“Preposterous!” exclaimed Fortyfolios; “he was a saint whose prayers had the efficacy of ridding the country of every venomous thing it contained. But there is a remarkable legend connected with his history, which I will relate to you as I found it in a very ancient poem preserved in the Columbian Museum. It appears that he was one fast day on a visit at a house, and he desired dinner might be brought to him; but the family having already dined there was no fish, the usual food for fast days, for his meal; in fact there was nothing eatable in the larder but a leg of mutton. With great regret the people of the house acquainted him with the real state of the case: but the good saint, with a benevolent smile, as the poet describes, merely said,
‘Send my compliments down to the leg
And bid it come hither a salmon.’”
“And what was the result?” inquired Oriel.
“To use the simple and expressive words of the poem,” replied the professor, with his usual gravity,
“‘And the leg most politely complied.’”
“You see those white cliffs just beginning to show ’emselves,” said the captain, pointing to the distant coast.
“I see them plainly,” replied the young merchant.
“That’s the coast of England, Sir,” added Hearty. Oriel Porphyry gazed on the classic shores that were rising before him with a deep and peculiar interest. He had read so much, and he had heard so much of the glory of the country he was approaching, and of the greatness of her people, that the first sight of land awakened in him the most agreeable associations. He thought of the splendour of her achievements—he thought of the magnificence of her power—he thought of her illustrious men—he thought of her noble efforts in the advance of intelligence—and the white cliff upon which he was gazing appeared to him to be the most interesting portion of the world.
“The appearance of the shore from the sea at one time conferred on England the name of Albion,” said the professor. “From Alba white—from which word many other names were derived, particularly album—a white book in great request at one time among the females of the island, to teach them the art of spoiling paper for the benefit of the stationers—and albumen, the white of an egg, a sort of food in great request with the chicken-hearted. Some of the natives of Albion carried their attachment to the name so far that they lived in a place which they designated the Albany, and had a favourite place of resort which they called ‘Whites.’ There was also a certain building situated in White Cross Street, to which they proceeded, to show their nationality, by getting white-washed. The females were remarkable for a partiality to white bread, white wine, and white linen, and the males evinced an equal fondness for white bait, white waistcoats, and white hands, and to such an extent did this favouritism for a particular colour extend, that there was a neighbouring island, called the Isle of White, to which the inhabitants of Albion made occasional journeys, for the pleasure of destroying white ducks, or white muslin: and it was usual for every generation to be christened in white, to be married in white, and to be buried in white.”