Charlotte was not crushed by these sorrows. This is plainly to be seen. Although the wild spirits and abounding glee of her childhood were toned down, she was still active, still buoyant, still able to enjoy life. She sorrowed, but by no means as one without hope; and if her life was shadowed, it had not lost its spring. As time went by, the spirit of fun and mirthfulness revived; and the little ones in her new home could not fail to be a fresh delight to one who so greatly loved children. Even the earlier letters after her Mother’s death are not only calm but cheerful.
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Aug. 23, 1869.
‘I cannot help hoping very sincerely that Uncle St. G. may find a house near Bracknell, large enough to hold Aunt Fanny and myself, as well as his own party. Would it not be nice? But I am rather guarded about setting my heart on anything of the sort. Aunt Fanny would like it very much.... It would be like a haven to me. I think I know one young maiden who would not be sorry to have her old godmother within reach of a walk. But I am quietly waiting to see how things are arranged for me.... I have to manage things for Aunt Fanny, as well as for myself, just as if I were her husband. It is very new work to me. I am not, like your dear Mother, accustomed to think and arrange about a mass of property.’
TO THE SAME.
‘Dec. 2, 1869.
‘I hope that my sweet Leila has not thought me unmindful of her loving sympathy because I have not thanked her before for her note. I am sure that you have heard of us from your beloved Mother, who so tenderly shared my watch by the bedside of my heart’s sister. O Leila dear, does not such a peaceful, holy departure show us that our Lord has indeed taken the sting from death? Without Him, how terrible would be the dark Unknown!—with Him, how bright is the valley!
‘Sweet Aunt Fanny quoted to me not long ago, I suppose in reference to departure,—“When Thou wilt; where Thou wilt; how Thou wilt!” I think that the last chapter which I read to her was Romans viii. It is such a long chapter, that I stopped at about the 25th verse, fearing to tire the dear invalid; but she made me finish the chapter.
‘I went out of the drawing-room window before sunrise to-day, to gather flowers to make into wreaths. The gardener had not opened the greenhouse; but I found much more than I should have expected in the beginning of December,—even rosebuds. The ferns look lovely still. A few days ago I made a wreath of myrtle. I thought it like an emblem of my own sweet sister; sweetest when bruised; with an unfading leaf; and a white, simple-looking, yet lovely blossom.