CHAPTER XXXII.
"All is not here of our belov'd and blessed,—
Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest!" Mrs. Hemans.
Wednesday, October 15th, 1845.
My dearly loved mother,—How can I express words of sympathy to you, when my heart is so full of grief on my own account, from such a loss as I can never experience but once, the loss of a father.
To lose a parent under any circumstances is a heavy affliction; but to lose such a father, and to be unable to administer to his comfort, by his sick bed; to receive and treasure the words of love and wisdom which fall from his lips,—to hear his last prayer, and receive his last blessing, is indeed a sorrow heavy to be borne. You, my dear my only surviving parent, have one source of comfort, which though it may at present aggravate the loss you have sustained, will yet be an unspeakable blessing to you; and that is in the precious memories of your dear husband. These remembrances of the past, how will you live in them after the first poignancy of your grief has abated; how greatly will they sustain you.
I can truly say, that not one unpleasant word, not one unholy expression comes up to disturb the hallowed remembrance of my dearly loved father. On the contrary, every hard feeling is softened, every unkind thought subdued, when I think of his meek, loving spirit, and recollect his words of love toward all mankind. "Dear, dear father! And shall I never see thee more? never more gaze into thy mild blue eyes, and see the looks of parental fondness beaming there—never more feel thy warm embrace, or hear thy gentle voice say, 'my daughter!'"
Ah! in the midnight hour I see thee oft,
And hear thy voice—
Thy mingled words of love and tenderness.
And thou dost point me to the promis'd land,
Where now thou dwell'st—
The better land of never ending bliss.
My dear mother, if anything earthly could alleviate a sorrow like mine, it is the hope, though yet faint, that I shall ere long look upon your dear face and from your own lips hear the answer to the many questions my heart yearns to ask. Do not disappoint me. Have I not a claim upon you for a few years? I can anticipate one objection you will feel in leaving the spot consecrated as the resting place of your beloved husband. But, dear mother, he is not there. He is with his Saviour, and the throne of grace is as near us in America as in England.
My dear Frank is almost as earnest in this request as I am, and will meet you in New York, if Isabel or Nelly will go with you to Liverpool and put you in charge of some one coming direct to that place. I long to show you my treasures. Pauline you will love as if she were your own; and Nelly's face is wreathed in smiles at the name of grand-mamma Gordon. Franky is a merry, joyous little fellow, who wins his way to every heart. He holds out his arms to any one who comes in, and never was the old adage, "love begets love," more true than in his case; for many persons who are not in the habit of noticing children, are so well pleased at the readiness with which the child concludes them to be friends, that they are never weary of praising him.