CHAP. I.

Nothing can be more natural than the attachment and regard to which the faithful services of our domestics are entitled; it is a beautiful link in the chain of family charities, and can only be severed by pride, by folly, or by vice.

It was one of those lovely mornings which frequently mark the declining autumn in our variable climate, when summer as it were seems to linger amid the decaying vestiges of her glory, and the deep verdure of the vales affords a strong and lively contrast to the seared leaves, falling in quick succession from the branches so late affording refreshing shade to the traveller; when the stormy winds which had howled through the quick-changing woods, swept over the fields divested of their waving riches, and whose violence had awakened the sympathy of the compassionate for the unfortunates exposed to elemental strife, had sunk into the profoundest repose, and the fleecy clouds seemed still and motionless as a flock of sheep slumbering in peace under the shepherd’s care: every thing in nature breathing tranquillity, and disposing the mind to gentleness and peace. It was on such a morning after nearly a sleepless night, Mr. Elmer entered his breakfast-room, having taken his usual morning’s stroll on the gravel terrace upon which the windows opened; he had scarcely entered, before his old and faithful domestic attended with the breakfast equipage, and having modestly and respectfully inquired how he had passed the boisterous night, put the newspaper with other papers upon the table, keeping one in his hand. “And what is that long paper, Alan?” inquired Mr. Elmer; “why this your honour was given me as I went for the rolls; it is an account of the wild beasts that are arrived at C——” and he gave the paper to his master, who saw that it contained the figures and description of an itinerant menagerie then exhibiting at the town, in the immediate vicinity of which he resided.

“Dear, your honour,” said Alan, “sure Master Harry and Miss Joanna, and may be my little favorite Miss Ellen, would like to see the elephant; I really should, to see if it is as fine a one as those we used to admire in India: you remember that fine beast at Calcutta in particular your honour, as sensible as any Christian?” “Yes I do indeed, Alan;” replied Mr. Elmer, with his accustomed affability; “and I think with you, that it will be a great treat to the dear children, to see an animal which even in its confined state, so greatly displays the wisdom of the Creator; they cannot be too early acquainted with such proofs of his greatness and goodness. Tell William to get the phaeton ready, and we will go for them this lovely morning; you must also be our escort to the elephant, Alan; for (he added with an arch smile), your old master is almost in his second childhood, and there is no telling what effect the sight of the huge elephant may have upon him.” “Bless your honour, when you talk so, you make me feel so queer; but life and death are in the power of a good God, and you have taught me my dear master, to submit every thing to his will: I hope it is no sin to pray that as we have lived together, so we may die together.” A tear of affection swelled in the eye of the old domestic, as he regarded with a look of grateful veneration his beloved master, whose fine mild and placid features, indicated a soul at peace with itself, and in the habitual exercise of the best feelings of the heart. “Well my good fellow, pour out my coffee, and let us lose no time in fetching the young ones to this great sight: tell Mary they will dine here, therefore not to forget the pudding.” Alan hastened to obey; and while he is making his preparations, and his master takes his coffee, we will introduce them a little more particularly to our young friends.