No. 52.]

THE ORPHAN.

Mrs.

MR. MORISON, of Castle Morison, was one of those spoiled children of fortune, whom in her cruel kindness she renders miserable. He had never known contradiction, and a straw across his path made him chafe like a resisted torrent; he had never known sorrow, and was, consequently, but half acquainted with joy; he was a stranger to compassion, and, consequently, himself an object of pity to all who could allow for the force of early education in searing and hardening the human heart. He had, as a boy, made his mother tremble; it is little to be wondered that in manhood he was the tyrant of his wife and children. Morison's spirit. originally gentle, was soon broken; and if her heart was not equally so, it was because she learned reluctantly to despise her tyrant, and found compensation in the double portion of affection bestowed on her by her sons and daughters. For the latter, Mr. Morison manifested only contempt. There was not a horse in his stable, not a dog in his kennel, which did notengross more of his attention; but, like the foxes and hares which it was the business of these favourite animals to hunt down, girls could be made to afford no bad sport on a rainy day. It was no wonder, that with them fear usurped the place of reverence for such a parent. If they did not hate him, they were indebted to their mother's piety and their own sweet dispositions ; and if they neither hated nor envied their only brother, it was not the fault of him, who, by injudicious distinctions and blind indulgence, laid the foundation for envy and all uncharitableness in their youthful bosoms. In that of his favourite they had the usual effect of generating self-will and rebellion; and while Jane and Agnes, well knowing nothing they did would be thought right, rarely erred from the path of duty, Edmund, aware that he could scarce do wrong, took care his privileges should not rust for want of exercise.

It was

But though suffered in all minor matters to follow the dictates of caprice,--to laugh at his tutor, lame the horse, and break rules (to all others those of the Medes and Persians) with impunity--he found himself suddenly reined up in his headlong career by an equally capricious parent, precisely at the period when restraint was nearly forgotten, and peculiarly irksome. tacitly agreed by both parties, that the heir of Castle Morison could only go into the army; but while the Guards, or a dragoon regiment, was the natural ambition of Edmund, Morison was suddenly seized with a fit of contradiction, which he chose to style economy, and talked of a marching regiment, with perhaps an extra 1007. per annum to the undoubted heir of nearly ten thousand a-year. Neither would yield-the one had taught, the other learned, stubbornness; and Edmund, backed by the sympathy of the world, and the clamours of his companions, told his father he had

NO. LII VOL. V.

[VOL 5.

changed his mind, and was going to India with a near relation, about to proceed to Bombay in a high official character.

Morison had a peculiar prejudice against the East, and a personal pique towards the cousin to whose patronage Edmund had betaken himself. His rage was as boundless as his former partiality, and the only consolation his poor wife felt when her darling son left his father's house, alike impenitent and unblessed, was, that her boy's disposition was originally good, and would probably recover its ascendant; and that it was out of the power of her husband to make his son a beggar as well as an exile. The estate was strictly entailed; and the knowledge of this, while it embittered Morison's sense of his son's disobedience, no doubt strengthened the feeling of independence so natural to head-strong youth.

While Morison was perverting legal ingenuity, in vain hopes of being able to disinherit his refractory heir, his unnatural schemes were anticipated by a mightier agent An epidemic fever carried off, in one short month (about two years after his quitting England), the unreconciled, but no longer unconciliatory exile, and his young and beautiful bride, the daughter of his patron, his union with whom had been construed, by the causeless antipathy of his father, into a fresh cause of indignation. Death, whose cold hand loosens this world's grasp, and whose deep voice stills this world's strife, only tightens the bonds of nature, and teaches the stormiest spirits to part in peace. Edmund lived to write to his father a few lines of undissembled and unconditional penitence; to own, that if the path of duty had been rugged, he had in vain sought happiness beyond it, and to entreat that the place he had forfeited in his father's favour might be transferred to his unoffending child

Mr. Morison's resentment, however, survived its object, and he disclaimed all intention of ever seeing or receiving the infant boy, who, it was gall to him to reflect, must inherit his estate. Mrs. Morison had exerted, to soften his hard heart, all the little influence she had ever possessed. Her tender soul yearned towards her Edmund's child; and sometimes the thought of seeking a separation, and devoting herself to rear it, crossed her despairing mind. But her daughters were a tie still more powerful to her unhappy home. She conld neither leave them, unprotected, to its discomforts, nor conscientiously advise their desertion of a parent, however unworthy: so she wandered, a paler and sadder inmate than before of her cold and stately mansion; and her fait, subdued-looking daughters shuddered as they passed the long-locked doors of their brother's nursery and school-room.

[It is some time after the accounts of young Morison's death reach the ears of his family, that the Minister and his friend visit Mr. Morison.]

IV.

It was with feelings of equal sympathy towards the female part of the family, and sorrow for the unchristian frame of its head, that we prepared for our present visit. As we rode up the old strait avenue, I perceived a postchaise at the door, and instead of shrinking from this probable accession of strangers, felt that any addition to the usually constrained and gloomy family-circle, must be a relief. On reaching the door, we were struck with a very unusual appendage to the dusty vehicle, in the shape of an ancient, venerable-looking Asiatic, in the dress of his country, beneath whose ample muslin folds he might have easily been mistaken for an old female nurse, a character which, in all its skill and tenderness, was amply sustained by this faithful and attached Oriental. His broken English, and passionate gestures, excited our attention, already awakened by the singularity of his costume and appearance; and we got close to him, the big tears which rolled over his sallow and furrowed cheeks powerfully called forth our sympathy, and told, better than words, his forcible exclusion from the splendid mansion which had reluc tantly admitted within its precincts the child dearer to him than country and kindred!

Our visit (had it borne less of a pastoral character) had all the appearance of being ill timed. There were servants running to and fro in the hall, and loud voices in the dining-room; and, from a little parlour on one side the front door, issued female sobs, mingled with infant wailings in an unknown dialect.

"Thank God!" whispered the minister, "the bairn is fairly in the house. Providence and nature will surely do the rest."

It was not a time to intrude abruptly, so we sent in our names to Mr. Morison, and during our pretty long detention on horseback, could not avoid seeing in at the open window of the parlour before-mentioned, a scene which it grieved us to think was only witnessed by ourselves.

Mrs. Morison was sitting in a chair (on which she had evidently sunk down powerless), with her son's orphan boy on her knee, the bright dark-eyes of the little wild unearthly-looking creature fixed in stedfast gaze on her pale matronly countenance.

"No cry,

Mama Englise," said the child, as her big tears rolled unheeded on his bosom-" Billy Edmund will be welly welly good." His youngest aunt, whose keen and long-repressed feelings found vent in sobs of mingled joy and agony, was covering his little hands with showers of kisses, while the elder (his father's favourite sister) was comparing behind him the rich dark locks, that clustered in his neck, with the locket which, since Edmund's departure, had dwelt next her heart.

A message from the laird summoned us from this affecting sight, and, amid the pathetic entreaties of the old Oriental, that we would restore his nursling, we proceded to the dining-room, made aware of our approach to it by the still storming, though half-supressed imprecations of its hard-hearted master. He was pacing in stern and moody agitation through the spacious apartment. His welcome was evidently extorted, and his face (to use a strong Scripture expression) set as a flint against the voice of remonstrance and exhortation, for which he was evidently prepared. My skilful coadjutor went quite another way to work, Morison," said he, apparently unconscious of the poor man's pitable state of mind, "I came to condole, but I

"Mr.

find it is my lot to congratulate. The Lord hath taken away with the one hand, but it has been to give with the other. His blessing be with you and your son's son, whom he hath sent to be the staff and comfort of your age!" This was said with his usual benign frankness; and the hard heart, which would have silenced admonition and scorned reproof, scarcely knew how to repulse the voice of Christian congratulation. He walked about, muttering to himself" No son of mine-bad breed! Let him go to those who taught his father disobedience, and his mother artifice!—anywhere they please; there is no room for him here.”

"Have you seen your grandchild yet, Mr. Morison?" resumed the minister, nothing daunted by the continued obduracy of the proud laird. "Let me have the joy of putting him into your arms. You must expect to be a good deal overcome; sweet little fellow, there is a strong likeness!" A shudder passed across the father's hard frame, and he recoiled as from an adder, when worthy Mr. Monteith, gently grasping his arm, sought to draw him, still sullen, though more faintly resisting, towards the other room. A shrill cry of infant agony rose from the parlour as we crossed the hall, and nature never perhaps exhibited a stronger contrast than presented itself between the cruel old man, struggling to escape from the presence of his grandchild, and the faithful ancient domestic shrieking wildly to be admitted into it.

As I threw open the door for the entrance of the former, little Edmund, whose infant promises of good behaviour had soon given way before the continued society of strangers, was stamping in all the impotence of baby rage, (and in this unhallowed mood too faithful a minature of both father and grandfather,) and calling loudly for the old Oriental, With the first glance at the door his exclamations redoubled. began to fear the worst effect from this abrupt introduction; but no sooner had the beautiful boy (beautiful even in passion) cast a second bewildered glance on his still erect and handsome grandfather, than, clapping his little hands, and calling out, "My Bombay Papa," he flew into his arms!

We

The servants, concluding the interdict removed by their master's entrance into the apartment, had ceased to obstruct the efforts of the old Hindoo to fly to his precious charge; and while the astonished and fairly overwhelmed Morison's neck was encircled by the infant grasp of his son's orphan boy, his knees were suddenly embraced by that sou's devoted and grey-haired do mestic.

One arm of little Edmund was instantly loosened from his grandfather's shoulder, and passed round the neck of the faithful old Oriental, who kissed alternately the little cherub hand of his nursling, and the hitherto iron one of the proud laird. It was softened and the hard heart with it! It was long since love, pure unsophisticated love, and spontaneous reverence, had been Morison's portion, and they were proportionally sweet. He buried his face in his grandson's clustering ringlets. We heard a groan deep as when rocks are rending, and the earth heaves with long pent-up fires. It was wildly mingling with childish laughter and hysteric bursts of female tenderness as, stealing cautiously and unheeded from the spot, we mounted our horses and rode away.

"SHALL we rob ourselves of content, because our bodies are mortal?-or shall we esteem it the best assistance of our friends to weep?" Such was the inquiry which one of the elder brethren of English Literature demanded of his reason; and, although we, at the present day, might feel inclined, from motives purely philosophical, to reply to it with a negative, yet, if we follow up the feelings excited by the question, into the general detail of human action-if we trace the secret windings of inward thought, and inquire into the various degrees by which mankind are, in general, bound and attached to the earth whereon we treadif we bring honesty and candour to the test of a more minute examination,-v -we shall be inclined to admit that the love of life is the strongest, the most invincible principle by which not only man but every, living creature is actuated. To descant upon the bourne of all our hopes, and fears, and wishes; to enlarge upon the conclusion which the word of the Most High has decreed to the sorrow and to the pride of man; and to dwell upon the cold and remorselesss senselessness with which the great enemy of our species, who, though he tarry in his approaches, tarrieth not long, year after year severeth some new link in the golden chain of friendship, and beareth it away with him to a dark and dismal region, which curiosity never traverseth to return, and where imagination is perplexed by the melancholy gloominess of its own conceptions; would be, indeed, an arduous task;-but there is scarcely a writer, from the earliest period to which we can trace the use of letters, who has not, at some period of life, contemplated the moment of its close, and dwelt upon it with an earnestness and a solemnity peculiar to the subject.

That, unto all men over whom time has drawn the mantle of past centuries, and that unto all who now people the earth, as well as to the earth itself, there will, in an awful hour, sound the thunders of their final destiny, is a truth which, since the sentence "Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shalt return," presumption never dared deny, nor infidelity attempt to disprove. There was a time when sinless man walked forth in all the confidence of his innocency, over the paradise of God; and there was also a period when sinful man gathered up the heavy burthen of

mortality, and, casting over every joy and every grief
which had passed in succession from his view, the
dark mantle of oblivion, laid him down to slumber in
the grave.
Such a period is ours; and such will be
the termination of our joys and sorrows-our hopes
and fears.

A few short years, and sorrow's wave
Shall roll unheeded o'er us;
Soon shall we slumber in the grave,
With those who slept before us;
Unkindness which could wound us here,
Shall never, never find us;

But, journeying to some brighter sphere,
Leave all our griefs behind us.

But then the grave itself-the dark, damp, desolate, rapacious grave! With what different feelings do its numerous victims prepare to descend into its dim recesses! Some are buoyed up with hope-others cast down, shaken, almost maddened by fear, and hopeless, unceasing, overwhelming despair. Some seek its gloomy protection with joy, others descend into its cold profundity with sorrow, and others with calm indifference. The man of" threescore years and ten," who has lived throughout his brief span, subjected to the varied good and evil of humanity, will go down into the grave in peace, and with the hope of a renewed and blessed existence in eternity. The strong and lusty sinner, with defiance on his lip, and boldnessthe boldness of despair and guilt-upon his unbending brow, will still wrestle with the mortal stroke, till the arrow hath pierced his vitals. The young mother, although sustained and elevated by fervent hope, soothed even in the dark hour of departing life, by a consciousness of her own meek virtues-think you, will she leave her weeping husband, her darling babes,

-the bright sunshine of youth, the sweet hopes, and fears, and joys-age, or even the griefs of mortality, unmoved? Oh! no, no! She would willingly forego her doom, even were it only for a short season; and although that short season were to afford nought but the bitternesss of life-" the wormwood and the gall!" The man of sorrows, whose life has been but sparingly

chequered o'er" with the good things of this world; whose spirit has been bruised and broken by the unfeeling, hard-heartedness of his fellow men; who has languished on, in poverty, and nakedness, and hunger; without friends for who will befriend the wretched? —without kindred-for who will acknowledge the hapless ?without a single being to whom he could apply for succour, or from whom he could expect even the uncostly balm of a kind word; to such an one and many such there are the grave is as a bed of down," soft as the breath of even," where he may rest in peace, secured, at length, from the wants, and woes, and bitter humiliations of poor humanity.

Some green and grassy mound shall cover
His mouldering corpse from human eye,
Around the spot shall pity hover,

Above shall shine the bright blue sky.

Although in life his heart in sadness Wore out its brief existence here, The spot where now 'tis laid in gladness Shall smile-though water'd with a tear. And, then, what a blessed thing is the quiet death of the sweet infant.

Pure as the snow-flake ere it falls and takes the stain of earth With not a taint of mortal life, except its mortal birth.”

The sinless soul of the cherub child that dies on its mother's breast, wings its way to heaven, unconscious of the joys it might have shared here, as well as the many, many miseries of which it might have been the partaker. This can hardly be called death. It is but the calm, soft ebbing of the gentle tide of life, to flow no more in the troubled ocean of existence:-it is but the removal of a fair creature-" too pure for earthly stay," to make one of that bright band of cherubims, which encompassses in glory and in joy the throne of the living God! But, glorious as the change may be it is a hard thing for the fond mother to part thus early with her little one:—

"Tis hard to lay her darling
Deep in the cold damp earth;
His empty crib to see,
His silent nursery,
Once gladsome with his mirth.

To meet again, in slumber,
His sweet mouth's rosy kiss;

Then, waken'd with a start,
By her own throbbing heart,
His twining arms to miss.

To feel (half conscious why)
A dull, heart-sinking weight,
Till memory on her soul
Flashes the painful whole,
That she is desolate;
And, then, to lie and weep,
And think the live-long night,
(Feeding her own distress
With accurate greediness)
Of every past delight.

Of all his winning ways,
His pretty, playful smiles,
His joy, his ecstasy,
His tricks, his mimicry,
And all his little wiles.

Ah! these are recollections

Round Mother's hearts that cling

That mingle with the tears And smiles of after years, With oft awakening!

Yet, after all, how little does individual misery, or misfortune, affect the great mass of mankind. "When I reflect," observes Pope, in a letter to Addison, "what an inconsiderable atom every single man is, with respect to the whole creation, methinks it is a shame to be concerned at the removal of such a trivial animal as I am. The morning after my exit, the sun will shine as bright as ever, the flowers smell as sweet, the plants spring up as green; the world will proceed in its old course; people will laugh as heartily, and marry as fast as they were used to do. The memory of man passeth away, as the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but one day!"

These reflections have been engendered by the remembrance of an event which will form a suitable, and, I trust, not uninteresting corollary to such an introduction at all events, the reader shall have an opportunity of judging for himself. At the beginning of the summer just passed, I left London on a visit to my native place, many miles distant from the metropolis. I had not been there for some years, and delightful were the anticipations which were awakened in my heart, at the idea of meeting so many old and valued friends. On the morning after my arrival, I received the following letter::

Alas my poor friend! Little did I expect, when last the native loveliness of his disposition-" which hid its own to hide all others' woe,"-dissipated my gloomy feelings-little did I think that our next meeting was to be thus ! But I was summoned to act, and not to reflect; and, mounting the horse which had been provided for me, I hastened to obey the melancholy summons. My friend's house was about five miles up, among the hills. But I am not about to give a detail of my journey: what is a splendid landscape without the feeling to enjoy it. What spots look beautiful, when the heart is sad? And who, with a troubled mind, can so far control the fury of the mental elements, as to bid defiance to their power? I never could;-calmness, at such times, is with me impossible. I reached the mansion, where the last rays from the lamp of life were rapidly growing more dark; all there was gloomy, and every countenance looked pale, in melancholy anticipation of the coming woe. But ere I enter the chamber of death, I must speak of the poor friend whom I was thus called to visit. His had been an infancy never gazed upon with the smile of parental satisfaction; no joy at his birth had been diffused over the family, and no tongue had uttered the words of heartfelt congratulation. His childhood had been tended with no mother's care, and his boyhood watched over with no father's fondness ;— his youth had been cherished by no fostering protection, and his manhood was uncrowned with the blessing of success. Such was the melancholy picture, that, with Edward R--, had been the portrait of reality. Gloom, and sorrow, and affliction, frowned upon his very birth-hour! His father was removed from a world, which he so much benefited, before he beheld his son; and his mother sank beneath the anguish of a mother's pangs, in giving life to her beloved one.

The crudest questions of legal doubt had involved their child's expectancy in protracted discussion; his infancy had been nurtured by the hand of strangers, and his childhood passed beneath the roof of hospitable, but foreign kindness, till, with the opening views of youth, the spirit of a wanderer came upon him; and possession of his rights being at length awarded him, he had divided his portion with the strangers who had protected him, and, with an energy capable of the highest achievements, had gone forth to ruminate upon the vestiges of former grandeur, and enwrap himself in the contemplation of departed greatness. Such was his wayward fancy. My friend had endured all things, hoped all things, and believed all things; his suffersings had taught him patience, and his disappointments shown him the illusion of all hope's foundations, and all the world's promises. Unrepining, he had endured the long and cheerless night of poverty; and every cloud of woe was his familiar. He had gazed on the

visages of foreign men and foreign climes; he had looked at Greece sinking under her slavery, and Rome degraded by her superstition. He had witnessed the dimness of ages, brooding over the mouldering monuments of departed glory; and every clime and every country had been traversed by him,-the wastes of Africa, and the sands of Egypt, the torrid and the frigid zones had been penetrated; and, after the calm endurance of perils by land and perils by water,-after having been in journeyings often, in perils of robbers, in perils by the heathen, in perils in the wilderness, and in weariness, aud painfulness, and watchings: in hunger and in thirst, and all things that are incident to an unsheltered wanderer over this world's surface, he had returned to inherit, for a few years, the mansion of his forefathers, and to render up his spirit in his native land. Thus had the morning of my friend's days passed by. I need not here recount how our friendship had commenced, since the evening of his mortal conflict, and the evening of our mutual attachment, grew dark at the same moment.

After some short preparation, I was introduced into his chamber, the chamber of sickness and of sorrow; of flattering hopes and disappointed wishes, yet of faith triumphant, even over death itself.

"Ah, my dear fellow!" he exclaimed, holding out his cold clammy hand to meet mine, as I approached his bed-side; "I knew you would not let me die alone,-I was assured of it, and I have been anxiously looking for your arrival. Draw your chair nearer, and let the residue of my fast-fleeting sands run out in your presence. I looked round the room, and beheld the faces of those to whose tender charge his younger days had been committed; but every aspect was wan, and every eye was weeping. We recognized each other, but it was in silence; one object alone demanded our individual attention, and on him every look was fixed. "Alas! my friend, to think that you and I, who bore the burthen of poverty, and all the cares of foreign travel together, that we, who have continued, since the dawning of mind, in friendship unbroken and unrestrained ;—to think that—to think that you and these should now be assembled to witness my final separation from you! it is painful-it is more than painful; it is enough to bow down the spirit in the hour of its trial, and to shake its confidence in its Creator-in its eternal friend. Oh! my friends, what shall I say to you ? How shall I give utterance to the thoughts that press upon me! Life is now ebbing fast. Oh! speak to me, then-speak to me individually. Have I wronged any of you? If I have, I repent; and will you forgive me?" He was here interrupted by a sobbing assurance that every debt of gratitude had been more than paid. "More than paid!" he exclaimed, and his voice strengthened as he spoke"More than paid! Were my life extended to thrice the period it now is, the debt would never-never be discharged! I owe you all more than I can ever now pay; and to one of you-(pressing my hand with nature's feebleness)-to one of you I owe more than all!" His voice now sank to a whisper; and his physician, deeming that the presence of more than one friend would but hasten his last hour, and supposing that he might have matters of a private nature to communicate to me, retired with all beside, leaving me alone with my dying friend. But now came a struggle

of feeling to which I felt unequal. To be alone with a dying man is sufficiently appalling; to be alone with a dying friend, is indeed a trial!

For some time he continued exhausted in seeming senselessness; but, at length recovering, he gazed wildly round the room, and said, " James, are you here alone?" I replied that I was. "Are you sure ?""Perfectly." Then I have a secret to communicate. You well know you never saw me afraid at any time; -danger never looked terrible to me; but I am fearful now; now I am indeed afraid!"-" Afraid of what ?" I demanded." You have not, I am persuaded, left all till now."-" No, no!" repeated he, with warmth. You can attest, that in all my sufferings, I always made my God the rock of my confidence, and in my last hour he has not suffered me to fall from him. With heaven my accounts are settled; but-(and he added it with apparent reluctance)-I have an earthly enemy!""This is not a time, Edward, to think of earthly enemies."—" God forbid!" replied he, "that such a thought should dwell within the bosom of a dying man, Earth has done me much wrong, and earth I have forgiven; to Heaven I have offered greater injuries, and Heaven has, I trust, too, in its mercy, pardoned me. I cherish not earthly enmity; but you remember that ⚫ has possession of a will, which I long since executed, and which he has never returned. I know his motives, and have, therefore, counteracted them by executing another. In your hands I now deposit it, and of it you are the sole executor." At these words. he put his hand under the pillow, and drawing out a sealed packet, gave it to me, together with a key "There," he said, "you know of what drawer that is the key all that I have is contained there, and it is not safe in any hands but yours. And now," he continued, "when the shadow of my existence has passed. away, you will act for me. I have tried you, James, and I trust in you; and henceforth I banish all worldly concerns for ever!"

At these words nature sank exhausted, respiration became more difficult, and he fell into a seeming foretaste of dissolution. I watched him, till, at length, he woke once more; and observing the tears stealing down my cheeks, he broke forth; "Weep not for me, my friend, weep not for me I have suffered much-I have endured much; I have seen expectations vanish, and hopes decay; but all these are the common lot of man. Farewell now to earth and earthliness! I go down to the darkness of the grave, and soon to me shall the silence of the tomb be as it were a brother; yet, in my faith, and with confidence in Heaven, do I trust, through that circle of ages, which shall have no limit, to join the spirits of the just made perfect, and hymn the praises of my Redeemer and my God." Increasing feebleness forbade all farther effort, and I immediately summoned his other friends, perceiving that life was fast fleeting for ever. In a faint tone he blessed us singly, as we stood round his bed; and having once more recovered strength to speak, he took my hand, and pressing it affectionately to his heart, said: "Accept my best and latest thanks. I look forward to meeting you again in a world, where sorrow, and tears, and parting, shall be unknown." One feeble long-drawn sigh-one last convulsive thrill of parting The darkness nature's agony-and all was hushed!

of death encompassed all that was bright in friendship