You can see immediately how it all ended. A friendship begun in mere indifference had ripened through six years into deep, genuine affection. He never dreamed that he loved Annie until he found that she was essential to his existence. For the first time he knew what true love was. He found that it was not the sensual flush of passion, such as warmed him under the hot beauty of Dora—that it was not the fever of the imagination which diseased him under the moonlight of Marie. He found that love was not a passion but a feeling; was not a fit but a condition; was not a hot flush of blood, but the quick, even, everlasting flow of the heart’s tide, giving health and life to the whole man.
I am writing nothing but actual fact, and so I cannot say how he told Annie his love and how she accepted him. He has talked to me—I do believe in all it amounts to several hundred hours—about Dora and Marie. He has quoted to me at least one dozen dozen times every word that ever passed between him and them, but he never told me any thing about his love conversation with Annie. They are married. They seem perfectly happy in the quiet possession of each other and of the blue-eyed baby boy that laughs in their arms.
This was the making of Charles Bell. A remark of mine has led to the development of his noble form, and the establishment of that full health so essential to successful labor. His love for Dora has expanded his heart and warmed and flushed him all through and through with an affection and persuasion and love, that shows itself in his every tone and smile and clasp of the hand and word. His affair with Marie has cultivated his imagination perhaps. His painful experience with Mr. Nelson has corrected all false ideas of men—has given him caution, self-possession, self-reliance and energy. He has learned to meet things as they come; to do his utmost, and then, not only not murmur at whatever happens but actually to acquiesce, to rejoice in every event. Annie is an infinite blessing to him. He is full of impulse, and she, by a silent, irresistable influence, controls and directs it. He is full of noble aspiration but inclined to be fickle—she is ever pouring oil on the fire of his soul as with an unseen angel hand—is silent and uncongenial when he wanders from his better self—and thus draws him quietly but irresistibly back.
Of course there were many circumstances in politics and situation which conspired to elevate him to his present position. I have only alluded to the quiet under-current of his private life. I wrote what I have written only because I felt like doing so. I do not think either he or Annie will be offended at my freedom should they read this—especially as I have not mentioned his State or his real name. I am heartily sick of all romance and romantic ideas and descriptions of men and women, but I do look upon the “Hon. Charles Bell and his amiable lady,” as the Washington papers will call them, as two of the finest persons in all my knowledge. Both are most sincere Christians, and singular as it may seem to some, I regard their companionship and mutual influence as one which is to last not only through this poor world, but through all eternity. I would like exceedingly to write out my ideas on this point, but I cannot do it now. Besides, the editor may be married to a second wife, and in that case, would most certainly refuse admission to this little sketch in the pages of his magazine.
FUNERAL OF ALLSTON.
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BY ELIHU SPENCER.
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Speaking of Allston, I was told in Boston that his funeral was by torch-light, after nine in the evening, and one of the most impressive and befitting ceremonies ever witnessed. New York Correspondent Nat. Intelligencer.