerfully and hopefully she enters on her untried sphere of work. In her place I should be taking cares!”—very wrong of me. I often take myself to task.
‘I feel putting off my dark dress for one day on Wednesday.... My darling was to me what she was not to her other Aunts.’
To some people, or in certain states of body and mind, the afternoon is apt to be a more tired time than the evening. At this stage in Charlotte Tucker’s Afternoon of life she passed through a somewhat weary spell, though never really ill; but her energies were to revive for the work of her Eventide.
On October 6th she could say,—
‘I am not poorly, though I look thin; I think that I am stronger in health and firmer in spirit now than I have been almost all this trying year; and for this I am thankful.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Nov. 2, 1866.
‘Your sweet Mother will wonder at not receiving the little book which I promised to send her; but our bookseller, from whom I ordered the copy, has been unable to get it yet. I will tell you something that may cause delay. Of course I looked with some interest at the illustrations which my Publisher sent me; but I was not a little surprised in the last one to find one whom I considered to be a man represented as a bear! He was bearish in character certainly, but still—certainly not a bear in shape.
‘Of course I wrote to Mr. Inglis about it; who replied that he[137] had been annoyed himself at the resemblance to a bear, and had sent the picture more than once to be altered, and had been at last so much provoked that he had paid off the artist altogether. Now, though I may be a little sorry for the poor man,—I never proposed his dismissal,—I confess I am rather glad that he is not to illustrate my books any more. There is no saying what creature he might turn my characters into next. Mr. Inglis is going to have the picture altered; so this may occasion delay.’