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  LADY EUREKA;
  OR,
  THE MYSTERY:
  A PROPHECY OF THE FUTURE.

  BY THE AUTHOR
  OF
  "MEPHISTOPHELES IN ENGLAND."

  IN THREE VOLUMES.
  VOL. III.

  LONDON:
  LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
  PATERNOSTER-ROW.
  1840.




  LONDON;
  Printed by A. SPOTTISWOODE,
  New-Street-Square.




CONTENTS


     I. ROLY POLY'S SICKNESS, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.
    II. AN AUSTRALIAN COLONY IN SPAIN.
   III. OLD ENGLAND.
    IV. THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.
     V. AN ACCOUNT OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF OLD ENGLAND.
    VI. THE DEATH OF THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.
   VII. LILYA.
  VIII. LOVE MISPLACED.
    IX. A DISCOVERY.
     X. A FIGHT AT SEA.
    XI. THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN DEATH, AND THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS.
   XII. THE CONCLUSION.




EUREKA;

A PROPHECY OF THE FUTURE.




CHAPTER I.

ROLY POLY'S SICKNESS, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.


"Oh, massa, I so bad!" exclaimed the fat cook, as he waddled up to the
surgeon, with a most woeful expression of countenance.

"What's the matter with you, Roly Poly?" inquired Dr. Tourniquet.

"Sich a debble ob a pain, massa," continued the black.

"But where is it, man? where is it? Can't do you any good till I know
what's the matter with you, don't you see," said the surgeon.

"Debble ob a pain, massa, in my tomack," replied his patient, rubbing
his huge hand over his stomach, and heaving the most despairing of
sighs.

"Put out your tongue," exclaimed the doctor.

The fat cook extended a pair of enormous jaws, and protruded something
which resembled a scorched brick-bat.

"Ah! derangement of the digestive functions," remarked the practitioner,
after a brief inspection of the misshapen lump of flesh his patient had
exhibited. "What have you been eating?"

"Eatin, massa?" repeated Roly Poly, looking most ludicrously pathetic,
"can't eat nutting, massa, to tink of. Loss nappetite 'pletely.
Breakfast, me only eat pound and harp o' beef--berry little lump o' cold
puddin big as my two fistes," (which were the size of another person's
head), "two or tree red herrin--harp-a-dozen egg--lope o' bread, and
one, two quart o' cocoa. Nuttin more, me 'sure you, massa. Yes, me loss
nappetite 'pletely. Den for lunch, me eat pound and harp o' beef--berry
little lump o' cold puddin, big as my two fistes--two or tree red
herrin--and drop o' liquor wash it down, not more den harp a gallon,
nutting to tink of, massa. Den for dinner me eat pound and harp o'
beef--berry little lump o' hot puddin, big as my two fistes--plate or
two o' wedgeables--lope o' bread--small bit o' cheese, big as one o' my
two fistes--and drop o' liquor wash it down, not more nor harp a gallon.
Can't eat nuttin. Den for tea me eat pound and harp o' beef--berry
little lump o' cold puddin, big as my two fistes--two or tree red
herrin--harp-a-dozen egg--lope o' bread, and one, two quart o' cocoa.
Nuttin to tink of. Den for supper, me eat pound and harp o' beef--berry
little lump o' cold puddin, big as my two fistes--two or tree red
herrin, and two or tree roasted tatoroes--lope o' bread--small bit o'
cheese, big as one o' my two fistes--and drop o' liquor wash it down,
not more nor harp a gallon. Me eat nuttin, massa. Loss nappetite
'pletely."

"Why, you eat enough to satisfy a regiment," exclaimed Dr. Tourniquet.

"No, massa, me berry poor eater," replied the fat cook in a doleful
tone; "eat nuttin to sinnify. Ony pound and harp o' beef--berry little
lump o' cold puddin----"

"Yes, yes; I've heard all that," said the doctor, impatiently
interrupting him. "Your plethoric habit must be reduced, don't you see.
You must be bled and physicked, till we bring down that mountain of
flesh into something like a healthy size. You must eat no beef, no
pudding, no red herrings, no eggs, and no cheese; and drink neither
liquor nor cocoa. You must drink nothing but barley water, and eat
nothing but arrow-root; and run up and down the deck for half an hour,
half-a-dozen times a-day."

As the Doctor described the remedies he desired his patient to adopt,
Roly Poly's mouth gradually extended itself till it threatened to
approach his ears; and his eyes kept winking and staring as if in
complete consternation.

"Massa!" at last he loudly exclaimed, and seemed gradually becoming
more indignant. "What, starve poor <DW65>! reduce poor Roly Poly to a
natomy! No eat no pound and harp o' beef, no berry little lump o' cold
puddin big as my two fistes--no red herrin--no nuttin! You want to kill
poor Roly Poly, Sar! You want to 'prive de world o' de cook what makes
de booflifulest dishes as you nebber see, Sar! You want to make skeleton
o' poor <DW65> to put in glass-case, Sar! Nebber heard o' sich numanity!
sick barbararity--sich cruelty to anmals! Where de debble you spect to
go when you die?"

"Well, if you don't like to follow my prescriptions, it's no use coming
for my advice, don't you see," remarked the Doctor.

"Follow your scriptions?" replied his patient, losing all respect for
his companion in the intensity of his indignation. "Follow a shark's
grandmutter, Sar. What, eat nuttin but arrow-root? nassy slop!--pooty
joke indeed. Drink nuttin but barley water?--washy stuff! Tink you catch
me at it. Be bled and physicked, and run up and down deck six times a
day for harp an hour--what a preposterosterous impossumbility."

"You will get much worse if you don't, and possibly you may die, don't
you see," observed Tourniquet.

"Die, Massa!" cried the fat cook, looking horrified at the idea, and
rubbing his stomach with an increased energy. "Oh, sich a debble ob a
pain! Die Massa! Poor Roly Poly die? Sich a boofliful cook die! Quite
unnatral, Massa. Oh, sich a debble ob a pain! What become o' de poor
fellars who eat him nice puddins, and soups, and all dat? Nebber hab no
beckfast; nebber hab no lunch; nebber hab no dinner; nebber hab no tea;
nebber hab no supper; never hab no nuttin! What become o' ebry body?
What become o' ship? Same o' you say Roly Poly die! Nobody do nuttin
widout him; cook be most important ofcer in ship. Roly Poly be
booflifulest cook as nebber was. Same o' you say Roly Poly die!"

"Well you will find out the difference by-and-bye, don't you see," said
the Doctor; and, turning on his heel, he left his patient to his own
reflections.

"Him no more doctor dan a jackmorass," muttered the fat cook, as he
waddled to another part of the ship, making the most ludicrous grimaces,
and rubbing his stomach with an activity, that for him, was quite
surprising. On his way he met with Loop, the young midshipman, who had
lately distinguished himself by his love of mischief, and fondness for
tricks. The lad, with a very demure face, approached Roly Poly.

"How do you do, Roly Poly?" he inquired, looking into his face as if he
was wonderfully interested in the result of his question.

"Oh, sich a debble ob a pain!" replied the fat cook, with a most
melancholy visage, continuing the up and down motion of his hand.

"You look very ill, very ill indeed," observed the boy. "What an
extraordinary change! I should scarcely have known you. You must be in
a very dangerous state, Roly Poly. You ought to be in your hammock. You
ought to be making your will--you ought to be saying your prayers."

"Oo, oo, oo!" blubbered out the fat cook, lengthening his face as he
listened to the remarks of his companion. "You tink I die, Massa Loop?"

"I am much afraid you will be as dead as a herring before you can look
about you," replied Loop.

"Oo, oo, oo!" The other continued. "Doctor say I die: you say I die:
spose I must die. Oo, oo, oo!----"

"We are all mortal," observed the youth, with a grave countenance; "and
all, sooner or later, must leave this sublunary world. Cooks cannot be
spared any more than midshipmen."

"Oo, oo, oo!" cried Roly Poly.

"Is there any thing I can do for you?" anxiously inquired the
midshipman;--"any consolation I can afford, before your cold remains are
consigned to the deep."

"Oo, oo, oo!" continued the fat cook.

"You must have fortitude to bear the blow," said Loop, with a
countenance that would have done credit to a judge. "Let this be your
consolation, that although your body will be devoured by the first shark
that ventures in its way----"

"Oo, oo, oo, oo!" vehemently sobbed the sick man, interrupting the
sentence before it was half finished.

"You ought now to think of your sins," continued his tormentor. "It is
never too late to repent, you know; and I should earnestly advise you to
confess all the injuries you have done your fellow-creatures by imposing
upon their stomachs the villanous specimens of your cookery you have
from time to time set before them. Confess upon what pipe-clay and
train-oil system you made your puddings,--confess the abominable trash
you put together to manufacture into soups;--confess how many you have
poisoned with your atrocious cocoa--confess----"

It is possible that the young midshipman might have said much more,
but Roly Poly, who had listened to his injunctions at first with
astonishment, and next with rage, lost all consideration for his
approaching dissolution, and his yellow eyeballs flashed with fury.
"What de debble you mean you fellar!" thundered out the enraged cook,
approaching his companion, who wisely kept out of arms' reach. "What de
debble you mean ob pipe-clay and train-oil? What you mean ob bominable
trash--what you mean ob poison wid trocious cocoa? You mean to sult me,
Sar? You tink I put up wid your imprance, Sar? You spose I low one man
to peak sick horble tings o' nodder man."

"Man!" exclaimed the youth, as he edged away from his pursuer,--"You
don't call yourself a man, surely? You know you're nothing else but an
old blacking bottle, turned inside out."

"Blacka bottle!" shouted Roly Poly, while his face became livid with
rage, and he looked utter annihilation at his insulter, "Blacka bottle!
I blacka bottle you, I catch you!" and he waddled after the midshipman
as fast as his fat legs would carry him, intent upon vengeance.

Loop kept dodging him about from one place to another, saying the most
aggravating things he could think of, till the perspiration rolled
down the black cheeks of the infuriated cook, and he seemed completely
exhausted by his exertions. Roly Poly sat down at the foot of one of the
masts to rest himself, breathing all sorts of threatenings against his
tormentor; while the young midshipman, laughing at the success of his
trick, nimbly ascended the yards, and took up a position just over
the head of the victim of his mischief. The latter was congratulating
himself that he was left at peace, and was endeavouring to recover
the tranquillity of his temper, when he became conscious of something
dropping down upon him; putting his hand to his woolly head, he
discovered it was being covered with pitch, and, looking up, beheld
Master Loop snugly balanced aloft, amusing himself by pouring from an
old bucket some of the fluid that had polluted his person.

It would be in vain attempting to delineate the passion of the fat cook
at this discovery. Furious with rage, he caught up a small hand-spike
that lay near, and poised it in his hand with the intention of throwing
it at his tormentor. Loop saw what he was about to do, and immediately,
as rapidly as possible, moved from his position, and kept changing from
place to place, with a quickness that baffled the fat cook's aim; but
when he had ascended to a greater height, and was passing from one point
to another with a velocity that seemed impossible to be imitated, his
foot slipped, and with a scream that made all on deck aware of his
danger, he fell headlong into the sea.

The Albatross was proceeding at a moderate rate, and was about fifty
miles off the coast of Spain. Oriel Porphyry was conversing with Zabra
on the quarter-deck, when he noticed the accident. He, with others,
rushed to the side; and, observing where the boy descended, he
immediately threw off his upper garments, and plunged into the waves.
There was a strong sea running at the time, and it required the arm of
a powerful swimmer to force a way through the heaving billows. Upon
arriving at the surface, after his plunge, Oriel struck out for the
spot where the midshipman had fallen, but saw nothing of the object
of his search. He dived about in every direction; but was equally
unsuccessful. Anxious to endeavour to save the youth while a possibility
remained of his rescue, he continued his exertions; but he met with
nothing that could in the slightest degree, assist him in his object.
Not a trace of the boy was to be seen. Disappointed and weary, he
was about returning to the ship, when he caught the sound of a faint,
bubbling cry at no great distance from him, and turning his eyes in that
direction, he thought he could distinguish something like a human head
in the trough of an advancing wave. He swum rapidly in that direction;
and as he approached, saw it disappear from the surface. Down he dived
after it as rapidly as his skill would allow; but though he swept the
waters, far and near, with his arms, he touched nothing but the cold
salt water; and after remaining beneath the surface till his strength
and breath were nearly exhausted, he arose, dispirited and faint, into
the open air.

While the most painful reflections were created in his mind, by the
unsuccessful result of his labours, he suddenly observed a dark
substance rise within a few feet of him; he struck out towards it
in a moment, and grasping it firmly with his hand, to his deep and
inexpressible delight discovered it to be the body of the lost
midshipman. His face was pallid, his skin cold, and as Oriel found that
he made no reply to his hurried inquiries, he was much afraid that the
boy was either dead, or was in a state nearly approaching dissolution.

By this time the ship had been put about, and the sailors having been
made acquainted with the accident rushed with anxious faces to the side.
They watched with the deepest interest the young merchant gallantly
breasting the waves in search of their drowning favourite, and became
uneasy as they noticed the unprofitableness of his efforts. But none
regarded the progress of the swimmer with such intense excitement of
feeling as Zabra. He saw his patron pass from wave to wave--he observed
him dive into the dark waters, and waited for his re-appearance with
sensations impossible to be described. As the vessel was brought round
to the spot where Oriel Porphyry was pursuing his researches, he became
more earnest in his attention. He endeavoured to encourage him in
his efforts with his voice, and to strengthen him in his purpose by
his praise. The captain had not ascended to the deck, and he was
unacquainted with the accident: but as soon as he was made aware of it,
he hurried to the ship's side in an agony of apprehension, and it was
only the strong grasp of Boggle and Climberkin that prevented him from
plunging into the sea.

A loud cheer from the crew announced that the young merchant had
succeeded in finding the object of his solicitude, and anxiously every
eye turned towards the spot where he was seen supporting the boy with
one arm and cleaving his way through the waves with the other.

"A shark--a shark!" screamed Zabra; and to the horror of Oriel and
those who were observing him, a monstrous shark was seen coming rapidly
towards him. A cry of terror arose from the ship. Some shouted in hopes
of frightening away the ravenous animal--others to warn the young
merchant of his danger. Some ran to get fire arms, and Hearty, breaking
away from those who held him, suddenly hurried below the deck. The agony
of Zabra became insupportable. He screamed in all the piercing tones
of horror and despair, and his handsome features seemed convulsed with
fear. Still, as if there was a fascination in the object, he kept his
eyes upon the form of the shark. He watched its movements with a fearful
interest, and saw it near its intended victim with wild and frantic
terror.

Oriel Porphyry beheld the approach of the giant of the deep with
consternation and dread. He could not abandon his companion, who was
incapable of making the least exertion for his own safety, and he saw no
way of rescue for himself. He held the boy tighter, and dashed along the
waves with greater velocity in hopes of reaching the rope that was hung
out from the ship before the huge animal could come up with him. To the
attainment of this purpose he strained all his powers. Many friendly
voices cheered him on, and others strove all they could to frighten
away his remorseless enemy. But the shark kept on his way, unheeding the
frightful cries and showers of missiles with which he was assailed. His
fierce eyes were fixed upon his prey, and his monstrous jaws were gaping
for their food. The rope was almost within reach, but the destroyer was
nearer. Oriel Porphyry gave himself up for lost. It appeared evident to
all that he could not escape. The crew redoubled their cries and flung
every thing at hand at the monster without avail. Just as he was turning
on his side to make the fatal gripe, Hearty rushed upon the deck with a
long knife in his hand, and before any one was aware of his purpose, he
leaped over the side of the ship and descended into the water close to
the jaws of the shark, with a splash that completely distracted the
animal's attention, and allowed Oriel Porphyry unmolested to seize the
rope which the eager sailors held to assist him in regaining the vessel.
In a moment, with his lifeless burthen still grasped in his arm, he
was hawled upon the deck, and then placing him under the care of Dr.
Tourniquet, he was turning to notice the result of the Captain's
manoeuvre when he found himself seized by the friendly grasp of Zabra,
whose delight at his escape appeared to have taken away all power of
utterance.

But now an extraordinary scene presented itself upon the sea. The shark
had dived below the surface, when Hearty suddenly dashed down before
him; but on rising again, which he very shortly did, and on perceiving
his prey escape, he turned with increased ferocity towards the hardy
seaman, who was rejoicing at the success of his scheme. The old man
waited quietly till the shark turned to make a snap at him, then diving
quickly under his enormous belly, he plunged the knife up to the hilt in
his body, and rose up on the other side. The crew cheered vociferously
when they saw what their captain was about, and every one on board
watched the unequal combat with feelings of the most intense interest.
The ravenous monster, smarting with pain, again approached his opponent;
again he turned to gripe him within his jaws, and again the old man
diving under his belly, plunged his knife deep into his flesh. The
animal now became furious; he lashed the waves with his tail till they
became a mass of foam, and rapidly followed his brave antagonist, making
every effort to devour him; but the old man warily avoided all his
ferocious attempts, and at every blow of his arm crimsoned the water
with his blood. This fight continued for several minutes, till both the
combatants disappeared from the surface, when the anxious crew of the
Albatross began to fear that their brave old commander had fallen a
sacrifice to his exertions; but when they beheld the huge fish floating
on the water belly upwards, and heard the old man cry out for a rope, a
long and hearty cheer rose from the ship, and every one rushed to bear
a hand in assisting him on board.

He appeared covered with the blood of the slaughtered shark, and with
the weapon in his hand, of which he had made such good service. While he
was receiving the congratulations of his messmates, he inquired eagerly
after his young relative. Oriel, who had ascertained that he was doing
well, hastened to communicate the intelligence; and the old man as soon
as he beheld the preserver of his boy, eagerly grasped his hand, and
uttered his grateful thanks. Both soon afterwards left the deck to
change their apparel.

Among those who seemed most anxious for the recovery of the young
midshipman was Roly Poly, who, although exceedingly passionate, and
easily enraged, was a very good hearted sort of creature, and he quite
forgot the insults he had received--forgot even the terrible pains
that had a short time since so much alarmed him, when he witnessed the
dangers to which the boy had been exposed, and saw him brought lifeless
upon the deck. He assisted Dr. Tourniquet in using the usual means for
restoring suspended animation, and observed his recovery with a delight
equal to that of any one in the ship.

After Loop was able to walk about, Roly Poly addressed him with a great
deal of gravity upon the offence he had committed.

"Nebber you gain call me Blacka Bottle," said the fat cook. "Nebber
you say nuttin scandabalous bout de boofliful tings what I cook.
Nebber you say no preposterosterous impossumbilities. Horble ting,
massa Loop, to call Roly Poly Blacka Bottle--Horble ting to say nuttin
scandabalous--Horble ting to say preposterosterous impossumbilities."

"I'll never say any thing against you again, Roly Poly, as long as I
live," exclaimed the contrite midshipman: and thus ended the quarrel;
and ever afterwards they were the best friends in the ship.




CHAP. II.

AN AUSTRALIAN COLONY IN SPAIN.


"We are approaching the Colony to which you thought of emigrating,
are we not?" inquired Oriel Porphyry of the captain's clerk, who
stood beside him on the deck, and with whom he had been in earnest
conversation concerning the misfortunes of the young Australian.

An expression of pain and regret passed over Ardent's countenance.

"Yes it was here," he replied making a violent effort to conquer his
emotion. "We were destined to the penal settlement of New Sydney on the
Spanish coast, thriving accounts of which were in circulation in
Australia. My brothers were desirous of a location somewhere near the
banks of the Guadalquivir, as, although it was thinly settled, the land
was said to be of a very superior quality. My father was of the same
inclination. I had no other wish than to accompany them. Optima was
anxious for nothing but to be with me. But, alas! the devouring flame,
or the equally unrelenting flood has swallowed up all. I am a wanderer
and a beggar.--I have neither kin nor country."

"Say not so," replied the young merchant kindly. "I have not forgotten
the services you have rendered me, nor am I likely to pass them by
without notice. If you wish to settle at the colony, I will take care
you shall have the means of doing so with every hope of success; or if
you have no particular inclination towards any country, if you will
return with me to Columbia, you may depend upon meeting with many kind
friends, and may pass the rest of your life in comfort. I must touch at
New Sydney as I expect a letter from my father, from whom I have not for
some time had any communication, which makes me exceedingly anxious; and
if you hear of any desirable farm or plot of land, I wish you would let
me know."

"Your kindness is overpowering," said Ardent, much affected. "I have
done nothing to deserve it. I have already been rewarded in a manner far
exceeding my deserts. But while I can be of any service, I should like
to remain with you. I have no ties to bind me to any country--and where
I can be useful is where I should like to dwell."

"So it shall be then," added Oriel Porphyry. "Be satisfied that the
remainder of your life shall bear no comparison with what has preceded
it. We are now nearing the shore. I shall require your services as I
have some business to transact; therefore you will be good enough to
prepare to land with me immediately."

As the Albatross approached the coast, the buildings of a small seaport
became distinguishable. Some large houses faced the sea, and a battery
commanded the entrance to the port; but with the exception of one or
two streets running at right angles, the buildings straggled about
with very little pretensions to regularity. The country seemed thinly
inhabited, yet looked fertile and picturesque. Broad hills and valleys
and noble views were observable in the distance;--a wild and lofty rock
rose along the coast; and forests of noble trees were spread out in
various directions. There was no shipping in the bay, except a few small
craft; but the beach was crowded with spectators. It was observed that,
among the hundreds who were watching the progress of the ship from the
shore, there was only one female: the rest were men, and they were
apparently of all ages, but principally men in the prime of life and in
the full vigour of health. The appearance of only one woman surrounded
by such an assemblage of the other sex seemed so remarkable, that it
attracted the attention of all on board. As the ship entered the bay,
several boats were put off, and the crew of each seemed to strain every
nerve in endeavouring to get first alongside the vessel. In a few
minutes the Albatross was boarded by several different parties.

"How many women have you?" cried one; as soon as he reached the deck.

"Let me see your cargo of female emigrants," demanded another as he
bustled up to the captain.

"I want a wife!" shouted a third.

"We have no women here," exclaimed Hearty.

"No women!" cried they in full chorus, looking as disappointed as men
could be.

"None," replied the captain.

"What! have you brought us no wives?" asked one in a most doleful tone.

"Nothing of the kind," said Hearty.

"Tarnation!" exclaimed they; and they looked at each other with all the
eloquence of mute despair.

"A little un 'ill do for me!" squeaked out a dumpy sort of fellow, with
a red nose and a pepper-and-salt waistcoat.

"We've got neither little nor big!" responded the captain.

"Tarnation!" again exclaimed the bachelors; and, slowly and
despondingly, they prepared to leave the ship.

"Now ar'nt you got nothing feminine of no kind?" earnestly asked a
sharp-visaged, lanky-looking settler, who seemed very loth to leave the
ship. "If she's a <DW65>, I don't care."

"I tell you we've got no women at all!" said old Hearty, rather sharply.

"Tarnation!" muttered the disappointed colonists: and in a short time
after they had reached the land, there was scarcely a creature, with the
exception of the female already alluded to, to be seen on the beach.
They had been expecting a ship laden with female emigrants, and as they
were very much in want of wives, imagining the Albatross to be the much
wished for vessel, they had been excessively eager to behold the cargo.
The incident created considerable amusement among the voyagers. The
sailors were particularly merry upon the occasion; and the rueful
visages of the unfortunate colonists afforded many a hearty laugh.

Oriel had landed, and was walking along the beach, when he was startled
by a short, quick scream, and turning round, beheld the female who had
previously attracted his attention, rush into the arms of the captain's
clerk. He had noticed, on his approach to the shore, that this woman,
who from her dress appeared to be a domestic servant, seemed to regard
the persons in the boat with an anxious scrutiny; but imagining it to be
the effect of curiosity, it did not excite in him any remark. Ardent, at
this rencontre, seemed to be in a state of surprise and wonder that kept
him speechless. He gazed upon the prepossessing features of the fair
stranger as earnestly as if he had no other faculty than that of seeing.
The kind and anxious look that met his own--the arms that clasped his
neck so firmly, and the gentle voice that murmured his name, convinced
him of a fact of which he was almost incredulous. It was Optima.

"By what fortunate chance did you escape the death I felt assured that
you had met with?" inquired Ardent, after, at Oriel's request, he
had for the purpose of privacy retired to a chamber in one of the
neighbouring habitations.

"When I found the boat sinking, I clung to it," replied his companion;
"and when it again rose to the surface I floated on it. The blow which
it had received from the ship had propelled it a considerable distance,
and the force of the waves carried it still farther. The plunge I had
received, for some minutes took my breath away; and, although I held on
with all my strength to the boat, the heavy waves continually breaking
upon me, and the alarming position in which I found myself placed,
made me quite incapable of uttering a sound. As soon as I was able to
comprehend the extent of my danger, the thought that I was separated
from you, and the fear that you had perished in the sea, made my heart
sink within me. I clung instinctively to the floating vessel; but I had
no desire to live. I had seen enough of that dreadful conflagration
to fill me with terror; and I had not recovered from the feelings it
occasioned, when I was left alone, friendless, and about to be engulphed
in the waters. All around me was so dark that I could see nothing; but
the saltwater, as it dashed over me, scarcely allowed me to open my
eyes if I could have seen, and my strength was being rapidly exhausted.
I soon sunk into a state of stupor. How long this lasted I do not know;
but on recovery, I found myself in a cabin, receiving every attention
that my wants required; and, on inquiry, I found that I had been picked
up by the crew of a ship, which, attracted by the glare of the burning
vessel, had sent out a boat, in hopes of affording assistance to the
survivors."

"I was saved in a similar manner," remarked Ardent.

"When they had taken me into the boat they did not proceed any farther,"
continued Optima, "as they observed that another vessel had sent out
a boat's crew upon the same errand, and having no spare time at their
command, they left the other boat to pick up the survivors, and returned
with me to the ship. I discovered also that the vessel to which I had
been conveyed had left Sydney with emigrants for the very colony to
which we were proceeding. I told my story to my preservers, and many
who heard it were kind and compassionate. An offer was made me by
the wife of a settler to remain with her in the capacity of domestic
servant, which offer I accepted without hesitation. One thing was a
great consolation to me, and that was the conviction that you had been
saved. I knew that you were a strong swimmer, and as I had been told
that a party had been sent from the ship to rescue the crew of the boat
they had run down, I concluded that you were in safety."

"You were right, dear Optima!" said the captain's clerk; "I was taken
on board that ship, and have since held in it a responsible situation."

"Believing you to have been rescued, I continued to live, with the hope
that I should meet you again," continued Optima. "I arrived at the
colony. The persons whose protection I had accepted, settled at Sydney,
where the husband commenced business as a builder, in which he succeeded
beyond his expectations. I was very well treated, and labour being
exceedingly valuable in the colony, my exertions were rather profitable
to me. At that time I entertained the idea that as all our property was
consumed in the fire, you must be very much in want of a variety of
comforts to which you had been used; and as the expectation of my
meeting you again was never absent from me, I laboured diligently, and
saved all my earnings as a provision for our future support."

Ardent could only look his gratitude, and rapturously kiss the hand he
held in his own.

"It was such a pleasure to me, dear Ardent," resumed his companion, "to
count my gains as fast as they accumulated, and I kept saying to myself
'a little more and there will be enough to begin the world again with;'
and I thought how happy I should be able to make you, and I kept hoping
we should soon meet--and every day passed by in imagining what we should
do, and in enjoying a happiness of my own creating. Every time I heard
that a ship was in the bay, I came down to the beach in hopes of finding
you among the passengers. I scrutinised every one that left the vessel
so closely that I offended some and surprised others; but although I
met with repeated disappointments, I never left off expecting your
arrival. By this time I had saved about two hundred dollars, and whether
it became known, or whether the scarcity of females brought me into
such consideration, I do not know; but scarcely a day passed without my
receiving an offer of marriage."

"An offer of marriage!" exclaimed Ardent in surprise.

"Yes, dear Ardent," replied Optima. "The men seemed frantic after me. I
was not safe any where. If I went to pay a bill, it was sure to conclude
on the part of the tradesman with an offer of his hand and heart. If I
entered the market, no sooner had I made a purchase than I received a
proposal. I was besieged in all hours and at all places,--I may almost
say that I received a new suitor at the corner of every street. It was
in vain I told them I was married, and showed them my wedding ring. They
saw that I had no husband with me, and they were desirous of supplying
his place; and men even of a superior rank continually plagued me with
their proposals. It is scarcely necessary to say that I gave them all
a negative answer; but these were things that they did not appear to
understand, for the more frequently I refused, the more frequently they
again proposed. At last I was obliged to state how I was situated to the
lady with whom I was staying, and she spoke to her husband; and he took
measures that put an end to the persecution. And now, dear Ardent, that
my anticipations are realised, we will be so very happy--won't we?"

It is easier to imagine what was the answer than to describe it. It is
sufficient to say that Oriel Porphyry made a considerable addition to
the two hundred dollars which the devoted Optima had saved, that enabled
the young couple to take a promising farm up the country, with every
prospect of enjoying a life of continued happiness.

"It is very strange," remarked the young merchant to Zabra on his return
to the ship, "it is very strange that I have had no communication from
my father. I expected one at Athenia, but I received no intelligence. I
expected one at Constantinople--there I met with the same result; and I
then made sure of meeting with one at New Sydney, but was there equally
unsuccessful. It makes me very uneasy."

"Possibly he may have nothing of importance to write about," replied
Zabra. "Things at Columbia may remain in the same state as at his last
despatch."

"I doubt it. I doubt that the emperor will remain satisfied with his
prerogatives curtailed to the extent to which they have lately been
reduced," said Oriel Porphyry. "There is no sincerity in these men. They
will break any compact when it suits their convenience. They have no
notion of either honour or honesty: and the emperor is a weak, vain,
foolish man, proud, tyrannical, and deceitful. Such a man must be ever
scheming to regain his former power; and if he think it be practicable
he will not be particular as to the means he will employ for that
purpose. I am much afraid my father has fallen a sacrifice to his
patriotism."

"It cannot be," observed his companion. "They would not dare harm him."

"Dare!" echoed his patron. "What evil will not bad men dare? And did not
that proud upstart Philadelphia load his honourable limbs with chains
and thrust him into a loathsome dungeon to die the lingering death of
starvation? He dared do that, and I doubt much whether a worse villainy
could have been perpetrated. I hope to live to see the time when I shall
have an opportunity of bringing him to an account for these and other
atrocities. If my good sword be true, and my arm has lost none of its
power, I'll not leave his worthless body till I have relieved it of his
equally worthless soul."

"What!" exclaimed Zabra, with considerable excitement, "would you be
thus revengeful to the father of Eureka? You too, who a short time
since seemed ready to forgive him all his errors on account of his
relationship to her. What has changed you? Why would you follow the bad
examples of bad men? That he is not what he should be is too true; but
that is no reason why you should become his executioner. Do you think
that Eureka could regard you with affection when you came to her
stained with her father's blood? I am surprised that you should have
given utterance to such a sentiment."

"I knew not till lately the atrocities he had committed, and the savage
disposition he possessed," replied the young merchant; "and I can see no
more harm in killing such a monster than there is in destroying a mad
beast."

"How different then your feelings must be to those of your father,"
observed the other. "He knew what was due to humanity, and practised it,
and he was the person best entitled to call for vengeance, but he was
satisfied with justice. Professing the regard you do towards Eureka,
nothing could surprise me more than to hear you proclaim so inhuman a
wish."

"It is impossible for me to help feeling exasperated against him," said
Oriel. "Imagine for a moment yourself in my situation. Let your father
be as mine is, the kindest and noblest of his species; know that he who
never did harm to any living creature, but sought to create happiness
throughout the world--was fettered and reviled, and left lingering in
filth and darkness for three days, enduring all the pangs of famine;
and if you have a heart within your breast, and a soul that hates the
cowardly vices of despotism, you will feel as I do, and long for an
opportunity to punish your father's persecutor, in a manner worthy of
his crimes. I know that your relationship to the offender must stand in
the way of your seeing the justice of the punishment I would inflict:
but I am no hypocrite Zabra. I cannot disguise my detestation of such a
monster; and although next to Eureka and my father I honour you, even
your opposition would not make me change a sentiment so natural and
appropriate."

"Leave Philadelphia to his own feelings, which sooner or later will be
sufficient punishment," responded Zabra. "Touch him not if you value
the love of Eureka. She I know has little cause to feel much affection
for him, but bad as he is she never can be brought to look upon his
destroyer with any feeling save that of repugnance."

"If that be the case I hope he will keep out of my way," rejoined the
young merchant; "for I think I could endure anything rather than her
dislike; but the absence of intelligence from my father has certainly
made me suspicious. I am almost determined to return to Columbia without
proceeding to England."

"I do not think such a course advisable, Oriel," observed Zabra. "There
may be a thousand things that prevent your father's correspondence, or
he may have written, and the despatches may have been lost. If this be
the case, and there is a great probability that it is, he would be very
much vexed at your returning without having accomplished your voyage."

"Well, I will proceed, but I will only make a brief stay among the
antiquities of England, and then steer direct for Columbia," replied
Oriel Porphyry: "I have very strong doubts about things being exactly
right there. The accounts I have heard are of a contrary tendency; but
if the storm is to be, it will come unexpected. If any attempt be made
by the government to restore the old order of things, I hope they will
have the goodness to wait till my return before they commence their
proceedings. There is a powerful regiment of horse, composed of the
young citizens of Columbus, of which I have the command; I believe that
they are devoted to my will; and even with these, although they are not
above a thousand strong, I would make such a stand as would soon bring
around me all the brave spirits in the country: I only wish for an
opportunity to try the experiment."

"Will you never dismiss these delusive visions," said his young friend,
anxiously. "I thought that you were at last becoming reconciled to a
more useful and amiable way of life."

"You have been deceived, Zabra," observed Oriel; "I have been more
quiet, but not less ambitious. This passion for glory has become a part
of my nature; it is with me at all times. I think of it and dream of it.
It is the anticipation of finding the opportunity for greatness that
makes me able to endure the tedious inactivity of my present mode of
existence. I shall never be satisfied till I acquire the power for which
I yearn."

"What an unhappy nature yours must be then," replied Zabra. "You have
every hope of happiness within your reach; yet because it does not
come clothed in the gorgeous draperies in which you wish it to appear,
you seem desirous of dismissing it, as of not sufficient value to be
enjoyed. I had hoped that you had become wiser; I had hoped, too, that
you had been more solicitous for the happiness of Eureka. I am afraid
all my labour has been thrown away, and that I shall have to return to
her with the intelligence that your ambitious hopes have stifled every
feeling of affection."

"There you wrong me," exclaimed the young merchant, "you wrong me
exceedingly. My aspirations for greatness are never separate from my
hopes of Eureka; because the first are merely the result of the latter.
It is useless attempting to check the impulses which urge me on. I must
be what I am; and while my state of being, and the purposes which it
creates and would see fulfilled, cannot in any way dishonour Eureka,
nothing will convince me that they are to be condemned. From my own
knowledge of her character, I cannot imagine that she would regard
my efforts for advancement with the feeling which you have stated
she possesses. Her own greatness of soul must bring her to look with
commendation on another, who evinces a desire to obtain a similar
greatness: this ambition is a passion so entirely of her own creating,
that she cannot, with any justice, be displeased with its exhibition."

"How little you seem to know of the nature of her whose love you
possess," replied Zabra, in a low, tremulous voice; "no doubt, she
would feel gratified at any circumstance which would exalt you in the
estimation of your countrymen. The honour you might receive would be her
glory as much as yours, and the fame you might obtain would find none
more desirous of its security than herself. But it was not for these
things that she loved you. Ambition formed no part of the qualities that
called into existence her admiration--which, having acquired its full
growth, cannot be made more perfect by the greatness you covet; and
that admiration must continue as long as the qualities that called it
into operation exist. But knowing your desire to acquire renown, and
knowing the nature of that feeling is to swallow up all the more amiable
aspirations, and being aware that the only way to its acquirement is
through a thousand terrible dangers, she cannot help the conviction,
that she would rather possess your affection as you were, than live in
continual fear, to witness your superiority, as you may be."

"Let us say no more about it," said Oriel. "It is very evident that
neither can convince the other. I may be positive that I am going right,
and you may be positive that I am going wrong; but it is time spent to
no purpose, if we cannot be brought to change our opinions."

"Remember, I am only doing my duty," replied the youth. "I warn you,
because the path you desire to take is surrounded by dangers. If you are
determined on going on, I say, go on and prosper; but if you go on, and
fail, the bitter disappointment you will experience will not only render
yourself miserable, but must make equally unhappy her whose felicity
you appear so desirous of creating. If you must go on, Oriel, I say
again--go on, and prosper."




CHAP. III.

OLD ENGLAND.


"We are approaching the British Islands, are we not?" inquired Oriel
Porphyry.

"Yes, Sir, the land lies right ahead," replied the captain.

"There are several of these islands, I believe," added the young
merchant.

"There are a great number on 'em o' different sorts and sizes," said
Hearty; "but them as is most visited are England and Ireland."

"What is the meaning of the prefix to the word land in each of these
names?" asked Oriel of the professor.

"England or Ingle-land means the land of the fire side," replied
Fortyfolios. "Ingle is an old British word meaning the fire at which
the inhabitants of a house warmed themselves or cooked their food. The
natives have been from the earliest times, famous for their love of the
comforts of this fire, which was usually made of coal dug out of the
earth, that made a cheerful blaze in a room, and their attachment to
their ingles procured the island the name of Ingle-land, which, in
course of time was abbreviated into the name of England."

"I doubt that very much, don't you see," here observed Dr. Tourniquet;
"for in my opinion, England has a totally different derivation.
The aborigines of the island were principally fishermen, and very
appropriately had given to them the name of angle-ers, which means
people who fish. Each separate kingdom was called a kingdom of the
Angles, from the natives using an angle, and the whole island was called
Angle-land, or the land of the angle, which for shortness was soon
afterwards called England."

"'Tis nothing of the kind, Dr. Tourniquet," rejoined the professor
warmly. "I wonder you should have started such an absurd idea."

"It is quite as reasonable as yours at any rate, don't you see,"
remarked the doctor.

"It has no such pretension," said the other in a decided manner. "I
can prove that the fire or ingle was a national characteristic of the
people."

"And I can prove that fishing or angle-ing was a national characteristic
of the people," added his antagonist.

"Pooh!" exclaimed one, contemptuously.

"Pish!" cried the other.

"Ingle-land,"--resumed the professor.

"Angle-land,"--said the doctor, interrupting him.

"Now, Dr. Tourniquet, I beg I may not be interrupted by your ridiculous
blunders," observed Fortyfolios with considerable asperity, and a look
of dignity peculiar to himself.

"The blunder is on your side, don't you see," replied the surgeon, with
a chuckle of satisfaction exceedingly annoying to his companion.

"Never mind if it be Ingle-land or Angle-land," exclaimed Oriel
Porphyry. "All we know for certain is, that it is now called England.
But how do you account for the adoption of the other name?"

"Of the derivation of that word there can be no doubt--it explains
itself," said Fortyfolios. "Ireland means the land of ire. The natives
from time immemorial have been known to be excessively irascible. They
would quarrel upon the slightest cause, and fight from no cause at all.
They would fight when they were hungry, upon which occasion, as was very
natural, they fought for a belly-full. They would fight for liquor; they
would fight for fun; they would fight for love; they would fight to get
drunk, and then fight to get sober. The happiest men among them were
those who were most frequently beaten, and such persons were known to be
the best friends as were continually trying to knock out each other's
brains. These men consequently got the appropriate name of Ire-ishmen,
and the island was called Ire-land."

"There you're wrong again, don't you see," observed Tourniquet. "The
name Ire-land was derived from Higher-land, to express that the country
was more elevated in the estimation of the natives than any other part
of the globe. They entertained the most preposterous ideas about the
importance of their island. They stated that when the rest of the world
was sunk in barbarism, their Higher-land was the seat of intelligence,
and virtue, and superior bravery. They asserted that their soldiers
were the only soldiers that ever existed, and that their agricultural
labourers were 'the finest pisantry in the world.' But there was
certainly something very singular about them; and even their
brick-layers' labourers were odd men. The island was also called by the
natives The Emerald Island, I believe because it sometimes produced
Irish diamonds. The Green Isle was another of its names--and this was
derived from the greenness of the people. The men went by the name of
'the boys' long after the age at which other boys became men; and even
the oldest of the old men among them, when he breathed his last, was
said to die in a green old age."

"It is extraordinary to me, Dr. Tourniquet, that you will give utterance
to such fallacies," remarked the professor. "The facts are exactly as I
have stated them."

"The facts are exactly as I have stated them," said the other with
marked emphasis.

"Was there not a very celebrated character styled St. Patrick, who
flourished at one time among the Irish?" inquired the young merchant.

"Certainly there was," replied Fortyfolios. "Patrick, Pater Rick--or
Rick being the abbreviation of Richard--Father Richard, was a poor
monk----"

"That I deny!" eagerly exclaimed the doctor. "For, as it is stated in a
very ancient poem I have met with,

   'St. Patrick was a gintleman
    And born of dacent paple.'"

"That is no authority," resumed Fortyfolios. "I affirm that he was a
poor monk and----"

"I maintain that he was a gentleman," replied the other.

"I insist that you do not interrupt me, Dr. Tourniquet," exclaimed the
professor angrily. "He was an exceedingly pious and virtuous man,
and by his example and precepts did a great deal of good among his
countrymen."

"Yes," said the surgeon, gravely, "I have met with an authority that
says

   'He gave the frogs and toads a twist,
    And banished all the varmint.'

Now the usual reading of this couplet is that he drove the frogs and
toads out of the country; but if we look to the meaning of the word
twist, we shall find that it means an appetite: a man with a twist means
a man with a certain facility in swallowing anything eatable that comes
before him; and as we know that frogs at one time were considered a
great delicacy by the ancients, it is not unreasonable to imagine that
St. Patrick was a great epicure, and swallowed all the frogs and toads
in the island."

"Preposterous!" exclaimed Fortyfolios; "he was a saint whose prayers
had the efficacy of ridding the country of every venomous thing it
contained. But there is a remarkable legend connected with his history,
which I will relate to you as I found it in a very ancient poem
preserved in the Columbian Museum. It appears that he was one fast day
on a visit at a house, and he desired dinner might be brought to him;
but the family having already dined there was no fish, the usual food
for fast days, for his meal; in fact there was nothing eatable in the
larder but a leg of mutton. With great regret the people of the house
acquainted him with the real state of the case: but the good saint, with
a benevolent smile, as the poet describes, merely said,

   'Send my compliments down to the leg
    And bid it come hither a salmon.'"

"And what was the result?" inquired Oriel.

"To use the simple and expressive words of the poem," replied the
professor, with his usual gravity,

  "'And the leg most politely complied.'"

"You see those white cliffs just beginning to show 'emselves," said the
captain, pointing to the distant coast.

"I see them plainly," replied the young merchant.

"That's the coast of England, Sir," added Hearty. Oriel Porphyry gazed
on the classic shores that were rising before him with a deep and
peculiar interest. He had read so much, and he had heard so much of the
glory of the country he was approaching, and of the greatness of her
people, that the first sight of land awakened in him the most agreeable
associations. He thought of the splendour of her achievements--he
thought of the magnificence of her power--he thought of her illustrious
men--he thought of her noble efforts in the advance of intelligence--and
the white cliff upon which he was gazing appeared to him to be the most
interesting portion of the world.

"The appearance of the shore from the sea at one time conferred
on England the name of Albion," said the professor. "From _Alba_
white--from which word many other names were derived, particularly
_album_--a white book in great request at one time among the females of
the island, to teach them the art of spoiling paper for the benefit of
the stationers--and _albumen_, the white of an egg, a sort of food in
great request with the chicken-hearted. Some of the natives of Albion
carried their attachment to the name so far that they lived in a place
which they designated _the Albany_, and had a favourite place of resort
which they called 'Whites.' There was also a certain building situated
in _White_ Cross Street, to which they proceeded, to show their
nationality, by getting _white_-washed. The females were remarkable for
a partiality to white bread, white wine, and white linen, and the males
evinced an equal fondness for white bait, white waistcoats, and white
hands, and to such an extent did this favouritism for a particular
colour extend, that there was a neighbouring island, called the Isle of
White, to which the inhabitants of Albion made occasional journeys, for
the pleasure of destroying white ducks, or white muslin: and it was
usual for every generation to be christened in white, to be married in
white, and to be buried in white."

"What are these vessels approaching us in this threatening manner,"
inquired Oriel Porphyry, as he noticed several old crazy-looking boats
filled with men who were coming towards them with their crews, howling,
screeching, and yelling with all the strength of their lungs.

"I do not think they mean us any good," replied the captain: then
turning to some of the sailors standing scrutinising the appearance of
a strange fleet, evidently bearing down upon them, he exclaimed, "Get
the long gun ready, and give these fools a taste of grape if they
attempt to attack us."

"Ay, ay! Sir," replied one of the men; and every disposition was made
to repel any assault that might be attempted.

As they approached nearer, it was observed that these vessels were a
vast number of large open boats, some with sails, but most without,
and they were so crammed with men, that many of them were in danger
of sinking every minute. Their crews were clothed in ragged vestments
of every colour and description, and they were armed with old swords,
pistols, guns, pitchforks, and bludgeons, and these they displayed as
they advanced, shouting all the time in wild savage tones perfectly
deafening. A larger boat was in advance of the others, and in a
conspicuous situation in this vessel stood up a tall fierce-looking
man with his head bound round with a hay-band, and a tattered blanket
dropping from his shoulders. He brandished a rusty sword as he
approached, and gave orders to those who followed, which appeared to
meet with implicit obedience. When he came within gun-shot of the
Albatross, he turned round to his followers and addressed them.

"Boys," said he, pointing to the ship, "yonder's the furreners. It's
meself as 'ill take their big baste iv a ship if ye'll be all to the
fore. Divle a care ye may take ov their darty guns that their pointing
at yese--its made ov wood they are, and sorrow a harm they can do, bad
luck to 'em. Keep your powther dry, boys, and look to your flints, and
iv we don't kill and murther and throttle every mother's son ov 'em,
I'm not King Teddy O'Riley."

"Sheer off there, you ragamuffins," shouted the captain through a
speaking trumpet. "Sheer off, or I'll sink ev'ry soul of ye within
gun-range."

"Down wid the darty furreners!" screamed King Teddy O'Riley; a shower of
balls whistled past the captain, and on came the over-loaded boats, with
their crews yelling in the most frantic manner. There appeared to be at
least five or six hundred of them, and it was judged expedient to put
an immediate stop to their progress. The long gun was discharged, which
sunk the foremost boat, and killed the greater portion of its crew. The
rest hesitated when they beheld their monarch swept into the sea; and
a well-directed fire of musketry made them glad enough to commence a
retreat as fast as they could, screaming in hideous chorus as long as
they could be heard.

"Take a boat and see if you can save any of those rascals sprawling in
the water," exclaimed the captain to the midshipman Loop.

"Yes, Sir," was the reply; and the boat having been lowered, a party
proceeded to pick up the wounded and drowning. They succeeded in saving
several, among whom was their illustrious leader, King Teddy O'Riley,
who was brought upon deck, looking very much deprived of his dignity,
his coronet of hay-bands wet and dirty, and his blanket of state shrunk
out of all shape. He created considerable surprise among his captors,
and not without sufficient cause, for nothing could exceed the
eccentricity of his appearance. His hair was thick and long, and of a
dark-red colour. Large, bushy whiskers of the same tint surrounded his
cheeks. His nose was remarkably red, and his face seamed with the marks
of the small-pox. Below his cloak was a long coat, which did not appear
the more royal for being out at the elbows, and for having lost half its
skirt. His lower garments hung upon him like a bag, and they had the
legs rolled back up to the knees. A pair of old boots, exceedingly down
at heel, out of which the toes of his majesty were seen to peep in
spite of the straw with which they were lined, completed his costume.

"And who the deuce are you?" demanded the captain, after he had
sufficiently scrutinised the appearance of his prisoner.

"Faix and isn't it King Teddy O'Riley I am?" replied the man.

"And what part o' the world are you king of, I should like to know?"
asked Hearty in considerable surprise.

"Faix and ain't I king ov Blatherumskite?" said the other.

"And where, in the name o' all that's wonderful, is Blatherumskite?"
inquired the captain.

"And is it yourself that doesn't know where Blatherumskite is?"
exclaimed his majesty in seeming wonder. "Well the ignorance o' some
people is amazin! Not know Blatherumskite! Be the holy japers that bates
Bannagher, and Bannagher bate the divle. And Blatherumskite sich a jewel
ov a place! Why Blatherumskite's the finest kingdom and has the finest
paple under the sun. It's full ov commodities ov all sorts. It dales in
turpentine, brickdust, soft soap, and other swate mates--tracle, and
train oil, pepper and salt, and other hardware,--pigs, buttermilk,
paraties, and other kumbustibles. Not know Blatherumskite indade! Be
this and be that, you're as ignorant as a born brute."

"And what induced you to fire at me, Mr. King Teddy O'Riley?" demanded
the captain.

"Faix and wasn't it only just to kill ye we fired at ye?" replied the
king, with the utmost simplicity.

"It was, was it?" exclaimed Hearty; "and for what reason did you attack
the ship?"

"Wid no other rason in life than to take it," responded his majesty. "I
was jist a lading the boys to make a decint on England, wid the hope ov
being able to pick up a few thrifles, when we seed your ship. 'The top
ov the morning to ye,' says I, 'and if I don't be afther ransacking ye
intirely small blame to me there'll be.' And then we pulled away at the
divle's own rate, and a mighty dale ov divarsion the boys had about what
they'd do wid the big ship when they'd got her, when widout wid your
lave or by your lave, I was regularly kilt, smashed, and smothered into
the wather. And here I am."

"Well, King Teddy O'Riley, we must be under the necessity of hanging
you," observed the captain.

"Hang me!" shouted the man, in perfect amazement. "Hang a king!--hang
King Teddy O'Riley? Hang the King ov Blatherumskite? Why its rank
trason? Ye'll not be afther thinkin ov doin sich a rebellious action. I
shall feel obliged to ye if ye wont mintion it."

"And what would you have done with us if you had succeeded in your
ridiculous idea of taking the ship?" inquired Hearty.

"Faix and wouldn't we have kilt every sowl of yese, and taken the rest
prisoners?" replied his majesty.

"Then we cannot do better than follow your example," observed the
captain; then turning to some of his men, who appeared to enjoy the
scene with particular satisfaction, he exclaimed, "Get a rope ready at
the fore-yard arm that we may hang this fellow!" The sailors with great
alacrity made the necessary preparations.

"Be all the holy saints betwixt this and no where, ye'll not be
afther taking away the life ov a poor king!" exclaimed his majesty of
Blatherumskite, with the greatest earnestness and alarm. "What'll I do
now? Sure and I'm in a bad way! Sure and I'll be done for intirely! And
is it to be hanged I am?" continued he, looking woefully at the rope
that was dangling ready for immediate use. "Is King Teddy O'Riley
to be kilt afther sich a villainous fashion? Oh what a disgrace for
Blatherumskite! What a dishonour to a king. Oh what 'ill I do--what 'ill
I do?"

"Is the rope ready?" inquired Hearty.

"All right, Sir," said the boatswain.

"Then hoist him up," replied the captain. The men proceeded to fulfil
the command of their officer.

"Oh it's in a pretty way I am!" exclaimed the unfortunate monarch, with
tears in his eyes. "Be the holy japers, wouldn't I change places wid
any body as would like to be hanged in my place. It's yourself, Murphy
O'Blarney, that's the good subject," said the king, addressing one of
his companions with particular and impressive emphasis. "Sure, and ye've
got more pathriotism than to let the King ov Blatherumskite be hanged,
when it's your own loyal neck as would fit the rope so azy." Murphy
O'Blarney did not seem to hear. "Bad luck to the likes ov yese for
a thraitor," murmured his majesty. Then, turning to another of his
subjects, he said, "Larry Brogues, it's great confidence I place in
ye--ye're a jewel ov a man intirely; and if ye 'ill jist be afther doing
me the thrifling favour ov being hanged in my place, the best pig I have
shall be your's." Larry appeared as if he had lost all relish for pork.
"I always said ye were a base ribbel!" muttered the angry monarch,
turning from him to address a third. "Mick Killarney, a sinsible boy
you've showed yerself afore to-day, and little's the praise I take to
meself for not having rewarded ye according to your desarts; but if
ye'll show your superior desarnment, by letting the little bit ov a
rope be placed round your neck instead ov mine, it's meself that 'ill
make a man ov ye when I get back to Blatherumskite." Mick Killarney
turned the only eye he had in his head, to another part of the ship.
"There's more brains in the tail of a dead pig, than 'ill ever come
out ov yer thick skull, ye villain!" exclaimed King Teddy O'Riley in a
thundering rage: then he looked very pathetic, wiped his eyes with a
corner of his blanket, and began to chant, in the most miserable tones,
the following words:--

   "Who'll bile the paraties and pale 'em and ate 'em!
    Who'll drink all the butthermilk I used to swallow!
    Who'll hand round the whiskey, and take his own share too
          Wid mighty convanience.

   "Oh Teddy O'Riley your reign's put a stop to,
    Small blame to your sowl! you're a king now no longer,
    You're smashed all to smothers, and dished up and done for
          In a way most amazin.

   "Not brave Alexander, or Nebuchadnezzar,
    Who went out to grass wid the rest ov the cattle,
    Not Moses, or Boney, nor yet Cleopatra,
          Were treated so vilely.

   "Its meself that is up to me eyes in amazement
    To see you desaved and surrounded by villains,
    Who are wantin to place your poor neck in a halter
          Bad luck to their mothers!

   "Is it rope you're desirin? the divle a ha'porth.
    Is it hanged that you would be? not me then by Japers,
    Oh! there's sinse and there's rason in your own way ov thinkin,
          You're cliver intirely.

   "But sorrow a hope have ye got to indulge in,
    For there hangs the rope like a murtherin blaguard,
    Wid a knot at one end, and a noose at the other.
          Oh what 'ill I do now?"

Oriel Porphyry, who had laughed exceedingly at the whole scene, now
stepped forward, and, by his interference, saved his majesty's life.

"I always thought that Ireland formed a portion of the British
dominions," observed the young merchant.

"So it did," replied Fortyfolios, "and enjoyed an unexampled state of
prosperity; but the people were always dissatisfied and unreasonable;
and were ever accusing the government of the country by which they were
ruled of creating that social disorganisation which was the effect
of their own evil habits--and which had existed, as may be proved by
a reference to their own annals, as far back as it was possible to
refer--and, upon the first opportunity, they threw off their allegiance
to the British empire, and became, as they had previously been, a
separate kingdom. As might have been expected, internal strife now
appeared. As had formerly been the case, the country was cut up into a
party of petty monarchies, that were continually at war with each other.
These having gradually become smaller and more numerous, there is now a
king to every potato-garden, of which class of monarchs his majesty of
Blatherumskite is an example; and when these fellows are not striving
to exterminate each other, they make piratical excursions to the
neighbouring coast, and there create all the mischief in their power,
by robbing, plundering, killing, and burning."

"We are entering the Nore, now Sir," remarked the captain.

"The derivation of the word is exceedingly puzzling," remarked the
professor, "and I have met with no explanation that has satisfied me.
Some antiquarians trace it to Noah, but they bring forward nothing which
can be relied on in proof of this idea. I must say it is my opinion
that Noah was never in this part of the world. Others ascribe it to
the frequent use of the words 'Know her,'--as parties of pleasure used
frequently to start in steam-boats from the metropolis to this place,
and then return; and intimacies between the young males and the young
females who had never met previously, used to spring up during this
excursion, and the former used to reply when they were asked if they
knew an individual of the other sex, 'Know her? we met going towards the
sea,' and the words at last became so common that it gave name to the
place."

"You're wrong again, don't you see!" exclaimed the doctor. "But I'll
tell you how the place came by the name. In very ancient times a company
of individuals created a joint-stock association to work a copper mine
of great value which they said had been discovered on the neighbouring
coast, and the people, deluded by the great anticipations held out by
the schemers, invested large sums in the affair. The shaft was sunk and
the mine worked, and the anxious citizens were every day coming down in
crowds to learn the progress of the mine, but they invariably met with
one answer to all their queries, which was 'No Ore;' and this lasted
till the bubble burst. Since then the place was called 'No Ore,' which
ultimately dwindled into 'Nore.'"

"Preposterous!" cried Fortyfolios. "I wonder you can repeat such a
ridiculous conception."

"I'm positive that my 'No ore' is as good as your 'Noah' or 'Know her,'
don't you see," replied the doctor, good humouredly.

"Nothing of the kind, Dr. Tourniquet," said the other very gravely. "My
derivations are founded on well ascertained facts."

"And my derivation is founded on better ascertained facts," added the
surgeon.

"The coast here seems quite deserted," observed Oriel Porphyry. "I
do not see a habitation--nor a human creature--nor any species of
vessel--nor any sign of life whatever."

"Possibly the natives have deserted this part of the coast from its
liability to be visited by the Irish pirates," replied the professor.
"But what a change there must have been in the appearance of this
neighbourhood a few centuries back! Then vessels of every size and
nation might have been seen sailing in almost countless numbers down the
river to the Port of London, which was the mart of the world. Merchant
ships and ships of war, colliers, fishing-vessels, passage-boats and
pleasure-yachts were passing and re-passing each other at all hours of
the day. Then these masses of ruins which you are passing on each side
of the river, were filled with busy inhabitants engaged in the various
labours of traffic. Here ships were built, fitted out, victualled, and
stored, and when manned with a gallant crew, set sail to visit every
quarter of the globe, to dispose of their cargoes and to bring home the
produce of other countries. There was a battery to prevent the passage
of the enemy's ships in time of war. A little further on we come to a
fashionable watering place, in which the tired citizens forgot the toils
of business in the pursuit of pleasure. Towns and villages existed on
either side; some of considerable importance, with a numerous population
engaged in every species of manufacture and of laborious employment."

"The country possesses a most desolate appearance," remarked Zabra.

"The natural effect of the cause which produced it," responded the
professor. "Here all the horrors of war have been exhibited on the most
comprehensive scale, and what warfare left untouched time has since
destroyed. Nothing meets the eye but blackened buildings and tottering
walls. The country is a wilderness--the town a desert. A little time
since all was busy--all was fertile; and every nook and corner resounded
with the stir of the artisan at his craft, and the mirth of the idler at
his pleasure."

"What part of the island was this called?" inquired Oriel.

"These are the shores of Kent, so called from the ancient word Kenned,
known or famous," replied Fortyfolios. "It was called the garden of
England, and, if the accounts which describe it are to be depended on,
well did it deserve the title. It was one continued field of fruit, and
flowers, and grain. Forests of magnificent timber afforded materials for
the carpenter and the ship-builder--plantations of hops gave employment
to the cultivators, the merchants, and the brewers of malt liquors; and
orchards of cherries were in constant demand from one end of the island
to the other. Now the timber has either been cut down, or died of
natural decay--the hop gardens have given place to crops of luxuriant
weeds--and the sweet and luscious fruits have become wild and sour."

"Here is an extensive collection of ruins on the left--and it seems once
to have been an important place," observed the young merchant.

"It was so," said the professor. "There were the public dockyards, the
arsenal, a college for the education of youth to the profession of
war, manufactures on the most extensive scale of materials employed in
fitting out ships for the war or merchant service, and conveniences for
traffic or accumulation of all sorts of naval and military stores. There
were foundries for cannon--manufactories of cordage, shot, nails, and
ship biscuit--magazines for the safe deposit of gunpowder--yards for
ship-building, and warehouses for apparel: now you see nothing but the
bare walls rising up from the mass of ruins of which they are a portion.
In solitude the wild dog howls where all was human life and industry;
and with the boldness of long indulgence, the bats congregate in the
chambers of the merchants."

"Here are the remains of a more stately structure than any we have
hitherto passed--was it a palace?" inquired Oriel Porphyry.

"It was nothing more than a hospital for poor sailors, such as had been
maimed in the service of their country," replied Fortyfolios.

"Indeed!" exclaimed the young merchant, with considerable surprise.

"Nothing else, I assure you," added his tutor.

"The government were remarkably attentive to the wants of their seamen
then--they must have valued their services very high to have lodged them
in so sumptuous a building as this appears to have been," observed
Oriel.

"Their dwelling was at one time far more magnificent than the palace of
the King of England," continued the professor. "There was no edifice
erected for such a purpose to equal it in the whole world. There the
wounded sailor passed the rest of his life enjoying every comfort he
required. He had the range of a magnificent mansion, and an extensive
and beautiful park. Proper officers watched over his health, his diet
was strengthening and plentiful, and under the care of good and pious
men his moral wants were equally well attended to. In another part of
the river there used to be a building of similar extent that had been
erected for poor and wounded soldiers, and they were provided for in a
manner equally generous and considerate."

"These people were distinguished for their charities, I believe,"
remarked the young merchant.

"They were," replied Fortyfolios. "They had numberless hospitals in
which the poor, afflicted with disease, or hurt by accidents, were
promptly cared for, and skilfully treated. The ablest physicians, the
most experienced surgeons, and the most skilful nurses waited upon them;
and all that the necessities of their cases demanded was immediately
rendered. They had asylums for females who had strayed from the path of
virtue, where they were taught industrious and moral habits, and then
restored to society capable of taking a place with its most useful and
honourable members. They had houses of instruction to reclaim young
thieves, in which they received an excellent education, were taught
some useful trade, and then re-entered the community capable of passing
through the busy scenes of life with credit to themselves and others.
They had----."

"They had hospitals and asylums for every vice that disgraces humanity,
don't you see," said the doctor, interrupting the speaker with more
bitterness than was usual with him. "The vilest of the vile were
sheltered and preached to, and made comfortable and happy; but while
vice received every possible attention in fine buildings, with numerous
servants, virtue might crawl through the public streets and starve;
and while the rogue was carefully instructed in all things that were
excellent to save his wretched life and soul, the honest man, struggling
with adversity and sickness, was left to die and be damned. There was no
asylum for the virtuous woman; but the vilest prostitute had always a
ready home. Integrity and intelligence had to fight with famine alone
and unnoticed; but ignorance and dishonesty, profligacy and crime, were
sought after and generously provided for. In fact, under this miserable
state of things there existed a bonus upon vice. If the vile were
only vile enough, they were the objects of universal benevolence:
but to be poor without being vile--oh! it was considered something so
contemptible, that the charitable could not be brought to pay it the
slightest regard."

For a wonder Fortyfolios made no reply.

"This place is also of considerable importance to the scientific
inquirer," continued the professor; "for here was a famous observatory,
in which the most illustrious astronomers carried on their
investigations into the motions of the heavenly bodies, and the laws
which govern them. Many interesting discoveries were here made. From
here were calculated the distances of various parts of the world. The
neighbourhood was also distinguished by being a place of favorite resort
of the inhabitants of the metropolis; and even members of the government
used to indulge themselves occasionally with a trip to this once
delightful place, for the purpose of enjoying a delicacy in the shape of
a very small fish, a thousand of which would scarcely make a sufficient
meal."

"Here are many heaps of stones and fragments of brickwork. I should
suppose that they are the remains of a town of some kind," observed the
young merchant.

"They cover a space sufficiently extensive to make it probable," replied
Fortyfolios; "but they ought to be considered as a distant suburb of
the metropolis. They were chiefly inhabited by persons engaged in the
production or sale of naval stores, and boat-builders, fishermen, and
sailors employed in managing the craft upon the river. In some places
there are wharves for merchandise, in others for coals; here was a
factory for the produce of canvass, there an establishment of engineers
who sent steam vessels to every sea that flows. The river here used to
be crowded with shipping; so much so that the passage of the vessels
often became slow and dangerous. Here were ships from every commercial
nation on the globe, each laden with the produce of their country, and
each intent on returning with a cargo of English goods."

"What a gloomy looking building this must have been, if we may judge
from what remains of it!" remarked Zabra.

"That used to be a fortress and state prison," said the Professor.
"There were once confined persons accused of treason, and there they
remained previous to their execution. Some of the noblest and best
spirits of the time have been incarcerated in those old walls. The noble
Raleigh, the patriot Russell, the lovely Anna Boleyn, and numberless
others whose names have become a part of history. There also were kept
the regalia and--."

"And there also were kept the wild beasts," observed the doctor, good
humouredly, "and there is every reason for believing that the latter
managed to get at the regalia; for an ancient poem I have met with
says--

   "The lion and the unicorn
      Were fighting for the crown,
    And the lion beat the unicorn
      All about the town"--

no doubt to the great astonishment of the citizens."

"I am going to anchor now, sir," here exclaimed the captain, "as the
navigation o' the river beyond this arn't practicable for a vessel o'
such tonnage as the Albatross."

"Let it be done then," replied the young merchant; "and let an armed
party be got ready to accompany me on land, as I am desirous of
examining the antiquities of the place."

"Yes, sir," responded Hearty; and preparations were immediately made to
go ashore.

"You see before you the remains of a bridge," observed Fortyfolios,
pointing to several broken arches that appeared above the water; "it was
considered one of the finest examples of that kind of structure that
had ever been erected, and an old chronicler I lately perused gives an
elaborate account of the ceremonies that took place when it was first
opened to the public. On that occasion the king and queen went in state,
accompanied by their court, and all the great men were there, and the
great merchants, and thousands upon thousands of citizens. Now you
can behold nothing but the crumbling stone-work, green with age, and
instead of the music and shouts which accompanied the procession, we can
only hear the hoarse cry of the bittern from the neighbouring marshes,
and the fierce howl of the jackal from some ruined building."

"The boat's ready, sir!" said the captain; and shortly afterwards the
whole party proceeded in a boat to the shore.




CHAP. IV.

THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.


A large tent had been pitched in an open space among the ruins of the
ancient city. Before it stood Oriel Porphyry leaning on a gun, with
Zabra at his side, resting on his harp. At the distance of a few feet
Fortyfolios and Tourniquet were seated on a fallen pillar, disputing
about the character of a building, the remains of which lay before them.
The captain and the midshipman were conversing together by the side
of the tent, and grouped about were twenty or thirty sailors well
armed--some reclining on the ground, others leaning against a column,
and the rest congregated into little parties, engaged in talking over
the adventures of the day, or in passing their opinions upon the
neighbouring ruins.

On one side of the tent stood a great portion of a very elegant
structure, of considerable dimensions, and of a classical style of
architecture; on the other side stood the ruins of a building of about
the same size, with a handsome portico supported by several beautiful
pillars, upon which might be observed a female draperied figure much
mutilated. A short distance from between them there arose a tall column
with a bronze statue of a warrior, broken and disfigured, lying at its
base. Beyond the column was a flight of broken steps that led to an open
space overgrown with wild shrubs and weeds; and beyond these, and around
in every direction, nothing met the eye but confused heaps of stone and
brickwork, overgrown with rank herbage; and pillars, and walls, and
glassless windows.

"I am tired of this continual ruin," exclaimed Oriel Porphyry. "We
have travelled all the day and met nothing but broken pedestals, and
prostrate capitals; porches without pillars, and pillars without
porches; trembling porticoes, tottering walls, and roofless dwellings.
I never witnessed such a perfect desolation. The only living thing I
have seen was a wolf, who stared at me as if quite unused to a human
countenance, and never attempted to move till I sent the contents of my
gun at his head. Then, immediately I had fired, there flew around me
such flights of bats, ravens, vultures, and owls, and they created such
a din of screaming and hooting, that I was absolutely startled."

"See how the ivy clings to the wall, Oriel!" said Zabra to his patron,
as he pointed to a ruin beside them; "how it twines round the fluted
pillar, and hides the ornaments of the richly decorated capital. There
is poetry astir in those leaves--there is a music breathing in the
breeze that shakes them. There! see you the bird moving out its head
from their friendly shelter to notice our movements? She has her nest
there, Oriel: in that little circle are all her pleasures concentrated.
She has made her happiness in the very desolation of which you complain.
It is impossible to look around and say all is barren. There is not a
weed that grows but what is full of enjoyment for myriads of creatures
of which we take no note. Is there nothing in these stones which does
not awaken in you associations that ought to people them with the
countless multitudes that once found pleasure in this wilderness? I see
not the ruin. I notice not the silence. Memory looks through the vista
of departed time, and lo! all is splendour and beauty--and the deserted
porticoes echo with the voice of gladness. Let me sing to you, Oriel;
this is a glorious place for sweet sounds and antique memories, and I
will see to what use I can apply them."

The young musician, after a short, touching prelude, then sung, with the
deep expression that characterised all his attempts at minstrelsy, the
following words:--

   "To the home of the brave ones, the true and the kind,
      With a heart filled with hope I have been;
    And I thought of the gladness and peace I should find,
      And the smiles of delight I had seen.

   "But the dwelling was homeless, and roofless, and bare,
      'Twas a ruin that threatened to fall;
    And my sorrowing heart seemed to cling to despair,
      Like the ivy that clung to the wall.

   "Oh! where are the roses that clustered and spread
      Round the porch where my wishes were told?
    Alas! from the porch all the roses have fled,
      And the hands that once plucked them are cold.

   "Oh! where are the friends, the young, thoughtless, and gay,
      Who gave life to the garden and hall?
    All, all have departed--all, all passed away,
      Save the ivy that clings to the wall.

   "Be glad, my fond heart--there is hope for you yet,
      For these leaves have a comfort convey'd;
    There are moments and pleasures I ne'er can forget,
      Though both roses and friends have decayed.

   "Though this breast be a ruin where sorrow hath cast
      Desolations she cannot recal;
    Still mem'ry shall cling to the joys that are past,
      Like the ivy that clings to the wall."

"I tell you, Dr. Tourniquet, you're completely in error," exclaimed
Fortyfolios. "The meaning of the word United Service is evident, and
admits of no dispute. In old authors we frequently read of people 'going
to service,' and as often of a union of offices in the same person,
such as butler and steward, valet and footman, gardener and groom; and
there cannot be a doubt that this is what was called united service, and
that this building was dedicated to the purpose of finding situations
for such people."

"Dedicated to a fiddle-stick. Don't you see?" replied the doctor. "I
tell you it was a club that met there to play at cards, and that was the
reason that they had a king of clubs, and a queen of clubs, and a knave
of clubs, and ever so many other clubs; and as a qualification, all the
members were obliged to be club-footed, and they were governed by what
they called club law."

"'T was no such thing, Dr. Tourniquet, depend upon it," said the
professor. "I'm sure 't was the united service, because I have a book
in my library that mentions it as the United Service."

"And I'm sure it was a club, because I've got a book in my library that
mentions it as a club," responded the other.

"Then the building opposite was devoted to very different purposes,"
continued Fortyfolios. "It was called the Athenaeum, the derivation of
which word I have never been able to discover. Perhaps it had its origin
in the Modern Athens, a place of some importance in the neighbourhood of
Blackwood's Magazine--once a famous depot for combustibles, that blew up
occasionally with great damage. However, it was erected for the purpose
of bringing together all the intelligence of the country.

    'Together let us range the fields,
      Impearled with the morning dew,'

says an ancient poet, and there is no doubt that the lines were
addressed by one member of the Athenaeum to another."

"And what good did they ever do by being brought together?" inquired
Tourniquet.

"That has never been ascertained," replied the other.

"For what purpose was this column erected?" asked the young merchant.

"It was erected to commemorate the victories of a certain Duke of
York," said the professor. "He distinguished himself greatly during the
wars of the rival houses of York and Lancaster. Besides being a great
general, his piety was so great that he became a bishop, and there are a
series of moral discourses extant, that took place between the Bishop
and the Bishop's Clarke, a person who was also very celebrated. It may
be said that this Duke of York enjoyed more credit in his day than any
of his predecessors; indeed he was in such general requisition that the
constant inquiries after him, gave rise to the saying, 'York, you're
wanted;' and it was to him that the people, after a disturbance which
he had pacified, said,--

   'Now is the winter of our discontent
    Made glorious summer by the son of York.'"

"I certainly feel the charm of association as much as any one," observed
Oriel to his companion; "but the gratification I find in treading shores
so celebrated by historic recollections is changed to a painful feeling
at beholding the wreck to which has been reduced the greatness I have
honoured. I should suppose, from what I have seen, that the whole land
is in a similar state as that portion of it which has come under my
observation. I can imagine nothing so deplorable. There appear to be no
living things in the island but wild animals. I can only account for
their being here, from my knowledge that, in former times, the natives
kept several large collections of them for show, and that these having
escaped, they spread themselves over the country."

At this moment Oriel's quick ear caught the sound of a low sharp growl
at no great distance from him, and turning round, beheld a large lion
crouching behind a heap of stones near the two philosophers, who were
disputing so vehemently that they had not the slightest idea of their
danger. The young merchant had just time to get his gun in readiness and
give the alarm to the sailors, when, with a fierce roar that came like
a peal of thunder upon the terrified disputants, the lion sprung upon
them, and knocked them both down. He stood majestically with one paw
upon the prostrate philosophers, looking defiance on Oriel and his
companions, as they cautiously approached him from all sides with their
muskets in their hands.

"Now, my friends," exclaimed the young merchant, "don't fire till
you come within good aiming distance--don't more than half fire at a
time--let the others reserve their fire, in case he makes a spring--be
steady, and aim at his head."

"Ay, ay, sir," was murmured by the captain; and every man held his
breath, cocked his gun, picked his way carefully over the stones, and
prepared himself for a struggle with his dangerous enemy. The lion saw
them advancing--shook his mane, lashed his tail, and, bending his head
to the ground, uttered a long and deafening roar.

"Now then, mind your aim," said the young merchant. About a dozen
discharged their pieces; and, with a piercing howl, the lion dashed
among his foes, knocking down some half-a-dozen of them, and scattering
the rest in all directions. Luckily, he had been too severely wounded
to do any more serious mischief. His roar was terrible; but the men
having again approached him, poured in a more deadly fire, and with a
vain attempt to reach them, he gave a savage growl, and fell covered
with wounds. Scarcely had this been done, before a distant roar was
heard by the victors.

"Make haste and reload, for, if I mistake not, we shall have the lioness
upon us in a few seconds," said Oriel Porphyry earnestly; and all
quickened their preparations, to be in readiness for another contest.
"Take up a position behind that ruin, for the lioness will first make to
the dead lion, and then she will attempt to turn her rage upon us. We
shall have her within gun range as soon as she comes to the lion, and
shall be in some sort of shelter when she begins her attack."

Scarcely had the position been taken and the arrangements made, when the
roar became more distinct; and, soon afterwards, the lioness was seen
rapidly approaching, with a series of prodigious leaps that quickly
brought her into the immediate neighbourhood of the party in ambush. She
instantly proceeded to the lion. At first, she patted him with her paw.
Finding he took no notice of that, she fawned upon him, and licked him
with her tongue, playfully bit his ear, and played with his mane.
Observing that he was still inattentive to her movements, she gently
turned him over; and then, noticing the wounds in his head and body, and
his incapability of replying to her caresses, she uttered a roar so loud
and piercing, that it made the old walls about her echo again. This
was replied to by a peal of musketry from the neighbouring ruin. In a
moment, with another deafening howl, she rushed towards the place whence
came the reports, and with one desperate bound, leaped to the window
behind which Oriel and his companions lay concealed upon a heap of
stones and rubbish. She had got her fore paws and head upon the ledge of
the window, when another shower of balls sent her reeling back. Howling
with rage she made the leap again; when a blow on the head from the
butt end of a gun, held by a stout seaman, made her loosen her hold,
and, with a savage growl, she fell to the ground. From there she next
crawled to the body of the lion, licking the upper part of his body,
and uttering the most wild and melancholy howls. She was evidently much
wounded; but she managed to crawl round him several times, drawing her
long tongue over his mane, and moving a paw, or his head, in hopes of
noticing some sign of recognition. At last, finding all her efforts
ineffectual, she emitted a roar that rivalled the loudest thunder,
lashed her body furiously with her tail, began tearing up the stones and
soil around her, and then, as if putting forth her strength for a last
effort, she made two or three prodigious leaps towards the adjoining
building. The bullets that met her in her way did not stop her progress,
for with one enormous bound she cleared the window, and came down in
the midst of the voyagers, dashing them about with a violence that gave
several of the men very severe contusions, and grasping one by the neck
so furiously that he would have inevitably been killed, had not Loop
stabbed her to the heart with a short sword he carried, while Hearty
gave her a desperate blow on the head with an immense fragment of stone.
Letting go the man she had got so firmly in her grasp, she turned upon
her assailants a look of the most savage ferocity, and then, with a
short howl of agony, fell back dead at their feet.

They had dragged the lioness out of the building, and several of the men
were busily engaged taking off the skins of the two animals, and the
rest were talking over the dangers they had escaped, when Zabra pointed
out to his patron the figures of an old man and a young female, who were
advancing up the broken steps that led to the base of the column. The
sight of human beings was so novel, that every one paid particular
attention to the individuals they now beheld. The man appeared to have
reached extreme old age, for his hair was white and long, and hung down
upon his neck and shoulders. His complexion was ruddy, but although the
face was covered with wrinkles and deeply marked furrows, there was
an animation in his eyes that showed that the fire of life was still
brilliantly burning. He was tall, and walked firmly, supporting himself
by a long staff. The skin of a lion hung from his neck over his manly
shoulders. The rest of his dress was composed of skins fastened by
thongs round his body and legs. A long sword was suspended at his side,
which, with a knife or dagger at his waist, seemed all the weapons he
possessed.

He was accompanied by a young girl, whose complexion had evidently
been browned by exposure to the sun, the effect of which gave a warmer
character to the quiet beauty of her features. Her eyes were of a soft,
deep, blue, beaming with tenderness and benevolence; and her hair, which
was silken in its texture, and very light in colour, fell in clustering
curls from her forehead to her neck. A sort of cape, made of feathers,
covered her shoulders; beneath which was a long garment reaching below
the knees, made of different skins neatly sewed together, and bound
round the waist with a belt of the same. Her arms and legs were bare,
and they were of the most exquisite symmetry, delicately and beautifully
formed. In one hand she carried a light spear, and the other she rested
upon the shoulder of her companion.

As soon as the young girl observed the voyagers, she started back with
an exclamation of fear, and clung to the arm of her elder companion,
who, noticing the cause of her alarm, immediately let fall his staff and
drew his sword. There was something remarkably imposing in the attitude
of the old man. He drew up his stately form to its full height; and as
he stood upon the defensive with his weapon firmly grasped in his right
hand, while with his left arm he clasped the young girl by the waist and
drew her behind him, there seemed a vigour in his silvery hairs, and
a fire in his sunken eyes, that neither youth or manhood could have
rivalled.

Oriel Porphyry, who looked upon them with peculiar interest, laid down
his arms and advanced towards them, accompanied only by Zabra, who was
also unarmed. Their approaches were closely regarded by the man, and
watched with curiosity by the female.

"Fear us not, old man, we will do you no harm," said the young merchant.

"Fear!" exclaimed the old man proudly, "I know it not."

"We are voyagers from a distant land, who have been induced to visit
your shores, from a desire to do honour to a country once so famous."

The old man, without making any reply, hastily returned his sword to
its scabbard, and then, with a countenance in which fearlessness and
kindness were blended, held out his right hand. The hand of Oriel
Porphyry was soon in its cordial and friendly grasp, and a compact of
sociality seemed immediately agreed to between both parties. "And you,
fair maid, need not be alarmed," said Zabra, approaching the maiden with
a look that might have inspired a savage with confidence. "You will meet
amongst us none but friends anxious to do you honour and service."
She shrunk back from his advances with a strong feeling of timidity
expressed in her features; yet continued to gaze on the handsome face
and graceful person of the speaker, as if they had for her an attraction
impossible to be resisted.

"The child is unused to strangers," observed her companion, as he
noticed the shy and wondering manner with which she regarded Zabra. "It
is long since she has seen a human being except myself. Be not afraid,
Lilya," he exclaimed, as he drew her towards him. "These are not
enemies. They are wanderers, like ourselves; but they have a home and
kindred--we have neither."

The cheerful countenance of the old man now became clouded with
melancholy, and he sighed as if there was a heaviness upon his heart
that could not be removed; but the timid Lilya still gazed upon the
features of the young musician, as if she found it impossible to remove
her eyes from their beauty. There was an extraordinary contrast between
her and her companion. She seemed just in the dawn of womanhood, with
delicate limbs, and looks all bashfulness and pleased surprise; while
he appeared on the extreme verge of old age--all bone and sinews, hard
and rough with exposure to the severities of time and climate. She
was evidently too young to be his daughter; but that there was some
relationship between them was evident, for even in the gentle loveliness
that distinguished her youthful face might be discerned faint traces of
resemblance to the ancient but noble example of manhood that stood by
her side.

"Your appearance has much interested me," said the young merchant,
gazing on the stranger's venerable appearance with affectionate respect;
"and I hope it will not be deemed intrusive or impertinent if I inquire
who it is I behold."

"You see before you the last of the Englishmen," said the old man,
looking proudly upon the inquirer.

"Is it possible?" exclaimed Oriel, regarding him with increased
admiration and a voluntary feeling of homage.

"The last of that powerful and illustrious race is now before you,"
he added, "and this is the child of my child's child. We are all that
remain of the great people who filled this island with their multitudes
and the world with their fame. Kindred and countrymen--all are gone;
their homes are the habitations of the wild cat and the vulture, and
even their very graves have been made desolate by the jackal and the
hyena."

"You appear to have attained a great age," remarked Zabra.

"Alas! I have outlived my country," replied the Englishman. "A hundred
and twenty years have passed since my existence commenced. Time has
forgotten me. I have been where the sword was ploughing deep furrows
around me far and near.--I have seen Death busy at his work amid the
youthful, the old, the innocent and the guilty.--I have noticed the
young trees grow up, put forth their bravery, and die.--I have beheld
mighty buildings crumble into dust.--I have known all things perish
before my eyes: yet I have remained untouched in the midst of the
desolation.--Three generations have passed away, and have left me to
gather consolation from their tombs."

"If the relation of what you have known and endured be not too painful,
I should much like to hear it," said the young merchant.

"If you have the patience to listen, all shall be told to you," replied
the old man. Then taking up his staff, he walked on to some fragments of
building that lay at a short distance, on which he sat with Lilya at his
feet. Oriel Porphyry, Zabra, Loop, the captain, Fortyfolios, and the
doctor sat or reclined in a circle round him, and beyond the circle, the
sailors stood leaning on their guns.




CHAP. V.

AN ACCOUNT OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF OLD ENGLAND.


"It must be at least a century since the necessities of the kingdom
obliged me, for the first time, to attempt the trade of war," said the
Englishman. "There had been some dispute between the government and the
people, which was originally of little consequence, but the zeal of
furious partizans on each side gave it an importance which would not
otherwise have belonged to it. One said the safety of the people
depended on their success--another declared that the security of
the crown was involved in the question. One party were frantic for
liberty--another party, not so numerous, but far more influential,
were enthusiastic for loyalty. But words were soon given up for more
effective weapons. The Court, proud in their strength, prepared
themselves for a sanguinary conflict; and their antagonists, having
equal confidence in their numbers, followed their example with the same
alacrity. The whole country was astir with contention: families were
divided, and friends turned into foes. He who opposed the King was
denounced as a rebel; and he who differed with the people was declared
a traitor.

"Many disturbances had broken out before the parties took the field in
military array; but now the quarrel assumed a more serious aspect. Every
one armed himself, and hastened to join that cause which seemed to him
the best; and the most influential men on each side led these masses to
the battle. Though they were children of the same soil, and many had
relatives in the opposite ranks, nothing could equal the animosity with
which they engaged and the fury with which they fought. Never had they
against a foreign foe exhibited such fierceness. The battle raged
nearly the whole of the day with great slaughter on both sides. The
men of loyalty were less in number, but they were more experienced in
soldiership. The men of liberty had the most powerful army, but they
were deficient in military discipline and in martial appearance. They
fought with the most determined courage, resisting and making attacks,
attacking and defending positions, till, after a protracted struggle,
the latter succeeded in driving their opponents off the field.

"This was merely the commencement of hostilities. The crown party,
though defeated, were very soon in a condition to renew the contest; and
though this victory to the popular cause brought a great increase of
strength, it did not save its partizans from being defeated with immense
slaughter in the next battle that was fought. For several years a
destructive civil war raged with unexampled ferocity in every part of
the kingdom; sometimes one party being the strongest, sometimes the
other. Every individual capable of bearing arms was obliged to join
either the cause of the king or that of the people; and, as a great
diversity of opinion existed, brothers were set against brothers, and
fathers against sons, and thousands and tens of thousands of the bravest
of her citizens daily were cast into pits to feed the worms of the soil
of England. At last the popular cause triumphed, and the King became a
fugitive. Loud were the congratulations of the victors when no doubt
seemed to remain of their success; but they had little cause for their
joy--they had only changed a bad ruler for a worse.

"The triumphant party now sought out such of their fellow-citizens who
had most distinguished themselves by their hostility to their progress
during the late warfare; and they who did not succeed in escaping were
persecuted and exterminated in every way that vengeance could devise.
Blood continued to flow, and hatred and strife still existed. The
leading men among them had scarcely settled themselves in their
authority, before they began to differ concerning their notions of
government. Some were for one form and some for another, and each had
his own theory to support or his own ambition to gratify. The difference
soon increased to open hostility; and as each was supported by a
numerous band of partizans, each strove for the mastery with all the
cunning and boldness he possessed. Battles were again fought--victims
were again sacrificed. Party succeeded party; and as one overpowered the
other, the vanquished were sure to be massacred if they remained within
the power of their conquerors.

"But the cause of the king was considered the cause of all kings; and
while the different leaders of the people seemed intent only upon
exterminating each other, a powerful armament was being fitted out in a
neighbouring kingdom for the purpose of restoring the deposed monarch to
his possessions. The first intimation that the ruling government had of
this expedition was derived from its landing upon the coast; and the
necessity of an immediate union between all parties against the common
enemy became so evident, that they lost no time in settling their
differences, joining their disposable forces, and making preparations
to resist the approaches of their expelled sovereign. Numbers, who had
suffered from the oppressions of the many, now hastened to the king's
standard. The loyal came from their hiding places, and those who had
fled to the neighbouring continent hurried back again to share in
the struggle. The battle-cry of one was, 'God and the King'--that of
the other, 'God and the People;' and, with increased animosity, the
contending armies rushed to the conflict, till the whole country seemed
flowing with blood.

"At first the king was successful in almost every encounter with his
rebellious subjects. Battle after battle was fought, and still he kept
advancing and triumphing on his way. But the leaders of the people
did not despair. They carried on the contest with the same spirit
notwithstanding their defeats. The whole population rose in arms. No
sooner was one army dispersed than another was ready for action. Three
times the court party took possession of the capital, and were again
driven out. The contest was prolonged by the military genius of one
man, whose mind seemed exhaustless in resources. He had risen from
obscurity, and had gradually exalted himself from one command to another
during the civil war, till the whole forces on the side of the people
were at his disposal. Success appeared to attend all his efforts. As he
in his own person exhibited the most determined bravery, his followers
were stimulated to copy his example. The most daring attacks were
planned and executed, and the royalists began to lose all the advantages
they had previously gained. It was the intention of the popular general
to terminate the contest at a blow; and with this object in view he
concentrated all his forces, and unexpectedly brought them upon the
enemy's camp. The royalists were taken quite unprepared, and few escaped
to announce their defeat. The king, the nobles, the foreign troops, and
a great portion of their native allies perished in one indiscriminate
slaughter; and thus the hopes of the loyal were utterly annihilated for
the time.

"As every man was obliged to join one or the other party, I had my share
in these struggles for mastery. I had inherited a small patrimony in
one of the inland counties, and I had recently married a young and
beautiful relative, to whom I had been attached from my youth, when I
was first called upon to contribute my assistance towards bringing the
contest to a termination. I was an ardent lover of liberty. I was a
great advocate for republics, and I had long looked upon kings as
expensive and useless machines, which the people could easily spare. It
may easily be imagined, from my acknowledgement of these sentiments,
that I eagerly embraced the popular cause. I mixed myself up as little
as possible with the squabbles of partizans; but there were few more
sincere adherents to the principles I professed than myself. I was
present at nearly all the great engagements, received several wounds,
and gradually acquired rank and experience in the republican army.
My superior officers respected me, and the men under my command were
attentive and obedient.

"After the destruction of the royalists, the people were so frantic in
praise of their leader that he thought he might be allowed to assume
the sovereign power. He did so, amid the acclamations of the multitude;
and in six months after was assassinated. No sooner was his decease
known than there rose the same intrigues for supremacy that his master
mind had quelled. Party succeeded party, and government followed
government, in rapid succession; and the gibbet and the axe were in
constant requisition by whatever party happened to be in power. As if
it was determined that this unhappy nation should enjoy no respite from
its troubles, the son of the late king, assuming the royal dignity, had
succeeded in inducing a foreign power to grant such assistance as might
be required to reinstate him in the throne of his fathers. He landed on
the English coast with a large army of foreigners, and advanced in a
very imposing manner towards the ancient metropolis. The government had
no force sufficient to dispute his progress, and fancying itself unable
to struggle successfully against the army brought against it, it took
the dangerous resolution of inviting to its assistance the monarch of a
neighbouring and powerful kingdom. While this was being done the young
king marched forward, meeting with very little opposition till he came
within a few miles of the metropolitan city. There the leaders of the
people had taken up a strong position, and although they were inferior
to the royalists in number and soldiership, and had not yet received the
expected succours from the foreign power, they determined to dispute
the passage with the royalists. The battle was long and sanguinary. The
people, favoured by their position, quietly awaited the attack of their
opponents, and as they advanced, poured into their ranks a heavy and
destructive fire; but although they fought in the most steady and heroic
manner, the superiority of the enemy in numbers and discipline was too
great to be counteracted by the most steady courage. The republicans
were driven from their position, and defeated with great slaughter;
after which the young monarch marched into the ancient city, of which
he took possession. It was at first resolved to renew the fight in the
streets of the metropolis; but dissension and ill-will arose in their
councils, and nothing being resolved on, the popular army retreated
from the city, leaving it open to the advance of the royalists.

"The young king, fancying that all opposition had ceased, or that the
defeated party could not now offer him any molestation, passed his time
in getting up the idle ceremonies of a coronation; but the leaders of
the people were preparing to recommence the struggle. A powerful army
from the monarch who had promised them assistance, had landed, and such
good use did they make of their time, that the young king was obliged
to leave the metropolis in the very midst of his coronation. Then again
the horrors of civil war broke out with fresh fury. As each party
was assisted by foreign allies, the war was never left to languish.
Reinforcements were continually being poured into the kingdom, and the
ranks of the opposing armies, thus strengthened, were led against each
other, and fiercer and more relentless became the strife. Blood
flowed like water, and flesh was cut down like grass. Villages were
deserted--towns burnt--cities depopulated. Whether by design or
accident is not known, but it was found out that in all engagements the
inhabitants suffered infinitely more than their foreign auxiliaries. At
every battle the fields were strewn with their dead, while the loss of
their allies was but trifling.

"After the war had been protracted till there scarcely seemed materials
left in the kingdom to continue it, the king's party were completely
annihilated, and the foreign troops that had assisted them were glad to
make their escape out of the country. The allies which the leaders of
the people had called to their assistance, had been gradually augmented
until they had become an exceedingly numerous and powerful body, and
when the war was over, it was the anxious desire of the people to get
rid of them as soon as possible. But their friends were not so easily
to be disposed of. On different pretexts they protracted their stay
till they had obtained possession of nearly all the strong places in the
empire, and then they not only refused to depart, but commenced a war
of extermination on the people they came to protect. For this treachery
the inhabitants were but ill prepared. The greater portion of the
English army had been disbanded, and the rest were insignificant in
comparison with the new enemy against which they were called to act. The
consequence was, that for a considerable time the foreign army passed
from one part of the island to the other, burning and destroying
whatever they met with, without meeting any resistance.

"A force was hastily organised for the purpose of driving these
treacherous friends out of the country. The old and young of all parties
and opinions rushed to the national standard with the hope of freeing
their native land from foreign rule. A battle ensued. Nothing could
exceed the desperate bravery of my countrymen; but the discipline of
their enemy was not to be resisted. The people were slaughtered in
multitudes, and I, who commanded one of the wings of the army on that
occasion, was the only general officer who retreated from the field
with anything like a respectable body of men. We were attacked as we
retreated by a force greatly our superior; but I continued to show a
resolute front, beat off the assailants, and maintained a successful
fight. I succeeded in placing my men within the shelter of impregnable
walls.

"The people had by this time become sick of war. Thirty years of
continued bloodshed had done destructive work all over the country. The
population had been greatly reduced; agriculture had been neglected;
commerce was rapidly decaying; manufactures had been destroyed; all the
resources of industry had been annihilated; poverty, misery, and ruin
existed throughout the land. The people sued for peace. The enemy sent
back a message:--it was, 'England must be destroyed;' and still they
continued their relentless work of pillage, burning, and slaughter.
But the spirit of the nation was not utterly broken. They still waged
a defensive and offensive war whenever there was an opportunity of
doing so with advantage. Every small party of the enemy were cut off,
stragglers killed wherever met with, and their army harassed in every
way that hatred and ingenuity could devise. Bands of well-armed
Englishmen, from fifty to a thousand in number, under separate and
independent leaders, surprised positions, destroyed convoys, and cut
off supplies. A new plan of warfare was now attempted, which, although
destructive to the country, was found a most effective means of
expelling the invaders. This was, wherever the enemy approached, to burn
the dwellings, and to move or destroy every kind of provision.

"About this period, there appeared amongst the crowd of wretched beings
who congregated the cities, a new and malignant epidemic. How it first
originated was a mystery. It came, and none knew from what cause. Its
fatal character was soon proved. At first, the people died in tens
and twenties, then they perished by hundreds, and then thousands fell
victims to its malignity. The rich fled from their town houses into the
country, carrying with them the very infection from which they were
flying, and in a short time it penetrated into the most remote corner
of the kingdom. Where the population had not been extensive, there were
not left enough to bury the dead. In some rural districts they died,
and none knew of their decease. It attacked all constitutions with the
same violence: the old, the young, the strong and the weak, were its
continual victims. The rich were as much subject to its ravages as the
poor. There was no condition or class of society in which the disease
did not enter and carry off the majority of its members.

"The system which had been pursued, chiefly under my direction, against
the enemy, gave them considerable annoyance; but still the inhabitants
generally would have done anything to have purchased the blessings of
peace. Again was the boon sued for, and the reply was, 'You haughty
islanders have continued too long to lord it over the world. We have
been your victims many a time; but now you shall be ours--England must
be destroyed.' They might have triumphed over our hostility; they
might, by keeping up a communication with their ships, continue to have
supplies of provision and forage independent of the country; but they
saw that they could not escape the plague: and, after effecting all the
mischief they could produce, they hastened to their vessels, and sailed
from the pestilential shores they had come to conquer.

"I had not mingled in the sufferings of my country without having to
endure my own share. I had found my home burnt to the ground, and my
wife sacrificed in the flames. Three of my sons had died fighting by
my side. But worse suffering was now in store for me: the plague was
amongst us. I had used every precaution to prevent the infection
spreading among my relatives. I had retired to a dwelling up a steep
mountain in the west, and there I resided with my children and their
families. There were four of my sons, strong, robust men, well inured
to all the dangers of war; and there were their wives, all of healthy
constitutions, and their children, of different ages, every one full
of health and spirits. With these were my two daughters, with their
husbands and families, none of whom were touched by the slightest
illness. One morning I was congratulating them upon the beneficial
effect of my regulations to prevent the spread of the infection, and
the mothers looked at their children and the husbands on their wives,
and I gazed on all, with a delight we found to be unspeakable. In less
than a week I had buried them all but one."

Here the old man's voice sunk, and he appeared to be powerfully
agitated. No one attempted an observation; and after making a strong
effort to recover his self-possession, he continued.

"The survivor was a boy of ten years of age; he was one of the few whom
the plague had touched and spared. Me it had passed by harmless. But
the destruction caused by the pestilence exceeded all calculation. As
in my case, whole families were carried off, and districts entirely
depopulated. The pits that were dug to throw in the dead were quickly
filled, and none were strong enough to dig others. The dead cart stood
in the street with its load piled up; for both the driver and the horse
had been destroyed by the pestilence. Physicians and surgeons appeared
to have been the earliest of its victims. They came to visit their
patients, and they died by the bedside. All remedies were tried without
avail; all precautions were used, but they were equally useless. There
were different opinions existing as to its origin. The royalists said
that it was a punishment for the sins of the republicans; and the
republicans retorted by proclaiming that it was a judgment on the
profligacy of the royalists. Religious fanatics went running about the
deserted streets, with streaming hair and blood-shot eyes, shouting out,
in piercing tones, 'Wo! wo! the day of judgment is at hand!'"

This lasted for the better portion of a year; and, after putting the
boy in a place of safety, when the pestilence was over, as I journeyed
through the country to notice the effects it had produced, where I
had once known crowded thoroughfares, I passed along without meeting
a single inhabitant. The country appeared to have been completely
unpeopled; and in the city, the few persons I met with only made the
immense mortality which had existed appear more great. I inquired for
the government, and found that not a trace of it was in existence.
I asked for the army, and I was shown about a couple of hundred men.
I called a meeting of the citizens in the metropolis, and they all
came; and they filled a moderate sized room. I explained to them the
deplorable state into which the plague had reduced the country, and I
asked their counsel and assistance to form some sort of government to
manage its affairs. There was a melancholy silence for some minutes.
None attempted to speak. Their hearts seemed too full for utterance. At
last one of the citizens ventured to wish that I would do what I thought
best for the community; and I did do what I thought best. I travelled
through every part of this once populous island to notice with my own
eyes the exact state of the remaining population. Some cities I found
deserted; in others two-thirds of their buildings were untenanted; the
rank grass was growing in the public streets, and the gardens of the
rich were filled with nettles.

"But the measure of afflictions for this unhappy country had not yet
been filled up. No sooner had the pestilence abated, than another
enemy, scarcely less dreadful, made its appearance. The continued
ravages of war had prevented the tilling of the fields. No one would
attempt to sow, knowing how insecure would be his ownership of the
crop he might produce. There had been no grain, and no fruits, and no
vegetables; and the cattle had died of the plague, or had been destroyed
by the enemy. It was in vain attempting to get a supply from foreign
countries. Our commerce had been destroyed, for no nation would
hold communication with a people among whom raged so destructive a
pestilence. They avoided the shores of England as if death was on its
soil; and any vessel attempting to communicate with them, or to enter
one of their ports, was fired at and sunk. The consequence was, our
ships lay rotting in the docks, and their crews were either dead, or
had dispersed over the island, and were not to be found. The terrific
visitation of famine was now upon us. Every thing was eaten that the
human stomach could be brought to swallow. Things the most loathsome
to the taste, and offensive to the eyes, were readily and ravenously
devoured. Then the cheek sunk; the eye-ball fell; the flesh dwindled
away; and all crawled with half lifeless limbs in search of any
substance that might lessen the cravings of their appetites. But at last
every thing that was digestible disappeared, and the skeleton forms of
the sufferers were stretched stiffly on the place where they fell--some
in madness, some in despair, and all in agony and dread.

"There was no opportunity allowed me for legislating with any advantage.
I thought of every plan that afforded the slightest assistance towards
lessening the dreadful effects of the calamity which the whole country
was enduring; but I met with no one to second my exertions. The few who
retained the use of their faculties were feeble and emaciated. Famine
was in their gaunt limbs, and despair upon their aching hearts. No one
appeared inclined to pay the slightest attention to any thing but his
own sufferings. There was no authority but that of the strong, and they
who retained their physical power the longest, robbed the dying of such
slight nourishment as they had acquired. The rich would bring out their
treasures and offer them for a meal, and when some avaricious wretch was
found to make the exchange, one more strong than either would come by,
and wrest the food from the impoverished, and the wealth from the miser;
and both died within the hour. The breast of the mother became dry, and
the infant was abandoned to starve when it became an incumbrance to the
famished parent. Cats, dogs, rats, mice, and every kind of animal, no
matter how disgusting in its habits, had been greedily devoured; birds,
fish, and insects, that had previously been considered loathsome, were
sought after as delicacies; and weeds, roots, the leaves of trees,
offal, and even many things still more objectionable, became the daily
food of many who had been accustomed to the most luxurious fare.

"Finding that I could do no good among the scanty band of skeletons that
clung to a lingering existence, I determined on endeavouring to make my
way to the northern part of the island, where an industrious and hardy
race had managed to retain their independence and prosperity during the
wars, the pestilence, and the famine, that ravaged its southern portion.
My grandson was too young to walk great distances; so, when he was
tired, I placed him upon my shoulder, and thus we journeyed on our way.
Our food was acorns, berries, roots, and leaves. Sometimes I was enabled
to catch a fish, or a bird, or a small animal; but these were luxuries
seldom to be enjoyed. We passed several parties apparently intent upon
the same object as ourselves; but many were there of the groups who
laid themselves down on the road-side weary and famishing, and there
perished. Continually I came upon some individual made desperate by his
hunger, scratching up the earth with his hands in search of the worms
it contained, which, if found, were eaten with as much enjoyment as the
most delicious meats, and if the search was fruitless, the dry soil
was crammed into the mouth as a substitute. Very few of the travellers
could have reached the end of their journey, for we continued to pass
the dying and the dead as far as we proceeded. Sometimes a solitary
wretch would be found prostrate at the foot of a tree, the bark of which
he had evidently been gnawing; further on a family of children were
discovered, with their little bodies shrunk to the bone, and the parents
at a short distance, with their faces turned from them, as if they could
not look upon their sufferings; and in another place, a lover and his
mistress lay clasped in each other's fleshless arms.

"We were crossing an extensive and barren moor, when we came before
a group of dead bodies, among which, to my exceeding astonishment, I
beheld a child--a delicate girl of five or six years of age--busily
occupied in chasing a butterfly. The scene was so extraordinary that I
stood gazing on it for a considerable period before I could determine
what to do. The insect's gaudy wings kept fluttering over the lifeless
forms that were cold and stiff on the ground, sometimes alighting on
a hand, sometimes on a face; and the child, in an ecstasy of delight,
screaming, and laughing, and stretching out its little arms, pursued it
from place to place. What a time was this for reflection! Here was life
in the midst of death--the pursuit of pleasure among the most fatal and
least endurable examples of pain. It was a wonderful sight! The girl
seemed to know neither want nor sorrow; and continued her sport,
indifferent to the spectral shapes that lay extended at her feet. Their
ghastly stare, and gaunt visages, had no terrors for her. The hunt of
the butterfly occupied all her thoughts, and the hope of attaining
possession of its beautiful colours seemed the only desire entertained.
After watching her movements with indescribable interest for several
minutes, I advanced towards the child, and invited her to go with me. I
had considerable difficulty to get her to leave the butterfly; and when
I led her away from the spot, she chatted with infantile volubility, as
if there was nothing else but the butterfly in the world.

"I found the people of the northern provinces hospitable, and with them
I lived for nearly half a century. They escaped the ravages of the
pestilence by not allowing any infected persons from the neighbouring
counties, who crowded towards the borders, to enter into their
territory. None had presented themselves during the prevalence of the
famine but myself; and their own frugality saved them from the horrors
which had desolated England. They looked upon the southern portion of
the island as a doomed country, for although several parties from the
north had gone there for the purpose of forming settlements, they either
returned after a short stay, stating that neither cattle nor crops would
nourish on the land, or were never more heard of, and were supposed to
have fallen victims to the pirates who occasionally visited the coast. I
passed my time in educating the two children of whom I had taken charge,
and both made great progress under my instructions. The boy became
a fine, active, intelligent man, the girl an admirable example of
womankind; and as I found that their hearts were for each other, in due
time I had them made man and wife. I have outlived them and all their
progeny, with the exception of Lilya, whom, after the decease of her
family, I took with me to England, having at the time an ardent desire
to revisit its desolated shores.

"What I found England I need scarcely describe; you see it before you.
It was a complete ruin. A sad and miserable remnant of her people did
strive to till the land; but the soil refused to give sustenance to the
seed, and the cultivator could gather nothing but a harvest of weeds.
The earth was abandoned for the waters, and the farmers became
fishermen; but the sea and the river gave an inadequate supply. One by
one the inhabitants dropped off, till at last the only human creatures
within the country were myself and Lilya. We managed to subsist by
hunting and fishing. Our fare was not at all times very delicate, and
was seldom very plentiful; but we provided for ourselves tolerably
well. We were obliged to rely upon our own resources; for the savage
appearance of the island, and the belief that it was doomed to
destruction, prevented our being visited by any vessels from the
continent; and even the pirates from the neighbouring islands, having
found that the country contained nothing to tempt them to a visit,
turned their attention to more opulent regions. Lilya and I, therefore,
had the whole land to ourselves, and over it we held absolute
sovereignty. Even the savage monsters of the forest appeared to
acknowledge our supremacy, for none offered to molest us. We took our
way through deserted piles and fallen monuments; and if we disturbed
the lion in his lair, or the eagle in his eyrie, they made way for our
approach, and returned to their haunts when we were gone.

"Thus passed the time. Lilya grew up as you see--a child of the forest,
skilful in snaring game, and in preserving skins; affectionate in her
manner, gentle in her temper, and shy as a dove in her nest. As for me,
I was a wanderer over the lands of my forefathers. The stream, the vale,
the mountain, and the plain, were accustomed to my visits. I became a
denizen of the forest and the plain--a resident in the deserted cities.
I found a dwelling in the palace and the hut; and all places were my
home. I experienced a melancholy pleasure in beholding the scenes in
which the greatness of my country had once been exhibited. I walked
among the crumbling ruins of her once gorgeous halls. The sunken
roofs of her stately cathedrals for me were full of religious awe and
veneration; the dilapidated battlements of her ancient castles seemed
still to show the dauntless valour of the spirits by whom they had been
defended; and the moss and lichens that disfigured her public monuments
gave only a fresher interest to the worth they represented. From these
I gathered the memories of a better time, and the glories of the past
warmed my old heart with the vigour of a second youth. I lived over
again the departed age--I recalled to life the buried generations--I
contemplated the happiness which the grave had long since hid in her
bosom--and the discoloured stones around me seemed to echo the busy
goings on of an industrious population. Free hearts were throbbing
proudly around me, and the stillness of the desert along which I stalked
was made alive with the pleasures of the young, the noble, and the
brave.

"Gone is your glory, oh my country!" exclaimed the old man, in a more
feeble voice; "your greatness among the nations is put down; your
magnificence has dwindled to a heap of stones; your power has nothing by
which it may be known. If the stranger come in a few years, and inquire
for the city which was the wonder of the world, none shall tell him, for
both city and citizens will have crumbled into dust. If he ask for the
people whose name was a glory in every clime that exists, he shall find
no better reply than the echo of his own voice. He may wander over the
brave old island in search of places that history has made immortal,
without being able to discover a trace of their existence. The thistle
and the nettle will hide the graves of its illustrious; ravenous beasts
will prowl in its cities; and all that is noble and grand in its
localities will be crushed, swallowed, and lost in one devouring ruin;
and I, that am here as an ancient tree with gnarled trunk and brittle
boughs, that stands up as if unnoticed by the destroyer, when the rest
of the forest have mouldered into the soil, will then have perished and
passed away, and not even a remembrance of my name will be left upon the
land."

"Noble old man!" exclaimed Oriel Porphyry with fervour, "there is no
one here who does not sympathise with your situation. I would endeavour
to console you, but I am afraid that your case is one beyond all
consolation. What can I do to render you assistance? Let me prevail
on you to leave this land, which has been so completely devoted to
destruction, and I will find you a more attractive home, and friends as
kind as those you have lost."

"Leave this land!" loudly cried the Englishman, apparently astonished
at the suggestion. "For a hundred and twenty years this island has been
the attraction of all my thoughts; my love for it arose from admiration
of its magnificence, and my heart still clings to it in its utter
annihilation. Do you think it would be possible for me, after having
made myself so familiar with its ruins, to find pleasure in the
prosperity of a far off country? No! to me the world hath nothing like
it. What are smiling landscapes? What are stately edifices? What are
fields busy with life, and cities astir with industry, if on a foreign
shore? Its homes are not my home--its graves are not the graves of my
people. But these tottering walls and depopulated lands are mine; I
hold them in undisputed possession; I have a claim on them which has
been long acknowledged; and they have a claim on me which I feel I must
speedily prepare to liquidate. No: leave me to the desolation in which
I dwell. It has become habitual--it has become necessary. I have long,
perhaps too long, been its inhabitant; but the hour comes when another
ruin must be added to those which now encumber the soil."

"And then what is to become of the gentle Lilya?" inquired the young
merchant.

"Ah! 'tis of that I am ever anxious," replied the old man, with a look
of affectionate solicitude towards his youthful relative. "The child is
full of amiable ways--she is artless and untutored: I cannot part with
her; and yet to leave her unprotected in this wilderness is a source of
constant disquietude to me."

"If you entrust her to me," added Oriel, "by the honour of manhood I
promise to behave to her as a brother; and I will place her under the
protection of a lady from whom she will receive every attention her
youth and unfriended situation requires."

"In her name I can promise all that she stands most in need of," said
Zabra.

"What say you, my Lilya?" inquired the Englishman. "Will you go with
the strangers? Will you leave this wretched country, and seek one where
happiness awaits you?"

"I will have no other country but yours, oh my protector!" exclaimed the
girl, as she flung herself into the old man's arms. "These strangers
are good; but they can never be so good as you have been: and these old
walls too--where shall I meet with such verdant moss, or such beautiful
ivy, as they possess? While you live, with you must my existence be
passed: and when you have ceased to lead me in my wanderings through the
silent forest or the deserted city, I care not where I go; for I shall
never again find the parent, the friend and guardian I shall have lost."

The Englishman pressed her more closely to his breast.




CHAP. VI.

THE DEATH OF THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.


"My life is drawing rapidly to its close," faltered the old man; "my
weary pilgrimage is nearly over. Farewell, ye solitary halls and
voiceless palaces! Farewell, ye grassy streets and ivied porticoes! The
eyes that have gazed upon ye in your splendour, and watched ye gradually
passing into ruin, will soon be darkened and closed. The heart that hath
drawn so many pleasures from your unfading braveries is fast sinking
into that state of nothingness to which you all hasten. City of the
silent! he who worshipped your prosperity, and loved your decay, must
now pass from amidst your ruined dwellings. Like your time-honoured
walls, I totter and tremble, and am ready to fall upon the earth that
supports me--the ivy seems twining up my unsteady limbs, and the moss
is spreading over my ancient heart. Farewell, ye untasted pastures, ye
uncultivated fields, ye gardens of weeds and orchards of brambles--the
wildness of your looks shall welcome me no more. Farewell, ye hoary
mountains and savage rocks, ye untrodden forests and unhonored
streams--the same iron hand that hath visited ye so heavily, as heavily
must fall on me. I pass from among ye, oh land of my fathers! Your earth
shall receive me to her breast!"

The old man lay on a green bank overgrown with wild flowers, while Oriel
and Zabra supported his head. Lilya was reclining at his side, with
one of his hands at her lips, and her face hid on his breast, and she
spoke only in convulsive sobs. Tourniquet stood near him feeling his
pulse, and the professor was close beside endeavouring to administer
consolation. At a short distance stood the captain and midshipman, with
part of the crew of the Albatross, apparently taking a deep interest in
the scene. They were congregated together near a shelving hillock in the
neighbourhood of an extensive marsh. Before them was an ancient arch of
marble, and beyond that, the ruins of a structure evidently once of very
great extent and magnificence, with many statues, some standing where
they had been placed, and others lying mutilated among the heaps of
stones that were piled up around the place for a considerable distance.
The sun was declining in the heavens, and the day was bright and warm.
Ruins, in different stages of decay, were observed as far as the eye
could reach in every direction, except towards the west, where an open
space showed the distant hills, over which the sun was hastening his
descent.

It was evident that the Englishman was dying. His venerable brow was
covered with a thick perspiration, and his fine countenance had become
more pallid and anxious than it had previously been. Yet his eyes beamed
as if they had lost none of their accustomed brilliancy, and his noble
form possessed the same dignity which had first attracted the attention
of the voyagers. He was still in possession of all his faculties,
and there was an energy in his manner, and an impressiveness in his
language, which proved that the spirit that had outlived so many
generations had lost none of its youthful vigour.

"Your pulse is getting more feeble, don't you see?" said the doctor,
with much sympathy for his patient; "and I regret to be obliged to agree
with you in stating that your hours are numbered. You have lived far
beyond the usual term of life, and it must be a great consolation to
you, in your present state, to know that you have lived all that time in
honour, and worth, and virtue."

"Be grateful to Providence that you have been so long spared," observed
Fortyfolios. "The age of man is threescore and ten, and this is but
rarely attained; and yet your existence has been prolonged to nearly
double that length of time. How much have you to be thankful for!
Consider the myriads of human beings who are cut off unprepared;--who
die in infancy, in early youth, or perfect manhood--who just begin to
taste the sweets of life, and then are hurried from its enjoyment.
Consider the advantages you have enjoyed over your fellow-countrymen,
who were destroyed by war, by pestilence, and famine. You have much
reason to congratulate yourself. You have been spared, doubtless, for
some admirable purpose which our finite reason cannot comprehend.
Reflect upon these things, and you will be enabled to meet the approach
of death without apprehension."

"What are your wishes concerning the disposal of Lilya?" inquired Oriel
Porphyry. "Remember that it is impossible that she can be left alone
upon this island with the slightest comfort to herself or pleasure
to others. The offer I made to you the other day I repeat. It is not
probable that her welfare can be secured more effectively in any other
way. Let me implore you then, as you value her future happiness, to take
advantage of my accidental arrival, and give me authority to bear her to
a secure and honourable asylum."

"It must be so, oh my Lilya," exclaimed the old man affectionately.
"When I have left you, this desolate place can be no proper home for
you. You must accompany these kind strangers to their own country. There
you will find that protection and care which is necessary to make you
pass through life with the esteem of your associates. Remember, oh my
Lilya, that if you wish the spirit of the old man who has been your
constant companion in all your journeyings to rest satisfied with his
afterlife, your conduct must be irreproachable, and you must endeavour
to keep your mind free from the approach of all degrading errors. The
world is open before you; but although you will find it fruitful in
every delicious produce--though it possess the most lovely landscapes,
and is peopled by multitudes of the good and generous, there is less
ruin in the desolation you see around you than exists in those fair and
fertile shores. I part with you with much regret--deeply does my heart
feel the separation--but it must be. The evil has no remedy. It ought
to be endured without a murmur. Go then, my Lilya, to the land of the
stranger, and my blessing shall be upon your footsteps, like an eternal
sunshine, wherever they may wander. But in whatever part of the world
you may make your sojourn, forget not that the land from whence you came
exceeded in glory and in excellence all other lands that have existed
since the creation of the world. Do it no dishonour. Show that you are
worthy to acknowledge the place of your nativity; and if you should hear
the idle, the ungenerous, and the thoughtless attempt to lower her fame,
or seek to question her superiority, stand up in her defence with all
the eloquence that truth inspires and patriotism makes perfect; and
speak of the good she has done, and the wonders she has achieved, and
then the most illiberal and unjust of your audience shall find their
erroneous impressions fade before your convincing eulogy, and with
a new and better spirit they shall say, 'Would that I had been an
Englishman!'"

Lilya answered only with her sobs, which now became quicker and more
vehement.

"It must be gratifying to you to know that your country has never been
enslaved," remarked the young merchant, earnestly. "While other lands
have been degraded by the vilest spirit of despotism, the energies of
the public men of England kept her unshackled."

"I stand on the grave of a mighty empire," replied the Englishman, "who
has erected monuments of her greatness in every quarter of the globe. I
am hurrying to the same sepulchre. In such a situation, more than in any
other, it is natural that I should speak the words of truth and honesty.
It is my conviction, then, that this country could never have fallen
from its greatness, except through its own internal dissensions. When
it enjoyed an unexampled state of prosperity, there existed men calling
themselves patriots, yet possessing no claim to such a title, who kept
the multitude in a restless and unsatisfied state, by their continual
abuse of its institutions, and frequent demands for change. If these
individuals could have been believed on their own testimony, they were
the most disinterested set of men that ever existed. They had no motive
except for the common good. They had no feeling separate from the
interests of the community. In my time there flourished few more ardent
lovers of liberty than myself; my inclination for freedom was a passion,
an enthusiasm, a dream. I seemed to see nothing but chains where a
fetter never existed, and found nothing but slavery in a state of
society that enjoyed a higher degree of independence than any in the
world. My connection with the popular party brought me much into contact
with the influencial patriots; and I found them the most selfish,
narrow-minded, bigotted men that ever disgraced a country: they had no
other desire but for their own aggrandisement. They fawned upon the
people till they became possessed of the power they coveted, and then
endeavoured to exert a more absolute authority than had ever been
exhibited by the government they superseded. Self was the great object
of all their exertions, and to selfish ends their fine speeches and
liberal promises always tended. They had no care for the multitude
except as steps for their own advancement. Freedom still appears to me
in the same alluring guise in which she first won me to follow in her
footsteps, and amid the solitude of this uncultivated wild I have
enjoyed more of her smiles than the most perfect form of government
could create; but my experience has convinced me that a vast population
must be well prepared for a change in their constitution, that promises
a considerable accession of liberty, as it is called, before it can be
enjoyed with safety to the commonwealth. Sudden changes never come to
any good. The whole frame-work of society is unhinged by them; opinions
are unsettled, the public confidence is withdrawn, the reverence for
the old is broken, and the new being untried, cannot be regarded with
the same respect as a state of things which has existed for centuries.
I have noticed this; and it proves that revolutions in systems of
government that have any lasting value should be introduced by the
gradual growth of public opinion, and that any system of government that
produces a certain quantity of benefit to the people, however faulty
it may be in other respects, is preferable to any other system of
government which has been untried, and the utility of which, therefore,
has not been ascertained. I am convinced that the dissolution of this
great empire originated in the dissatisfaction in the public mind for
the existing laws, which had been artfully created by numbers of mock
patriots, such as may be found in all states enjoying liberty of
opinion, for the purpose of realising schemes they had entertained for
their own advantage."

"But true patriotism may exist in a state, though the false may be
predominant, don't you see," remarked Tourniquet; "and it is too
sterling a thing to be set aside, because any constitution which governs
the many possesses some acknowledged merit. The real patriotism may
always be known from the false by its self-abandonment, and the true
patriot seeks no other advantage than the public good."

"In the history of nations of any celebrity," said Fortyfolios, "there
can be nothing more interesting to the student than to observe their
gradual rise, decline, and fall. They first arise out of an obscurity
so profound, that among earlier empires they were known, if known
at all, only as a few straggling savages. These multiply and become
enlightened, build cities and ships, cultivate the land and invent
manufactures, make war and obtain great triumphs; and as they advance in
civilisation their resources increase, their intelligence becomes more
general, and at last they acquire a superiority over the most important
nations at such a time existing in the world. This power they retain as
long as they are united, wise, and brave; but immediately a disunion
appears, a complete disorganisation takes place, every thing goes wrong,
and the whole fabric, so elaborately built up, tumbles to pieces. They
once more become reduced to wandering savages, and their country is
again a wilderness. All the earliest nations of antiquity have been
thus created, and thus have perished: and as Carthage, Egypt, Troy, and
numberless other states of equal importance in the youth of the world,
were dissolved till nothing remained of them but the name, so has
England, infinitely their superior, both in public intelligence and in
public glory, arrived at a dissolution as desolating and complete. The
subject of inquiry for the philosopher now is, whether kingdoms or
commonwealths, having returned to the state of barbarism from which they
advanced, will not at a proper period again progress in civilisation
till they once more arrive at the pre-eminence from which they had
fallen."

"The spirit of the future is upon me!" exclaimed the last of the
Englishmen, in an elevated tone of voice, and with his countenance lit
up with deep and powerful excitement. "The glory of the past rises from
its sepulchre with renewed life, and a power exceeding all experience.
Again the ruin rings with life, and the wilderness is a smiling garden,
fruitful in human happiness. The voices of industry now cheer every
corner of the solitary city, and the laugh of pleasure awakens the
gloomy recesses of the forest with an inspiring feeling of gladness.
Now are the broad waters of the abandoned river covered with shipping
of every maritime nation under the sun; and in every sea that flows
beneath the arching vault of the everlasting heavens, the dauntless
mariners of England dash along, triumphing over the tempest and the foe.
The magnificence, the bravery, the intelligence, the virtue, and the
might of former times now rise before my gaze, multiplied tenfold in
degree. I see the banners of a thousand victories; the shouts of freedom
and the glad paeans of triumph swell upon my ear; the pomp of stirring
music--the beauty of art in its noblest creations--the perfection of
unrivalled manufactures--the imposing array of palaces of streets and
streets of palaces, stupendous bridges, noble monuments, and stately
halls;--the throngs of the noble, the great, the good, the wise and the
industrious, with sumptuous equipages, numerous retinues, gay liveries,
or joyous faces, and happy hearts, become evident to my senses. I
see the felicitous influence of a wise government exercised upon a
flourishing and contented population countless as the stars. I see
societies, and families, and individuals, all sharing in the general
joy. I see wealth, abundance, skill, and industry, flowing in a
refreshing channel that fertilises the whole island. I behold thee, oh,
my country! the proudest of the nations, whose laws govern the seas, and
whose name is absolute on the dry land, rising from the darkness and the
desolation which now shrouds thy greatness, and with a prouder dignity,
and a fresher splendour, and a power more universal than to one nation
ever belonged resume thy ancient throne upon the waters, and commence a
reign which shall far exceed in glory all the glories by which it has
ever been preceded."

The old man fell back exhausted into the arms of Oriel and Zabra, and it
was at first feared that his spirit had departed; but in a few moments
respiration gently recommenced, the look of life beamed in his gaze, and
he returned to a state of consciousness.

"This will not last long, don't you see;" said the doctor to his
companions. "Though the intellectual powers have suffered but little,
the physical are nearly destroyed. He is but lingering on his journey.
His resting-place is close at hand."

"Let me see the sun;" exclaimed the Englishman, with the same
enthusiastic fervour he had previously exhibited, as he endeavoured
to turn himself in the required direction. His hearers lifted him up
gently, so that he could have a full view of that majestic luminary
as it was setting behind the western hills. "Let me again behold that
glorious orb whose uprisings and whose goings down I have witnessed
so long and proudly. Ha! There still spread the ruddy tints--the glow
of fire and gold is upon the skies once more;--there are the gorgeous
colours and radiant splendours that have so often shed their
magnificence upon our ancient island. Once again, O wondrous Oread, I
drink in delighted the sweet effulgence of your rays. They warm me, they
cheer me, they invigorate the flagging current still flowing through
my veins. How many times have I looked upon your rising and your
setting!--and on every fresh occasion have exclaimed how lovely! how
new! how wonderful! And now for the last time, I watch ye taking the
accustomed path, clothed in that panoply of state that knows of no
decay. Stay, stay a little in your course: your rising on the morrow
will not be for my enjoyment; for, with your setting, on me sets
the world. Stay, bright harbinger of gladness, your task is not yet
done;--there is a soul fondly hovering on your beams, that, as you fade,
must pass away. Slowly your glories dissolve into the cloud, and with
them the impulses of my existence disappear. The fires around you,
are becoming faint, and the flame that burns in this receptacle is
trembling, and flickering, and dying into darkness. Still I follow you
over the distant hills, now purpled with your beauty. Heaven and earth
are fading from my sight, and England, the land of my birth and grave,
of my long pilgrimage and devoted love, passeth from my view like a
cloud in the nighttime. Lilya! my blessing be upon you from now to
eternity. Friends, I submit her to your care with a thankfulness that
language cannot speak. I die with many consolations. I have no enemies
to forgive;--I have had none to sin against. I die in the religion of
my fathers, with glory to God and good will towards men. See, the last
streak of crimson over the hill, just above the fading disc of the
setting sun. Watch it--my spirit is hastening to share in its
splendours. See,--it lessens--it fades--'t is gone!"

The old man had extended his arm towards that part of the horizon to
which he wished to attract attention; and as the last words of the
preceding sentence were uttered, the disc of the sun disappeared over
the hills, the arm fell, the head dropped, and without a sigh, the
spirit of the last of the Englishmen had departed to its eternal rest.
Lilya, in an uncontrollable agony of grief, flung herself upon the
corpse; and there was scarcely a person present who was not deeply
affected.

"Is he quite dead?" whispered the young merchant, observing that
Tourniquet had his fingers upon his wrist.

"It's impossible to be more so, don't you see;" replied the surgeon, as
he dropped the lifeless arm by the side of the body.

"We had better give him christian burial before we leave the island;"
remarked Fortyfolios. "The wild beasts, it seems, are numerous about
here, and it would not be a friendly act to leave his body to be
devoured by them. I do not know whether there is any consecrated ground
near, but I should think in a city so celebrated for the number of its
churches, a burial-place cannot be far off."

"I will not have his remains mingle with the herd that choke up a
church-yard;" exclaimed Oriel Porphyry. "He shall have a more honourable
sepulchre. About a mile hence I noticed the colossal statue of some
distinguished hero. It is in a large park-like place, slightly elevated,
and at a considerable distance from any ruins. We will bury him at
its base: it is a grave such as his free spirit would have loved to
contemplate."

The young merchant instantly gave orders about the funeral, and while
the preparations were being made, he, assisted by Zabra, drew Lilya
from the body, which she could not be induced to leave without force.
The seamen had brought with them some pickaxes and shovels for the
purpose of digging for antiquities, and these were now to be called into
use for a more melancholy occasion. Every one being in readiness, twelve
sailors with muskets reversed, walked slowly two abreast: then came the
body, still in its dress of wild skins, wrapped up in the Columbian
flag, and carried by eight men upon four muskets crossed. After them
walked Lilya, supported by Oriel Porphyry and Zabra. They were followed
by Fortyfolios and Tourniquet, and the captain and the midshipman, and
the procession was closed by twelve seamen marching slowly, two abreast,
with arms reversed.

They passed along what appeared to be the remains of a road, for about
half a mile, when they came to a magnificent ancient triumphal arch,
a splendid example of architectural beauty, standing in excellent
preservation, with a colossal equestrian statue of a warrior trampling
under his horse's feet a group of warlike figures in different
costumes. An illegible inscription, supposed to be a list of victories
gained over the enemies of his country by the original of the statue,
was placed under the prostrate group, and beneath them in large
capitals that might be read at a great distance, was observed the word
"WELLINGTON." This admirable work of antiquity was divided into a
large central arch and two smaller ones, one on each side. They were
richly sculptured in bas relief, and adorned with every appropriate
architectural ornament.

Passing beneath this grand triumphal monument, the funeral train
observed another of a less imposing character just before them, which
was much dilapidated. To reach it, they had to walk through a field of
weeds and high grass, which at different places, showed signs of having
once been a fine broad public thoroughfare; and venturing under the
tottering walls of this arch, they entered an expansive field of docks
and nettles, wild flowers, and gigantic thistles. Ruins of considerable
buildings were observed on the right. Clumps of trees were scattered in
every direction, and about the centre, on a high mound, stood a colossal
bronze statue of an ancient warrior, supposed to be some illustrious
English general. It was a splendid specimen of sculpture, and appeared
to be of great antiquity.

Here it was intended should be consigned the remains of the heroic old
man, and the seamen having dug a deep grave at the foot of the statue,
he was deposited on the bank, where he lay wrapped up in the flag for a
few minutes to give to every one an opportunity of seeing him for the
last time. Lilya knelt down by the side of the dead body, kissed the
cold hand, and covered it with her tears. Many attempts were made to
tranquillise her grief, but without success. Every head was uncovered as
the professor read the funeral service, and even the hardy seaman seemed
much affected by the impressive character of the scene.

"The brevity of existence has been much insisted on," observed
Fortyfolios at the conclusion of the service; "and here is an example
of the prolongation of life far beyond the usual term, and prolonged
under circumstances remarkably rare and interesting. This human
antiquity bore all the marks of greatness which were first impressed
upon its nature, through the violent changes that shook to ruin the
society to which it belonged. He was brave, patriotic, noble, and
patient. He could draw hope from the materials of despair, and find
comfort in the midst of desolation. Let us not murmur, then, at the
small evils among which we exist, when we find such admirable endurance
of evils of the greatest magnitude. The love of country is a natural and
amiable virtue, but never has it sat so gracefully, and existed with
such disinterestedness, as in the character of this ancient Englishman.
He loved, not because such love was a common feeling which every object
around him might excite; but he loved as if he had calculated what
would be the amount of patriotism possessed by his countrymen had they
existed; and considering himself as the representative of the dead,
endeavoured to exhibit the total of their contributions; and this
exhibition seemed the more abundant, as the objects which should have
the most readily created it became the least capable of exciting it
into action. He was a great man, and may be looked upon as the last
production of a great country."

"As for the men who are vulgarly called great, don't you see," observed
the doctor, "your kings, your conquerors, and such poor cattle, they
shrink into their proper insignificance when compared to the last of the
Englishmen. How could they have endured the barren waste and wilderness
of ruins for any length of time! They could have found nothing to
appreciate in its solitude, they would have left its desolation in
disgust. Patriotism here was the most amiable of virtues. It was pure
and honest and excellent. It was full of truth and courage, and a power
that was invincible. Let us honour this old man: the grave will hold him
fast. We shall see nothing of the kind again. Let us then make the most
of his memory, for the estimation of such excellence will be always a
proof of the existence of a love of that which is best. The self-denials
of ascetics, and the mortifications of religious misanthropists, who,
shutting themselves up from the sweet influence of social intercourse,
hate their fellows and torture themselves; what are these compared with
that nobler, purer, better feeling which bound this old man to the grave
of his country, and made him find enjoyment and consolation in the
recollection of her immortal excellences? Let us honour him, for he is
an example of how much honour humanity may attain."

"I cannot unwillingly join in praise so well deserved," said Oriel
Porphyry; "the extraordinary energy of his heroic nature that made him
endure with so cheerful a spirit the evils under which generation after
generation sunk into utter hopelessness, is worthy of all the admiration
we can confer upon it. We will bury him in the earth he loved so well;
and although we raise no monument to glorify his actions, and although
to strangers he be indebted for the rites of sepulture, his sleep will
not be the less profound, nor his obsequies the less honourable.
Perhaps in some future age, when, as he hath prophesied, this ancient
nation shall arrive at a degree of prosperity and greatness far beyond
any thing it has hitherto attained, the people of the future imagining
that this monument has been erected over the mortal remains of some
heroic spirit of the early ages, shall throng in crowds to confer on it
the homage of their reverence; and the fame, though in error, will do
him justice, and posterity, though ignorant, will rightly apply their
admiration."

"Grieve not, sweet Lilya!" exclaimed Zabra, as he was endeavouring to
console the afflicted mourner; "he for whom you mourn mourns not; why,
therefore, should you be afflicted? His spirit is at peace with the
world; he treads no more among the ruins and weeds of this deserted
land; his home is where nature enjoys an unfading youth; where beauty
breathes from an unclouded atmosphere, and love dwells around him like
a perpetual blessing. Grieve not for the loss of the goodness which was
enshrined in his nature, it has gone to join the First Great Cause of
all good from which its goodness was derived. You see the wild flowers
that are scattered at our feet; they gather from the air and the soil
their fragrance and their loveliness, and these qualities they give back
to the air and the soil, when the freshness of their leaves is dried up,
and the soft hues in which we so much delight fade from their blossoms.
Whatever exists, exists in a state of continual giving and receiving. It
gains only to lose when what it has acquired can no longer be rendered
profitable to its owner. As the rivers run into the sea, glides all
humanity into the boundless ocean of the eternal; yet, fast as they
empty themselves as rapidly they flow from their sources, just as the
waters of life rush into the gulf of death, and though swallowed up with
inconceivable velocity, rise from their innumerable springs in greater
abundance. Grieve not, then, for grief is of no utility to either
the living or the dead. Consider yourself: in you are deposited the
materials of much happiness for yourself and others; endeavour to apply
them to the most advantage. Some fond youth may soon be looking on your
eyes, as gazes the devotee on the innermost sanctuary of his temple. In
you he will concentrate all his ideas of what is most admirable; to you
he will turn his thoughts; for you he will breathe his aspirations;
his dreams he will gladden with your smiles; his hopes he will make
brilliant in the lustre of your gaze. Are such things unworthy of your
contemplation? Leave off these regrets; quit this senseless clay which
answers not to your sympathy. Strive to become all, when living, he
would have wished you to be. Virtue and truth and wisdom invite you to
partake of their enjoyments, and if you attend to the better business of
life, under their instructive auspices, you may be assured of becoming
possessed of such happiness as it is felicitous even to imagine."

Lilya raised her eyes streaming with tears to the handsome countenance
of the speaker, and her face was lit up with an expression that for
the time obliterated all traces of sorrow. At this moment the body was
carefully deposited in the grave, over which the seamen fired a volley
of musketry, after which he was covered with the soil, and the party
returned to their tents. Here, immediately on Zabra's arrival, he
proceeded to his harp, and after a few chords full of melancholy and
tender feeling, sang the following lines:--

   "The last of his race now lies low,
      Lies low in the soil that gave bliss to his eyes,
    Though his country no joy could bestow,
      For in deserts he lived and 'mid ruin he dies;
    For him no dull trappings of woe,
      No dark hirelings of grief round his sepulchre rise,
    And he leaves not a friend or a foe,
      His merits to praise or his faults to despise.

   "The last of his race to his rest,
      To his rest in the grave hath gone silently down;
    With his sword girded on o'er his vest,
      And arrayed as in life from the foot to the crown.
    But say not his tomb is unblest,
      Or the name he hath left be unknown to renown,
    For the wild flow'r shall bloom o'er his breast,
      And his fame shall be echoed through village and town.

   "Though strangers his corse in the grave,
      In the grave they have chosen with honour shall place,
    Though the earth take the life which it gave,
      And the tooth of the worm shall the mortal efface,
    There shall dwell neither tyrant or slave,
      There shall live not a people so lost in disgrace,
    Who shall know not the land of the brave,
      And respect not the bones of the Last of his Race."

At the close of the song, Zabra felt a hand placed lightly on his
shoulder, and, turning round, beheld Lilya gazing on him with a look so
full of pleasure, that he felt almost inclined to doubt it was the same
creature who a short time since was so overpowered with affliction. "I
will go with you," said the timid girl, as a slight blush appeared on
either cheek; "I will go with you to your own country--if--that is--I
should like to go with you if you will take me."

The same evening they were all on board the Albatross, which immediately
set sail, and retraced her way through the river into the wide ocean.




CHAP. VII.

LILYA.


"I am getting very anxious about my father!" said Oriel Porphyry to his
young friend; "I am sure something must have happened, or I should have
found a communication from him at one or other of the different ports I
have touched at. Not a syllable of information have I been able to gain
from any of my father's ships I have spoken with, for most of them had
left Columbia about the same time as my last advices, and the others
were not aware of any thing important having transpired."

"We are going homewards now, Oriel, and if any thing has happened shall
soon be made aware of it;" observed Zabra. "Let us hope for the best. I
should not imagine, from the immense influence that he possesses, that
the government would attempt to injure him."

"They only want the power, I believe;" replied the young merchant.
"I know these sort of people too well to put much confidence in an
appearance of tranquillity that has been forced upon them. They must
hate my father. As the prime mover in the revolution which exhibited
their insignificance so palpably, they will look upon the merchant as a
person particularly odious, and no doubt would gladly get rid of him at
any cost or risk."

"I should think for their own interests they would let him alone;"
remarked his companion. "Experience ought to have taught them the danger
of meddling with so popular a character, and having suffered so severely
it is not like that they will renew the hazardous experiment."

"It is because they have suffered that they will be desirous of
revenging themselves upon one whom they consider as the cause of the
infliction;" said Oriel. "It would have appeared bad enough to them if
my father had been one of the most powerful of the aristocracy; but it
wounds them to the quick when they reflect that he is a plebeian--in
their ideas immeasurably beneath them--an individual of no ancient
family, without rank or dignity. With the feelings which a knowledge of
this fact must create it is impossible that they can rest satisfied with
their limited privileges and curtailed power. They will be continually
intriguing for his destruction."

"They dare not do it, Oriel," replied Zabra; "I feel assured they dare
not."

"I wish I could think so," said his patron; "but I have a little more
knowledge of the world than you, Zabra, and I know something more of
the disposition of such men. As long as he lives they will consider
themselves insecure. They can know no peace save in his death; and I am
convinced that they will use every exertion to accomplish it. I hope I
may be enabled to return in time to frustrate their intentions. I should
like nothing better than to expose their machinations, and to punish
them in an appropriate manner; and if the people exist in the same state
of feeling as when my father last wrote, I will show them something
they little expect to see. My father's friends are almost innumerable in
Columbus, and are always ready with hand and heart to serve him whenever
he will give the word, which he is always exceedingly loth to give;
and I think I may say that my friends in the metropolis are neither
despicable in number nor in influence, and are as eager to befriend me
in time of need; and I shall be quite as eager to accept their services.
I remember the times when I have been exercising my regiment, the
devotion that was displayed by both officers and men; but this I am well
aware was owing to their admiration of my father's virtues. Of them I am
secure. My fondness for military exercises made me labour to perfect in
discipline the troops I commanded, and they are now as effective a body
of men as ever entered a field of battle. They will perform good service
wherever they go. The national guard is another powerful engine to be
employed on such an occasion. In the metropolis alone they amount in
number to about twenty thousand; and they are devotedly attached to my
father. If there exist but a sufficient cause I know that I have only
to present myself amongst them, to induce them to follow me wherever I
choose to lead."

"I trust you will have no occasion for their services," said his
companion; "it is my belief that on our return we shall find every thing
in the most comfortable state, and all parties satisfied with each
other. Your military dreams will then be completely disappointed, and
you will be under the painful necessity of making up your mind to share
the well-earned honours of your father, and partake of a perfect state
of happiness with Eureka."

"Ah, Eureka!" exclaimed the young merchant with passionate emphasis;
"how rejoiced I shall be to return to her! I often find myself inquiring
into the possibility of a change in her disposition towards me."

"That can never be, Oriel;" observed the other.

"I have the fullest confidence in her fidelity, but sometimes I find
an apprehension intrude without knowing what produced it;" said his
companion. "There are no such self-tormentors as your true lovers; and
although I should be among the first to laugh at the suffering they give
themselves, I must acknowledge that on more than one occasion I have
endured a state of feeling which was any thing but satisfactory."

"By what was it occasioned?" inquired Zabra.

"Merely from my ignorance of the motives which have induced her to deny
me any communication with her till my return;" answered Oriel.

"You would not condemn her if you knew what made such a denial
necessary;" remarked his young friend.

"Very probably not: but the mischief of it is, I do _not_ know;"
said Master Porphyry. "Any thing in the shape of a mystery annoys me
amazingly, and this behaviour of hers appears to me most mysterious and
unaccountable. I think between lovers the most perfect sincerity should
exist. There should be no room left for doubt or suspicion. But in
the generality of attachments you will find much more deception than
sincerity. In the affections of youth there is an earnestness which is
the most natural and convincing that can be conceived; but as the heart
grows older, it gradually loses all this admirable freshness and purity,
and in a few short years it has recourse to artifices and disguises
without number. I detest deceit. I cannot imagine Eureka deceitful. I
hope never to find her so. To the truly devoted--to one who finds no
enjoyment like that which proceeds from honoring his adored as the
truest, the purest, and the best, there can be nothing so revolting
as the discovery that she whom he worships as one so pre-eminent in
goodness is the habitual practiser of contemptible deceits, hides
all her actions under a cloak of elaborate artifices, and lives in a
spider-like existence, spinning a dirty web to hide herself and betray
her victims."

"Eureka is of a very different character;" observed Zabra, who during
the preceding observations had appeared exceedingly confused. "She has
not deceived you in any thing which it was requisite for you to know.
She detests artifice as much as you do. But there are always some things
which the most sincere may find it necessary to conceal. The truth
cannot be spoken at _all_ times."

"You might just as well say that good money ought not to be passed at
all times;" said Oriel Porphyry. "That which is good ought to be good
upon all occasions, and truth is the very best of things in social
intercourse. It is the sterling coin of the affections; and she who uses
base counterfeits deserves the ignominy with which such vile cheating
should be punished. I have the very highest opinion of the female
character, and I desire always to think highly of womankind; but taking
the sex generally, I do sincerely think that they are amazingly fond
of disguising the truth as much as possible. It is a crooked policy--a
policy that in time poisons every better feeling a woman can possess.
Deception and a love of general admiration are her prevailing vices.
I am well aware that they are thought very innocent little foibles by
those who practise them, but on that account they are not the less
destructive to feminine excellence. Love is a passion of one for one
only. It ought to be excited by one object, and conferred on one object
alone. And thus exhibited, it is the purest, the most graceful, and the
most natural of human emotions. If either party introduce another as a
sharer in the affections, the whole feeling becomes tainted. What can be
more unjust to the lover who concentrates all his hopes on the exclusive
possession of the affections of the object of his fond idolatry, which
hopes have been called into existence by fond avowals and delicious
caresses, than for the woman whom he thus regards, to be just as
affectionate in her manner to a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, and
a sixth? Some women seem to pride themselves on the number of their
admirers. What a miserable vanity it is! It is exactly the same feeling
with which an Eastern monarch used to regard the number of females in
his seraglio. Imagine the state of mind produced in a man of refined
intellect and delicacy of feeling at discovering that the lips he
thought sacred to his caresses were defiled by the caresses of another!
Or if she allow others merely to continue to profess to her their
ardent admiration, she evinces a neglect of the unalterable law of the
affections, which ought to be punished by contempt, scorn, and disgust."

"But no woman ought to be accountable for the admiration she may
excite;" observed Zabra. "The most virtuous woman may without the
slightest intention create an unhallowed passion in one of the opposite
sex."

"Women are remarkably quick sighted in every thing connected with the
affections;" replied the young merchant. "They can discover the earliest
signs of admiration, and every truly virtuous woman, if her sympathies
are pre-engaged, will endeavour to crush this feeling in the bud, and
show, by her displeasure and avoidance of the object, that he has
created no reciprocal emotion. If after such passion is declared she
continue to tolerate the attentions of her admirer, although she be
virtuous in other respects she has no conception of the nature of
perfect virtue. She is fostering an illicit feeling; she is encouraging
a passion she has no intention of indulging--a crime the most
destructive in its effects upon the happiness of the individual whose
passion she encourages; and as it is vicious in its tendency, because
it aims at indulgence at the expense of virtue, and as she assisted in
its developement instead of destroying it in its early growth, she is
answerable for all the consequences that may arise from its existence,
and has deserved the censure of being considered vicious in her
disposition. Toleration creates hope, and hope will love through all
difficulty; but no man, unless he be a fool or a knave, will love in
utter hopelessness."

"Surely these observations can have no relation to Eureka!" exclaimed
Zabra earnestly.

"Not the slightest;" replied his patron. "She is all I would wish her
to be; and the only cause of uneasiness she has given me during our
attachment is this mystery about the place of her concealment, and her
avoidance of any communication with me for so long a time."

"Your uneasiness will soon be removed, then, and the mystery will be
explained in a manner that will perfectly satisfy you;" said the youth.

"I hope so;" exclaimed his patron. "But I certainly do not like being
mystified by those in whom I take an interest. Mysteries, however, seem
most abundant around me just now. There is something very strange and
unaccountable in you, Zabra."

"Me! in me, Oriel?" replied his companion, in evident confusion. "What
can there be strange or unaccountable in me?"

"I have noticed many things in your behaviour exceedingly
extraordinary;" said the young merchant. "Your superiority to the
situation in which you were introduced to me has often made me imagine
that you are not what you assume to be."

"Not what I assume to be!" exclaimed Zabra in increased embarrassment.
"Is it possible I can be any thing else?"

"That is best known to yourself, and to her who sent you," replied
Oriel Porphyry; "but there certainly is a mystery about your character."

"A mystery! how strange you should imagine such a thing;" responded his
youthful companion, attempting to conceal his confusion.

"Then there's my father, he has _his_ mystery," continued his patron;
"it is some secret connected with that wretched aristocrat Philadelphia,
but what it is about he is not inclined to communicate."

"I have noticed it," said Zabra, recovering from his confusion; "and I
imagined it to be a knowledge of some circumstances connected with my
father's early life, the publication of which would do him very serious
injury."

"I cannot say what it is, but these things are very perplexing,"
observed the young merchant; "however, I hope to make my way through
them on my arrival at Columbia. How glad I shall be to see its glorious
shores again! Nothing is so likely to excite patriotism as exile; and
Columbia is a country worthy of one's patriotism; the first nation of
the world; its citizens have reason to be proud. I have beheld during
my voyage many lands and many people, but I have seen neither land or
people to be compared to Columbia and its inhabitants. I rejoice that I
am returning to them, and though I am glad that this voyage is nearly
at an end, I hope that my father will be gratified with my proceedings
during my absence; and then if Eureka's sentiments in my favour have
not undergone any change I shall have nothing to fear."

"Of Eureka's constancy you will soon be convinced;" said Zabra, in a
more subdued tone than he had previously used.

"I shall be delighted to find it so. But do you think that she would
have no objection to protect the gentle Lilya?" asked Oriel.

"None whatever;" replied his companion. "I am sure she will be much
gratified by your suggestion of such an arrangement. Lilya is timid and
perfectly ignorant of the world, yet she is docile and affectionate, and
with proper management I have no doubt she would become an amiable and
accomplished woman, qualified to adorn any rank in society."

"The creature is so shy that I can scarcely ever get a glimpse of her,"
observed his patron.

"She is almost always with me," said the other; "every thing appears to
be new to her on board the ship, and her pleasure at the novelties she
beholds is so genuine that it is delightful to see her. She requires a
companion, or she would feel quite alone amongst us; and I being about
her own age, she naturally feels more at ease with me than with any
other. Her diffidence is excessive; I cannot get her to associate with
any one except myself; but I have no doubt that in time she will gain
confidence, and join us in the cabin or on the quarter-deck with perfect
self-possession. She seems remarkably fond of music, and appears to
enjoy nothing so much as hearing me sing to her."

"Take care, Zabra;" said the young merchant, with a smile. "An ancient
poet has said that music is the food of love. The harmony of sweet
sounds, breathed around two such hearts as yours and Lilya's, will be
sure to put them in unison. If you go on in this way, existing in a
state of such intimate communion, it will be utterly impossible for
either of you to resist the soft influence of the tender passion, and
you have both of you arrived at a time of life when the disposition is
peculiarly susceptible to its impressions."

"There is no fear of such feelings being created, I assure you;" replied
Zabra.

"It seems to me very probable," observed Oriel; "your being so much
together is sufficient to produce such an effect. Besides, she is so
very pretty. What a depth of tenderness there exists in the soft blue
of her beautiful eyes! and her smile is positively exquisite. The rich
bloom of her complexion reminds me of some delicious fruit, it is so
warm, and soft, and tempting; and then the expression,--so innocent,
so artless, and so bashful, it is absolutely enchanting. I must not
forget her graceful figure, it is worthy of the highest eulogium for
being so delicately rounded. I am glad she has not thrown aside her
dress of skins and feathers, for, in my opinion, its simplicity and
picturesqueness would put fashion out of countenance. I never behold
her, whenever she does venture into my presence, but I imagine her to be
the Psyche of the heathen mythology, or some other amiable character in
that system of dreams:--the object of devotion to the immortal youth, or
the rosy cup-bearer to the gods. I assure you, I admire her very much."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Zabra, who had listened to these praises of Lilya in
evident uneasiness.

"Yes, she has interested me very deeply;" replied Oriel. "I am
charmed at the gentle being who has been so unexpectedly thrown on my
protection. I feel delighted at being able to gratify her unambitious
wishes; and when she comes shrinking into my presence, like a delicate
flower before the breeze, nothing pleases me so much as endeavouring to
assure her of her safety. And then the simple creature is so grateful,
and thanks me with such looks, that there is no resisting them."

Zabra's eyes gleamed restlessly, his lips became pale, and his cheeks
bloodless.

"I wish I could see her more frequently, and she would be somewhat
less reserved;" continued his patron. "It is so difficult to get her
to converse; yet her voice is so subdued and melodious that it is a
pleasure to hear her. It is seldom any thing beyond a murmur. She never
attempts to raise her voice into a more audible sound. She seems as
if she was afraid of hearing herself speak. After having been used to
the affectations and hypocrisies of female society, the artlessness
of Lilya's conduct and the purity of her nature becomes exceedingly
refreshing: I certainly do admire her very much."

Zabra, as if unable to conceal the emotions that were evidently
producing a most powerful effect upon him, with a look of indescribable
anguish hastily left the cabin.

"How strange!" exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, astonished at the sudden
departure of his young friend. "He must love her. I am certain from his
appearance while I was speaking in her praise, that he loves her, and
is jealous of the admiration I have expressed. How very strange!"

Zabra hastened to the quarter deck, where he sat himself down in a
retired corner, apparently in the most intense agony of mind. His dark
features were impressed with the workings of a violent passion; his
lustrous eyes shone with a brilliancy that was vivid and piercing to an
extraordinary degree; and his breast heaved with that full and rapid
pulsation of the heart which is the usual effect of great excitement.
Covering his face with his hands, he continued in that position for
several minutes. "That it should come to this!" he muttered in a voice
tremulous with emotion. "That it should come to this! What a reward
for all I have done and suffered! Oh agony insupportable!--Oh misery
scarcely to be endured! Where will the devoted heart meet with fidelity?
Where will the loving one, who feels and thinks and acts with no other
desire than for the happiness of the loved, meet with a like regard?
The dream is over--the delusion is passed--the hope which has led me on
seems utterly extinguished. But perhaps it may not be--I may be deceived
in my suspicions. It would look like injustice to condemn him without
a more perfect knowledge. I will observe them. But he said how much he
admired her; he said it to me!--Ah! it must be true."

Zabra was impatiently starting from his seat when he beheld Lilya
standing before him with every appearance of deep concern in her
countenance; he suddenly snatched her by the arm, drew her towards him,
and gazed in her face with a fierce and searching look.

"Why do you gaze on me thus?" inquired Lilya, shrinking from the stern
scrutiny to which she was being subjected. "Why is your look so dark? He
whom I used to call my father never looked thus on me, and you never so
regarded me before. Have I done any thing wrong, by which I could offend
you? How sorry I shall be if I have! Or are you ill? Let me endeavour
to make you better: I know where grow the healing herbs and the balmy
plants that are good for many different maladies. Let me gather them
and make you a drink such as may restore you to health; or shall I run
down the young leveret or snare the tender woodpigeon to procure you
delicate eating? Ah me! I forgot that I am not where either herbs or
plants, or leveret or woodpigeon are to be found, but on the wide waste
of sea, where neither green moss nor twining ivy, nor flowers, nor
trees, nor any leafy thing exists. But what can I do to make you
better?"

"Can I believe you?" asked her companion, relaxing in some degree in
the severity of his gaze.

"You can if you like, Zabra," replied the simple girl; "and I do not see
why anyone should not believe me, because I always speak the truth; and
why _you_ should not believe me seems so very strange. I always believe
you. I am sure you would not say any thing that was not true, and I
could not think of saying a word with an intention of deceiving you."

"You do not seem like one inclined to be treacherous;" observed the
youth.

"I never saw any one inclined to be treacherous, therefore I cannot say
whether I do or do not look in that way," said the girl; "but I am not
so inclined, that I am positive of, for I have nothing in the world
to be treacherous about, and it is impossible that I should ever be
treacherous to you. Now, Zabra, you look more like the good and kind
being I have known you to be. Ah! what a pleasure it is to listen to you
when you sing your delightful songs, or speak to me so persuasively of
virtue, and wisdom, and excellence, and all such admirable things. It
makes me forget how much I loved to watch the birds at their nests, and
the young kids at play; and hear the lark's song in the morning, and the
nightingale's at night. It makes me forget all my favourite haunts where
the choicest flowers used to grow. It makes me to forget all I once
found so pleasant to remember."

"You have noticed Oriel Porphyry, have you not?" inquired Zabra, fixing
on his companion a searching glance.

"Oh yes," replied Lilya eagerly; "he that is so noble looking. His eyes
are so bright, and his hair curls over his forehead so beautifully, and
he looks so kindly at me when I see him and talks to me so kindly, that
I like him very much."

"No doubt you do!" exclaimed the youth, with considerable bitterness.

"I have not been much with him, for I feel quite afraid of him;"
continued Lilya. "He seems to me so very grand and proud in his
appearance, that I dare scarcely look at him when we meet, and as for
speaking I have then neither voice nor words. But he appears so good.
He takes my hand in his, and he presses it so gently, and he says to
me such encouraging things, and he looks upon my face with so much
earnestness, that----"

"Oh it's palpable!" cried Zabra, hastily interrupting his companion,
and regarding her with a gloomy scowl.

"That I cannot help feeling that I like him very much; and, although
I am afraid to utter a sentence, he still continues his kindness, and
never lets my hand go from his. However, I must try to tell him how
grateful I am. It is very foolish of me, I believe, in not saying how I
feel towards him. But how you look at me, Zabra!" exclaimed Lilya, as
she noticed the dark and angry expression of her companion's features.
"Is it displeasing to you that I do not express the sentiments I
entertain? I will confess them. Are you angry because I do not like
him so well as I ought to do? I will like him ever so much more."

"Truly, you are obedient!" observed the other, with sarcastic emphasis;
"a pattern of one who is willing to please! There cannot be a question
about your dutifulness. Dupe, that I have been not to see your
artifices! But who could have supposed that, under such apparent
artlessness, there lurked so much treachery? Your deceit is well done.
None would suspect it. It is the most finished piece of falsehood that
ever was acted."

"Falsehood! Deceit! Treachery!" exclaimed Libya, astonished and alarmed
by the violence in the language and conduct of her companion. "What are
such things to me, Zabra? I know them not. They cannot be for me to
use. Oh, why do you look at me in so unkind a manner? They are not the
looks that make me happy. I see you are angry with me, and I know not
for why. I must have done some great wrong, or you would not behave to
me in a way so unlike what you have used me to. And, indeed, I did not
do it intentionally. I would not have offended you if I could have
avoided it. What shall I do? Tell me what I shall do to acquire your
forgiveness, and I will never repeat the offence again."

"And do you think that I will now believe these professions?" inquired
her companion, with considerable asperity. "Do you think, after having
been once deceived, I would allow myself to be the victim of the same
deception? Oh no! that can never be. You are discovered. I know you
thoroughly. Away with you, and let me no more be made miserable by your
presence."

"Alas! alas! what heinous wrong have I done?" exclaimed Lilya, as the
tears made their appearance on her cheeks. "I know not what it is--I
cannot imagine any thing, unless it be my behaviour to Oriel Porphyry,
that offended you. I acknowledge he deserved better treatment; but, if
it be your desire, I will immediately go and tell him all that I think
of him: and when he looks so kindly, and talks so kindly, and presses my
hand----"

"Away, vile hypocrite!" shouted Zabra, as with looks of indignation and
rage he pushed Lilya aside, and rushed from the place. She gazed after
him without uttering a word. Her spirit appeared quite overwhelmed; and
all the confidence she felt in his society completely deserted her. The
heart of the timid girl seemed filled with a sense of desolation she had
never before experienced, and she sat down in the seat he had vacated,
and wept. Here she remained, in the full consciousness of her
unprotected state, till the sound of approaching footsteps made her
hurriedly seek concealment in some obscure part of the ship.

"The Albatross is crossing the Atlantic in very brilliant style, I
think;" observed the young merchant.

"Yes, sir, she does spank along pretty smartly," replied the captain.
"But it's utterly impossible for a better bit o' timber to be found.
She's been tried in all sorts o' weathers, in all sorts o' seas; and no
matter whether we were doubling the Cape, or beating about in that ere
terrible monsoon in the Bay o' Bengal, she stood on her feet like a
trump, and answered to the helm as sensible as any born cretur."

"Our passage home will be brief and pleasant, I should imagine, from the
portion we have passed," remarked Oriel Porphyry.

"There's no knowin' sir," said old Hearty, seriously. "Sometimes it's
fair weather and sometimes it's foul, and sometimes it's a bit o' both.
The weather's the most unsartaintest thing in nature; it puzzles the
wisest on us. It's quite optional whether it has a mind to blow one way
or t'other, and sometimes it seems as if there was a reg'lar blow up wi'
ev'ry wind as blows, and they gets a skylarking wi' one another most
considerably."

"I am very anxious to return to Columbia with as little delay as
possible," observed the young merchant. "My not having received any
communication from my father, and my knowledge of the unsettled state of
the country, makes me fear that the government have got the upper hand
again, and that they have made my father the victim of their vengeance."

"They daren't harm him, sir," replied the old man; "they daren't harm a
hair o' his head; they knows of old how popular he is, and how popular
he desarves to be; and they must have a pretty considerable winkin' that
they'll be left among breakers if they 'tempts to steer that course. I
arn't no great politician, but it's as plain as a marlin spike to me,
that if they bore down upon master Porphyry after that fashion, they'd
get such a broadside from the people as 'ould sew 'em all up in their
hammocks in very little time."

"I hope I shall arrive before they can execute their evil intentions, if
such intentions they have," remarked Oriel. "In case I should require
their services, do you think I could depend on the crew of this ship?"

"On ev'ry mother's son of 'em," said the captain, with emphasis. "Ev'ry
man in the vessel's selected, and most ov 'em have sailed wi' me at
some time or other. There arn't a braver or more skilful crew afloat;
and if 'tis required that they shall bear a hand in defence o' master
Porphyry, I've got a notion there's nothin' they'd do wi' half so much
'lacrity. Master Porphyry ha' done so much good in his time that there's
scarcely a cretur livin' as has'nt through his friends or relations
profited by it in some degree, and it arn't in the natur o' a seaman not
to be grateful. As for me, when I've had never a shot in the locker,
master Porphyry, more nor once, has made me comfortable inside and out,
and sent me afloat, laden wi' summat else besides ballast; and if I
don't stand among the foremost in any shindy as you've a mind to kick
up, and don't sarve out the lubbers as would be tryin' to circumvent
your honourable old father, I'll give you leave to slice me into
pea-shells and dish me up into hogswash."

"I'm perfectly satisfied with your fidelity, captain," said the young
merchant, "and I am very much gratified by hearing that I can depend
upon the crew. There's no knowing what may happen, and you and your
men might render me service of the highest value. If the struggle
I anticipate is to be made, every brave man will be an important
acquisition."

"If we could only get together all the craft as master Porphyry
possesses, scrunch me! if we shouldn't be able to turn 'em inside out,
wi' as much ease as a fellow might take in a reef," exclaimed the old
man.

"That cannot be done without the sacrifice of more time than I can
spare," observed Oriel. "My great object is to arrive in the metropolis
before the government can find an opportunity for working out its
schemes, as I feel convinced that they only wait occasion to resume the
influence of which they were dispossessed. If I am in time to prevent
their intrigues, I will speedily take such measures as shall put it out
of their power to make any attempt of the kind; and if the mischief
should be done previous to my arrival, I will make such a stir in the
country as shall shake them out of their ill-got authority before they
have had time to exercise it."

"I maintain that the ancients greatly excel us!" exclaimed Fortyfolios
in a loud voice, as he approached the place where the captain and the
young merchant were conversing.

"And I maintain quite the reverse, don't you see," replied the doctor.

"Think of their universities, their schools, their royal academies
of painting and music, their royal societies for the advancement of
science, their extensive libraries, their galleries of art, and the
wonderful degree of perfection they attained in mechanics," said the
professor.

"As for their universities," observed Tourniquet, "they distinguished
themselves most by their bigoted attachment to prejudices that had long
been exploded in every other part of the community. They wasted a vast
deal of time and intellect in teaching all such knowledge as was most
unprofitable; and this was what they called a classical education. It
consisted in making the student devote the best portion of his life in
learning one or two languages which were never spoken by the living,
and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred could not be of the slightest
advantage to the learner. A facility in the making of Latin verses,
which had no pretension to the name of poetry, was looked upon as
evidence of great merit; and he who could put together a few sentences
in Greek, unmarked by one original idea, was regarded as a genius which
his college ought to be proud of."

"Do you mean to affirm that the dead languages are not worthy of study?"
inquired Fortyfolios.

"I affirm nothing of the kind, don't you see," replied the doctor. "I
only maintain that the time devoted to their acquisition in the system
of education pursued by the ancients might have been more advantageously
employed. Both the teachers and the taught enslaved their minds with the
same shackles. What loads of paper have been spoiled by the labours of
some learned blockhead on the Greek particle, or by the annotations and
interpretations of some laborious trifles attempting to elucidate the
meaning of some obscure Latin writer. But there is a greater mischief
in this than the mere worthlessness of what it produces. The exclusive
attention which is required to gain a mastery over a dead language
stifles the affections and narrows the intellect. It makes men egotists
and bigots; ignorant, prejudiced, proud, and quarrelsome. What was
Bentley? what was Parr? what was Johnson? what was Porson? What were all
who distinguished themselves by such great talents in small things? Were
they temperate, or modest, or amiable? moderate in their enjoyments,
or inoffensive in their behaviour? Were they not the very reverse of
these?"

"They were great scholars," observed the professor.

"They were great fools, don't you see," said the other sharply. "A man
who offends against decency, who is quarrelsome and imperious, knows not
the respect he owes himself or the courtesies which are due to society;
and his actions, if they are not crimes, must certainly be follies.
As for his wisdom--as for the wisdom of the grammarian, or the mere
number of books comparatively useless, his is the knowledge of a man
who has lived all his life in the narrow circuit of a little village; he
may know every brick in every house, and may be familiar with the exact
state and quantity of every dunghill there to be met with: but take him
out into the open world, and he knows nothing but the prejudices of the
place from which he came."

"That does not prove that the learning of the ancients is unworthy of
study," remarked Fortyfolios.

"Who are the ancients?" inquired Tourniquet. "The English are our
ancients, the Romans were their ancients, the Greeks were the ancients
of the Romans, and the Egyptians were the ancients of the Greeks: the
Hindoos, or the Chinese, were the ancients of the Egyptians; and if we
could look to a more remote period, we should be sure to find a people
who also had their ancients. It is a very strange idea of the world to
expect to progress by always looking back, don't you see. The learning
of our predecessors may always be worthy of study if it be superior to
the learning in existence; but it has been the system of universities
and public schools to concentrate the attention of the studious upon the
learning of the ancients, to the neglect of a knowledge more available
and of far more practical utility."

"It is strange, then, that the public schools and universities of
the English should have produced so many illustrious men!" said the
professor.

"I maintain that their most illustrious men were not produced in the
public schools, don't you see," replied the doctor. "Of philosophers,
Bacon, Hume, Hobbes, Berkley, Shaftesbury, Dugald Stewart, and Hartley;
of men of science, Newton, Flamstead, Napier, Davy, Priestley, and
Black; of statesmen, Burleigh, Clarendon, Wolsey, Cromwell, Raleigh,
Temple, Burke, and Pitt; of divines, Tillotson, Chillingworth, More,
Jeremy Taylor, Selden, and Sherlock; of heroes, Hampden, Russell,
Marlborough, Clive, and Wolfe; and of poets, Shakspeare, Ben Jonson,
Spenser, Goldsmith, Pope, and Thomson; besides numberless others I
cannot now remember; attained their eminence without any assistance from
public schools."

"I suppose you equally condemn their royal societies and academies?"
inquired Fortyfolios.

"I do, so far as concerns their utility, don't you see," said
Tourniquet. "Did their royal societies ever produce a great man? What
eminent philosopher or distinguished man of science did they ever
create? And as for their royal academies, when you can point out to me
the great painters and great musicians they have given to the world, I
will acknowledge the benefit society has received from them, but not
till then."

"It is not to be expected that all institutions will perfectly answer
the end for which they were designed," remarked the professor. "The
object for which they were founded was wise and admirable, and to a
certain extent they realise that object. They collect together the
talent in the country, and then as much as possible make it known to
the public."

"They neglect much more talent than they collect, don't you see,"
replied the doctor; "and these being usually governed by a select few
who have no conception of such a thing as impartiality, he is considered
the greatest man amongst them who possesses the most patronage. But the
manner in which superior intelligence was regarded by the government of
England was exceedingly discouraging to men of genius. They would lavish
pensions upon profligates, spies, political apostates, the tools of
power, and the slaves of intrigue; but the man who strived to exercise
talents from which his country would derive a certain and lasting
advantage was left to struggle on without the slightest assistance. Any
person, however ignorant, if he could manage by prostituting his soul
to every kind of meanness and chicanery to scrape together a sufficient
sum of money, might aspire to the dignity of a title of honour; and
sometimes, but very rarely, the same title was conferred upon a
favourite painter or physician; minds of the highest order were obliged
to be satisfied without any such distinction. The pliant orator, the
successful soldier, and the ready lawyer were ennobled; but genius, and
virtue, and honour, and worth, such as were developed in the wisest and
best of men, were not thought worthy of a regard."

"Notwithstanding all this, the literature, and science, and art of
England flourished till it became the admiration of surrounding nations,
and excited the wonder of each succeeding generation," observed the
professor.

"Which proves that neither universities, nor public schools, nor royal
societies, nor academies, nor artificial distinctions, such as existed
in England, were of any advantage in increasing the intelligence of the
people, don't you see," added his companion. "All such institutions
might be rendered highly serviceable to the state; but the system upon
which they were conducted was so faulty, their government so illiberal,
and their influence so ineffective, that I cannot conscientiously afford
to give them any praise, as they existed among the ancients. As for
their extensive libraries, on what principle could a government defend
the policy of not only withholding from men of genius the patronage
they ought to afford them, but robbing every author of several copies
of every book he produced without the slightest recompence--merely for
the purpose of augmenting their libraries? The wealthiest state then
existing was guilty of this meanness. The philosopher might exist as
he could--starve--die--rot--in any obscure hole in which he could find
refuge, without attracting the least attention: but immediately his
works were published--no matter how expensive they were to him, or how
much labour and suffering they had cost him--down came a demand for
eleven copies for the public libraries, for which the author never in
any shape saw a consideration."

"But the author had proper protection for his publications," said
Fortyfolios.

"Nothing of the kind," replied the doctor; "the law of copyright, as it
was called, then in existence for the protection of authors in the sale
of their works, was the most bungling atrocity that ever originated in a
legislature. An author was allowed to possess his property, the product
of his own labour, _only_ for a certain time. Any man might leave to his
heir the land he had received from his father--any man was allowed to
bestow on his child the wealth that he possessed; but the children
of the man of genius could not inherit any right in the acknowledged
property of their parent. After the term had expired in which he was
allowed to possess his own--think of their generosity in allowing
this!--his labours might enrich any one who chose to make them
profitable, and he and his children, and his children's children, were
left to starve. The man who writes a book which acquires a certain value
by publication, has as much right to consider all the profits it may
produce as belonging to him and to his heirs for ever, as is the man who
becomes possessed of land or other property entitled to continue it in
the possession of his family from generation to generation: and it is
nothing better than an act of robbery for any government to deprive
either of a right to which they have so perfect a claim."

"But you have said nothing about the perfection to which they carried
their machinery," said the professor. "I think the ancients deserve our
thanks for their mechanical inventions."

"I cannot confer praise on any invention, however brilliant it may be,
that must come into operation at the expense of human sufferings, don't
you see," observed the other; "and all those machines which were brought
into use for the purpose of diminishing the amount of manual employment,
did produce a very great degree of human wretchedness. It may be very
satisfactory to some parties, to consider that the country becomes more
wealthy according to the increasing facility with which its manufactures
are sent to market; but the time must come, if this rapidity of creating
produce continue, when the supply must exceed the demand, and then
finding an inadequate market for its manufactures, the country must
become poor. But while this result is gradually brought about by
the manufacturers endeavouring to produce their goods by means of
machinery, at as little cost and with as great facility as it is
possible to attain, the thousands who gained their subsistence by the
labour which these machines have supplied, are left without a resource;
they must crawl out the remainder of their miserable lives as they can,
and are left to famish, to beg, or to steal. It is pleasant, perhaps, to
know that machinery allows you to purchase half a dozen pairs of shoes
at the price you formerly paid for one, but while every one can get
shoes for a trifle, they who make them can neither get shoes nor bread."

"Are you still arguing, gentlemen?" inquired Oriel Porphyry as he
returned from another part of the ship to which he had proceeded with
the captain on the approach of the philosophers. "There certainly must
be a great fascination in your method of reasoning, or you would either
be tired of talking, or want subjects to talk about. What has been the
matter in debate on this occasion?"

"We have been arguing upon the superiority of the ancients over the
moderns," replied the professor. "I maintained and do still maintain,
that the ancients far exceeded us in intelligence, in skill, and in
every thing which is a sign of superior civilisation. Their works of
learning are invaluable--their efforts in art not to be surpassed--their
discoveries in science have been the admiration of every succeeding
age."

"And what says the doctor to this?" inquired the young merchant.
Fortyfolios looked round, and discovered that his antagonist had left
the field.




CHAP. VIII.

LOVE MISPLACED.


Zabra's disposition appeared to have undergone a complete change. He
was no longer to be found in the cabin delighting every one with the
stirring eloquence of his language, or on the quarter-deck instructing
the gentle Lilya in the wonders of the ship. Instead of, as had hitherto
been the case, seeking the company of Oriel Porphyry as the greatest
enjoyment he possessed, he had for several days avoided every place
where they were likely to meet. He roamed about the vessel without
attempting to converse with either officers or crew, and if any one
ventured to address him, the proud look with which the speaker was
regarded, as the young creole turned away, was sufficiently repulsive to
prevent the experiment being repeated. Even those with whom he had used
to be on terms of intimacy, the captain and the young midshipman, were
passed by with the same gloomy look. Every one wondered at the change,
and all were ignorant of the cause.

Oriel more than once sought him for the purpose of inquiring the reason
of his strange conduct, with the intention of endeavouring to induce him
to return to his usual place, as his friend and companion; but the youth
fled from his approach so determinedly, and treated his messages with
such a studied neglect, that the young merchant, imagining that Zabra
was in one of his mysterious moods, at last abandoned all intention
of interfering, expecting that in a day or two he would become more
reasonable, and join in the cabin circle as usual. Oriel Porphyry had
observed so much in the behaviour of his friend that was extraordinary,
that he had ceased to be surprised by the strange way in which he
frequently acted. His conduct, therefore, in this instance, did not
excite in him any particular attention or remark. But no one appeared to
regard Zabra's unsocial manner with so deep an interest as Lilya. She
felt severely his estrangement from her society: all her pleasures
seemed to be completely annihilated by his absence. It was evident that
his kind attentions had not been lost upon her grateful disposition, for
she was too artless to disguise her feelings, and her sentiments in his
favour seemed too evident to be misinterpreted. His handsome features,
so warm and eloquent in their expression--his lustrous eyes, shining
with so soft a light--and his youthful figure, so buoyant and elastic,
had from the first awakened in her breast a feeling of surprise and
admiration that was both strange and delightful. A new world seemed
rising before her eyes. She entered into a different state of existence.
All around her breathed an atmosphere of happiness that made her
previous pleasures appear dull and cold; and then she found no enjoyment
except in being near him, and when he kindly endeavoured to lead her
mind to the contemplation of such subjects as were likely to interest,
to amuse, and instruct her simple nature, as the fire of youthful
enthusiasm shone in his brilliant gaze, and his intellectual countenance
kept changing its expression in accord with the different feelings which
the subject created, she held her breath, as if she thought that there
was something in what she saw that the least disturbance would destroy;
and hung upon his words as if there was a charm in their sound which,
once destroyed, could never be created again.

In the lessons with which he sought to enlighten her untutored
intellect, her feelings had participated. Her timid nature acquired
confidence in his presence. She more frequently sought than shrunk from
his society; and she forgot that she was alone upon the world without
a single connecting tie to associate her with its sympathies. It was
from such feelings as these that she was first disturbed by Zabra's
unaccountable and unkind behaviour. In vain she endeavoured to find a
reasonable cause for such conduct in any thing she had done; she knew
nothing in which she could have offended, except in not having appeared
sufficiently grateful to Oriel Porphyry; and this fault of hers
she reflected on so long, that she began to regard it as something
particularly heinous, and became daily more desirous of attempting, by
a different behaviour, to repair the wrong she had committed.

She strived as much as possible to get rid of her natural bashfulness,
and sought out the young merchant with the design of repairing her fault
in the best way she could. After considerable hesitation and frequent
desire to turn back as she proceeded, she ventured as far as the cabin
door; where, after waiting a considerable time, daring neither to go on,
or to return, she knocked gently. A voice kindly bid her come in, and
with a palpitating heart she opened the door and entered.

"Ah, Lilya!" exclaimed Oriel, who sat alone studying a book of military
exercises, "this is an unexpected pleasure." Then hastening towards her
with a smile of welcome, he led her blushing and trembling to the sofa.

"I hope you will not any longer be such a truant as you have proved
yourself," said the young merchant, kindly.

"Have I been a truant?" asked the timid girl.

"Yes you have, and a very sad truant too," replied Oriel Porphyry, with
a smile.

"How sorry I am!" murmured Lilya, looking deeply concerned, though she
knew not what wrong she had committed.

"Well, I will forgive you if you will promise not to repeat the
offence," said Oriel. "You must let me see you more frequently. It is
not kind of you to absent yourself from your best friends. Remember that
in me you will always find a friend ready to do any thing that is likely
to insure your happiness. Will you promise me, that you will not keep
away from me as you have done?"

"If you will forgive me, I will promise any thing that is proper for
me to do," replied the bashful maiden, appearing by her downcast eyes
afraid to look upon her companion.

"Of course I will forgive you," responded the other affectionately,
taking one of her hands in his. "There can be very little difficulty in
my doing that."

"But there is something else," said Lilya, trembling like a condemned
criminal.

"What else can there be?" inquired Oriel.

"Something else for you to forgive," replied the timid girl.

"Indeed, I was not aware of its existence," responded the young
merchant. "Tell me what it is. It will give me pleasure to forgive you."

"I have never told you how grateful I am for your kindness to me,"
murmured his fair companion in a voice scarcely audible. "But indeed I
feel it. I cannot help seeing how good you are, and--and--and I like you
very much for it."

"You are an admirable creature," exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, apparently
delighted with her unaffected simplicity; "and it will be a great source
of pleasure to me to be able to assist in creating your happiness. As
for gratitude, there is no necessity for that, at any rate, at present;
but when I have succeeded in insuring you all the blessings I wish you
to enjoy, you may be as grateful as you please."

"And you forgive me for my neglect?" asked Lilya, looking up to his face
imploringly, and then instantly casting her eyes to the ground.

"Forgive you!" cried her companion kindly, "you have committed no fault.
But if it be any satisfaction to you to receive my forgiveness, it is
readily granted; indeed, I feel so much pleasure in conferring it, that
I hope you will very soon either commit the same or a similar fault,
that I may be allowed the same enjoyment I now possess."

"No, I will not do so again, because that would be wrong," observed the
bashful maiden; "I should be unworthy of your kindness if, after you
had once been so good as to forgive me for a fault I had committed, I
committed the same fault again."

"In truth, you are a most admirable creature," exclaimed the young
merchant, with impressive emphasis. "But what can I do to make your
stay in the ship more endurable. Your being used to roam at will over
the wide fields and open valleys of your native land, must make this
voyage appear very tedious. I should like to vary its monotony for you
as much as possible. Have you a desire for any pleasure I can gratify?"

Lilya looked confused, the colour in her face disappeared and returned,
and she tried once or twice to raise her eyes from the ground to the
face of her companion; but as soon as she had elevated them about half
way, she let them fall, and seemed as if she had not courage to make
another effort.

"You don't answer me, Lilya," said Oriel Porphyry. "Do not be afraid of
asking for what you require. I wish your time to pass as pleasantly as I
can make it, and you will afford me gratification as well as yourself by
giving me an opportunity for increasing your enjoyments. Tell me what it
is you most wish to be done."

"I wish Zabra would be as he used to be," exclaimed the simple girl, and
an expression of sadness became visible upon her beautiful features.

"So do I," replied the young merchant; "but I have done every thing to
induce him to become so, without success. I cannot tell what it is that
makes him act so strangely; but he is a strange creature at all times,
and as I have allowed him to do as he pleases, I am afraid nothing I
could say or do would make him become more rational. He avoids every
attempt I have made to prevail upon him to take his place amongst us as
usual, and I have therefore no remedy now but patience."

"He never used to be so," murmured Lilya.

"He appears to have taken offence at something or somebody, but what the
cause is I do not pretend to know," said Oriel. "I am sure I have said
or done nothing at which he ought to have felt offence."

"I thought he was offended with me, because I did not tell you how
grateful I was for your kindness," observed his companion.

"I doubt that that is the cause," replied the other. "But it is my
opinion that, if any one can bring him back to his former behaviour, it
is yourself, Lilya."

"Me!" exclaimed the blushing maiden; "I bring him back to be what he
was! Oh I wish I could!"

"I think you have only to try and there is no doubt of success,"
remarked Oriel: "Go to him, be kind to him; tell him how much you are
afflicted by observing him abandon all his friends, and assure him how
happy it will make you to see him exerting himself in the same social
offices in which he used to take delight."

"Do you really think that would be of use?" inquired Lilya, as she
raised her eyes till they met those of her companion.

"There is not a doubt of it," replied he.

"Then I will go this moment," she exclaimed; and leaping from the sofa,
she hastened out of the cabin.

Zabra was alone bending over his harp and striking a series of
melancholy chords. He was so completely lost in his own reflections,
which evidently from the gloomy expression of his countenance were far
from being pleasant, that he did not observe the approach of Lilya. The
first notice he had of her vicinity was in feeling his hand timidly laid
hold of; and on turning his head round, he beheld her gazing on him
anxiously and kindly close at his side.

"What brought you here? Why do you follow me? Is there no place where
I can be secure from your intrusion?" were the quick inquiries of the
young musician, as with a stern look he snatched his hand from the hold
of the timid girl.

"Indeed I have no wish to offend you, Zabra," said Lilya, feeling quite
confounded with the unfriendly reception she had met with. "I come to
you, because I think you are unhappy."

"Who told you I was unhappy?" asked Zabra, sharply; "and what is my
unhappiness to you?"

"It is much, because it makes _me_ unhappy," replied the simple girl;
"and I thought you were unhappy, because you have abandoned all your
friends, and deprived me of the pleasure you used to confer."

"I did not abandon them till they showed themselves unworthy of my
companionship," said the youth proudly. "Do you think I can sit quietly
to become the victim of deceit and treachery? Do you imagine I can stand
tamely by while the heart I worship is ensnared by another? No! I cannot
endure it, and I will not. I wish to be alone."

"And will you not return to your place among the friends who delight in
your presence?" inquired the bashful maiden; "they are very anxious to
see you. And I--I should like you--I should very much like you to be
as you used to be; for then you were so kind, and talked to me so
delightfully, and appeared so very happy."

"I was very happy then," exclaimed her companion, in a voice tremulous
with emotion. "I loved and believed myself loved in return. But it is
all over now; I have been deceived. Go and leave me."

"And if you did love, Zabra," murmured Lilya without daring to move
her eyes from the ground, "if you are sure you loved--I think I'm
convinced--that is, I mean, that if you do love, you must be loved in
return."

"No, no! I saw it too plain," observed Zabra. "It's beyond a doubt; it
is evident--palpable--I cannot be mistaken. Why do you waste your time
here? Have I not told you I wish to be alone?"

"Oh! do not look upon me so sternly," exclaimed the gentle girl, with
tears in her eyes; "indeed I wish to make you happy. I will never offend
you. I will be all you desire. I will listen to you with the most
perfect attention, and carefully remember every thing you tell me. Come,
Zabra, come!" she continued, as she ventured tremblingly to lay hold of
his hand. "Let me lead you to the kind friends who are so desirous of
your presence; let me assure you that you are loved," she added, as she
raised the hand she held in her own to her lips, and pressed them softly
and quickly upon it, and then, as if alarmed by her own temerity, she
hastily dropped it and stood blushing and trembling by his side.

"No, no! I tell you no! I am not loved. I know it too well. Why do you
come to me with your affectionate words and fond endearments? Take them
to Oriel Porphyry; he can best appreciate them," said her companion.

"Well, I will if you wish it, Zabra," replied the simple girl. "I would
do any thing to please you."

"No doubt you would," exclaimed Zabra sarcastically.

"Yes I would, Zabra; and I will go this moment and do what you require
me:" and she had scarcely uttered the words before she hurriedly left
the presence of her companion.

Zabra sat alone at his harp, half doubting in his mind whether it was
simplicity or artifice that Lilya had exhibited; but as he remembered
what both had confessed, he felt the conviction that she was again
endeavouring to deceive him; and the miserable feeling thus created he
endeavoured to express in the following words:--

          "Be not deceived, fond heart,
            Be not deceived;
    Words are but sounds, and looks changing and vain;
          None are believed, fond heart,
            None are believed:
    When they delude, never trust them again.

         "Seek not for truths, sad heart,
            Seek not for truth;
    Truth's in the grave, and there only will stay;
          Maiden and youth, sad heart,
            Maiden and youth:
    Each will beguile and then each will betray.

         "Love is a dream, fond heart,
            Love is a dream;
    Clothed with delight for the heart and the eye;
          Bright though it seem, fond heart,
            Bright though it seem,
    Sleep not--you dream but to wake--and to die!"

"Mustn't allow you to sing such melancholy ditties, don't you see,"
exclaimed Dr. Tourniquet, standing before the young musician, where
he had been for several minutes. "They make every body miserable and
yourself too; and besides this they are very hurtful in their effects
upon the system. They are a sort of sedative that affect the head and
the heart at the same time--prevent eating, drinking, or sleeping with
any thing like a healthy state of feeling. Allow me the privilege of an
old friend to ask you what's the matter with you?"

"Alas! it is a malady beyond the reach of medicine!" exclaimed Zabra
mournfully.

"That's to be proved, don't you see," replied the doctor. "I have for
some days noticed you running into holes and corners away from all your
friends. It is both unreasonable and unsocial. I don't pretend to know
what has been the occasion of it; but as you have acquainted me with
your secret, I can make a shrewd guess. Ah! this love's a terrible
thing."

"After having been assured you were beloved," said the young musician;
"after having convinced your own heart that your affection was returned
with the same ardour with which it was given, to find doubt follow
doubt, till a certainty that you were not loved gradually forced itself
on your mind--this, this is terrible."

"But that cannot have been your case, don't you see," exclaimed
Tourniquet. "You cannot doubt--there's nothing for you to dread."

"It is too true. I have been deceived," replied Zabra, and his features
became overcast with a deeper melancholy. "All that I have done has been
unavailing; all that I have dared has been cast to the winds. To be the
sole possessor of one heart I thought would be a sufficient recompense
for all my past sufferings, and dangers, and difficulties; but now I
have discovered the unwelcome truth, that another has acquired the
ownership of what I strove so earnestly to gain. Oh shame on the
treachery that can allure a trusting soul into the conviction that its
sweet hopes are acknowledged and its fond dreams replied to! and then,
as a new face or a more beguiling nature comes upon the scene, will turn
to it with a fondness which should have been confined to the sincere
one, and leave all those hopes and dreams to be crushed under the
withering touch of despair!"

"I'll wager my professional skill you're mistaken, don't you see," said
the doctor. "But who do you imagine to be the guilty parties?"

"Oriel and Lilya," replied his young companion.

"It can't be, don't you see," remarked the other. "I'm a little older
than you are, and a better judge of character; and from the result of
my own observations, I feel certain that neither of them are capable
of such conduct. Oriel Porphyry is noble, and is more sincere in his
character than any man I ever met with; and Lilya is the most artless,
shy, unsophisticated creature that ever existed. You must be wrong,
don't you see."

"Both of them have acknowledged it to me," said Zabra; "both have
confessed to me their mutual regard. Yes, it is too true. It is placed
beyond the possibility of a doubt."

"Without meaning any offence to you, I can't believe it, don't you see,"
said the doctor good humouredly. "You have been deceiving yourself.
There is a little bit of jealousy in the case, depend upon it. And
though I maintain that jealousy is usually a very reasonable passion;
for it is impossible for one who has thought himself the owner of
the affections of another, to find a third party regarded as their
possessor, without feeling a considerable degree of indignation: I
think, in this instance, there is no cause for it."

"I wish I could think so! I most fervently wish I could think so!"
exclaimed the youth earnestly. "Nothing could gratify me so much as to
find my suspicions unfounded; but the facts are so clear that the most
credulous would be convinced."

"Ah! lovers are the worst people in the world to argue with, don't you
see," remarked Tourniquet with a smile. "They are always convinced of
something that no one else would entertain for a moment. They believe
without a proof, and deny without a cause. With all due respect for you,
I must say that love is the greatest folly upon earth. I don't mean to
say that I have not had my follies, don't you see; for I have had a very
fair share of them. I remember my first folly of the kind very well. I
had commenced my medical education under the auspices of an old uncle
of mine. He was exceedingly like all other uncles from the creation of
the world to the present time. He was obstinate, peevish, domineering,
and quarrelsome, and was blest with a daughter, as all uncles are that
have a nephew to reside with them. I was then a youth remarkable for the
pains I took in my clothes and in my personal appearance; in fact, my
dandyism was so conspicuous that I was ashamed to look a dog in the face
for fear he should acknowledge me as a puppy.

"All at once I thought it was highly necessary I should be in love,
don't you see; so I brushed up my bits of whiskers, held my head as high
as I could, and looked about me. My eyes quickly fell upon the charming
Papaverica. To be sure her hair was as much like a bundle of scorched
tow as it was possible to be; but of course I called it an auburn. Her
nose was a lump of flesh; but of what shape it would have puzzled a
geometrician to decide; yet I declared it was Grecian; and her mouth
_was_ a mouth--there was no mistaking it, and it gave an openness to
her countenance more than usually expressive; and of course I swore it
was like two cherries seeming parted. Then her body showed that she was
somebody. It might have been as thick as it was long, for its length was
nothing to brag of. As for her feet, Papaverica was not a girl to stand
upon trifles. But whatever her figure was like, I had no difficulty in
convincing her it was the very perfection of grace and beauty.

"I fell in love. Papaverica was medicine, surgery, and anatomy to me.
The pharmacopoeia was neglected, the vade mecum thrust on one side. I
forgot drugs and dressings, lancets and laudanum. I had no taste for
mixtures, and my soul was above pills. My thoughts were ever wandering
towards the charming Papaverica; and as it is not possible for the mind
to entertain two thoughts at the same time, my labours in making up the
medicines for my uncle's patients occasionally produced very strange
effects. Potions and lotions, cathartics and emetics, pills and squills,
were mixed together in what was not considered 'most admired disorder;'
for my uncle's stick spoke of any thing but admiration. But my blunders
were most conspicuous in writing the labels. In giving the directions
for a mixture I was sure to write 'Papaverica, when taken to be well
shaken'--for a draught, 'Papaverica to be taken at bedtime,'--and for
a lotion that had been repeated, 'Papaverica as before.'

"All this time we met, and made love after our fashion, don't you see.
Papaverica and I looked at each other till we couldn't see out of our
eyes, and sighed like paviers at work on a hard piece of ground. But
her father tried to put a stop to our proceedings; and if he caught
me talking to her, he gave me such a setting down, or more properly,
speaking, such a knocking down, as gave me cause to remember the
conversation.

"'Fathers have flinty hearts!' said the sympathising Papaverica.

"'And desperate thick sticks!' I exclaimed, with tears in my eyes, as
I rubbed my aching back against the door. However, this sort of thing
could not go on for ever. I was sent to pursue my studies at Columbus,
and I lost sight of Papaverica--I may add, for ever; for she soon
afterwards eloped with a strolling actor who had been vagabondising
in the neighbourhood, and who had won her heart by playing Romeo in a
cocked hat and leather breeches.

"My next folly was of a different kind. I was a young student as fond of
mischief as any of the fraternity to which I belonged. I was invited to
an evening party, where among the company, I noticed a young girl with a
laughing, dare-devil eye, and a person remarkably smart. I inquired her
name, and from a friend learned all the particulars of her history.
Observing that she was regarding me in a manner that told me that she
was quizzing me to her companions, I advanced, humming an air till I
came close before her.

"'Ah Floss!' said I, nodding familiarly. 'Is it you? Haven't seen you
this age. You look particularly charming; and how is your grandmother?
Shouldn't suppose you half so old as you are, to look at you. And
has the cat kittened? I always admire your style of dress--it's very
becoming. So the house dog's got well at last! Being an old friend of
the family, you must really make room for me beside you.--How is your
aunt's toothach?'

"The girl at first stared at my impudence, don't you see; but, finding I
proceeded with the same nonchalance, making all sorts of heterogeneous
remarks and inquiries, she laughed heartily, in which she was as
heartily joined by her companions, and we became intimate in a moment.
We joked and romped in the most provoking manner, and said the smartest
things of each other that could possibly be conceived. I found that she
lived with an aged grandmother and an old maiden aunt, in a small house
in a retired part of the town. I watched my opportunity when I saw
the two old women go out to take their evening walk, and gave such a
tremendous knock at the door that it made the windows rattle again. As
I expected my charmer opened the door, and in I marched as stately as
an emperor.

"'Halloo, sir, where are you going? This is like your impudence,
certainly!' said she, not knowing whether to be most offended or amused
at my behaviour.

"'I have come to honour you with a little of my superfluous time,
Floss,' I replied in an easy, condescending manner.

"'You have, have you? then I shall just thank you to make the best of
your way back again,' she rejoined as she followed me into the parlour.

"'I shall do nothing of the kind, Floss, till I please,' said I, as
observing some decanters of wine on the table I began very quietly to
help myself; 'and I have the pleasure to drink your health, Floss, and
a good husband to you--when you can get one.'

"'You impudent jackanapes!' she exclaimed, as she observed me toss off
a bumper. 'This exceeds every thing I ever heard of.'

"'I always strive to excel, Floss,' I replied, flinging myself at full
length on a sofa. But come here. Come to me like a good girl. I have
something to say to you.'

"'Go to you! I'll see you farther first!' she cried, looking as
disdainfully as she could.

"'Very well,' said I, rising and retreating a few paces: 'now come to
me--you see me further.'

"'I shan't do any thing of the kind, Mr. Impudence,' she exclaimed,
trying to hide her laughter.

"'Then if you wo'n't come to me, I shall be obliged to go to you, which
is a great hardship,' I observed as I advanced towards her.

"'If you come near me I'll scratch your eyes out!' cried Floss, looking
monstrously fierce; yet I could easily see by the corners of her mouth
that she was very much disposed to laugh, so I still approached.

"'If you touch me I'll box your ears!' she exclaimed, beginning to look
more serious.

"'Don't be alarmed, Floss; you wouldn't hurt a hair of my head, I know,'
said I, as I attempted to insinuate my arm round her waist. 'Ha, will
you?' she cried; and she gave me a slap of the face that made my teeth
rattle in my mouth like a box of cherry stones. I was not to be easily
driven from my purpose, so I attempted to make good my hold, but
immediately received a box on the ear that made me see all the colours
of the rainbow.

"'You haven't the heart to hurt a fly,' said I very coolly, while I
endeavoured to throw my left arm over her left shoulder, to get the
command of her arms; but in the execution of this manoeuvre, I received
a shower of blows that would have made a less eager lover than myself
glad enough to leave the field.

"'What means this behaviour, sir?' exclaimed my charmer, endeavouring to
look expressively angry, and struggling with me with all her might.

"'I mean to honour you so far as to kiss you, Floss,' I replied very
quietly, though smarting from the pain of the blows.

"'I'll scream--I'll raise the house--I'll cry murder--I'll----'

"'I'm remarkably fond of music,' said I, interrupting her; and in a
moment afterwards I had both her arms tightly pressed to her body, and
her face blushing and looking angry a few inches beneath my own.

"'I'll never let you see me again as long as I live--I'll hate
you--I'll----'

"Her mouth was stopped by mine, and every time she attempted to speak I
repeated the same interesting ceremony, which she struggled unavailingly
to prevent; but with this revenge I was not satisfied.

"'Let me go, sir; let me go this minute! You wretch, don't you see how
you're rumpling my collar! Let me go, I command you!'

"'Before I do that I shall first allow you the pleasure of kissing me,'
said I, with as much condescension as I could assume.

"'Kiss you!' cried Floss, looking as savage as an enraged turkey-cock;
'I'd see you hanged first!'

"'You'll not go till you do,' I replied, with all the coolness
imaginable.

"'Let me go, sir; your assurance is unbearable!' she exclaimed, making
violent but ineffectual efforts to release herself from my embrace.

"'You'll not go till you kiss me,' said I, as calmly as possible. A loud
knock at this moment was heard at the door.

"'Let me go, sir. Here's my grandmother and my aunt returned, and
they'll abuse me famously if they catch you here.'

"'You'll not go till you kiss me,' I repeated in exactly the same tone
of voice I had previously used. Another louder knock was now heard.

"'There then, you plague!' she cried as she hurriedly pressed her lips
to mine; 'and now let me go.'

"'Leave every thing to me, I'll manage the old ladies,' said I as I
allowed her to escape.

"'It's very strange, Floss, that you always will keep us at the door so
long when we knock,' mumbled the eldest of the two old ladies as well as
her want of teeth would allow her, as soon as the door was opened.

"'It's very strange,' remarked the other with stronger emphasis.

"'I've spoken to you so often about it, that I'm quite shocked at your
negligence,' mumbled the first.

"'I'm quite shocked at your negligence;' echoed the other.

"'Goodness, a man!' screamed out the eldest, throwing her arms back, and
nearly pitching off her balance as she entered the room.

"'Goodness, a man!' squeaked out the other in exactly the same tone, and
with exactly the same motion.

"'May I be allowed to know the cause which has conferred upon me
the honour of a visit from a perfect stranger, as it seems very
extraordinary,' said the mumbler, advancing towards me with stately
steps, and scrutinising me through her spectacles as if she would look
right through me.

"'It seems very extraordinary,' remarked the other emphatically, as she
also brought her spectacles to bear upon my person.

"'Have I the honour of speaking to the amiable and accomplished Mrs.
Parrot-cum-Poodle?" I inquired, advancing two steps with a grave and
respectful air, and making a bow to the ground.

"I am that humble individual," replied the ugliest of the two, making
a profound courtesy; and then turning to her companion, she said in a
whisper, "A very well spoken young man."

"A very well spoken young man," echoed the least ugliest.

"How much have I reason to be gratified with my good fortune;" I
observed, looking as delighted as I could. "I have travelled far to
procure it."

"Take a seat, my dear sir!" exclaimed the old one, with a look of
sympathy that did not make her look more agreeable.

"Take a seat, my dear sir!" repeated the other, in the same tone and
manner.

"Floss, why don't you give the gentleman a chair?" cried number one,
sharply.

"Floss, why don't you give the gentleman a chair?" cried number two in
a similar voice.

"I should prefer standing in the presence of ladies for whom I have
such perfect respect," said I, with another bow equally profound.

"Oh, you are too good!" mumbled the first, with something that was
intended to be a smile.

"Oh, you are too good!" muttered the other, after the same fashion.

"I have come all the way from the village of Parrot-cum-Poodle for the
express purpose of elucidating an important point in the pedigree of
the respectable and ancient family which still bears the name of that
distinguished place," said I, with the gravest face I had ever made use
of. "When the Parrot-cum-Poodles first intermarried with the Tabbies,
connected as the Tabbies previously were with the Macaws, one of the
collateral branches of the Parrot-cum-Poodle family; and the Macaws
having formed several alliances with the Pugs, I am desirous of knowing
what degree of consanguinity the Pugs bear to the present descendants
of the ancient race of the Parrot-cum-Poodles, because it is an inquiry
of exceeding interest, and one of the utmost value towards a right
understanding of the family genealogy. You must remember, that when the
branch of the Tabbies became extinct for want of heirs male, there was a
lineal descendant that could trace his pedigree in a direct line up to
the first inheritor of the ancient name of Parrot-cum-Poodle; but he
being abroad at the time when the title was declared extinct, knew
nothing of his legal claim to the honourable name of his ancestors, and
had a large family which were brought up in perfect ignorance of their
relationship with the Tabbies. One of these has lately married a remote
branch of the Pugs: now the descendants of this pair will stand in a
very extraordinary point of relationship to the Parrot-cum-Poodles; and
I should wish to know where any of these descendants are to be found."

"The oldest old lady had gradually opened her mouth as I proceeded to
show the labyrinth of the Parrot-cum-Poodle genealogy, till it was
extended as far as it could stretch, and she stared at me through her
spectacles with as complete a look of mystification as it was possible
to imagine, and was turning towards the youngest old lady when she met a
mouth equally wide, and eyes equally mystified on the point of turning
towards her with the same desire for explanation. All this time Floss
had stood behind them making the most desperate efforts to swallow her
pocket-handkerchief.

"However it is sufficient to say, that after having bothered the old
folks till they did not know whether they were standing on their head or
their heels, I took my departure; and so ended my second folly, for I
never saw Floss again. And now, having amused you, don't you see, which
is all I aimed at, I must insist upon your going to Oriel Porphyry, and
inquiring of him whether there exist any reason for your suspicions."

"I will try and do it," replied Zabra, in a more cheerful tone than he
had previously used; "and I hope it may be as you say."




CHAP. IX.

A DISCOVERY.


"And so you have no desire to live in the gay world of fashion, Lilya?"
inquired Oriel Porphyry, as they sat together on the sofa.

"I do not understand what fashion means," replied the simple girl.

"Fashion itself is merely the way in which a certain class of persons
dress, think, speak, and conduct themselves," said Oriel. "And the
world of fashion is this exclusive class, with all its gaieties, its
frivolities, its prejudices, its follies, and its crimes."

"If there is any thing wrong in it, I certainly should not like to live
there," observed Lilya.

"What, not to partake of its brilliant pleasures, of its balls, operas,
concerts, dinners, and fetes?" asked the young merchant.

"The things you mention I know nothing of. Where do they grow?" inquired
his fair companion.

"They do not grow, Lilya," replied Oriel, with a smile; "they are the
amusements of the world of fashion. A ball is a collection of persons,
or rather the amusement of a collection of persons brought together
for the purpose of enjoying the diversion of dancing; and dancing is
a gliding motion of the feet, by which the body is moved in different
attitudes from one place to another."

"And do people amuse themselves in this way; or is it an amusement for
others to look upon?" asked Lilya.

"It is the amusement in which both sexes most delight," said the young
merchant. "They meet together in rooms such as this cabin, only much
larger, and much more gay, where music is provided; and directly the
music plays, they are all set in motion, and so continue till the dance
is over. Some dances consist in whirling round, others in bounding
forward, and a great number in gliding from place to place."

"I do not think a ball would amuse me; I should soon get tired of such
exertion, especially as I cannot perceive what causes the amusement,"
said Lilya.

"The amusement, I believe, is more generally created by the persons who
are brought together than by any quality in the dance," observed Oriel.
"But it is considered a graceful and agreeable way of passing the time;
and, to young people particularly, it appears to possess very great
attractions. It might be rendered a profitable exercise, but the heat
and glitter of a ball-room is not the place in which it can be made most
advantageous."

"I would rather run after the leveret, or chase the young deer for
exercise," observed the simple girl.

"Operas and concerts are places where fashionable people meet to hear
music," continued the young merchant. "It is rarely that the best music
is played there; but, generally, the best performers are there to be met
with."

"I would rather hear Zabra," exclaimed the bashful maiden, hanging down
her head as if afraid the acknowledgment might not have been proper.

"And so would I a thousand times," replied the young merchant,
emphatically. "For in him we might be sure of finding something like
nature, which is not to be hoped for at operas or concerts. As for
dinners and fetes, they are merely for the purpose of allowing people to
eat and drink together, talk, stare, push, squeeze, and elbow."

"Then I have no desire for any of these," said Lilya. "I do not perceive
the pleasure they would confer. I would rather be what I am, than exist
in a state such as you have described."

"But that cannot be Lilya," observed Oriel, kindly. "I am going to put
you under the protection of a lady--of the lady whom I love, Lilya. She
is a beautiful, accomplished, and amiable woman, of high family, and
admirable disposition; and, as she is obliged to find friends and
acquaintances in the circle I have pointed out to your attention, you
must from the same source derive all your social enjoyments; and then
you will be clothed in silks and velvets, feathers and diamonds--will
not that delight you?"

"Do these fine things make the possessor happy?" asked his companion.

"To tell you the truth Lilya, I do not think they do," replied Oriel
Porphyry.

"Then I will have none of them," she exclaimed. "I know that I can be
happy in these humble skins that I have put together with my own hands;
but I know not that I can be happy in the gay things to which I am
unused; and I would rather retain what I possess, than give it up for
an uncertainty."

"But the Lady Eureka, with whom you will stay, makes use of these
things," said the young merchant; "and, unless you mean to offend your
best friends, you must do the same."

"I will wear them if my friends wish it," observed the simple girl;
"but I would rather not, because I should appear so awkward in them."

"I do not fear that," exclaimed the young merchant. "You will not be
allowed to wear them till you know in what manner they should be worn;
and that you should look, and act, and think, as becomes one who is the
Lady Eureka's friend. The most skilful masters in every department of
education will be provided for you; and every endeavour will be made to
render you as elegant, intellectual, and agreeable a woman as the world
of fashion can produce."

"Will Zabra be there?" inquired Lilya, timidly.

"Yes, I think so. I've no doubt he will," replied Oriel Porphyry.

"Then I should like to be there!" murmured his fair companion, with
marked emphasis on the pronoun. "And the Lady Eureka you speak of--do
you love her?

"Indeed I do, Lilya," replied the young merchant, earnestly; "and
you will find her worthy of being beloved. She is beautiful, good,
affectionate, and intelligent."

"And does she love you in return?" asked Lilya.

"It is my happiness to believe so," responded Oriel.

"How delightful it must be for both of you," exclaimed the simple girl,
with her face beaming with animation as she turned her soft blue eyes
full upon her companion.

"And you shall share in this delight, Lilya, if you prove yourself
worthy of it," said Oriel, kindly. "Eureka is distinguished for her
superior excellence; and she cannot love you unless you possess goodness
to recommend you to her. There is nothing in the world that a woman
ought so much to pride herself upon as the purity of her actions. She
ought not to allow any one even to suspect her of wrong; and if her
behaviour is free from mystery or deceit, she will never give cause for
suspicion. The first step towards the commission of great criminality in
a woman, is a carelessness in tolerating familiarities from more than
one, that are not considered any thing beyond trifling gallantries from
the one by whom she is truly loved; and from that one only can such
things be permitted, because in this instance they become the natural
signs of a sincere affection, that are peculiarly graceful and
refreshing in their influence: but as the wife confines all expressions
of affection to her husband, so ought the loved one to preserve all her
devotion for her lover. Their situations are exactly similar; and 't is
as great a crime for a woman to deceive her lover by allowing others to
share in her affections, as it is for a wife to betray her husband by a
violation of the marriage vow."

"I do not understand you," said Lilya, looking considerably puzzled and
bewildered.

"Ah! I forgot it was to you I was speaking," replied Oriel. "But what I
meant to express to you is, that if you wish to insure and preserve the
good opinion of those whose good opinion is most valuable to you, you
will show yourself particularly anxious to become distinguished for
excellence of conduct and goodness of disposition."

"Ah, that is just what Zabra has told me," exclaimed the blushing
maiden, "He used to be always talking to me in that way; and told me so
much that was proper for me to know, and looked so kind, and appeared
so attentive, that I was always delighted to hear him. But he no longer
talks to me in that manner. He is now harsh in his language, and stern
in his gaze; and he will scarcely look or speak to me."

"Have you not been able to induce him to return to us? I should have
thought your intreaties would have been complied with immediately," said
the young merchant.

"Alas, no!" replied Lilya, sorrowfully. "All my intreaties have been
disregarded."

"Then you must allow me to make you forget him till he comes to his
senses," said Oriel.

"No, I cannot forget him--I'm sure I cannot forget him--indeed, I cannot
forget him," exclaimed the artless girl.

"He scarcely deserves to be so well remembered," observed the young
merchant. "In fact I am beginning to feel angry with him for being so
obstinate."

"Oh, do not be angry with him!" exclaimed Lilya, earnestly; "you must
not be angry with him, for I am sure he is unhappy."

"Well, then, if I promise you not to be angry, you must allow me to be
as kind to you as you would wish him to be," said Oriel Porphyry. "For I
cannot suffer a creature so unoffending as you are to be made wretched
by such unreasonable conduct. I shall regard you as a favorite sister;
and I feel just as much interested in your happiness as if you were so
dearly related to me. I will not allow you to have a wish ungratified
that is harmless and natural. I will endeavour to afford you whatever
pleasure you most delight in, that I have the means of procuring; and I
will watch over you, and guard you from all evil, and shield you from
every danger."

"Oh, how good you are!" murmured the gentle girl, raising her beautiful
eyes, suffused with tears, to his face.

"And I shall expect in return for all this attention to your welfare,
that you will regard me with a sisterly affection," continued the other.
"You must be as kind to me as I will be to you. You must endeavour
always to appear cheerful and willing to be pleased. Every effort that
I make to render your life an enjoyment to you, you must respond to by
showing the gladness it ought to produce. You must be attentive to my
instructions, obedient to my wishes, be gratified with my attentions,
and satisfied with the exertions I shall make to insure your happiness."

"Indeed, I will!" exclaimed the timid maiden, affectionately clasping
the hand of Oriel in her own.

"It will be a most pure and exquisite pleasure to me to be allowed to
labour in such a good work as creating the felicity of so gentle and
innocent a creature," said the young merchant; his noble countenance
beaming with benevolence. "It will be a labour of which my father would
be proud; and to do as he would do must always appear to me to be the
highest degree of excellence. It will be delightful to be loved as a
brother, and to show a brother's care and anxiety and solicitude. It
will be admirable to be able to enjoy the sweet sympathies of a nature
such as yours, and to live in the enjoyment of an interchange of
endearments so purifying to the heart as ours will be. I must be
loved Lilya. I will be as kind to you and as careful of you as may be
necessary for your welfare; but I must be loved."

"And I will love you;" murmured his fair companion, trembling and
blushing she knew not for why--"I will love you as fondly as you wish. I
will love you kindly and affectionately. I will love you always. I will
be at all times every thing you most desire me to be. You shall never
find reason to be dissatisfied. I will not allow you to be unhappy: all
I do shall be done with the intention of giving you pleasure. My heart
is overflowing with your goodness; and, indeed--and, indeed I love you
very much." With these words she caught up the hand she had held in her
own; and eagerly, yet timidly, pressed it to her lips!

Oriel Porphyry was so charmed by the simplicity and genuine affection
expressed by the action, that he drew the bashful girl to his arms,
and pressed her lips to his own. This had scarcely been done, when, on
raising his eyes, he encountered the full and piercing gaze of Zabra.
He stood before them,--his dark features wearing an expression the most
wild and fearful--his breast heaving with passion, and his whole frame
trembling with the powerful excitement under which he laboured. Lilya,
with an exclamation of surprise, shrunk into the farthest corner of the
sofa, and covered her face with her hands. Oriel looked upon him with
astonishment, not unmixed with wonder; for the extraordinary beauty
of his countenance, shrouded by its clustering black curls, with the
intensity of the expression now impressed upon it, looked perfectly
sublime.

"Has it come to this?" muttered the youth, in a voice that seemed choked
with emotion. "Has it come to this? The last hope I have been allowed to
entertain is now utterly crushed. Nothing remains but the conviction of
my own misery, and of your baseness."

"Zabra!" exclaimed Oriel.

"What a reward is this you have given me!" continued the other, in the
same hoarse tones. "What a recompense for all I have done! Could you
think of no way of showing your appreciation of my devotion for you than
by destroying the dream of happiness I have entertained? Have I not been
faithful, and attached, and willing, and affectionate--as ready in the
hour of danger to defend as desirous in a time of pleasure to amuse? Did
I not share with you your anxieties, and rejoice with you in every thing
that gave you joy? And yet you have committed this treachery."

"Zabra!" again exclaimed his patron.

"In what have I failed to do you honour and worship?" still continued
his companion, slightly raising his voice as he proceeded. "In what have
I been deficient? Where have I offended? Have I not sought all times and
opportunities to fulfil your wishes before they could be expressed? Has
not my heart been ever anxious to assist in the realisation of your
best hopes? Is there any one thing you could have wished me to do that
I have not done? If I had been slack in my exertions--if I had been
careless in my services--if I had been heedless, thoughtless, or
inattentive in my behaviour, there might have been some cause for
depriving me of the affections which then I should have been unworthy to
possess:--but I have exceeded all previous examples in the exclusiveness
of my devotion. I have dared to do more than others could have
imagined--I have sought you out to watch over your safety--and have
served you with all honour, and care, and kindness. Why--why have you
used me thus?"

"Zabra, what madness is this?" exclaimed the young merchant, more
surprised than offended.

"And this is your love for Eureka!" continued the youth. "This is the
way in which you return an affection, so deep, so earnest, and so true
as her's has been? Have you lost all notion of justice, of virtue, and
of that sincerity which most ennobles manhood? Where is your sense of
shame? What manner of man are you, who, after you have been loved in
all earnestness, in all purity, in all exclusiveness, and with all that
self-abandonment which is most conspicuous in the love of woman, can
turn round upon the object by whom you have been so truly honoured, and
cast her hopes to the wind?"

"Zabra, you are proceeding beyond the limits of endurance; and I shall
be obliged to acquaint Eureka with your unreasonable and offensive
conduct," said Oriel.

"I--I AM EUREKA!" shouted the disguised page, in a voice that made both
her companions leap from their seats with looks of the most intense
astonishment, as, with flashing eyes, and words that seemed to breathe
of fire, she exclaimed,--"It was Eureka who left her father's house
to escape from an alliance into which she would have been forced had
she remained.--It was Eureka who forsook family and friends, and the
security and comforts of her own land, to share the dangers and watch
over the safety of one to whom she was so completely devoted.--It was
Eureka who quitted the dress and abandoned the prejudices of womanhood,
the more securely to devote her disinterested heart to the service
of her lover.--It was Eureka who dared with him the perils of the
sea--rescued him from the clutches of the pirate--stopped the blows
that were aimed at his life--shed her blood in his defence; and, in all
offices of kindness--in all times of danger and difficulty--in all
moments of tranquillity and desire of innocent enjoyment, thought only
of his security--cared only for his amusement, and was anxious only for
the perfect realisation of his happiness. It was Eureka who did these
things: and I--I am Eureka!"

Probably she might have continued the same eloquent and forcible
language; but the attention of herself and of her lover were attracted
towards their companion. Lilya had listened with the most breathless
interest to the avowal of the disguised Zabra; her eyes were fixed upon
the speaker in one continued stare--wild, ghastly, and unnatural: the
colour fled from her lips, the blood rushed from her face; her breast
heaved in quick, short, spasms, and something was seen rising and
swelling at her throat. An expression of unutterable anguish was
impressed upon her beautiful features; she made two or three choking
gasps, and tottering forward a few steps, fell at the feet of Eureka.

Oriel hurried to raise her from the ground; gently he lifted her head,
and exposed to view a face pale as marble; the delicate mouth, half
open, and the fair blue eyes fixed and sightless. As he attempted to
take her hand, the head fell back upon his shoulder.--She was dead.

"Eureka!" exclaimed the young merchant, in a voice husky with emotion,
as he supported the drooping corpse upon his arm, "you have wronged both
her and me. She would never have been regarded by me save as a sister;
and it was only with a brother's fondness that you saw me caress her. I
am deeply grateful to you for the devotion with which you have honoured
me; but when I look here,"--he continued, gazing on the lifeless form he
held, with feelings that almost deprived him of utterance,--"and find
a creature so perfectly innocent, so simple, so gentle, and so kind,
that has been made its victim, I am obliged to regret that it has been
purchased at so fearful a sacrifice."

He was answered only by hysteric sobs, that in a few minutes were
succeeded by violent convulsions: and Dr. Tourniquet entering the cabin
at this moment, Oriel hastily explained what had transpired; left her to
his care, and rushed upon deck.




CHAP. X.

A FIGHT AT SEA.


"A sail to leeward!" shouted the look-out man on the gangway.

"Give me my glass, Loop!" cried the Captain.

"What does she look like, Cap'ain," inquired Climberkin.

"I see nothin' yet but a tall spar, pointing pretty sharpish into the
sky," said Hearty. "Now I observe she has her royals set, and has an
unkimmon low hull. But take the glass yourself, and see what you can
make of her."

"She's schooner built, sir, with raking masts, carries a smartish number
o' guns, and is altogether as suspicious looking a craft as ever I
seed," observed the Lieutenant.

"Which way does she steer?" inquired the old man.

"She's bearin' right down upon us, sir," replied Climberkin; "and she
means mischief, or I'm pretty considerably mistaken."

"Call up all hands to quarters--throw open the ports, and let the guns
be shotted;" cried the captain. All was immediately bustle and confusion
in every part of the Albatross. Fore and aft the men with the utmost
alacrity, prepared to give the strange vessel a proper welcome in case
of an attack. Muskets, pikes, cutlasses, powder and shot, were handed up
from the hold with as much cheerfulness as if the crew were commencing
some favourite amusement. The officers were giving their orders, the men
busy at their preparations. Some threw off their jackets and tucked up
their sleeves to be the more free in their movements. The decks were
cleared: all things put away that could be an obstacle at such a time;
the guns run out, and every man was at his post ready for action.

The schooner bore down gallantly upon the Albatross, and certainly was a
very suspicious-looking vessel. A shot from one of her carronades came
booming along without doing any mischief.

"There's no mistaking that, captain;" said Oriel Porphyry, who had been
watching the proceedings around him with considerable interest.

"She's a pirate, sir, there's not a doubt on 't," observed the old man;
"but she'll find we are not to be caught napping; and as she's ventured
to begin the game, we'll just see who can play at it best. Give her a
taste of the long gun, Boggle."

"Ay, ay, sir;" replied the second lieutenant.

"I must bear a hand in this, Hearty;" said the young merchant, unable to
restrain his eagerness to join in the approaching fight.

"As you please, sir," rejoined the captain; "and as we know you are
a fighter, and one o' the right sort, we shall be very glad o' your
company. Here's a capital cutlass, which is much at your service."

"No, thank you; I'll go and get my own arms;" replied Oriel, and he
immediately left the deck.

A long brass thirty-two pounder under the management of an experienced
gunner was now got ready, and fired with such precision as to make the
splinters fly from her hull.

"Pitch the shot into her as often as you can load and fire;" cried the
captain.

"Ay, ay, sir;" said the man at the gun.

At this instant, a shot from the schooner brought down some of the
standing and running rigging of the Albatross, and severed the jaws of
the main-gaff. It was immediately answered by her long gun, which was
kept rapidly firing, and ploughed up the decks of the pirate at every
shot. During this, the Albatross by her superiority of sailing, kept
wearing round the schooner, raking her fore and aft with a most
destructive fire. They were now near enough to see that the decks of the
supposed pirate were covered with men, among whom the thirty-two pounder
had done considerable mischief. Finding that this sort of warfare was
telling against them, the pirates altered their course, made sail, and
ranged up within a cable's length of their opponent, displaying at the
same time in their ship a black flag soaring up to her main-peak. As
they approached, the sound of many voices came over the waters, and
the crew of the Albatross distinctly heard the pirates singing in full
chorus:--

       "Our ship sails on the wave,
            On the wave, on the wave,
        Our ship sails on the wave, Captain Death;
    For free mariners are we, and we ride the stormy sea,
        And our Captain still shall be
            Captain Death! Captain Death!
      Our Captain still shall be Captain Death!"

"It must be the miscreants we left on the island of Madagascar;" said
the young merchant. "I remember that murderous song well; but we'll
strive hard to spoil their singing."

"Scrunch me if we don't make 'em change their toon at any rate;"
exclaimed the old man. "There's nothin in life I've been so much wishin
for as a 'portunity to sarve out that ere double distilled willain
Scrumpydike, or Rifle, or whatever his name is."

"And you must leave the other scoundrel to me;" added Oriel Porphyry. "I
have an account to settle with him, and if I can get within reach, he
shall not escape."

The pirate ranged up on the quarter of the Albatross, pouring in her
broadside as she advanced, which was answered with all the guns that
could be brought to bear on that side of the ship, and then, by a
manoeuvre skilfully executed, the Albatross was made to wear round the
schooner, pouring in a volley of musketry, till she presented her other
side, from which another sweeping fire belched forth. The shot crashed
through the timbers of the pirate, committing dreadful slaughter upon
her closely packed deck, and when the smoke which enveloped her bows
cleared away, it was seen that her foretop-mast had gone, her sails had
been shot through in numerous places, and a considerable portion of
her rigging hung in ragged shreds. Three cheers from the crew of the
Albatross, and groans, and shouts and imprecations from the schooner,
evinced the effect the firing had in both ships.

The pirate bore up as if with the intention of running alongside to
board, and poured in her broadside as she advanced, which killed six or
seven men, and wounded several others; but her opponent waited till she
was within about three ships' length, and then gave her the contents
of all her available carronades. The mizen and mainmast of the pirate,
which had previously been wounded, now fell by the board. At this
instant the schooner fell foul of the Albatross on her larboard quarter,
and the pirates made several desperate attempts to board, but the crew
of the other ship kept up such a murderous discharge of musketry and
small arms from her tops as well as from her decks, that every attempt
was ineffectual, and the Albatross wearing off, discharged her larboard
quarter-deck guns, and such of the main-deck guns as could be brought to
bear, into the schooner's larboard bow.

The excitement on board the Albatross was now at its height. Every man
was at his post, and one spirit seemed to stir the whole. The wounded
were carried down to the surgeon as soon as their hurts were known, and
the dead thrown into the sea that they might not incommode the living.
Oriel Porphyry continued in one of the most exposed parts of the ship
encouraging the men, and firing a musket whenever the ships were near
enough for him to do so with any effect. Broadside after broadside
followed from the Albatross in rapid succession, sweeping the decks of
the schooner, and splitting her timbers into fragments. But the pirate
captain still made every exertion to board the merchant ship. His vessel
was scarcely manageable, and nearly half her crew were either killed
or wounded: but he bore up to his opponent with the same dauntless
resolution that had distinguished him throughout his career; he cheered
his men on to the fight; and continued to discharge every gun that could
be brought into play.

A quick and well-directed fire of musketry was kept up from the tops and
forecastle of the Albatross, and her quarter deck guns were discharged
with scarcely any intermission and with dreadful effect. The schooner
now fell on board the merchant ship on the starboard quarter, and the
pirates lashed her bowsprit to the stump of their mainmast; but the
lashings soon afterwards gave way, and the two vessels, yard-arm and
yard-arm, continued to pour into each other their sweeping broadsides,
very much to the advantage of the Albatross, who was crippling her
opponent at every discharge, and slaughtering her crew.

At this time the main-mast of the pirate fell over the side, and as the
smoke cleared away, she was seen with her ports jammed in, her decks
torn up in several places, her hull battered, and every part of her
wearing the appearance of a complete wreck. But Captain Death was not a
man to think of surrendering. When his vessel became short of hands, he
assisted in working a gun; and as soon as he could get the two ships
close alongside, he headed a party that lashed them together, and then,
followed by the remainder of his crew--men of all nations, of all
colours, and of every kind of costume, rushed upon the deck of the
Albatross.

The fight now became one of hand to hand. The pistol, the pike, and
the cutlass seemed the only weapons in requisition. The crew of the
Albatross hurried to the place where Captain Death, Lieutenant Rifle,
and their followers were hewing their way with the most desperate
valour. Oriel Porphyry, the captain, Climberkin, and Boggle headed
their party, cheering them on, and cutting down their opponents. Oriel
Porphyry was engaged with a gigantic <DW64>, whose head he severed at a
blow, and then attacked a second and a third with the same spirit, and
with a similar effect. Old Hearty beheld his ancient enemy, first known
to him by the name of Scrumpydike, and frantic with the remembrance of
what he had once suffered at his hands, he rushed upon him, cutlass in
hand. A pistol was discharged at his head as he advanced which missed
its object, and the two were immediately engaged in hacking at each
other with all their strength and skill. The old man in strength was the
equal of his opponent, but he was his superior at the weapon, at which
he had been practising ever since their previous fight, with the desire
of having his revenge should they meet again. The struggle was a fierce
one, but it was brief. Hearty cut his opponent's sword-arm above the
elbow with such force that it severed the bone, and at the same moment
the young midshipman Loop run him through the body with a boarding-pike.
With a malignant scowl he fell dead on the deck.

Oriel Porphyry had endeavoured to come in contact with the pirate
captain, whom he observed at a short distance from him cutting down all
by whom he was opposed; but several times he was attacked by some other
of the gang whom he was obliged to dispose of before he could have the
slightest chance of getting at him. At last Captain Death saw his former
companion, and freeing himself from those with whom he was engaged, he
hurried towards him, waving his uplifted sword streaming with blood, and
shouting exclamations of rage and defiance.

"It is you I have sought far and near since you escaped me, but there's
no escape for you now;" muttered the pirate, as he rushed furiously
upon the young merchant, and strived by the force and rapidity of his
blows to bring the combat to a speedy termination. But he was engaged
with one of the most accomplished swordsmen in existence, with a
well-tried weapon, and a spirit burning to destroy the wretch with whom
he fought. He parried dexterously, and warded off with the greatest ease
the most furious blows that were aimed at him; and the blood flowing
from wounds in the captain's head and shoulder soon proved that he was
not content with acting merely on the defensive. During the struggle
these two got separated from the other combatants, and they stood in a
part of the deck unnoticed by the men engaged on either side. Death,
smarting from his wounds, pressed upon his antagonist with increasing
rage and violence; but the latter, knowing that the victory was in his
own hands, allowed the other to exhaust his strength in unavailing
blows; then when he found the pirate's exertions slacken, his sword
flashed about with a rapidity that baffled the eye, and seemed to draw
blood at every stroke. He followed him with a strength of arm that
appeared perfectly irresistible, beating down his defence, and striking
aside his blows; but just as he was hurrying forward to put a finishing
stroke to the contest, he tumbled over a dead body, and fell unarmed at
the feet of his foe.

"Ah, ha!" shouted the pirate chief, while a gleam of malignant
satisfaction shot from his eyes; "your doom is sealed." He swung round
his sabre to bring it with all his strength upon the head of his
defenceless antagonist, but before the blow had time to descend he heard
a slight shriek, a rush of feet, and the next moment received two pistol
bullets in his body. Oriel Porphyry regained his footing as Captain
Death fell staggering on the deck, and with a wild cry of exultation
Eureka rushed into his arms.

The pirates on the fall of their leader became dispirited; but knowing
what would be their reward if taken, they returned to their ship,
fighting desperately every inch of the way, and the strife was renewed
upon their own deck till every man of them was cut down. The crew
of the Albatross had upon the termination of the conflict dispersed
themselves over the schooner with the intention of securing whatever
valuables she might contain, when they were obliged to make a rapid
retreat to their own vessel, as the schooner was rapidly sinking, but
they did not depart without bringing with them a prisoner whom they had
found secreted in the hold. The lashings were immediately cut away, and
the Albatross had just time to sheer off, when the pirate filled and
went down.

"Well, master Log!" exclaimed Boggle to his trembling prisoner; "I likes
to ha' particular notions o' things in general, as every man as is a man
and thinks like a man should have, and I has a notion o' you as is werry
particular; arn't you a willain?"

"A villain--a villain--a great villain--a very great villain--indeed I
may say a pretty considerable, atrocious, abominable tarnation villain,
mister Boggle!" cried the other with a look that showed that he had been
entirely put out of conceit of himself.

"What you says true's parfectly right," said the second lieutenant;
"and I must pay you the compliment to acknowledge as how you shows a
deal o' gumption in your 'splanation o' your own character. Don't you
desarve to be spiflicated?"

"Spiflicated--spiflicated--well spiflicated--regularly spiflicated--I
must confess that I ought to be right down regularly spiflicated,
smothered, smashed, dished up and done for;" acknowledged the
unfortunate captain's clerk, with a most woeful physiognomy and a
sincerity of manner that carried conviction to his hearers.

"I likes to make ev'ry fellar comfortable arter his own fashion," said
Boggle, with the utmost gravity; and then addressing a sailor who was
grinning from ear to ear at a few paces distant, he cried, "I say,
Solemnchops! just rig a noose in the main top gallant halyards."

"I'll do it wi' pleasure for the gentleman, sir;" replied the man,
benevolently hastening to execute the command.

"Now, master Log, I begs to say as how I got no notion o' hurtin' any o'
your feelins," continued the lieutenant; "but I considers it necessary
for your health as you should be hanged. I knows unkimmon well as human
natur' is human natur', and in consequence o' that ere I comes to the
conclusion as it is the most properest thing as is for you to make
yourself agreeable to your friends wi' a dance upon nuffin. But afore I
leaves you in this here moloncholy perdickyment, I think 't will be but
friendly in me to hint to you as how you ought to die like a respectable
'dividual; arn't you rayther a miserable sinner?"

"A miserable sinner!--a miserable sinner! a very miserable sinner--a
very shocking miserable sinner, indeed I may say a very extraordinary
shocking miserable sinner, and no mistake;" cried the unhappy Log.

More dead than alive the trembling wretch had the noose placed round his
neck, and was run up to the halyards, accompanied by the consolations of
the friendly Boggle.

"Hullo! what are you about there? Let that man down directly!" shouted
the captain as he approached the scene, and the ex-captain's clerk
descended upon the deck with a velocity that sent all the breath out of
his body. "What's the meaning o' this?"

"Why, you see, sir," replied the second lieutenant, with his usual
gravity; "I can't say as Master Log be given to drinkin, but I sartainly
seed him just now unkimmonly elewated."




CHAP. XI.

THE DEATH OF CAPTAIN DEATH, AND THE MEETING OF THE SHIPS.


"There's no saving his life, don't you see;" remarked Tourniquet, who
had discovered that Captain Death was not quite dead, and had been
examining his wounds. "Every effort would be useless here, all skill
unavailing; and there are many others in imminent danger, to whom I
might be of service."

"Stop, he moves!" exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, as he stood gazing on the
changing features of the dying pirate.

Captain Death lay extended on his back on the deck where he had fallen.
His sword was still firmly grasped in his hand, and both his arms were
stretched out nearly at right angles with his body. The long silken cap
in which he used to confine his black hair had fallen off, and the hair
fell in disordered masses, clotted with blood, around his face. He had
allowed his beard and moustachios to grow, and they now added to the
natural ferocity of his countenance. His jacket, of the richest velvet,
was cut through in several places, and stiffened with gore, which had
run down and soiled the crimson shawl of embroidered silk he wore girded
round his waist, and had more conspicuously stained his lower garments
of linen. His face was livid, and his eyes blood-shot, and the
expression which was impressed upon them kept continually changing
from pain to rage, and from rage to hate. Occasionally some convulsive
movement of the muscles would more strongly distort his features, and
his body writhed and twisted as if in great agony. After a long fit of
violent shuddering, which shook every part of his body, his face assumed
a more tranquil expression, and his lips moved as if with an effort to
speak.

"Virgo!" he whispered; "'tis your father. He comes to drag me to the
halter. See how he glares at me! He laughs. He shows me his chains. No,
no, no! 'Tis not that savage old man. 'Tis not him. There is no one.
Come to me, my preserver, come to me; and let the refreshing purity of
your caresses drive away the evil thoughts which have made my nature so
abandoned and desperate. There is the little bed, with its clean white
curtains; there are the flowers. There, there! I see you all again,
reminding me of a state of innocence I was unworthy to share. Come, my
preserver, come!"

"He is delirious, don't you see;" observed the doctor.

"Do you think there is any possibility of his recovering?" inquired the
young merchant.

"Not the slightest; he won't live an hour;" replied Tourniquet.

"Hush!" exclaimed Oriel; "he speaks again."

"Virgo! 'tis time to rise. See how the rosy morning dawns upon the room!
Let me kiss you before you leave me: there! my soul is on my lips, and
I drink in a better life from yours. Draw around the curtains. My face
is on the pillow; I cannot see you, but my blessings follow you wherever
you go. Ah! you leave the room, and all is strife and hate and passion
within me."

"He's talking of that young creature that was so fond of him, don't you
see," said the doctor; "though for my part I can't comprehend what she
could see in him to like."

"There's no knowing," replied Oriel Porphyry; "the love of woman is a
mystery which none properly understand and few appreciate."

"She's dead!" exclaimed the pirate in a heart-broken voice; "she's dead!
the innocent, the good, the gentle, the fearless, the confiding one, who
would have plucked the rank weeds from my sinful nature, has perished
and left me none like her in the world. She died for me--for me, a
wretch unworthy to breathe in her presence. All is lost. There is no
goodness now remaining on the earth. She's dead! she's dead!"

"I did not think he had so much natural feeling in him;" said the young
merchant.

"There's nothing so evil but what has some good in it, don't you see;"
replied the surgeon.

The expression in the features of Captain Death now underwent a complete
change: it became fierce, daring, and revengeful. His body appeared
violently agitated, and his arms moved with convulsive twitches.

"Pipe all hands to quarters!" shouted the dying pirate with all
his remaining strength. "Make sail--clear away for fighting--run
out the guns and shot them.--She's a rich merchantman, and there's
enough in her to enrich us all. Pour out a broadside--there goes her
main-mast:--another, and her mizenmast goes by the board. Sweep her
quarter deck with our quarter deck guns, and pour down upon her a fire
of musketry from the tops. Board her by the bow-sprit. Now, boys, follow
me and cut down all." Here the features of the dying pirate became
absolutely terrific, and he made some desperate struggles to rise from
the ground, in which he at last succeeded; when, waving his sword round
his head, he sung in a piercing voice--

         "We stifle ev'ry cry,
              Ev'ry cry,--ev'ry cry--
      We stifle ev'ry cry, Captain Death!
    And then we spread our sails that are filled with welcome gales,
      Singing, 'Dead men tell no tales,'
          Captain Death! Captain Death!
    Singing, 'Dead men tell no tales,' Captain Death."

"Ah!" screamed the singer, while an expression of the most intense agony
distorted his features. He dropped the sword he had held; he drew both
his hands suddenly to his wounded side, and staggering back, gasping
frightfully for breath, he fell violently on his back.

"He's dead, don't you see;" said the doctor.

"A sail on the starboard quarter;" cried a man aloft.

"No more pirates, I hope;" exclaimed Fortyfolios, who had just ventured
on deck.

"It is not quite impossible, don't you see;" was the surgeon's
encouraging reply, and both almost immediately descended the hatchway,
one to look after his patients, and the other to look after himself.
Oriel Porphyry hastened to the captain, whom he found standing in the
waist, examining the distant vessel through a glass.

"Any more fighting preparing for us?" inquired the young merchant.

"Can't exactly say yet, sir, but it's best to be prepared;" replied old
Hearty, as he gave some orders to the men around him. "She looms large,
and looks as if she was arter standing right across our fore-foot. Now
she's alterin her course, and is comin with all sail set right down upon
us. Call all hands to quarters: Climberkin, let the guns be shotted,
and the dead bodies flung into the sea;--and yet I think she's a
merchantman. Scrunch me, if it arn't my old ship, the Whittington!"

"What, my father's vessel?" asked Oriel Porphyry.

"The very same!" cried the old man with delight. "I knows her better
nor any ship I ever sailed in. No doubt she wants to speak with us.
Bring her head up to the wind, helmsman! I wonder whether my old captain
is alive still? He was a right-down trump. But what a mazement he'll be
in to find me in command o' the Albatross."

"I know Captain Barter well. I've met him frequently at my father's
table, and a very gentlemanly, sensible man he is;" said the young
merchant. "I have no doubt he's brought me some communication from
Columbus."

"We shall soon see, sir, as we shall be alongside very shortly;"
observed Hearty.

"Is master Oriel Porphyry on board?" was shouted from the Whittington,
as the ships neared each other. Oriel caught up a speaking trumpet.

"Yes, Captain Barter, I am here;" he replied.

"I will come on board, sir, if you please, as soon as a boat is
lowered;" said the captain of the Whittington.

"Have you any communication for me from my father?" inquired Oriel.

"I have, sir; and 'tis of great consequence," replied the other.

Oriel Porphyry was now all anxiety and impatience to know the
intelligence he was promised. He hurried to the quarter-deck to receive
his visitor, and strode backwards and forwards with hasty steps till he
made his appearance. Now he thought that the news must be bad, and in a
moment after he imagined that it was good. One instant he anticipated
the death of his father, and in the next, hoped that he had been raised
by his fellow-citizens to the highest honours in the nation. And in this
way his mind continued changing its impressions for the better and for
the worse, till he had worked himself into a state of considerable
excitement, when Captain Barter advanced towards him.

He was an elderly man, of gentlemanly appearance; neat in his dress, and
polite in his deportment. His face was pale, and slightly marked with
wrinkles; and his features were mild and pleasing. His hair was gray,
and his body rather thin; but he was perfectly upright in his walk, and
his step was firm and manly.

"I regret I have unpleasant intelligence to communicate to you, sir,"
said Captain Barter, after they had exchanged the customary salutations.

"It is then as I suspected," exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, earnestly. "My
father is dead."

"No, sir, it is not so bad as that," replied the captain, as if
hesitating in making the communication.

"What is it then? let me know immediately. I am sure by your manner it
is something dreadful," cried the young merchant.

"Your father is a prisoner," said Captain Barter, with a look of sincere
commiseration.

"Have they dared?" exclaimed Oriel.

"But I am sorry to say it is worse than that, sir," added his companion.

"What! what is it? Do not keep me in suspense--I implore you to tell
me," cried the other.

"He is ordered for execution," said the captain.

"The miscreants!" muttered the young merchant. "But I knew it would
be so. I knew they would not rest satisfied with their privileges
curtailed. I knew they would seek the first opportunity to regain their
lost power. I was convinced that they would regard my father as their
enemy, and sacrifice him on the earliest occasion. But tell me how it
was brought about? I would know all."

"After the revolution, which effected those important changes in the
government of which you have been informed," said Captain Barter,
"nothing could have exceeded the appearance of good will which existed
in every part of the empire. The emperor seemed desirous of nothing so
much as gratifying the people; and his ministers appeared to emulate
each other in endeavouring to become popular. Public fetes were given
in honour of the revolution, at which the emperor assisted in person;
and measures of the most liberal character were passed through the
legislature, without a division. All was harmony and social order.
The citizens congratulated each other on the improved state of the
country--the industrious classes found themselves provided with
sufficient employment, at a fair recompense--trade again became
brisk--commerce flourished; and abundance seemed to be generally
diffused over the whole surface of Columbia."

"A mere trick!" exclaimed Oriel Porphyry; "nothing but an artifice to
lull the people into a fancied security, I'll wager my existence."

"Just so, sir," replied the captain. "The leaders of the people had
now nothing to complain of. Every improvement was made before they had
time to offer a suggestion on the subject; and that being rendered
comparatively useless, they quickly lost their influence over their
fellow-citizens. Your father, observing how well things were proceeding,
withdrew himself from all participation in politics, considering that
his services were no longer required, and devoted himself to his
commercial pursuits, and to the realisation of those philanthropic
desires that have distinguished every portion of his existence. He
became again so completely the private citizen, that no person unaware
of the circumstances could have imagined that he had recently played so
important a part in the late changes. All the most influential of the
popular leaders gradually retired into private life in the same manner."

"I see the scheme," cried Oriel, eagerly. "The vile treachery becomes
manifest. How well 'twas planned. How artfully designed. Oh! these
planners and plotters are a brilliant set; they are too wise for us poor
citizens."

"So they proved, sir," continued the captain; "for while the things I
have related were being done, the government gradually and imperceptibly
concentrated a military force in the metropolis, by calling in portions
of the garrisons distributed over the empire; and these were well
supplied with all the necessaries of war, and liberally paid, and
officered by men upon whom the government could depend. Soon after this,
on the pretence that they were no longer necessary, the national guards
were disbanded and deprived of their arms. Suspicion was now created
among the sharp-sighted few; but the public generally did not appear to
have the slightest notion of the danger which threatened them. As the
object of the emperor and his party began to assume a more threatening
aspect, the leaders of the people took the alarm, and endeavoured to
awaken their fellow-citizens to a sense of their danger. In the course
of a few hours every one of them was securely lodged in a dungeon."

"And my father amongst them," exclaimed the young merchant.

"He appears to have been the chief object at which their malice was
directed," observed the captain. "At this time it was thought necessary
to throw off the mask. The old ministers were restored to their
forfeited privileges and possessions; and your father's implacable foe,
Philadelphia, was placed at the head of the government. An imposing
force of soldiery was kept continually under arms, to prevent any rising
of the populace; and seizures of concealed arms were made in every
direction. The people, deprived of their leaders and of their weapons,
felt themselves powerless. They saw too late the trap into which they
had fallen. They beheld the despotism that was approaching them, and
were unable to make the slightest effort to defend themselves from its
approaches. Domiciliary visits were now made, upon the most frivolous
pretexts, to the houses of the principal citizens; and papers and
arms were seized, and their owners, if they gave the slightest cause
of offence, were hurried to prison. Any one known or suspected of
entertaining hostile intentions was seized and incarcerated, and fined
in heavy penalties, or sent out of the country. The citizens were
confounded, and appeared utterly unable to make the slightest
resistance."

"Oh, I wish I had been there!" exclaimed Oriel, eagerly, "I would have
infused such a spirit into their natures as should have made them ready
to rush upon their oppressors with a certainty of success; and that
conviction should have insured their triumph. I would have made their
hearts astir with the love of freedom, till all obstacles in their way
should have been as straws in the path of the tempest. I would have made
them fight like lions--I would have made them conquer like men. But what
became of my father? you have not told me that. Tell me what became of
him?"

"While they were placing the citizens in a degree of subjection fit
for their purpose," replied Captain Barter, "with a monstrous deal of
unnecessary parade, they were making preparations for the trial of the
leaders of the people. The long-expected day came, and its proceedings
were watched with eager interest by the citizens, although they dared
not show the anxiety they felt. Master Porphyry, with his companions,
were arraigned as rebels and traitors, accused of murder and treason,
and reviled by the hired advocates of the crown in terms which only the
more exposed the badness of the cause they defended. Philadelphia was
president of the Chamber of Peers, by whom they were tried; and he took
every occasion to abuse, brow-beat, and threaten your father in language
the most intemperate that can be imagined; but your father replied in a
manner that would have conciliated a savage. His language was mild, his
bearing noble; and when he was called upon to make his defence, he made
one of the most eloquent speeches that had ever been heard within those
walls. He merely related what he had done, and what were his reasons for
so doing; exposed the errors of the government, and the mischiefs to
which they had led; recounted the share he had had in the revolution,
which had reduced the power of the crown and of the aristocracy to
reasonable limits, and the motives which induced him to use all his
influence in the contest: and his defence so utterly annihilated the
charges brought against him, that he must have been acquitted had he
been treated with any thing like justice; but his judges were his
accusers, and they sealed his doom before they entered upon his trial.
The prisoners were all found guilty. Some were sent into exile, some
imprisoned for life, some were heavily fined--and Master Porphyry was
condemned to be beheaded, and to have all his property confiscated to
the crown."

"The murderous and insatiate tyrants!" exclaimed the young merchant.

"When Philadelphia delivered the sentence," continued the captain, "he
appeared to take a malignant joy in having such an opportunity for
reviling your father--there was no name of opprobrium he did use: but
your honoured parent replied to him only with a look of wonder and pity;
and with a bow to his relentless judges, left the court in company with
his guards."

"Noble old man!" cried Oriel, earnestly.

"As soon as the people learned the result of the trial, they were in the
deepest affliction," added Captain Barter, "that the kind and excellent
philanthropist--the true and disinterested patriot, the glory of their
city, and the pride of the world--should perish on a scaffold, was more
than they could endure. But they had no leaders, and no weapons; and,
although they would have risen in a mass in his rescue, under the
circumstances of the case they saw that any attempt of the kind was
utterly hopeless. All eyes were then turned toward you. Your character
had already acquired their admiration; your relationship to Master
Porphyry excited their devotion; and, knowing that you had departed on
a voyage, the most powerful friends of your father met secretly for the
purpose of devising some plan by which they could make you acquainted
with your father's danger, and with their desire to assist in his
rescue. With this idea in view, all your father's vessels that could be
sent to sea, besides a vast number of ships belonging to other merchants
who had volunteered to give their assistance, sailed in quest of you.
From knowing something of the plan of voyage designed by your father I
imagined that about this time you would be crossing the Atlantic; so
here I have been sailing about for the last two days, and there are
nearly a hundred sail of merchant vessels in the same pursuit."

"A sail on the larboard bow!" shouted a man.

"That is one of them, I have no doubt, sir," observed Captain Barter.

"A sail on the starboard quarter!" shouted another.

"There is another, sir!" added the captain.

"A sail to leeward!" cried a third.

"We shall have them all about you soon, sir," said Captain Barter.

"There's a sail in every point o' the compass," cried Climberkin, as he
swept the horizon with his glass.

"I told you so, sir," continued the captain.

Climberkin was right. Wherever the eye could gaze the spars of a vessel
were seen rising from the wave; and, apparently, as soon as each ship
discovered the Albatross, she made all sail towards her. It was a
beautiful sight to see them approaching, most of them with every stitch
of canvass set--some bearing right down upon the Albatross, and others
making tacks; while the distant cheers of their crews, answered by the
crews of the Whittington and the Albatross, increased the stirring
character of the scene. As soon as they were near enough a boat was seen
putting off from each vessel; and, a few minutes after, the captains of
the different ships came on board the Albatross, and sat with Oriel
Porphyry in his cabin for several hours, in deep and earnest conference.
These had scarcely departed when others arrived. New vessels kept
continually approaching. As fast as one party left the ship others made
their appearance, and at last the Albatross was surrounded by an immense
fleet. All their commanders having at last communicated with Oriel
Porphyry, they crowded sail for Columbia.

"Captain," exclaimed the young merchant, after the last of his visitors
had departed, "are you sure of the crew?"

"To a man, sir," replied old Hearty. "There's such a stir in the ship as
never was afore. They are all impatient to be led against your enemies.
I never saw such enthusiusiasm in all my life."

"Keep them in that humour, captain," said Oriel Porphyry. "Let every man
have a good supply of ball cartridges, a musket, a pair of pistols, and
a cutlass."

"Yes, sir."

"And let a party be formed who can use the hatchet and crow-bar with
good effect."

"Yes, sir."

"And get the carpenter to make carriages for the larger guns, so that
they can be dragged by ropes upon the land; and let them be manned by
picked men."

"Yes, sir: and if we don't rescue your honourable father out o' the
clutches o' them ere lubbers, I'm spiflicated if we don't diskiver the
reason why."

"How far are we from port?" asked Oriel.

"About two days sail, sir," replied the captain.

"We shall be too late if the greatest despatch is not used," observed
the young merchant, earnestly. "I rely upon your using every effort that
your skill can suggest."

"I'll do every thing, sir, as a mortal cretur can do!" exclaimed the old
man. "I arn't the fellow to stand shilly-shally at such a time as this.
I'll look to every thing myself, and see about it immediately."

The captain had scarcely left the cabin, and Oriel had thrown himself
back in his seat, in deep and earnest meditation, when he was disturbed
by a knock at the door.

"Come in," he cried.

"May I enter, Oriel?" said Eureka, as she gently opened the door.

"Of course, dearest!" replied Oriel Porphyry, as he hastened towards
her, and led her into the cabin, with her hands clasped in his.

"You are kinder to me than I deserve, Oriel," murmured his fair
companion, with a look of gratitude from her lustrous eyes that he
found perfectly irresistible.

"Not at all, my Eureka!" said her lover, affectionately; "am I not
indebted to you for life and liberty, and all that render them valuable?
Do I not know how much you have dared and endured for my sake? And
do you think it possible, that with a knowledge of these things, I
can regard you with any other feeling than that of the most devoted
affection? No, Eureka, I must love you while I have life. But how
cleverly you continued the disguise. When I first saw you, I recognised
in the handsome page a resemblance to features it was impossible for me
not to notice; but your scheme was so admirably managed that I never
entertained the slightest suspicion of your true character."

"Nor up to the present moment has any one in the ship," replied Eureka.
"They only know me as Zabra, except that worthy creature, Tourniquet,
who discovered my secret when I was wounded, and I immediately made him
aware of my history and object in joining you, at which he was so much
delighted as to proffer his assistance in carrying on the deception; and
I should have been discovered but for him on more than one occasion."

"That accounts for his confusion at the tiger-hunt," observed Oriel;
"and for what I considered the mystery in your behaviour. But there is
nothing strange or unaccountable in it now. I only wonder at you. I am
amazed when I think of your risking so much for one who is so little
worthy of such extraordinary devotion."

"You will not love me the less for it, will you?" inquired Eureka,
gazing in his face with a look of thrilling tenderness.

"Love you less, Eureka!" exclaimed the young merchant; "that would be
ungrateful! While I have an appreciation of truth and excellence and
fidelity, and that wonderful intellectual power you have so often
exhibited, the admiration with which I regard you must approach
idolatry. You are a creature to be proud of."

"And yet I am afraid I shall lose you," said his companion, anxiously;
"I have just heard upon what errand you are hastening. It is full of
danger. It is beset by perils. But the cause is a proud one, and I do
not attempt to dissuade you from proceeding with it. Go on your career
of glory. Give your impetuous soul free scope for the developement of
its energies. Think not of me, except the thought can nerve your arm and
strengthen your resolution. Be as daring as your fearless nature prompts
you to be. With such an end in view as that you have before you, I can
allow myself no other sense, or impression, or emotion than that which
may accompany my earnest hopes for your success. I have come to a
resolution to forget my own selfish feelings. It is time I should. Your
advancement, your greatness, your fame, are the objects to which any
thoughts must now always incline. If you live to triumph over your
enemies, and to attain that eminence whereon you are so desirous of
being placed, and to which you will do so much honour, none will rejoice
more sincerely than she who has shown herself so anxious to insure your
happiness--if you die----"

"Eureka, my adored!" rapturously exclaimed Oriel, pressing her to his
breast, as he noticed that she was unable to proceed, "there is no fear
of such a result. Believe me you alarm yourself unnecessarily. I shall
succeed, I am assured of it: I shall succeed to have the proud enjoyment
of glorifying you with my pre-eminence. I feel convinced that if we can
only arrive in time, I shall rescue my father. Nothing shall stop me--I
will not be defeated: and if we should be too late for this great
object, which I see no reason to apprehend, I will not rest satisfied
till I have punished his murderers. I have no dread of death; but if I
should die, I shall die a death worthy of the lover of Eureka. I shall
die in endeavouring to rescue my country from its oppressors.--I shall
die in avenging the murder of one of the noblest and best of men."

"One word more, Oriel--one word more," said Eureka. "I have only to ask
you, as a testimony of your love for me, that, if in the coming conflict
you should meet my father, you will not kill him."

"He deserves little mercy at my hands," replied the young merchant. "But
your desire is natural, and I will comply with it. He must answer for
his crimes to the country they have disgraced. And now let us go on
deck, a little fresh air would do neither of us any harm; and when you
behold the noble fleet that has joined me in my enterprise, I hope that
all your apprehensions will vanish."

Among the crew of the Albatross the intelligence of the events which had
occurred in Columbia created an extraordinary sensation; and as soon
as it was known that Oriel Porphyry designed attempting his father's
rescue, every man in the ship volunteered to assist in the enterprise.
Never was such a general indignation produced as that which burst from
them when they learned the fate to which the government had doomed
Master Porphyry. A land fight was something new to them, but they did
not prepare themselves for it with less alacrity, nor were their tongues
less active than their limbs. Various opinions prevailed as to the
best method of bringing about a revolution; and as to the best form
of government which should replace the old one, there were as many
different notions as tongues to utter them. A group had gathered
together in the forecastle, where they had been engaged for some
time over an extra allowance of grog, discussing different political
subjects, when Boggle, who, notwithstanding his promotion, was amazingly
fond of associating with his old messmates, joined the disputants.

"I'll tell you what it is, my mates," said he, "government's tryin to
come their handy-dandy sugar-candy over us, and we arn't a goin to stand
nuffin o' the sort. Are we to be slaves?"

"Never," shouted a dozen voices simultaneously.

"Nebber," echoed Roly Poly, with equal energy, as he was gulping down
the contents of a huge black-jack of hot grog.

"Now I likes to have particular notions o' things in general as every
man as is a man, and thinks like a man, should," continued Boggle. "And
I must say as how it's my notion that there's never no occasion for no
government whatsomdever."

"Of course," remarked the boatswain, who would have thought it high
treason to have disagreed with his officer.

"Ob coorse," repeated Roly Poly, still pulling away at the black-jack.

"We don't want no rulers--there arn't no 'cessity for 'em;" said the
second lieutenant. "But if we must have kings--let every man be his own
king."

"Let every man be his own king," was echoed from one to another
throughout the circle.

"Let ebery man be his own king," repeated the fat cook.

"The whole circumbendibus comes to this," continued Boggle. "If so be as
how we're obligated to pay for what we don't want, it's hoptional on our
parts not to want what we're obligated to pay for."

"Certainly, sir," said the boatswain.

"Sartinly, sar," echoed Roly Poly, endeavouring to hold his head up, and
look as if he understood what was going forward.

"There's nuffin but oppression goin on fore and aft," said the orator.
"They grinds the faces o' the poor, and makes their bread o' the flour;
and therefore we must stand up for the liberty o' the subject."

"We must stand up for the liberty o' the subject, there's not a doubt
on't," remarked the boatswain, evidently without knowing what the
liberty of the subject expressed.

"De libty ob de subjack?" exclaimed the fat cook, vainly endeavouring
to steady his position. "I like de libty ob de black-jack best;" and
so saying, he waddled off after a very circuitous fashion, with the
black-jack under his arm.




CHAP. XII.

THE CONCLUSION.


The morning dawned slow and sullenly over the great metropolis of
Columbia; and its immense field of buildings seemed as gloomy as the
skies above them. All the shops were closed, as if in a time of general
mourning; and the citizens hurried along the streets with melancholy and
unsocial looks. Occasionally, two or three would stop at a corner of a
street and exchange a few eloquent words and gesticulations; but the
approach of some of the numerous bands of soldiers that continually
perambulated the streets separated them, and they continued on their
way. Everywhere the houses looked cheerless, as if they had been
deserted. The shutters were closed, the windows darkened, and not a sign
of life appeared about them. Such of the inhabitants as had ventured
out, appeared to be proceeding in one direction, communicating with one
another when they could do so without being observed by the troops. All
wore the same aspect--that of deep dejection; but, occasionally, a
close observer might have noticed a more fierce expression in their
countenances, as a muttered execration escaped from their lips.

They passed regiments of horse and foot at every commanding situation.
The whole city seemed to be filled with them; and their picquets
stationed at regular intervals, patroling every thoroughfare, prevented
any attempt at revolt on the part of the citizens. Still they proceeded
forward till they entered a spacious quadrangle, the whole space of
which, including all the avenues that approached it, was filled with
soldiers and citizens. Along the wall of a high gloomy building,
evidently from its construction a prison, there had been erected a
platform, covered with black cloth. Upon it appeared a block, and at a
short distance from it a coffin, both covered with black cloth. Around
the platform were a troop of horse; and others were posted along the
sides of the quadrangle, the inner space of which was filled with a
regiment of foot supported by several pieces of artillery.

At one corner of the principal entrance to the quadrangle was an ancient
stone structure, very strongly built, from the windows of which there
was a good view of the proceedings before the prison; at the opposite
corner was a similar edifice, and in their windows and on their roofs
crowds of anxious citizens had congregated. If any had come with an
intention of attempting a rescue, the disposition of the military was
sufficient to make them despair; and all they did was to throng as near
as possible to the place of execution, where they stood regarding the
scaffold and its defenders with scowling looks, and hearts eager for
vengeance.

The utmost decorum prevailed among the multitude. There was no talking
or laughing; and when Master Porphyry made his appearance upon the
scaffold every head was uncovered, and blessings loud and deep were
breathed from all. The philanthropist advanced to the block with a firm
step, and eyes as mild and kind as they had ever beamed. His look was
cheerful, and his bearing noble and manly. He wore the robe of honour,
which distinguished him as the chief magistrate of the city, as
if desirous of dying in possession of the dignity to which he had
been raised by the respect of his fellow-citizens. After bowing in
acknowledgment of the recognitions of the people, he looked unmoved upon
the coffin and the block; and with the executioner on one side, masked,
having a glittering axe in his hand, and with a priest on the other, who
kept addressing him with pious exhortations, to which he paid respectful
attention, he advanced to that part of the platform which overlooked the
surrounding multitude. Some murmurs and execrations had burst from the
spectators at sight of the executioner; but when it was noticed that
Master Porphyry was about to address them, the vast assembly were
instantly hushed to the most perfect silence.

"My countrymen!" exclaimed the philanthropist, in a clear unbroken
voice, "I do not in any way regret the fate that has been prepared for
me, except so far as it prevents me continuing those offices of social
kindness which made the happiness of my existence. To be without the
means of doing good is scarcely less desirable than to be in the
commission of evil; and it was a wise and charitable thing of my
persecutors, after having confiscated all my property, to take away a
life no longer of value to the community."--A low murmur escaped from
the crowd. "I may safely say, and I proudly say, I have lived for you;
and it is an equal gratification for me to be allowed to assert, that
I die for you."--Ten thousand blessings followed the delivery of this
sentence.

"My death, therefore, is not to be considered pitiable, if regarded in
that light. I am pleased that I have been thought worthy of this honour.
I am delighted that my oppressors have given me an opportunity of
leaving life with so much satisfaction to myself. Let me beg of you,
therefore, to refrain from any exhibition of regret for the manner of
my death--it is a very humane one; and my persecutors have shown me
a kindness in allowing me to be so disposed of.--I see nothing in it
terrible. I see nothing in it painful. I see nothing in it of shame or
dishonour. 'T is a blow, and it is over.--Had my oppressors wished, I
might have died suffering the most excruciating tortures. Had I lived,
probably I might have been the victim of some loathsome disease; or have
been deprived of my faculties--have become idiotic, or insane, or blind;
and at the last extremity have been deserted by friends, or left without
the means of serving those who most required assistance. How much better
is it for me to close my existence in this way, without pain, in the
full enjoyment of my reason, and surrounded by friends; and although
I am rendered incapable of continuing of use to you, the remembrance
of the pleasures I have enjoyed from a life of active benevolence is
sufficiently agreeable to overpower the regret I feel in having been
left to so unprofitable an end."--Again murmurs of applause broke from
all parts of the crowd.

"There is however a regret, which is powerful, and which I require all
my philosophy to endure.--I regret that I leave my country in a worse
condition than I found her.--I regret that the freedom for which I
strived so earnestly is passing away from her people.--I regret to see
a state of bondage in preparation for the free hearts around me, which
is likely to deprive them of all their noblest privileges. I was born
a free citizen, and a free citizen I will die. The galling chains of
abject servitude which are being forged for you shall never disgrace
my nature. Remember, oh, my countrymen, that freedom is your natural
inheritance; and although it would be madness to attempt its
repossession without sufficient means, never give up the desire of
liberty--wait the fitting time; and while you endure, forget not that
the graves of your fathers are disgraced, and the spirits of your
children are being dishonoured."--The citizens testified, by loud shouts
and eager exclamations, their assent to the sentiments expressed by the
philanthropist; and many were the fierce looks directed towards the
soldiery.

"If there is any man amongst you whom I have injured, I desire of him
most earnestly to tell me the wrong I have done, that I may repair it
before I die. I am quite certain that I have never done any one an
intentional injury; but if I have left undone any good which I might
have done, I consider that I have done an injustice, and would remedy it
before it be too late. Speak, my fellow-citizens; tell me what injuries
against you I have committed."--There was an eloquent silence, that
lasted for several minutes. Each man looked at his neighbour, and all
saw that the philanthropist had no accuser.

"There is one more subject to which I wish to draw your attention, and
it is the last," said Master Porphyry, in a voice less firm than had
distinguished the delivery of the preceding portion of his discourse.
"I have a son. My persecutors, while punishing me, have thought proper
to make my child a beggar;--_that_ I feel. He possesses many good
qualities--many good qualities likely to render him an excellent
citizen. Let me bequeath him to your care."--A simultaneous shout of
assent from the immense multitude proved that the appeal had not been
made in vain.

"And now that I have left nothing undone, and nothing untold, I must
take my leave of you."

"No, no!" was shouted by every voice.

"My dear friends, it must be," continued Master Porphyry; "I am taking
up the time of these good people; and although it is a pleasure for me
to linger among you, I must not purchase it at the expense of trouble to
others. I should leave you with a cheerful heart, if I had not upon me
the fear that there is much suffering preparing for you; and I should
die without an unkind feeling against any human creature, if I did not
possess at this time a natural indignation against your oppressors. For
myself I have no fear--those who have wronged me I forgive; but I have
the feelings of a man and a citizen, and I cannot forgive the enemies
of my country."--Groans and indignant exclamations here rose on every
side. "I implore you to desist from the exhibition of any acts of
violence with the hope of procuring my liberation. There is not a chance
of success. You will be slaughtered in crowds the first attempt of the
kind you may make. Let not my last moments be made wretched by seeing
your blood shed unavailingly. If I have done that which seems good in
your eyes, it was with the desire of gaining your love that I did it.
Have I succeeded?"--An universal shout of assent burst from all parts of
the crowd.

"Then I die with the proudest satisfaction I could enjoy under the
circumstances. I hope you will raise for me no useless monuments. I
desire that when I am dead my unprofitable body may meet with no funeral
honours. If I have done that which is honourable, honour me in your
remembrance. If I have done that which is good, teach your children to
do as I have done. With my best wishes for your happiness--with my most
earnest aspirations for your enfranchisement, I can now lay my head
upon the block. Grieve not because I die: you should rejoice that your
fellow-citizen can die without dishonour."

"We'll avenge you, our benefactor!" shouted a voice from the crowd.

"We'll be revenged on your murderers!" exclaimed another.

"Down with the tyrants!" cried a third. Similar exclamations followed,
and the masses of the people seemed in great commotion, pressing forward
towards the soldiery with groans, hisses, and execrations; but when the
different regiments made a movement forward and presented their arms
as if about to fire, the multitude fell back, and order was restored
amongst them.

"Think of your sins, unhappy man," said the priest, with a hypocritical
visage, who was one of those bigots who put on the garment, and know
nothing of the spirit, of religion;--"think of your sins, and repent,
for the kingdom of heaven is at hand."

"I would repent, good sir," replied Master Porphyry, mildly, "if I
thought I had any thing of which I could repent; or if I thought I
could do any good by repenting."

"Confess your sins against your God! confess, and be saved! There is
salvation for the worst of sinners," drawled out the other.

"I am not aware of having committed any sins," said the philanthropist;
"therefore I can have no confession to make."

"How have you served your Creator? What has been your religion?"
inquired his companion, sharply.

"I have considered that philanthropy was the only true religion, and I
have practised it," replied master Porphyry; "and I felt convinced that
the right way of worshipping God was by doing all the good in my power
to my fellow-creatures; and from that way I have never deviated."

"Atheistical, abominable, atrocious, heretical, and damnable!" exclaimed
the priest, with a look of horror. "You are in the hands of the devil.
The church renounces you. Flames and brimstone must be your portion;
wailing and gnashing of teeth your reward."

The philanthropist looked surprised; but turning to one of the
assistant executioners who stood at a short distance, he said, "I am
ready." The man instantly proceeded to disrobe him of his upper garment,
and arranged his dress so that the whole of his neck was bare.

"I would rather have died in that robe," observed he; "for I like not
parting with the honours that have been bestowed upon me. However, it
is gratifying to know that I have never disgraced it. It can give me
no distinction where I am going, therefore there let it lie."--His
countenance every moment appeared to become more benevolent in its
expression; and there was a nobility in his manner that commanded
respect from all around him.

"Kill me as quickly as you can, my good friend," said he to the
executioner; "but after you have killed me you may do what you please."

The citizens had watched with breathless interest the preparations for
Master Porphyry's execution; but when they beheld him kneel down before
the block, and saw the headsman raise his axe, a shudder seemed to pass
over the whole multitude. At this instant a proud-looking man, in a
military costume, appeared upon the scaffold; and, immediately he was
observed, a yell of execration arose from the quadrangle, and from every
place that could command a view of the platform. The officer stood up
his full height, and looked down upon the people with glances of scorn
and contempt. Groans, hisses, and curses became louder and more general.

"Death to the persecutor!" shouted one.

"Down with the oppressor!" cried another.

"Yell on ye wretched rabble!" exclaimed the object of their indignation,
his mustachios curling with a contemptuous sneer, and his eyes flashing
with malignity. "It matters not to me what is said by such vile hounds.
Yell on then, it does my heart good to hear ye; and ye know full well ye
dare not do any thing else." Then turning round to Master Porphyry, he
said, "I have come to testify my loyalty by beholding the death of a
traitor."

"There is no traitor here, Philadelphia," replied the philanthropist,
mildly, "unless it be yourself."

"Oh, the hated tyrant!" shouted some of the multitude.

"The curses of the people are upon thee, thou miserable slave!" cried
others.

"Down with him! Down with the despot! Down with the enslaver of his
country!" exclaimed the rest. At this instant a banner was raised near
the centre of the quadrangle, with the inscription upon it, in large
letters, of "PORPHYRY, OR DEATH!" It was the signal for an immediate
rush towards the scaffold. With one simultaneous cheer the vast
multitude hurried forwards, burst in upon the troops, and with frantic
rage began to struggle with them for the possession of their arms. A
volley of musketry from an opposite window at this moment killed the
executioners and several others, and the rest, with the exception of
Philadelphia and Master Porphyry, took to flight.

"Leap down here, my benefactor, and I will save you," shouted a voice
from beneath the platform.

"You shall not escape me a second time, my enemy," muttered the noble
as he drew his sword, and with a look of mingled hatred and ferocity
exclaimed, "Thus I punish a traitor!" as he drove the weapon through
the body of his companion.

The philanthropist gazed on his murderer, more in sorrow than in anger;
and the only words he uttered, before he dropped down dead on the
platform, were, "MY BROTHER!" The miserable fratricide seemed confounded
by the avowal; but little time was allowed him for reflection. Curses,
yells, screams, groans, and execrations burst from the assembled
citizens as they noticed the death of their chief magistrate; and
Philadelphia fell by his side, pierced by a hundred bullets. A shout
of triumph arose when they beheld the fall of the tyrant; and, as if
inspirited by the sight, they threw themselves upon the soldiery in
countless masses, and endeavoured to drag them from their horses, or
wrest their weapons out of their hands. In this manoeuvre, although it
was attended by immense loss of life, many succeeded; but the strength
and discipline of the troops at last prevailed, and the citizens were
forced out of the quadrangle; and when the artillery began to play upon
them they dispersed in all directions.

The soldiery were now forming ready to make a charge in case the people
should re-assemble, when from the stone buildings at the corner of the
avenue a most destructive fire of heavy cannon was opened upon them.
Every window in the neighbourhood was broken by the concussion, and the
havoc made in both the horse and foot regiments was excessive. The word
was given for the foot soldiers to endeavour to take these buildings by
assault, and they marched forward for that purpose; but directly they
came near enough, a continuous stream of bullets issued from every place
that could command a shot at them, and they fell back in confusion.
Again they advanced to the assault, pouring in a steady fire at the
windows; but these spaces were blocked up with sand-bags, allowing only
sufficient room for a ship's gun to be run in and out, and they were
defended by the crew of the Albatross, under the command of their
veteran captain. After fighting their way through all opposition,
assisted by detachments from the fleet, and by the citizens, they had
dragged the guns through the city, and when the people made their attack
upon the soldiers, they were preparing their batteries. The military
again came to the attack, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the brave
sailors; and although they persisted for a long time in endeavouring to
obtain possession of the buildings, they were repulsed and retreated in
disorder.

The artillery was then brought to bear upon the place, but scarcely
had it been placed in a proper position, before it was rendered
unserviceable by the destructive fire from the batteries; and the troops
finding that they were being mowed down without a chance of silencing
their opponents, charged up the avenue--the horse supported by the foot
regiments. Here they were met by a fire of musketry from the houses
on each side, and having passed a short distance amid showers of
heavy missiles, that were hurled down upon them from the tops of the
buildings by the enraged citizens, they came to a barrier hastily
erected of stones and earth, from which a murderous fire from three
thirty-two pounders opened upon them as they advanced, throwing the
cavalry into confusion, and causing them to retreat in disorder upon
the infantry.

Here they were joined by a strong reinforcement, consisting of several
thousand fresh troops, and a charge was made upon the barrier which,
after an obstinate resistance, was forced. They then proceeded onwards,
exposed to a destructive fire from the neighbouring houses; but they
had not advanced above a hundred yards, when they were thrown into a
complete derout by the hasty retreat of a regiment of horse, which fell
back upon them, scattering dismay and terror into their ranks. Shouts of
triumph were heard in the distance, accompanied by the fierce roar
of cannon, and the rattle of frequent volleys of musketry. While the
whole military force was on the point of endeavouring to find safety
in flight, they were joined by another large reinforcement, and the
cavalry having re-formed as soon as they beheld the new troops, they
moved forward in a body to where it was evident that a violent contest
was raging. They continued to meet parties both of horse and foot flying
from the scene of action; and these were received into their ranks.

Having passed through several streets, fighting at every step, they
advanced under a broad archway into an open park. Here a tremendous
battle was still going on. The two contending armies were placed
opposite each other, and had been engaged for several hours attacking
each other's positions, and defending their own. The army of the people
had taken up a position on a <DW72> with a plantation of fine oak trees
on one side, and a deep but narrow rivulet on the other. Their centre
was composed of the national guards; their right wing consisted of a
body of several thousand sailors; and their left was a body of armed
citizens equally numerous, supported by several batteries, and a reserve
of cavalry. They were opposed by the flower of the emperor's troops;
but their superior discipline and military skill availed them nothing.
Although the citizens suffered severely from the attacks which were
made upon them, they increased in numbers every hour. Thousands joined
their ranks; new batteries were raised; and while the enemy was losing
strength, they were increasing their forces.

Oriel Porphyry, on his landing, made for the rendezvous which had been
agreed upon. Here he placed himself at the head of his own regiment of
dragoons; with which, assisted by the citizens from their houses, he
attacked several parties of the military that paraded the streets. The
national guards then began to make their appearance in great numbers;
and these having provided themselves with arms from the gun-shops while
the young merchant kept the imperial troops employed, soon collected
together and marched to his assistance. Finding himself in two or three
hours at the head of a body of nearly twenty thousand men, willing to
follow wherever he led, he left the street-fighting to the citizens, and
sending several detachments in different directions, so as, as much
as possible, to divide the attention of the military, he took up the
position that has been described, in the park, with the intention of
attacking a large body of troops there posted.

The battle began by a division of the imperial troops attempting to
force a bridge over the rivulet, which was defended by the sailors,
supported by several pieces of cannon. The attack was continued with
great spirit, reinforcements arriving almost every half hour; but it was
defended with equal bravery, and the soldiers were beaten back every
time with very great loss. Two regiments of cavalry then were sent
against it, but the bridge being narrow, only a few could attempt to
cross at a time, and these were brought down by the cannon and musketry
as soon as they made their appearance. The lower part of the bridge
became blocked up with dead bodies, and the cavalry, after repeated
efforts, were obliged to retreat, having lost nearly one third of their
number.

An attempt was now made on the wood by a strong party of infantry, while
the cavalry in great force made an attack upon the centre; but a strong
palisade had been raised among the trees, from which the citizens,
in almost perfect security, poured a deadly fire upon the advancing
columns, which thinned their ranks rapidly; and the national guards
having formed into square, as the cavalry advanced, received them
with such streams of bullets, that they staggered and fell back. They
repeated the attack several times, and always met with the same result.
While these proceedings had been going on, Oriel Porphyry had given
orders for the sailors to pass the bridge, whom he supported with his
cavalry, and they fell with irresistible impetuosity upon the left wing
of the enemy, which had been considerably weakened by its unsuccessful
attacks upon the bridge.

The young merchant dashed on at the head of his dragoons, exhibiting the
most daring valour. He had had three horses killed under him during the
battle, and had been wounded in several places, but he continued his
brilliant career, making both cavalry and infantry fly before him. The
left wing, after a brief resistance, gave way, and they were in full
retreat when they were met by the soldiers who had been on guard in the
quadrangle. Immediately they fled, he made a desperate attack upon the
enemy's rear, and the national guards making a charge at the same moment
all along their line, the imperial troops were thrown into inextricable
confusion, and the reinforcement which made its appearance only came in
time to be mixed up in the general rout. They were pursued from street
to street without the slightest cessation; and so general was the panic
that spread among them on their retreat, that they flung away their
arms, and dispersed in every direction.

A few days after the transactions just narrated the city seemed as
if dressed for a festival. The houses were decorated with garlands
of flowers, flags, and pieces of rich tapestry, and the windows and
house-tops were crowded with elegantly dressed females, and the citizens
in their holyday-dresses. Every face seemed breathing gladness, and
every eye beamed with delight. The long thoroughfares were thronged with
spectators, all of whom wore the same joyful expression of countenance;
they were waiting the expected return of Oriel Porphyry from his last
battle with the enslavers of his country, in which the emperor had been
slain, and his forces completely discomfited.

Distant shouts of triumph announced the approach of the young conqueror;
and every neck was stretched out, and every eye turned in the direction
from whence the sounds proceeded. The cheers of the excited citizens
became gradually more loud, and the impatience of the inhabitants of
the houses more conspicuous. At last the measured sound of military
music came upon the ear, and in a few minutes the whole force of the
metropolitan national guards marched by; every regiment with its band
playing and its ensigns waving; after them came a car, drawn by four
milk-white horses, on which lay the body of the philanthropist in his
robe of honour; it was followed by Oriel Porphyry, or, to give him his
proper title, the prince of Philadelphia, bare-headed, on a powerful
war-charger, who seemed by his prancings and curvettings, proud of the
noble burden he carried. Blessings were showered upon him from every
side; flowers descended on his head, and all hailed him as the deliverer
of his country. His handsome countenance and manly figure never appeared
impressed with such a nobility of character as when he bowed in
acknowledgment of the universal enthusiasm which was excited in his
favour. Eureka rode at his side, expressing by her beautiful countenance
the delight she experienced. His own regiment of cavalry came next,
and they were followed by the crew of the Albatross, and of the other
merchant vessels that had assisted him in the struggle. Nothing was
heard among the people but cheering and exclamations of praise; nothing
was seen but the waving of caps and handkerchiefs.

In the course of the same day Oriel Porphyry was declared emperor of the
Columbians; and when he ascended the throne of his country Eureka shared
in his glory.


THE END.


  LONDON:
  Printed by A. SPOTTISWOODE,
  New-Street-Square.




Transcriber's Note


A table of Contents has been added.

Text in italics has been placed between _underscores_ and text in small
capitals has been changed to all capitals.

Some punctuation errors have been corrected silently. Inconsistent use
of quotation marks in some parts of the book has not been changed.

The following corrections have been made, on page

   15 "Chinberkin" changed to "Climberkin" (the strong grasp of Boggle
      and Climberkin that prevented)

   32 "ome" changed to "some" (I offended some and surprised others)

   98 "shrunkback" changed to "shrunk back" (She shrunk back from)

  109 "acknowment" changed to "acknowledgement" (from my
      acknowledgement of these sentiments)

  129 "because" changed to "became" (and the farmers became fishermen)

  178 "n" changed to "in" (in evident confusion)

  178 "trange" to "strange" (can there be strange or unaccountable)

  182 "Lilya'" changed to "Lilya's" (such hearts as yours and Lilya's)

  200 "thumber" changed to "number" (or the mere number of books
      comparatively useless)

  279 "misable" changed to "miserable" (a very shocking miserable
      sinner).

Otherwise the original was preserved, including archaic and inconsistent
spelling and hyphenation.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lady Eureka, v. 3 (of 3), by
Robert Folkestone Williams

*** 