Chapter IV: Part 4

The old man had extended his arm towards that part of the horizon to which he wished to attract attention; and as the last words of the preceding sentence were uttered, the disc of the sun disappeared over the hills, the arm fell, the head dropped, and without a sigh, the spirit of the last of the Englishmen had departed to its eternal rest. Lilya, in an uncontrollable agony of grief, flung herself upon the corpse; and there was scarcely a person present who was not deeply affected.

"Is he quite dead?" whispered the young merchant, observing that Tourniquet had his fingers upon his wrist.

"It's impossible to be more so, don't you see;" replied the surgeon, as he dropped the lifeless arm by the side of the body.

"We had better give him christian burial before we leave the island;" remarked Fortyfolios. "The wild beasts, it seems, are numerous about here, and it would not be a friendly act to leave his body to be devoured by them. I do not know whether there is any consecrated ground near, but I should think in a city so celebrated for the number of its churches, a burial-place cannot be far off."

"I will not have his remains mingle with the herd that choke up a church-yard;" exclaimed Oriel Porphyry. "He shall have a more honourable sepulchre. About a mile hence I noticed the colossal statue of some distinguished hero. It is in a large park-like place, slightly elevated, and at a considerable distance from any ruins. We will bury him at its base: it is a grave such as his free spirit would have loved to contemplate."

The young merchant instantly gave orders about the funeral, and while the preparations were being made, he, assisted by Zabra, drew Lilya from the body, which she could not be induced to leave without force. The seamen had brought with them some pickaxes and shovels for the purpose of digging for antiquities, and these were now to be called into use for a more melancholy occasion. Every one being in readiness, twelve sailors with muskets reversed, walked slowly two abreast: then came the body, still in its dress of wild skins, wrapped up in the Columbian flag, and carried by eight men upon four muskets crossed. After them walked Lilya, supported by Oriel Porphyry and Zabra. They were followed by Fortyfolios and Tourniquet, and the captain and the midshipman, and the procession was closed by twelve seamen marching slowly, two abreast, with arms reversed.

They passed along what appeared to be the remains of a road, for about half a mile, when they came to a magnificent ancient triumphal arch, a splendid example of architectural beauty, standing in excellent preservation, with a colossal equestrian statue of a warrior trampling under his horse's feet a group of warlike figures in different costumes. An illegible inscription, supposed to be a list of victories gained over the enemies of his country by the original of the statue, was placed under the prostrate group, and beneath them in large capitals that might be read at a great distance, was observed the word "WELLINGTON." This admirable work of antiquity was divided into a large central arch and two smaller ones, one on each side. They were richly sculptured in bas relief, and adorned with every appropriate architectural ornament.

Passing beneath this grand triumphal monument, the funeral train observed another of a less imposing character just before them, which was much dilapidated. To reach it, they had to walk through a field of weeds and high grass, which at different places, showed signs of having once been a fine broad public thoroughfare; and venturing under the tottering walls of this arch, they entered an expansive field of docks and nettles, wild flowers, and gigantic thistles. Ruins of considerable buildings were observed on the right. Clumps of trees were scattered in every direction, and about the centre, on a high mound, stood a colossal bronze statue of an ancient warrior, supposed to be some illustrious English general. It was a splendid specimen of sculpture, and appeared to be of great antiquity.

Here it was intended should be consigned the remains of the heroic old man, and the seamen having dug a deep grave at the foot of the statue, he was deposited on the bank, where he lay wrapped up in the flag for a few minutes to give to every one an opportunity of seeing him for the last time. Lilya knelt down by the side of the dead body, kissed the cold hand, and covered it with her tears. Many attempts were made to tranquillise her grief, but without success. Every head was uncovered as the professor read the funeral service, and even the hardy seaman seemed much affected by the impressive character of the scene.

"The brevity of existence has been much insisted on," observed Fortyfolios at the conclusion of the service; "and here is an example of the prolongation of life far beyond the usual term, and prolonged under circumstances remarkably rare and interesting. This human antiquity bore all the marks of greatness which were first impressed upon its nature, through the violent changes that shook to ruin the society to which it belonged. He was brave, patriotic, noble, and patient. He could draw hope from the materials of despair, and find comfort in the midst of desolation. Let us not murmur, then, at the small evils among which we exist, when we find such admirable endurance of evils of the greatest magnitude. The love of country is a natural and amiable virtue, but never has it sat so gracefully, and existed with such disinterestedness, as in the character of this ancient Englishman. He loved, not because such love was a common feeling which every object around him might excite; but he loved as if he had calculated what would be the amount of patriotism possessed by his countrymen had they existed; and considering himself as the representative of the dead, endeavoured to exhibit the total of their contributions; and this exhibition seemed the more abundant, as the objects which should have the most readily created it became the least capable of exciting it into action. He was a great man, and may be looked upon as the last production of a great country."

"As for the men who are vulgarly called great, don't you see," observed the doctor, "your kings, your conquerors, and such poor cattle, they shrink into their proper insignificance when compared to the last of the Englishmen. How could they have endured the barren waste and wilderness of ruins for any length of time! They could have found nothing to appreciate in its solitude, they would have left its desolation in disgust. Patriotism here was the most amiable of virtues. It was pure and honest and excellent. It was full of truth and courage, and a power that was invincible. Let us honour this old man: the grave will hold him fast. We shall see nothing of the kind again. Let us then make the most of his memory, for the estimation of such excellence will be always a proof of the existence of a love of that which is best. The self-denials of ascetics, and the mortifications of religious misanthropists, who, shutting themselves up from the sweet influence of social intercourse, hate their fellows and torture themselves; what are these compared with that nobler, purer, better feeling which bound this old man to the grave of his country, and made him find enjoyment and consolation in the recollection of her immortal excellences? Let us honour him, for he is an example of how much honour humanity may attain."

"I cannot unwillingly join in praise so well deserved," said Oriel Porphyry; "the extraordinary energy of his heroic nature that made him endure with so cheerful a spirit the evils under which generation after generation sunk into utter hopelessness, is worthy of all the admiration we can confer upon it. We will bury him in the earth he loved so well; and although we raise no monument to glorify his actions, and although to strangers he be indebted for the rites of sepulture, his sleep will not be the less profound, nor his obsequies the less honourable. Perhaps in some future age, when, as he hath prophesied, this ancient nation shall arrive at a degree of prosperity and greatness far beyond any thing it has hitherto attained, the people of the future imagining that this monument has been erected over the mortal remains of some heroic spirit of the early ages, shall throng in crowds to confer on it the homage of their reverence; and the fame, though in error, will do him justice, and posterity, though ignorant, will rightly apply their admiration."

"Grieve not, sweet Lilya!" exclaimed Zabra, as he was endeavouring to console the afflicted mourner; "he for whom you mourn mourns not; why, therefore, should you be afflicted? His spirit is at peace with the world; he treads no more among the ruins and weeds of this deserted land; his home is where nature enjoys an unfading youth; where beauty breathes from an unclouded atmosphere, and love dwells around him like a perpetual blessing. Grieve not for the loss of the goodness which was enshrined in his nature, it has gone to join the First Great Cause of all good from which its goodness was derived. You see the wild flowers that are scattered at our feet; they gather from the air and the soil their fragrance and their loveliness, and these qualities they give back to the air and the soil, when the freshness of their leaves is dried up, and the soft hues in which we so much delight fade from their blossoms. Whatever exists, exists in a state of continual giving and receiving. It gains only to lose when what it has acquired can no longer be rendered profitable to its owner. As the rivers run into the sea, glides all humanity into the boundless ocean of the eternal; yet, fast as they empty themselves as rapidly they flow from their sources, just as the waters of life rush into the gulf of death, and though swallowed up with inconceivable velocity, rise from their innumerable springs in greater abundance. Grieve not, then, for grief is of no utility to either the living or the dead. Consider yourself: in you are deposited the materials of much happiness for yourself and others; endeavour to apply them to the most advantage. Some fond youth may soon be looking on your eyes, as gazes the devotee on the innermost sanctuary of his temple. In you he will concentrate all his ideas of what is most admirable; to you he will turn his thoughts; for you he will breathe his aspirations; his dreams he will gladden with your smiles; his hopes he will make brilliant in the lustre of your gaze. Are such things unworthy of your contemplation? Leave off these regrets; quit this senseless clay which answers not to your sympathy. Strive to become all, when living, he would have wished you to be. Virtue and truth and wisdom invite you to partake of their enjoyments, and if you attend to the better business of life, under their instructive auspices, you may be assured of becoming possessed of such happiness as it is felicitous even to imagine."

Lilya raised her eyes streaming with tears to the handsome countenance of the speaker, and her face was lit up with an expression that for the time obliterated all traces of sorrow. At this moment the body was carefully deposited in the grave, over which the seamen fired a volley of musketry, after which he was covered with the soil, and the party returned to their tents. Here, immediately on Zabra's arrival, he proceeded to his harp, and after a few chords full of melancholy and tender feeling, sang the following lines:--

"The last of his race now lies low,
Lies low in the soil that gave bliss to his eyes,
Though his country no joy could bestow,
For in deserts he lived and 'mid ruin he dies;
For him no dull trappings of woe,
No dark hirelings of grief round his sepulchre rise,
And he leaves not a friend or a foe,
His merits to praise or his faults to despise.

"The last of his race to his rest,
To his rest in the grave hath gone silently down;
With his sword girded on o'er his vest,
And arrayed as in life from the foot to the crown.
But say not his tomb is unblest,
Or the name he hath left be unknown to renown,
For the wild flow'r shall bloom o'er his breast,
And his fame shall be echoed through village and town.

"Though strangers his corse in the grave,
In the grave they have chosen with honour shall place,
Though the earth take the life which it gave,
And the tooth of the worm shall the mortal efface,
There shall dwell neither tyrant or slave,
There shall live not a people so lost in disgrace,
Who shall know not the land of the brave,
And respect not the bones of the Last of his Race."

At the close of the song, Zabra felt a hand placed lightly on his shoulder, and, turning round, beheld Lilya gazing on him with a look so full of pleasure, that he felt almost inclined to doubt it was the same creature who a short time since was so overpowered with affliction. "I will go with you," said the timid girl, as a slight blush appeared on either cheek; "I will go with you to your own country--if--that is--I should like to go with you if you will take me."

The same evening they were all on board the Albatross, which immediately set sail, and retraced her way through the river into the wide ocean.

CHAP. VII.

LILYA.

"I am getting very anxious about my father!" said Oriel Porphyry to his young friend; "I am sure something must have happened, or I should have found a communication from him at one or other of the different ports I have touched at. Not a syllable of information have I been able to gain from any of my father's ships I have spoken with, for most of them had left Columbia about the same time as my last advices, and the others were not aware of any thing important having transpired."

"We are going homewards now, Oriel, and if any thing has happened shall soon be made aware of it;" observed Zabra. "Let us hope for the best. I should not imagine, from the immense influence that he possesses, that the government would attempt to injure him."

"They only want the power, I believe;" replied the young merchant. "I know these sort of people too well to put much confidence in an appearance of tranquillity that has been forced upon them. They must hate my father. As the prime mover in the revolution which exhibited their insignificance so palpably, they will look upon the merchant as a person particularly odious, and no doubt would gladly get rid of him at any cost or risk."

"I should think for their own interests they would let him alone;" remarked his companion. "Experience ought to have taught them the danger of meddling with so popular a character, and having suffered so severely it is not like that they will renew the hazardous experiment."

"It is because they have suffered that they will be desirous of revenging themselves upon one whom they consider as the cause of the infliction;" said Oriel. "It would have appeared bad enough to them if my father had been one of the most powerful of the aristocracy; but it wounds them to the quick when they reflect that he is a plebeian--in their ideas immeasurably beneath them--an individual of no ancient family, without rank or dignity. With the feelings which a knowledge of this fact must create it is impossible that they can rest satisfied with their limited privileges and curtailed power. They will be continually intriguing for his destruction."

"They dare not do it, Oriel," replied Zabra; "I feel assured they dare not."

"I wish I could think so," said his patron; "but I have a little more knowledge of the world than you, Zabra, and I know something more of the disposition of such men. As long as he lives they will consider themselves insecure. They can know no peace save in his death; and I am convinced that they will use every exertion to accomplish it. I hope I may be enabled to return in time to frustrate their intentions. I should like nothing better than to expose their machinations, and to punish them in an appropriate manner; and if the people exist in the same state of feeling as when my father last wrote, I will show them something they little expect to see. My father's friends are almost innumerable in Columbus, and are always ready with hand and heart to serve him whenever he will give the word, which he is always exceedingly loth to give; and I think I may say that my friends in the metropolis are neither despicable in number nor in influence, and are as eager to befriend me in time of need; and I shall be quite as eager to accept their services. I remember the times when I have been exercising my regiment, the devotion that was displayed by both officers and men; but this I am well aware was owing to their admiration of my father's virtues. Of them I am secure. My fondness for military exercises made me labour to perfect in discipline the troops I commanded, and they are now as effective a body of men as ever entered a field of battle. They will perform good service wherever they go. The national guard is another powerful engine to be employed on such an occasion. In the metropolis alone they amount in number to about twenty thousand; and they are devotedly attached to my father. If there exist but a sufficient cause I know that I have only to present myself amongst them, to induce them to follow me wherever I choose to lead."

"I trust you will have no occasion for their services," said his companion; "it is my belief that on our return we shall find every thing in the most comfortable state, and all parties satisfied with each other. Your military dreams will then be completely disappointed, and you will be under the painful necessity of making up your mind to share the well-earned honours of your father, and partake of a perfect state of happiness with Eureka."

"Ah, Eureka!" exclaimed the young merchant with passionate emphasis; "how rejoiced I shall be to return to her! I often find myself inquiring into the possibility of a change in her disposition towards me."

"That can never be, Oriel;" observed the other.

"I have the fullest confidence in her fidelity, but sometimes I find an apprehension intrude without knowing what produced it;" said his companion. "There are no such self-tormentors as your true lovers; and although I should be among the first to laugh at the suffering they give themselves, I must acknowledge that on more than one occasion I have endured a state of feeling which was any thing but satisfactory."

"By what was it occasioned?" inquired Zabra.

"Merely from my ignorance of the motives which have induced her to deny me any communication with her till my return;" answered Oriel.

"You would not condemn her if you knew what made such a denial necessary;" remarked his young friend.

"Very probably not: but the mischief of it is, I do _not_ know;" said Master Porphyry. "Any thing in the shape of a mystery annoys me amazingly, and this behaviour of hers appears to me most mysterious and unaccountable. I think between lovers the most perfect sincerity should exist. There should be no room left for doubt or suspicion. But in the generality of attachments you will find much more deception than sincerity. In the affections of youth there is an earnestness which is the most natural and convincing that can be conceived; but as the heart grows older, it gradually loses all this admirable freshness and purity, and in a few short years it has recourse to artifices and disguises without number. I detest deceit. I cannot imagine Eureka deceitful. I hope never to find her so. To the truly devoted--to one who finds no enjoyment like that which proceeds from honoring his adored as the truest, the purest, and the best, there can be nothing so revolting as the discovery that she whom he worships as one so pre-eminent in goodness is the habitual practiser of contemptible deceits, hides all her actions under a cloak of elaborate artifices, and lives in a spider-like existence, spinning a dirty web to hide herself and betray her victims."

"Eureka is of a very different character;" observed Zabra, who during the preceding observations had appeared exceedingly confused. "She has not deceived you in any thing which it was requisite for you to know. She detests artifice as much as you do. But there are always some things which the most sincere may find it necessary to conceal. The truth cannot be spoken at _all_ times."

"You might just as well say that good money ought not to be passed at all times;" said Oriel Porphyry. "That which is good ought to be good upon all occasions, and truth is the very best of things in social intercourse. It is the sterling coin of the affections; and she who uses base counterfeits deserves the ignominy with which such vile cheating should be punished. I have the very highest opinion of the female character, and I desire always to think highly of womankind; but taking the sex generally, I do sincerely think that they are amazingly fond of disguising the truth as much as possible. It is a crooked policy--a policy that in time poisons every better feeling a woman can possess. Deception and a love of general admiration are her prevailing vices. I am well aware that they are thought very innocent little foibles by those who practise them, but on that account they are not the less destructive to feminine excellence. Love is a passion of one for one only. It ought to be excited by one object, and conferred on one object alone. And thus exhibited, it is the purest, the most graceful, and the most natural of human emotions. If either party introduce another as a sharer in the affections, the whole feeling becomes tainted. What can be more unjust to the lover who concentrates all his hopes on the exclusive possession of the affections of the object of his fond idolatry, which hopes have been called into existence by fond avowals and delicious caresses, than for the woman whom he thus regards, to be just as affectionate in her manner to a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth? Some women seem to pride themselves on the number of their admirers. What a miserable vanity it is! It is exactly the same feeling with which an Eastern monarch used to regard the number of females in his seraglio. Imagine the state of mind produced in a man of refined intellect and delicacy of feeling at discovering that the lips he thought sacred to his caresses were defiled by the caresses of another! Or if she allow others merely to continue to profess to her their ardent admiration, she evinces a neglect of the unalterable law of the affections, which ought to be punished by contempt, scorn, and disgust."

"But no woman ought to be accountable for the admiration she may excite;" observed Zabra. "The most virtuous woman may without the slightest intention create an unhallowed passion in one of the opposite sex."

"Women are remarkably quick sighted in every thing connected with the affections;" replied the young merchant. "They can discover the earliest signs of admiration, and every truly virtuous woman, if her sympathies are pre-engaged, will endeavour to crush this feeling in the bud, and show, by her displeasure and avoidance of the object, that he has created no reciprocal emotion. If after such passion is declared she continue to tolerate the attentions of her admirer, although she be virtuous in other respects she has no conception of the nature of perfect virtue. She is fostering an illicit feeling; she is encouraging a passion she has no intention of indulging--a crime the most destructive in its effects upon the happiness of the individual whose passion she encourages; and as it is vicious in its tendency, because it aims at indulgence at the expense of virtue, and as she assisted in its developement instead of destroying it in its early growth, she is answerable for all the consequences that may arise from its existence, and has deserved the censure of being considered vicious in her disposition. Toleration creates hope, and hope will love through all difficulty; but no man, unless he be a fool or a knave, will love in utter hopelessness."

"Surely these observations can have no relation to Eureka!" exclaimed Zabra earnestly.

"Not the slightest;" replied his patron. "She is all I would wish her to be; and the only cause of uneasiness she has given me during our attachment is this mystery about the place of her concealment, and her avoidance of any communication with me for so long a time."

"Your uneasiness will soon be removed, then, and the mystery will be explained in a manner that will perfectly satisfy you;" said the youth.

"I hope so;" exclaimed his patron. "But I certainly do not like being mystified by those in whom I take an interest. Mysteries, however, seem most abundant around me just now. There is something very strange and unaccountable in you, Zabra."

"Me! in me, Oriel?" replied his companion, in evident confusion. "What can there be strange or unaccountable in me?"

"I have noticed many things in your behaviour exceedingly extraordinary;" said the young merchant. "Your superiority to the situation in which you were introduced to me has often made me imagine that you are not what you assume to be."

"Not what I assume to be!" exclaimed Zabra in increased embarrassment. "Is it possible I can be any thing else?"

"That is best known to yourself, and to her who sent you," replied Oriel Porphyry; "but there certainly is a mystery about your character."

"A mystery! how strange you should imagine such a thing;" responded his youthful companion, attempting to conceal his confusion.

"Then there's my father, he has _his_ mystery," continued his patron; "it is some secret connected with that wretched aristocrat Philadelphia, but what it is about he is not inclined to communicate."

"I have noticed it," said Zabra, recovering from his confusion; "and I imagined it to be a knowledge of some circumstances connected with my father's early life, the publication of which would do him very serious injury."

"I cannot say what it is, but these things are very perplexing," observed the young merchant; "however, I hope to make my way through them on my arrival at Columbia. How glad I shall be to see its glorious shores again! Nothing is so likely to excite patriotism as exile; and Columbia is a country worthy of one's patriotism; the first nation of the world; its citizens have reason to be proud. I have beheld during my voyage many lands and many people, but I have seen neither land or people to be compared to Columbia and its inhabitants. I rejoice that I am returning to them, and though I am glad that this voyage is nearly at an end, I hope that my father will be gratified with my proceedings during my absence; and then if Eureka's sentiments in my favour have not undergone any change I shall have nothing to fear."

"Of Eureka's constancy you will soon be convinced;" said Zabra, in a more subdued tone than he had previously used.

"I shall be delighted to find it so. But do you think that she would have no objection to protect the gentle Lilya?" asked Oriel.

"None whatever;" replied his companion. "I am sure she will be much gratified by your suggestion of such an arrangement. Lilya is timid and perfectly ignorant of the world, yet she is docile and affectionate, and with proper management I have no doubt she would become an amiable and accomplished woman, qualified to adorn any rank in society."

"The creature is so shy that I can scarcely ever get a glimpse of her," observed his patron.

"She is almost always with me," said the other; "every thing appears to be new to her on board the ship, and her pleasure at the novelties she beholds is so genuine that it is delightful to see her. She requires a companion, or she would feel quite alone amongst us; and I being about her own age, she naturally feels more at ease with me than with any other. Her diffidence is excessive; I cannot get her to associate with any one except myself; but I have no doubt that in time she will gain confidence, and join us in the cabin or on the quarter-deck with perfect self-possession. She seems remarkably fond of music, and appears to enjoy nothing so much as hearing me sing to her."

"Take care, Zabra;" said the young merchant, with a smile. "An ancient poet has said that music is the food of love. The harmony of sweet sounds, breathed around two such hearts as yours and Lilya's, will be sure to put them in unison. If you go on in this way, existing in a state of such intimate communion, it will be utterly impossible for either of you to resist the soft influence of the tender passion, and you have both of you arrived at a time of life when the disposition is peculiarly susceptible to its impressions."

"There is no fear of such feelings being created, I assure you;" replied Zabra.

"It seems to me very probable," observed Oriel; "your being so much together is sufficient to produce such an effect. Besides, she is so very pretty. What a depth of tenderness there exists in the soft blue of her beautiful eyes! and her smile is positively exquisite. The rich bloom of her complexion reminds me of some delicious fruit, it is so warm, and soft, and tempting; and then the expression,--so innocent, so artless, and so bashful, it is absolutely enchanting. I must not forget her graceful figure, it is worthy of the highest eulogium for being so delicately rounded. I am glad she has not thrown aside her dress of skins and feathers, for, in my opinion, its simplicity and picturesqueness would put fashion out of countenance. I never behold her, whenever she does venture into my presence, but I imagine her to be the Psyche of the heathen mythology, or some other amiable character in that system of dreams:--the object of devotion to the immortal youth, or the rosy cup-bearer to the gods. I assure you, I admire her very much."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Zabra, who had listened to these praises of Lilya in evident uneasiness.

"Yes, she has interested me very deeply;" replied Oriel. "I am charmed at the gentle being who has been so unexpectedly thrown on my protection. I feel delighted at being able to gratify her unambitious wishes; and when she comes shrinking into my presence, like a delicate flower before the breeze, nothing pleases me so much as endeavouring to assure her of her safety. And then the simple creature is so grateful, and thanks me with such looks, that there is no resisting them."

Zabra's eyes gleamed restlessly, his lips became pale, and his cheeks bloodless.

"I wish I could see her more frequently, and she would be somewhat less reserved;" continued his patron. "It is so difficult to get her to converse; yet her voice is so subdued and melodious that it is a pleasure to hear her. It is seldom any thing beyond a murmur. She never attempts to raise her voice into a more audible sound. She seems as if she was afraid of hearing herself speak. After having been used to the affectations and hypocrisies of female society, the artlessness of Lilya's conduct and the purity of her nature becomes exceedingly refreshing: I certainly do admire her very much."

Zabra, as if unable to conceal the emotions that were evidently producing a most powerful effect upon him, with a look of indescribable anguish hastily left the cabin.

"How strange!" exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, astonished at the sudden departure of his young friend. "He must love her. I am certain from his appearance while I was speaking in her praise, that he loves her, and is jealous of the admiration I have expressed. How very strange!"

Zabra hastened to the quarter deck, where he sat himself down in a retired corner, apparently in the most intense agony of mind. His dark features were impressed with the workings of a violent passion; his lustrous eyes shone with a brilliancy that was vivid and piercing to an extraordinary degree; and his breast heaved with that full and rapid pulsation of the heart which is the usual effect of great excitement. Covering his face with his hands, he continued in that position for several minutes. "That it should come to this!" he muttered in a voice tremulous with emotion. "That it should come to this! What a reward for all I have done and suffered! Oh agony insupportable!--Oh misery scarcely to be endured! Where will the devoted heart meet with fidelity? Where will the loving one, who feels and thinks and acts with no other desire than for the happiness of the loved, meet with a like regard? The dream is over--the delusion is passed--the hope which has led me on seems utterly extinguished. But perhaps it may not be--I may be deceived in my suspicions. It would look like injustice to condemn him without a more perfect knowledge. I will observe them. But he said how much he admired her; he said it to me!--Ah! it must be true."

Zabra was impatiently starting from his seat when he beheld Lilya standing before him with every appearance of deep concern in her countenance; he suddenly snatched her by the arm, drew her towards him, and gazed in her face with a fierce and searching look.

"Why do you gaze on me thus?" inquired Lilya, shrinking from the stern scrutiny to which she was being subjected. "Why is your look so dark? He whom I used to call my father never looked thus on me, and you never so regarded me before. Have I done any thing wrong, by which I could offend you? How sorry I shall be if I have! Or are you ill? Let me endeavour to make you better: I know where grow the healing herbs and the balmy plants that are good for many different maladies. Let me gather them and make you a drink such as may restore you to health; or shall I run down the young leveret or snare the tender woodpigeon to procure you delicate eating? Ah me! I forgot that I am not where either herbs or plants, or leveret or woodpigeon are to be found, but on the wide waste of sea, where neither green moss nor twining ivy, nor flowers, nor trees, nor any leafy thing exists. But what can I do to make you better?"

"Can I believe you?" asked her companion, relaxing in some degree in the severity of his gaze.

"You can if you like, Zabra," replied the simple girl; "and I do not see why anyone should not believe me, because I always speak the truth; and why _you_ should not believe me seems so very strange. I always believe you. I am sure you would not say any thing that was not true, and I could not think of saying a word with an intention of deceiving you."

"You do not seem like one inclined to be treacherous;" observed the youth.

"I never saw any one inclined to be treacherous, therefore I cannot say whether I do or do not look in that way," said the girl; "but I am not so inclined, that I am positive of, for I have nothing in the world to be treacherous about, and it is impossible that I should ever be treacherous to you. Now, Zabra, you look more like the good and kind being I have known you to be. Ah! what a pleasure it is to listen to you when you sing your delightful songs, or speak to me so persuasively of virtue, and wisdom, and excellence, and all such admirable things. It makes me forget how much I loved to watch the birds at their nests, and the young kids at play; and hear the lark's song in the morning, and the nightingale's at night. It makes me forget all my favourite haunts where the choicest flowers used to grow. It makes me to forget all I once found so pleasant to remember."

"You have noticed Oriel Porphyry, have you not?" inquired Zabra, fixing on his companion a searching glance.

"Oh yes," replied Lilya eagerly; "he that is so noble looking. His eyes are so bright, and his hair curls over his forehead so beautifully, and he looks so kindly at me when I see him and talks to me so kindly, that I like him very much."

"No doubt you do!" exclaimed the youth, with considerable bitterness.

"I have not been much with him, for I feel quite afraid of him;" continued Lilya. "He seems to me so very grand and proud in his appearance, that I dare scarcely look at him when we meet, and as for speaking I have then neither voice nor words. But he appears so good. He takes my hand in his, and he presses it so gently, and he says to me such encouraging things, and he looks upon my face with so much earnestness, that----"

"Oh it's palpable!" cried Zabra, hastily interrupting his companion, and regarding her with a gloomy scowl.

"That I cannot help feeling that I like him very much; and, although I am afraid to utter a sentence, he still continues his kindness, and never lets my hand go from his. However, I must try to tell him how grateful I am. It is very foolish of me, I believe, in not saying how I feel towards him. But how you look at me, Zabra!" exclaimed Lilya, as she noticed the dark and angry expression of her companion's features. "Is it displeasing to you that I do not express the sentiments I entertain? I will confess them. Are you angry because I do not like him so well as I ought to do? I will like him ever so much more."

"Truly, you are obedient!" observed the other, with sarcastic emphasis; "a pattern of one who is willing to please! There cannot be a question about your dutifulness. Dupe, that I have been not to see your artifices! But who could have supposed that, under such apparent artlessness, there lurked so much treachery? Your deceit is well done. None would suspect it. It is the most finished piece of falsehood that ever was acted."

"Falsehood! Deceit! Treachery!" exclaimed Libya, astonished and alarmed by the violence in the language and conduct of her companion. "What are such things to me, Zabra? I know them not. They cannot be for me to use. Oh, why do you look at me in so unkind a manner? They are not the looks that make me happy. I see you are angry with me, and I know not for why. I must have done some great wrong, or you would not behave to me in a way so unlike what you have used me to. And, indeed, I did not do it intentionally. I would not have offended you if I could have avoided it. What shall I do? Tell me what I shall do to acquire your forgiveness, and I will never repeat the offence again."

"And do you think that I will now believe these professions?" inquired her companion, with considerable asperity. "Do you think, after having been once deceived, I would allow myself to be the victim of the same deception? Oh no! that can never be. You are discovered. I know you thoroughly. Away with you, and let me no more be made miserable by your presence."

"Alas! alas! what heinous wrong have I done?" exclaimed Lilya, as the tears made their appearance on her cheeks. "I know not what it is--I cannot imagine any thing, unless it be my behaviour to Oriel Porphyry, that offended you. I acknowledge he deserved better treatment; but, if it be your desire, I will immediately go and tell him all that I think of him: and when he looks so kindly, and talks so kindly, and presses my hand----"

"Away, vile hypocrite!" shouted Zabra, as with looks of indignation and rage he pushed Lilya aside, and rushed from the place. She gazed after him without uttering a word. Her spirit appeared quite overwhelmed; and all the confidence she felt in his society completely deserted her. The heart of the timid girl seemed filled with a sense of desolation she had never before experienced, and she sat down in the seat he had vacated, and wept. Here she remained, in the full consciousness of her unprotected state, till the sound of approaching footsteps made her hurriedly seek concealment in some obscure part of the ship.

"The Albatross is crossing the Atlantic in very brilliant style, I think;" observed the young merchant.

"Yes, sir, she does spank along pretty smartly," replied the captain. "But it's utterly impossible for a better bit o' timber to be found. She's been tried in all sorts o' weathers, in all sorts o' seas; and no matter whether we were doubling the Cape, or beating about in that ere terrible monsoon in the Bay o' Bengal, she stood on her feet like a trump, and answered to the helm as sensible as any born cretur."

"Our passage home will be brief and pleasant, I should imagine, from the portion we have passed," remarked Oriel Porphyry.

"There's no knowin' sir," said old Hearty, seriously. "Sometimes it's fair weather and sometimes it's foul, and sometimes it's a bit o' both. The weather's the most unsartaintest thing in nature; it puzzles the wisest on us. It's quite optional whether it has a mind to blow one way or t'other, and sometimes it seems as if there was a reg'lar blow up wi' ev'ry wind as blows, and they gets a skylarking wi' one another most considerably."

"I am very anxious to return to Columbia with as little delay as possible," observed the young merchant. "My not having received any communication from my father, and my knowledge of the unsettled state of the country, makes me fear that the government have got the upper hand again, and that they have made my father the victim of their vengeance."

"They daren't harm him, sir," replied the old man; "they daren't harm a hair o' his head; they knows of old how popular he is, and how popular he desarves to be; and they must have a pretty considerable winkin' that they'll be left among breakers if they 'tempts to steer that course. I arn't no great politician, but it's as plain as a marlin spike to me, that if they bore down upon master Porphyry after that fashion, they'd get such a broadside from the people as 'ould sew 'em all up in their hammocks in very little time."

"I hope I shall arrive before they can execute their evil intentions, if such intentions they have," remarked Oriel. "In case I should require their services, do you think I could depend on the crew of this ship?"

"On ev'ry mother's son of 'em," said the captain, with emphasis. "Ev'ry man in the vessel's selected, and most ov 'em have sailed wi' me at some time or other. There arn't a braver or more skilful crew afloat; and if 'tis required that they shall bear a hand in defence o' master Porphyry, I've got a notion there's nothin' they'd do wi' half so much 'lacrity. Master Porphyry ha' done so much good in his time that there's scarcely a cretur livin' as has'nt through his friends or relations profited by it in some degree, and it arn't in the natur o' a seaman not to be grateful. As for me, when I've had never a shot in the locker, master Porphyry, more nor once, has made me comfortable inside and out, and sent me afloat, laden wi' summat else besides ballast; and if I don't stand among the foremost in any shindy as you've a mind to kick up, and don't sarve out the lubbers as would be tryin' to circumvent your honourable old father, I'll give you leave to slice me into pea-shells and dish me up into hogswash."

"I'm perfectly satisfied with your fidelity, captain," said the young merchant, "and I am very much gratified by hearing that I can depend upon the crew. There's no knowing what may happen, and you and your men might render me service of the highest value. If the struggle I anticipate is to be made, every brave man will be an important acquisition."

"If we could only get together all the craft as master Porphyry possesses, scrunch me! if we shouldn't be able to turn 'em inside out, wi' as much ease as a fellow might take in a reef," exclaimed the old man.

"That cannot be done without the sacrifice of more time than I can spare," observed Oriel. "My great object is to arrive in the metropolis before the government can find an opportunity for working out its schemes, as I feel convinced that they only wait occasion to resume the influence of which they were dispossessed. If I am in time to prevent their intrigues, I will speedily take such measures as shall put it out of their power to make any attempt of the kind; and if the mischief should be done previous to my arrival, I will make such a stir in the country as shall shake them out of their ill-got authority before they have had time to exercise it."

"I maintain that the ancients greatly excel us!" exclaimed Fortyfolios in a loud voice, as he approached the place where the captain and the young merchant were conversing.

"And I maintain quite the reverse, don't you see," replied the doctor.

"Think of their universities, their schools, their royal academies of painting and music, their royal societies for the advancement of science, their extensive libraries, their galleries of art, and the wonderful degree of perfection they attained in mechanics," said the professor.

"As for their universities," observed Tourniquet, "they distinguished themselves most by their bigoted attachment to prejudices that had long been exploded in every other part of the community. They wasted a vast deal of time and intellect in teaching all such knowledge as was most unprofitable; and this was what they called a classical education. It consisted in making the student devote the best portion of his life in learning one or two languages which were never spoken by the living, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred could not be of the slightest advantage to the learner. A facility in the making of Latin verses, which had no pretension to the name of poetry, was looked upon as evidence of great merit; and he who could put together a few sentences in Greek, unmarked by one original idea, was regarded as a genius which his college ought to be proud of."

"Do you mean to affirm that the dead languages are not worthy of study?" inquired Fortyfolios.

"I affirm nothing of the kind, don't you see," replied the doctor. "I only maintain that the time devoted to their acquisition in the system of education pursued by the ancients might have been more advantageously employed. Both the teachers and the taught enslaved their minds with the same shackles. What loads of paper have been spoiled by the labours of some learned blockhead on the Greek particle, or by the annotations and interpretations of some laborious trifles attempting to elucidate the meaning of some obscure Latin writer. But there is a greater mischief in this than the mere worthlessness of what it produces. The exclusive attention which is required to gain a mastery over a dead language stifles the affections and narrows the intellect. It makes men egotists and bigots; ignorant, prejudiced, proud, and quarrelsome. What was Bentley? what was Parr? what was Johnson? what was Porson? What were all who distinguished themselves by such great talents in small things? Were they temperate, or modest, or amiable? moderate in their enjoyments, or inoffensive in their behaviour? Were they not the very reverse of these?"

"They were great scholars," observed the professor.

"They were great fools, don't you see," said the other sharply. "A man who offends against decency, who is quarrelsome and imperious, knows not the respect he owes himself or the courtesies which are due to society; and his actions, if they are not crimes, must certainly be follies. As for his wisdom--as for the wisdom of the grammarian, or the mere number of books comparatively useless, his is the knowledge of a man who has lived all his life in the narrow circuit of a little village; he may know every brick in every house, and may be familiar with the exact state and quantity of every dunghill there to be met with: but take him out into the open world, and he knows nothing but the prejudices of the place from which he came."

"That does not prove that the learning of the ancients is unworthy of study," remarked Fortyfolios.

"Who are the ancients?" inquired Tourniquet. "The English are our ancients, the Romans were their ancients, the Greeks were the ancients of the Romans, and the Egyptians were the ancients of the Greeks: the Hindoos, or the Chinese, were the ancients of the Egyptians; and if we could look to a more remote period, we should be sure to find a people who also had their ancients. It is a very strange idea of the world to expect to progress by always looking back, don't you see. The learning of our predecessors may always be worthy of study if it be superior to the learning in existence; but it has been the system of universities and public schools to concentrate the attention of the studious upon the learning of the ancients, to the neglect of a knowledge more available and of far more practical utility."

"It is strange, then, that the public schools and universities of the English should have produced so many illustrious men!" said the professor.

"I maintain that their most illustrious men were not produced in the public schools, don't you see," replied the doctor. "Of philosophers, Bacon, Hume, Hobbes, Berkley, Shaftesbury, Dugald Stewart, and Hartley; of men of science, Newton, Flamstead, Napier, Davy, Priestley, and Black; of statesmen, Burleigh, Clarendon, Wolsey, Cromwell, Raleigh, Temple, Burke, and Pitt; of divines, Tillotson, Chillingworth, More, Jeremy Taylor, Selden, and Sherlock; of heroes, Hampden, Russell, Marlborough, Clive, and Wolfe; and of poets, Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, Spenser, Goldsmith, Pope, and Thomson; besides numberless others I cannot now remember; attained their eminence without any assistance from public schools."

"I suppose you equally condemn their royal societies and academies?" inquired Fortyfolios.

"I do, so far as concerns their utility, don't you see," said Tourniquet. "Did their royal societies ever produce a great man? What eminent philosopher or distinguished man of science did they ever create? And as for their royal academies, when you can point out to me the great painters and great musicians they have given to the world, I will acknowledge the benefit society has received from them, but not till then."

"It is not to be expected that all institutions will perfectly answer the end for which they were designed," remarked the professor. "The object for which they were founded was wise and admirable, and to a certain extent they realise that object. They collect together the talent in the country, and then as much as possible make it known to the public."