Arthur Hamilton, and His Dog Read online

  CHAPTER VI.

  SAD NEWS.

  It was a hot Saturday in August, when Henry Hamilton left school to gohome and spend the Sabbath with his mother. This he frequently did, asit was but ten miles distant, and such a walk was only pastime to thevigorous youth, now glowing with health and strength in every vein. Onthis day however, the walk appeared unusually long to him; and he satdown twice by the road-side to rest himself. This was very uncommon;but he said nothing of fatigue when he reached home about sunset. He metthem with his usual cheerful smile, and had a laugh and pleasant wordsfor the children as they crowded round him. Of all Mrs. Hamilton'schildren, Henry was the most sanguine and light-hearted, and when athome, he was always the life of the family circle. He was sincerelydesirous of gaining a thorough education, and of doing credit to hispatrons and friends, and he hoped to be permitted to accomplish muchgood in the world, when he had acquired his profession. There was muchenthusiasm in his character, and much of generous impulse; yet they weremodified by Christian principle. Henry was a sincere Christian. Therewas little of noisy pretension, or loud profession; but in his soul wasa deep and abiding sense of obligation to God; a supreme desire to dohis will, and a fervent love to his fellow-men. To a remarkably fineperson, was added an intellect of uncommon quickness and discrimination,and his teachers spoke in high commendation of his progress. We havesaid he was the favorite son of his mother; and if a thrill of pridepassed through her heart as she gazed on his beaming face, if shegarnered up in her inmost soul many precious dreams of a brilliantfuture, who can wonder? Who shall blame her?

  It is now many years since "the dust fell on that sunny brow," but Iwell remember Henry Hamilton--"handsome Henry Hamilton"--and seldomindeed since have I seen a more striking form and face. There was afrank, joyous expression beaming forth from his dark eyes, and his mouthhad always a sweet smile playing about it; there was a high intellectualforehead, indicating thought, though it was half hidden by the sunny,brown curls which clustered about it, and gave a youthful look to eventhis portion of his face. His tall, well-developed figure was theperfection of manly symmetry, and his musical laugh was ever ringing outfreely and unconsciously. His temperament was just the reverse ofArthur's. Bold, courageous, self-relying, he hoped all things, andfeared nothing that man could do; by nature too, he was quick andpassionate, yet full of affection and all generous impulses. Such wasHenry Hamilton, now eighteen years of age--the pride of his family--thefavorite of all who knew him.

  The night of his return home, he became violently ill, and no remediesappeared to relieve his sufferings. I will not pain my young readerswith a recital of his agonies. They were most intense; and on the thirdday after he was attacked, at six o'clock in the afternoon, he went froman earthly to a heavenly home; from the bosom of his mother, to thebosom of his God! There were few intervals of sufficient ease, to allowof conversation. During these, he expressed entire confidence in theSaviour, and perfect submission to the will of God, though death thenwas most unexpected to him. He also expressed regret that he had doneso little for God, and besought a friend who stood by his bedside, to befaithful to his Christian vows.

  The last struggle was a fearful one; but his mother supported him in herarms to the last; and to her his last look was given,--a look of sweetaffection, trust, and gratitude.

  I stood beside his dead body an hour after the spirit had left it. I hadnever before, and have never since, seen one so beautiful in death. Thelast rays of the setting sun streamed softly in at an open window, andone sweet ray fell upon his head. It was a bright halo,--a gloriouscrown, for that sleeping dust to wear. The fair, wide brow, the rich,dark curls, the softly-closed eyelids, the beautiful mouth, had neverbeen so lovely. All was life-like,--radiant. There was an expression ofheavenly joy I have never seen in a sleeper since. I had not seen him inhis mortal agony, and now it seemed impossible he could have eversuffered. Can this be death, thought I?--Ah, there is a stillness toodeep for life! Those closed lips do not move; those eyes do not open;there is no lingering breath, no beating heart! It is only dust. Thespirit _has_ fled! Beautiful sleeper! There shall be no waking ofthy precious dust till the resurrection morning!

  Others came in, and I left the room, reluctantly, for it was pleasant tome to be near one I had loved in life. I went into the sitting-room,several neighbors were moving about, but the mother was not there. Ifound her in the piazza; she was calm, but oh, who could fathom thedepths of her anguish? Who but He who formed the soul with all itsmysterious capacities for suffering?

  The red light lay on the western hills, and they were very beautiful intheir summer greenness, stretching along the horizon in wavy outlines;the summer sky above was beautiful, and so were the quiet fields, andthe ancient trees standing breathlessly silent in that glorioustwilight. Rays of heaven were blending with all that was loveliest onearth; but though the mother's eye was fixed upon the scene, it wasevident she did not see it, nor feel its healing power. What wonder? Theagony was too recent,--the blighting of all her hopes too sudden forresignation and peace to come into her soul at once. The heavy blow hadfallen, and her heart was crushed! No tear was in her eye, no tremblingin her voice, as she replied to questions; but a face more expressive ofutter woe I have seldom seen. What word of consolation could a mortalspeak at such an hour? "The heart knoweth its own bitterness," and astranger may not inter-meddle with its griefs. Let it be alone with God!

  James was sent the next morning to bear the heavy tidings to Arthur, andto bring him home to see the precious dust committed to its kindreddust.

  Arthur was stunned by the suddenness of the blow. He rode back withJames, scarcely speaking a word. He could not feel that Henry was_dead_; it seemed like some fearful dream from which he must rousehimself. But when he saw his mother, and felt himself pressed inspeechless agony to her heart, his tears burst forth in torrents.Childhood can weep over its sorrows; it is only later griefs that refusethe healing balm of tears.