LADY EUREKA;
OR,
THE MYSTERY:
A PROPHECY OF THE FUTURE.

BY THE AUTHOR
OF
“MEPHISTOPHELES IN ENGLAND.”

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.

LONDON:
LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1840.

London;
Printed by A. Spottiswoode,
New-Street-Square.

CONTENTS

EUREKA
A PROPHECY OF THE FUTURE.

[CHAPTER I.]
ROLY POLY’S SICKNESS AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

“Oh, massa, I so bad!” exclaimed the fat cook, as he waddled up to the surgeon, with a most woeful expression of countenance.

“What’s the matter with you, Roly Poly?” inquired Dr. Tourniquet.

“Sich a debble ob a pain, massa,” continued the black.

“But where is it, man? where is it? Can’t do you any good till I know what’s the matter with you, don’t you see,” said the surgeon.

“Debble ob a pain, massa, in my tomack,” replied his patient, rubbing his huge hand over his stomach, and heaving the most despairing of sighs.

“Put out your tongue,” exclaimed the doctor.

The fat cook extended a pair of enormous jaws, and protruded something which resembled a scorched brick-bat.

“Ah! derangement of the digestive functions,” remarked the practitioner, after a brief inspection of the misshapen lump of flesh his patient had exhibited. “What have you been eating?”

“Eatin, massa?” repeated Roly Poly, looking most ludicrously pathetic, “can’t eat nutting, massa, to tink of. Loss nappetite ’pletely. Breakfast, me only eat pound and harp o’ beef—berry little lump o’ cold puddin big as my two fistes,” (which were the size of another person’s head), “two or tree red herrin—harp-a-dozen egg—lope o’ bread, and one, two quart o’ cocoa. Nuttin more, me ’sure you, massa. Yes, me loss nappetite ’pletely. Den for lunch, me eat pound and harp o’ beef—berry little lump o’ cold puddin, big as my two fistes—two or tree red herrin—and drop o’ liquor wash it down, not more den harp a gallon, nutting to tink of, massa. Den for dinner me eat pound and harp o’ beef—berry little lump o’ hot puddin, big as my two fistes—plate or two o’ wedgeables—lope o’ bread—small bit o’ cheese, big as one o’ my two fistes—and drop o’ liquor wash it down, not more nor harp a gallon. Can’t eat nuttin. Den for tea me eat pound and harp o’ beef—berry little lump o’ cold puddin, big as my two fistes—two or tree red herrin—harp-a-dozen egg—lope o’ bread, and one, two quart o’ cocoa. Nuttin to tink of. Den for supper, me eat pound and harp o’ beef—berry little lump o’ cold puddin, big as my two fistes—two or tree red herrin, and two or tree roasted tatoroes—lope o’ bread—small bit o’ cheese, big as one o’ my two fistes—and drop o’ liquor wash it down, not more nor harp a gallon. Me eat nuttin, massa. Loss nappetite ’pletely.”

“Why, you eat enough to satisfy a regiment,” exclaimed Dr. Tourniquet.

“No, massa, me berry poor eater,” replied the fat cook in a doleful tone; “eat nuttin to sinnify. Ony pound and harp o’ beef—berry little lump o’ cold puddin——”

“Yes, yes; I’ve heard all that,” said the doctor, impatiently interrupting him. “Your plethoric habit must be reduced, don’t you see. You must be bled and physicked, till we bring down that mountain of flesh into something like a healthy size. You must eat no beef, no pudding, no red herrings, no eggs, and no cheese; and drink neither liquor nor cocoa. You must drink nothing but barley water, and eat nothing but arrow-root; and run up and down the deck for half an hour, half-a-dozen times a-day.”

As the Doctor described the remedies he desired his patient to adopt, Roly Poly’s mouth gradually extended itself till it threatened to approach his ears; and his eyes kept winking and staring as if in complete consternation.

“Massa!” at last he loudly exclaimed, and seemed gradually becoming more indignant. “What, starve poor nigger! reduce poor Roly Poly to a natomy! No eat no pound and harp o’ beef, no berry little lump o’ cold puddin big as my two fistes—no red herrin—no nuttin! You want to kill poor Roly Poly, Sar! You want to ’prive de world o’ de cook what makes de booflifulest dishes as you nebber see, Sar! You want to make skeleton o’ poor nigger to put in glass-case, Sar! Nebber heard o’ sich numanity! sick barbararity—sich cruelty to anmals! Where de debble you spect to go when you die?”

“Well, if you don’t like to follow my prescriptions, it’s no use coming for my advice, don’t you see,” remarked the Doctor.

“Follow your scriptions?” replied his patient, losing all respect for his companion in the intensity of his indignation. “Follow a shark’s grandmutter, Sar. What, eat nuttin but arrow-root? nassy slop!—pooty joke indeed. Drink nuttin but barley water?—washy stuff! Tink you catch me at it. Be bled and physicked, and run up and down deck six times a day for harp an hour—what a preposterosterous impossumbility.”

“You will get much worse if you don’t, and possibly you may die, don’t you see,” observed Tourniquet.

“Die, Massa!” cried the fat cook, looking horrified at the idea, and rubbing his stomach with an increased energy. “Oh, sich a debble ob a pain! Die Massa! Poor Roly Poly die? Sich a boofliful cook die! Quite unnatral, Massa. Oh, sich a debble ob a pain! What become o’ de poor fellars who eat him nice puddins, and soups, and all dat? Nebber hab no beckfast; nebber hab no lunch; nebber hab no dinner; nebber hab no tea; nebber hab no supper; never hab no nuttin! What become o’ ebry body? What become o’ ship? Same o’ you say Roly Poly die! Nobody do nuttin widout him; cook be most important ofcer in ship. Roly Poly be booflifulest cook as nebber was. Same o’ you say Roly Poly die!”

“Well you will find out the difference by-and-bye, don’t you see,” said the Doctor; and, turning on his heel, he left his patient to his own reflections.

“Him no more doctor dan a jackmorass,” muttered the fat cook, as he waddled to another part of the ship, making the most ludicrous grimaces, and rubbing his stomach with an activity, that for him, was quite surprising. On his way he met with Loop, the young midshipman, who had lately distinguished himself by his love of mischief, and fondness for tricks. The lad, with a very demure face, approached Roly Poly.

“How do you do, Roly Poly?” he inquired, looking into his face as if he was wonderfully interested in the result of his question.

“Oh, sich a debble ob a pain!” replied the fat cook, with a most melancholy visage, continuing the up and down motion of his hand.

“You look very ill, very ill indeed,” observed the boy. “What an extraordinary change! I should scarcely have known you. You must be in a very dangerous state, Roly Poly. You ought to be in your hammock. You ought to be making your will—you ought to be saying your prayers.”

“Oo, oo, oo!” blubbered out the fat cook, lengthening his face as he listened to the remarks of his companion. “You tink I die, Massa Loop?”

“I am much afraid you will be as dead as a herring before you can look about you,” replied Loop.

“Oo, oo, oo!” The other continued. “Doctor say I die: you say I die: spose I must die. Oo, oo, oo!——“

“We are all mortal,” observed the youth, with a grave countenance; “and all, sooner or later, must leave this sublunary world. Cooks cannot be spared any more than midshipmen.”

“Oo, oo, oo!” cried Roly Poly.

“Is there any thing I can do for you?” anxiously inquired the midshipman;—“any consolation I can afford, before your cold remains are consigned to the deep.”

“Oo, oo, oo!” continued the fat cook.

“You must have fortitude to bear the blow,” said Loop, with a countenance that would have done credit to a judge. “Let this be your consolation, that although your body will be devoured by the first shark that ventures in its way——”

“Oo, oo, oo, oo!” vehemently sobbed the sick man, interrupting the sentence before it was half finished.

“You ought now to think of your sins,” continued his tormentor. “It is never too late to repent, you know; and I should earnestly advise you to confess all the injuries you have done your fellow-creatures by imposing upon their stomachs the villanous specimens of your cookery you have from time to time set before them. Confess upon what pipe-clay and train-oil system you made your puddings,—confess the abominable trash you put together to manufacture into soups;—confess how many you have poisoned with your atrocious cocoa—confess——”

It is possible that the young midshipman might have said much more, but Roly Poly, who had listened to his injunctions at first with astonishment, and next with rage, lost all consideration for his approaching dissolution, and his yellow eyeballs flashed with fury. “What de debble you mean you fellar!” thundered out the enraged cook, approaching his companion, who wisely kept out of arms’ reach. “What de debble you mean ob pipe-clay and train-oil? What you mean ob bominable trash—what you mean ob poison wid trocious cocoa? You mean to sult me, Sar? You tink I put up wid your imprance, Sar? You spose I low one man to peak sick horble tings o’ nodder man.”

“Man!” exclaimed the youth, as he edged away from his pursuer,—“You don’t call yourself a man, surely? You know you’re nothing else but an old blacking bottle, turned inside out.”

“Blacka bottle!” shouted Roly Poly, while his face became livid with rage, and he looked utter annihilation at his insulter, “Blacka bottle! I blacka bottle you, I catch you!” and he waddled after the midshipman as fast as his fat legs would carry him, intent upon vengeance.

Loop kept dodging him about from one place to another, saying the most aggravating things he could think of, till the perspiration rolled down the black cheeks of the infuriated cook, and he seemed completely exhausted by his exertions. Roly Poly sat down at the foot of one of the masts to rest himself, breathing all sorts of threatenings against his tormentor; while the young midshipman, laughing at the success of his trick, nimbly ascended the yards, and took up a position just over the head of the victim of his mischief. The latter was congratulating himself that he was left at peace, and was endeavouring to recover the tranquillity of his temper, when he became conscious of something dropping down upon him; putting his hand to his woolly head, he discovered it was being covered with pitch, and, looking up, beheld Master Loop snugly balanced aloft, amusing himself by pouring from an old bucket some of the fluid that had polluted his person.

It would be in vain attempting to delineate the passion of the fat cook at this discovery. Furious with rage, he caught up a small hand-spike that lay near, and poised it in his hand with the intention of throwing it at his tormentor. Loop saw what he was about to do, and immediately, as rapidly as possible, moved from his position, and kept changing from place to place, with a quickness that baffled the fat cook’s aim; but when he had ascended to a greater height, and was passing from one point to another with a velocity that seemed impossible to be imitated, his foot slipped, and with a scream that made all on deck aware of his danger, he fell headlong into the sea.

The Albatross was proceeding at a moderate rate, and was about fifty miles off the coast of Spain. Oriel Porphyry was conversing with Zabra on the quarter-deck, when he noticed the accident. He, with others, rushed to the side; and, observing where the boy descended, he immediately threw off his upper garments, and plunged into the waves. There was a strong sea running at the time, and it required the arm of a powerful swimmer to force a way through the heaving billows. Upon arriving at the surface, after his plunge, Oriel struck out for the spot where the midshipman had fallen, but saw nothing of the object of his search. He dived about in every direction; but was equally unsuccessful. Anxious to endeavour to save the youth while a possibility remained of his rescue, he continued his exertions; but he met with nothing that could in the slightest degree, assist him in his object. Not a trace of the boy was to be seen. Disappointed and weary, he was about returning to the ship, when he caught the sound of a faint, bubbling cry at no great distance from him, and turning his eyes in that direction, he thought he could distinguish something like a human head in the trough of an advancing wave. He swum rapidly in that direction; and as he approached, saw it disappear from the surface. Down he dived after it as rapidly as his skill would allow; but though he swept the waters, far and near, with his arms, he touched nothing but the cold salt water; and after remaining beneath the surface till his strength and breath were nearly exhausted, he arose, dispirited and faint, into the open air.

While the most painful reflections were created in his mind, by the unsuccessful result of his labours, he suddenly observed a dark substance rise within a few feet of him; he struck out towards it in a moment, and grasping it firmly with his hand, to his deep and inexpressible delight discovered it to be the body of the lost midshipman. His face was pallid, his skin cold, and as Oriel found that he made no reply to his hurried inquiries, he was much afraid that the boy was either dead, or was in a state nearly approaching dissolution.

By this time the ship had been put about, and the sailors having been made acquainted with the accident rushed with anxious faces to the side. They watched with the deepest interest the young merchant gallantly breasting the waves in search of their drowning favourite, and became uneasy as they noticed the unprofitableness of his efforts. But none regarded the progress of the swimmer with such intense excitement of feeling as Zabra. He saw his patron pass from wave to wave—he observed him dive into the dark waters, and waited for his re-appearance with sensations impossible to be described. As the vessel was brought round to the spot where Oriel Porphyry was pursuing his researches, he became more earnest in his attention. He endeavoured to encourage him in his efforts with his voice, and to strengthen him in his purpose by his praise. The captain had not ascended to the deck, and he was unacquainted with the accident: but as soon as he was made aware of it, he hurried to the ship’s side in an agony of apprehension, and it was only the strong grasp of Boggle and Climberkin that prevented him from plunging into the sea.

A loud cheer from the crew announced that the young merchant had succeeded in finding the object of his solicitude, and anxiously every eye turned towards the spot where he was seen supporting the boy with one arm and cleaving his way through the waves with the other.

“A shark—a shark!” screamed Zabra; and to the horror of Oriel and those who were observing him, a monstrous shark was seen coming rapidly towards him. A cry of terror arose from the ship. Some shouted in hopes of frightening away the ravenous animal—others to warn the young merchant of his danger. Some ran to get fire arms, and Hearty, breaking away from those who held him, suddenly hurried below the deck. The agony of Zabra became insupportable. He screamed in all the piercing tones of horror and despair, and his handsome features seemed convulsed with fear. Still, as if there was a fascination in the object, he kept his eyes upon the form of the shark. He watched its movements with a fearful interest, and saw it near its intended victim with wild and frantic terror.

Oriel Porphyry beheld the approach of the giant of the deep with consternation and dread. He could not abandon his companion, who was incapable of making the least exertion for his own safety, and he saw no way of rescue for himself. He held the boy tighter, and dashed along the waves with greater velocity in hopes of reaching the rope that was hung out from the ship before the huge animal could come up with him. To the attainment of this purpose he strained all his powers. Many friendly voices cheered him on, and others strove all they could to frighten away his remorseless enemy. But the shark kept on his way, unheeding the frightful cries and showers of missiles with which he was assailed. His fierce eyes were fixed upon his prey, and his monstrous jaws were gaping for their food. The rope was almost within reach, but the destroyer was nearer. Oriel Porphyry gave himself up for lost. It appeared evident to all that he could not escape. The crew redoubled their cries and flung every thing at hand at the monster without avail. Just as he was turning on his side to make the fatal gripe, Hearty rushed upon the deck with a long knife in his hand, and before any one was aware of his purpose, he leaped over the side of the ship and descended into the water close to the jaws of the shark, with a splash that completely distracted the animal’s attention, and allowed Oriel Porphyry unmolested to seize the rope which the eager sailors held to assist him in regaining the vessel. In a moment, with his lifeless burthen still grasped in his arm, he was hawled upon the deck, and then placing him under the care of Dr. Tourniquet, he was turning to notice the result of the Captain’s manœuvre when he found himself seized by the friendly grasp of Zabra, whose delight at his escape appeared to have taken away all power of utterance.

But now an extraordinary scene presented itself upon the sea. The shark had dived below the surface, when Hearty suddenly dashed down before him; but on rising again, which he very shortly did, and on perceiving his prey escape, he turned with increased ferocity towards the hardy seaman, who was rejoicing at the success of his scheme. The old man waited quietly till the shark turned to make a snap at him, then diving quickly under his enormous belly, he plunged the knife up to the hilt in his body, and rose up on the other side. The crew cheered vociferously when they saw what their captain was about, and every one on board watched the unequal combat with feelings of the most intense interest. The ravenous monster, smarting with pain, again approached his opponent; again he turned to gripe him within his jaws, and again the old man diving under his belly, plunged his knife deep into his flesh. The animal now became furious; he lashed the waves with his tail till they became a mass of foam, and rapidly followed his brave antagonist, making every effort to devour him; but the old man warily avoided all his ferocious attempts, and at every blow of his arm crimsoned the water with his blood. This fight continued for several minutes, till both the combatants disappeared from the surface, when the anxious crew of the Albatross began to fear that their brave old commander had fallen a sacrifice to his exertions; but when they beheld the huge fish floating on the water belly upwards, and heard the old man cry out for a rope, a long and hearty cheer rose from the ship, and every one rushed to bear a hand in assisting him on board.

He appeared covered with the blood of the slaughtered shark, and with the weapon in his hand, of which he had made such good service. While he was receiving the congratulations of his messmates, he inquired eagerly after his young relative. Oriel, who had ascertained that he was doing well, hastened to communicate the intelligence; and the old man as soon as he beheld the preserver of his boy, eagerly grasped his hand, and uttered his grateful thanks. Both soon afterwards left the deck to change their apparel.

Among those who seemed most anxious for the recovery of the young midshipman was Roly Poly, who, although exceedingly passionate, and easily enraged, was a very good hearted sort of creature, and he quite forgot the insults he had received—forgot even the terrible pains that had a short time since so much alarmed him, when he witnessed the dangers to which the boy had been exposed, and saw him brought lifeless upon the deck. He assisted Dr. Tourniquet in using the usual means for restoring suspended animation, and observed his recovery with a delight equal to that of any one in the ship.

After Loop was able to walk about, Roly Poly addressed him with a great deal of gravity upon the offence he had committed.

“Nebber you gain call me Blacka Bottle,” said the fat cook. “Nebber you say nuttin scandabalous bout de boofliful tings what I cook. Nebber you say no preposterosterous impossumbilities. Horble ting, massa Loop, to call Roly Poly Blacka Bottle—Horble ting to say nuttin scandabalous—Horble ting to say preposterosterous impossumbilities.”

“I’ll never say any thing against you again, Roly Poly, as long as I live,” exclaimed the contrite midshipman: and thus ended the quarrel; and ever afterwards they were the best friends in the ship.

[CHAP. II.]
AN AUSTRALIAN COLONY IN SPAIN.

“We are approaching the Colony to which you thought of emigrating, are we not?” inquired Oriel Porphyry of the captain’s clerk, who stood beside him on the deck, and with whom he had been in earnest conversation concerning the misfortunes of the young Australian.

An expression of pain and regret passed over Ardent’s countenance.

“Yes it was here,” he replied making a violent effort to conquer his emotion. “We were destined to the penal settlement of New Sydney on the Spanish coast, thriving accounts of which were in circulation in Australia. My brothers were desirous of a location somewhere near the banks of the Guadalquivir, as, although it was thinly settled, the land was said to be of a very superior quality. My father was of the same inclination. I had no other wish than to accompany them. Optima was anxious for nothing but to be with me. But, alas! the devouring flame, or the equally unrelenting flood has swallowed up all. I am a wanderer and a beggar.—I have neither kin nor country.”

“Say not so,” replied the young merchant kindly. “I have not forgotten the services you have rendered me, nor am I likely to pass them by without notice. If you wish to settle at the colony, I will take care you shall have the means of doing so with every hope of success; or if you have no particular inclination towards any country, if you will return with me to Columbia, you may depend upon meeting with many kind friends, and may pass the rest of your life in comfort. I must touch at New Sydney as I expect a letter from my father, from whom I have not for some time had any communication, which makes me exceedingly anxious; and if you hear of any desirable farm or plot of land, I wish you would let me know.”

“Your kindness is overpowering,” said Ardent, much affected. “I have done nothing to deserve it. I have already been rewarded in a manner far exceeding my deserts. But while I can be of any service, I should like to remain with you. I have no ties to bind me to any country—and where I can be useful is where I should like to dwell.”

“So it shall be then,” added Oriel Porphyry. “Be satisfied that the remainder of your life shall bear no comparison with what has preceded it. We are now nearing the shore. I shall require your services as I have some business to transact; therefore you will be good enough to prepare to land with me immediately.”

As the Albatross approached the coast, the buildings of a small seaport became distinguishable. Some large houses faced the sea, and a battery commanded the entrance to the port; but with the exception of one or two streets running at right angles, the buildings straggled about with very little pretensions to regularity. The country seemed thinly inhabited, yet looked fertile and picturesque. Broad hills and valleys and noble views were observable in the distance;—a wild and lofty rock rose along the coast; and forests of noble trees were spread out in various directions. There was no shipping in the bay, except a few small craft; but the beach was crowded with spectators. It was observed that, among the hundreds who were watching the progress of the ship from the shore, there was only one female: the rest were men, and they were apparently of all ages, but principally men in the prime of life and in the full vigour of health. The appearance of only one woman surrounded by such an assemblage of the other sex seemed so remarkable, that it attracted the attention of all on board. As the ship entered the bay, several boats were put off, and the crew of each seemed to strain every nerve in endeavouring to get first alongside the vessel. In a few minutes the Albatross was boarded by several different parties.

“How many women have you?” cried one; as soon as he reached the deck.

“Let me see your cargo of female emigrants,” demanded another as he bustled up to the captain.

“I want a wife!” shouted a third.

“We have no women here,” exclaimed Hearty.

“No women!” cried they in full chorus, looking as disappointed as men could be.

“None,” replied the captain.

“What! have you brought us no wives?” asked one in a most doleful tone.

“Nothing of the kind,” said Hearty.

“Tarnation!” exclaimed they; and they looked at each other with all the eloquence of mute despair.

“A little un ’ill do for me!” squeaked out a dumpy sort of fellow, with a red nose and a pepper-and-salt waistcoat.

“We’ve got neither little nor big!” responded the captain.

“Tarnation!” again exclaimed the bachelors; and, slowly and despondingly, they prepared to leave the ship.

“Now ar’nt you got nothing feminine of no kind?” earnestly asked a sharp-visaged, lanky-looking settler, who seemed very loth to leave the ship. “If she’s a nigger, I don’t care.”

“I tell you we’ve got no women at all!” said old Hearty, rather sharply.

“Tarnation!” muttered the disappointed colonists: and in a short time after they had reached the land, there was scarcely a creature, with the exception of the female already alluded to, to be seen on the beach. They had been expecting a ship laden with female emigrants, and as they were very much in want of wives, imagining the Albatross to be the much wished for vessel, they had been excessively eager to behold the cargo. The incident created considerable amusement among the voyagers. The sailors were particularly merry upon the occasion; and the rueful visages of the unfortunate colonists afforded many a hearty laugh.

Oriel had landed, and was walking along the beach, when he was startled by a short, quick scream, and turning round, beheld the female who had previously attracted his attention, rush into the arms of the captain’s clerk. He had noticed, on his approach to the shore, that this woman, who from her dress appeared to be a domestic servant, seemed to regard the persons in the boat with an anxious scrutiny; but imagining it to be the effect of curiosity, it did not excite in him any remark. Ardent, at this rencontre, seemed to be in a state of surprise and wonder that kept him speechless. He gazed upon the prepossessing features of the fair stranger as earnestly as if he had no other faculty than that of seeing. The kind and anxious look that met his own—the arms that clasped his neck so firmly, and the gentle voice that murmured his name, convinced him of a fact of which he was almost incredulous. It was Optima.

“By what fortunate chance did you escape the death I felt assured that you had met with?” inquired Ardent, after, at Oriel’s request, he had for the purpose of privacy retired to a chamber in one of the neighbouring habitations.

“When I found the boat sinking, I clung to it,” replied his companion; “and when it again rose to the surface I floated on it. The blow which it had received from the ship had propelled it a considerable distance, and the force of the waves carried it still farther. The plunge I had received, for some minutes took my breath away; and, although I held on with all my strength to the boat, the heavy waves continually breaking upon me, and the alarming position in which I found myself placed, made me quite incapable of uttering a sound. As soon as I was able to comprehend the extent of my danger, the thought that I was separated from you, and the fear that you had perished in the sea, made my heart sink within me. I clung instinctively to the floating vessel; but I had no desire to live. I had seen enough of that dreadful conflagration to fill me with terror; and I had not recovered from the feelings it occasioned, when I was left alone, friendless, and about to be engulphed in the waters. All around me was so dark that I could see nothing; but the saltwater, as it dashed over me, scarcely allowed me to open my eyes if I could have seen, and my strength was being rapidly exhausted. I soon sunk into a state of stupor. How long this lasted I do not know; but on recovery, I found myself in a cabin, receiving every attention that my wants required; and, on inquiry, I found that I had been picked up by the crew of a ship, which, attracted by the glare of the burning vessel, had sent out a boat, in hopes of affording assistance to the survivors.”

“I was saved in a similar manner,” remarked Ardent.

“When they had taken me into the boat they did not proceed any farther,” continued Optima, “as they observed that another vessel had sent out a boat’s crew upon the same errand, and having no spare time at their command, they left the other boat to pick up the survivors, and returned with me to the ship. I discovered also that the vessel to which I had been conveyed had left Sydney with emigrants for the very colony to which we were proceeding. I told my story to my preservers, and many who heard it were kind and compassionate. An offer was made me by the wife of a settler to remain with her in the capacity of domestic servant, which offer I accepted without hesitation. One thing was a great consolation to me, and that was the conviction that you had been saved. I knew that you were a strong swimmer, and as I had been told that a party had been sent from the ship to rescue the crew of the boat they had run down, I concluded that you were in safety.”

“You were right, dear Optima!” said the captain’s clerk; “I was taken on board that ship, and have since held in it a responsible situation.”

“Believing you to have been rescued, I continued to live, with the hope that I should meet you again,” continued Optima. “I arrived at the colony. The persons whose protection I had accepted, settled at Sydney, where the husband commenced business as a builder, in which he succeeded beyond his expectations. I was very well treated, and labour being exceedingly valuable in the colony, my exertions were rather profitable to me. At that time I entertained the idea that as all our property was consumed in the fire, you must be very much in want of a variety of comforts to which you had been used; and as the expectation of my meeting you again was never absent from me, I laboured diligently, and saved all my earnings as a provision for our future support.”

Ardent could only look his gratitude, and rapturously kiss the hand he held in his own.

“It was such a pleasure to me, dear Ardent,” resumed his companion, “to count my gains as fast as they accumulated, and I kept saying to myself ‘a little more and there will be enough to begin the world again with;’ and I thought how happy I should be able to make you, and I kept hoping we should soon meet—and every day passed by in imagining what we should do, and in enjoying a happiness of my own creating. Every time I heard that a ship was in the bay, I came down to the beach in hopes of finding you among the passengers. I scrutinised every one that left the vessel so closely that I offended some and surprised others; but although I met with repeated disappointments, I never left off expecting your arrival. By this time I had saved about two hundred dollars, and whether it became known, or whether the scarcity of females brought me into such consideration, I do not know; but scarcely a day passed without my receiving an offer of marriage.”

“An offer of marriage!” exclaimed Ardent in surprise.

“Yes, dear Ardent,” replied Optima. “The men seemed frantic after me. I was not safe any where. If I went to pay a bill, it was sure to conclude on the part of the tradesman with an offer of his hand and heart. If I entered the market, no sooner had I made a purchase than I received a proposal. I was besieged in all hours and at all places,—I may almost say that I received a new suitor at the corner of every street. It was in vain I told them I was married, and showed them my wedding ring. They saw that I had no husband with me, and they were desirous of supplying his place; and men even of a superior rank continually plagued me with their proposals. It is scarcely necessary to say that I gave them all a negative answer; but these were things that they did not appear to understand, for the more frequently I refused, the more frequently they again proposed. At last I was obliged to state how I was situated to the lady with whom I was staying, and she spoke to her husband; and he took measures that put an end to the persecution. And now, dear Ardent, that my anticipations are realised, we will be so very happy—won’t we?”

It is easier to imagine what was the answer than to describe it. It is sufficient to say that Oriel Porphyry made a considerable addition to the two hundred dollars which the devoted Optima had saved, that enabled the young couple to take a promising farm up the country, with every prospect of enjoying a life of continued happiness.

“It is very strange,” remarked the young merchant to Zabra on his return to the ship, “it is very strange that I have had no communication from my father. I expected one at Athenia, but I received no intelligence. I expected one at Constantinople—there I met with the same result; and I then made sure of meeting with one at New Sydney, but was there equally unsuccessful. It makes me very uneasy.”

“Possibly he may have nothing of importance to write about,” replied Zabra. “Things at Columbia may remain in the same state as at his last despatch.”

“I doubt it. I doubt that the emperor will remain satisfied with his prerogatives curtailed to the extent to which they have lately been reduced,” said Oriel Porphyry. “There is no sincerity in these men. They will break any compact when it suits their convenience. They have no notion of either honour or honesty: and the emperor is a weak, vain, foolish man, proud, tyrannical, and deceitful. Such a man must be ever scheming to regain his former power; and if he think it be practicable he will not be particular as to the means he will employ for that purpose. I am much afraid my father has fallen a sacrifice to his patriotism.”

“It cannot be,” observed his companion. “They would not dare harm him.”

“Dare!” echoed his patron. “What evil will not bad men dare? And did not that proud upstart Philadelphia load his honourable limbs with chains and thrust him into a loathsome dungeon to die the lingering death of starvation? He dared do that, and I doubt much whether a worse villainy could have been perpetrated. I hope to live to see the time when I shall have an opportunity of bringing him to an account for these and other atrocities. If my good sword be true, and my arm has lost none of its power, I’ll not leave his worthless body till I have relieved it of his equally worthless soul.”

“What!” exclaimed Zabra, with considerable excitement, “would you be thus revengeful to the father of Eureka? You too, who a short time since seemed ready to forgive him all his errors on account of his relationship to her. What has changed you? Why would you follow the bad examples of bad men? That he is not what he should be is too true; but that is no reason why you should become his executioner. Do you think that Eureka could regard you with affection when you came to her stained with her father’s blood? I am surprised that you should have given utterance to such a sentiment.”

“I knew not till lately the atrocities he had committed, and the savage disposition he possessed,” replied the young merchant; “and I can see no more harm in killing such a monster than there is in destroying a mad beast.”

“How different then your feelings must be to those of your father,” observed the other. “He knew what was due to humanity, and practised it, and he was the person best entitled to call for vengeance, but he was satisfied with justice. Professing the regard you do towards Eureka, nothing could surprise me more than to hear you proclaim so inhuman a wish.”

“It is impossible for me to help feeling exasperated against him,” said Oriel. “Imagine for a moment yourself in my situation. Let your father be as mine is, the kindest and noblest of his species; know that he who never did harm to any living creature, but sought to create happiness throughout the world—was fettered and reviled, and left lingering in filth and darkness for three days, enduring all the pangs of famine; and if you have a heart within your breast, and a soul that hates the cowardly vices of despotism, you will feel as I do, and long for an opportunity to punish your father’s persecutor, in a manner worthy of his crimes. I know that your relationship to the offender must stand in the way of your seeing the justice of the punishment I would inflict: but I am no hypocrite Zabra. I cannot disguise my detestation of such a monster; and although next to Eureka and my father I honour you, even your opposition would not make me change a sentiment so natural and appropriate.”

“Leave Philadelphia to his own feelings, which sooner or later will be sufficient punishment,” responded Zabra. “Touch him not if you value the love of Eureka. She I know has little cause to feel much affection for him, but bad as he is she never can be brought to look upon his destroyer with any feeling save that of repugnance.”

“If that be the case I hope he will keep out of my way,” rejoined the young merchant; “for I think I could endure anything rather than her dislike; but the absence of intelligence from my father has certainly made me suspicious. I am almost determined to return to Columbia without proceeding to England.”

“I do not think such a course advisable, Oriel,” observed Zabra. “There may be a thousand things that prevent your father’s correspondence, or he may have written, and the despatches may have been lost. If this be the case, and there is a great probability that it is, he would be very much vexed at your returning without having accomplished your voyage.”

“Well, I will proceed, but I will only make a brief stay among the antiquities of England, and then steer direct for Columbia,” replied Oriel Porphyry: “I have very strong doubts about things being exactly right there. The accounts I have heard are of a contrary tendency; but if the storm is to be, it will come unexpected. If any attempt be made by the government to restore the old order of things, I hope they will have the goodness to wait till my return before they commence their proceedings. There is a powerful regiment of horse, composed of the young citizens of Columbus, of which I have the command; I believe that they are devoted to my will; and even with these, although they are not above a thousand strong, I would make such a stand as would soon bring around me all the brave spirits in the country: I only wish for an opportunity to try the experiment.”

“Will you never dismiss these delusive visions,” said his young friend, anxiously. “I thought that you were at last becoming reconciled to a more useful and amiable way of life.”

“You have been deceived, Zabra,” observed Oriel; “I have been more quiet, but not less ambitious. This passion for glory has become a part of my nature; it is with me at all times. I think of it and dream of it. It is the anticipation of finding the opportunity for greatness that makes me able to endure the tedious inactivity of my present mode of existence. I shall never be satisfied till I acquire the power for which I yearn.”

“What an unhappy nature yours must be then,” replied Zabra. “You have every hope of happiness within your reach; yet because it does not come clothed in the gorgeous draperies in which you wish it to appear, you seem desirous of dismissing it, as of not sufficient value to be enjoyed. I had hoped that you had become wiser; I had hoped, too, that you had been more solicitous for the happiness of Eureka. I am afraid all my labour has been thrown away, and that I shall have to return to her with the intelligence that your ambitious hopes have stifled every feeling of affection.”

“There you wrong me,” exclaimed the young merchant, “you wrong me exceedingly. My aspirations for greatness are never separate from my hopes of Eureka; because the first are merely the result of the latter. It is useless attempting to check the impulses which urge me on. I must be what I am; and while my state of being, and the purposes which it creates and would see fulfilled, cannot in any way dishonour Eureka, nothing will convince me that they are to be condemned. From my own knowledge of her character, I cannot imagine that she would regard my efforts for advancement with the feeling which you have stated she possesses. Her own greatness of soul must bring her to look with commendation on another, who evinces a desire to obtain a similar greatness: this ambition is a passion so entirely of her own creating, that she cannot, with any justice, be displeased with its exhibition.”

“How little you seem to know of the nature of her whose love you possess,” replied Zabra, in a low, tremulous voice; “no doubt, she would feel gratified at any circumstance which would exalt you in the estimation of your countrymen. The honour you might receive would be her glory as much as yours, and the fame you might obtain would find none more desirous of its security than herself. But it was not for these things that she loved you. Ambition formed no part of the qualities that called into existence her admiration—which, having acquired its full growth, cannot be made more perfect by the greatness you covet; and that admiration must continue as long as the qualities that called it into operation exist. But knowing your desire to acquire renown, and knowing the nature of that feeling is to swallow up all the more amiable aspirations, and being aware that the only way to its acquirement is through a thousand terrible dangers, she cannot help the conviction, that she would rather possess your affection as you were, than live in continual fear, to witness your superiority, as you may be.”

“Let us say no more about it,” said Oriel. “It is very evident that neither can convince the other. I may be positive that I am going right, and you may be positive that I am going wrong; but it is time spent to no purpose, if we cannot be brought to change our opinions.”

“Remember, I am only doing my duty,” replied the youth. “I warn you, because the path you desire to take is surrounded by dangers. If you are determined on going on, I say, go on and prosper; but if you go on, and fail, the bitter disappointment you will experience will not only render yourself miserable, but must make equally unhappy her whose felicity you appear so desirous of creating. If you must go on, Oriel, I say again—go on, and prosper.”

[CHAP. III.]
OLD ENGLAND.

“We are approaching the British Islands, are we not?” inquired Oriel Porphyry.

“Yes, Sir, the land lies right ahead,” replied the captain.

“There are several of these islands, I believe,” added the young merchant.

“There are a great number on ’em o’ different sorts and sizes,” said Hearty; “but them as is most visited are England and Ireland.”

“What is the meaning of the prefix to the word land in each of these names?” asked Oriel of the professor.

“England or Ingle-land means the land of the fire side,” replied Fortyfolios. “Ingle is an old British word meaning the fire at which the inhabitants of a house warmed themselves or cooked their food. The natives have been from the earliest times, famous for their love of the comforts of this fire, which was usually made of coal dug out of the earth, that made a cheerful blaze in a room, and their attachment to their ingles procured the island the name of Ingle-land, which, in course of time was abbreviated into the name of England.”

“I doubt that very much, don’t you see,” here observed Dr. Tourniquet; “for in my opinion, England has a totally different derivation. The aborigines of the island were principally fishermen, and very appropriately had given to them the name of angle-ers, which means people who fish. Each separate kingdom was called a kingdom of the Angles, from the natives using an angle, and the whole island was called Angle-land, or the land of the angle, which for shortness was soon afterwards called England.”

“’Tis nothing of the kind, Dr. Tourniquet,” rejoined the professor warmly. “I wonder you should have started such an absurd idea.”

“It is quite as reasonable as yours at any rate, don’t you see,” remarked the doctor.

“It has no such pretension,” said the other in a decided manner. “I can prove that the fire or ingle was a national characteristic of the people.”

“And I can prove that fishing or angle-ing was a national characteristic of the people,” added his antagonist.

“Pooh!” exclaimed one, contemptuously.

“Pish!” cried the other.

“Ingle-land,”—resumed the professor.

“Angle-land,”—said the doctor, interrupting him.

“Now, Dr. Tourniquet, I beg I may not be interrupted by your ridiculous blunders,” observed Fortyfolios with considerable asperity, and a look of dignity peculiar to himself.

“The blunder is on your side, don’t you see,” replied the surgeon, with a chuckle of satisfaction exceedingly annoying to his companion.

“Never mind if it be Ingle-land or Angle-land,” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry. “All we know for certain is, that it is now called England. But how do you account for the adoption of the other name?”

“Of the derivation of that word there can be no doubt—it explains itself,” said Fortyfolios. “Ireland means the land of ire. The natives from time immemorial have been known to be excessively irascible. They would quarrel upon the slightest cause, and fight from no cause at all. They would fight when they were hungry, upon which occasion, as was very natural, they fought for a belly-full. They would fight for liquor; they would fight for fun; they would fight for love; they would fight to get drunk, and then fight to get sober. The happiest men among them were those who were most frequently beaten, and such persons were known to be the best friends as were continually trying to knock out each other’s brains. These men consequently got the appropriate name of Ire-ishmen, and the island was called Ire-land.”

“There you’re wrong again, don’t you see,” observed Tourniquet. “The name Ire-land was derived from Higher-land, to express that the country was more elevated in the estimation of the natives than any other part of the globe. They entertained the most preposterous ideas about the importance of their island. They stated that when the rest of the world was sunk in barbarism, their Higher-land was the seat of intelligence, and virtue, and superior bravery. They asserted that their soldiers were the only soldiers that ever existed, and that their agricultural labourers were ‘the finest pisantry in the world.’ But there was certainly something very singular about them; and even their brick-layers’ labourers were odd men. The island was also called by the natives The Emerald Island, I believe because it sometimes produced Irish diamonds. The Green Isle was another of its names—and this was derived from the greenness of the people. The men went by the name of ‘the boys’ long after the age at which other boys became men; and even the oldest of the old men among them, when he breathed his last, was said to die in a green old age.”

“It is extraordinary to me, Dr. Tourniquet, that you will give utterance to such fallacies,” remarked the professor. “The facts are exactly as I have stated them.”

“The facts are exactly as I have stated them,” said the other with marked emphasis.

“Was there not a very celebrated character styled St. Patrick, who flourished at one time among the Irish?” inquired the young merchant.

“Certainly there was,” replied Fortyfolios. “Patrick, Pater Rick—or Rick being the abbreviation of Richard—Father Richard, was a poor monk——”

“That I deny!” eagerly exclaimed the doctor. “For, as it is stated in a very ancient poem I have met with,

‘St. Patrick was a gintleman
And born of dacent paple.’”

“That is no authority,” resumed Fortyfolios. “I affirm that he was a poor monk and——”

“I maintain that he was a gentleman,” replied the other.

“I insist that you do not interrupt me, Dr. Tourniquet,” exclaimed the professor angrily. “He was an exceedingly pious and virtuous man, and by his example and precepts did a great deal of good among his countrymen.”

“Yes,” said the surgeon, gravely, “I have met with an authority that says

‘He gave the frogs and toads a twist,
And banished all the varmint.’

Now the usual reading of this couplet is that he drove the frogs and toads out of the country; but if we look to the meaning of the word twist, we shall find that it means an appetite: a man with a twist means a man with a certain facility in swallowing anything eatable that comes before him; and as we know that frogs at one time were considered a great delicacy by the ancients, it is not unreasonable to imagine that St. Patrick was a great epicure, and swallowed all the frogs and toads in the island.”

“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.”

“What are these vessels approaching us in this threatening manner,” inquired Oriel Porphyry, as he noticed several old crazy-looking boats filled with men who were coming towards them with their crews, howling, screeching, and yelling with all the strength of their lungs.

“I do not think they mean us any good,” replied the captain: then turning to some of the sailors standing scrutinising the appearance of a strange fleet, evidently bearing down upon them, he exclaimed, “Get the long gun ready, and give these fools a taste of grape if they attempt to attack us.”

“Ay, ay! Sir,” replied one of the men; and every disposition was made to repel any assault that might be attempted.

As they approached nearer, it was observed that these vessels were a vast number of large open boats, some with sails, but most without, and they were so crammed with men, that many of them were in danger of sinking every minute. Their crews were clothed in ragged vestments of every colour and description, and they were armed with old swords, pistols, guns, pitchforks, and bludgeons, and these they displayed as they advanced, shouting all the time in wild savage tones perfectly deafening. A larger boat was in advance of the others, and in a conspicuous situation in this vessel stood up a tall fierce-looking man with his head bound round with a hay-band, and a tattered blanket dropping from his shoulders. He brandished a rusty sword as he approached, and gave orders to those who followed, which appeared to meet with implicit obedience. When he came within gun-shot of the Albatross, he turned round to his followers and addressed them.

“Boys,” said he, pointing to the ship, “yonder’s the furreners. It’s meself as ’ill take their big baste iv a ship if ye’ll be all to the fore. Divle a care ye may take ov their darty guns that their pointing at yese—its made ov wood they are, and sorrow a harm they can do, bad luck to ’em. Keep your powther dry, boys, and look to your flints, and iv we don’t kill and murther and throttle every mother’s son ov ’em, I’m not King Teddy O’Riley.”

“Sheer off there, you ragamuffins,” shouted the captain through a speaking trumpet. “Sheer off, or I’ll sink ev’ry soul of ye within gun-range.”

“Down wid the darty furreners!” screamed King Teddy O’Riley; a shower of balls whistled past the captain, and on came the over-loaded boats, with their crews yelling in the most frantic manner. There appeared to be at least five or six hundred of them, and it was judged expedient to put an immediate stop to their progress. The long gun was discharged, which sunk the foremost boat, and killed the greater portion of its crew. The rest hesitated when they beheld their monarch swept into the sea; and a well-directed fire of musketry made them glad enough to commence a retreat as fast as they could, screaming in hideous chorus as long as they could be heard.

“Take a boat and see if you can save any of those rascals sprawling in the water,” exclaimed the captain to the midshipman Loop.

“Yes, Sir,” was the reply; and the boat having been lowered, a party proceeded to pick up the wounded and drowning. They succeeded in saving several, among whom was their illustrious leader, King Teddy O’Riley, who was brought upon deck, looking very much deprived of his dignity, his coronet of hay-bands wet and dirty, and his blanket of state shrunk out of all shape. He created considerable surprise among his captors, and not without sufficient cause, for nothing could exceed the eccentricity of his appearance. His hair was thick and long, and of a dark-red colour. Large, bushy whiskers of the same tint surrounded his cheeks. His nose was remarkably red, and his face seamed with the marks of the small-pox. Below his cloak was a long coat, which did not appear the more royal for being out at the elbows, and for having lost half its skirt. His lower garments hung upon him like a bag, and they had the legs rolled back up to the knees. A pair of old boots, exceedingly down at heel, out of which the toes of his majesty were seen to peep in spite of the straw with which they were lined, completed his costume.

“And who the deuce are you?” demanded the captain, after he had sufficiently scrutinised the appearance of his prisoner.

“Faix and isn’t it King Teddy O’Riley I am?” replied the man.

“And what part o’ the world are you king of, I should like to know?” asked Hearty in considerable surprise.

“Faix and ain’t I king ov Blatherumskite?” said the other.

“And where, in the name o’ all that’s wonderful, is Blatherumskite?” inquired the captain.

“And is it yourself that doesn’t know where Blatherumskite is?” exclaimed his majesty in seeming wonder. “Well the ignorance o’ some people is amazin! Not know Blatherumskite! Be the holy japers that bates Bannagher, and Bannagher bate the divle. And Blatherumskite sich a jewel ov a place! Why Blatherumskite’s the finest kingdom and has the finest paple under the sun. It’s full ov commodities ov all sorts. It dales in turpentine, brickdust, soft soap, and other swate mates—tracle, and train oil, pepper and salt, and other hardware,—pigs, buttermilk, paraties, and other kumbustibles. Not know Blatherumskite indade! Be this and be that, you’re as ignorant as a born brute.”

“And what induced you to fire at me, Mr. King Teddy O’Riley?” demanded the captain.

“Faix and wasn’t it only just to kill ye we fired at ye?” replied the king, with the utmost simplicity.

“It was, was it?” exclaimed Hearty; “and for what reason did you attack the ship?”

“Wid no other rason in life than to take it,” responded his majesty. “I was jist a lading the boys to make a decint on England, wid the hope ov being able to pick up a few thrifles, when we seed your ship. ‘The top ov the morning to ye,’ says I, ‘and if I don’t be afther ransacking ye intirely small blame to me there’ll be.’ And then we pulled away at the divle’s own rate, and a mighty dale ov divarsion the boys had about what they’d do wid the big ship when they’d got her, when widout wid your lave or by your lave, I was regularly kilt, smashed, and smothered into the wather. And here I am.”

“Well, King Teddy O’Riley, we must be under the necessity of hanging you,” observed the captain.

“Hang me!” shouted the man, in perfect amazement. “Hang a king!—hang King Teddy O’Riley? Hang the King ov Blatherumskite? Why its rank trason? Ye’ll not be afther thinkin ov doin sich a rebellious action. I shall feel obliged to ye if ye wont mintion it.”

“And what would you have done with us if you had succeeded in your ridiculous idea of taking the ship?” inquired Hearty.

“Faix and wouldn’t we have kilt every sowl of yese, and taken the rest prisoners?” replied his majesty.

“Then we cannot do better than follow your example,” observed the captain; then turning to some of his men, who appeared to enjoy the scene with particular satisfaction, he exclaimed, “Get a rope ready at the fore-yard arm that we may hang this fellow!” The sailors with great alacrity made the necessary preparations.

“Be all the holy saints betwixt this and no where, ye’ll not be afther taking away the life ov a poor king!” exclaimed his majesty of Blatherumskite, with the greatest earnestness and alarm. “What’ll I do now? Sure and I’m in a bad way! Sure and I’ll be done for intirely! And is it to be hanged I am?” continued he, looking woefully at the rope that was dangling ready for immediate use. “Is King Teddy O’Riley to be kilt afther sich a villainous fashion? Oh what a disgrace for Blatherumskite! What a dishonour to a king. Oh what ’ill I do—what ’ill I do?”

“Is the rope ready?” inquired Hearty.

“All right, Sir,” said the boatswain.

“Then hoist him up,” replied the captain. The men proceeded to fulfil the command of their officer.

“Oh it’s in a pretty way I am!” exclaimed the unfortunate monarch, with tears in his eyes. “Be the holy japers, wouldn’t I change places wid any body as would like to be hanged in my place. It’s yourself, Murphy O’Blarney, that’s the good subject,” said the king, addressing one of his companions with particular and impressive emphasis. “Sure, and ye’ve got more pathriotism than to let the King ov Blatherumskite be hanged, when it’s your own loyal neck as would fit the rope so azy.” Murphy O’Blarney did not seem to hear. “Bad luck to the likes ov yese for a thraitor,” murmured his majesty. Then, turning to another of his subjects, he said, “Larry Brogues, it’s great confidence I place in ye—ye’re a jewel ov a man intirely; and if ye ’ill jist be afther doing me the thrifling favour ov being hanged in my place, the best pig I have shall be your’s.” Larry appeared as if he had lost all relish for pork. “I always said ye were a base ribbel!” muttered the angry monarch, turning from him to address a third. “Mick Killarney, a sinsible boy you’ve showed yerself afore to-day, and little’s the praise I take to meself for not having rewarded ye according to your desarts; but if ye’ll show your superior desarnment, by letting the little bit ov a rope be placed round your neck instead ov mine, it’s meself that ’ill make a man ov ye when I get back to Blatherumskite.” Mick Killarney turned the only eye he had in his head, to another part of the ship. “There’s more brains in the tail of a dead pig, than ’ill ever come out ov yer thick skull, ye villain!” exclaimed King Teddy O’Riley in a thundering rage: then he looked very pathetic, wiped his eyes with a corner of his blanket, and began to chant, in the most miserable tones, the following words:—

“Who’ll bile the paraties and pale ’em and ate ’em!
Who’ll drink all the butthermilk I used to swallow!
Who’ll hand round the whiskey, and take his own share too
Wid mighty convanience.

“Oh Teddy O’Riley your reign’s put a stop to,
Small blame to your sowl! you’re a king now no longer,
You’re smashed all to smothers, and dished up and done for
In a way most amazin.

“Not brave Alexander, or Nebuchadnezzar,
Who went out to grass wid the rest ov the cattle,
Not Moses, or Boney, nor yet Cleopatra,
Were treated so vilely.

“Its meself that is up to me eyes in amazement
To see you desaved and surrounded by villains,
Who are wantin to place your poor neck in a halter
Bad luck to their mothers!

“Is it rope you’re desirin? the divle a ha’porth.
Is it hanged that you would be? not me then by Japers,
Oh! there’s sinse and there’s rason in your own way ov thinkin,
You’re cliver intirely.

“But sorrow a hope have ye got to indulge in,
For there hangs the rope like a murtherin blaguard,
Wid a knot at one end, and a noose at the other.
Oh what ’ill I do now?”

Oriel Porphyry, who had laughed exceedingly at the whole scene, now stepped forward, and, by his interference, saved his majesty’s life.

“I always thought that Ireland formed a portion of the British dominions,” observed the young merchant.

“So it did,” replied Fortyfolios, “and enjoyed an unexampled state of prosperity; but the people were always dissatisfied and unreasonable; and were ever accusing the government of the country by which they were ruled of creating that social disorganisation which was the effect of their own evil habits—and which had existed, as may be proved by a reference to their own annals, as far back as it was possible to refer—and, upon the first opportunity, they threw off their allegiance to the British empire, and became, as they had previously been, a separate kingdom. As might have been expected, internal strife now appeared. As had formerly been the case, the country was cut up into a party of petty monarchies, that were continually at war with each other. These having gradually become smaller and more numerous, there is now a king to every potato-garden, of which class of monarchs his majesty of Blatherumskite is an example; and when these fellows are not striving to exterminate each other, they make piratical excursions to the neighbouring coast, and there create all the mischief in their power, by robbing, plundering, killing, and burning.”

“We are entering the Nore, now Sir,” remarked the captain.

“The derivation of the word is exceedingly puzzling,” remarked the professor, “and I have met with no explanation that has satisfied me. Some antiquarians trace it to Noah, but they bring forward nothing which can be relied on in proof of this idea. I must say it is my opinion that Noah was never in this part of the world. Others ascribe it to the frequent use of the words ‘Know her,’—as parties of pleasure used frequently to start in steam-boats from the metropolis to this place, and then return; and intimacies between the young males and the young females who had never met previously, used to spring up during this excursion, and the former used to reply when they were asked if they knew an individual of the other sex, ‘Know her? we met going towards the sea,’ and the words at last became so common that it gave name to the place.”

“You’re wrong again, don’t you see!” exclaimed the doctor. “But I’ll tell you how the place came by the name. In very ancient times a company of individuals created a joint-stock association to work a copper mine of great value which they said had been discovered on the neighbouring coast, and the people, deluded by the great anticipations held out by the schemers, invested large sums in the affair. The shaft was sunk and the mine worked, and the anxious citizens were every day coming down in crowds to learn the progress of the mine, but they invariably met with one answer to all their queries, which was ‘No Ore;’ and this lasted till the bubble burst. Since then the place was called ‘No Ore,’ which ultimately dwindled into ‘Nore.’”

“Preposterous!” cried Fortyfolios. “I wonder you can repeat such a ridiculous conception.”

“I’m positive that my ‘No ore’ is as good as your ‘Noah’ or ‘Know her,’ don’t you see,” replied the doctor, good humouredly.

“Nothing of the kind, Dr. Tourniquet,” said the other very gravely. “My derivations are founded on well ascertained facts.”

“And my derivation is founded on better ascertained facts,” added the surgeon.

“The coast here seems quite deserted,” observed Oriel Porphyry. “I do not see a habitation—nor a human creature—nor any species of vessel—nor any sign of life whatever.”

“Possibly the natives have deserted this part of the coast from its liability to be visited by the Irish pirates,” replied the professor. “But what a change there must have been in the appearance of this neighbourhood a few centuries back! Then vessels of every size and nation might have been seen sailing in almost countless numbers down the river to the Port of London, which was the mart of the world. Merchant ships and ships of war, colliers, fishing-vessels, passage-boats and pleasure-yachts were passing and re-passing each other at all hours of the day. Then these masses of ruins which you are passing on each side of the river, were filled with busy inhabitants engaged in the various labours of traffic. Here ships were built, fitted out, victualled, and stored, and when manned with a gallant crew, set sail to visit every quarter of the globe, to dispose of their cargoes and to bring home the produce of other countries. There was a battery to prevent the passage of the enemy’s ships in time of war. A little further on we come to a fashionable watering place, in which the tired citizens forgot the toils of business in the pursuit of pleasure. Towns and villages existed on either side; some of considerable importance, with a numerous population engaged in every species of manufacture and of laborious employment.”

“The country possesses a most desolate appearance,” remarked Zabra.

“The natural effect of the cause which produced it,” responded the professor. “Here all the horrors of war have been exhibited on the most comprehensive scale, and what warfare left untouched time has since destroyed. Nothing meets the eye but blackened buildings and tottering walls. The country is a wilderness—the town a desert. A little time since all was busy—all was fertile; and every nook and corner resounded with the stir of the artisan at his craft, and the mirth of the idler at his pleasure.”

“What part of the island was this called?” inquired Oriel.

“These are the shores of Kent, so called from the ancient word Kenned, known or famous,” replied Fortyfolios. “It was called the garden of England, and, if the accounts which describe it are to be depended on, well did it deserve the title. It was one continued field of fruit, and flowers, and grain. Forests of magnificent timber afforded materials for the carpenter and the ship-builder—plantations of hops gave employment to the cultivators, the merchants, and the brewers of malt liquors; and orchards of cherries were in constant demand from one end of the island to the other. Now the timber has either been cut down, or died of natural decay—the hop gardens have given place to crops of luxuriant weeds—and the sweet and luscious fruits have become wild and sour.”

“Here is an extensive collection of ruins on the left—and it seems once to have been an important place,” observed the young merchant.

“It was so,” said the professor. “There were the public dockyards, the arsenal, a college for the education of youth to the profession of war, manufactures on the most extensive scale of materials employed in fitting out ships for the war or merchant service, and conveniences for traffic or accumulation of all sorts of naval and military stores. There were foundries for cannon—manufactories of cordage, shot, nails, and ship biscuit—magazines for the safe deposit of gunpowder—yards for ship-building, and warehouses for apparel: now you see nothing but the bare walls rising up from the mass of ruins of which they are a portion. In solitude the wild dog howls where all was human life and industry; and with the boldness of long indulgence, the bats congregate in the chambers of the merchants.”

“Here are the remains of a more stately structure than any we have hitherto passed—was it a palace?” inquired Oriel Porphyry.

“It was nothing more than a hospital for poor sailors, such as had been maimed in the service of their country,” replied Fortyfolios.

“Indeed!” exclaimed the young merchant, with considerable surprise.

“Nothing else, I assure you,” added his tutor.

“The government were remarkably attentive to the wants of their seamen then—they must have valued their services very high to have lodged them in so sumptuous a building as this appears to have been,” observed Oriel.

“Their dwelling was at one time far more magnificent than the palace of the King of England,” continued the professor. “There was no edifice erected for such a purpose to equal it in the whole world. There the wounded sailor passed the rest of his life enjoying every comfort he required. He had the range of a magnificent mansion, and an extensive and beautiful park. Proper officers watched over his health, his diet was strengthening and plentiful, and under the care of good and pious men his moral wants were equally well attended to. In another part of the river there used to be a building of similar extent that had been erected for poor and wounded soldiers, and they were provided for in a manner equally generous and considerate.”

“These people were distinguished for their charities, I believe,” remarked the young merchant.

“They were,” replied Fortyfolios. “They had numberless hospitals in which the poor, afflicted with disease, or hurt by accidents, were promptly cared for, and skilfully treated. The ablest physicians, the most experienced surgeons, and the most skilful nurses waited upon them; and all that the necessities of their cases demanded was immediately rendered. They had asylums for females who had strayed from the path of virtue, where they were taught industrious and moral habits, and then restored to society capable of taking a place with its most useful and honourable members. They had houses of instruction to reclaim young thieves, in which they received an excellent education, were taught some useful trade, and then re-entered the community capable of passing through the busy scenes of life with credit to themselves and others. They had——.”

“They had hospitals and asylums for every vice that disgraces humanity, don’t you see,” said the doctor, interrupting the speaker with more bitterness than was usual with him. “The vilest of the vile were sheltered and preached to, and made comfortable and happy; but while vice received every possible attention in fine buildings, with numerous servants, virtue might crawl through the public streets and starve; and while the rogue was carefully instructed in all things that were excellent to save his wretched life and soul, the honest man, struggling with adversity and sickness, was left to die and be damned. There was no asylum for the virtuous woman; but the vilest prostitute had always a ready home. Integrity and intelligence had to fight with famine alone and unnoticed; but ignorance and dishonesty, profligacy and crime, were sought after and generously provided for. In fact, under this miserable state of things there existed a bonus upon vice. If the vile were only vile enough, they were the objects of universal benevolence: but to be poor without being vile—oh! it was considered something so contemptible, that the charitable could not be brought to pay it the slightest regard.”

For a wonder Fortyfolios made no reply.

“This place is also of considerable importance to the scientific inquirer,” continued the professor; “for here was a famous observatory, in which the most illustrious astronomers carried on their investigations into the motions of the heavenly bodies, and the laws which govern them. Many interesting discoveries were here made. From here were calculated the distances of various parts of the world. The neighbourhood was also distinguished by being a place of favorite resort of the inhabitants of the metropolis; and even members of the government used to indulge themselves occasionally with a trip to this once delightful place, for the purpose of enjoying a delicacy in the shape of a very small fish, a thousand of which would scarcely make a sufficient meal.”

“Here are many heaps of stones and fragments of brickwork. I should suppose that they are the remains of a town of some kind,” observed the young merchant.

“They cover a space sufficiently extensive to make it probable,” replied Fortyfolios; “but they ought to be considered as a distant suburb of the metropolis. They were chiefly inhabited by persons engaged in the production or sale of naval stores, and boat-builders, fishermen, and sailors employed in managing the craft upon the river. In some places there are wharves for merchandise, in others for coals; here was a factory for the produce of canvass, there an establishment of engineers who sent steam vessels to every sea that flows. The river here used to be crowded with shipping; so much so that the passage of the vessels often became slow and dangerous. Here were ships from every commercial nation on the globe, each laden with the produce of their country, and each intent on returning with a cargo of English goods.”

“What a gloomy looking building this must have been, if we may judge from what remains of it!” remarked Zabra.

“That used to be a fortress and state prison,” said the Professor. “There were once confined persons accused of treason, and there they remained previous to their execution. Some of the noblest and best spirits of the time have been incarcerated in those old walls. The noble Raleigh, the patriot Russell, the lovely Anna Boleyn, and numberless others whose names have become a part of history. There also were kept the regalia and—.”

“And there also were kept the wild beasts,” observed the doctor, good humouredly, “and there is every reason for believing that the latter managed to get at the regalia; for an ancient poem I have met with says—

“The lion and the unicorn
Were fighting for the crown,
And the lion beat the unicorn
All about the town”—

no doubt to the great astonishment of the citizens.”

“I am going to anchor now, sir,” here exclaimed the captain, “as the navigation o’ the river beyond this arn’t practicable for a vessel o’ such tonnage as the Albatross.”

“Let it be done then,” replied the young merchant; “and let an armed party be got ready to accompany me on land, as I am desirous of examining the antiquities of the place.”

“Yes, sir,” responded Hearty; and preparations were immediately made to go ashore.

“You see before you the remains of a bridge,” observed Fortyfolios, pointing to several broken arches that appeared above the water; “it was considered one of the finest examples of that kind of structure that had ever been erected, and an old chronicler I lately perused gives an elaborate account of the ceremonies that took place when it was first opened to the public. On that occasion the king and queen went in state, accompanied by their court, and all the great men were there, and the great merchants, and thousands upon thousands of citizens. Now you can behold nothing but the crumbling stone-work, green with age, and instead of the music and shouts which accompanied the procession, we can only hear the hoarse cry of the bittern from the neighbouring marshes, and the fierce howl of the jackal from some ruined building.”

“The boat’s ready, sir!” said the captain; and shortly afterwards the whole party proceeded in a boat to the shore.

[CHAP. IV.]
THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.

A large tent had been pitched in an open space among the ruins of the ancient city. Before it stood Oriel Porphyry leaning on a gun, with Zabra at his side, resting on his harp. At the distance of a few feet Fortyfolios and Tourniquet were seated on a fallen pillar, disputing about the character of a building, the remains of which lay before them. The captain and the midshipman were conversing together by the side of the tent, and grouped about were twenty or thirty sailors well armed—some reclining on the ground, others leaning against a column, and the rest congregated into little parties, engaged in talking over the adventures of the day, or in passing their opinions upon the neighbouring ruins.

On one side of the tent stood a great portion of a very elegant structure, of considerable dimensions, and of a classical style of architecture; on the other side stood the ruins of a building of about the same size, with a handsome portico supported by several beautiful pillars, upon which might be observed a female draperied figure much mutilated. A short distance from between them there arose a tall column with a bronze statue of a warrior, broken and disfigured, lying at its base. Beyond the column was a flight of broken steps that led to an open space overgrown with wild shrubs and weeds; and beyond these, and around in every direction, nothing met the eye but confused heaps of stone and brickwork, overgrown with rank herbage; and pillars, and walls, and glassless windows.

“I am tired of this continual ruin,” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry. “We have travelled all the day and met nothing but broken pedestals, and prostrate capitals; porches without pillars, and pillars without porches; trembling porticoes, tottering walls, and roofless dwellings. I never witnessed such a perfect desolation. The only living thing I have seen was a wolf, who stared at me as if quite unused to a human countenance, and never attempted to move till I sent the contents of my gun at his head. Then, immediately I had fired, there flew around me such flights of bats, ravens, vultures, and owls, and they created such a din of screaming and hooting, that I was absolutely startled.”

“See how the ivy clings to the wall, Oriel!” said Zabra to his patron, as he pointed to a ruin beside them; “how it twines round the fluted pillar, and hides the ornaments of the richly decorated capital. There is poetry astir in those leaves—there is a music breathing in the breeze that shakes them. There! see you the bird moving out its head from their friendly shelter to notice our movements? She has her nest there, Oriel: in that little circle are all her pleasures concentrated. She has made her happiness in the very desolation of which you complain. It is impossible to look around and say all is barren. There is not a weed that grows but what is full of enjoyment for myriads of creatures of which we take no note. Is there nothing in these stones which does not awaken in you associations that ought to people them with the countless multitudes that once found pleasure in this wilderness? I see not the ruin. I notice not the silence. Memory looks through the vista of departed time, and lo! all is splendour and beauty—and the deserted porticoes echo with the voice of gladness. Let me sing to you, Oriel; this is a glorious place for sweet sounds and antique memories, and I will see to what use I can apply them.”

The young musician, after a short, touching prelude, then sung, with the deep expression that characterised all his attempts at minstrelsy, the following words:—

“To the home of the brave ones, the true and the kind,
With a heart filled with hope I have been;
And I thought of the gladness and peace I should find,
And the smiles of delight I had seen.

“But the dwelling was homeless, and roofless, and bare,
’Twas a ruin that threatened to fall;
And my sorrowing heart seemed to cling to despair,
Like the ivy that clung to the wall.

“Oh! where are the roses that clustered and spread
Round the porch where my wishes were told?
Alas! from the porch all the roses have fled,
And the hands that once plucked them are cold.

“Oh! where are the friends, the young, thoughtless, and gay,
Who gave life to the garden and hall?
All, all have departed—all, all passed away,
Save the ivy that clings to the wall.

“Be glad, my fond heart—there is hope for you yet,
For these leaves have a comfort convey’d;
There are moments and pleasures I ne’er can forget,
Though both roses and friends have decayed.

“Though this breast be a ruin where sorrow hath cast
Desolations she cannot recal;
Still mem’ry shall cling to the joys that are past,
Like the ivy that clings to the wall.”

“I tell you, Dr. Tourniquet, you’re completely in error,” exclaimed Fortyfolios. “The meaning of the word United Service is evident, and admits of no dispute. In old authors we frequently read of people ‘going to service,’ and as often of a union of offices in the same person, such as butler and steward, valet and footman, gardener and groom; and there cannot be a doubt that this is what was called united service, and that this building was dedicated to the purpose of finding situations for such people.”

“Dedicated to a fiddle-stick. Don’t you see?” replied the doctor. “I tell you it was a club that met there to play at cards, and that was the reason that they had a king of clubs, and a queen of clubs, and a knave of clubs, and ever so many other clubs; and as a qualification, all the members were obliged to be club-footed, and they were governed by what they called club law.”

“’T was no such thing, Dr. Tourniquet, depend upon it,” said the professor. “I’m sure ’t was the united service, because I have a book in my library that mentions it as the United Service.”

“And I’m sure it was a club, because I’ve got a book in my library that mentions it as a club,” responded the other.

“Then the building opposite was devoted to very different purposes,” continued Fortyfolios. “It was called the Athenæum, the derivation of which word I have never been able to discover. Perhaps it had its origin in the Modern Athens, a place of some importance in the neighbourhood of Blackwood’s Magazine—once a famous depôt for combustibles, that blew up occasionally with great damage. However, it was erected for the purpose of bringing together all the intelligence of the country.

‘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.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” was murmured by the captain; and every man held his breath, cocked his gun, picked his way carefully over the stones, and prepared himself for a struggle with his dangerous enemy. The lion saw them advancing—shook his mane, lashed his tail, and, bending his head to the ground, uttered a long and deafening roar.

“Now then, mind your aim,” said the young merchant. About a dozen discharged their pieces; and, with a piercing howl, the lion dashed among his foes, knocking down some half-a-dozen of them, and scattering the rest in all directions. Luckily, he had been too severely wounded to do any more serious mischief. His roar was terrible; but the men having again approached him, poured in a more deadly fire, and with a vain attempt to reach them, he gave a savage growl, and fell covered with wounds. Scarcely had this been done, before a distant roar was heard by the victors.

“Make haste and reload, for, if I mistake not, we shall have the lioness upon us in a few seconds,” said Oriel Porphyry earnestly; and all quickened their preparations, to be in readiness for another contest. “Take up a position behind that ruin, for the lioness will first make to the dead lion, and then she will attempt to turn her rage upon us. We shall have her within gun range as soon as she comes to the lion, and shall be in some sort of shelter when she begins her attack.”

Scarcely had the position been taken and the arrangements made, when the roar became more distinct; and, soon afterwards, the lioness was seen rapidly approaching, with a series of prodigious leaps that quickly brought her into the immediate neighbourhood of the party in ambush. She instantly proceeded to the lion. At first, she patted him with her paw. Finding he took no notice of that, she fawned upon him, and licked him with her tongue, playfully bit his ear, and played with his mane. Observing that he was still inattentive to her movements, she gently turned him over; and then, noticing the wounds in his head and body, and his incapability of replying to her caresses, she uttered a roar so loud and piercing, that it made the old walls about her echo again. This was replied to by a peal of musketry from the neighbouring ruin. In a moment, with another deafening howl, she rushed towards the place whence came the reports, and with one desperate bound, leaped to the window behind which Oriel and his companions lay concealed upon a heap of stones and rubbish. She had got her fore paws and head upon the ledge of the window, when another shower of balls sent her reeling back. Howling with rage she made the leap again; when a blow on the head from the butt end of a gun, held by a stout seaman, made her loosen her hold, and, with a savage growl, she fell to the ground. From there she next crawled to the body of the lion, licking the upper part of his body, and uttering the most wild and melancholy howls. She was evidently much wounded; but she managed to crawl round him several times, drawing her long tongue over his mane, and moving a paw, or his head, in hopes of noticing some sign of recognition. At last, finding all her efforts ineffectual, she emitted a roar that rivalled the loudest thunder, lashed her body furiously with her tail, began tearing up the stones and soil around her, and then, as if putting forth her strength for a last effort, she made two or three prodigious leaps towards the adjoining building. The bullets that met her in her way did not stop her progress, for with one enormous bound she cleared the window, and came down in the midst of the voyagers, dashing them about with a violence that gave several of the men very severe contusions, and grasping one by the neck so furiously that he would have inevitably been killed, had not Loop stabbed her to the heart with a short sword he carried, while Hearty gave her a desperate blow on the head with an immense fragment of stone. Letting go the man she had got so firmly in her grasp, she turned upon her assailants a look of the most savage ferocity, and then, with a short howl of agony, fell back dead at their feet.

They had dragged the lioness out of the building, and several of the men were busily engaged taking off the skins of the two animals, and the rest were talking over the dangers they had escaped, when Zabra pointed out to his patron the figures of an old man and a young female, who were advancing up the broken steps that led to the base of the column. The sight of human beings was so novel, that every one paid particular attention to the individuals they now beheld. The man appeared to have reached extreme old age, for his hair was white and long, and hung down upon his neck and shoulders. His complexion was ruddy, but although the face was covered with wrinkles and deeply marked furrows, there was an animation in his eyes that showed that the fire of life was still brilliantly burning. He was tall, and walked firmly, supporting himself by a long staff. The skin of a lion hung from his neck over his manly shoulders. The rest of his dress was composed of skins fastened by thongs round his body and legs. A long sword was suspended at his side, which, with a knife or dagger at his waist, seemed all the weapons he possessed.

He was accompanied by a young girl, whose complexion had evidently been browned by exposure to the sun, the effect of which gave a warmer character to the quiet beauty of her features. Her eyes were of a soft, deep, blue, beaming with tenderness and benevolence; and her hair, which was silken in its texture, and very light in colour, fell in clustering curls from her forehead to her neck. A sort of cape, made of feathers, covered her shoulders; beneath which was a long garment reaching below the knees, made of different skins neatly sewed together, and bound round the waist with a belt of the same. Her arms and legs were bare, and they were of the most exquisite symmetry, delicately and beautifully formed. In one hand she carried a light spear, and the other she rested upon the shoulder of her companion.

As soon as the young girl observed the voyagers, she started back with an exclamation of fear, and clung to the arm of her elder companion, who, noticing the cause of her alarm, immediately let fall his staff and drew his sword. There was something remarkably imposing in the attitude of the old man. He drew up his stately form to its full height; and as he stood upon the defensive with his weapon firmly grasped in his right hand, while with his left arm he clasped the young girl by the waist and drew her behind him, there seemed a vigour in his silvery hairs, and a fire in his sunken eyes, that neither youth or manhood could have rivalled.

Oriel Porphyry, who looked upon them with peculiar interest, laid down his arms and advanced towards them, accompanied only by Zabra, who was also unarmed. Their approaches were closely regarded by the man, and watched with curiosity by the female.

“Fear us not, old man, we will do you no harm,” said the young merchant.

“Fear!” exclaimed the old man proudly, “I know it not.”