The Life and Death of Llewelly Jewitt

In 1838, soon after he [Llewellynn Jewitt] had attained his majority, he went up to London, to join Fairholt in the work of illustrating the leading popular literature of the day, both by drawing and engraving, under the famous Stephen Sly, for Charles Knight and others. After a few months thus spent he found himself in a position to marry the truly charming young lady of his choice, Elizabeth Sage, whom he had left behind at Derby. His diligence in business was very great, and to save working time it was arranged that the wedding should take place in Derby on Christmas Day of that same year, 1838, and on that same day they started back from Derby, travelling all night — a bitterly cold night — to their London home.

At length, on the morning of the 4th of March, 1886, came the tear-compelling telegram which is now before me "Passed¹ from earth to heaven at 9 20, calmly and peacefully."

Note 1. Elizabeth Sage.

[5th June 1886] On this, his [Llewellynn Jewitt (age 69)] last day, he had no thought for himself, no anxiety about his future, no doubt, no fear of death; but he evinced active anxiety that his children in their attendance upon him should suffer no discomfort, and insisted upon their taking rest and refreshment. Some of them were thus absent resting when, between four and five o'clock in the morning of the 5th of June, he roused up and seemed surprised to find himself still on earth. He had expected to have been called away earlier. He requested his son to awake the sleepers immediately, and in a few minutes they were all at his bedside again. He grasped each by the hand again and bade each kiss him, and again in a distinct voice said, "Put your tnist in God, as I have done all my life, and He will always keep you and bless you." He then again said to his son, grasping his hand, "God bless you, good-bye Ted," and the same to each one present, naming each; again he blessed the absent friend whom he loved, and who loved him, and his name was the last word he uttered. Thus with his last breath he prayed for others, not himself: he still had no anxiety about his own future, no doubt, no fear of death. And when he had thus spoken, with that radiance again upon his countenance his spirit immediately passed away.

Again, on the ninth of June [1886], the solemn cavalcade winds through the lovely valley of the Derwent, along that route which young Fairholt traversed and described; through the now sweet and smiling Via Gellia, and over the hills to that Churchyard at Winster [Map]. And there, at that grave over which the fond mother used to weep for her children; at which her heart-broken husband had so recently stood in anguish at the loss of her; there, exactly three months later, strong men unused to tears stand and weep the loss of that noble model of a friend, a father, and a husband. It is now a thrice hallowed shrine, at which in ages to come the touching story of these true and constant lovers will be told. But in our sorrow there is comfort, as a friend has eloquently expressed it, saying, "I was inexpressibly touched by the sad news of Mr. Jewitt's (deceased) death; touched none the less that the strong love which had bridged over the great gulf during the last three months should have triumphed over the material separation he bewailed, and brought them together again. Those who love him cannot rejoice at losing him, and I feel deeply for you, who in him have lost so much; but he would not have had it otherwise himself; and true humanity can rejoice with them that do rejoice, though it may feel itself stricken by the very occasion of their joy."

Note 1. Rev. George W. Skene, M.A., Rector of Barthomley.