"BLESS the happy art!" ejaculated Mrs. Morton, wiping the moisture
from her eyes. "Could anything be more perfect than that likeness of
his sweet, innocent face? Dear little Willie! I fear I love him too
much."
"It is indeed perfect," said Mr. Morton, after viewing the picture
in many lights. "My favourite painter has surpassed himself. What
could be more like life, than that gentle, half-pensive face looking
so quiet and thoughtful, and yet so full of childhood's most
innocent, happy expression?"
Mr. Morton, here introduced to the reader, was a wealthy merchant of
Philadelphia, and a liberal patron of the arts. He had, already,
obtained several pictures from Sully, who was, with him, as an
artist, a great favourite. The last order had just been sent home.
It was a portrait of his youngest, and favourite child--a sweet
little boy, upon whose head three summers had not yet smiled.
"I would not take the world for it!" said Mrs. Morton after looking
at it long and steadily for the hundredth time. "Dear little fellow!
A year from now, and how changed he will be. And every year he will
be changing and changing; but this cannot alter, and even from the
period of manhood, we may look back and see our Willie's face when
but a child."
"Every one who is able," remarked Mr. Morton, "should have the
portraits of his children taken. What better legacy could a father
leave to his child, than the image of his own innocent face! Surely,
it were enough to drive away thoughts of evil, and call up old and
innocent affections, for any man, even the man of crime, to look for
but a moment upon the image of what he was in childhood."
"And yet there are some," added Mrs. Morton, "who call portraits,
and indeed, all paintings, mere luxuries--meaning, thereby,
something that is utterly useless."
"Yes, there are such, but even they, it seems to me, might perceive
their use in preserving the innocent features of their children. The
good impressions made in infancy and childhood, are rarely if ever
lost; they come back upon every one at times, and are, frequently,
all-powerful in the influence they exert against evil. How like a
spell to call back those innocent thoughts and affections, would be
the image of a man's face in childhood! No one, it seems to me,
could resist its influence."
One, two, and three years passed away, and every one wrought some
change upon "little Willie," but each change seemed to the fond
parents an improvement,--yet, did they not look back to earlier
years, as they glanced at his picture, with less of tender emotion,
and heart-stirring delight. But now a sad change, the saddest of all
changes that occur, took place. Disease fastened upon the child, and
ere the parents, and fond sisters of a younger and only brother,
were fully sensible of danger, the spirit of the child had fled. We
will not linger to pain the reader with any minute description of
the deep and abiding grief that fell, like a shadow from an evil
wing overspreading them, upon the household of Mr. Morton, but pass
on to scenes more exciting, if not less moving to the heart.
For many weeks, Mrs. Morton could not trust herself to look up to
the picture that still hung in its place, the picture of her lost
one. But after time had, in some degree, mellowed the grief that
weighed down her spirits, she found a melancholy delight in gazing
intently upon the beautiful face that was still fresh and
unchanged--that still looked the impersonation of innocence.
"He was too pure and too lovely for the earth," she said, one day,
to her husband, about two months after his death, leaning her head
upon his shoulder--"and so the angels took him."
"Then do not grieve for him," Mr. Morton replied in a soothing tone.
"We know that he is with the angels, and where they are, is neither
evil, nor sorrow, nor pain. Much as I loved him, much as I grieved
for his loss, I would not recall him if I could. But, our picture
cannot die. And though it is mute and inanimate, yet it is something
to awaken remembrances, that, even though sad, we delight to
cherish. It is something to remind us, that we have a child in
heaven."
But the loss of their child seemed but the beginning of sorrows to
Mr. Morton and his family. An unexpected series of failures in
business so fatally involved him, that extrication became
impossible. He was an honest man, and therefore, this sudden
disastrous aspect of affairs was doubly painful, for he knew no
other course but the honourable giving up of everything. On learning
the whole truth in relation to his business, he came home, and after
opening the sad news to his wife, he called his family around him.
"My dear children," he said, "I have painful news to break to you;
but you cannot know it too soon. Owing to a succession of heavy
failures, my business has become embarrassed beyond hope. I must
give up all,--even our comfortable and elegant home must be changed
for one less expensive, and less comfortable. Can you, my children,
bear with cheerfulness and contentment such a changed condition?"
The heart of each one had already been subdued and chastened by the
affliction that removed the little playmate of all so suddenly away,
and now the news of a painful and unlooked-for reverse came with a
shock that, for a few moments, bewildered and alarmed.
"Are not my children willing to share the good and evil of life with
their father?" Mr. Morton resumed after the gush of tears that
followed the announcement of his changed fortunes had in a degree
subsided.
"Yes, dear father! be they what they may," Constance, the eldest, a
young lady in her seventeenth year, said, looking up affectionately
through her tears.
Mary, next in years, pressed up to her father's side, and twining an
arm around his neck, kissed his forehead tenderly. She did not
speak; for her heart was too full; but it needed no words to assure
him that her love was as true as the needle to the pole.
Eliza, but twelve, and like an unfolding bud half revealing the
loveliness and beauty within, could not fully comprehend the whole
matter. But enough she did understand, to know that her father was
in trouble, and this brought her also to his side.
"Do not think of us, dear father!" Constance said, after the pause
of a few oppressive moments. "Let the change be what it may, it
cannot take from us our father's love, and our father's honourable
principles. Nor can it change the true affection of his children. I
feel as if I could say, With my father I could go unto prison or to
death."
The father was much moved. "That trial, my dear children, I trust
you may never be called upon to meet. The whole extent of the
painful one into which you are about to enter, you cannot now
possibly realize, and I earnestly hope that your hearts may not fail
you while passing through the deep waters. But one thought may
strengthen; think that by your patience and cheerfulness, your
father's burdens will be lightened. He cannot see you pained without
suffering a double pang himself."
"Trust us, father," was the calm, earnest, affectionate reply of
Constance; and it was plain, by the deep resolution expressed in the
faces of her sisters, that she spoke for them as well as herself.
And now, the shadow that was obscuring their earthly prospects,
began to fall thicker upon them. At the meeting of his creditors
which was called, he gave a full statement of his affairs.
"And now," he said, "I am here to assign everything. In consequence
of heavy, and you all must see, unavoidable, losses, this assignment
will include all my property, and still leave a small deficiency.
Beyond that, I can only hope for success in my future exertions, and
pledge that success in anticipation. Can I do more?"
"We could not ask for more certainly," was the cold response of a
single individual, made in a tone of voice implying no sympathy with
the debtor's misfortunes, but rather indicating disappointment that
the whole amount of his claim could not be made out of the assets.
Some degree of sympathy, some kind consideration for his painful
condition Mr. Morton naturally looked for, but nearly every kind
emotion for him was stifled by the sordid disappointment which each
one of his former business friends felt in losing what they valued,
as their feelings indicated, above everything else--their money.
"When will the assignment be made?" was the next remark.
"Appoint your trustees, and I am ready at any moment."
Trustees were accordingly appointed, and these had a private
conference with, and received their instructions from the creditors.
In a week they commenced their work of appraisement. After a
thorough and careful examination into accounts, deeds, mortgages,
and documents of various kinds, and becoming satisfied that every
thing was as Mr. Morton had stated it, it was found that the
property represented by these would cover ninety cents in the
dollar.
"Your furniture and plate comes next," said one of the trustees.