“That is the standard of the twelve united states of New Holland, which together form a federate republic,” answered Bacon.
“A republic!” was my reply; “I always thought that New Holland belonged to the British crown.”
“Such was the case,” replied Bacon, “at one time; but the child has outgrown the mother. For ever so long the New Hollanders manage their own affairs. They are, as you are doubtless aware, of European descent. That is the great difference between New Holland and the East Indian islands, which at one time were yours. We have therefore parted on the very best of terms, and the only bond that still joins us together is that of reciprocal commercial interests. The vast Southland has become a powerful government; and if ever—improbable as it is—civilization should migrate from Old Europe, it still would know where to find a centre. You will soon become aware of this on our landing.”
We were rapidly moving. New Zealand disappeared from our horizon, and in opposite direction other districts seemed to emerge from the sea. That was New Holland, the great Southland, the goal of our voyage.
Every passenger began to look after his luggage. The long extensive coastline lay before us. We were slowly and obliquely descending. The objects on the surface of the earth grew in size and distinctness. It was evident that we were approaching a large city. Melbourne it was. A few moments afterwards we heard a bustle and a kind of confused noise, only to be compared with the unfurling of sails and the untying of ropes. A violent shock followed, and—I woke up in my arm-chair.
THE END.
Watson and Hazell, Printers London and Aylesbury
[1] For the original of these passages we refer the scholar to that admirable letter of Bacon’s, De mirabile potestate artis et naturae, etc., which appeared first of all in the work of Claudius Celestinus, De his quae mundo mirabiliter eveniunt, Lutetiae Parisiorum, 1542. Bacon’s description of a flying machine, of which we read in the same document, shows, however, that he too, in his philosophical visions, was apt to transgress the line of the possibilities. [↑]
[2] At the end of the nineteenth century the Saxon element had almost entirely disappeared from the English tongue; even the most intelligible Norman words had had to give way to the most miraculous novelties in the shape of bad Greek and Latin compounds. At the revival of the genuine national dialect all such abominable mongrels as telegram, bicycle, velocipede, etc., were expelled from decent conversation. A telegram became a wire-message; a bicycle a two-wheel; a velocipede a swift-foot; post-mortem examinations went by the name of after-death examinations; and as the language gained in nationality, the nation’s mind grew in clearness. The change was a change for the better.