Volume Three—Chapter Thirty Four.

The Rolling Stone at Rest.

One bright May morning, from the turrets of two London churches pealed forth the sound of bells. Sadly discordant were they in tone, yet less so, than the causes for which they were being tolled. One was solemnly announcing the funeral of one, who had lived too long, or died too soon. Its mournful monotone proclaimed, that a spirit had departed from this world of woe, while the merry peals of the other betokened a ceremony of a far different character: that in which two souls were being united—to enjoy the supremest happiness upon earth.

It seemed a strange coincidence, that the very day chosen for my marriage with Lenore should be the one appointed for the funeral of Jessie H—. And yet such chanced to be the case.

I knew it; and the knowledge made me sad.

There was a time, when I would not have believed, that a cloud of sorrow could have cast its shadow over my soul, on the day I should be wedded to Lenore. But I did not then understand myself; or the circumstances in which Fate was capable of placing me.

Ten years have elapsed, since that day of mingled joy and sadness—ten years of, I may almost say, unalloyed happiness, in the companionship of a fond affectionate wife. During this time, I have made a few intimate friends; and there is not one of them would believe—from the quiet, contented manner in which I now pass my time that I had ever been a “Rolling Stone.” Since becoming a “Benedict,” I have not been altogether idle. Believing that no man can enjoy life, so well as he who takes a part in its affairs, I was not long settled in London, before entering into an occupation.

I am now in partnership with Captain Nowell, who has long since professionally forsaken the sea; and we are making a fair fortune, as ship agents and owners.

The only misunderstanding that has ever arisen between my brother William and myself, has been an occasional dispute: as to which of us is the happier.

We often hear from “the Elephant” and our sister Martha. The last letter received from them, informed us that we might soon expect to see them on a visit to the “old country.”

After the melancholy event that deprived them of their daughter, Mr H— and his family could no longer endure a residence in England; but returned to their colonial home. They lived to see little Rosa married, and happy—some compensation, perhaps, for the sorrow caused by her sister’s sad fate.

Cannon and Vane I only knew afterwards as occasional acquaintances. I have just heard of their meeting in Paris, where a quarrel occurred between them—resulting in a duel, in which the latter was killed. I have also heard, that, since the affair, Cannon has been seen at Baden-Baden—earning his livelihood as the croupier of a gaming table!

Mrs Nagger and my brother’s wife did not continue many months under the same roof; and the old housekeeper is now a member of my household—a circumstance of which I am sometimes inclined to say in her own words, “More’s the pity;” but this reflection is subdued, every time it arises, by respect for her many good qualities, and a regard for the welfare of my children.

Her days will probably be ended in my house; and, when that time comes, I shall perhaps feel inclined to erect over her grave a stone, bearing the inscription:

“Jane Nagger,
Died
And more’s the pity!”

Yet, I hope that many years may pass, ere I shall be called upon to incur any such expense on her account.

There was a time when roaming through the world, and toiling for Lenore, I thought I was happy. When riding over the broad plateaux of Mexico, amidst the scenes of lonely grandeur that there surrounded me—as also when toiling amidst the scenes of busier life in California—I believed my existence to be one of perfect happiness. I was travelling, and toiling, for Lenore.

But now that years have passed, and Lenore is mine—I find that what I then deemed happiness was but a prophetic dream. It is while seated by my own tranquil hearth, with my children around me, and she by my side—that true happiness finds its home in my heart.

When I allow my thoughts to dwell solemnly on the gifts that God has bestowed upon me, I feel grateful to that Providence that has watched over my fortunes, and ruled my heart to love only one—only “Lost Lenore.”

The End.