It was a chill, dreary day in November.
The autumn winds swept with a dirge-like sound through
the tops of the tall old trees that overshadowed a
stately mansion, where a group of sorrowing friends
had collected, to pay the last sad rite, to one of
earth’s fairest, loveliest flowers. All
without wore an air of gloom and melancholy.
Ever and anon a sere and yellow leaf would fall with
a faint rustling sound, speaking in mournful language
to the heart, that all things earthly must decay;
and well did the scene accord with the sadness and
sorrow that reigned in the hearts of those who had
assembled on that mournful occasion.
The deceased was one whom we had all
known and loved, for she was one of those sweet angelic
beings, whom it is impossible not to love. Her
presence, like sunshine, seemed to diffuse light and
cheerfullness upon all who came within the magic circle
of her influence.
Her glad laugh fell like music upon
the ear. Her large dark eyes beamed with the
light of intelligence and affection. The softest
rose tint tinged her alabaster cheek, and the tones
of her voice were like the melody of an Aeolian harp,
when touched by the wandering zephyrs.
But youth, beauty, and goodness could
not shield her from the cruel shafts of the destroyer.
The hand of disease fell heavily upon her, and her
fragile form sank beneath the blow, and faded like
a blighted flower. There sat her parents bowed
down by grief, for the being whom they most loved
on earth, the light of their home, the joy, the hope,
the pride of their hearts, had been taken from them,
and they were indeed left desolate.
One ray of light alone illumined the
darkness that overshadowed them like a pall.
But one star shone out upon the dim horizon of the
future, the hope of being reunited with their beloved
child in that better land, where tears shall be wiped
from all eyes where love never dies, and
parting scenes are never known.
The funeral services were performed
in a solemn and impressive manner. The coffin
was then opened, and one by one we approached to take
the last fond look of its frail tenant. Oh, could
it be that that form, so cold and motionless, clad
in the white habiliments of the grave, was that of
the once lovely and fascinating Annie Howard?
Were those lips that were wont to entrance with their
melody forever sealed in death? Would those eyes
never again beam with the light of affection, or kindle
with the glow of enthusiasm? Oh, how forcibly
were we reminded that “passing away” is
written upon all things here below, and that the fairest
forms that walk the earth, in all the pride of beauty,
must go down to the dark, cold grave, to be food for
the loathesome worm. With slow and faltering
steps, and with tear-suffused eyes, we followed the
remains to the narrow house, appointed for all the
living; and then mournfully returned to our homes,
to muse upon the uncertainty, and the perishable nature
of all earthly joys.
Annie Howard was one of my earliest
and dearest friends, and thinking that, perhaps, her
history might be interesting to some who may chance
to peruse these pages, I have endeavored, although
but imperfectly, to give a brief sketch of her life.
She was the only child of wealthy
and highly respectable parents. Possessed of
refined and cultivated minds, they were anxious that
their daughter should be educated in all the more solid
branches, which would render her a useful member of
society, as well as the lighter graces and accomplishments
which, too often, in the present day, supercede the
cultivation of the mind. Endowed with a brilliant
intellect, she excelled in whatever she attempted,
and the fond anticipations of her friends were more
than realized. The acquirement of literature
was to her a source of exquisite delight. Her
thirsty soul drank at the fountain of knowledge, with
as much avidity as the weary traveller slakes his
thirst at the fountain of cool waters, that bubbles
up in the midst of the sandy desert. Her inquiring
mind was never weary of exploring the deep mysteries
of science or poring over the pages of ancient lore.
Music, painting and poetry seemed to form the etherial
essence of her mind. She played with exquisite
skill and taste, and sang with surpassing sweetness
and melody.
Her brilliant powers of mind, the
beauty of her person, her graceful, winning manners,
the sweetness of her disposition, and the unaffected
goodness of her heart, rendered her a universal favorite
in the circle in which she moved.
Yet, was she ever modest and unassuming.
She was far from that vain haughtiness that is the
common characteristic of narrow and superficial minds,
and which, too often, displays itself in persons of
cultivated intellect, where there is not a corresponding
goodness of heart. It seemed to be her aim to
render those with whom she associated, pleased with
themselves rather than to impress upon them a sense
of her own superiority. This trait in her character
had in it nothing allied to sycophancy, which quickly
disgusts persons of sense and refinement; neither
did it originate merely in the desire to please, but
had its source in an inherent principle of her nature,
which prompted her to seek to promote the happiness
of others.
She possessed an intuitive knowledge
of human nature, which, together with her extreme
delicacy, with regard to the feelings of others, formed
the keystone which unlocked to her the secret recesses
of hearts, which, to a less careless observer, would
have been veiled in impenetrable coldness and reserve.
In early life she had given her heart
to the Saviour, and had consecrated herself to the
service of God; and she sought to follow the example
of the meek and lowly Jesus.
The poor, the sick, and the sorrowful,
were objects of her peculiar care and attention.
Many a poor, crushed and broken-hearted being, borne
down by poverty and affliction, was made glad by her
sympathy and kindness. She possessed that sweet,
graceful way of offering a benefit which rendered
a favor from her doubly acceptable. Among the
gentlemen of her acquaintance, there were many who,
fascinated by the charms both of her mind and person,
sought to win her heart, but of all her numerous admirers,
there was but one whose affection was reciprocated,
and that one was well worthy the love and confidence
of such a being as Annie Howard. He possessed
those noble qualities of heart and mind which command
the admiration of the great and good, and which render
man, in the true sense of the term, the noblest work
of God. Gifted with strong powers of mind, which
had been disciplined by a thorough education, possessing
principles of the strictest integrity, and an elegant
and prepossessing exterior, he was beloved and esteemed
by all who knew him. He was a physician, and had
the reputation of being a skilful practitioner.
He had resided in the same village with Annie some
two or three years, and being of congenial dispositions,
and thrown much into each others’ society, a
strong attachment had sprung up between them, which
was sanctioned by the friends of both parties.
But brilliant intellect, beauty of
person, sweetness of disposition, goodness of heart,
nor love of friends could save her from death’s
relentless dart. In her case, the words of the
poet Wordsworth were verrified,
“The
good die first,
And they whose hearts are dry as summer
dust
Burn to the socket.”
Ere nineteen summers had passed over
her head, consumption had fastened upon her vitals.
At first the symptoms were so slight that her friends
felt little alarm, but soon the hollow cough, which
sounds so much like a funeral knell, the unnatural
brilliancy of the eye, the hectic glow upon the cheek,
and the short, labored breathing, told but too plainly
that death was not to be cheated of his prey.
It has been said that death loves a shining mark,
and it is true that he often passes by the loathsome
form, shriveled by age, and want, and lingering disease,
to feast upon the sparkling eye, the ruby lips, and
glowing cheek of youth and beauty.
Annie soon became fully sensible that
she was not long for this world, but was perfectly
calm and resigned. She possessed that hope that
alone can sustain the soul in sickness and suffering,
when we feel that our hold upon earth is each day
growing weaker, and eternity, vast, boundless, with
all its untried scenes, with all its deep mysteries,
and overwhelming interests, lies stretched out before
us, when the soul feels that it must soon be called
upon to enter upon those untried scenes, and to fathom
the deep mysteries of that endless existence, and
that it must go alone and unattended into the presence
of its Maker, there to render up its account.
She felt that, although she was unworthy of God’s
favor, yet Christ had shed his blood for her, and
she trusted that her sins had been washed away by that
blood, and her soul made meet for the heavenly inheritance.
She strove to console the grief of her parents, who
were almost heartbroken at the thought of parting
from their child. She pointed them to that home
beyond the grave, where they should be reunited never
more to part; never more to suffer pain, or sorrow,
or care; where tears are wiped from all eyes, and
the ransomed spirit will be permitted to join with
the heavenly host in singing praises to the Redeemer.
She bore her sufferings with sweet
resignation. As her bodily strength failed her
mind seemed to expand, and her intellectual powers
to grow higher. Her love of the beautiful seemed
also to increase. The deep blue sky, when studded
by a countless host of brilliant stars; the soft,
fleecy clouds when reflecting the gorgeous hues of
sunset; the music of the birds; the whispering of
the breeze, making mysterious melody as it mingled
with the rustling of the leaves; these, with a thousand
other sweet but incomprehensible charms of nature,
seemed to form the link that bound her soul to earth.
Gradually her strength failed; each
day her fragile form became more attenuated, and her
thin hand more transparent. There was nothing
terrible in the approach of death. Nothing that
was revolting to the most sensitive mind; but when
we were summoned to stand around her dying bed, there
was something so calm, so heavenly, so peaceful, in
the expression of her countenance, that we all felt
that it was indeed a privilege to witness the departure
of her soul to the world of spirits, and we involuntarily
exclaimed, “Let me die the death of the righteous,
and let my last end be like his.”