‘Together let us range the fields,
Impearled with the morning dew,’
says an ancient poet, and there is no doubt that the lines were addressed by one member of the Athenæum to another.”
“And what good did they ever do by being brought together?” inquired Tourniquet.
“That has never been ascertained,” replied the other.
“For what purpose was this column erected?” asked the young merchant.
“It was erected to commemorate the victories of a certain Duke of York,” said the professor. “He distinguished himself greatly during the wars of the rival houses of York and Lancaster. Besides being a great general, his piety was so great that he became a bishop, and there are a series of moral discourses extant, that took place between the Bishop and the Bishop’s Clarke, a person who was also very celebrated. It may be said that this Duke of York enjoyed more credit in his day than any of his predecessors; indeed he was in such general requisition that the constant inquiries after him, gave rise to the saying, ‘York, you’re wanted;’ and it was to him that the people, after a disturbance which he had pacified, said,—
‘Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by the son of York.’”
“I certainly feel the charm of association as much as any one,” observed Oriel to his companion; “but the gratification I find in treading shores so celebrated by historic recollections is changed to a painful feeling at beholding the wreck to which has been reduced the greatness I have honoured. I should suppose, from what I have seen, that the whole land is in a similar state as that portion of it which has come under my observation. I can imagine nothing so deplorable. There appear to be no living things in the island but wild animals. I can only account for their being here, from my knowledge that, in former times, the natives kept several large collections of them for show, and that these having escaped, they spread themselves over the country.”
At this moment Oriel’s quick ear caught the sound of a low sharp growl at no great distance from him, and turning round, beheld a large lion crouching behind a heap of stones near the two philosophers, who were disputing so vehemently that they had not the slightest idea of their danger. The young merchant had just time to get his gun in readiness and give the alarm to the sailors, when, with a fierce roar that came like a peal of thunder upon the terrified disputants, the lion sprung upon them, and knocked them both down. He stood majestically with one paw upon the prostrate philosophers, looking defiance on Oriel and his companions, as they cautiously approached him from all sides with their muskets in their hands.
“Now, my friends,” exclaimed the young merchant, “don’t fire till you come within good aiming distance—don’t more than half fire at a time—let the others reserve their fire, in case he makes a spring—be steady, and aim at his head.”