“The people had by this time become sick of war. Thirty years of continued bloodshed had done destructive work all over the country. The population had been greatly reduced; agriculture had been neglected; commerce was rapidly decaying; manufactures had been destroyed; all the resources of industry had been annihilated; poverty, misery, and ruin existed throughout the land. The people sued for peace. The enemy sent back a message:—it was, ‘England must be destroyed;’ and still they continued their relentless work of pillage, burning, and slaughter. But the spirit of the nation was not utterly broken. They still waged a defensive and offensive war whenever there was an opportunity of doing so with advantage. Every small party of the enemy were cut off, stragglers killed wherever met with, and their army harassed in every way that hatred and ingenuity could devise. Bands of well-armed Englishmen, from fifty to a thousand in number, under separate and independent leaders, surprised positions, destroyed convoys, and cut off supplies. A new plan of warfare was now attempted, which, although destructive to the country, was found a most effective means of expelling the invaders. This was, wherever the enemy approached, to burn the dwellings, and to move or destroy every kind of provision.

“About this period, there appeared amongst the crowd of wretched beings who congregated the cities, a new and malignant epidemic. How it first originated was a mystery. It came, and none knew from what cause. Its fatal character was soon proved. At first, the people died in tens and twenties, then they perished by hundreds, and then thousands fell victims to its malignity. The rich fled from their town houses into the country, carrying with them the very infection from which they were flying, and in a short time it penetrated into the most remote corner of the kingdom. Where the population had not been extensive, there were not left enough to bury the dead. In some rural districts they died, and none knew of their decease. It attacked all constitutions with the same violence: the old, the young, the strong and the weak, were its continual victims. The rich were as much subject to its ravages as the poor. There was no condition or class of society in which the disease did not enter and carry off the majority of its members.

“The system which had been pursued, chiefly under my direction, against the enemy, gave them considerable annoyance; but still the inhabitants generally would have done anything to have purchased the blessings of peace. Again was the boon sued for, and the reply was, ‘You haughty islanders have continued too long to lord it over the world. We have been your victims many a time; but now you shall be ours—England must be destroyed.’ They might have triumphed over our hostility; they might, by keeping up a communication with their ships, continue to have supplies of provision and forage independent of the country; but they saw that they could not escape the plague: and, after effecting all the mischief they could produce, they hastened to their vessels, and sailed from the pestilential shores they had come to conquer.

“I had not mingled in the sufferings of my country without having to endure my own share. I had found my home burnt to the ground, and my wife sacrificed in the flames. Three of my sons had died fighting by my side. But worse suffering was now in store for me: the plague was amongst us. I had used every precaution to prevent the infection spreading among my relatives. I had retired to a dwelling up a steep mountain in the west, and there I resided with my children and their families. There were four of my sons, strong, robust men, well inured to all the dangers of war; and there were their wives, all of healthy constitutions, and their children, of different ages, every one full of health and spirits. With these were my two daughters, with their husbands and families, none of whom were touched by the slightest illness. One morning I was congratulating them upon the beneficial effect of my regulations to prevent the spread of the infection, and the mothers looked at their children and the husbands on their wives, and I gazed on all, with a delight we found to be unspeakable. In less than a week I had buried them all but one.”

Here the old man’s voice sunk, and he appeared to be powerfully agitated. No one attempted an observation; and after making a strong effort to recover his self-possession, he continued.

“The survivor was a boy of ten years of age; he was one of the few whom the plague had touched and spared. Me it had passed by harmless. But the destruction caused by the pestilence exceeded all calculation. As in my case, whole families were carried off, and districts entirely depopulated. The pits that were dug to throw in the dead were quickly filled, and none were strong enough to dig others. The dead cart stood in the street with its load piled up; for both the driver and the horse had been destroyed by the pestilence. Physicians and surgeons appeared to have been the earliest of its victims. They came to visit their patients, and they died by the bedside. All remedies were tried without avail; all precautions were used, but they were equally useless. There were different opinions existing as to its origin. The royalists said that it was a punishment for the sins of the republicans; and the republicans retorted by proclaiming that it was a judgment on the profligacy of the royalists. Religious fanatics went running about the deserted streets, with streaming hair and blood-shot eyes, shouting out, in piercing tones, ‘Wo! wo! the day of judgment is at hand!’”

This lasted for the better portion of a year; and, after putting the boy in a place of safety, when the pestilence was over, as I journeyed through the country to notice the effects it had produced, where I had once known crowded thoroughfares, I passed along without meeting a single inhabitant. The country appeared to have been completely unpeopled; and in the city, the few persons I met with only made the immense mortality which had existed appear more great. I inquired for the government, and found that not a trace of it was in existence. I asked for the army, and I was shown about a couple of hundred men. I called a meeting of the citizens in the metropolis, and they all came; and they filled a moderate sized room. I explained to them the deplorable state into which the plague had reduced the country, and I asked their counsel and assistance to form some sort of government to manage its affairs. There was a melancholy silence for some minutes. None attempted to speak. Their hearts seemed too full for utterance. At last one of the citizens ventured to wish that I would do what I thought best for the community; and I did do what I thought best. I travelled through every part of this once populous island to notice with my own eyes the exact state of the remaining population. Some cities I found deserted; in others two-thirds of their buildings were untenanted; the rank grass was growing in the public streets, and the gardens of the rich were filled with nettles.

“But the measure of afflictions for this unhappy country had not yet been filled up. No sooner had the pestilence abated, than another enemy, scarcely less dreadful, made its appearance. The continued ravages of war had prevented the tilling of the fields. No one would attempt to sow, knowing how insecure would be his ownership of the crop he might produce. There had been no grain, and no fruits, and no vegetables; and the cattle had died of the plague, or had been destroyed by the enemy. It was in vain attempting to get a supply from foreign countries. Our commerce had been destroyed, for no nation would hold communication with a people among whom raged so destructive a pestilence. They avoided the shores of England as if death was on its soil; and any vessel attempting to communicate with them, or to enter one of their ports, was fired at and sunk. The consequence was, our ships lay rotting in the docks, and their crews were either dead, or had dispersed over the island, and were not to be found. The terrific visitation of famine was now upon us. Every thing was eaten that the human stomach could be brought to swallow. Things the most loathsome to the taste, and offensive to the eyes, were readily and ravenously devoured. Then the cheek sunk; the eye-ball fell; the flesh dwindled away; and all crawled with half lifeless limbs in search of any substance that might lessen the cravings of their appetites. But at last every thing that was digestible disappeared, and the skeleton forms of the sufferers were stretched stiffly on the place where they fell—some in madness, some in despair, and all in agony and dread.

“There was no opportunity allowed me for legislating with any advantage. I thought of every plan that afforded the slightest assistance towards lessening the dreadful effects of the calamity which the whole country was enduring; but I met with no one to second my exertions. The few who retained the use of their faculties were feeble and emaciated. Famine was in their gaunt limbs, and despair upon their aching hearts. No one appeared inclined to pay the slightest attention to any thing but his own sufferings. There was no authority but that of the strong, and they who retained their physical power the longest, robbed the dying of such slight nourishment as they had acquired. The rich would bring out their treasures and offer them for a meal, and when some avaricious wretch was found to make the exchange, one more strong than either would come by, and wrest the food from the impoverished, and the wealth from the miser; and both died within the hour. The breast of the mother became dry, and the infant was abandoned to starve when it became an incumbrance to the famished parent. Cats, dogs, rats, mice, and every kind of animal, no matter how disgusting in its habits, had been greedily devoured; birds, fish, and insects, that had previously been considered loathsome, were sought after as delicacies; and weeds, roots, the leaves of trees, offal, and even many things still more objectionable, became the daily food of many who had been accustomed to the most luxurious fare.

“Finding that I could do no good among the scanty band of skeletons that clung to a lingering existence, I determined on endeavouring to make my way to the northern part of the island, where an industrious and hardy race had managed to retain their independence and prosperity during the wars, the pestilence, and the famine, that ravaged its southern portion. My grandson was too young to walk great distances; so, when he was tired, I placed him upon my shoulder, and thus we journeyed on our way. Our food was acorns, berries, roots, and leaves. Sometimes I was enabled to catch a fish, or a bird, or a small animal; but these were luxuries seldom to be enjoyed. We passed several parties apparently intent upon the same object as ourselves; but many were there of the groups who laid themselves down on the road-side weary and famishing, and there perished. Continually I came upon some individual made desperate by his hunger, scratching up the earth with his hands in search of the worms it contained, which, if found, were eaten with as much enjoyment as the most delicious meats, and if the search was fruitless, the dry soil was crammed into the mouth as a substitute. Very few of the travellers could have reached the end of their journey, for we continued to pass the dying and the dead as far as we proceeded. Sometimes a solitary wretch would be found prostrate at the foot of a tree, the bark of which he had evidently been gnawing; further on a family of children were discovered, with their little bodies shrunk to the bone, and the parents at a short distance, with their faces turned from them, as if they could not look upon their sufferings; and in another place, a lover and his mistress lay clasped in each other’s fleshless arms.

“We were crossing an extensive and barren moor, when we came before a group of dead bodies, among which, to my exceeding astonishment, I beheld a child—a delicate girl of five or six years of age—busily occupied in chasing a butterfly. The scene was so extraordinary that I stood gazing on it for a considerable period before I could determine what to do. The insect’s gaudy wings kept fluttering over the lifeless forms that were cold and stiff on the ground, sometimes alighting on a hand, sometimes on a face; and the child, in an ecstasy of delight, screaming, and laughing, and stretching out its little arms, pursued it from place to place. What a time was this for reflection! Here was life in the midst of death—the pursuit of pleasure among the most fatal and least endurable examples of pain. It was a wonderful sight! The girl seemed to know neither want nor sorrow; and continued her sport, indifferent to the spectral shapes that lay extended at her feet. Their ghastly stare, and gaunt visages, had no terrors for her. The hunt of the butterfly occupied all her thoughts, and the hope of attaining possession of its beautiful colours seemed the only desire entertained. After watching her movements with indescribable interest for several minutes, I advanced towards the child, and invited her to go with me. I had considerable difficulty to get her to leave the butterfly; and when I led her away from the spot, she chatted with infantile volubility, as if there was nothing else but the butterfly in the world.

“I found the people of the northern provinces hospitable, and with them I lived for nearly half a century. They escaped the ravages of the pestilence by not allowing any infected persons from the neighbouring counties, who crowded towards the borders, to enter into their territory. None had presented themselves during the prevalence of the famine but myself; and their own frugality saved them from the horrors which had desolated England. They looked upon the southern portion of the island as a doomed country, for although several parties from the north had gone there for the purpose of forming settlements, they either returned after a short stay, stating that neither cattle nor crops would nourish on the land, or were never more heard of, and were supposed to have fallen victims to the pirates who occasionally visited the coast. I passed my time in educating the two children of whom I had taken charge, and both made great progress under my instructions. The boy became a fine, active, intelligent man, the girl an admirable example of womankind; and as I found that their hearts were for each other, in due time I had them made man and wife. I have outlived them and all their progeny, with the exception of Lilya, whom, after the decease of her family, I took with me to England, having at the time an ardent desire to revisit its desolated shores.

“What I found England I need scarcely describe; you see it before you. It was a complete ruin. A sad and miserable remnant of her people did strive to till the land; but the soil refused to give sustenance to the seed, and the cultivator could gather nothing but a harvest of weeds. The earth was abandoned for the waters, and the farmers became fishermen; but the sea and the river gave an inadequate supply. One by one the inhabitants dropped off, till at last the only human creatures within the country were myself and Lilya. We managed to subsist by hunting and fishing. Our fare was not at all times very delicate, and was seldom very plentiful; but we provided for ourselves tolerably well. We were obliged to rely upon our own resources; for the savage appearance of the island, and the belief that it was doomed to destruction, prevented our being visited by any vessels from the continent; and even the pirates from the neighbouring islands, having found that the country contained nothing to tempt them to a visit, turned their attention to more opulent regions. Lilya and I, therefore, had the whole land to ourselves, and over it we held absolute sovereignty. Even the savage monsters of the forest appeared to acknowledge our supremacy, for none offered to molest us. We took our way through deserted piles and fallen monuments; and if we disturbed the lion in his lair, or the eagle in his eyrie, they made way for our approach, and returned to their haunts when we were gone.

“Thus passed the time. Lilya grew up as you see—a child of the forest, skilful in snaring game, and in preserving skins; affectionate in her manner, gentle in her temper, and shy as a dove in her nest. As for me, I was a wanderer over the lands of my forefathers. The stream, the vale, the mountain, and the plain, were accustomed to my visits. I became a denizen of the forest and the plain—a resident in the deserted cities. I found a dwelling in the palace and the hut; and all places were my home. I experienced a melancholy pleasure in beholding the scenes in which the greatness of my country had once been exhibited. I walked among the crumbling ruins of her once gorgeous halls. The sunken roofs of her stately cathedrals for me were full of religious awe and veneration; the dilapidated battlements of her ancient castles seemed still to show the dauntless valour of the spirits by whom they had been defended; and the moss and lichens that disfigured her public monuments gave only a fresher interest to the worth they represented. From these I gathered the memories of a better time, and the glories of the past warmed my old heart with the vigour of a second youth. I lived over again the departed age—I recalled to life the buried generations—I contemplated the happiness which the grave had long since hid in her bosom—and the discoloured stones around me seemed to echo the busy goings on of an industrious population. Free hearts were throbbing proudly around me, and the stillness of the desert along which I stalked was made alive with the pleasures of the young, the noble, and the brave.

“Gone is your glory, oh my country!” exclaimed the old man, in a more feeble voice; “your greatness among the nations is put down; your magnificence has dwindled to a heap of stones; your power has nothing by which it may be known. If the stranger come in a few years, and inquire for the city which was the wonder of the world, none shall tell him, for both city and citizens will have crumbled into dust. If he ask for the people whose name was a glory in every clime that exists, he shall find no better reply than the echo of his own voice. He may wander over the brave old island in search of places that history has made immortal, without being able to discover a trace of their existence. The thistle and the nettle will hide the graves of its illustrious; ravenous beasts will prowl in its cities; and all that is noble and grand in its localities will be crushed, swallowed, and lost in one devouring ruin; and I, that am here as an ancient tree with gnarled trunk and brittle boughs, that stands up as if unnoticed by the destroyer, when the rest of the forest have mouldered into the soil, will then have perished and passed away, and not even a remembrance of my name will be left upon the land.”

“Noble old man!” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry with fervour, “there is no one here who does not sympathise with your situation. I would endeavour to console you, but I am afraid that your case is one beyond all consolation. What can I do to render you assistance? Let me prevail on you to leave this land, which has been so completely devoted to destruction, and I will find you a more attractive home, and friends as kind as those you have lost.”

“Leave this land!” loudly cried the Englishman, apparently astonished at the suggestion. “For a hundred and twenty years this island has been the attraction of all my thoughts; my love for it arose from admiration of its magnificence, and my heart still clings to it in its utter annihilation. Do you think it would be possible for me, after having made myself so familiar with its ruins, to find pleasure in the prosperity of a far off country? No! to me the world hath nothing like it. What are smiling landscapes? What are stately edifices? What are fields busy with life, and cities astir with industry, if on a foreign shore? Its homes are not my home—its graves are not the graves of my people. But these tottering walls and depopulated lands are mine; I hold them in undisputed possession; I have a claim on them which has been long acknowledged; and they have a claim on me which I feel I must speedily prepare to liquidate. No: leave me to the desolation in which I dwell. It has become habitual—it has become necessary. I have long, perhaps too long, been its inhabitant; but the hour comes when another ruin must be added to those which now encumber the soil.”

“And then what is to become of the gentle Lilya?” inquired the young merchant.

“Ah! ’tis of that I am ever anxious,” replied the old man, with a look of affectionate solicitude towards his youthful relative. “The child is full of amiable ways—she is artless and untutored: I cannot part with her; and yet to leave her unprotected in this wilderness is a source of constant disquietude to me.”

“If you entrust her to me,” added Oriel, “by the honour of manhood I promise to behave to her as a brother; and I will place her under the protection of a lady from whom she will receive every attention her youth and unfriended situation requires.”

“In her name I can promise all that she stands most in need of,” said Zabra.

“What say you, my Lilya?” inquired the Englishman. “Will you go with the strangers? Will you leave this wretched country, and seek one where happiness awaits you?”

“I will have no other country but yours, oh my protector!” exclaimed the girl, as she flung herself into the old man’s arms. “These strangers are good; but they can never be so good as you have been: and these old walls too—where shall I meet with such verdant moss, or such beautiful ivy, as they possess? While you live, with you must my existence be passed: and when you have ceased to lead me in my wanderings through the silent forest or the deserted city, I care not where I go; for I shall never again find the parent, the friend and guardian I shall have lost.”

The Englishman pressed her more closely to his breast.

CHAP. VI.

THE DEATH OF THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.

“My life is drawing rapidly to its close,” faltered the old man; “my weary pilgrimage is nearly over. Farewell, ye solitary halls and voiceless palaces! Farewell, ye grassy streets and ivied porticoes! The eyes that have gazed upon ye in your splendour, and watched ye gradually passing into ruin, will soon be darkened and closed. The heart that hath drawn so many pleasures from your unfading braveries is fast sinking into that state of nothingness to which you all hasten. City of the silent! he who worshipped your prosperity, and loved your decay, must now pass from amidst your ruined dwellings. Like your time-honoured walls, I totter and tremble, and am ready to fall upon the earth that supports me—the ivy seems twining up my unsteady limbs, and the moss is spreading over my ancient heart. Farewell, ye untasted pastures, ye uncultivated fields, ye gardens of weeds and orchards of brambles—the wildness of your looks shall welcome me no more. Farewell, ye hoary mountains and savage rocks, ye untrodden forests and unhonored streams—the same iron hand that hath visited ye so heavily, as heavily must fall on me. I pass from among ye, oh land of my fathers! Your earth shall receive me to her breast!”

The old man lay on a green bank overgrown with wild flowers, while Oriel and Zabra supported his head. Lilya was reclining at his side, with one of his hands at her lips, and her face hid on his breast, and she spoke only in convulsive sobs. Tourniquet stood near him feeling his pulse, and the professor was close beside endeavouring to administer consolation. At a short distance stood the captain and midshipman, with part of the crew of the Albatross, apparently taking a deep interest in the scene. They were congregated together near a shelving hillock in the neighbourhood of an extensive marsh. Before them was an ancient arch of marble, and beyond that, the ruins of a structure evidently once of very great extent and magnificence, with many statues, some standing where they had been placed, and others lying mutilated among the heaps of stones that were piled up around the place for a considerable distance. The sun was declining in the heavens, and the day was bright and warm. Ruins, in different stages of decay, were observed as far as the eye could reach in every direction, except towards the west, where an open space showed the distant hills, over which the sun was hastening his descent.

It was evident that the Englishman was dying. His venerable brow was covered with a thick perspiration, and his fine countenance had become more pallid and anxious than it had previously been. Yet his eyes beamed as if they had lost none of their accustomed brilliancy, and his noble form possessed the same dignity which had first attracted the attention of the voyagers. He was still in possession of all his faculties, and there was an energy in his manner, and an impressiveness in his language, which proved that the spirit that had outlived so many generations had lost none of its youthful vigour.

“Your pulse is getting more feeble, don’t you see?” said the doctor, with much sympathy for his patient; “and I regret to be obliged to agree with you in stating that your hours are numbered. You have lived far beyond the usual term of life, and it must be a great consolation to you, in your present state, to know that you have lived all that time in honour, and worth, and virtue.”

“Be grateful to Providence that you have been so long spared,” observed Fortyfolios. “The age of man is threescore and ten, and this is but rarely attained; and yet your existence has been prolonged to nearly double that length of time. How much have you to be thankful for! Consider the myriads of human beings who are cut off unprepared;—who die in infancy, in early youth, or perfect manhood—who just begin to taste the sweets of life, and then are hurried from its enjoyment. Consider the advantages you have enjoyed over your fellow-countrymen, who were destroyed by war, by pestilence, and famine. You have much reason to congratulate yourself. You have been spared, doubtless, for some admirable purpose which our finite reason cannot comprehend. Reflect upon these things, and you will be enabled to meet the approach of death without apprehension.”

“What are your wishes concerning the disposal of Lilya?” inquired Oriel Porphyry. “Remember that it is impossible that she can be left alone upon this island with the slightest comfort to herself or pleasure to others. The offer I made to you the other day I repeat. It is not probable that her welfare can be secured more effectively in any other way. Let me implore you then, as you value her future happiness, to take advantage of my accidental arrival, and give me authority to bear her to a secure and honourable asylum.”

“It must be so, oh my Lilya,” exclaimed the old man affectionately. “When I have left you, this desolate place can be no proper home for you. You must accompany these kind strangers to their own country. There you will find that protection and care which is necessary to make you pass through life with the esteem of your associates. Remember, oh my Lilya, that if you wish the spirit of the old man who has been your constant companion in all your journeyings to rest satisfied with his afterlife, your conduct must be irreproachable, and you must endeavour to keep your mind free from the approach of all degrading errors. The world is open before you; but although you will find it fruitful in every delicious produce—though it possess the most lovely landscapes, and is peopled by multitudes of the good and generous, there is less ruin in the desolation you see around you than exists in those fair and fertile shores. I part with you with much regret—deeply does my heart feel the separation—but it must be. The evil has no remedy. It ought to be endured without a murmur. Go then, my Lilya, to the land of the stranger, and my blessing shall be upon your footsteps, like an eternal sunshine, wherever they may wander. But in whatever part of the world you may make your sojourn, forget not that the land from whence you came exceeded in glory and in excellence all other lands that have existed since the creation of the world. Do it no dishonour. Show that you are worthy to acknowledge the place of your nativity; and if you should hear the idle, the ungenerous, and the thoughtless attempt to lower her fame, or seek to question her superiority, stand up in her defence with all the eloquence that truth inspires and patriotism makes perfect; and speak of the good she has done, and the wonders she has achieved, and then the most illiberal and unjust of your audience shall find their erroneous impressions fade before your convincing eulogy, and with a new and better spirit they shall say, ‘Would that I had been an Englishman!’”

Lilya answered only with her sobs, which now became quicker and more vehement.

“It must be gratifying to you to know that your country has never been enslaved,” remarked the young merchant, earnestly. “While other lands have been degraded by the vilest spirit of despotism, the energies of the public men of England kept her unshackled.”

“I stand on the grave of a mighty empire,” replied the Englishman, “who has erected monuments of her greatness in every quarter of the globe. I am hurrying to the same sepulchre. In such a situation, more than in any other, it is natural that I should speak the words of truth and honesty. It is my conviction, then, that this country could never have fallen from its greatness, except through its own internal dissensions. When it enjoyed an unexampled state of prosperity, there existed men calling themselves patriots, yet possessing no claim to such a title, who kept the multitude in a restless and unsatisfied state, by their continual abuse of its institutions, and frequent demands for change. If these individuals could have been believed on their own testimony, they were the most disinterested set of men that ever existed. They had no motive except for the common good. They had no feeling separate from the interests of the community. In my time there flourished few more ardent lovers of liberty than myself; my inclination for freedom was a passion, an enthusiasm, a dream. I seemed to see nothing but chains where a fetter never existed, and found nothing but slavery in a state of society that enjoyed a higher degree of independence than any in the world. My connection with the popular party brought me much into contact with the influencial patriots; and I found them the most selfish, narrow-minded, bigotted men that ever disgraced a country: they had no other desire but for their own aggrandisement. They fawned upon the people till they became possessed of the power they coveted, and then endeavoured to exert a more absolute authority than had ever been exhibited by the government they superseded. Self was the great object of all their exertions, and to selfish ends their fine speeches and liberal promises always tended. They had no care for the multitude except as steps for their own advancement. Freedom still appears to me in the same alluring guise in which she first won me to follow in her footsteps, and amid the solitude of this uncultivated wild I have enjoyed more of her smiles than the most perfect form of government could create; but my experience has convinced me that a vast population must be well prepared for a change in their constitution, that promises a considerable accession of liberty, as it is called, before it can be enjoyed with safety to the commonwealth. Sudden changes never come to any good. The whole frame-work of society is unhinged by them; opinions are unsettled, the public confidence is withdrawn, the reverence for the old is broken, and the new being untried, cannot be regarded with the same respect as a state of things which has existed for centuries. I have noticed this; and it proves that revolutions in systems of government that have any lasting value should be introduced by the gradual growth of public opinion, and that any system of government that produces a certain quantity of benefit to the people, however faulty it may be in other respects, is preferable to any other system of government which has been untried, and the utility of which, therefore, has not been ascertained. I am convinced that the dissolution of this great empire originated in the dissatisfaction in the public mind for the existing laws, which had been artfully created by numbers of mock patriots, such as may be found in all states enjoying liberty of opinion, for the purpose of realising schemes they had entertained for their own advantage.”

“But true patriotism may exist in a state, though the false may be predominant, don’t you see,” remarked Tourniquet; “and it is too sterling a thing to be set aside, because any constitution which governs the many possesses some acknowledged merit. The real patriotism may always be known from the false by its self-abandonment, and the true patriot seeks no other advantage than the public good.”

“In the history of nations of any celebrity,” said Fortyfolios, “there can be nothing more interesting to the student than to observe their gradual rise, decline, and fall. They first arise out of an obscurity so profound, that among earlier empires they were known, if known at all, only as a few straggling savages. These multiply and become enlightened, build cities and ships, cultivate the land and invent manufactures, make war and obtain great triumphs; and as they advance in civilisation their resources increase, their intelligence becomes more general, and at last they acquire a superiority over the most important nations at such a time existing in the world. This power they retain as long as they are united, wise, and brave; but immediately a disunion appears, a complete disorganisation takes place, every thing goes wrong, and the whole fabric, so elaborately built up, tumbles to pieces. They once more become reduced to wandering savages, and their country is again a wilderness. All the earliest nations of antiquity have been thus created, and thus have perished: and as Carthage, Egypt, Troy, and numberless other states of equal importance in the youth of the world, were dissolved till nothing remained of them but the name, so has England, infinitely their superior, both in public intelligence and in public glory, arrived at a dissolution as desolating and complete. The subject of inquiry for the philosopher now is, whether kingdoms or commonwealths, having returned to the state of barbarism from which they advanced, will not at a proper period again progress in civilisation till they once more arrive at the pre-eminence from which they had fallen.”

“The spirit of the future is upon me!” exclaimed the last of the Englishmen, in an elevated tone of voice, and with his countenance lit up with deep and powerful excitement. “The glory of the past rises from its sepulchre with renewed life, and a power exceeding all experience. Again the ruin rings with life, and the wilderness is a smiling garden, fruitful in human happiness. The voices of industry now cheer every corner of the solitary city, and the laugh of pleasure awakens the gloomy recesses of the forest with an inspiring feeling of gladness. Now are the broad waters of the abandoned river covered with shipping of every maritime nation under the sun; and in every sea that flows beneath the arching vault of the everlasting heavens, the dauntless mariners of England dash along, triumphing over the tempest and the foe. The magnificence, the bravery, the intelligence, the virtue, and the might of former times now rise before my gaze, multiplied tenfold in degree. I see the banners of a thousand victories; the shouts of freedom and the glad pæans of triumph swell upon my ear; the pomp of stirring music—the beauty of art in its noblest creations—the perfection of unrivalled manufactures—the imposing array of palaces of streets and streets of palaces, stupendous bridges, noble monuments, and stately halls;—the throngs of the noble, the great, the good, the wise and the industrious, with sumptuous equipages, numerous retinues, gay liveries, or joyous faces, and happy hearts, become evident to my senses. I see the felicitous influence of a wise government exercised upon a flourishing and contented population countless as the stars. I see societies, and families, and individuals, all sharing in the general joy. I see wealth, abundance, skill, and industry, flowing in a refreshing channel that fertilises the whole island. I behold thee, oh, my country! the proudest of the nations, whose laws govern the seas, and whose name is absolute on the dry land, rising from the darkness and the desolation which now shrouds thy greatness, and with a prouder dignity, and a fresher splendour, and a power more universal than to one nation ever belonged resume thy ancient throne upon the waters, and commence a reign which shall far exceed in glory all the glories by which it has ever been preceded.”

The old man fell back exhausted into the arms of Oriel and Zabra, and it was at first feared that his spirit had departed; but in a few moments respiration gently recommenced, the look of life beamed in his gaze, and he returned to a state of consciousness.

“This will not last long, don’t you see;” said the doctor to his companions. “Though the intellectual powers have suffered but little, the physical are nearly destroyed. He is but lingering on his journey. His resting-place is close at hand.”

“Let me see the sun;” exclaimed the Englishman, with the same enthusiastic fervour he had previously exhibited, as he endeavoured to turn himself in the required direction. His hearers lifted him up gently, so that he could have a full view of that majestic luminary as it was setting behind the western hills. “Let me again behold that glorious orb whose uprisings and whose goings down I have witnessed so long and proudly. Ha! There still spread the ruddy tints—the glow of fire and gold is upon the skies once more;—there are the gorgeous colours and radiant splendours that have so often shed their magnificence upon our ancient island. Once again, O wondrous Oread, I drink in delighted the sweet effulgence of your rays. They warm me, they cheer me, they invigorate the flagging current still flowing through my veins. How many times have I looked upon your rising and your setting!—and on every fresh occasion have exclaimed how lovely! how new! how wonderful! And now for the last time, I watch ye taking the accustomed path, clothed in that panoply of state that knows of no decay. Stay, stay a little in your course: your rising on the morrow will not be for my enjoyment; for, with your setting, on me sets the world. Stay, bright harbinger of gladness, your task is not yet done;—there is a soul fondly hovering on your beams, that, as you fade, must pass away. Slowly your glories dissolve into the cloud, and with them the impulses of my existence disappear. The fires around you, are becoming faint, and the flame that burns in this receptacle is trembling, and flickering, and dying into darkness. Still I follow you over the distant hills, now purpled with your beauty. Heaven and earth are fading from my sight, and England, the land of my birth and grave, of my long pilgrimage and devoted love, passeth from my view like a cloud in the nighttime. Lilya! my blessing be upon you from now to eternity. Friends, I submit her to your care with a thankfulness that language cannot speak. I die with many consolations. I have no enemies to forgive;—I have had none to sin against. I die in the religion of my fathers, with glory to God and good will towards men. See, the last streak of crimson over the hill, just above the fading disc of the setting sun. Watch it—my spirit is hastening to share in its splendours. See,—it lessens—it fades—’t is gone!”

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:—