Herald of the times. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1830-1846, 1835-03-19
AFFECTING SCENE.


transact here, and thinking that change OF
climate and sea air might be beneficial to her
health, he brought her with him, and having
placed her in pleasant and retired situation,
! he left her to attend to his business in some
other part of the country. But soon learn
ed that this beautiful and interesting female,
was the victim of that disease-whicb, IN his
desolate march, sweeps so many OF the young
and lovely into the grave. Consumption had
fastened upon her young and delicate frame,
and although tos time 1t appeared to have
been checked, it suddenly re-appeared with
all the symptoms ofspeedy and rapid dssolu-
ton. Her brother was immediately sent tor,
but the letters did not reach him until 1t was
too late. then learned that she had low
er, whose anxiety for her health had induced
him to leave his country to follow her here,
and that he was actually on his passage.
| Her situation was now truly distressing;
her brother absent, her lover not yet arrived,
a stranger in strange land, the hand OF death
upon, and conscious that it was dealing with
her-yet never did marmur escape her lips.
| visited her constantly, till thought her too
Ill to receive NE, when reluctantly dlscon-
tinued my visits till informed she expressed
regret at my absence. ! called Immediately
to see her. She was sitting in n CHAIR
! head reclining on the back, with that unnatu-
raj but beautiful bloom so peculiar to the dis
ease. Her eye kindled for moment as en-
tered "This is kind" said she. approached
and took her hand, which was already wasted
into the ghastly resemblance of skelcton.-
This is indeed kind-l feel a stranger in your
beat utful country, but shall soon 60 home. ,
| could only reply by pressing the hand |
held-my heart was too full for utterance.-
81 do not fear DEATH" she continued, "for
am in the hands of that merciful Providence,
who has ever been kind to me; but feel that
could meet it with more composure, under
the paternal roof amid the friends of my
childhood. Those trees" said she, pointing
to some oaks that were waving before the
open windows-"those trees are beautiful,
but they are not the trees of England-of
home; | would now give more to see the ems
that stand before my fathers door,-the gar
den over which have SO often played, any
thing that belonged to home-even the moss
upon its windows, than all your lakes and
mountains" cautioned her for speaking so
much, fearing that it would exhaust her.
"Oh no." she replied;-"if ever you are
stranger, dying in a strange land, you will
know how delightful it is to think-to speak
of home.-You may have the attention of a
skilful physician, and kind friends, but the
heart will yearn for the tenderness of mo-
theirs love; the look that soothes the pain
which medicine cannot reaen-that arms the
affections of nature against its suffering.-
You will know how different are the attentions
we owe to motives ofkindness and duty, from
those which the heart offers,-and the heart
receives" After pause she continued, 'this
dying among Strangers, Is indeed, hard
death. If you knew how the heart turns from
the attentions they oner,-to all which they
cannot bestow;--from the looks of pity to the
looks of love that are far away, that have
watched and wept over our tomb-to feel the
agony of those, who will watch in pain for our
return--to think how the eye will grow dim,
and the cheek pale, at the thought that the
conflict is indeed over, and the child has fall
len, unshielded by the buckler of mothers
love-to be denied in death, the kind look of
that only love that was unchanged through
lite-to feel the ties of this world draw Closer
round the heart, at the moment they are TO
be severed forever-imagine all this, and you
will still have faint idea of the feelings of a
dying exile"
The next morning | went to visit her.
found her still in her chair,-but evidently
more weak and exhausted. The bright eye
countenance was more sunk and hollow
She smiled when she saw me enter, and mo-
toned me to her, told me in voice much
more feeble than had before known,--that
had come to bid her farewell; and pointing to
the sea, which was visible from the window
near which she sat, she added in half play
fiIl manner, 81 shall soon embark; feel that
| have seen the sun rise for the last time, and
pleased myself with the thought that it is the
same sun that shines at home | sat and
watched the waters and the brecZe-and the
clouds that come from the east, as if they
could tell me of England, and those love-
1t seems hard to our weak nature, ,"-she re-
sumed, after short pause, 'to be summoned
so early to leave this beautiful world yet |
regret it more for my friends than for myself.
desire to feel resigned to the dealings Of
Providence i'll all my sufierngs,-and trust
can say, Not my will, but thine, o God, be
DONE .'"-Then giving me a small packet Of
letters, she added-"you will deliver this."-
Then drawing me nearer, and lowering her
voice, she continued with some hesitation
"There is one to whom my affections are
pledged, to whom my hand should have been
given. ] fear most for him. cannot know
how he will receive the tidngs Of my death.
lie is already on his passage to this country,
and will soon be here.-PTomise me not to
part with this letter but into his hands. One
thing more," she added, and showed me a
small miniature Of her lover. "lt was his
first gift" said she, sand promised never to
part with it.-When | am dead, lay it on my
heart, and let it be buried with me!-he will
then visit my grave when he comes;-then
tell him loved him to the last. Promise this"
| promised.
at is enough" said she: anow place me So
that can see the waters-he will come from
thence-tell him that all my last thoughts
which were not claimed by Heaven, were on
home and him." In this situation she expir- .