As soon as they were gone, the boys laughed and marked out another game.
Mrs. Weston joined her party, and they went towards the new portion of the cemetery that is so beautifully situated, near the river.
"I think," said Mr. Weston, "this scene should remind us of our conversation this morning. If Washington be the meeting-place of all living, it is the grand cemetery of the dead. Look around us here! We see monuments to Senators and Members; graves of foreigners and strangers; names of the great, the rich, the powerful, men of genius and ambition.
Strewed along are the poor, the lowly, the unlearned, the infant, and the little child.
"Read the inscriptions--death has come at last, watched and waited for; or he has come suddenly, unexpected, and undesired. There lies an author, a bride, a statesman, side by side. A little farther off is that simple, but beautiful monument."
They approached, and Alice read the line that was inscribed around a cross sculptured in it, "Other refuge have I none!" Underneath was her name, "Angeline."
"How beautiful, how much more so in its simplicity than if it had been ornamented, and a labored epitaph written upon it," said Mr. Weston. "Here too are members of families, a.s.sembled in one great family. As we walk along, we pa.s.s mothers, and husbands, and children; but in life, they who lie here together, were possibly all strangers."
"What is that large vault open to-day for?" said Ellen, to a man who seemed to have some charge in the place.
"That is the public receptacle," said the man. "We are obliged to air it very often, else we could never go in and out with the coffins we put there. There"s a good many in there now."
"Who is there?" said Mr. Weston.
"Well," said the man, "Mrs. Madison is there, for one, and there are some other people, who are going to be moved soon. Mrs. Madison, she"s going to be moved, too, some time or another, but I don"t know when."
Ellen stooped down and looked in, but arose quickly and turned away. Two gentlemen were standing near observing her, and one of them smiled as she stepped back from the vault. Mr. Weston knew this person by sight; he was a clergyman of great talent, and almost equal eccentricity, and often gave offence by harshness of manner, when he was only anxious to do good to the cause in which his heart was absorbed.
"Ah! young ladies," he said, looking kindly at them both, "this is a good place for you to come to. You are both beautiful, and it may be wealthy; and I doubt not, in the enjoyments of the pa.s.sing season, you have forgotten all about death and the grave. But, look you! in there, lies the mortal remains of Mrs. Madison. What an influence she had in this gay society, which you have doubtless adorned. Her presence was the guarantee of propriety, as well as of social and fashionable enjoyment; the very contrast that she presented to her husband made her more charming. Always anxious to please, she was constantly making others happy. She gave a.s.sistance and encouragement to all, when it was in her power. She had more political influence than any woman in our country has had, before or since.
But think of her now! You could not bear to approach the coffin that contains her remains. Where is her beauty--and her grace and talent? Ah!
young ladies," he continued, "did she rightly use those talents?"
"It is hardly a fair question to ask now," said Mr. Weston. "Let us tread lightly o"er the ashes of the dead."
"Let the living learn a lesson from the dead," said the clergyman, sternly.
"You are leading, it may be, a heartless life of pleasure, but, young ladies, forget not this grave. She could not escape it, nor will you. Pause from your b.a.l.l.s, and your theatres, and your gay doings, and ask, what is the end of it all. Trifle not with the inestimable gift of life. Be not dead while you live. Antic.i.p.ate not the great destroyer. Hear the appeal of one who was once the idol of every heart; she speaks to you from the grave, "Even as I am, shalt thou be!""
He turned from them, and wandered over the ground. Mr. Weston led the way to the carriage, and Ellen and Alice thought, that if a lesson of life was to be learned in the gay ball of the night before, a still more necessary one was found in the cemetery which they were now leaving, as the shadows of the evening were on the simple monument and the sculptured slab, and their silent tenants slept on, undisturbed by the gambols of thoughtless children, or the conversation of the many who came to visit their abode.
The next morning, Bacchus brought no letter for Mr. Weston, but one for each lady; for Ellen from her aunt, for Alice from Arthur, and Cousin Janet"s handwriting was easily recognized on the outside of Mrs. Weston"s.
Hardly had the girls arisen from the table to take theirs" to their rooms for a quiet perusal, when an exclamation from Mrs. Weston, detained them.
"Is anything the matter at home, Anna?" said Mr. Weston, "Is Cousin Janet--?"
"Cousin Janet is well, my dear brother," said Mrs. Weston. "I was very thoughtless, but our dear neighbor, Mrs. Kent, is no more."
"Can it be possible?" said Mr. Weston, much agitated. "Read the letter aloud."
Mrs. Weston, turned to the beginning, and read aloud,
"MY DEAR ANNA:
"The time is near which will bring you all in health and happiness, I trust, to your home; and could you see how lovely it looks, I think you would be tempted to fix upon an earlier day.
You see how selfish I am, but I confess that I quite count the days, as a child does to Christmas, and am ashamed of my impatience.
"Throughout the winter I had no care. My kind friends did all the housekeeping, and the servants in the house, and on the plantation, were so faithful, that I feel indebted to all who have made my time so easy; and your absence has not, I am sure, been attended with any ill effects, without you find me a little cross and complaining, and Mr. Barbour out of his senses with joy, on your return. Good Mr. Barbour! he has superintended and encouraged the servants, and visited us forlorn ladies frequently, so that he must come in for a portion of our thanks too.
"You will perhaps think I ought only to write you cheerful news, but it is best to let you know as well as I can, the condition that you will find us in, on your return. Phillis is the only one of us, whose concerns are of any immediate importance, but I am sorry to have to tell you that she is now seriously indisposed.
Her cough has never really yielded--her other symptoms have varied; but for the last few weeks, her disease has not only progressed, but a.s.sumed a certain form. She is in consumption, and has no doubt inherited the disease from her mother.
"I have, throughout the winter, felt great anxiety about her, and have not permitted her to work, though sometimes I found it hard to prevent her. Her children have been constantly with her; indeed, I have pa.s.sed a great deal of my own time in her cabin, which, under Martha"s superintendence, is so neat and comfortable.
"You will all perhaps blame me that I have not been thus plain with you before, but Dr. Lawton said it was not necessary, as she has never been in any immediate danger, and Phillis would not consent to my doing so. She wanted you to enjoy yourselves, and Alice to have a good chance to regain her health. "No doubt, Miss Janet," she said, "the Lord will spare me to see them yet, and I have every thing I want now--they couldn"t stop my pains any more than you, and I feel that I am in the Lord"s hands, and I am content to be." She has not been confined to her bed, but is fast losing strength, though from my window now I see her tying up her roses, that are beginning to bud. Some other hand than hers will care for them when another Spring shall come.
"Her nights are very restless, and she is much exhausted from constant spitting of blood; the last week of pleasant weather has been of service to her, and the prospect of seeing you all at home gives her the most unfeigned pleasure.
"I have even more painful intelligence to give you. Our young neighbor, Mrs. Kent, has done with all her trials, and I trust they sanctified her, in preparation for the early and unexpected death which has been her lot. You are not yet aware of the extent of her trials. A fortnight ago her little boy was attacked with scarlet fever, in its most violent form. From the first moment of his illness his case was hopeless, and he only suffered twenty-four hours. I went over as soon as I heard of his death; the poor mother"s condition was really pitiable. She was helpless in her sorrow, which was so unexpected as to deprive her at first of the power of reason. The Good Shepherd though, had not forgotten her--he told her that he had taken her little lamb, and had gently folded it in his bosom, and that he would wander with it in the lovely pastures of Paradise. She was soon perfectly reconciled to the sad dispensation; sad indeed, for the child was her only earthly solace. Victim of an unhappy marriage, the dear engaging little boy was a great consolation to her, and his amus.e.m.e.nt and instruction occupied her mind, and pa.s.sed away happily many a weary hour.
"She insisted upon attending the funeral, and I accompanied her.
Mr. Kent was with her, too, much distressed, for this hard man loved his child, and keenly felt his loss.
"She got out of the carriage to hear the funeral service read, and was calm until they took up the coffin to lower it into the grave.
Then it was impossible to control her. Placing her arms upon it, she looked around appealingly to the men; and so affected were they, that they turned from her to wipe away their own tears. Her strength gave way under the excitement, and she was carried, insensible, to the carriage, and taken home.
"I found her very feverish, and did not like to leave her, thinking it probable that she might also have the disease which had carried off her child. Before night she became really ill, and Dr. Lawton p.r.o.nounced her complaint scarlet fever. The disease was fearfully rapid, and soon ended her life. She was, I think, well prepared to go. Her solemn and affectionate farewell to her husband cannot fail to make an impression upon him.
"I shall have a great deal to tell you of her when you return. The past winter has been a sad one; a constant coolness existing between her and her husband. A short time ago he was brutally striking that faithful old man of her father"s, Robert, and Mrs.
Kent interfered, insisting upon Robert"s returning to his cabin, and in his presence forbidding Mr. Kent again to raise his hand against one servant on the plantation; Mr. Carter"s will, allowing Mr. Kent no authority over his servants, and commending them to his daughter"s kindness and care, showed great discrimination of character. This, though, has been a constant source of irritation to Mr. Kent, and he has never been kind to the people. Mrs. Kent, usually so timid, was roused into anger by his treatment of Robert, and interfered, as I have related to you.
She told me of this, and said how unhappy it had made her, though she could not blame herself. Since then there has only been a formal politeness between them; Mr. Kent not forgiving his wife for the part she took against him. Poor little woman! Robert had been her father"s faithful nurse in his long illness, and I do not wonder at her feelings on seeing him struck.
"Yesterday the will was read, and Dr. Lawton, who was present, informed us of the result. Mrs. Kent has left most of her property to her husband, but her servants free! The plantation is to be sold, and the proceeds expended in preparing those who are willing to go to Liberia, or where they choose; as they cannot, manumitted, remain in Virginia. The older servants, who prefer staying in Virginia as they are, she has left to you, with an allowance for their support, considering you as a kind of guardian; for in no other way could she have provided for their staying here, which they will like better.
"Who would have thought she could have made so wise a will?
"Dr. Lawton says that Mr. Kent showed extreme anger on hearing it read. He intends returning to the North, and his $30,000 will be a clear gain, for I am told he had not a cent when he married her.
"Write me when you have fixed the time for your return, and believe me, with love to all,
"Your affectionate relative, JANET WILMER."
Bacchus entered in time to hear the latter part of this letter. He had his master"s boots in his hands. When Mrs. Weston stopped reading, he said, "That"s good; bound for Mister Kent. I"m glad he"s gwine, like Judas, to his own place."
CHAPTER XXV.
The carriage was slowly ascending the road to the old church, a familiar and dear object to each member of the Weston family. A village churchyard fills up so gradually, that one is not startled with a sudden change. Mr.
Weston looked from the window at the ivy, and the gothic windows, and the family vault, where many of his name reposed.
The inmates of the carriage had been conversing cheerfully, but as they approached the point where they would see home, each one was occupied with his or her musings. Occasionally, a pleasant word was exchanged, on the appearance of the well-known neighborhood, the balmy air, and the many shades of green that the trees presented; some of them loaded with white and pink blossoms, promising still better things when the season should advance.