Chapter XII: A.d. 1868-1872

THE OLD HOME BROKEN UP

One letter at about this time gives particulars of how Charlotte tried to influence, not without results, a poor Roman Catholic woman, whom she came across in the Infirmary. Another makes allusion to the Ragged Schools and their work, in which she was always greatly interested. Yet another contains the answer to an inquiry from a niece about a book which should be bought, probably for a gift. The suggested choice ranges between Sir Walter Scott, Felicia Hemans, Jean Ingelow, the Author of _The Schonberg-Cotta Family_, and Miss Sewell,--a rather curious mixture.

TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.

‘_July 7, 1868._

‘I met a mole the other day in a field. It did not attempt to
get away, but let me stroke it; and had I chosen I could easily
have taken it up in my hand. This seems quite a country for
moles. I have seen them repeatedly. I take a greater interest
in them, from that book, _Homes Without Hands_, which your
father kindly gave me.’

TO THE SAME.

‘_Aug. 11, 1868._

‘We have strange pets here. There are numbers of wasps; I never
saw so many at any one time, I think. They sting our poor maids
in the kitchen, but behave in such a gentlemanly way in the
drawing-room, that, instead of a plague, they seem a pleasure
to dear Grandmamma. She watches them, feeds them, admires
their beauty, and calls them her babies. One got within Aunt
C----‘s jacket, which naturally rather alarmed her. She drew
the jacket off, and I found the wasp in the sleeve. It had been
between it and C----‘s bare skin, and yet had never stung her.

‘I dare say that you are rather impatient to be settled in
Firlands.’

TO THE SAME.

‘_Sept. 21, 1868._

‘On Saturday ---- and I read my _Castle of Carlsmont_ aloud
to dear Grandmamma. I have been amused at ----‘s little
criticisms, and shall like to know how far yours agree with
hers, if you read my Tragedy. ---- says that “Clara is rather
stupid”; that she likes Agnes best. “I have rather a sneaking
likeness for Agnes,” says she. She says that the ending
disappoints her; she would cut off the last page and the four
preceding lines, which would completely alter the whole ending.
The ending stood originally just as she would have it; but
years afterwards I added the page and four lines, which _I_
think an improvement.

‘Tell me frankly what you think, and whether you approve of
the style of binding. You remember when I talked to you about
the Tragedy, as we sat together in the garden. The two things
that occurred to you were,--how could I get the work, when
printed, _sold_; and that people would not like it in pamphlet
shape. Messrs. Nelson have obviated the first difficulty; and
by having covers put on by the Jewish Society, I have obviated
the second. I am sure my wee book will have your good wishes,
dear, that it may bring in a little sum to dear Auntie Fanny’s
Mission purse.

‘You will wonder what has become of that work of mine, of which
I read part to you last year. I can only warn you, my dear
Leila, when you write a story, don’t call it _On the Way_,--for
it seems to be always on the way, and never to arrive.

‘What a long note I have written! Pay me back by a review of my
Tragedy, and be as blunt as ever you like; for if you tell me
that my poor lady is “very stupid,” instead of “rather stupid,”
you will only make me smile.’

TO THE SAME.

‘_Feb. 4, 1869._

‘It is only fair that I should send you a long account of the
wedding.[16] I thought that I should be the first of the party
in church, for I went early; but I was mistaken. Gradually
a large family party gathered.... There was a good deal of
how-d’ye-doing and kissing and that kind of thing, before the
word was heard, “The bride is coming.”

‘Dear Bella looked nice and sweet, leaning on the arm of her
father. A large Honiton lace veil fell over her pure white silk
dress; her lovely hair plaited, instead of made into an ugly
chignon, appeared graceful under the white wreath, from which
a spray drooped down her neck. I did not think the bridesmaids
looking picturesque; there was too square a look about the
purple trimming of their white alpacas. The bridegroom
and bride stood side by side. I could see Bella’s profile
distinctly, and could hear every sentence, both when James and
when she repeated their vows.... There was no crying that I could
see.... You know that there were eight little children present,
four little boys and four little girls. Some of them were given
flowers from an ornamental basket, to strew in the path of the
bride, as her husband led her down the aisle.’

TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.

‘_June 12, 1869._

‘Sweet Grandmamma continues much the same,--serene,--without
pain, not exactly ill, but so delicate that she is still
carried up and down stairs, and sees none of the family
but Aunt Clara and myself, and only a little of me.... Dear
Grandmamma sent for me while I was writing the above; and to my
surprise I found her, pen in hand, busy with a note to welcome
Uncle Willy. I am much pleased that she should send him one,
though I should not have thought of asking her to make so great
an effort. Of course the note is very short.’

TO THE SAME.

‘_July 10, 1869._

‘My heart should be full of thankfulness, for to-day dear Aunt
Fanny was able to pay her first visit here to see Grandmamma.
Uncle and Aunt St. George[17] drove her here in their
pony-chaise; and she had quite enjoyed the drive. I thought
Aunt Fanny decidedly better; but dear Grandmamma--who has
scarcely realised the severity of her late illness,--said to
me, with evident disappointment, “I was surprised to see my
own Fanny look so pallid. I think she looks worse than I do.”
This is true; but then the fact is that Grandmamma’s lovely
pink and white complexion often makes her look stronger than
she is....

‘Uncle St. George has given me such a lovely piano-piece.
Grandmamma likes me to play it through every day, or I should
be inclined to lend it to your dearest Mother. It would remind
her so of the dear Ancient Concerts, the delight of our youth,
and of good old Mrs. Burrough. It is Glück’s music, arranged by
Calcott, from _Half-Hours with the Best Composers_, published
by Lonsdale. The piece commences with the delightful chorus
of Furies, Cerberus barking, etc., which your dear Mother may
remember.

‘I am ashamed of such an untidy scrawl as this. I do not know
how that blot on the first page made its appearance. Of course
the _writer_ was not to blame!... I could chat much longer with
you, dear one, but I have other notes to write; and my pen, or
ink, or paper, or something or other, will go wrong to-night,
so as to make the act of writing irksome, as well as the note
untidy.’

Another heavy blow, not less heavy because sooner or later inevitable, was now drawing very near. Mrs. Tucker, who had reached the age of eighty, had of late failed steadily; and Charlotte must have seen that this dear Mother was soon to pass away from their midst. Before the close of July the call came; and already every word that she spoke was treasured up by her daughter, as may be seen in the following letter:--

TO MRS. HAMILTON.

‘_July 12, 1869._

‘So many thanks to my beloved Laura for her valuable and
gratifying gift, which reaches me to-day. Dear Mother has heard
your sweet music twice over already, and both she and Clara
admire it. So do I. I wish that your song were published,
that more might benefit from it. I am pleased that you occupy
yourself in composing, love. I dare say Mother will often ask
for her Laura’s song. “Is not she a darling?” exclaimed Mother
to-day.

‘I not unfrequently sing, “Hark, my soul,” to sweet Mamma.
It is better to go over and over the same than to give much
variety, though I sometimes sing “Rock of Ages” also. I heard
Mother saying to herself one day, “Jesus speaks, and speaks
to me”; and she once observed of that hymn, “That takes one to
heaven.”

‘Dear Mother is much the same; not ill; with no fever, no pain;
just very delicate and weak. She was so particularly sweet
yesterday, Sunday. She looked lovely sitting by the large open
window, with a light gauze veil to keep off the flies. Mother
said that it had been “a holy day”--“a solemn day,”--and twice
asked me to read the Bible to her.... Once after waking she
observed that she felt “between Heaven and earth.” Mother has
repeatedly alluded to her dream of being in Heaven with Mrs.
Thornhill; and often talks of her father,--“such a holy man!”

‘She said yesterday, “I have been dreaming.” I observed, “I
hope they were pleasant dreams.” “Mostly prayerful,” was her
reply.... She is very serene and peaceful, which is such a mercy.’

TO MRS. HAMILTON.

‘_July 24, 1869._

‘BELOVED LAURA,--So tenderly and so gently the Lord has dealt
with our sweetest Mother! She woke this morning, and told
Cousins that she herself had slept too long. There was a slight
feeling of sickness about eight, which made Cousins call poor
Clara. In about an hour she gently fell asleep.... No pain
nor even consciousness at the last. I had gone to London on
business, as you know. I was telegraphed to; but ere I arrived
she--the sweet, the beloved--was where she had wished to be. O
Laura, Laura, she has long been drinking the _dregs_ of life,
however sweetened by affection. I felt for her. But I seem
as if I could hardly write connectedly. All the three dear
brothers have been here. St. George still is here. Poor dear
Fanny also,--she is to have my room, for she is so thankful to
be here. We have, however, only been allowed one very brief
glimpse and kiss of the revered remains. _Only_ remains, my
Laura. Think of her bliss! _She_ is not here.... Your fond

‘C. M. T.’

In Charlotte’s desk, kept as one of her greatest treasures, and found there, years later, after her own death, was the last note ever written to her by Mrs. Tucker. It contained these words--‘_My precious Charlotte, you have been such a comfort to me!_’ No wonder the loving utterance was treasured up by the daughter through the rest of her life.

During forty-eight years Charlotte Tucker had known but one home--No. 3 Upper Portland Place. Now at length in her forty-ninth year the inevitable family break-up had come; and the dear home of her infancy, of her girlhood, of her middle age, could be hers no longer. No. 3 had to be given up; and the sisters had to go forth into fresh scenes. The trial must to all of them have been great; perhaps least so to the gentle Fanny, already on the border-land of the Life beyond.

As a first move, Charlotte and Fanny went together for about two months to Sutton. An idea had, however, arisen of a home, at least for a time, with their brother, Mr. St. George Tucker, and his wife; and the next step was to join them at Wickhill, Bracknell, in the month of September 1869. This was Fanny’s last move. She was taken thither, from Sutton, most carefully by Charlotte, in a post-chaise; and the long drive does not appear to have materially affected her. Although by this time wasted to skin and bone, Fanny still kept about in the house; spending much time in her own sitting-room, yet often coming down among the rest for a short time; and during this autumn Charlotte seems to have chiefly devoted herself to Fanny. Before the close of November, however, the end of the long illness was reached.

One day, when speaking to her brother, in allusion to her earlier good health and plumpness, Fanny observed: ‘My dear St. George, I have been imprudent.’ She did not specify what manner of imprudence hers had been. Probably, like many another in a thoroughly healthy family, she had not soon enough read the true meaning of suspicious symptoms. During some four years past she had been steadily failing; and the end could but have been a joyous release to one so ready to go.

Thus blow upon blow had fallen between the years of thirty and fifty upon the golden staff of Charlotte Tucker’s Will. Her Father’s death; the death of Robert; the death of Letitia; the death of her Mother; the death of Fanny; all these one after another make a list of sorrows. Doubtless, _the_ most keen and bitter losses which she had to endure were, above all, the death of her almost idolised Father, and the death of Letitia. No other pain would equal these, dearly as she loved her brother Robert, her Mother, and Fanny, until her own peculiar sister-friend, Laura Hamilton, should be summoned away. Mercifully, that blow was not allowed to fall until a very short time before her own call Home.

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.

‘Good-night, my Leila. May the Almighty make you, my dear
Godchild, as unselfish, conscientious, and lowly as was the
loved one by whose grave I am to stand to-morrow.’

Although the plan of living with Mr. and Mrs. St. George Tucker was at no time regarded as a permanent arrangement for the remainder of Charlotte Tucker’s life, yet it actually lasted six years. For about eight months from September 1869 they all remained at Wickhill. In 1870 they removed to Windlesham, in Surrey; and in the following year, 1871, they again moved to ‘Woodlands,’ at Binfield in Berkshire, nine miles or so from Reading, and only about two and a half miles from Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton’s home, Firlands, near Bracknell. Charlotte had, therefore, from that time not only the interest of her little nephew and two little nieces in the house, but also of her sister Laura’s children within three miles. The companionship of a very favourite brother and of his affectionate wife, together with these little ones, work among the poor, writing, and many other occupations, made her life still a busy and a bright one.

In one letter written to a niece from Firlands, in 1870, she describes ‘the rural seclusion of this lovely place. I am charmed with Firlands, and the groves of fragrant pine in which I wander every morning.’ In another letter, dated February 1871, she says: ‘I hasten to give you the good news that Uncle St. George has taken “Woodlands” for seven years. I am so glad, and I am sure that you will be so also.’ This was to her Godchild. Thus she entered upon the final stage of her English life. Before the close of those seven years Charlotte Tucker was in India.

The following extracts from letters belong all to the two or three years after her Mother’s death:--

TO MISS LAURA V. TUCKER.[18]

‘_Feb. 10, 1870._

‘I took Sir Frederick and Lady Abbott[19] to-day to the Infant
School at Bracknell. They seemed to be much pleased, and so I
am sure were the Infants, as their visitors treated them with
sugar-plums and lemon-cakes, in return for a number of songs....
A translation of my _War and Peace_ has been made by Madame de
Lambert, and is coming out in the _Musée des Enfants_,--under
the name, I believe, of _Le Soldat Aveugle_.’

TO THE SAME.

‘_Dec. 12, 1870._

‘A lady was here the other day, who has a curious taste for
different creatures. She has had a slow-worm round her arm as
a bracelet--has kept an oyster which seemed to know her--and
taught frogs to come out of the water at the sound of their
names. One day, when she was quite young, she showed an old
gentleman one of her dear snakes, coiled up. He thought it an
imitation-one, and said something about good imitations,--when
the reptile began to hiss at him.

‘“O you horrid girl, it’s alive!” exclaimed the poor old
gentleman, forgetting his politeness in his sudden alarm and
disgust.

‘Baby is now thriving nicely, and getting quite fat. It is
funny to see her looking at the picture of the white kittens
and cherries. She gets quite excited, trying to clutch hold of
the cherries with her tiny hands.’

TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.

‘_May 12, 1871._

‘Many thanks, my sweet Leila, for your affectionate letter, and
also for your kindness in going to see Sarah Jones.

‘My darling Letitia! Notwithstanding all that has passed since
she was last pressed to my heart, the sudden blow of her loss
has left, I think, a deeper scar than any trial before or after
it. I seldom mention her name; and now my heart seems rising
into my throat as I write of her....

‘I feel tired, dear one, so will not write a long letter. I had
a long business walk before luncheon, and then the overland
letter to Uncle Willy to write, and a great deal of proof-sheet
of the _Lady of Provence_ to correct.’

TO MRS. J. BOSWELL.

‘_Nov. 13, 1872._

‘I am very busy, for there seems an almost endless field for
work in making foreign wall-texts; quite a new occupation
for me. In Italy and Spain they will now be warmly
welcomed,--India, Syria, China, Labrador, all offer openings.
I feel it so gracious in my dear Master to give me this little
work for Him, now that the power of composing seems to be taken
away. I find delight in going over and over the precious texts,
which I have to copy in various tongues. I do not think that I
ever before so realised their sweetness. I tried to gild my own
little works with Scripture truths; but now I have pure gold
to give to others,--without admixing with it any alloy of my
own.’

For awhile at about this time she seems to have lost almost entirely her power of writing; the failure being no doubt due to the state of her health, or to re-action from the strain of all that she had gone through in past years. She therefore spent many an hour in painting texts in different foreign languages, on a large scale, to be sent abroad.

The sacred poem which closes this chapter was written in the summer of 1871. It appeared in a little volume, called ‘_Hymns and Poems_‘, by A. L. O. E.

A DREAM OF THE SECOND ADVENT.

‘I dreamed that in the stilly hush of night--
Deep midnight--I was startled from my sleep
By a clear sound as of a trumpet! Loud
It swelled, and louder, thrilling every nerve,
Making the heart beat wildly, strangely, till
All other senses seemed in hearing lost.
Up from my couch I sprang in trembling haste,
Cast on my garments, wondering to behold
Through half-closed shutters sudden radiance gleam,
More clear, more vivid than the glare of day.
What marvel, then, that with a breathless hope
That gave me wings, forth from my home I rushed,
Though heaved the earth as if instinct with life,
Its very dust awakening. Can it be--
Is this the call, “Behold the Bridegroom comes!”
Comes He, the long-expected, long-desired?
Crowds thronged the street, with every face upturned,
Gazing into the sky,--the flaming sky--
Where every cloud was like a throne of light.
None could look back, not even to behold
If those beloved were nigh; one thrilling thought
Rapt all the multitude,--“Can HE be near?”
Then cries of terror rose--I scarcely heard;
And buildings shook and rocked, and crashing fell,--
I scarcely marked their fall; the trembling ground
Rose like the billowy sea,--I scarcely felt
The motion; such intensity of hope--
Joy--expectation--flooded all my soul;
A tide of living light, o’erwhelming all
The hopes and fears, the cares and woes of earth.
Could any doubt remain? Lo! from afar
A sound of “Hallelujah!” Ne’er before
Had mortal ear drunk in such heavenly strain,
Save when on Bethlehem’s plain the shepherds heard
The music of the skies.
Behold! Behold!
Like white-winged angels rise the radiant throng
That from yon cemetery’s gloomy verge
Have burst, immortal--glorious--undefiled!
Bright as the sun their crowns celestial shine,
Yet I behold them with undazzled eye.
Oh that yon glittering canopy of light
Would burst asunder, that I might behold
Him, whom so long, not seeing, I have loved!
It parted--lo! it opened--as I stood
With clasped hands stretched towards Heaven; my eager gaze
Fixed on the widening glory!
Suddenly,
As if the burden of the flesh no more
Could fetter down the aspiring soul to earth,
As if the fleshly nature were consumed--
Lost in the glowing ecstasy of love--
I soared aloft, I mounted through the air,
Free as a spirit, rose to meet my Lord,
With such a cry of rapture--that I woke!

‘O misery! to wake in darkness, wake
From vision of unutterable joy;
Instead of trumpet-sound and song of Heaven,
To hear the dull clock measuring out time,
When I had seemed to touch Eternity!
In the first pang of disappointed hope,
I wept that I could wake from such a dream;
Until Faith gently whispered, “Wherefore weep
To lose the faint dim shadow of a joy
Of which the substance shall one day be thine?
Live in the hope,--that hope shall brighten life,
And sanctify it to its highest end.”

‘Fast roll the chariot wheels of Time. HE comes!
The Spirit and the Bride expectant wait,--
Even so come, Lord Jesus! Saviour--come!’