Randolph Royalton was never seen in New York, after the 25th of December, 1844. It is supposed that, aided by Martin Fulmer, he went abroad, accompanied by his sister, the beautiful Esther.
In January, 1845, Bernard Lynn, completely broken down in health and appearance, returned, with his daughter, to Europe. He died soon afterward in Florence. Eleanor, it has been rumored, committed the moral suicide of burying her life in a convent. But let us hope, that Eleanor, as well as Esther, will once more appear in active life.
Israel Yorke still flourishes; the devil is good to his children. Godlike, we believe, is yet upon the stage. And the apostolic Ishmael Ghoul, still conducts the Daily Blaze, waxing fat and strong, in total depravity. As for Sleevegammon, his competitor for public favor, he still see-saws on the tight rope, with Conservatism on one side, and Progress on the other. Blossom, the policeman, has retired from active life, and now does a great deal of nothing, for three dollars a day, in the Custom-House. Dr. Bulgin still thrives; he lately published a book of 345 pages, as big as his own head almost, against "Socialism." We have not been informed whether any monument of marble, with an obelisk and an epitaph, has been erected in memory of the martyred "Bloodhound."
Before we close our task, we will gaze upon four scenes; one of which took place on the ocean; another, by the shore of Hudson river; a third, in the Vatican, at Rome; the fourth and last, upon the boundless prairie.
It was in January, 1845.
One winter night, when the wind was bitter cold in New York, and the snow lay white upon the hills of the northern land, there was a brave ship resting motionless upon the ocean, not under a wintery sky, but under a summer sky, and in an atmosphere soft and bland as June. On her way from New York to the West Indies, she had been becalmed. She lay under the starlit sky, with her image mirrored in every detail, upon the motionless sea. All at once another light than the pale beams of the stars, flashed over the smooth expanse, and a pyramid of flame rose grandly into the sky. The ship was on fire; in less than two hours the flame died away, and in place of the brave ship, there was a blackened wreck upon the waters. All that escaped from the wreck were six souls; the captain, three of the crew, and two passengers. Upon a hastily constructed raft, with but a scanty supply of bread and water, behold them, as they float alone upon the trackless ocean. For three days, without a breath of air to fan the smooth expanse, they floated under a burning sun, in sight of the wreck, and on the evening of the third day, they shared the last crust of bread, and passed from lip to lip the last can of water. It was on the evening of the fourth day, that the captain, a brave old seaman, driven mad by the burning sun and intolerable thirst, leaped overboard, and died, without a single effort on the part of his companions to save him. His example was followed by a sailor, an old tar, who had followed him over half the globe. Thus, there remained upon the raft four persons; two passengers and two sailors.
It was the evening of the fifth day,—five days under the burning sun,—two days and nights without water!
The sun was setting. Like a globe of red hot metal, he hung on the verge of the horizon, shooting his fiery rays through a thin purple haze.
The wreck had gone down, and the raft was alone upon the motionless ocean.