Lady Eureka; or, The Mystery: A Prophecy of the Future. Volume 2

CHAP. XI.

ATHENIA.

A party, consisting of the two philosophers, Oriel Porphyry, Zabra, and a stranger, were proceeding in an elegant open carriage through the crowded streets of Athenia. The stranger was a man of about fifty, of noble mien, and lofty stature. There was a classic purity in the outline of his face, that became more pleasing to the gazer from its being accompanied by features of the most benevolent expression. A mild and graceful spirit seemed shining in every look; and none could behold his clear expansive forehead without feeling a conviction that he stood in the presence of an intelligence of the highest order. A white turban was carefully folded over his brows, covering the lower portion of a small velvet cap that fitted close to the head. The upper part of his body was robed in several vests, or short jackets, made of different stuffs, in elegant patterns, each being of a different fabric and colour; and beneath these an under garment, of remarkably fine linen, might be observed. The waist was bound round with a rich silken sash, the ends of which hung down on the left side; and below it, in very full folds, descended to the knees a garment of a thick fabric, of a white colour till near the skirt, where there appeared three narrow bands of light blue: leggings of thin silk descended to the feet, which were cased in shoes of fine leather; and an ample robe of embroidered purple cloth hung loose from the shoulders.

“This is a magnificent street,” remarked the young merchant, noticing a line of palaces that stretched for a considerable distance on each side of him.

“What noble porticoes—what lofty domes—what a beauty and harmony there is in the arrangement of every building!” exclaimed Zabra. “Surely they are inhabited by a race of princes.”

“Of what are usually called princes, we know nothing,” said the stranger mildly. “This is the street of our great men. Here dwell our most illustrious poets, philosophers, artists, and men of science.”

“Can it be possible?” asked Fortyfolios. “How do they manage to acquire such splendid dwellings?”

“When a citizen has shown by his works,” resumed the stranger, “that he possesses those intellectual powers that most ennoble human nature, the public, out of gratitude for the gratifications they receive from his superior intelligence, place him in a situation where he can be most honoured, and where his own pleasures may correspond in degree with the pleasures he is creating.”

“Nothing can be more wise, don’t you see,” said the doctor; “and it has been a disgrace to all civilised nations that their men of intellect, the only nobles that any society can possess, have been so little cared for, that few have ever enjoyed an adequate return for the labour and the wealth they were bestowing upon their country. Rarely have they been held in the estimation which their superiority in the only true greatness which can distinguish humanity ought to command; and a vast number have been left to battle with a selfish world, till, having endured every species of suffering that can most afflict their sensitive natures, steeped to the lips in poverty, weary and heartbroken, they lie down in some obscure corner and die.”

“We could not practise such injustice,” observed the stranger; “and I am surprised that any people should exist who know so little of their true interests as to act in so unwise a manner. It is our object to enlighten the community as much as may be possible; and knowing that the increase of intelligence, when properly directed, is productive of a similar increase of happiness, we naturally endeavour to testify to those who are labouring to produce our felicity the interest we take in the creation of theirs: we therefore consider them as benefactors, clothe them with dignity, surround them with honour, allow them to have no want ungratified, and convey within their reach every enjoyment that can make their lives glide on without a care, a regret, or a disappointment. The consequence has been, that the gifted, observing the estimation in which excellence is held, strive with all their energies to become worthy of the same distinction. From this cause our buildings have become the finest in the world—our works of art have become the finest in the world—the most wonderful discoveries exceed each other in every branch of science—and in every department of philosophy some new and amazing effort of genius is continually making itself manifest.”

“What a desirable state of things!” exclaimed Oriel.

“But how do the people profit by their generosity?” inquired the professor.

“Rather say by their gratitude,” observed the stranger. “Knowledge is imparted freely. There are free lectures, in which our great men make public all the information that may most enlighten a community; books are published on every subject, and distributed freely to those who require them; and their authors, having no inclination ungratified, and finding their greatest pleasure in diffusing the intelligence they possess, employ their powers with nobler feelings than in other nation the desire of money as an object of reward, or a means of existence, can under any circumstances create; and the people, enjoying the wholesome pleasures thus liberally conveyed to them, have neither inclination nor time to contract vicious propensities, and follow the daily business of life with pure hearts, and minds open to every ennobling impression.”

“They must enjoy an extraordinary amount of happiness,” observed Zabra.

“With what is usually called misery they are entirely ignorant,” replied the stranger; “for as all their time is employed in the right application of the means of enjoyment, they create no wrong; consequently they cannot produce anything but happiness.”

“Worthy Sophos!” exclaimed Fortyfolios. “In the streets through which we have passed, although I have noticed every sort of warehouse and shop for the purposes of trade, I have not seen any place for the sale of intoxicating liquors; and among all the public buildings I have beheld, I have not met with any thing which, from its appearance, I could consider a prison.”

“Intoxicating liquors we neither buy nor sell,” replied Sophos. “The pure beverage which nature has provided so liberally for our enjoyment, confers upon us both health and pleasure; and although the indulgence of every natural inclination is allowed, any intemperance in the enjoyment of an appetite is punished with immediate and general disgrace; the sensualist, the glutton, or the drunkard is avoided as unworthy to associate with his fellow men, and the instances of such offences being committed are so rare, that they are now looked upon as altogether unnatural. As for prisons we do not want them; we have no use for them. Such offences as crimes against life, or crimes against property; crimes against the individual, or crimes against the state, are so few that if we were to build a prison, we should find some difficulty in getting in it a single inhabitant. We have long known that prisons do not prevent crime. We are aware that wherever there have been the most prisons, there have been the greatest number of criminals; and beholding in the experience of ages the inutility of punishment as a preventive to criminality, we came to the conclusion, that the only sure way of preventing a man becoming a criminal, is to remove from his path all temptations to crime. Every citizen having the free enjoyment of every inclination, cannot possibly have a want that interferes with the interests of the community; and we are exceedingly careful throughout the educational course of life to prevent the existence of any inclination that may be hurtful either to the individual or to the society to which he belongs.”

“Is this one of your religious edifices?” inquired Oriel, pointing to a large building supported by elegant pillars, and having the appearance of the highest degree of architectural excellence.

“It is, and it is not,” replied Sophos, with a smile. “It is a religious edifice, inasmuch as it is well calculated to assist in establishing religious impressions, and it is used for the purpose of conveying moral instruction to the hearts of those who enter its walls: and it is not a religious edifice, because it is connected with no mystery, and is no place for monks and priests, grovelling superstitions, and unmeaning ceremonies. But you shall examine the interior.” With these words he ordered the carriage to be driven up to the gates, and the party alighting, entered the edifice.

Having passed through lofty folding doors, they were ushered along a vaulted hall of immense extent and admirable proportions. It was lighted from the top by windows that spread around the whole circumference of the dome in a series of circles, between which the roof was supported by gigantic figures of white marble. The walls were painted in fresco, with a variety of subjects executed in the first style of art, and the object of every painting appeared to be to elevate the human mind into a love of practical benevolence. Nothing barbarous, nothing cruel, nothing unjust, nothing coarse, nothing that could create an unpleasant feeling, had here been introduced; but all that was affectionate and true, and pure and excellent, had been seized by the plastic genius of the artist, and fixed in undying colours upon the wall.

In the different divisions that separated these pictures appeared short moral maxims and philosophical sentences. Every religion seemed to have furnished some portion of the instruction here conveyed. Near the truths of Christianity might be observed the wisdom of Islamism; the Proverbs of Solomon had a place by the side of the maxims of Zoroaster, and the wisdom of Confucius was inscribed opposite the philosophy of Socrates. Wherever the eye turned it caught something worthy of contemplation, and whatever the mind contemplated it found impressive, unanswerable, and impossible to be forgotten.

“What place do you call this?” inquired Oriel of his conductor.

“It is called the Hall of Wisdom and of Humanity,” replied the stranger. “And here, if the soul is fretted by pain or sorrow, or the heart yearns for some refreshing influence, comes the citizen from the busy toils of life, and gazing on these tokens of a benevolent power, and studying these signs of a comprehensive intelligence, he finds that both his heart and mind are strengthened—a love of excellence pervades all his nature, and he passes back to the world with a cheerful spirit, giving and partaking gladness.”

“What are the principles of your religion?” asked Fortyfolios.

“The principles of our religion are the best principles of every religion that has existed from the creation of the world,” responded Sophos. “We found every variety of faith could produce something profitable. The worst religion has brought forth good men, good women, and good citizens, and surrounded by the most degrading superstitions, we invariably found some truth worthy of general appreciation. We also found that the most enlightened religions produced bad men, bad women, and bad citizens, and discovered amid the most wholesome truths they endeavoured to inculcate, some pernicious superstition that destroyed the efficacy of their doctrines. This led to a consideration of their separate natures, and upon careful examination we discovered that from the earliest ages, all people had been doing the same thing under different names. They had personified two opposing principles—the principle of good and the principle of evil, which they had worshipped. In many religious systems the machinery was more complicated than in others, but all were easily traced to the same source.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed the professor.

“The names of God and Devil,” continued Sophos, “are so obviously modified from good and evil, and the attributes of each power are so completely the attributes of each principle, that nothing more need be said of their connection. They are the same things: as principles they are the light and shadow of the moral world; as deities, the Alpha and Omega of Christianity and Judaism. Vishnu the Preserver, and Siva the Destroyer, the most important members of the Hindoo Pantheon—the Ahrimanes and Ormuzd of Zoroaster, and the Fire Worshippers of Persia—the Osiris and Typhon of the Egyptians—the Jupiter and Pluto of the Greeks—and the great idols of every form of worship that had at any time of the world existed, are but personifications of the opposing principles good and evil.”

“Not a doubt of it, don’t you see,” remarked Doctor Tourniquet.

“I do not believe anything of the kind,” observed Fortyfolios: “it’s heathenish, abominable, and atheistical.”

“Having made this analysis,” continued the stranger, without attending to the interruptions he had received, “we came to the determination of making these principles our form of faith; that is to say, we made our doctrines those of benevolence. Good was our God—Philanthropy was our religion; and doing good became the way in which we endeavoured to worship the Deity. The good principle is around us at all times while we live, and creates our felicity, and produces the pleasures of those around us; and death is the evil principle, which puts an end to the happiness we were enjoying and creating.”

“What is your form of government?” inquired Oriel.

“Our supreme head is called the Optimus, or the Best,” replied Sophos. “He is addressed by the title of our Benefactor the Optimus, and is elevated to that dignity in consequence of his having distinguished himself above his fellow-citizens by the superior excellence of his wisdom and greatness of his philanthropy. He is assisted in the duties of the government by an assembly of two hundred of the most experienced, the wisest, and the best of his fellow-countrymen, who are called Fathers; and from this assembly the people always choose their Optimus, who reigns as long as his faculties permit him to exercise his judgment for the benefit of the people, and his reign is called his Optimate. Inferior in dignity to the assembly of Fathers, is a parliament of five hundred, who are distinguished by the name of Brothers; and they represent the interests of certain communities or disciples into which our great family is divided. It must not be imagined from these divisions and distinctions that there are any exclusive advantages or separate interests amongst us. Any individual may obtain the highest offices of the legislature by passing through the parliament of Brothers and the assembly of Fathers, for which he must show himself well qualified by knowledge, virtue, and benevolence. He gains neither advantage nor profit—nothing but the esteem of his fellow-citizens; and the people are classed into distinct communities of disciples, merely that the interests of the whole shall receive a proper degree of attention from the legislative.”

“And do you find such a form of government answer the purpose for which it was designed?” inquired Oriel.

“All,” replied Sophos. “The laws are simple and few, and admirably adapted to satisfy the wants of the people. We have no monopolies to protect; we have no exclusive privileges to confer. There is no legislative enactment passed which does not take into consideration the happiness of each and all.”

“It is wonderful to observe with how few laws a nation may be governed,” said the doctor; “and it is equally surprising to notice with how many laws a nation may be misgoverned, don’t you see.”

“Now let us enter the Hall of Public Benefactors,” said the stranger; and passing through a succession of elegant arches, he led the way to another magnificent hall, similar in grandeur and beauty to the one they had recently left. Statues, rather larger than life, were placed in separate niches round the wall; and these statues represented individuals who had rendered themselves illustrious by their virtues or intelligence. In one place stood the figure of the immortal Howard; in another that of the admirable Pestalozzi. Opposite these philanthropists were the patriots Alfred, Leonidas, Sobieski, William Tell, and Hofer. Here stood the impetuous Körner, and there the amiable Shelley. Jeremy Bentham, Oberlin, Owen of Lanark, Sir Samuel Romilly, and Wilberforce had places near Harvey, the discoverer of the circulation, Galileo, Fenelon, Plato, Socrates, Newton, Bacon, and La Place; and Tasso, and Petrarch, and Göthe, and Walter Scott, and Coleridge, and Wordsworth, were seen by the side of Shakspeare, and Milton, and Cicero, and Demosthenes, and Aristotle, and Plutarch. The most commanding intellects, the noblest natures, the wisest, the best, and kindest of human beings were here all represented in the plastic marble, and raised high above the heads of those who were gazing upon them, as if to show how elevated were such spirits above the common mass of mankind.

“Look! look!” exclaimed Zabra to his patron, with his eyes shining with pleasure, pointing to a statue that was placed in one of the most conspicuous situations in the chamber. Oriel looked in the required direction, and, with a delight that kept him dumb, recognised the statue of his father.

“Yes, the statue of your father has been considered worthy of a place in the Hall of Public Benefactors,” observed Sophos; “and even here, in that nobleness of heart which all good men should honour, he will scarcely meet with a superior. Master Porphyry has deserved well of the world, and the world should honour him above the ambitious crowd who strive for their notice. He has made of his great wealth a great blessing. He has been a doer of good from his youth upward; and the love which he has evinced for his fellow-creatures has been universal in its object. Had he been born amongst us, or were his virtues transplanted into our society, I have no doubt that upon the first occasion he would be promoted to the rank of Optimus; but whether in Athenia or in Columbus, or in whatever part of the world he may chance to be, there he will be The Best, and there he will have sovereignty over all good men.”

Oriel Porphyry listened with feelings of the most exquisite pleasure to this eulogium, and he gazed, with a happiness in his eyes it was long since he had experienced, upon the marble figure which had been sculptured into a resemblance of his parent; but the delight of Zabra seemed still more intense, and he turned from the statue to his friend, and from his friend to the statue, as if he never could be tired of gazing upon their noble countenances.

“It is here our great and good men come and meditate,” continued the stranger; “and, gazing upon the greatness and goodness they see around them, standing in their places of honour, an impulse of emulation fills their souls, their hearts are brimming over with generous sympathies, and they return to the senate or the public hall with eloquence that carries conviction to the hearer, and a purpose that can only be satisfied by the production of some general and lasting benefit.”

The party proceeded into other halls, some for public instruction, others for social intercourse, and others for the deliberations of the legislature, and in all they observed the same happy adaptation of the means to the end, the same beautiful appearances, the same spirit of benevolence, and the same admirable harmony in the disposition of the different parts of the chamber, as they had noticed in the chambers through which they had passed. After which they resumed their ride.

“There is nothing I have seen in my travels that has afforded me so much pleasure as what I have observed during the brief stay I have made in this city;” observed the young merchant.

“And as yet you have seen scarcely any thing of us, of our manners, or of our institutions;” replied Sophos. “Let me now take you to a musical entertainment given in the open air by an orchestra of at least a thousand performers, and it will give you an opportunity of not only hearing the best music performed in the most expressive manner, but of mingling with the people of Athenia in their hours of relaxation and amusement.”

Permission having been readily granted, the carriage was driven off to an open park, beautifully planted with noble trees and flowering plants, (amongst which carriage ways and footpaths wound in graceful sweeps), and possessing every variety of hill and dale, lake and rivulet to increase its attractions.

“This is one of the public parks that have been planted to secure the health and improve the pleasures of the citizens;” said the stranger. “Here you see are thronging the young and the old, the philosopher and the student, the statesman and the mechanic, all with happy faces, and each intent that his neighbour shall share in his happiness.”

“And who are yonder group of beautiful girls that seem so much delighted with one another. It is strange that they should appear in a public place without some male friends or relations;” observed Oriel.

“Not at all;” replied Sophos. “Who can look upon them without respect? They want no protectors, for there is here no one who would even think them harm. They are probably proceeding to the concert for the purpose of joining in the choruses, and are the daughters of the noblest of our citizens. We have made music a part of our system of education, and not unwisely; for there is no source of gratification so capable of refining and intellectualising the feelings. Each individual possesses the power of distributing pleasure to the rest, and here, when they can escape from the necessary labours of life, come all,—from the humblest to the highest, from the most ignorant to the most enlightened, and tuning their instruments and their voices into one grand harmonious concert, they create such a powerful and delicious music as I should imagine it would be impossible to excel.”

The party had now arrived at the top of a hill, from which they had a splendid view of the scene before them. Down to the very base of the hill on which they stood, at least twenty thousand citizens, men, women, and children, clad in a costume, varying in some degree from that worn by Sophos, were reclining on the grass. Opposite to them was a hill of smaller dimensions, upon which an immense orchestra was being arranged. At the top, on each side, were a pair of gigantic drums, between which were several smaller ones. Below these were the brass instruments, then the flutes, bassoons, oboes and clarionets: the double basses and violincellos flanked the violins, and outside the stringed instruments, the choruses were stationed; a place was left at bottom for the principal singers, in the centre of which stood the conductor, ready to give the time of the performance.

The spectators had hitherto carried on a conversation each in his own circle; but immediately the conductor’s bâton was seen in motion, every one was in an attitude of attention, and then among the whole mass of listeners not a sound arose. The first piece performed was for instruments only. It commenced with a movement remarkable for the solemnity of its character and the richness of its harmonies, which changed into a sweet and graceful subject in quicker time, wherein several beautiful phrases were worked up by the musician in a variety of pleasing shapes. The piece ended with a more lively movement, introducing a magnificent fugue, in which the different instruments followed each other with an effect astonishing for its grandeur and beauty. To say it was well played, would convey only a feeble conception of the excellence of the performance: it was played with that perfect precision, and exquisite attention to the expression required in the composition, which can only characterise the very best performances. As soon as it was over there arose from the delighted multitude who thronged the hill a loud and continued burst of applause, mingled with exclamations expressive of the approbation of the listeners, and every one seemed to turn to his neighbour to observe if he was as well gratified as himself.

A song, or rather descriptive scene for a bass voice, with orchestral accompaniments, followed, in which the poet and musician sought to describe the temptations to evil, its committal, and its evil consequences; and the piece ended with a most harrowing picture of madness and death. After this there was a dramatic duet between a treble and tenor, delineating the first appearance and confession of a mutual affection. This was succeeded by a vocal air for a female voice, marked by a simple and exquisite pathos that seemed to touch every heart; and its subject was the despair of the heart, when, having for a long time believed itself beloved, it awakes to the full conviction that it is deceived. A grand chorus in praise of nature followed; and the effect of so many hundred voices swelling out the harmonies, was grand in the extreme; and the act concluded by a descriptive symphony for the orchestra, full of sweet pastoral effect, and admirable instrumentation.

Each composition was performed in a manner as nearly approaching perfection as was attainable, and this the audience seemed to acknowledge by the liberality of their plaudits. Upon Zabra the effect seemed to be extraordinary. He drank in every sound as if his life depended upon its enjoyment, and he listened with a sense of pleasure beaming in his features that nothing but the most intense gratification could have created. The rest of the performance was of a similar degree of merit, and the party left the hill impressed with the conviction that they had seen and enjoyed more rational pleasure than they had ever known at any public place of amusement.

“I would not have missed the exquisite delight I have received, on any consideration;” remarked Zabra. “Enraptured as I am with music, I have known nothing in my experience that bears a comparison with the enjoyments of this day. And what could create more pleasure? It would be sufficient, one would suppose, to be made familiar with the skill of ordinary musicians; but you could take no interest in their performances, they are drilled to do them, and they can do nothing else: but here is a multitudinous family of musicians, hastening from the loom, the study, the workshop, the laboratory and the warehouse, who each has a distinct business to which he must devote his attention, to join, from a desire to please his fellow-citizens, in the execution of the most difficult and beautiful productions of the musical art; and every one takes his part, caring not, however unimportant it may be, so that he is allowed to share in producing the general happiness. Of all the arts of civilised life there can be none so humanising in its tendency, so refreshing in its influence; so pure, exalting, and subduing in its effects as music. The man who is insensible to its charms is afflicted with a most pitiable blindness. There can be no harmony in his nature. His feelings must be in an unchangeable state of discord. But point out any human creature sensitive to all musical impressions, and I would affirm that you might mould him into any good purpose. Music, as a means of educating the feelings, can never be excelled. The experience of a hundred ages has proved its power as an instrument for creating or subduing the passions; and yet never till now have I seen any attempt made to try its beneficial effects on a large scale, and by making good musicians, to endeavour to create good men.”

There was no time for a reply to be made to these observations, as the carriage stopped at the door of a handsome mansion, and the party prepared to alight.

“I must introduce you into our social circle,” said Sophos, as he led the way into his dwelling; “and I hope you will be able to find in it the same happiness that I have so long enjoyed.”

They followed him through several apartments furnished with superior taste, till they entered a room of more moderate proportions ornamented with a variety of elegant decorations, in which two females were reclining on an ottoman, with a handsome youth standing before them reading from an open book. The females were the wife and daughter of their host; and both possessed countenances of exceeding beauty: the maternal dignity of the one contrasting admirably with the affectionate playfulness of the other; and the youth was the betrothed of the daughter. As soon as Sophos entered they hastened to meet him, and welcomed him with their endearments. These being over he introduced his guests to their notice, who received from them such marks of kindness and attention as made them instantly at ease. After an interesting conversation, describing what had been witnessed during their morning’s ride, the party were summoned to the dining-room, where they partook of wholesome food of exquisite flavour, served up without ostentation or extravagance, and partaken of without epicureanism or gluttony.

“Zoe,” said Sophos to his daughter, “has nothing transpired since my absence that is worthy of recital?”

“I have something to communicate to you, my father,” replied the beautiful girl, as she pushed back from her eyes the dark ringlets that seemed to have fallen from the little velvet cap embroidered with gold which was worn tight upon the upper part of her head; “but I know not whether it would interest your guests.”

“I will excuse you, Zoe, if it should not,” observed the father.

“I had gone to perform my customary duties, as nurse, at the Hospital of Invalids,” said Zoe, “when my attentions were required by a youth who was in a state of intense delirium. He raved, he shouted and wept; he entreated with all the eloquence of frantic excitement; and then upbraided with the unsocial energy of despair: but most conspicuous in all his ravings was the name of Lusa, which appeared to belong to some maiden by whom he was enamoured, who did not return his attachment. In his delirium he mistook me for the object of his passion, and by turns praised me as the kindest of all created beings, and upbraided me as the most cruel of my sex. To such an extent did these paroxysms arrive, that, unless some plan was put into operation which would lessen the excitement under which he laboured, there appeared no hopes of saving his life. I knew nothing of him or of his history; and I knew as little of Lusa and of the cause which prevented their mutual happiness; but there was no doubt that the indifference of the maiden had created the malady which threatened the youth’s life; and I felt convinced, that if I could make him imagine that a mutual sympathy existed, a healthy action would ensue, and a recovery follow. Being addressed as Lusa, I thought it would be advisable, under the character thus imposed upon me, to give the sufferer hopes of a more blissful termination to his affections; and, therefore, I cautiously and kindly made him imagine that the heart he thought so unrelenting had been subdued by a wish to alleviate his sufferings. You will pardon me this deception, dear father, as it was done to save a life which might be made valuable to the community.”

“There was nothing wrong in it, Zoe; and these are deceptions that not only become necessary, but are not to be avoided without inhumanity,” said the father.

“The youth listened to me as if there was the power of life and death upon my lips,” continued Zoe; “every word seemed to sink into his heart: his frenzy became subdued; the feverish fire fled from his eyes—he grew calm, and blessed me with a fervour impossible to be described. After this he fell into a profound sleep. Then I found myself placed in a difficult and distressing position. I knew, that when he woke, he would discover the deception that had been practised upon him, and I feared that the result would be a relapse, from which there could be no recovery. While I was vainly endeavouring to conceive some plan by which I might escape from the embarrassing situation in which I was placed, a young and handsome female entered that portion of the hospital in which my duties were performed. She approached me, and inquired after the health of the patient committed to my charge. She did not tell me who she was, and I imagined her to be a relative. I therefore acquainted her with the exact state of the case; and related the way in which I had discovered the origin of his malady. I described to her the distressing situation in which I had placed myself by the deception I had practised, as I knew, that on his awaking, he must discover how cruelly he had been imposed upon. I had noticed during my recital that the maiden had appeared confused, had looked distressed, anxious, and full of sympathy for the sufferer; but I was not prepared for the avowal she made when I had told her all I had to communicate. She was Lusa.”

“And how did you manage to arrange the matter, my Zoe?” inquired Sophos.

“I immediately made an appeal to her sympathies,” replied his daughter. “I described to her the positive danger in which the youth was placed by her indifference—and endeavoured to awaken her feelings to a sense of the pleasures she would be storing for herself if she resolved upon rescuing him from the perils by which he was threatened. She replied that he was amiable and good, and had given her no cause for her apparent unkindness; but that she had not loved him in return for his affections, because he had excited in her no similar feeling; and, that hearing of his danger, her heart had been filled with tenderness, and that she had come to the hospital for the express purpose of endeavouring to tranquillise his mind with happier thoughts. This confession rejoiced me more than I can possibly express; and I bade her take my place at his bedside, while I remained at a distance to notice the effect her appearance would have upon him when he awoke. I had not waited long before I observed his head move on the pillow. His eyes looked clearer—his countenance calm and intelligent.

“‘Is it a dream?’ he said, as his gaze wandering round fell upon the blushing face of his Lusa. The look with which she answered the question seemed to have subdued him.

“‘Lusa!’ he murmured, as he gazed upon her with a kindling eye and quivering lip. ‘Lusa, my beloved! My soul is on my lips—let me bless you! My hope, my guide, my consolation! the very breath of my being—the aim and glory of my dreams! in all earnestness, in all sincerity, and in all love, I bless you; and may the blessing I confer remain upon you, gladden the atmosphere you breathe, and fill with beauty every scene upon which you gaze!’

“Lusa’s eyes were filled with tears; and bending her head down to his face, her lips rested upon his. She then moved away her head to conceal her tears; and, taking his hand in hers, she talked to him of hope and happiness; and assured him that she would endeavour to return the affection he had lavished on her so liberally. To this he made no reply. She looked upon his face and saw that his eyes were fixed and glassy. A scream brought me to her side; and, gazing in fear and pity, we discovered that he was dead.”

“How dreadful!” exclaimed Zabra.

“He died happy,” observed Sophos, “and his life had been blameless: there is nothing dreadful in such a dissolution. I should say that, under such circumstances, Death was robbed of all his terrors. The heart of the affectionate youth was too full; he died of excessive happiness; his breath passed away in a blessing, and his soul took flight in a caress. Is there any other way of passing from existence which, to a lover, could afford so much and so true an enjoyment?”

“I should think not,” here remarked Zoe’s betrothed. “It appeared as if all the happiness of his existence had been concentrated into one moment, and that its intensity destroyed him.”

“He was young,” said the matron; “and in youth, when the soul is attached to one object, though there be no return to the passion, and no hope except what the lover creates, he will love the more, the more despairing becomes his attachment. As the individual acquires experience, he loves more wisely; or, perhaps, I might say, he becomes more selfish: he thinks of himself much more than his passion; and an instance of devotion without a return is rarely, if ever, met with beyond the period of youth. Manhood is prouder—age more cautious; and as life passes on, the impulses which might have been wakened by a breath are not to be stirred even by a whirlwind.”

“Whence go you when you leave our shores?” inquired Sophos of the young merchant, as if desirous of changing the conversation.

“I pass from here to Constantinople; and from there, after touching at some of the principal ports in Europe, I intend visiting the classic shores of England;” replied Oriel.

“’Tis an interesting voyage,” observed his host; “especially your intended visit to the English shores: it is an ancient country, and to the philanthropist is connected with many associations that make it regarded with peculiar interest. The brightest page in her book of honour records the efforts she made to extinguish the slave trade throughout the world. It was a great boast of the Englishmen of those days, that a slave, as soon as he set his foot upon the honoured land of England, became a free man.”

“And look at the efforts it made for the regeneration of every other country;” added Fortyfolios. “For how long a period did it take the lead in civilisation! Its learning enriched the whole world; its manufactures produced clothing for almost every people by whom clothing was required; and its mechanical improvements conferred wealth and power on every nation that adopted them.”

“But the picture to be true to nature requires a little shadow, don’t you see;” observed the doctor. “There are some accounts of cruelty, and oppression, and bigotry, which ought to find a place in their history. We must not forget the manner in which they acquired their possessions in India; the tyranny and slaughter they introduced among the natives of Southern Africa; the infamous system of slavery they encouraged in the West Indies; and the destructive and unjust warfare they waged with their colonists in America.”

“Although I cannot defend the manner in which the English acquired new territory abroad,” said the professor; “when I compare it with the more savage policy of the Spaniards, the Portuguese, the Dutch, the French, and other nations who endeavoured to add to their possessions by conquering distant lands and massacring the natives, I think England comparatively blameless. Their behaviour to the Africans in the interior of the Cape of Good Hope was produced by the colonists they found there, not by the colonists they introduced there; the evils of West Indian slavery ought to be forgotten in consideration of their constant efforts to ameliorate the conditions of their own slaves, and the great sacrifices they made to put down slavery in every part of the world; and their treatment of their colonists in America should only be remembered as the cause—the glorious cause—which created one of the most important empires that ever existed upon the face of the globe.”

“There are certainly a few blots upon the fame of this great people,” remarked Sophos; “but the good they effected—a good which is enjoyed by every portion of the civilised world at this moment—was attempted on so grand a scale, and produced such magnificent results, that, in justice, we ought not to look too narrowly upon their errors. And now, Zoe, as the strangers are about to visit the shores of England, endeavour to delight them, as you have done me, with that ancient song which appears to be so great a favourite of yours.”

“I will, O my father, if you will ask Alcibiades to join me; for it is more fit for his voice than for mine;” replied Zoe.

“Alcibiades does not require an invitation, dear Zoe, for so delightful a purpose;” said the youth, looking all that his words expressed.

With rich harmonious voices that blended together with exquisite effect, and with a manner so expressive that it stirred the hearts of those around them to feelings of the most intense gratification, the two commenced the following song:—

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

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