Grace Darling and her father would soon have forgotten their heroic act had they been left to do so. But the people they had saved, in their gratitude and wonder, told the story wherever they went. Accounts of it appeared in all the papers, and flew over the world. The bleak island and lonely lighthouse were visited by thousands, eager to get a sight of the noble heroine and her brave old father. Costly presents and tributes of admiration poured in upon them from all quarters. The Duke and Duchess of Northumberland invited them over to Alnwick Castle, and presented Grace with a gold watch;—the Humane Society passed a vote of thanks for her heroism, and sent her a handsome piece of plate. A public subscription was raised for her benefit, and amounted to about seven hundred pounds—some three thousand five hundred dollars.
All this fame and applause for what seemed to her a simple act of humanity, surprised and almost overwhelmed the modest girl. She shrank from the curious looks of strangers who thronged to see her, and became more shy and reserved than ever—she refused all invitations to go out into the world—but dividing many of her gifts between her brothers and sisters, she remained with her father and mother at the lighthouse, cheerfully fulfilling her humble domestic duties. God had made her very noble, and the whole world could not spoil her.
But not long was her beautiful, heroic life to brighten that lone and desolate spot. In the fall of 1841 she fell into delicate health, and symptoms of consumption soon manifested themselves. She was removed to the house of her sister at Bamborough, on the coast. It was thought she would get better when the Spring came—but it was not so. She still continued to fail—to fade and fade away. She was taken to Alnwick, from which she was to proceed to Newcastle for medical advice. While at Alnwick, the Duchess of Northumberland treated her with all a sister's kindness—sent her own physician to her—supplied her with every luxury, and better than all, went often to see her, very plainly dressed, and without a single attendant. She had the good sense to lay aside as it were, her coronet—forget her title before the better nobility of that dying girl—and so proved herself something far greater than a Duchess—a true and loving woman.
Grace was soon taken back to Bamborough, that she might meet death with all her loved ones around her. And there, in the place where she was born, she died, on the 20th of October, 1842. She took leave of all her friends calmly, and very tenderly—giving to each one something to keep in remembrance of her—then meekly folded her hands on her breast, and slept in God's peace. She was buried within sound of the sea—within sight perhaps of the lighthouse, and the rock of the wreck—and the sea seems to mourn for her now, and the lighthouse and the rock are her monuments.
Yet, though Grace Darling should be forgotten on earth, though the lighthouse should fall—the rock crumble away—the sea cease to murmur of her—her name shall not perish, for it is written in the Lord's "Book of Life," and she dwells now where storms and death cannot come, and where "there is no more sea."
[Hymn,]
WRITTEN FOR A SABBATH SCHOOL PIC-NIC.
Our dear Lord Jesus, thou didst call
Young children once to thee—
Didst hold them in thy loving arms,
And bless them tenderly;—
Now, like those children, let us come
And gather round thy knee.
Oh teach us that God dwelleth here—
These woods his leafy shrines—
That incense rises from the flowers,
And fragrant swinging vines,
And wordless psalms swell up from out
The solemn sounding pines.