A stranger in the balloon looks down with interest upon this scene. His gaze, wandering across the mighty city, is arrested by two gleaming gilded statues crowning a monster edifice, upon whose cap of glittering panes the sun is shining brightly.
“Is that the Hall of Liberty?” he inquires of his guide.
“Yes,” answers the person addressed, “the same as was raised a century ago by the great Duchess of Ravensdale, of noble memory.”
“Is she buried there?” asks the stranger dreamily.
“Buried there! Ah, no!” replies the man almost indignantly. “I thought all the world knew where Gloria of Ravensdale sleeps. There is a beautiful grave overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, on the shores of Glenuig Bay. It is there where Gloria sleeps, by the side of her husband Evelyn, the good Duke of Ravensdale. It was her wish, and her wish with the nation was law. Every year the grave is resorted to by thousands, who lay upon it their tributes of lovely flowers.”
“Is any one else buried there?” again the stranger asks.
“Yes, sir, a great woman, Lady Flora Desmond. She survived Gloria of Ravensdale for many years, and carried on her noble works of reform. She was Prime Minister for twenty years, and her last request was to be buried at the feet of the Duke and Duchess of Ravensdale.”
“The Ravensdales owned immense wealth, and parted with it all, so history says,” murmurs the stranger.
“Ay, sir, they gave it all to the poor. At least, they spent it on the poor, and by their noble example induced others to do likewise,” answers the man. “There is no poverty in this country now, sir. As we pass across it you will see evidence of peace and contentment, and plenty everywhere. We owe it all to the glorious reforms of Gloria of Ravensdale.”
“That is a very lovely garden not far from Westminster Bridge which you lately pointed out to me,” continued the stranger. “What a glorious wealth of flowers!”