CONTENTS
| [I.] | A CONVERSATION UPON THE PAST, THE PRESENT, AND THE FUTURE. |
| [II.] | AUSTRALIAN CIVILISATION. |
| [III.] | POSTHUMOUS AND HIS MUSEUM. |
| [IV.] | A CONVERSAZIONE. |
| [V.] | THE PHILANTHROPIST IN TROUBLE. |
| [VI.] | CHINA, ITS LAWS, CUSTOMS, AND PEOPLE. |
| [VII.] | A CHINESE POET. |
| [VIII.] | THE MONSOON. |
| [IX.] | GAME LAWS IN INDIA. |
| [X.] | ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE DANGER OF GOOD INTENTIONS. |
| [XI.] | ATHENIA. |
EUREKA;
A PROPHECY OF THE FUTURE.
[CHAPTER I.]
A CONVERSATION UPON THE PAST, THE PRESENT, AND THE FUTURE.
“Now, doctor, you know my secret, and the whole of it,” said Zabra, at the conclusion of a long and interesting narrative he had communicated to Dr. Tourniquet, upon one of his professional visits. “Let not a word pass from your lips concerning what I have told you, for it would do me irreparable mischief. Be in your behaviour to me exactly as you have been. The slightest alteration would create suspicion, and that I am most anxious to avoid. May I rely upon you?”
“Rely upon me!” cried the surgeon, while his good-natured countenance was glowing with benevolence. “If you ever catch me saying a word, I’ll allow any body to make a preparation of me before I’m dead. I’d sooner demonstrate upon my own skeleton, don’t you see, than betray your secret. By all that’s good, you’re an extraordinary creature—a more extraordinary creature than ever I met with in the whole course of my practice. I always thought there was something strange about you, don’t you see—a mystery I could not exactly understand—but now every thing appears as simple as the first rudiments of medicine.”
“You gratify me exceedingly by this assurance,” observed the youth, “and I am delighted by your ready acquiescence with my wishes. How can I best express my gratitude?”
“Tush, tush—don’t talk about that,” replied the other kindly. “Knowing what I do of you, I would do any thing in the world to serve you, don’t you see. Consider me from this time as your father, your brother, or your friend, and whenever my advice or assistance can be useful, apply to me, and I will do all in my power to forward your interests.”
“You overpower me with your goodness,” said his young companion, returning the cordial pressure of the hand he had received. “Can I ever repay——”
“Tush, tush, never mind repaying,” hastily rejoined the doctor. “I am well repaid by the pleasure it gives me to assist in your noble intentions, don’t you see. But if I may be allowed to give you a little advice, I should strongly recommend you not to be so careless of your life as you have been. You are not formed for fighting, don’t you see. You are not strong enough; but notwithstanding that, to my certain knowledge you paid off many of the piratical rascals pretty handsomely, and showed them to what profit you could apply the lessons they had given you. When I think of you finishing some of the scoundrels so dexterously as you did, I am filled with wonder. However, it is not right. You stand no chance in the midst of a set of strong ferocious men intent upon destroying all who oppose them. Your escape is a miracle; but you should remember that you cannot be spared.”
“Ah, doctor!” replied his patient, with a languid smile, “what made you join in the conflict? Consider if you had been killed, what would have become of the wounded.”
“True, true,” responded Tourniquet; “I never gave that a thought. But I had no time to think. I saw every one preparing to fight, and I knew we should all be massacred if we didn’t succeed. Although it was a sort of trade to which I was quite unused, the examples I saw before me made me valiant, and when I got fairly into the fray, I found myself obliged to cut away as hard as I could, don’t you see. Fortyfolios, too, didn’t do amiss. It’s wonderful how the prospect of being cut to pieces, if one don’t fight, makes a fellow fight. The professor went at it as if he was at one of his old arguments; and I must say this for him, he convinced his opponents then much more perfectly than he does in his verbal disputes.”
“He is not hurt, I hope?” inquired Zabra earnestly.
“No, but he had a narrow escape,” replied the doctor. “A ball grazed his ear, and a cutlass has scratched his ribs. I should have been sorry if either had taken the effect intended; for although he is somewhat dogmatical and intemperate in his manner of arguing, he possesses no ordinary share of learning, don’t you see.”
“How are the rest of the wounded getting on?” asked his patient.
“Famously,” said the surgeon cheerfully; “I think they are all doing well. I may add, as well as it is possible for them to do. Two or three of them have been severely used; on one I shall be obliged to perform an operation. Climberkin’s wounds are beginning to heal; Ardent has returned to his duty. Many have received but trifling hurts, and Hearty, Boggle, and Master Porphyry have escaped without a scratch. This is rather surprising, considering that the old man Hearty—Captain Hearty we must call him now, I suppose—fine old fellow! hacked his way through the pirates with a cool, steady, determined courage that nothing could withstand; and as for Oriel Porphyry, he fought like a hero. I never saw such a change in any man, don’t you see. He looked as if he’d been born a conqueror, and for the first time in his life had ventured into his right element. There was such a fire in his eyes, and such a grandeur in his appearance. It was extraordinary. His very looks seemed to kill; none could resist him.”
“Is he not a noble creature?” said Zabra, his eyes again glowing with all their accustomed animation.
“Indeed he is,” replied Dr. Tourniquet, with emphasis: “I don’t wonder at your enthusiasm, don’t you see. I shall begin to look upon him with a similar admiration myself. I never could have supposed that the mere appearance of daring valour was so grand and imposing; but there is something of the cause of this in his tall manly figure, and handsome countenance, don’t you see.”
“Hush! there is his footstep,” exclaimed the youth earnestly, as he arranged with his unwounded arm the bed-clothes closely around him. “This place is too dark for him to see very accurately, which is what I require. There! be feeling my pulse when he enters.”
“How is he now, doctor,” inquired Oriel Porphyry, advancing towards the hammock near which the surgeon stood, seemingly intent upon his professional duties.
“His pulse is getting more firm,” said Dr. Tourniquet, assuming an air of great seriousness, “and his wound is suppurating healthily. He cannot be doing better. But you must apply to the patient for further information, as I am obliged to go my rounds, don’t you see.” So saying, the doctor departed.
“Are you better, Zabra?” affectionately asked Master Porphyry, seating himself by the hammock of his wounded friend.
“Much better, Oriel,” replied the youth, as he held out his hand to clasp that of his patron. The merchant’s son felt that the small hand within his own was dry and hot, and that the flesh had lost much of the roundness by which it had previously been distinguished.
“Your skin feels feverish,” remarked his companion. “But not so much so, I think, as it was yesterday; and your eyes look more brilliant. I shall be delighted when you recover, not only because I miss the rich melody of your voice, and the stirring eloquence of your conversation, but because I know the confinement and inaction consequent upon this indisposition can scarcely be endurable to such a nature as yours. But when you do recover, which I hope will be speedily, I will take care you shall not again run into such risks. Who could have supposed that you were planning such an admirable scheme! I had not the slightest idea of such a thing. Far from it, I thought, and I blame myself exceedingly for having entertained a suspicion to your prejudice, that you had some sinister intention in your behaviour to the pirates. It is only an act of justice on my part to acknowledge that I have thought unworthily of you, without a cause; but I am too well aware that such an avowal forms an inadequate reparation, you must therefore allow me to express my regrets for the injury I have done you, in a manner more in accordance with my own sense of right. I am indebted to you not only for life and liberty, but for all that render them in my case more than usually endurable; for this I can never be sufficiently grateful: and when my father comes to know, as know he soon shall, how much you assisted in rescuing his ship from the pirates, and his son from their weapons, I am quite sure that he will rather seek to increase than diminish the measure by which I would show the extent of the obligation you have rendered. But, besides this, I have a natural affection for you, which has been created by a knowledge of your amiable disposition and noble character; and I should wish you always to be with me, that I might as much as possible profit by the example of your good qualities; therefore you must submit to the necessity of sharing my fortune, and of becoming in every respect the equal of myself.”
“This cannot be, Oriel,” said the other mildly. “Allow me still the same opportunities I have enjoyed of watching over your safety; and if, through my care and attention you are enabled to return unharmed to Eureka, and your sentiments in my favour remain the same, and she shows no disinclination to their indulgence, I will offer no further opposition.”
“This is very strange of you,” remarked Oriel Porphyry. “Very strange: I cannot account for it, except I imagine that there is a sort of pride in your nature that cannot accommodate itself to any thing in the shape of favours from another.”
“It is not that,” replied the youth languidly. “Indeed, it is not that. Your kindness has made upon me so deep an impression, and your friendship has become so intimately commingled with all my sympathies, that now I should find it a difficult matter to exist without them. But there are causes which I cannot explain, that prevent my accepting your generous proposals, independently of which there is nothing in what I have done that deserves such a return. Remember that my duty here is to endeavour to preserve you from every danger by which you may be threatened. I have accepted an office, and I am bound to fulfil its duties. In the part I played to effect your escape out of the power of those wretches, I only performed what I had engaged myself to do; and although my efforts to deceive your captors were repugnant to my feelings, I continued the deception because I saw that there was no way of effecting your liberation, but by practising deceit. Again, I assure you, that Eureka will amply reward me (if a reward be necessary) for any service I may be so fortunate as to be able to render you.”
“But why am not I to be allowed to acknowledge the obligation according to my own sense of your merit?” asked his patron.
“Because it is Eureka’s chief pleasure,” replied Zabra, with a faltering voice, “to reward after her own fashion those whom she employs to serve him to whom she is devoted; and surely you would not wish to deprive her of a gratification to the enjoyment of which she puts forth, as you acknowledge, so good a title.”
“Well, well, I must reserve my gratitude for her then, I suppose,” said Oriel Porphyry. “But, of course, you will remain with me as you have hitherto done.”
“Till there shall be no longer any occasion for my stay,” responded the other. “While you love Eureka, there will always appear to me to be a necessity for my remaining with you; but when your love for her disappears, there will be no longer occasion for my presence.”
“Love her I always shall, for I always must; so if your stay with me depends upon the duration of my affection for her, we are not likely to separate in this life,” observed the young merchant.
“I would I were certain of it,” murmured his companion.
“Of nothing ought you to be more assured,” replied Oriel. “Were I entirely to forget the dazzling beauty of her features, there is an earnestness of purpose in her character which will make itself remembered at all times. The nobility of her sentiments I honoured, by endeavouring to become worthy of her greatness, and the confidence with which I was treated excited in me a desire to act in such a manner as should give her no cause to withdraw it. In her person there appeared to me the avatar of all things noble, fond, and beautiful, and I did it homage with so earnest a devotion that my respect soon became an idolatry. I had no enjoyment except in her presence; I could find no excellence from which she was absent. I honoured her above all honour. I regarded her as the best as well as the dearest of human beings. I was eloquent in her praise, and devout in her worship; and thus from day to day passed the joyous time, teeming with happiness, and prodigal of honours, till there seemed in the eyes of each to be no wealth and no distinction worthy to be desired, which the other did not possess. Truly was Eureka all the world to me. An empire was in her love, and all honourable things were in her gift.”
Zabra had listened attentively, but nothing save a brighter glow in his lustrous eyes expressed the interest he took in the conversation. He did not attempt to interrupt the speaker, and when the last sentence was concluded he made no reply.
“Can you add nothing in her praise, Zabra?” asked Oriel Porphyry, after a pause of a few minutes.
“She requires no praise, Oriel, certainly none from me,” replied the youth. “Your applause is no doubt gratifying to her—for the heart that truly loves cannot exist but in the estimation of the lover. But there is an eulogy beyond mere praise, for which the devoted are ever desirous—the strong and earnest love, whose voice is action, and whose language is sympathy.”
“And that does she possess,” rejoined his companion earnestly. “My sympathies are with her at all times, and at every place, and there is no act that I perform in which I do not consider the interpretation I would have it bear in her affections. I am afraid, Zabra, this encounter with the pirates has stirred up again all those ambitious notions I have fostered with the design of achieving a renown worthy of her greatness. Certainly my first efforts in traffic, among such mean scoundrels as Boor and his brethren, did not give me so exalted an opinion of my father’s profession as he and others possess. But any opportunity like the one which has thus accidentally fallen in my way will throw my blood into a ferment, and make my spirit yearn after a fair field in which to develope its energies, as they now exist. Yes, I feel as if I could only live in a life of enterprise. Inaction seems to chain me down into a slavish bondage; but when the weapon is in my grasp, and the motive within my soul, an atmosphere of freedom breathes around me, and I rise above the herd into something nearer the superiority to which I aspire.”
“From what I saw of you in our late affray, I cannot help acknowledging your capability for a leader,” said the youth. “You looked as if you were born to conquer. Your bearing was such as would induce thousands to follow in your footsteps—and your weapon flashed annihilation in your path.”
“Pooh! it was a paltry enemy,” replied Oriel disdainfully, “and they were easily crushed; but let me be at the head of armies; let my battle-field be a kingdom, and my enemy a tyrant, and then I will show of what spirit I am made.”
“That cannot be, Oriel,” added the other. “You must be satisfied with what you are; and as that condition is sufficiently honourable in the eyes of Eureka, you ought not to indulge in more ambitious aspirations. The risk you run in this life of enterprise should also be considered. Remember that you would hourly be in danger of immediate death, and if that were to happen where would be your ambition, and where would be Eureka’s happiness? No! it is a subject of congratulation that there are no armies for you to lead, and no tyrants for you to conquer.”
“There I think you are mistaken,” cried his companion eagerly. “If I do not misinterpret the signs of the times, there is a spirit stirring in Columbia which will soon make itself evident in appearances that will not a little alarm its weak and despotic ruler. There is a cloud over the face of the whole country, and it will not be long before it break out into a mighty storm. Then let them look to themselves. It will come with a rush that must sweep away every obstacle before it. The whole of our complicated machinery of misgovernment will be broken up into fragments so small, that no future tyrant shall be able to patch it together again—and then will come the day of reckoning for the people. The task-masters will themselves be brought to task, and have to con the lessons they have set others. I only wish to live to see that day. I only wish to put myself forward in the movement—and lead the way that shall give freedom to my fellow-citizens. I am confident of the result. No power on earth can resist a mass of men struggling to break the bonds by which they have been fettered, when the impetus by which they are set in motion is properly directed; and for their chief I know, I feel I have all the necessary qualifications. Then I should be in my proper place. Then would the energies which now render my nature restless and dissatisfied have ample scope for their developement—and then, Zabra, my friend and brother, you should behold me performing such actions as shall more worthily excite your admiration, than the inglorious one of destroying a few wretched pirates.”
“You almost convince me of the desirableness of seeing your visions of glory realised,” remarked Zabra, with increased animation. “I did not imagine it would be possible; but when I listen to you, I find myself wishing you to play the noble part for which you are so well fitted: but then the thought of the dangers to which you will be exposed fills me with dread. I know that in you Eureka has concentrated all her hopes of happiness; and when I reflect upon the perils of the sort of life you are desirous of leading, I fear that it will end in no good to either her or you. But we will talk of this again at a future time. In what state have you found the ship and her cargo?”
“The ship is as much changed as it is possible for any vessel to be,” replied the merchant’s son. “I scarcely knew the Albatross again. Externally she has not suffered, but her interior accommodations have been completely altered. She has been pierced for thirty guns, all of which are ready for immediate use—a powder magazine has been formed out of one of the cabins, which is abundantly stored with ammunition—weapons of every description are piled up in immense chests—and provisions for a long voyage have been carefully provided. The cargo has not been touched. It is evident to me, that that scoundrel Compass, or Death, or whatever his name was, imagined that I would join him in his nefarious scheme to entrap my father’s vessels; and as he knew he could not find so good a market for his plunder by any other plan, he fancied that I could be induced to assist him in its disposal. Propositions of this nature he made to me; and although every time he spoke on the subject I felt an inclination to hack him into shreds, seeing the uselessness of any attempt at resistance, I concealed my indignation as well as I could, till you communicated to me your plan for our deliverance. I saw that it could not fail of success, if ordinary vigilance was used; and my hatred of the miscreants by whom I was detained led me to play my part in the deception, which was attended with all the result we anticipated. Your wound is the only drawback to the delight I feel at our escape.”
“Oh, think not of that!” exclaimed the youth warmly: “it will soon be healed.”
“I hope so,” responded Oriel. “As for the captain of the gang, I am only sorry that I had not an opportunity of acknowledging to him my obligations. But I think I have spoiled his career of piracy, that is one subject for congratulation. His retreat is destroyed—he has no vessel—and one half of his men are as well provided for as if the hangman had done his duty. But he was a bold villain. If what he has said of himself be true, he was fitted for better things; and from what I remarked in him, I conclude his narrative was true, at least a considerable portion of it. It appeared to me as if he only affected the vulgarity of his associates; for there were times when his conversation rose into something much superior to his ordinary language. It is evident that his intention was to put to sea almost immediately, and commence a new career of plunder and violence—happily we have been enabled to disappoint him; and I intend, at the first port we touch at, to add to our crew a sufficient number of able-bodied seamen, as will not only work the ship effectively during her voyage, but will defend her with resolution in case she should be attacked. Although I have not more inclination for a mercantile life than when I first came on board this vessel, I will not, in any way, unless it be unavoidable, diverge from the path my father wishes me to pursue, until I return, and then I shall expect to be allowed to follow my own inclinations, and choose my own road to distinction.”
“It must be so, I suppose,” remarked Zabra. “Any opposition on my part would be fruitless—nay, if it were not for the dangers which you must encounter in a life of active warfare, I should be among the first to approve of your ambitious desires—I should love to see you the creator of your own glory—I should delight in the honours you would achieve—I should rejoice in your renown—but I must think of her whom I serve, who, although she would equally admire your greatness, could not avoid thinking of the perils of the path by which only it can be acquired, and must live in a state of constant anxiety while you were pursuing your dangerous career. You do not think sufficiently of her feelings. Why can you not be satisfied with inheriting the fame and wealth of your admirable father, and the happiness which must surely be your own as long as you prove yourself anxious for its possession?”
“Why does the sun shine?—why does the tide ebb and flow?” said Oriel hastily. “They follow the end for which they were made, and the same absolute law compels me to make out the purposes for which I was created. There is nothing so unreasonable as expecting one human being to become like another whose nature is entirely opposite to his. I have known inconsiderate persons say to one whose disposition is restless and dissatisfied, and whose inclinations are violent and ungovernable, ‘Look at such a one—he is content with his condition, and goes on his own quiet way, creating no desire that cannot easily be indulged; why cannot you be like him?’—as easily might the mountain torrent be made like the stream of the valley. One flows on its own level course, meeting with no obstruction, and the other, at every portion of its path, is forced to dash itself against the unrelenting rocks that oppose its progress. And how unjust is the manner in which each individual is regarded! one is praised for continuing its unvarying tranquillity—and the other is censured for the unceasing turmoil in which it exists. This is preposterous. No more have such characters made their own dispositions than the stream made the level land through which it flows, or the torrent created the rocks over which it leaps. Dam up the gentle rivulet with huge masses of stone, and see how quickly it will become as much troubled as its unjustly abused associate of the mountain; and take the rocks from the path of the torrent, and the quietude with which it will pursue its course will rival the tranquillity of its over-lauded brother of the valley. If there is any praise due at all it is to him who struggles on against all impediments, and shows that his spirit is not to be put down by the obstacles that retard his progress. Complain of his being restless and dissatisfied—how can he be any thing else, when his soul is kept in a constant fret by the worry of continual opposition? Say that his inclinations are violent and ungovernable—can it ever be otherwise, when they are daily accumulating in force, because they are allowed no opportunity for indulgence? Nothing can be more unjust to a man thus situated than to tell him to endeavour to be like another, whose situation is as opposite to his as are the poles to one another; and nothing can be more unwise than to complain of this man, because his disposition does not resemble that of another, whose way of life, and habits of thinking, and hopes and passions, are as different to his as any two sets of things can possibly be made. As for me, I am what I am—neither better nor worse. Let those who think me worse than I am keep to themselves their evil thoughts, that the force of ill opinion does not make me become what they unjustly imagine me to be; but let those who think me better than I am proclaim to me their flattering testimonials, that, knowing what excellences they fancy I possess, I may use every exertion to deem myself worthy of their good opinion, and at last succeed in obtaining the very qualities for which I was undeservedly honoured by their too indulgent regard.”
“Ah, Oriel!” replied his young companion affectionately, “you know it would be difficult for any one who knows you well to imagine a quality of good you have not made your own.”
“If I listen to you, I must be content to remain what I am,” said Oriel Porphyry, as he rose to take his leave. “And as such a state of things does not satisfy me, to prevent myself being spoiled for any better purpose, I must, for the present, leave you—of course with my best wishes for your speedy recovery.”
“Thank you, Oriel, thank you!” exclaimed Zabra warmly, returning the affectionate pressure of the hand he at that moment received, and following, with his eyes overflowing with his friendly feelings, the retreating form of his kind and generous patron.
[CHAP. II.]
AUSTRALIAN CIVILISATION.
Time had passed. The vessel had gone gallantly on her voyage, and was now quietly riding at anchor in the port of Sydney, the magnificent metropolis of the great empire of Australia. Oriel Porphyry had landed to transact business with an individual of some note in that part of the world. Posthumous was an extensive manufacturer, who had amassed an immense fortune by a mechanical discovery he had purchased, by means of which one machine was made to do the work of ten; and the funds at his disposal he employed in forming a museum, which he intended leaving, at his death, for the benefit of his country. His love of fame was his ruling passion; and to acquire it he seemed inclined to make any sacrifice. He accumulated every thing which he considered rare or curious for his museum; but, as he was no judge of the value of the collection he was forming, he often purchased things perfectly worthless, merely because they were recommended to him as objects that might be regarded with the greatest interest by posterity. To all who visited him, his pride was to exhibit his collection; and, although none were more ignorant of its real nature than himself, none could expatiate so much at length upon its merits. He was a walking catalogue—a talking index—a living table of contents; and he seemed as if he knew of no pleasure that did not allow him to display his museum and gossip about every specimen it contained.
Oriel and Zabra were walking together to the residence of the person thus described, when the former, doubtful as to whether he was pursuing the right direction, observing a man leaning against a post near a crossing at a short distance, went up to him for the purpose of making inquiries as to the exact locality of the place of which he was in search. The man was a street sweeper. His broom was beside him; and he was so intent upon a book he appeared to be studying, that Oriel noticed its title. It was “Geometry for Beggars.”
“Pray can you direct me to Botany Square?” inquired the young merchant.
“Botany Square is an ellipsis,” replied the matter-of-fact sweeper; “but if the transverse, conjugate, and abscissa are known, it is easy to find the ordinate. To proceed to it from this point requires a right line to where the next street appears at a right angle with it, whence, going along any part of its superficies, you will approach where the sides of three streets form an isosceles triangle; take the one side nearest to you in its whole extent, which having found, describe the area of a trapezium, whose diagonal is equal to twice its perpendiculars; and from the centre continue a right line till you approach a trapezoid whose sides are parallel; and from this, diverging in such a manner as to construct a hyperbola, if straight lines be drawn from the centre through the extremities of its conjugate axis, these will lead direct to the ellipsis you are desirous of finding.”
“Can you direct me to Botany Square?” again asked Oriel Porphyry, puzzled to think whether the man was mad or did not understand his question.
“Botany Square is an ellipsis, I tell you again,” said the geometrician rather sharply; “and Euclid himself could not have described to you a more accurate method of finding it than that you have just heard from me. Work the problem properly, and the result must be what you require. All the parts are equal to the whole; the greater includes the less; and of several equal parts all are alike: and these propositions are not more true than is the answer I have given to your query; therefore allow me to hope that you will, in consideration of the accuracy of my analysis, find the perpendicular of your pocket, subtract from its base any circle whose circumference is a known quantity, and place it within the superficies of my hand.”
“He’s mad!” exclaimed Oriel, walking on.
“He’s minus!” cried the beggar, and returned to his geometry.
The two pedestrians continued on their way, wondering not a little at meeting with the strange character with whom they had just parted, when, upon entering the next street, they observed a confused mass of people running to and fro, shouting and making a most discordant uproar.
“Can you tell me the cause of this disturbance?” inquired Oriel Porphyry, addressing a respectable looking mechanic who was hurrying past him.
“The cause?” replied the stranger, immediately stopping in his career. “The cause is always the phenomenon which precedes the effect. Philosophers have disputed about the most appropriate definition of the term; but in any system of transcendental ideas there must always be an antecedency and a subsequency; and although they have been considered synchronous in their existence, in my opinion the effect is to the cause what the shadow is to the light—the shadow is not in the light, but is produced by the operation of the light upon an object; so the effect is not in the cause, but is produced by the action of the cause upon an agent. Some metaphysicians conceive that the relation of cause and effect should be considered as a synthetical judgment à priori—a postulate of pure reason. In my opinion, this idea is open to many objections; but I will avoid all argument on that point for the present, and merely go into an analysis of the nature of causation. There are three indispensable conditions to any philosophical theory of causation. In the first place, there are two objects—the agent and the patient. Secondly, there are three changes, which are—that of the agent, reason of the effect; that of the patient, effect of the action; that which is produced by the patient on the agent, and the effect of re-action. And, thirdly, there are four distinct moments, which are—that which leads to the action, that which commences with it, that of the re-action, and that which immediately follows the re-action. And——”
“And pray, sir, what has all this to do with the disturbance about which I inquired?” said the young merchant, as much puzzled with the mechanic as he was by the beggar.
“You asked for the cause, and I am explaining to you all the phenomena which a cause may produce,” responded the other. “But I regret I cannot stop to describe to you my original ideas on the subject. If you are anxious to apply your mind to their investigation, you will find them in the Philosophical Chimney-sweep’s Penny Magazine; and if I can be of service to you in any other way, you can always command me on the shortest notice, and on the most reasonable terms.” So saying, he placed a card in Oriel’s hand, and was very quickly out of sight. The card was of a pink colour, was glazed and embossed; and on it was elegantly engraved, “Leibnitz Kant Chummy, Chimney-sweep and Nightman to the Royal Family, in all its branches.” The two friends found quite as much wonder as amusement in what they had heard.
“I had been told that these Australians were the most enlightened people on the earth,” remarked Oriel; “but I certainly never expected to be mystified after this fashion by two individuals belonging to the very lowest ranks, upon merely asking a simple question.”
“Perhaps they are exceptions to the mass,” replied Zabra; “and every one else we meet we shall doubtless find as common-place as we require. Try this old fish-woman: it will be extraordinary, indeed, if you meet with either geometry or metaphysics in her.”
Oriel approached a female whose sex was scarcely distinguishable, as she squatted by a basket of fish, in a man’s old great coat and hat. She observed a stranger advancing towards her; and, believing him to be a customer, she held up one of her fish so as to put all its good qualities into the best situation for minute inspection.
“Fine and fresh—worthy to make a dinner for a prince!” she exclaimed.
“My good woman, can you tell me the attraction which brings all these people together?” asked Oriel Porphyry.
In a moment the old hag put down her fish, and, with the seriousness of a Socrates, replied, “There are three kinds of attraction; which are, the mathematical, the mathematico-physical, and the physical attraction: of which of these do you require a definition?”
“Confound the people, they’re all alike!” exclaimed the young merchant; but the old dame, without noticing the exclamation, continued:—
“Suppose A to be a glass of any comfortable liquor with which you may feel inclined to treat me, and B my mouth, which is at all times very desirous of a coalition with the same. When A moves towards B, it is evident that B has the power directly or indirectly of drawing or attracting A; and when you notice this, and measure the law of the motion, and discover that A moves as if attracted towards B by some simple law, you will easily be enabled to ascertain what will take place if the motion continue. This is mathematical attraction. When it becomes evident that A not only moves towards B, but that B is an agent in the motion created, as, to satisfy the thirst or inclination of B, A is attracted towards it, A always moving where there is thirst or inclination, but never where neither exist, then this is called mathematico-physical attraction. And when, by a power existing in B, A is drawn towards it without any other exciting cause; thus, if nothing else in the world existed but A and B in a state of rest, and A move towards B by some influence which is as much a part of its nature as its thirst or inclination, then would be created what is called physical attraction. And now, for a trifle, I will give you the most convincing demonstration of the modus operandi of all these phenomena.”
“Perdition seize your A and B, I say!” cried Oriel, as he hastily left the old woman to her philosophy.
“An exemplification of repulsion!” muttered she, as she again commenced endeavouring to dispose of her fish.
Oriel and his companion had entered a street of shops, in which they had no sooner made their appearance than they were surrounded by a crowd of tradespeople, bawling in their ears the excellence and cheapness of their commodities, and endeavouring to pull or entice them into their warehouses, the exteriors of which were covered with immense placards, proclaiming the ruin of the sellers, and the advantages which in consequence would accrue to the fortunate buyers.
“Full fifty per cent. under cost price!” cried one.
“A hundred per cent. below the cost, be assured!” shouted another.
“I must be ruined in a week, sir!” proclaimed a third, as if rejoicing at the near approach of his destruction.
“I am ruined!” screamed a fourth, in a tone of emphatic exultation.
“My family must starve!” exclaimed a fifth, without the slightest expression of regret.
“My family are starving!” confessed a sixth, as if it was a subject of the greatest congratulation.
“I have seven children, sir!” whispered a little man, apparently as the most enticing recommendation of his goods.
“I have a wife and ten!” bawled a companion, in a voice of triumph that seemed to silence all competition.
“This way, sir!”
“No; this way!”
“The best goods!”
“The very best!”
“Mine are the cheapest!”
“Mine are much cheaper!”
And thus they went on shouting at and pulling the two young men about, till they were obliged to seek refuge in one of the shops; but immediately they entered the threshold, the whole body of eager applicants for custom left the strangers to the care of their more fortunate fellow-tradesman.
“Really you shopkeepers seem inclined to tear your customers to pieces,” observed Oriel Porphyry with considerable indignation.
“Merely the effect of competition, sir,” coolly replied the chapman, spreading out his wares for inspection.
“Then it is a competition that must be exceedingly disagreeable to the purchaser,” said the young merchant.
“Can’t be helped, sir,” added the man in the same careless tone. “When the supply exceeds the demand, the value of this overproduction must greatly diminish; and every attempt will be made to produce, at any loss, an increased consumption. How many pairs of these gloves would you like to have, sir? You shall have them at a small advance beyond the cost of their carriage from the place in which they were manufactured.”
“But I have no cash about me,” acknowledged Oriel, thinking it would be sufficient to avoid a purchase that was not necessary.
“Not of the slightest consequence, sir. I will gladly give you credit to any amount,” said the obliging tradesman.
“Indeed! why I am a perfect stranger in the country,” observed his unwilling customer with much surprise.
“No matter, sir,” added the other; “public credit must be supported; all business transactions are done upon its responsibility. Ready money is destructive of all the true interests of trade; for, as capital in a state overcrowded in population can never be created in a supply sufficient for the wants of the community, the surest way of preventing those dangerous revolutions which so often affect the monied interests of a great commercial nation is to trade entirely with fictitious capital. This is credit, sir; and we use every means within our power to create it to an extent sufficient to supply all our wants, and to support it in all its sufficiency when it is established. The manufacturer supplies the wholesale dealer; the wholesale dealer provides the retail tradesman; and the retail tradesman carries on his business with his customers upon the sure foundation of credit. Not a coin is seen in the hands of either party from one year’s end to the other; and a man’s wealth is known not by the mere exchangeable property he possesses, but by the extent of the credit he is allowed. Political economy is a wonderful science, sir; and the ancients were entirely ignorant of its true principles. Shall I put you up a few dozen of these stockings? the price, I assure you, does not pay for the raw material.”
“Well, well; as you seem desirous of ruining yourself, I do not see that I ought to stand in your way; so you may let me have a dozen pairs of the stockings and of the gloves,” said Master Porphyry.
“Thank you, sir,” replied the tradesman. “But as for ruin, sir, is it not done for the public good? Think what a man having a wife and ten children to support must feel when he knows that he has reduced them and himself to absolute starvation for the advantage of the community—for the greatest happiness of the greatest number, sir. Beautiful feeling, sir; exquisite consolation; a perfect patriotism! He knows that he becomes a martyr for his country. Think of that, sir! He is conscious of being made a victim for the general advantage. Think of that, sir! And while his skin and bones hang together, he feels the sweet solace that he is allowed to make himself a sacrifice for the wants of those who never heard of his name. Think of that, sir! Any other article, sir?”
“Not at present. It is wonderful to me how, in such a state of things, men can be brought to enter into the pursuits of trade,” observed his customer.
“All the effect of competition, sir,” answered the man quietly. “Fine thing competition. We should none of us enjoy the satisfaction of being ruined, if it was not for competition; and the beautiful principle of it is, sir, that it makes a man consider that he is greatest honoured who is soonest ruined; therefore we all run a race—and a very anxious race it is, I assure you. We undersell each other—we dispose of our goods at a certain loss—we even give them away—and happy is the man who is ruined before his rivals. Admirable thing, competition! Where shall I send them, sir?”
“Send them to Master Porphyry, on board the ship Albatross, now in the harbour, and I will call and pay you before I depart,” replied the young merchant.
“Don’t hurry yourself, sir,” said the tradesman. “Don’t hurry yourself, I entreat. Nay, I should be just as well pleased were you to forget it altogether, for then I shall be a step nearer to the honour I so much covet—the distinction of being ruined before any other person in the same line of business in my immediate neighbourhood. I am grateful to you for your favours. Any thing you may require, sir—the most extensive order you can give me I shall be happy to supply on the same advantageous terms. Any thing you like to accept, sir, is at your disposal. I implore you to have the generosity to assist in my ruin.”
Zabra and his companion, at last, with great difficulty, got out of the shop, and proceeded, unmolested, on their way, till they came to an opening in the street, where several men seemed to be preaching from little elevations, each to his own separate congregation, yet frequently alluding to their coadjutors, in such terms as clearly proved that they were rivals in the trade they had adopted.
“Come, my children, to me, and I will expound to you the law by which alone you can be saved from everlasting punishment,” exclaimed a fat faced little old man to his audience. “Fly from the things of this world—pay your teachers liberally—care not for eating or drinking, or amusing yourselves with idle pleasures, and you shall live in eternal happiness!”
“Fire and brimstone! Flame and torment! Prepare for these, my beloved brethren!” shouted a lank fellow with a most hypocritical physiognomy. “Ye who are the elect shall enjoy the good things, but scorching and burning shall be the everlasting portion of those who are not of our communion.”
“Heed not the voices of ungodly men, to whom the evangelical grace has not descended,” cried a stern-visaged preacher. “Our way is a way of mercy, a way of charity, and a way of peace. But rejoice, oh my hearers! for the time is not afar off when we will smite the unbelievers from shoulder to hip, till their name be utterly removed from the land.”
“Hear a voice which none can understand, but which is sent to enlighten the universe,” screamed one, whose brilliant eyes and wild expression of countenance seemed marked by the influence of insanity—“Hu—ugh—hullabaloo—scrikey-smash—drido—snolk—hi ha botherum—pickwickicksicceriggidiggy——”
“I tell thee, friend, thy way is the way of perdition, humph,” exclaimed another, with a nasal twang, and a clean sleek appearance. “Verily it is the way of the bottomless pit. There is no virtue save under a beaver with a broad brim, humph! and the spirit can only be found in vestments of a formal cut, and of a drab colour, humph!”
“Leave those heretics, my children, who can only hurry you on the road of iniquity, and enter the bosom of the true church,” shouted a brawny fellow in the dress of a mendicant. “Here is holy water, and here are relics that have the power of saving your souls from purgatory.”
“Abominations—abominations—the abominations of the scarlet one of Babylon!” cried one opposite to him with looks of horror and indignation. “Leave them, and I will sprinkle water upon you, which will render you a sheep of our fold.”
“Sprinkling is of no avail!” shrieked a melancholy fanatic. “Come and be dipped—come and be dipped into the waters of everlasting righteousness.”
“Oh, Fader Aprahams!—Fader Aprahams!” said a dark visaged old man with a long beard, as he smote his breast, and turned up his eyes to heaven. “How long shall these obstacles remain in the way of thy chosen!”
“Down with the Jew!” bawled the rest in hideous chorus—“Down with the unrelenting Jew! Our religion is one of universal love. Cut the Jew into a thousand pieces, and cast him to the dogs!”
“Let us leave these miserable brawlers,” exclaimed Oriel, hurrying his companion from the spot. “Truly has my father said that the only religion is philanthropy, and the only worship of God consists in doing good to man. Nothing annoys me so much as observing a parcel of noisy fellows sowing dissension around them on the hypocritical pretence of teaching the surest means of saving sinners from perdition. Disputes about religion, entered into by persons professing different forms of faith, may be compared to the wranglings of a party of men concerning the excellence of different roads in a country of the geography of which all are ignorant.”
“You should not judge of the whole class of teachers by such examples as we have just passed,” remarked Zabra. “That the general influence of the clerical profession is beneficial has been denied by some narrow-minded men, who, because there have been a few instances of unworthiness obtaining distinction in the church, and of vicious propensities disgracing a professed teacher of virtue, denounce the institution that created them as unlikely to produce any real good to the community. But who condemns a fruitful tree, because, while it bears a profitable crop, a handful of blighted fruit may occasionally be found on its branches? The clergy are but a section of the vast mass of the social fabric; and it is as absurd for any one with a knowledge of human nature, to expect that every individual member of its body should be led into the profession by no other motive than the love of virtue, as to imagine that every soldier should be brave and join the ranks only from a desire for glory—or, that every lawyer should be honest, and embrace the law exclusively to advocate the principles of justice. It is, certainly, a natural expectation, that all who affect to show others the road to heaven should travel that way themselves, and to satisfy this expectation is the grand object of the institution of priesthood; but it is as rare that the allurements of the world can be prevented producing vicious effects upon those who are obliged to mingle in them, as it is difficult to guard against the encroachments of a disease by those who are forced to inhale an infectious atmosphere. The wonder should be, not that any fall, but that so many escape. When we come to consider the immense contributions to the general stock of intelligence afforded by the clergy, which embrace every branch of human learning and scientific acquirement—the active benevolence of at least a large majority—their unceasing endeavours to instil into the hearts of the people the refreshing influence of a pure system of morals—and the effect of their individual respectability in commanding attention to the great object for which they labour—illiberal indeed must he be who denies the utility of an establishment productive of so much good. To despise a sporting parson, a political priest, or a fashionable divine, is both right and natural, and they must receive condemnation from all who know how to appreciate the actions of a servant who serves any master but his own; but while an acknowledgment must be regretfully made of the existence of such hypocritical pretenders in the ranks of the church, when we reflect upon the vast fund of real piety, of pure philanthropy, and of sound learning it possesses, the influence of which cannot be otherwise than beneficial in the highest degree, we should rejoice that there is a class of men in existence that provides so liberally for the moral wants of the people, which, both by the precept and example of its worthiest members, affords such admirable means for counteracting the evil effects likely to be produced by its inefficient or immoral brethren. That the clergy produce good, it is impossible to deny; and that they do not produce so much good as is desirable, arises more from inaptitude in the community to be taught, than from want of ability in the clergy to instruct.”
“You deserve a rich benefice for your defence, Zabra,” said Oriel Porphyry, with a smile; “and I have no doubt if those sentiments continue, and you embrace the profession, you will become one of the highest dignitaries of the church. But what is this fellow talking about so earnestly? More wonders, I suppose.”
He was a man ill-clad and ill-looking, who carried a bundle of papers in his hand, which he was trying to sell to the persons who were listening attentively to some intelligence he was bawling in the street with all the strength of his lungs.
“Extraordinary example of combustion!” shouted the fellow. “All the materials of matter which made up the bodies of Cutandrun, the famous inventor of infallible fire-escapes, and his family, have been placed in a state of decomposition by the action of phlogiston upon his house and stock. Here is a philosophical account, detailing the causes and effects of the phenomena—giving a scientific analysis of the ashes found in different situations—with an entirely new theory of the laws which render combustion so destructive in its agency upon inflammable matter. Only one penny.”
“Well, that is certainly one way of describing a fire,” observed Oriel Porphyry. “But chemistry, I suppose, is as well understood here as other branches of science appear to be. However, we must be proceeding, or we shall never arrive at our destination. As I am very doubtful about the right direction, I think we had better avail ourselves of one of these vehicles.”
The director of a small light carriage for two persons was then hailed; and the two friends were about to enter it, when several boys, carrying bundles of papers, ran up to them, and commenced vociferating with loud voices entreaties to purchase their goods.
“Buy the Sydney Philosophical and Critical Quarterly Review. Only one penny,” cried one little urchin.
“Here’s the Universal Encyclopædia of Useful Knowledge, only one halfpenny,” exclaimed a second.
“Neither are to be compared to these treatises by the Society for the Diffusion of Science among the Insane, sir,—only one farthing!” bawled a third.
“Away with you!” shouted Oriel Porphyry, as he sprang into the carriage, followed by his companion.
“At what velocity shall I apply the power?” inquired the conductor very civilly.
“Oh, moderate; and put me down at the house of Posthumous, in Botany Square,” said his customer.
“Yes, sir,” replied the man.
“Here’s an article on the ponderability of imponderable substances; worth double the money for the whole review,” cried one of the little booksellers.
“Here’s a treatise on——” but what it was on must remain unknown; for both Zabra and his patron were far out of sight and hearing of their tormentors before the last sentence was concluded; and, in a few minutes, they found themselves opposite a stately mansion, which they stopped some time to examine. It seemed an edifice of more modern date than any near it on either side. A flight of broad steps led, under a small portico supported by pillars which in thickness seemed to rival their length, to an entrance by folding doors large enough to admit a regiment of soldiers, over which was placed three draperied figures in marble, sculptured as large as life, blowing trumpets towards three points of the compass, and dropping each a wreath upon the bust of a man with a foolish countenance, upon the base of which, in large letters, was conspicuously placed the name “Posthumous.” Small windows were on each side, and above the door. Over the portico was placed a row of caryatidæ, resembling opera dancers making a pirouette, that supported an entablature, upon which a cumbrous attic was raised, forming an elevation as heavy and incongruous as it is possible to conceive.
[CHAP. III.]
POSTHUMOUS AND HIS MUSEUM.
With considerable parade Oriel Porphyry and his companion were ushered through long passages containing a variety of monstrous antiquities, into a small room filled with books and curiosities, where, at a curiously shaped table covered with a number of strange things, sat the original of the bust over the door—a man much beyond the middle age, with a short body, long legs and arms, broad shoulders, a clumsy head, and a foolish face. He was dressed in a tawdry morning gown, and was examining some articles of rarity brought him by several dealers, who were waiting till he had made his purchases.
“You tell me that this is a very rare copy,” said Posthumous, appearing to regard with much attention a large book he held in his hand.
“The only copy in existence, sir, I assure you,” replied the bookseller. “It fetched thirty guineas at the sale of Bookworm’s library.”
“And you are quite convinced that it is the stupidest book that ever was published?” inquired the collector.
“I have abundant testimonials to prove it, sir,” rejoined the other. “The fact is, that the work, when published, which was as much as a thousand years ago, was so generally attacked by the reviewers for the incomprehensible nonsense with which it was filled, that the author, in a fit of shame, tried to buy up all the copies; and in this design he succeeded, with the exception of the one you have, which had fortunately fallen into the hands of a person celebrated for collecting works of a similar nature. All the rest were destroyed.”
“And how much do you want for it?” asked the buyer.
“As you are a particular customer, and as I am very desirous that it should enrich the Posthumous Library, for which it is admirably adapted, I shall only ask you twenty pounds,” said the seller.
“’Tis mine—and there’s the money!” exclaimed the former, as if delighted with his purchase. “And you are quite sure it is decidedly the stupidest book in existence?” he added.
“I am positive,” replied the other.
“Inestimable treasure!” cried the collector, clasping the volume in an ecstasy. “Now has the Posthumous Library a jewel which the whole world could not rival. Have you anything else?”
“Here is an unique copy of a very rare work, called ‘The Philosophy of Flea-catching,’ in sheets, clean and uncut. The learned Scribble-gossip says that this volume has now become so scarce that there is only one other copy extant, which is in the public library in India. This, however, has one important advantage over the other, which renders it of incalculably more value; for, if you notice, it has the Finis at the end printed backwards.”
“Wonderful!” muttered his patron, as he noticed the extraordinary feature. “And what shall I pay you for it?”
“Only ten guineas, sir.”
“There they are; and much reason will posterity have to congratulate itself that I am the fortunate possessor of ‘The Philosophy of Flea-catching,’ with the Finis printed backwards.”
“Exactly so, sir, exactly. Your observations are always full of meaning. I wish you good morning.”
“Good morning, Catalogue, good morning—and mind you show me everything rare that comes into your possession,” cried Posthumous.
“Depend upon it, sir, you shall always have the first refusal,” replied Catalogue; and he took his departure.
“And what have you brought me wrapt up in that green baize, Marble?” inquired the wealthy manufacturer, of a little shrivelled old man, who had been waiting for an opportunity to exhibit the article he had for sale.
“An antique—a real antique, sir!” said the little fellow, hastily taking off the covering. “The bust of a beautiful lady of rank, from the the chisel of the immortal Chantrey.”
“Why she hasn’t any nose!” exclaimed the virtuoso in a tone of disappointment. “Her face is battered to pieces, and she has lost half her shoulder.”
“All the more valuable for that, sir,” replied the man very coolly. “It shows its antiquity. I could have brought you many things more handsome to look upon, but so rare a piece of sculpture I have never yet had in my possession. Look how exquisitely that neck is formed! Charming, sir. Though not a feature is visible, the bust breathes an air of grace which it is impossible to look on without admiring. Sawdust, the great timber merchant, offered me fifty guineas for it to adorn his gallery, but I remembered that my generous and enlightened patron Posthumous was forming a museum, and, knowing that this was the very thing he required, refused the offer.”
“Very good of you, Marble. I detest that Sawdust; he has no taste,” remarked the collector. “But are you sure this is an antique?”
“Am I sure of my existence, sir?” replied the little man, looking as dignified as he could. “My judgment in these matters is infallible. But as you do not seem to appreciate the merit of this beautiful example of art, I shall take it to Sawdust.”
“Not for the world, Marble!” exclaimed Posthumous, producing the money. “Here’s the price; but, I must say, I should have liked it all the better if it had possessed something like a human countenance.”
“Take my word for it, sir, that is not of the slightest consequence,” said the man, as he pocketed the money. “The spirit of a great artist is upon it, and that is all that a connoisseur should look to.”
“And what have you there?” inquired the purchaser, perceiving that the dealer was uncovering another specimen.
“A picture, sir—and such a picture!” responded the man emphatically, as he proceeded to place a small old oil painting in what he considered the most advantageous light. “A chef d’œuvre, sir; a work of one of the old masters. An undoubted original. Don’t you feel a sort of emotion overpower you as you stand before it?”
“Why, I do feel rather queer; but I thought it was indigestion,” replied the connoisseur, closely examining the picture.
“Psha!” exclaimed the little man rather contemptuously. “You ought to feel the all-pervading influence of superior genius. You are looking upon a master-piece. Do you remark the harmony with which the colours are blended in that wonderful production, the poetical treatment of the subject, and the sweet repose that pervades the picture?”
“To tell you the truth,” said the patron, looking a little puzzled, “I have been examining it very closely, and I can see nothing at all.”
“The effect of the great age of the picture, sir,” responded the dealer. “The influence of time has destroyed every vestige of colour on the canvass; and it is impossible to make out a single feature in the painting. But be assured, sir, it is a wonderful production—an invaluable work of art. Emperors would be glad of such an addition to their collections; and artists would travel over half the world to gaze upon an example so unique. I have had many handsome offers for it, sir. Sawdust bid very high. He knew its value, sir. But I resolved that it should enrich the invaluable Posthumous collection of paintings; and I therefore offer it to you at the low price of two hundred guineas.”
“Humph! I’m obliged to you, Marble,” remarked the manufacturer, still poking his foolish face as close to the canvass as he could, and apparently hesitating about making the purchase. “That fellow Sawdust has no soul for these things. But what is it about, Marble? I should like to know the subject. Tell me what it is about, Marble.”
“Why, sir, it is about—as far as I and all the best judges can ascertain—it is about the most ancient painting in the world,” replied the dealer.
“A very fine subject,” said the connoisseur; “and now I do begin to perceive a sort of a what’s-a-name. But do you think posterity would applaud my giving such a price for such a painting with such a subject?”
“They could not do otherwise than greatly applaud your fine discrimination and admirable liberality,” responded the little man with all the enthusiasm of a picture-dealer.
“Then I must have it,” remarked Posthumous, as he paid the money; “posterity will reward my exertions.”
“There is no doubt of it, sir. I wish you good morning,” cried the man, bustling out of the room with an air of peculiar satisfaction.
“Good morning to you, Marble,” exclaimed the collector, still closely examining the painting; “and if you have any thing rare, be sure to let me know. But, if it be in sculpture, I should prefer seeing something with a nose to it; and if it be a painting, although this is a capital subject, I should like it to be a little more easily made out.”
“I will endeavour to meet your wishes,” said the dealer; and he made his bow.
“Capital subject!” continued the connoisseur, still intently poring over his puzzling purchase: “capital subject—but I don’t see it very clearly yet. There is a something there, and there is a something here; but—hullo, gentlemen!” he exclaimed, noticing his visitors for the first time. “I beg pardon; but I really did not know you were in the room. Have you brought me any curiosities—any thing rare or antique?”
“This letter will explain to you our business,” replied Oriel Porphyry, handing a note across the table.
“Sit down, my good sir, sit down,” cried the antiquarian; and, on his visitors complying with his request, he proceeded slowly to read the letter; and, during the period he took in its perusal, Oriel amused himself with examining the extraordinary contents of the room in which he was sitting. The chamber was low and dark, and every corner in it was filled with books heaped up together, without the slightest attempt at arrangement; some glittering with handsome bindings, new and unsoiled; and others old and ragged, covered with dirt, and dark with age. With these were pictures, some leaning against the wall, some upon chairs, others one upon another upon the floor, surrounded by huge fragments of stone, broken pieces of statuary, bronzes, ancient weapons, specimens of pottery, and a variety of other antiquities. Here was a full-length statue deprived of a leg, there an antique bust with half a nose; in one place a vase gaping with a conspicuous fracture, in another a sepulchral urn chipped out of all resemblance to what it once was. Of all the varied contents of the room, there remained nothing that had not in some manner been rendered useless, if at any time it had been considered of value, or, if perfect, had the slightest pretensions to be considered antique. But the most amusing piece of antiquity in this collection was evidently the proprietor, whose face and head expressed a more perfect appearance of want of intellect than the most skilful sculptor could have produced. His nose was a bulging lump of flesh, that looked like any thing but the thing for which it was intended; his eyes were deep set in his head, and were continually gazing in a settled stare of foolish wonder and delight; and his mouth, which was more than usually large, when its possessor was not talking stood invitingly half open, as if to ensnare all the flies in its neighbourhood. And with these characteristics there was a pompous manner with which he said his foolish nothings, that rendered the man more highly ridiculous.
“So you have come to purchase, instead of to sell,” exclaimed he with much astonishment. “I had rather you had brought me some rare antiques to enrich my museum—the Posthumous Museum, as it is called. Do they talk of it in Columbia?”
“I cannot say I ever heard it mentioned,” said Oriel, endeavouring to conceal a smile.
“Ah! posterity will do me honour; and it is for posterity I labour,” added the manufacturer. “But I will give orders about what you require by and by. In the meantime, you must take up your abode with me, that you may be enabled to appreciate all the wonderful things I have collected in my museum for the benefit of posterity, that, when you return to your country, you may say how invaluable is the Posthumous Museum, and how enlightened and liberal is he who has spent a large fortune in collecting together its precious contents! I shall have a conversazione this evening, when you will meet with some of the most celebrated literati in this great empire; till then, I will endeavour to amuse you by making you aware of the value of this unrivalled collection of antiquities. In the first place, you behold this dagger,” said he, showing an ordinary weapon of that description. “Well, this is the identical dagger that Macbeth saw in the air when he exclaimed, ‘Is this a dagger that I see before me?’ and so on.”
“But Macbeth merely imagined that he beheld such a weapon,” observed Oriel, amused at the credulity of his host.
“Exactly so; and this is the very weapon Macbeth imagined he beheld,” replied the antiquarian. “It is undoubtedly genuine: I have documents to prove it. This is the very seal with which Magna Charta signed King John—no!—King John signed Runnemede—no, that’s not it either—Runnemede signed the Barons—I am not just sure I have it now, but it must be one or the other. And this is the very seal;” and he produced a seal about the size of a small lantern. “Here is an undoubted Jew’s harp—a great rarity. I don’t know what Jew it belonged to; but its genuineness is placed beyond suspicion.”
“It bears no resemblance to the harps in present use, either in size or appearance,” remarked Zabra.
“A proof of its great antiquity,” replied Posthumous. “You see it has but one string. Now, it is upon record that, at a remote age, there was a fiddler called Pagan Ninny. Whether he was called a pagan because he was a ninny, or a ninny because he was a pagan, it is impossible to prove; but certain it is that he played upon one string; and he played so well, that instruments upon one string came into fashion both among the Pagans and the Jews; and that is the reason why there is but one string to this Jew’s harp. You observe this cake of mineral substance,” he continued, pointing to a small bluish mass. “There is a deep interest attached to this specimen. I never look at it without feeling emotions of—that is to say, emotions of a what’s-a-name, with which every monied man must sympathise. It is the remains of a great man—of a very great man—of a man whose credit with the world was exceeded by none in his day. It is the ashes of Abraham Newland!”
The manufacturer turned away, but whether to conceal a tear or to produce another curiosity was doubtful; however he was only a few seconds before he again approached his visitors, bearing a large fragment of wood crumbling into decay. “But here, gentlemen,” said he, “here is an object that cannot fail to awaken—to awaken—that is to say, it cannot fail to awaken, but what it ought to awaken I do not exactly remember now; however, that is not of the slightest consequence. You have, no doubt, read of England, a very ancient island. Well, the inhabitants being very industrious did not like being disturbed by their neighbours, an idle dishonest set of rascals, who were continually coming upon their territory and doing a great deal of damage; so to keep out these troublesome marauders—marauders—marauders?—yes, that’s the word, and having very fine forests of timber in their country, they surrounded their island with wooden walls; and this specimen, gentlemen, is an unquestionable fragment of the wooden walls of old England, procured for me at great expense by a traveller, who being in that part of the world found it in the remains of a wall within a very short distance of the sea-coast. It is the only antiquity of the kind in existence. None but the Posthumous Museum can boast of such an invaluable relic of the ancient ages: for posterity I acquired it, and for having become its fortunate possessor posterity will not fail to do justice to my memory.”
Posthumous continued to give descriptions of a great variety of similar objects in the same fashion, till he approached some pictures, one of which he selected with great care, and placed in a favourable light.
“Look at this picture, gentlemen!” he exclaimed, as his foolish face endeavoured to express something like wonder and admiration. “Observe the chiaro-scuro—the chiaro-scuro?—yes, that’s the word, though I don’t exactly remember what it means. Admire the foreshortening—the harmony—the repose—the expression, and all that. Fine effect—admirable picture! The subject is Joshua commanding his son to stand still. Excellent subject! The son was a very restless boy, gentlemen, who required to be ruled with rather a high hand; so Mister Joshua, a good sort of father too, by all accounts, was obliged to teach him to be quiet in a manner boys don’t in general admire. It is painted by the immortal Snooks. Talk of Rubens, and Raphael, and Corregio, and Titian, and others of the ancients,—they were never to be compared to the immortal Snooks—the sublime, the incomparable, the illustrious Snooks. He had such a miraculous—such an extraordinary—such an unrivalled—I don’t know what it was; but he had something, at any rate, that was very fine, and gave a sort of wonderful incomprehensible—you understand me—to such a degree, that seven-and-twenty cities have carried on a most violent dispute about which had the honour of giving him birth, and each erected a stupendous monument, having nothing else upon it but this sublime inscription, ‘Here Snooks was Born!’ But when he died, gentlemen, there was a regular scramble for his remains, and one carried away an arm, another a leg, a third took possession of the head, a fourth of the body, and many rejoiced in being so fortunate as to be able to screw off a toe nail, or punch out one of his teeth; and on the strength of this some forty different towns and cities have raised most magnificent mausolea, bearing these excruciating words, ‘Here Snooks Died!’”
“He must have enjoyed a great degree of fame indeed,” remarked Oriel.
“Yes, sir,” replied the connoisseur; “and although he has shared the fate of many, who, though popular when living, get pulled to pieces immediately they are dead, his reputation has only increased by it. Now, gentlemen, let me show you this painting. It is a sea piece, you will observe, and possesses all that amazing freshness and transparency, and—and—what d’ye call ’em, which is considered so admirable by the best judges. You may actually feel the moisture of the water, gentlemen, if you stay long enough; and that is the reason I put my hat on whenever I look at it, to prevent catching cold. Poor Tipple! his was a different fate from that of the immortal Snooks. No one thought of disputing about the honour of his birth or burial. He enjoyed no post mortem—post mortem?—yes, that’s it—he enjoyed no post mortem gratifications. The nails were left upon his unhappy toes, and the teeth remained undisturbed in his miserable jaws. But he was a great artist,—who could paint water as he did? None! There was a sort of an indescribable, inimitable—and—and a whatso’name in his water, that nobody else’s water ever looked like. You could see your face in it, Sir. But somehow or other while he was—not a hewer of wood—but a drawer of water, whether the sight of such a pure, sweet, refreshing beverage made him continually thirsty, I’m not certain, but he drank, gentlemen, not his own water, even when he drew it ever so mild, but strong waters, till they overpowered his weak constitution, got into his upper story by an hydraulic—hydraulic? Yes, that’s the word—by an hydraulic power of their own, till he created a deluge in his own body, without the use of colours, which spoiled his palate, and made him obliged to brush. Ah! Tipple was a great artist. There was a sort of a truth, a nature, a thingembob about every thing he attempted, which gave to all his paintings a certain, a—you understand, which is perfectly delightful to look upon. He has not been appreciated by his cotempop—contompo—contempo—confound it, I forget the word, but however he was not appreciated by somebody. But perhaps, like me, he looked to posterity; and although he has not created a Posthumous museum, as some of his best productions form a portion of its invaluable contents, it is very possible that when posterity does me justice it will not forget the merits of Tipple.”
After Posthumous had detailed at sufficient length his description of the contents of his library, he led the two friends into a suite of several rooms, not at all suitable for the purpose for which they had been erected, in which objects in natural history were arranged, if arrangement it might be called, for here were animals, vegetables, minerals, and fossils, mingled together as if they belonged to the same family, but the specimens, like those in the library, were every one imperfect—they were all deficient in something or other, which rendered them comparatively useless to the student and valueless to the collector. This defect, however, was not observed by the owner, who imagined that there was not a collection in the world that could boast of so many unique specimens from the stores of nature and art, as the Posthumous museum.
“You see, gentlemen, before you, the wonders of nature, from a tadpole to an elephant!” exclaimed the manufacturer, in a tone of exultation. “I have collected these—I have collected them for the benefit of posterity, and not without considerable expense and labour, as you may believe. But when a man is excited into action—yes, excited into action—by an idea so comprehensive, so universal—so whatso’name, as forming a museum for the benefit of posterity, he thinks not of the trouble to which he may be put, or the money he may be out of pocket, when he is endeavouring to develope—yes, that’s it—endeavouring to develope his own philosophical conceptions. Well—this is an—this is a—this is an animal of some kind, but the name I do not at present remember. You can at once perceive how much it differs from all other animals: in the first place, it has four legs—two behind and two before—an extraordinary coincidence—coincidence? Yes, that’s the word—and it possesses a tail, which, marvellous as it may seem, is invariably placed upon the rump of the animal, and as nearly opposite to its head as head and tail can be. Now you will notice the head. It has, you see—two jaws, one above and the other below; and, though it may appear strange, the upper jaw never sinks below the under jaw even if the poor beast be ever so chap-fallen—and the under never rises above the upper jaw. Very curious that. That animal, you will observe by the teeth—I don’t know how though, is carnivorous—carnivorous? Yes, that’s the word, which means that it eats nothing but grass. It’s called by zoologists one of the roomy—roomy—roomy—one of the roomy something, but I’ll be hanged if I can remember what—and I suppose it is because it requires a sort of an expanse—an extensive, a—whatdyecallem, to move about in. Now this animal is a different species altogether. It is what they call a—you understand. It has the same number of legs, the same number of tails, and the same number of heads as the other animal, and yet their natures are entirely, absolutely, and something else which I’ve forgot, different. Isn’t it wonderful? This is a grani—yes, a granivorous quadruped, and consequently eats flesh, mutton chops, beef steaks, or anything else of the same sort. You see these hoofs, how admirably adapted they are for tearing their prey, much better than knives and forks, when they, under the influence of a certain impulse or instinct, or whatso’name, roam about the wilds looking after their eatables. Wonderful, isn’t it? Both these animals belong to the class mammalia; yes—mammalia—a word that signifies that their mothers are called mammies.”
“You quite enlighten me on the subject,” observed Oriel Porphyry, endeavouring to suppress a laugh.
“Ay, Sir, I’ve studied it for a very long length of time,” replied his host. “I know it thoroughly, you may depend upon it. Now, Sir, here is a fish. Fishes swim, you know, Sir.”
“I was aware of that,” remarked Oriel, as gravely as he could.
“But they don’t swim when they’re dead, Sir,” rejoined the manufacturer, as if desirous of making his auditors wonder at the extraordinary fact. “Curious phenomenon—phenomenon? Yes, that’s the word—curious phenomenon that. Well, this fish is dead, and were you to try ever so, you could not induce it to swim. You will observe that it has scales. Now the animals we have just examined have no scales. Singular, isn’t it? That peculiarity in its organiza—organi—organ something, which I have forgot, is a wise provision of nature—a sort of whatsoname to prevent the fish from getting wet through when exposed to the continual action of the watery element—yes, of the watery element. So these scales are very important in its animal economy—ay, animal economy—and you will remember, as a remarkable coincidence that completely proves the value of these things, that Justice is always represented with scales, Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Wonderful!” replied both the young men in a breath.
“Now this is a reptile, you will observe,” said Posthumous, pointing to a small snake in a glass case. “This has scales, and yet it is not a fish. Strange, isn’t it? Here’s the name. It is the Bipède cannelé. The first word signifies that it’s a biped, like man, though it’s got no legs; and the other word denotes that it’s found in canals. Here are some shells: this one is called Coriocella nigra, because it always frequents the cellars of the blacks; and this is the Velutina capulöidea, the first word of which means that it was discovered by Veluti, a chonchologist—a chonchologist?—yes, a chonchologist, celebrated in his day for the ardour with which he investigated—I mean the spirit with which he penetrated—no, that’s not it; but, at any rate, it was a peculiar whatso’name with which he made his researches; and what the other word implies I am not quite certain; but it appears by the last syllables to mean some low idea which it isn’t worth inquiring into.”
“And what are these things?” inquired Zabra, looking at a confused mass of insects lying together in a case.
“Those are the Chalcididæ,” replied the manufacturer, reading from a paper affixed to it; “a family of hymenopterous insects, which the heathens made sacred to their god Hymen, because they were very much given to the marriage state; and this belongs to the section Pupivora, because they are always found upon puppies. You will observe that they have wings, and these wings are used for flying. But all insects have not got wings, consequently some of them cannot fly. Wonderful, isn’t it? As I said before, it is a wise provision of nature to give them a sort of a facility—a convenience—a thingembob, for the purpose of more easily transporting them from place to place. Isn’t it strange?”
“What bird is this?” asked Oriel, pointing to a stuffed specimen.
“Ha! now you will observe another extraordinary thing,” exclaimed his host. “This creature also possesses wings, and yet it is not an insect. Marvellous coincidence! This is one of the Agami, so called because it is considered excellent game; and has the scientific name of Psophia crepitans, from its fondness of creeping upon sofas. You observe that this animal has but two legs: the first animals we noticed had four, and the fish had none; yet all of them, by that sort of natural a—you understand, are enabled to go about wherever they like, and indulge themselves in every kind of—something I don’t remember, according to their individual capacities—their individual capacities?—yes, their individual capacities. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“And pray what stones are these?” inquired Zabra, directing attention to two or three large fragments of stone leaning against the wall.
“They are not stones, but fossils,” replied Posthumous, trying to look amazingly sagacious; “and the difference between a stone and a fossil is a—the difference between a fossil and a stone. Isn’t it strange?”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed his visitors.
“You see it is very hard,” continued their companion, “and has the skeleton of an animal long since extinct—extinct? yes, extinct—long since extinct, plainly marked upon it. It is said that, once upon a time, long before I can remember, there was a shower of rain came down, that not only wetted every one to the skin, in spite of their umbrellas, but actually drowned all the animals in the world, except those—yes, except those who were not drowned. Well, the poor things when they were dead couldn’t move in the least; and, in course of time, by the continual deposit of—of whatso’name upon their bodies, they became squeezed into the earth round about them, and that becoming hard, they became hard also. Now these are minerals. The earth, you know, is made like a bread and butter pudding; a layer of bread and butter, then a layer of currants, and so on; in what are called strata—yes, strata, because they’re always straight;—and sometimes they find coal, and sometimes stone, and sometimes clay, and sometimes something I don’t remember, and sometimes something I have forgot; and all these things are kept together in their proper places by a sort of—you understand—which holds the world firmly together, so that people may walk upon it without fear of its tumbling to pieces. Wonderful, isn’t it?”
In this way Posthumous proceeded describing to his visitors the contents of his museum. Every object was noticed, and all relating to it he knew, which appeared at all times more novel than authentic, was minutely detailed, with a look and a manner marked by self-approbation and stupidity, that were exceedingly amusing, till the hour arrived for dinner; when he seemed, with considerable reluctance, to leave its many attractions, and led the way into a dining-room, which was also crammed with every species of antiquity he had considered sufficiently valuable for his collection, where, with a mummy at his feet, and a statue without a head at his elbow, he did the honours of hospitality, mingling them with liberal allusions to the benefit he was intent upon doing posterity.
[CHAP. IV.]
A CONVERSAZIONE.
It was evening, and every part of the Posthumous museum was brilliantly lit up and filled with visitors. The manufacturer gave a conversazione, and his rooms were filled with some of the most celebrated characters in the world of wealth, fashion, and literature of Sydney. Some turned over the leaves of books—others looked through portfolios of prints—some examined the paintings—and others scrutinised the antiquities—a few appeared intent upon studying the appearances of the different specimens of natural history, and others seemed equally desirous of becoming acquainted with the disposition of their companions. Some in little circles were arguing upon various subjects, and in a room by themselves were a more select party enjoying the performance of some excellent music. Posthumous did not seem on terms of intimacy with many of his guests, for they passed him with as much indifference as if he was some one not worthy to be known; but he was remarkably attentive to Oriel and his companion, describing, as they passed along, the different persons that crowded his rooms, and only occasionally stopping in his remarks to exchange a few words with some of his visitors with whom he knew he might be familiar.
“You see that person before you in the brown and yellow thingembob, with a long nose and a remarkable sort of a whatso’name in his appearance,” said Posthumous. The two friends saw who was meant, but did not recognise him by the description. “There, he’s examining that Chinese idol. He’s a clever man—decidedly a clever man. He lived most part of his life in China, because, he said, the country always suited him to a T; and has written ever so many books about its geography and use of the globes, habits, customs, laws, antiquities, and something else I don’t remember. He says their chronolo—chronology?—yes, chronology, that’s the word—he says their chronology is the most ancient in the world; but I’ll be bound to say that there’s a more ancient chronology in my museum, only I can’t tell exactly where to lay my hands upon it. But a very learned writer is Chopstick—very learned. It was he who discovered that the tea-plant was originally cultivated in England, as he found there a river called Tees, and ascertained that the ancient name of the people was Celtæ, so called from their selling teas. That little man in the snuff-coloured—you understand, knows more about antiquities than any body in Australia. It was he who proved so clearly that our city was originally built by Sir Philip Sydney, an architect who was very partial to erecting arcades, so much so that he wrote a work about them called Arcadia, and from him our metropolis has derived its name. Talking of antiquities, do you know I met in a book the other day something about a psychological—psychological? yes, that was the word—something about a psychological curiosity; and although I have offered any price for a psychological curiosity, I have not been able to procure one. But let us hear what Dustofages is saying about that piece of ancient brickwork. It has an inscription upon it which has puzzled me completely.”
Posthumous and his young visitors approached the table on which rested a considerable piece of brickwork that had attracted the attention of the little antiquarian.
“I am tolerably certain,” said Dustofages with a grave face, to a few anxious students of the art in which he was so famous, that thronged near him, “I am tolerably certain that this inscription is in the English language, and from its appearance I should pronounce it to be cotemporaneous with the Georgian dynasty.”
“Wonderful!” murmured Posthumous.
“The first three letters are evidently a T, an R, and a Y, which make the word TRY,” continued the antiquarian: “and the letters of the next word, though nearly obliterated, taken together, form the name Warrens—and this ancient inscription, therefore, is ‘Try Warrens’—but what it means I am not so confident. Perhaps this Warrens was a notorious offender whom the people wished to have tried and punished; and therefore expressed their wishes in a conspicuous manner, that the government might notice it, and try Warrens: this was a way the populace then had of making their sentiments known to their rulers as may be ascertained by an antique fragment in the Australian Museum, on which is inscribed the words, ‘Down with the Whigs!’”
“Extraordinary!” exclaimed Posthumous.
“But as in the whole course of my reading I have met with no allusion to any notorious character of the name of Warrens,” continued the little man, “it is quite as probable that some obscure individual made the inscription as a sort of memento to attract the attention of his mistress, expressive of his love and fidelity—he wished her to try Warrens. In the English anthology, from a very ancient poem, I met with these lines, addressed by a lover to his mistress—
“Try me, try me,
Prove ere you deny me”—
which proves that lovers were desirous of being tried; and as so many inscriptions exist in which the ancients showed their attachment to their females by inscriptions on wood and stone, declaring their wishes, there can be but little doubt that these words were placed here by some enamoured youth who was desirous that a particular female, whose name has not come down to us, should ‘Try Warrens.’”
“Isn’t it wonderful?” cried the delighted Posthumous, and without waiting for an answer hurried his companions to another room. “How do you do, Bluey?” he exclaimed, addressing a tall thin lady with a bilious complexion, who appeared to be examining some minerals.
“Rather say, how does my will do,” replied the lady, very gravely; “for it is my will that does every thing. I must have the will to do, before the action can be done. If you mean merely to inquire into the state of the mere animal machine, I must reply, that of the chemical combinations now in process, the acids overpower the alkalis, and produce an acetous fermentation in the natural laboratory, that disturbs the sanatory functions of my particular system, and tends to create new combinations injurious in their action upon the animal fibre; but as I know that as a sufficient proportion of the earthy salts, either in carbonates or sulphates, held in solution, or in any other form that may be most convenient, operating upon the acids, will counteract their unhealthy tendency and render them inert, I do not care for the disorder of my organic substances. It is not of sufficient importance to distract my attention from the interesting study of chemical affinities.”
“Well, I’m sorry you’re so bad,” remarked the inquirer, in a tone of regret.
“Bad is the antagonist of good,” said the lady, sharply; “and I beg to say that I am not bad. Bad is evil—I am not evil—therefore I am not bad. Bad is base—I am not base—therefore I am not bad. In fact, bad is a very unphilosophical term to apply upon such an occasion. You should have said that you regretted that there should exist any chemical combinations in my system of natural processes that support life, which are not characteristic of a state of health.”
“At any rate, I hope you will soon get better,” responded her host.
“Better is worse than bad,” replied his guest with additional severity. “To be better, implies an antecedent state of badness, and I tell you again I am not bad, I have not been bad, and I do not intend to be bad.”
“Well, good bye—good bye,” he exclaimed, attempting to hurry away.
“There is no sense in the phrase ‘good bye;’ it means nothing,” said the lady hastily: “it is an abbreviation of ‘good be with you.’ Now, if you mean to say that I am good, I deny it. I deny that I am either good or bad; good and bad being qualities not existing in the object, for what appears good to one may seem bad to another; but they arise in the idea of the individual.”
Posthumous and his companions were glad when they were out of hearing of the lady, whose metaphysics and chemistry they could not appreciate in the way she desired.
“Ah, do you see that tall man behind his whiskers?” inquired the manufacturer, pointing to a person who answered to such a description. “He has got a very remarkable, stately sort of whatso’name, hasn’t he? He’s a member of the government, a great patron of literature and science, and—and something I forget. He’s been known to spend as much as sixpence a week in the cheap publications; and many a miserable starving author, who has sent him his works, he has actually enriched with his good wishes. Great patron, isn’t he? The person he’s talking to in the beautiful head of hair, is a political writer on the ministerial side, who has a wonderful, incomprehensible—a—you understand, that’s very delightful. He writes about the glorious constitution, our admirable government, and—and something with a fine name I don’t remember, in a style that’s absolutely, completely, and downright thingembob. That lady, that seems to be looking after her youth and beauty, is the authoress of a work which has been very popular, called, ‘The whole Duty of Man,’ which is filled with long chapters upon short commons or fasting, praying, sneezing, the cultivation of carrots and virtue, the bringing up children and mustard and cress, and directions about paying bills and visits. The young man, trying to admire himself in the glass, is a novelist famous for the splendour of his imaginative conceptions—yes, of his imaginative conceptions. His books are like the rooms of a dealer in fashionable furniture; or-molu and mother-of-pearl, rosewood and ivory, buhl and something I forget, meet one in every page; and he writes about gold, and silver, and precious stones, as if he had been an apprentice to a jeweller. Then his stories are always celebrated for a certain pathetic whatso’name, which is much admired. Now let us go into the music room.”
The three associates passed through the crowd which filled the rooms to the great danger of the more breakable antiquities, Posthumous stopping occasionally to talk to one or welcome another, till they arrived in the music room, where they took some refreshments as they entered. A beautiful girl was accompanying herself while singing the following words, to which all seemed to listen with the greatest attention:—
The lunar tide began to flow,
The tidal wave moved to and fro,
Bright shone each constellation;
Except where in th’ horizon’s space
Some planets, with reluctant pace,
Commenced their declination.
Then Coma unto Stella came,
To show to her his ardent flame,
Apparent in aphelion;
As had been done for many years,
In their peculiar hemispheres,
While placed in perihelion.
“Ah, Stella!” said the glowing swain,
“My flame to thee I bring again,
In hopes thou wilt absorb it:
My course, eccentric though it be,
Moves near as it may come to thee
In my peculiar orbit.”
“Away!” cried Stella, “come not here;
Go, shine within another sphere,
I feel not thy attraction;
I have beheld thy parallax,
And noticed thy erratic tracks,
Thy action and reaction.”
A cloud on Coma’s face appeared,
And when its atmosphere was cleared,
In rapid execution
Of Stella’s dark command, he set,
And strove for ever to forget
Her radiant revolution.
“Beautiful!” cried a dozen voices in a breath, as soon as the song was concluded.
“So exquisitely pathetic!” murmured one.
“So perfectly natural!” exclaimed another.
“It is admirable; is it not, sir?” said a young lady with a remarkable pair of languishing eyes, as she directed their eloquent gaze full upon the handsome face of Oriel Porphyry.
“No doubt it is, madam, if you think so,” replied the merchant’s son, with more politeness than sincerity.
“Ah! our opinions are the same—the effect of a mutual sympathy. How charming!” observed the young beauty languidly. “Do you believe in the theory of mutual sympathies?”
“I must confess I know nothing about it,” acknowledged Oriel.
“Innocence exemplified!” exclaimed his companion, regarding him with more evident admiration. “I will explain it to you. There exists in every human creature in one sex a decided inclination towards some human creature in the other sex, which is never developed till those two meet together, and then it immediately becomes manifest. Now suppose, for example, I possess a certain amicable feeling, which remains perfectly unknown until I meet with you for the first time, when an immediate consciousness tells me that my sympathy is excited.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” said Posthumous.
Oriel was at a loss what to reply; but Zabra’s dark eyes appeared flashing with indignation.
“Now, these sympathies ought to be indulged; or why are they created?” asked the fair sophist. “If we observe nature, which is always the best guide, we shall find all her impulses followed out to their purpose, to the great increase of the pleasures of the individual. Nature never can be wrong; therefore, if we follow nature, we shall always be right.”
“Exactly so!” responded the manufacturer. “I remember seeing a puppy running after his own tail, and he was delighted at the fun. Yes, follow nature, certainly.”
Oriel Porphyry with great difficulty refrained from laughing. Zabra, on the contrary, looked upon the young lady with an expression of scorn that made his countenance appear darker than ever.
“It was a conviction of the truth of this theory that made me write my work on the philosophy of mutual communion,” continued their companion, “where you will find proved, by arguments that cannot be confuted, that there is no happiness in the world except in love—that love is this mutual sympathy between two individuals of the two sexes—and that this sympathy should invariably be indulged as often as it exists.”
“Well, I have always had something of the same notion about love,” remarked Posthumous, gravely. “I consider love to be a sort of a very beautiful, interesting—a—you understand, in one person, for a peculiar, charming, delightful—a—whatsoname in another.”
“I should imagine, from what I have observed, that the true nature of love is perfectly unknown to either of you,” observed Zabra, with some asperity; “it only dwells in the breasts of those whose qualities assimilate with its own. It is the principle of truth, of purity, and of excellence; and whomsoever it touches it makes true, and pure, and excellent in the eyes of the lover. There is wisdom in it; for wisdom is ever an emanation of truth. There is beauty in it; for beauty is the essential spirit of purity. And there is in it an omnipotent power; for in excellence will always be found the greatest degree of greatness. Love, being true, enlightens; being pure, sanctifies; and being excellent, strengthens all by whom it is possessed. It is a virtue from which all virtues proceed. It is the nobility of nature. It is the humanity of life. Without it the sun would be black, and the heavens a void; a strife would be among all things, and a devouring death consume the universe. With it the power of a perfecting will fills the glad heart; and in whatever corner of the earth there breathes the principle of existence, love will enter into its most secret depths; infuse into them a purpose hitherto unknown; fill them with a power to suffer and to conquer that cannot be set aside, and render the individual, the atmosphere he inhales, and all things he sees, touches, or hears, the receptacle of a perfect felicity, that endures even unto the very threshold of oblivion. It is this feeling, and this feeling alone, that has created whatever is admirable around us; we admire, because we love; and we love, only to produce a continuation of the qualities we have admired.”
Oriel regarded the animated countenance of his youthful companion with his usual affection. The young lady gazed upon his beautiful features with apparently more sympathy than his friend had excited; and Posthumous opened his mouth, rubbed his eyes, and stared, and looked all the wonder and admiration his foolish face was capable of expressing; and when he did find language, which was not for some minutes after the speaker had concluded, he exclaimed—
“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I said. It is nothing in the world more than a simple, a—something I have forgot, arising entirely in the organisation of the individual—organisation of the individual?—yes, organisation of the individual, that produces a peculiar sort of feeling in the a—whatsoname.”
[CHAP. V.]
THE PHILANTHROPIST IN TROUBLE.
Oriel Porphyry made a considerable stay in Australia, visiting most of the principal cities, the manufacturing and agricultural districts, in fact, whatever part of the country was considered most worthy of notice; bartering his merchandise, and making purchases of such articles of traffic as might be advantageously disposed of during his voyage. Before he left the country he received from his father the following communication:—
“I hope by this time, my dear Oriel, you are completely reconciled to the way of life I wish you to follow, and I am quite sure that the longer you live the more cause you will have to rejoice at pursuing a path so honourable. Every day I exist, I the more fervently congratulate myself upon having forsaken the deceitful splendour of a false ambition, for wherever I look around among those who belong to that undeservedly honoured section of society I was forced to leave in disgust, I observe so much of envy, inquietude, pride, folly, hatred, ignorance, ambition, and tyranny, I wonder that such things the prejudices of custom can regard with homage. I see the title of majesty applied to an individual who is the very reverse of majestic; his highness is diminutive; his grace awkward; a fellow, though he be a notorious cheat, may still be a nobleman; and however unworthy or ignorant be a person of rank, he is allowed to take precedence of virtue, of intellect, and of every species of human excellence, undistinguished by the title he possesses. I do not mean to assert that a man is in any way the worse for having this sort of distinction, for I have found many real noble men among our aristocracy; what I maintain is, that they are in no way exalted by it. And when I compare the good effected by this class with the good effected by those who do not belong to it, the disproportion is so immense that I must always call in question the advantage of maintaining a section of society in an acknowledged state of superiority to the rest, who, to the rest, are of so little utility.
“The next thing to be considered is—are they a happier race of individuals than those whom they think beneath them? Most of them are in the enjoyment of many luxuries; but luxury and happiness are far from being synonymous: and when we come to look into the artificial state of life in which these people exist, and notice their exclusiveness, their rivalries, their ostentatious splendour, and their prodigal meannesses, we can afford them only a low place on the scale of happiness—one certainly much beneath that possessed by persons whom they are in the habit of thinking their inferiors. Yet this is the sort of greatness, Oriel, you seemed so desirous of possessing. That desire, I hope, has given place to better and nobler aspirations. There is a wider field now open to you; from which the landscape shows every attraction which ought to allure you forward. Go on, Oriel, go on and prosper. Let me see you a philanthropist, and I shall die content.
“There have been some stirring doings in Columbia since you left the country. Our rulers seem desperately intent upon working their own destruction. I regret this. I regret it for the sake of these inconsiderate men—I regret it more for the sake of the community at large, who, if they are driven into open opposition and strife, and bloodshed ensue, must be the immediate sufferers. Public meetings have been held in various parts of the empire, particularly in the northern provinces, and resolutions reflecting very strongly upon the ministers have been agreed to in the presence of immense multitudes of the people. Some disturbances have taken place, which were put down only at the sacrifice of several lives, and many of the most influential of the public prints, notwithstanding the ruinous prosecutions, fines, and imprisonments, with which all who advocated the cause of the people are punished, denounced the measures of the government in a very bold tone. The meetings in the metropolis were equally important, and their proceedings were conducted with a similar degree of energy.
“As the highest municipal officer—as a legislator of considerable experience, independent of my reputation as a private individual, I naturally enjoyed much influence among my fellow-citizens. They looked up to me for advice, and were always anxious for my countenance. It was with great uneasiness that I observed the mischievous policy pursued by the Emperor’s advisers. I saw that its tendency was to fill the hearts of the people with a spirit of resistance, that must eventually lead to a fierce and relentless civil war, that might deluge the country with blood, and destroy its prosperity by the withering blast of flame and the sword. What to do in this fearful crisis was not a subject to be dismissed without deep reflection. To its consideration I gave anxious days and sleepless nights. I knew that, if the existing feeling continued, a struggle would commence that could not easily be stopped; it would continue while there was hope on one side, and power on the other; and to the true patriot there can be nothing so horrible as the prospect of a savage warfare around him, in which the children of the same soil must be set to slaughter one another. On the other hand, it was equally evident that, if the government were allowed to carry on their despotic proceedings, every citizen would be obliged to give up the privilege of his manhood, and become a slave; and I had so much of the mighty impulses of freedom in my nature as would not allow me to look tamely on, while the chains were riveting around my subjected country.
“I saw that there was but one way to secure my fellow-countrymen from the approaching degradation without having recourse to deeds of violence. From my place in the legislature I continually described the alarming state of the empire, and foretold the fearful consequences which must result if ministers proceeded in the course they were pursuing. With all the eloquence of which I was master, I implored them to desist. I entreated that the obnoxious measures might be abandoned, and offered to become security for the immediate return of the public tranquillity if the desire I expressed was complied with. At the same time, whenever I was called upon to direct or attend a popular assembly, which was almost daily, I strongly advised the propriety of refraining from violence. I recommended continual public meetings, in which the voice of the nation might be spoken without intemperance; and that the ministers might be made sufficiently aware of the state of opinion, I advocated the policy of petitioning the legislature for redress, in firm but respectful language, throughout every part of the united empire. The government paid no attention to my labours. I was listened to with inattention, and my arguments were treated with disdain. Proud in the use of a slavish and corrupt majority, proud in the exercise of a power they wished to render irresponsible, and proud in the possession of an immense standing army, whose services they retained by profligate expenditure of the public money, they attempted to stifle the voice of opinion, by constant endeavours to prevent the meetings of the people, and by treating their petitions with studied contempt.
“The effect these proceedings had upon me I leave you to imagine. I never could have supposed any set of men could have been found so indifferent to their own interests. But the emperor resolved to render his power absolute, and his advisers had urged the necessity of pursuing what they called strong measures, arguing that, if they stopped now at the clamour that had been raised, it would be impossible for them to resume their measures at any future time. In vain I preached patience and resignation, peace and temperance. Prosecutions and persecutions were going on in every direction. The presses that laboured to diffuse among the people a knowledge of their true situation were seized and destroyed, and the persons connected with them were incarcerated in dungeons; private dwellings were invaded, on the most frivolous pretexts, in search of imaginary conspiracies, and their inmates were subjected to every kind of indignity—mulcted in heavy penalties, or carried off from their homes and never more heard of; spies appeared to lurk in every house; and no sooner was a public meeting announced than measures were taken to prevent its being held, by filling the place with heavily armed troops. My anxiety grew more intense every day. I saw the storm must burst; I knew that the strife must begin; and when I beheld the almost countless masses of military that filled the country, ready to act on the first emergency, and knew that they would oppose men undisciplined and imperfectly armed, I shuddered at the mere anticipation of the consequences.
“Among those who took a part with me in opposing, in a constitutional manner, the proceedings of the government, might be found many of the most enlightened, the most admirable, and the most wealthy men in the empire; men whose characters were unimpeachable, and whose property formed an important stake in the country; and they were earnest in their philanthropy, and sincere in their patriotism. They agreed with me in opinion that peace ought to be preserved till they were absolutely forced to take up arms. But there were others amongst us, young and headstrong politicians, or crafty and deceitful spies, who appeared most anxious to provoke an immediate collision. That the strife was about to commence was the general impression, for many provided themselves with arms, and others endeavoured to secure their property. This state of things continued from day to day, creating the most tyrannical laws, and making the indignation more general. All expected a blow to be struck; but having no acknowledged leader, and no settled plan of action, none were ready to strike. At last, as a final resource, I thought of once more calling a public meeting; and to avoid its being prevented by the government, as others had been, it was kept secret among known friends till the last moment, when each communicated it to a separate circle with such excellent effect, that the assembly was one of the most crowded that had ever been held.
“It was my duty to open the business of the day. Much as I feared the coming warfare, knowing that success could only be gained at the expense of incalculable misery and suffering, I felt the painful truth that the end justified the means, and endeavoured to prepare myself, as well as my excited feelings would allow me, to take my share in the approaching struggle. I abhor bloodshed; from my heart and soul I loathe it. I would have sacrificed myself willingly to obtain justice for my fellow-citizens; but justice seemed a thing only to be procured by force. I addressed the meeting. I felt that the labours of a long life, endured to create a more general happiness, were about to be risked in a strife of brother against brother. All that I had endeavoured to avoid would now become unavoidable—the reign of discord would commence—the wounds I had healed would break out afresh—the good I had done would be turned to evil—the felicity I had created would end in wretchedness. With these convictions of the mind, the sympathies of the heart may easily be imagined. I at first addressed the meeting as if mourning at the funeral of my own hopes. I related all that had been endured, and the eyes of my attentive auditors seemed to burn with indignation, and their brows scowled with resentment. I described the patience with which all had been endured, and their looks were restless and gloomy. I detailed every instance of contempt with which that patience had been regarded, and the breasts of the strong men heaved with passion, and their glances were stern and fierce. I told them how much I lamented the blindness and obstinacy of their rulers, and showed them the deep and just cause I had for that regret; but having stated that all had been attempted that the most patriotic philanthropist could have suggested to escape unshackled from the evils with which we were threatened, I told them that nothing now was to be done to preserve our liberties but to maintain them by force of arms. Twenty thousand eager voices, joining in one continued cheer, testified their readiness to follow the suggestion. ‘A long life has been devoted to your service,’ said I, ‘whose greatest pleasure has been created by the pleasures it has been enabled to diffuse. I would much rather that the life had been prolonged to continue its enjoyment in the same gladdening labour; but our rulers have willed it otherwise. I cannot end my existence as hitherto it has proceeded—not in the sweet indulgence of my friendly feelings towards my species—not in the observance of the tranquil bliss they have produced. No matter! I have ever been devoted to your service; my life must end in pursuing the same duty. I will stand by you in the struggle you must now commence; and all the power and wealth and influence I possess shall aid you in obtaining its successful issue.’ Cheers rent the air—such cheers as, if they had heard them, and seen the immense multitude from whom they proceeded, emulating each other in the expression of their grateful enthusiasm, would have made our ministers glad on any terms to undo the mischievous work they had executed.
“Many influential persons spoke to the same effect; and it was agreed that as large a body of men as could be got together should go to the emperor’s palace, and desire the instant abrogation of the unpopular edicts. If they met with force, it was to be resisted; and as soon as the struggle became inevitable, the bells of the different churches were to be rung to arms, and a simultaneous attack made on all the military positions, so as to prevent the troops leaving their barracks while the emperor’s palace was stormed. This plan was no sooner agreed upon than it was resolved to be put in immediate execution, to prevent the government taking measures to prevent its success; and a general rendezvous having been appointed, every man left the meeting with the intention of preparing himself for the fray. I had returned home, melancholy, I must acknowledge; for I could not reflect upon the dangers to which the mass of my fellow-citizens would soon be exposed without feelings of the deepest anguish; and I had scarcely crossed my own threshold before I saw that the place was filled and surrounded by armed men, by whom I was immediately seized, treated with every indignity, dragged through the streets to a dungeon, and, after having been loaded with heavy chains, there left to the contemplation of darkness and filth.
“The promptness and secrecy of my seizure I had not expected, or I should have been prepared for resistance; and now I had but little hope of ever being of the slightest service to any individual; for if my friends succeeded in their exertions, they knew not the place where I was confined, and were not likely during my existence to discover it, so that my prospect was but a cheerless one. It was some hours before I could distinguish with any accuracy the features of my prison. At last, when my eyes got used to the darkness, I noticed that it was a narrow cell, built of huge masses of stone. On one side, at the top, was a small grating of iron, through which sufficient light entered to make the darkness evident. The door was of iron, and it opened inwardly. The floor was of stone, damp and cold. It was about seven feet by five in size, and about ten feet in height. The place seemed never to have been cleansed: it was fouled with every abomination, and vermin, toads, and other loathsome objects abounded within its walls. Disgusting as such a place must be to one used to comfort and convenience, I began to grow careless of its horrors, and thought only of the effect my incarceration would have upon my fellow-citizens. It was not so secretly done as to prevent all knowledge of the transaction, and the few to whom it was known, I knew would lose no time in making their intelligence public. There would then, I felt convinced, commence a desperate struggle; and which ever side had the victory, it could not be gained but at the expense of a degree of human suffering, the imagination of which filled me with pain and fear.
“While engaged in these thoughts, I heard footsteps approaching—they stopped at the door—the strong bolts were undrawn, and a man, muffled up in a large cloak and high slouched hat, entered the cell. He stopped before me. I thought he was going to put me to death. I could see nothing of his face but two large dark eyes glaring upon me with a malignity I should have thought it impossible any human being could feel. He spoke, and I knew the voice. It was Philadelphia.
“‘So ho, old plotter of treason!’ he exclaimed exultingly, ‘you are now in safe keeping, I think. Nothing would serve your plebeian soul but to hatch rebellion. You could leave your beggarly buying and selling to plot the overthrow of the state. You thought, doubtless, it would be an easy matter to exterminate the power of the government, and felt assured you should have but little difficulty in seating yourself upon the throne of the Emperor. Ha ha! A fine plot truly: and a most admirable successor you would make to our gracious monarch. But I had due notice of your infamous designs. I have watched you long, old traitor! and only waited an opportunity for putting an end to your ambitious career. The object I sought is accomplished. How like you this dungeon? it is not exactly the palace you expected. And these chains, they are not so comfortable as the robe of state with which you imagined your vulgar limbs would be adorned?’
“Truly the dungeon is not agreeable, and the chains do feel rather heavy,” said I, mildly.
“‘Be satisfied,’ replied he in a tone of mockery; ‘you will get used to them, and they will last your time. I came to gratify myself by observing how you bore this sudden change in your fortunes. You are tired of lamenting your miserable fate; you have exhausted your imprecations upon me and my coadjutors in the government; you—’
“Common sense forbid that I should curse myself or any one, for it could do no one any good, and might do myself harm,” said I.
“‘’Tis all hypocrisy!’ exclaimed Philadelphia, ‘your heart is now ready to burst with vexation—your soul is full of hatred—your mind is intent upon revenge.’
“Indeed you wrong me,” I replied.
“‘No doubt, I do,’ he added with a sneer. ‘You are very much wronged. You are quite a martyr to your patriotic intentions. Never was man so ill used. Perhaps you are not a traitor—possibly you are not a rebel—it may be you did not treacherously plot the destruction of the peace of my family, by aiding in the elopement of my daughter.’
“A traitor I certainly am not—a rebel I am not—and as for your daughter’s elopement, I know no more than public rumour has declared, which was, that she left your house to avoid a marriage you were attempting to bring about against her inclinations,” I responded.
“‘’Tis a lie! ’Tis a low, vulgar, designing lie!’ shouted the enraged noble, as part of his cloak falling from his face disclosed his proud features distorted by passion. ‘You have been scheming to bring about an alliance between Eureka and your son—a base hound, unfit to breathe in her presence. Tell me where she is—tell me where you have secreted her; and wherever she may be, I will tear her limb from limb, rather than allow her to disgrace herself by any connection with your accursed family.’
“I know not her asylum,” said I. “But I acknowledge I did wish that our children should be united.”
“‘And how dared you so presume?’ fiercely inquired he. ‘Could you not have found among your own vile money-getting crew some fit companion for your cub, that you must needs think of uniting him with a daughter of one of the noblest families in the empire? The world is indeed in a sorry condition if it can tolerate such things. But that you know where she is concealed I am assured, and I will have the secret out of you, if torture can force it from your custody. Your nerves shall be racked, your flesh lacerated; you shall starve, and die, and rot in this hole.’
“I had been standing before him supporting my chains, as well as I could, and listening unmoved to his angry speeches; but there now appeared such a remorseless cruelty in his countenance, that I gazed in astonishment, almost doubting the possibility that the lamb I had known could have become so wolfish. To have told him my real name, I plainly perceived, would only incense him the more. If he hated me at that moment (and I grieved to think he should regard me with such unsocial feelings), with such a disposition as he possessed, he would detest me a thousandfold more, when he knew how much I could injure him. I can safely say I had no such inclination; and had I been so inclined, which I gladly affirm was not the case, being so entirely in his power, I saw that any intimation of such intentions would only have the effect of hastening my destruction, or of adding to my discomfort; I therefore still retained my secret. He had folded his arms across his breast, and was looking sternly upon my face.
“‘Then you will not acquaint me with the place of Eureka’s concealment?’ he demanded.
“‘I could not acquaint you with it if I would, for it is unknown to me,’ I replied; ‘and this I have already told you.’
“‘I will crush it out of you,’ he savagely muttered. ‘Think not of ever being carried alive out of this place. Dream not of rescue. I have taken care that the swinish mob you were so desirous of leading shall be cut to pieces by the soldiery wherever they appear in arms. Horse and foot are ready to act at a moment’s notice, and the most destructive artillery command all the principal streets, and defend every important building. I defy the whole city; and the first attempt at disturbance shall be so punished, that the poor deluded fools who are left alive will be very glad to gain the shelter of their homes. Anticipate no assistance from that quarter. The short time you have to live will be passed here, where you can see no human being, and no human being can see you; where your shrieks cannot be heard, were you to split your heart in the attempt. Enjoy yourself as you can; prolong your existence if you can; but, if you are wise, you will strive to escape the death prepared for you by dashing your traitorous scull against the wall.’ Then fixing on me a threatening scowl, he strode out of the cell.
“‘Who could have supposed this possible?’ thought I: how strange it seemed that the child I had known so innocent, and so affectionate, should have become so guilty and ferocious a man. Man! it libelled human nature to call him by the name. He was a mere animal, and the worst of animals; for he gave himself up to the indulgence of his passions, and pride and prejudice, and ignorance and cruelty, and all the tribe of evil influences which arose from an engrossing selfishness, became the principal ingredients of his nature. How I regretted this! I never yet saw a human being pursuing a path which led to misery, but I regretted the blindness that made him so obstinately bent on punishing himself: for I am quite certain that he who wilfully produces suffering in another must eventually be made to experience the pain he has created. No one can erect his own happiness upon so wretched a foundation, without finding the superstructure give way, till it leave him grovelling in the very wretchedness upon which he ventured to build. I therefore regret that he should possess such evil inclinations, as must make him a scourge to himself and others.
“Hours passed on; the evening approached; and, not having tasted food since the morning, I naturally felt desirous of some refreshment. But no one came near me. I began to listen for approaching footsteps; but I heard nothing but a confused rumbling sound, which vibrated through the prison. The desire for food increased during the night. I tried to sleep; but the inconvenience of my chains, the coldness and filth of the floor, and a sensation of gnawing at the stomach, made the enjoyment of sleep impossible. I walked about; but the heavy irons hurt my legs, and they soon fatigued me too much to be endured. I leaned against the wall for support, as I began to feel faint and sick. ‘Surely,’ thought I, ‘it is not intended that I should be left here to famish?’ I could not think so ill of any of my fellow creatures as to imagine that they would designedly allow me to die the lingering and terrible death of starvation. But no one approached my cell, and it was noon of the second day. To the pangs of hunger were added the torments of thirst: my tongue and throat became parched, and my skin dry as a cinder. Still I thought that my jailors had forgotten me. Towards evening, the sufferings I experienced were almost unendurable: I had pains in every limb; I felt weak as a child, and my skin was burning hot. I endeavoured to think of some plan by which I might draw my attention from the agony I endured; and fancied that, if I could bring my mind to the contemplation of the happiness I had been enabled to create, I should forget the worst part of my sufferings. So I attempted to remember every instance in which I had fortunately been the means of securing the enjoyments of some fellow creature; and, going back as far as my memory could trace, I recalled the recollection of a poor old blind man, whom, when a boy, I had met sitting on a bank, weeping and moaning, with the dead body of his faithful dog, the companion and guide of all his travels, in his lap. I had with me a beautiful spaniel, of which I was particularly fond; and, when I heard the poor man lamenting, in a tone that melted me to tears, that the death of his dog had left him helpless and forlorn, I comforted him as well as I could. I undid the string that was affixed to the dead animal, and fastened it to the collar of my own little favourite; gave him all the money I had about me, and promised to bury his old companion very carefully in a corner of my garden. To say that he was grateful would be to make use of too weak a term: his delight appeared to me extraordinary. He wept more than ever; and the fervour of his blessing is as fresh upon my ear, after the lapse of more than half a century, as it was when first uttered. From this commencement I proceeded through a long list of similar remembrances, each accompanied by a thousand pleasurable associations, till I found myself regardless of the terrible wants that had so long been preying on my vitals.
“I had noticed that the only sounds I had heard during my confinement had seemed gradually to approach the building I inhabited. Louder and louder they reverberated through the massive walls; and at last I was enabled to distinguish the deep roar of artillery, that appeared to shake the prison to its foundations. ‘The struggle has commenced,’ thought I: ‘blood is flowing like water; the relentless sword is ploughing its way through the flesh of my fellow-citizens, and thousands are being shattered and pierced by showers of murderous balls and shells.’ If the words of that fierce man were true, their chances of success, I knew, could be but slight. ‘They are being slaughtered like sheep,’ I cried; and every concussion produced by the report of the thundering cannon made me shudder with fear. All night the conflict proceeded. I had sunk exhausted upon the floor. I could remember nothing; I could think of nothing. I was rapidly sinking into insensibility, in the early part of the morning, when I became roused by hearing the uproar of cannon and musketry, and the shouts of infuriated men, so near, that I was convinced that the people had attacked the prison. I felt the concussion of the artillery most distinctly, which sounded as if the besiegers were battering down the walls; and the continued burst of volleys of musketry was evidence of the spirit with which the attack was carried on. About an hour passed without the slightest cessation of the tumult,—and to me it was an age of agonising suspense,—when the firing slackened; but whether the attacking party had been beaten off, or had gained possession of the building, I knew not. Some minutes, which seemed hours, passed; and I thought I could distinguish voices approaching. In a moment, I heard them distinctly.
“‘Where are you, my benefactor?’ shouted one.
“‘Speak to us, my preserver!’ cried another.
“‘Porphyry! Porphyry, our friend, we come to your rescue!’ exclaimed a dozen others; and I could hear them traversing the prison in every direction in search of me. My heart was so full at the kindness of these good men, that, had my strength been unimpaired, I could not have uttered a word; and I allowed my deliverers to pass the door without attempting to communicate to them the place of my concealment. A few moments passed, and they again approached. My heart beat more rapidly. I tried to husband all my remaining strength.
“‘Porphyry! Porphyry!’ shouted a hundred anxious voices.
“‘Porphyry! Porphyry!’ was echoed in every cell.
“‘Here, my friends!’ I exclaimed, as loudly as my feebleness would allow.
“‘That is him!’ they all cried.
“‘I know his voice among a thousand,’ said one; ‘and I am certain it came from within this chamber.’
“‘Down with the door!’ shouted others.
“In a moment a thousand hammers seemed to be vigorously driven against the door. The men cheered each other on in the labour: each exerted all his force; and in a few seconds the heavy bolts were shivered to splinters, and, with a piercing hurra! a crowd of eager friends burst into the cell. As soon as they saw my condition, their hearts were filled with commiseration.
“‘It isn’t a place to turn a dog in,’ said one, indignantly.
“‘The miscreants!’ muttered another.
“‘Look at these terrible chains!’ cried a third.
“‘The tyrants!’ exclaimed several.
“‘Let us carry him from this miserable hole; he is too weak to move,’ said a man whom I had befriended.
“‘I will bear a hand: he rescued me from a prison!’ exclaimed one.
“‘And I: he saved me from ruin,’ shouted another. And by these grateful creatures I was carefully carried into the open air, with my chains still about me, and in the wretched plight in which I had been found; where, on being shown to the multitudes of armed citizens that thronged the streets, I was received with shouts of triumph mingled with imprecations on my oppressors; and, accompanied by an escort of a hundred thousand men, I was conveyed in safety to my own house; my chains were taken off; and the most skilful physicians being immediately in attendance, I rapidly recovered to my usual state of health.
“I ascertained that, as soon as my seizure became known, the church bells were rung to arms, the stones in the streets were torn up, and barricades, which served to block up the thoroughfare from the advance of horse, and as intrenchments from which a galling fire could be poured upon the approaching troops, were formed across the streets. The first day, although there was great slaughter on both sides, no important advantage was gained by either party; and at night the soldiery remained under arms, and the people were busily employed in preparing to renew the conflict. Leaders were appointed of tens, of hundreds, and of thousands; and the grand point of attack was the arsenal and the ammunition magazines; while, at the same time, the military were kept sufficiently employed at all the posts they occupied. After a most obstinate resistance, the arsenal was carried; and the arms there found soon obtained owners willing to use them. Ammunition was acquired in a similar manner; and the result of these attacks gave to the popular cause a vast accession of strength. The barracks of the military, and the prison in which political offenders were incarcerated, were next sought out. The object of the attack on the former was to harass the soldiery as much as possible; and the aim of the latter was to find out my concealment, for the purpose of effecting my liberation. It was impossible to exceed the enthusiasm of the people when approaching the places where they imagined I was confined. They shouted my name, and rushed through the thickest fire with a valour that nothing could resist. Many of the prisons were pulled down after a fruitless search for the object they sought; and then they proceeded from these to others, till the day was spent. It was found impossible to approach the palace, as a chain of posts was established all round it, supported by an immense strength of artillery and powerful bodies of horse and foot, from which the citizens had been several times repulsed during the day; but at night, when the tired soldiery were endeavouring to snatch that repose which two days’ constant fighting rendered necessary, a simultaneous attack was made at every available point by a countless myriad of armed citizens; and, although they obtained possession of many pieces of cannon, after fighting desperately till daybreak, they found themselves compelled to retreat, with very considerable loss. After this, it was resolved to draw a line of strong intrenchments round this chain of posts, so as to prevent any communication or supplies reaching them from other parts of the city, or from the surrounding country, and then to crush in detail the resistance that might be offered at other positions; and this plan was being put in practice when my concealment was discovered, and I was set at liberty.
“The knowledge of the treatment I had received, while it inflamed the hearts of my countrymen, created for me even a more powerful sympathy than I had previously excited. As soon as I was able to attend to what was going forward, the leading men of the movement waited upon me, and communicated all that had transpired since my imprisonment; and, after assuring me that the enemy must surrender in a few days, or, if they moved from their position, be cut to pieces, they stated that they were commissioned by the people to offer me the chief authority of the nation, under whatever name or character I should judge most beneficial to the state. I need scarcely add that I refused the flattering gift. I did more; I told them the many attempts the late Emperor had made to force on me his distinctions, and their result. I told them that my object had been to live as a private individual, endeavouring to effect among my fellow men as much good as I had the power to create; that I had lived happily as one of themselves, and, as one of themselves, I wished happily to die. I told them that, as far as my advice and assistance could tend to their advantage, they might always command them. I endeavoured to prove to them the danger of changing the form of government, without being prepared with a better; and strived to convince them that it was much more to the interest of humanity, and to the advantage of the citizens, not to drive to desperation the powerful army still remaining, to which they were opposed; but, with the superiority they possessed, to attempt to bring about an adjustment of the quarrel between the government and the people, on such terms as should leave the latter nothing to desire, and the former no power to tyrannise.
“My suggestions were not received with the cordiality which they deserved. The deputation talked of the merciless slaughter of the citizens—the cruelty that had been exercised upon me—and the necessity of making an example of the offenders. I answered, that it would only be treading in the steps of our oppressors by desiring vengeance for injuries—that those who had been wronged could receive no benefit by the death of those who had injured them—that the evils the government had committed could not be remedied by their destruction—and that it was the most unwise policy a community could follow, to punish an offence that had been committed by taking a life, for it made it impossible that the offender should ever make amends to society for the mischief done. ‘Prevent as effectively as possible,’ said I, ‘the evil doer from repeating a wrong, and let him, by the exercise of virtuous inclinations among the community, outweigh the evil he has effected, and you will do more good than has been done by punishment since the creation of the world.’
“I regretted to observe a disinclination to follow my advice. The hearts of my companions seemed filled with resentment, and their minds with prejudice. Again they pressed on me the offers of the people, and again I refused; and then they took their leave of me, expressing their intention of acquainting the citizens with my resolution. I was most anxiously desirous that the warfare should terminate; and, knowing that the time was opportune for exacting the most favourable conditions for the nation from the government, I was eager to bring about an accommodation. The mass of my countrymen I found too much heated by the conflict to listen with a proper feeling to the peaceful measures it was my aim to accomplish. Arms were still in their hands, and the blood of their friends still stained the public streets. I published my sentiments among them in the most convincing form of which I was master; and, in addition to the opinions I have already stated, I offered, if they would intrust me with the office, to act as mediator, having powers to effect an arrangement between the contending parties on such conditions as would secure the liberties of the people on the most firm and enlarged basis, and reduce the influence of the crown to an extent which would not be dangerous to the community.
“Five days had elapsed since the contest commenced; and the troops were hemmed in around the palace, deprived of sufficient provisions, and harassed in every way that the valour and ingenuity of the citizens could devise. The ministers had now become as humble as they had before been intolerant. They attempted to bring about a reconciliation. They offered largely, and promised more. There they were, in the midst of sixty thousand picked men, trembling for the consequences of their own misgovernment; for they saw that the whole country was in the hands of the citizens, and that it would be impossible much longer to continue a resistance. Hitherto all their efforts at accommodation had been treated with studied indifference; but, having succeeded in procuring from the people the office I desired, I immediately set about communicating with the government the only terms upon which peace could be restored; and these were, that the ministers by whom the Emperor had been advised in his late measures should be banished from the court—never again to exert any authority over the people—and that half their estates should be confiscated to the relations of those who had perished in the conflict—that the Emperor should grant a charter to the people, by which all the privileges of freemen—right of opinion—liberty of conscience—a perfect representation of the popular will—unshackled trade—a liberal patronage of genius and industry—and the abolition of oppressive taxes and undeserved pensions should be preserved to them and their posterity for ever—that a standing army, beyond what was necessary to maintain security from foreign invasion, should no longer exist—and that no attempt should be made by the Crown either to punish any citizen who had assisted in the late struggle, or to repossess itself of the power which had been found so dangerous to the welfare of the people.
“I suppose these conditions seemed hard; for some days elapsed, and frequent attempts were made to have them rendered more agreeable. Not only did I refuse to alter them in the slightest degree, but I at last gave them four and twenty hours for consideration, at which time, if they were not accepted, I stated that I should insist upon unconditional surrender. Before the day was over, the conditions were agreed to—the charter signed and sworn to by the Emperor, in the presence of an almost countless multitude of citizens—the ministers, among whom, of course, was that unpitying man, Philadelphia, were banished from the city; half their estates were confiscated, and a new and more liberal administration chosen in their place—and, as the intelligence extended from one end of this mighty empire to the other, nothing was heard but sounds of congratulation and gladness, of thankfulness for the past, and hope for the future. All that I had desired was accomplished. The marks of the recent strife were soon erased. The citizens, returning to their social duties, ceased to think of the wounds they had received and inflicted; and all the blessings of peace began to flow in their accustomed channels. Had the struggle continued with the design of overpowering all opposition, and changing the form of government, the war would have been resumed in the provinces; might have been prolonged from father to son in efforts to restore the fallen dynasty; and, as a change, when attempted in a settled form of government, always produces an unsettled state of the public mind, the country would have been continually disturbed, and the happiness of the people rendered exceedingly insecure.
“All Columbia are satisfied with my exertions: they acknowledge the worth of what I have done. Even the Emperor seems desirous of paying me attention; and, although I have not much faith in his sincerity, his conduct serves to keep up the harmony which prevails. And, by my refusal to accept power at the expense of the happiness of my fellow-citizens, I have now the gratification of seeing the country prosperous, the people enjoying a greater degree of liberty than they have known for centuries, and the whole population vying with each other to show their estimation of my services. There is one thing that gives me peculiar satisfaction; and that is, your absence from the country at this eventful period. I know that, had you been here, your impetuous spirit would have hurried you into every wild and rash undertaking, and that you would have effected more mischief in a day than I should ever have been enabled to efface. Proceed with your voyage, Oriel, and when you return you will have reason to rejoice at the change which has been produced during your absence.”
Oriel Porphyry had read the preceding communication with intense interest; every moment stopping to regret that he should have been so far away at a period so important.
“Oh, had I but been there!” he exclaimed at the conclusion. “Here is a golden opportunity lost! The very moment for which I have so anxiously looked has escaped me. The great battle has been fought, and I not in the field. Surely, such a disappointment is enough to make one curse one’s destiny. My father’s notions are too chimerical. He is good—ay, the very best among the good; but his spirit is not young enough for the age. He should have crushed the hydra when he had it at his feet. Had I but been there! He will find, too late, that it is no use patching things that are radically bad: they cannot be mended; they are worn out, rotten, and useless. And that proud tyrant to have used him so inhumanly! Had I but been there! What a field there was for exertion, what splendid opportunities for daring valour! Perhaps a body of two hundred thousand armed citizens, all eager, all desperate, wanting only a leader to make them irresistible. Oh, this wretched fate, that kept me here like an inactive slave, while glory is to be won by a mere effort! And he was offered the supreme authority, and refused it? Noble, but unwise. He could confer more good on the people in a year than this thing, called an Emperor, can effect during the whole of his useless existence. Now the time is gone. The renown after which I yearn, the distinction and the power, would have been mine, had I been in the place where it might have been acquired. Had I but been there! How long am I to carry on this profitless existence? How long must I be forced to stifle my own energies, and live, from day to day, in the same dull round of inactivity? Must the wings of that spirit, that soars so far above the unambitious herd, still continue to be pinioned, leaving me to crawl upon the earth, following out the same ignoble purposes as those around me? Oh, deplorable fate! The rock to which Prometheus was chained, and the bird that pierced his vitals, are but types of the barrenness of my prospects, and the disappointed hopes that prey upon my peace. Oh, wretched destiny! The thirst with which Tantalus was devoured was a blessing, compared with the curse with which I am tormented. Eureka! Eureka! The greatness I have desired so earnestly, to make me more worthy of your excellence, has been waiting for my eager grasp, while I was far, far from its reach. Oh, had I but been there!”
[CHAP. VI.]
CHINA, ITS LAWS, CUSTOMS, AND PEOPLE.
The Albatross was just entering the Chinese sea, and making way in gallant style through the heavy waves. Her crew were numerous, and of picked men, chosen at the different ports at which the ship had touched since her departure from the pirates’ haunt on the Madagascar coast, by the experienced judgment of Captain Hearty. Several promotions had taken place among the old hands. Climberkin, who had distinguished himself on many occasions as a brave and skilful seaman, became second in command. Boggle, though liable to confuse his understanding with abstract speculations, was always to be depended upon in an emergency, and was honest, persevering, and well acquainted with the management of a ship at sea, and he was made second lieutenant. Loop was created a midshipman. Oriel Porphyry had offered to settle Ardent in comfortable circumstances in his native country; but he stated that having lost all that made dear to him the land of his birth, and having found so many kind friends on board the Albatross, he should prefer remaining in the vessel in any capacity in which he could be of service, and as he was known to be well qualified for the office, to him were assigned the duties of purser and captain’s clerk. As for Roly Poly, the offer of an empire would not have induced him to resign the custody of the roast and boiled; and he therefore continued absolute and undisputed sovereign of the cook-house. He seemed to be getting fatter every day. His back appeared to bend beneath the load of flesh it carried, and his huge black cheeks had become so large as to threaten to close up his eyes. To gain his good opinion, nothing was necessary but to praise his cookery; but as soon as any poor fellow attempted to find fault with the viands, or the way in which they were dressed, the abuse he received for what was considered his presumption and ignorance, made him glad to make his peace with the indignant cook upon any terms. For all this Roly Poly was held in much estimation by his shipmates. The important service he rendered with his mop was not forgotten; and though he was continually relating in a manner peculiarly his own, the way in which he had served out “dat ignorant jackmorass who sulted him by telling diclus impossumbilities,” the story was invariably received with the same hearty laugh and boisterous praise that marked the first hearing.
Although the manners of Captain Hearty and his officers were rather unpolished, the education which was common to all Columbians, and the experience they had gained in their profession, made them perfectly qualified to fulfil the duties they had undertaken; and the ship was as skilfully navigated, as if under the superintendence of the most gentlemanly officers in the service. As has before been stated, the commercial character of the Albatross had been changed by skilful hands for one of a more threatening aspect, nor was the alteration at all displeasing to the taste of Oriel. The only pleasure he seemed to enjoy with any zest, was in seeing the men exercised at the guns, practising at a mark, or engaged in improving themselves in the use of the broadsword; and in these pursuits he would join with intense interest, encouraging those who seemed anxious to excel, and rewarding those who evinced the most skill. His satisfaction at the arming of the vessel was increased when he considered the possibility of being attacked by pirates in the different seas that lay in the ship’s course, who might easily, as Captain Death and his associates had done, have made themselves masters of the Albatross; but who would now find it a matter very difficult to be accomplished.
“Come Zabra, I am plagued to death by my own thoughts. Cheer me with a song:” said Oriel Porphyry to his young friend as they sat together in the cabin.
“That you shall have, Oriel,” replied the handsome musician, as his hand ran lightly over the chords of the harp; “and I will try to humour your martial feelings to keep you in good temper with yourself. Listen to