“I very well remember how frequently I was annoyed by dogs when riding along the road. A yelping cur has followed at my horse’s heels for five or six minutes, cunningly keeping beyond the reach of my whip—some dogs do this all their lives. Have the shepherd’s dogs perished likewise—all, did you say?”
“Yes; every dog—pointers, setters, hounds—all were exterminated; and I sincerely hope that the breed will never be encouraged again. In fact, the laws are so severe that there is no fear of it, for no man can bring them in the country without incurring a heavy fine, and in particular cases imprisonment at hard labour. We should as soon expect to see a wolf or a tiger running loose in the streets as a dog.”
Every step they took excited fresh remarks from Hastings, and his mind naturally turned to the friends he had lost. How perfect would have been his happiness if it had been permitted that his wife and his father could be with him to see the improved state of the country. When he looked forward to what his life might be—unknown, alone—he regretted that he had been awakened: but his kind relative, who never left him for a moment, as soon as these melancholy reveries came over him hurried him to some new scene.
They were now in Philadelphia, the Athens of America, as it was called three centuries back. Great changes had taken place here. Very few of the public edifices had escaped the all-devouring hand of time. In fact, Hastings recognised but five—that beautiful building called originally the United States Bank, the Mint, the Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, and the Girard College. The latter continued to flourish, notwithstanding its downfall was early predicted, in consequence of the prohibition of clergymen in the direction of its affairs. The dispute, too, about the true signification of the term “orphan” had been settled; it was at length, after a term of years, twenty, I think, decided, that the true meaning and intent of Stephen Girard, the wise founder of the institution, was to make it a charity for those children who had lost both parents.
“I should not think,” said Hastings, on hearing this from Edgar, “that any one could fancy, for a moment, that Girard meant any thing else.”
“Why no, neither you nor I, nor ninety-nine out of a hundred, would decide otherwise; but it seems a question was raised, and all the books of reference were appealed to, as well as the poets. In almost every case, an orphan was said to be a child deprived of one or both parents; and, what is very singular, the term orphan occurs but once throughout the Old and New Testaments. In Lamentations it says, ‘We are orphans, and fatherless, and our mothers are as widows.’ Now, in the opinion of many, the orphan and fatherless, and those whose mothers are as widows, here mentioned, are three distinct sets of children—that is, as the lament says, some of us are orphans, meaning children without father and mother, some of us are fatherless; and the third set says, ‘our mothers are as widows.’ This means, that in consequence of their fathers’ absence, their mothers were as desolate and helpless as if in reality they were widows by the death of their husbands. This text, therefore, settles nothing. Girard, like all the unlettered men of the age, by the term orphan, understood it to mean a child without parents.”
“I very well remember,” said Hastings, “that on another occasion when the term came in question, I asked every man and woman that worked on and lived near the great canal, what they meant by orphan, and they invariably, without a single exception, said it meant a child without parents.”
“Well, the good sense of the trustees, at the end of the time I mentioned, decided after the manner of the multitude—for it was from this mass that their objects of charity were taken. And there is no instance on the records, of a widow begging admittance for her fatherless boys. They knew very well what being an orphan meant, but to their praise be it said, if fatherless children had been included in the term, there were very few who would not have struggled as long as it was in their power, before their boys should be taken to a charitable institution.”
“I recollect, too,” said Hastings, “that great umbrage was taken by many persons because the clergy were debarred from any interference in the management of the college. No evil, you say, has arisen from this prohibition?”
“None at all,” replied Edgar. “The clergy were not offended by it; they found they had enough to do with church affairs. It has been ever since in the hands of a succession of wise, humane, and honest men. The funds have gone on increasing, and as they became more than sufficient for the purposes of the college, the surplus has been lawfully spent in improving the city.”