Tippoo Sultaun: A tale of the Mysore war. Taylor Meadows

Table of Contents

      The morrow came—a bright and joyous day, on which the spirit of beauty and of love revelled in every natural creation, and was abroad over the whole earth—a day of dreamy, voluptuous repose, when one feels only fitted to hold silent converse with nature in intense admiration of the glorious perfection of her works.

      The sun was almost overpoweringly bright, and the world abroad rejoiced in his beams. Man everywhere should have rejoiced too; yet there were some hearts which his effulgence could not illumine, which his cheering influence could not enliven. The breakfast-table at the rectory was a silent one, where heretofore all had been joyous and cheerful; for it was useless to struggle against the grief which pervaded the whole family. Mr. Compton and Herbert strove the most manfully and with best success to cheer the rest and themselves, but Mrs. Compton dared not look at any one; and she sat silently, with quivering lips, and eyes filled with tears, of which she was unconscious, except as those drops, starting from the pure fountain of a mother’s love, ran down upon her cheek, and were hastily brushed away. Her eyes were now fixed upon vacancy, and again wandered to her son, and were withdrawn only when it became agony to repress the emotion she felt.

      Who can fathom the depth of a mother’s love for such a son, one on whom she had doated, even to weakness, from his birth? We dare not attempt to depict it, nor can it be expressed; but it has been felt by millions, and will continue to be so while the tenderest and holiest feelings of love are continued as blessings to us.

      Herbert fulfilled his appointment faithfully; ere he had passed the little bridge many paces, the maiden met him, for she had long sat and watched for him; and they strolled on, away through the most sequestered glades of the park, resting at whiles on hillocks of thyme and mossy banks, which courted occupation as they wandered by. Time flew lightly, and in that perfect bliss which can be only known once—so pure are the sensations, that the heart does not hope to feel them again; and which, if once enjoyed, remain indelibly impressed upon it for ever.

      They wandered on; they had no thought for anything around them, no eyes to behold beauties, except in the luxury of their own thoughts. Their minds were like stringed instruments in perfect unison—each touch by the one was responded to by the other with harmony. They spoke of the future with confidence, with that pure hope only known to the young who have never felt the agony of hope deferred. There was no cloud now over their bright future. Four years! to look back on it was nothing; they could remember the occurrences of four years ago as though they were yesterday, and those to come they thought would pass as fast.

      He spoke to her of the gorgeous East, of the temples, the palaces, the almost fairy-land he was to see, and they pictured to themselves a land so bright and fair that they longed to roam over it in company. He promised her letters—not cold formal ones written at a sitting, but daily records of his thoughts, and minute descriptions of the varied scenes he should pass through. He promised sketches too, by every opportunity, of everything about him—of his tent, his room, even of his table where he should sit and hold conversations with her in writing, as well as of the scenery and magnificent remains of the country.

      And in this exquisite converse all care for the time had passed away from them; for though the feeling of parting did often float through their minds, yet it would have been hard had it been allowed to damp the buoyancy of two such naturally cheerful hearts as theirs; and they entered the drawing-room of Beechwood together, glowing with such pleasure, and with such joyous expressions upon their faces, that Mrs. Hayward, who had been long waiting for them, and had expected a far different scene, was affected with joy instead of sorrow; and though the result was much the same, yet her equanimity was soon restored, and the hearty blessing and greeting she gave the pair, as they advanced to receive it, gratified her benevolent and loving heart.

      Herbert stayed with them till the night was far spent; there was perfect confidence and perfect love among the party; and if these are seldom vouchsafed together in life’s pilgrimage, they make the period of that intercourse so marked in its purity of character that it is the better appreciated and the longer remembered.

      But sadness came at length—the dreaded day of departure drew nigh;—the Sabbath, Herbert’s last day with his parents, was held sacred by both families; and as they now had a common interest in him who was about to leave, they passed it together at the rectory. There is little pleasure in dwelling upon a scene so sad—in depicting the sorrow of those who were assembled. Mr. and Mrs. Hayward did the utmost their kind hearts could suggest to comfort their friends, and in some measure succeeded; but the time passed heavily, the conversation, however it was directed, only tended to the same point—but that was too painful a one to be discussed freely, and was only alluded to with difficulty. Mrs. Compton tried in vain to sit out the evening in the drawing-room, and at length was obliged to retire to her own chamber, where she was followed and tended by her friend and Amy with true affection.

      Poor Amy! she had a hard part to bear. To conceal her own miserable feelings, in order that she might not be an additional weight upon the already oppressed spirits of others, was a task she was barely equal to; yet she strove well to master her grief, and to all appearance hers was the only light heart of the party. Herbert had promised to accompany her home through the park, so that she would be spared the misery of bidding him farewell before others, even though they might be her own parents, and this also consoled her.

      In their evening worship, Mr. Compton took occasion to allude to Herbert’s departure; his prayer was beautiful and simple, and in fervent supplication he earnestly commended him to the Almighty’s care and protection. The bitter sobs of Mrs. Compton could throughout be heard above his own tremulous voice, but he persevered manfully, and all of that assembly arose more calm and more reconciled to what was now inevitable.

      Mr. Hayward’s carriage was soon afterwards at the door; it was announced in the drawing-room, and he and Mrs. Hayward arose to depart. They were both deeply affected; as may well be imagined Herbert was so too, and spoke with difficulty; but they blessed him, and gave him their fervent wishes for success, and a safe return within the time he had appointed, as warmly as if he had been one of their own children.

      ‘I have only one last favour to beg, dear Mrs. Hayward,’ he said, as he handed her into the carriage, ‘that you will allow Amy to walk home under my escort; I shall feel very thankful, if you will consent.’

      ‘I will not refuse you, Herbert,’ she said: ‘be gentle to her, for she loves you very deeply; never disappoint her in writing, for I am well convinced your letters will be her life while you are away. I will endeavour to make every allowance for the delay which needs must occur in the transmission of letters from such a distance; but still you must be punctual and regular. Remember, these are my last and only commands upon you; take Amy with you now, but do not keep her out late, for the dews are heavy and may hurt you both. Now God bless you!’

      ‘My letters shall be my best answers to your commands,’ said Herbert; ‘believe me, I shall not miss a single opportunity of sending many to you all, for you will never be absent from my thoughts. The time will soon pass, and I hope and trust we shall all again be reunited in this dear spot—till then good-bye! good-bye!’

      ‘Mrs. Hayward says I may escort Amy home through the park, sir,’ said Herbert to Mr. Hayward, who was following; ‘we shall hardly lose our way in this beautiful moonlight, and I hope you have no objection?’

      ‘Not if you promise you will not be late, Herbert; but I leave her to your own discretion; I have not the heart to part you to-night; so farewell, my brave boy! I trust we shall see you back soon a colonel at least. You will not forget to write punctually, as well for our sake as for Amy’s.’

      ‘I have already promised Mrs. Hayward that,’ said Herbert, ‘and most faithfully will I fulfil it.’

      ‘Then I will say no more, but again farewell, and God bless you!’

      He wrung Herbert’s hand warmly, and with cordial sincerity, and stepping into the carriage, it drove rapidly away.

      ‘Now, dearest,’ said Herbert, ‘at least we can have a few moments which we can call our own—moments to be the food of years;