“The last of his race now lies low,Lies low in the soil that gave bliss to his eyes,Though his country no joy could bestow,For in deserts he lived and ’mid ruin he dies;For him no dull trappings of woe,No dark hirelings of grief round his sepulchre rise,And he leaves not a friend or a foe,His merits to praise or his faults to despise.“The last of his race to his rest,To his rest in the grave hath gone silently down;With his sword girded on o’er his vest,And arrayed as in life from the foot to the crown.But say not his tomb is unblest,Or the name he hath left be unknown to renown,For the wild flow’r shall bloom o’er his breast,And his fame shall be echoed through village and town.“Though strangers his corse in the grave,In the grave they have chosen with honour shall place,Though the earth take the life which it gave,And the tooth of the worm shall the mortal efface,There shall dwell neither tyrant or slave,There shall live not a people so lost in disgrace,Who shall know not the land of the brave,And respect not the bones of the Last of his Race.”
“The last of his race now lies low,Lies low in the soil that gave bliss to his eyes,Though his country no joy could bestow,For in deserts he lived and ’mid ruin he dies;For him no dull trappings of woe,No dark hirelings of grief round his sepulchre rise,And he leaves not a friend or a foe,His merits to praise or his faults to despise.“The last of his race to his rest,To his rest in the grave hath gone silently down;With his sword girded on o’er his vest,And arrayed as in life from the foot to the crown.But say not his tomb is unblest,Or the name he hath left be unknown to renown,For the wild flow’r shall bloom o’er his breast,And his fame shall be echoed through village and town.“Though strangers his corse in the grave,In the grave they have chosen with honour shall place,Though the earth take the life which it gave,And the tooth of the worm shall the mortal efface,There shall dwell neither tyrant or slave,There shall live not a people so lost in disgrace,Who shall know not the land of the brave,And respect not the bones of the Last of his Race.”
“The last of his race now lies low,Lies low in the soil that gave bliss to his eyes,Though his country no joy could bestow,For in deserts he lived and ’mid ruin he dies;For him no dull trappings of woe,No dark hirelings of grief round his sepulchre rise,And he leaves not a friend or a foe,His merits to praise or his faults to despise.
“The last of his race to his rest,To his rest in the grave hath gone silently down;With his sword girded on o’er his vest,And arrayed as in life from the foot to the crown.But say not his tomb is unblest,Or the name he hath left be unknown to renown,For the wild flow’r shall bloom o’er his breast,And his fame shall be echoed through village and town.
“Though strangers his corse in the grave,In the grave they have chosen with honour shall place,Though the earth take the life which it gave,And the tooth of the worm shall the mortal efface,There shall dwell neither tyrant or slave,There shall live not a people so lost in disgrace,Who shall know not the land of the brave,And respect not the bones of the Last of his Race.”
At the close of the song, Zabra felt a hand placed lightly on his shoulder, and, turning round, beheld Lilya gazing on him with a look so full of pleasure, that he felt almost inclined to doubt it was the same creature who a short time since was so overpowered with affliction. “I will go with you,” said the timid girl, as a slight blush appeared on either cheek; “I will go with you to your own country—if—that is—I should like to go with you if you will take me.”
The same evening they were all on board the Albatross, which immediately set sail, and retraced her way through the river into the wide ocean.
“I amgetting very anxious about my father!” said Oriel Porphyry to his young friend; “I am sure something must have happened, or I should have found a communication from him at one or other of the different ports I have touched at. Not a syllable of information have I been able to gain from any of my father’s ships I have spoken with, for most of them had left Columbia about the same time as my last advices, and the others were not aware of any thing important having transpired.”
“We are going homewards now, Oriel, and if any thing has happened shall soon be made aware of it;” observed Zabra. “Let us hope for the best. I should not imagine, from the immense influence that he possesses, that the government would attempt to injure him.”
“They only want the power, I believe;” replied the young merchant. “I know these sort of people too well to put much confidence in an appearance of tranquillity that has been forced upon them. They must hate my father. As the prime mover in the revolution which exhibited their insignificance so palpably, they will look upon the merchant as a person particularly odious, and no doubt would gladly get rid of him at any cost or risk.”
“I should think for their own interests they would let him alone;” remarked his companion. “Experience ought to have taught them the danger of meddling with so popular a character, and having suffered so severely it is not like that they will renew the hazardous experiment.”
“It is because they have suffered that they will be desirous of revenging themselves upon one whom they consider as the cause of the infliction;” said Oriel. “It would have appeared bad enough to them if my father had been one of the most powerful of the aristocracy; but it wounds them to the quick when they reflectthat he is a plebeian—in their ideas immeasurably beneath them—an individual of no ancient family, without rank or dignity. With the feelings which a knowledge of this fact must create it is impossible that they can rest satisfied with their limited privileges and curtailed power. They will be continually intriguing for his destruction.”
“They dare not do it, Oriel,” replied Zabra; “I feel assured they dare not.”
“I wish I could think so,” said his patron; “but I have a little more knowledge of the world than you, Zabra, and I know something more of the disposition of such men. As long as he lives they will consider themselves insecure. They can know no peace save in his death; and I am convinced that they will use every exertion to accomplish it. I hope I may be enabled to return in time to frustrate their intentions. I should like nothing better than to expose their machinations, and to punish them in an appropriate manner; and if the people exist in the same state of feeling as when my father last wrote, I will show themsomething they little expect to see. My father’s friends are almost innumerable in Columbus, and are always ready with hand and heart to serve him whenever he will give the word, which he is always exceedingly loth to give; and I think I may say that my friends in the metropolis are neither despicable in number nor in influence, and are as eager to befriend me in time of need; and I shall be quite as eager to accept their services. I remember the times when I have been exercising my regiment, the devotion that was displayed by both officers and men; but this I am well aware was owing to their admiration of my father’s virtues. Of them I am secure. My fondness for military exercises made me labour to perfect in discipline the troops I commanded, and they are now as effective a body of men as ever entered a field of battle. They will perform good service wherever they go. The national guard is another powerful engine to be employed on such an occasion. In the metropolis alone they amount in number to about twenty thousand; and they are devotedly attached to myfather. If there exist but a sufficient cause I know that I have only to present myself amongst them, to induce them to follow me wherever I choose to lead.”
“I trust you will have no occasion for their services,” said his companion; “it is my belief that on our return we shall find every thing in the most comfortable state, and all parties satisfied with each other. Your military dreams will then be completely disappointed, and you will be under the painful necessity of making up your mind to share the well-earned honours of your father, and partake of a perfect state of happiness with Eureka.”
“Ah, Eureka!” exclaimed the young merchant with passionate emphasis; “how rejoiced I shall be to return to her! I often find myself inquiring into the possibility of a change in her disposition towards me.”
“That can never be, Oriel;” observed the other.
“I have the fullest confidence in her fidelity, but sometimes I find an apprehension intrude without knowing what produced it;” said hiscompanion. “There are no such self-tormentors as your true lovers; and although I should be among the first to laugh at the suffering they give themselves, I must acknowledge that on more than one occasion I have endured a state of feeling which was any thing but satisfactory.”
“By what was it occasioned?” inquired Zabra.
“Merely from my ignorance of the motives which have induced her to deny me any communication with her till my return;” answered Oriel.
“You would not condemn her if you knew what made such a denial necessary;” remarked his young friend.
“Very probably not: but the mischief of it is, I donotknow;” said Master Porphyry. “Any thing in the shape of a mystery annoys me amazingly, and this behaviour of hers appears to me most mysterious and unaccountable. I think between lovers the most perfect sincerity should exist. There should be no room left for doubt or suspicion. But in thegenerality of attachments you will find much more deception than sincerity. In the affections of youth there is an earnestness which is the most natural and convincing that can be conceived; but as the heart grows older, it gradually loses all this admirable freshness and purity, and in a few short years it has recourse to artifices and disguises without number. I detest deceit. I cannot imagine Eureka deceitful. I hope never to find her so. To the truly devoted—to one who finds no enjoyment like that which proceeds from honoring his adored as the truest, the purest, and the best, there can be nothing so revolting as the discovery that she whom he worships as one so pre-eminent in goodness is the habitual practiser of contemptible deceits, hides all her actions under a cloak of elaborate artifices, and lives in a spider-like existence, spinning a dirty web to hide herself and betray her victims.”
“Eureka is of a very different character;” observed Zabra, who during the preceding observations had appeared exceedingly confused. “She has not deceived you in any thing whichit was requisite for you to know. She detests artifice as much as you do. But there are always some things which the most sincere may find it necessary to conceal. The truth cannot be spoken atalltimes.”
“You might just as well say that good money ought not to be passed at all times;” said Oriel Porphyry. “That which is good ought to be good upon all occasions, and truth is the very best of things in social intercourse. It is the sterling coin of the affections; and she who uses base counterfeits deserves the ignominy with which such vile cheating should be punished. I have the very highest opinion of the female character, and I desire always to think highly of womankind; but taking the sex generally, I do sincerely think that they are amazingly fond of disguising the truth as much as possible. It is a crooked policy—a policy that in time poisons every better feeling a woman can possess. Deception and a love of general admiration are her prevailing vices. I am well aware that they are thought very innocent little foibles by those who practisethem, but on that account they are not the less destructive to feminine excellence. Love is a passion of one for one only. It ought to be excited by one object, and conferred on one object alone. And thus exhibited, it is the purest, the most graceful, and the most natural of human emotions. If either party introduce another as a sharer in the affections, the whole feeling becomes tainted. What can be more unjust to the lover who concentrates all his hopes on the exclusive possession of the affections of the object of his fond idolatry, which hopes have been called into existence by fond avowals and delicious caresses, than for the woman whom he thus regards, to be just as affectionate in her manner to a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth? Some women seem to pride themselves on the number of their admirers. What a miserable vanity it is! It is exactly the same feeling with which an Eastern monarch used to regard the number of females in his seraglio. Imagine the state of mind produced in a man of refined intellect and delicacy of feeling at discovering that thelips he thought sacred to his caresses were defiled by the caresses of another! Or if she allow others merely to continue to profess to her their ardent admiration, she evinces a neglect of the unalterable law of the affections, which ought to be punished by contempt, scorn, and disgust.”
“But no woman ought to be accountable for the admiration she may excite;” observed Zabra. “The most virtuous woman may without the slightest intention create an unhallowed passion in one of the opposite sex.”
“Women are remarkably quick sighted in every thing connected with the affections;” replied the young merchant. “They can discover the earliest signs of admiration, and every truly virtuous woman, if her sympathies are pre-engaged, will endeavour to crush this feeling in the bud, and show, by her displeasure and avoidance of the object, that he has created no reciprocal emotion. If after such passion is declared she continue to tolerate the attentions of her admirer, although she be virtuous in other respects she has no conception of thenature of perfect virtue. She is fostering an illicit feeling; she is encouraging a passion she has no intention of indulging—a crime the most destructive in its effects upon the happiness of the individual whose passion she encourages; and as it is vicious in its tendency, because it aims at indulgence at the expense of virtue, and as she assisted in its developement instead of destroying it in its early growth, she is answerable for all the consequences that may arise from its existence, and has deserved the censure of being considered vicious in her disposition. Toleration creates hope, and hope will love through all difficulty; but no man, unless he be a fool or a knave, will love in utter hopelessness.”
“Surely these observations can have no relation to Eureka!” exclaimed Zabra earnestly.
“Not the slightest;” replied his patron. “She is all I would wish her to be; and the only cause of uneasiness she has given me during our attachment is this mystery about the place of her concealment, and her avoidanceof any communication with me for so long a time.”
“Your uneasiness will soon be removed, then, and the mystery will be explained in a manner that will perfectly satisfy you;” said the youth.
“I hope so;” exclaimed his patron. “But I certainly do not like being mystified by those in whom I take an interest. Mysteries, however, seem most abundant around me just now. There is something very strange and unaccountable in you, Zabra.”
“Me! in me, Oriel?” replied his companion, in evident confusion. “What can there be strange or unaccountable in me?”
“I have noticed many things in your behaviour exceedingly extraordinary;” said the young merchant. “Your superiority to the situation in which you were introduced to me has often made me imagine that you are not what you assume to be.”
“Not what I assume to be!” exclaimed Zabra in increased embarrassment. “Is it possible I can be any thing else?”
“That is best known to yourself, and toher who sent you,” replied Oriel Porphyry; “but there certainly is a mystery about your character.”
“A mystery! how strange you should imagine such a thing;” responded his youthful companion, attempting to conceal his confusion.
“Then there’s my father, he hashismystery,” continued his patron; “it is some secret connected with that wretched aristocrat Philadelphia, but what it is about he is not inclined to communicate.”
“I have noticed it,” said Zabra, recovering from his confusion; “and I imagined it to be a knowledge of some circumstances connected with my father’s early life, the publication of which would do him very serious injury.”
“I cannot say what it is, but these things are very perplexing,” observed the young merchant; “however, I hope to make my way through them on my arrival at Columbia. How glad I shall be to see its glorious shores again! Nothing is so likely to excite patriotism as exile; and Columbia is a country worthy of one’s patriotism; the first nation of the world;its citizens have reason to be proud. I have beheld during my voyage many lands and many people, but I have seen neither land or people to be compared to Columbia and its inhabitants. I rejoice that I am returning to them, and though I am glad that this voyage is nearly at an end, I hope that my father will be gratified with my proceedings during my absence; and then if Eureka’s sentiments in my favour have not undergone any change I shall have nothing to fear.”
“Of Eureka’s constancy you will soon be convinced;” said Zabra, in a more subdued tone than he had previously used.
“I shall be delighted to find it so. But do you think that she would have no objection to protect the gentle Lilya?” asked Oriel.
“None whatever;” replied his companion. “I am sure she will be much gratified by your suggestion of such an arrangement. Lilya is timid and perfectly ignorant of the world, yet she is docile and affectionate, and with proper management I have no doubt she would becomean amiable and accomplished woman, qualified to adorn any rank in society.”
“The creature is so shy that I can scarcely ever get a glimpse of her,” observed his patron.
“She is almost always with me,” said the other; “every thing appears to be new to her on board the ship, and her pleasure at the novelties she beholds is so genuine that it is delightful to see her. She requires a companion, or she would feel quite alone amongst us; and I being about her own age, she naturally feels more at ease with me than with any other. Her diffidence is excessive; I cannot get her to associate with any one except myself; but I have no doubt that in time she will gain confidence, and join us in the cabin or on the quarter-deck with perfect self-possession. She seems remarkably fond of music, and appears to enjoy nothing so much as hearing me sing to her.”
“Take care, Zabra;” said the young merchant, with a smile. “An ancient poet has said that music is the food of love. The harmony of sweet sounds, breathed around twosuch hearts as yours and Lilya’s, will be sure to put them in unison. If you go on in this way, existing in a state of such intimate communion, it will be utterly impossible for either of you to resist the soft influence of the tender passion, and you have both of you arrived at a time of life when the disposition is peculiarly susceptible to its impressions.”
“There is no fear of such feelings being created, I assure you;” replied Zabra.
“It seems to me very probable,” observed Oriel; “your being so much together is sufficient to produce such an effect. Besides, she is so very pretty. What a depth of tenderness there exists in the soft blue of her beautiful eyes! and her smile is positively exquisite. The rich bloom of her complexion reminds me of some delicious fruit, it is so warm, and soft, and tempting; and then the expression,—so innocent, so artless, and so bashful, it is absolutely enchanting. I must not forget her graceful figure, it is worthy of the highest eulogium for being so delicately rounded. I am glad she has not thrown aside her dress ofskins and feathers, for, in my opinion, its simplicity and picturesqueness would put fashion out of countenance. I never behold her, whenever she does venture into my presence, but I imagine her to be the Psyche of the heathen mythology, or some other amiable character in that system of dreams:—the object of devotion to the immortal youth, or the rosy cup-bearer to the gods. I assure you, I admire her very much.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Zabra, who had listened to these praises of Lilya in evident uneasiness.
“Yes, she has interested me very deeply;” replied Oriel. “I am charmed at the gentle being who has been so unexpectedly thrown on my protection. I feel delighted at being able to gratify her unambitious wishes; and when she comes shrinking into my presence, like a delicate flower before the breeze, nothing pleases me so much as endeavouring to assure her of her safety. And then the simple creature is so grateful, and thanks me with such looks, that there is no resisting them.”
Zabra’s eyes gleamed restlessly, his lips became pale, and his cheeks bloodless.
“I wish I could see her more frequently, and she would be somewhat less reserved;” continued his patron. “It is so difficult to get her to converse; yet her voice is so subdued and melodious that it is a pleasure to hear her. It is seldom any thing beyond a murmur. She never attempts to raise her voice into a more audible sound. She seems as if she was afraid of hearing herself speak. After having been used to the affectations and hypocrisies of female society, the artlessness of Lilya’s conduct and the purity of her nature becomes exceedingly refreshing: I certainly do admire her very much.”
Zabra, as if unable to conceal the emotions that were evidently producing a most powerful effect upon him, with a look of indescribable anguish hastily left the cabin.
“How strange!” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, astonished at the sudden departure of his young friend. “He must love her. I am certain from his appearance while I was speaking in herpraise, that he loves her, and is jealous of the admiration I have expressed. How very strange!”
Zabra hastened to the quarter deck, where he sat himself down in a retired corner, apparently in the most intense agony of mind. His dark features were impressed with the workings of a violent passion; his lustrous eyes shone with a brilliancy that was vivid and piercing to an extraordinary degree; and his breast heaved with that full and rapid pulsation of the heart which is the usual effect of great excitement. Covering his face with his hands, he continued in that position for several minutes. “That it should come to this!” he muttered in a voice tremulous with emotion. “That it should come to this! What a reward for all I have done and suffered! Oh agony insupportable!—Oh misery scarcely to be endured! Where will the devoted heart meet with fidelity? Where will the loving one, who feels and thinks and acts with no other desire than for the happiness of the loved, meet with a like regard? The dream is over—the delusion is passed—thehope which has led me on seems utterly extinguished. But perhaps it may not be—I may be deceived in my suspicions. It would look like injustice to condemn him without a more perfect knowledge. I will observe them. But he said how much he admired her; he said it to me!—Ah! it must be true.”
Zabra was impatiently starting from his seat when he beheld Lilya standing before him with every appearance of deep concern in her countenance; he suddenly snatched her by the arm, drew her towards him, and gazed in her face with a fierce and searching look.
“Why do you gaze on me thus?” inquired Lilya, shrinking from the stern scrutiny to which she was being subjected. “Why is your look so dark? He whom I used to call my father never looked thus on me, and you never so regarded me before. Have I done any thing wrong, by which I could offend you? How sorry I shall be if I have! Or are you ill? Let me endeavour to make you better: I know where grow the healing herbs and the balmy plants that are good for many differentmaladies. Let me gather them and make you a drink such as may restore you to health; or shall I run down the young leveret or snare the tender woodpigeon to procure you delicate eating? Ah me! I forgot that I am not where either herbs or plants, or leveret or woodpigeon are to be found, but on the wide waste of sea, where neither green moss nor twining ivy, nor flowers, nor trees, nor any leafy thing exists. But what can I do to make you better?”
“Can I believe you?” asked her companion, relaxing in some degree in the severity of his gaze.
“You can if you like, Zabra,” replied the simple girl; “and I do not see why anyone should not believe me, because I always speak the truth; and whyyoushould not believe me seems so very strange. I always believe you. I am sure you would not say any thing that was not true, and I could not think of saying a word with an intention of deceiving you.”
“You do not seem like one inclined to be treacherous;” observed the youth.
“I never saw any one inclined to be treacherous,therefore I cannot say whether I do or do not look in that way,” said the girl; “but I am not so inclined, that I am positive of, for I have nothing in the world to be treacherous about, and it is impossible that I should ever be treacherous to you. Now, Zabra, you look more like the good and kind being I have known you to be. Ah! what a pleasure it is to listen to you when you sing your delightful songs, or speak to me so persuasively of virtue, and wisdom, and excellence, and all such admirable things. It makes me forget how much I loved to watch the birds at their nests, and the young kids at play; and hear the lark’s song in the morning, and the nightingale’s at night. It makes me forget all my favourite haunts where the choicest flowers used to grow. It makes me to forget all I once found so pleasant to remember.”
“You have noticed Oriel Porphyry, have you not?” inquired Zabra, fixing on his companion a searching glance.
“Oh yes,” replied Lilya eagerly; “he that is so noble looking. His eyes are so bright,and his hair curls over his forehead so beautifully, and he looks so kindly at me when I see him and talks to me so kindly, that I like him very much.”
“No doubt you do!” exclaimed the youth, with considerable bitterness.
“I have not been much with him, for I feel quite afraid of him;” continued Lilya. “He seems to me so very grand and proud in his appearance, that I dare scarcely look at him when we meet, and as for speaking I have then neither voice nor words. But he appears so good. He takes my hand in his, and he presses it so gently, and he says to me such encouraging things, and he looks upon my face with so much earnestness, that——”
“Oh it’s palpable!” cried Zabra, hastily interrupting his companion, and regarding her with a gloomy scowl.
“That I cannot help feeling that I like him very much; and, although I am afraid to utter a sentence, he still continues his kindness, and never lets my hand go from his. However, I must try to tell him how grateful I am. It isvery foolish of me, I believe, in not saying how I feel towards him. But how you look at me, Zabra!” exclaimed Lilya, as she noticed the dark and angry expression of her companion’s features. “Is it displeasing to you that I do not express the sentiments I entertain? I will confess them. Are you angry because I do not like him so well as I ought to do? I will like him ever so much more.”
“Truly, you are obedient!” observed the other, with sarcastic emphasis; “a pattern of one who is willing to please! There cannot be a question about your dutifulness. Dupe, that I have been not to see your artifices! But who could have supposed that, under such apparent artlessness, there lurked so much treachery? Your deceit is well done. None would suspect it. It is the most finished piece of falsehood that ever was acted.”
“Falsehood! Deceit! Treachery!” exclaimed Libya, astonished and alarmed by the violence in the language and conduct of her companion. “What are such things to me, Zabra? I know them not. They cannot be for me touse. Oh, why do you look at me in so unkind a manner? They are not the looks that make me happy. I see you are angry with me, and I know not for why. I must have done some great wrong, or you would not behave to me in a way so unlike what you have used me to. And, indeed, I did not do it intentionally. I would not have offended you if I could have avoided it. What shall I do? Tell me what I shall do to acquire your forgiveness, and I will never repeat the offence again.”
“And do you think that I will now believe these professions?” inquired her companion, with considerable asperity. “Do you think, after having been once deceived, I would allow myself to be the victim of the same deception? Oh no! that can never be. You are discovered. I know you thoroughly. Away with you, and let me no more be made miserable by your presence.”
“Alas! alas! what heinous wrong have I done?” exclaimed Lilya, as the tears made their appearance on her cheeks. “I know not what it is—I cannot imagine any thing,unless it be my behaviour to Oriel Porphyry, that offended you. I acknowledge he deserved better treatment; but, if it be your desire, I will immediately go and tell him all that I think of him: and when he looks so kindly, and talks so kindly, and presses my hand——”
“Away, vile hypocrite!” shouted Zabra, as with looks of indignation and rage he pushed Lilya aside, and rushed from the place. She gazed after him without uttering a word. Her spirit appeared quite overwhelmed; and all the confidence she felt in his society completely deserted her. The heart of the timid girl seemed filled with a sense of desolation she had never before experienced, and she sat down in the seat he had vacated, and wept. Here she remained, in the full consciousness of her unprotected state, till the sound of approaching footsteps made her hurriedly seek concealment in some obscure part of the ship.
“The Albatross is crossing the Atlantic in very brilliant style, I think;” observed the young merchant.
“Yes, sir, she does spank along prettysmartly,” replied the captain. “But it’s utterly impossible for a better bit o’ timber to be found. She’s been tried in all sorts o’ weathers, in all sorts o’ seas; and no matter whether we were doubling the Cape, or beating about in that ere terrible monsoon in the Bay o’ Bengal, she stood on her feet like a trump, and answered to the helm as sensible as any born cretur.”
“Our passage home will be brief and pleasant, I should imagine, from the portion we have passed,” remarked Oriel Porphyry.
“There’s no knowin’ sir,” said old Hearty, seriously. “Sometimes it’s fair weather and sometimes it’s foul, and sometimes it’s a bit o’ both. The weather’s the most unsartaintest thing in nature; it puzzles the wisest on us. It’s quite optional whether it has a mind to blow one way or t’other, and sometimes it seems as if there was a reg’lar blow up wi’ ev’ry wind as blows, and they gets a skylarking wi’ one another most considerably.”
“I am very anxious to return to Columbia with as little delay as possible,” observed the young merchant. “My not having received anycommunication from my father, and my knowledge of the unsettled state of the country, makes me fear that the government have got the upper hand again, and that they have made my father the victim of their vengeance.”
“They daren’t harm him, sir,” replied the old man; “they daren’t harm a hair o’ his head; they knows of old how popular he is, and how popular he desarves to be; and they must have a pretty considerable winkin’ that they’ll be left among breakers if they ’tempts to steer that course. I arn’t no great politician, but it’s as plain as a marlin spike to me, that if they bore down upon master Porphyry after that fashion, they’d get such a broadside from the people as ’ould sew ’em all up in their hammocks in very little time.”
“I hope I shall arrive before they can execute their evil intentions, if such intentions they have,” remarked Oriel. “In case I should require their services, do you think I could depend on the crew of this ship?”
“On ev’ry mother’s son of ’em,” said the captain, with emphasis. “Ev’ry man in thevessel’s selected, and most ov ’em have sailed wi’ me at some time or other. There arn’t a braver or more skilful crew afloat; and if ’tis required that they shall bear a hand in defence o’ master Porphyry, I’ve got a notion there’s nothin’ they’d do wi’ half so much ’lacrity. Master Porphyry ha’ done so much good in his time that there’s scarcely a cretur livin’ as has’nt through his friends or relations profited by it in some degree, and it arn’t in the natur o’ a seaman not to be grateful. As for me, when I’ve had never a shot in the locker, master Porphyry, more nor once, has made me comfortable inside and out, and sent me afloat, laden wi’ summat else besides ballast; and if I don’t stand among the foremost in any shindy as you’ve a mind to kick up, and don’t sarve out the lubbers as would be tryin’ to circumvent your honourable old father, I’ll give you leave to slice me into pea-shells and dish me up into hogswash.”
“I’m perfectly satisfied with your fidelity, captain,” said the young merchant, “and I am very much gratified by hearing that I can depend upon the crew. There’s no knowingwhat may happen, and you and your men might render me service of the highest value. If the struggle I anticipate is to be made, every brave man will be an important acquisition.”
“If we could only get together all the craft as master Porphyry possesses, scrunch me! if we shouldn’t be able to turn ’em inside out, wi’ as much ease as a fellow might take in a reef,” exclaimed the old man.
“That cannot be done without the sacrifice of more time than I can spare,” observed Oriel. “My great object is to arrive in the metropolis before the government can find an opportunity for working out its schemes, as I feel convinced that they only wait occasion to resume the influence of which they were dispossessed. If I am in time to prevent their intrigues, I will speedily take such measures as shall put it out of their power to make any attempt of the kind; and if the mischief should be done previous to my arrival, I will make such a stir in the country as shall shake them out of theirill-got authority before they have had time to exercise it.”
“I maintain that the ancients greatly excel us!” exclaimed Fortyfolios in a loud voice, as he approached the place where the captain and the young merchant were conversing.
“And I maintain quite the reverse, don’t you see,” replied the doctor.
“Think of their universities, their schools, their royal academies of painting and music, their royal societies for the advancement of science, their extensive libraries, their galleries of art, and the wonderful degree of perfection they attained in mechanics,” said the professor.
“As for their universities,” observed Tourniquet, “they distinguished themselves most by their bigoted attachment to prejudices that had long been exploded in every other part of the community. They wasted a vast deal of time and intellect in teaching all such knowledge as was most unprofitable; and this was what they called a classical education. It consisted in making the student devote the best portion of his life in learning one or twolanguages which were never spoken by the living, and in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred could not be of the slightest advantage to the learner. A facility in the making of Latin verses, which had no pretension to the name of poetry, was looked upon as evidence of great merit; and he who could put together a few sentences in Greek, unmarked by one original idea, was regarded as a genius which his college ought to be proud of.”
“Do you mean to affirm that the dead languages are not worthy of study?” inquired Fortyfolios.
“I affirm nothing of the kind, don’t you see,” replied the doctor. “I only maintain that the time devoted to their acquisition in the system of education pursued by the ancients might have been more advantageously employed. Both the teachers and the taught enslaved their minds with the same shackles. What loads of paper have been spoiled by the labours of some learned blockhead on the Greek particle, or by the annotations and interpretations of some laborious trifles attempting to elucidate themeaning of some obscure Latin writer. But there is a greater mischief in this than the mere worthlessness of what it produces. The exclusive attention which is required to gain a mastery over a dead language stifles the affections and narrows the intellect. It makes men egotists and bigots; ignorant, prejudiced, proud, and quarrelsome. What was Bentley? what was Parr? what was Johnson? what was Porson? What were all who distinguished themselves by such great talents in small things? Were they temperate, or modest, or amiable? moderate in their enjoyments, or inoffensive in their behaviour? Were they not the very reverse of these?”
“They were great scholars,” observed the professor.
“They were great fools, don’t you see,” said the other sharply. “A man who offends against decency, who is quarrelsome and imperious, knows not the respect he owes himself or the courtesies which are due to society; and his actions, if they are not crimes, must certainly be follies. As for his wisdom—as for thewisdom of the grammarian, or the mere number of books comparatively useless, his is the knowledge of a man who has lived all his life in the narrow circuit of a little village; he may know every brick in every house, and may be familiar with the exact state and quantity of every dunghill there to be met with: but take him out into the open world, and he knows nothing but the prejudices of the place from which he came.”
“That does not prove that the learning of the ancients is unworthy of study,” remarked Fortyfolios.
“Who are the ancients?” inquired Tourniquet. “The English are our ancients, the Romans were their ancients, the Greeks were the ancients of the Romans, and the Egyptians were the ancients of the Greeks: the Hindoos, or the Chinese, were the ancients of the Egyptians; and if we could look to a more remote period, we should be sure to find a people who also had their ancients. It is a very strange idea of the world to expect to progress by always looking back, don’t you see.The learning of our predecessors may always be worthy of study if it be superior to the learning in existence; but it has been the system of universities and public schools to concentrate the attention of the studious upon the learning of the ancients, to the neglect of a knowledge more available and of far more practical utility.”
“It is strange, then, that the public schools and universities of the English should have produced so many illustrious men!” said the professor.
“I maintain that their most illustrious men were not produced in the public schools, don’t you see,” replied the doctor. “Of philosophers, Bacon, Hume, Hobbes, Berkley, Shaftesbury, Dugald Stewart, and Hartley; of men of science, Newton, Flamstead, Napier, Davy, Priestley, and Black; of statesmen, Burleigh, Clarendon, Wolsey, Cromwell, Raleigh, Temple, Burke, and Pitt; of divines, Tillotson, Chillingworth, More, Jeremy Taylor, Selden, and Sherlock; of heroes, Hampden, Russell, Marlborough, Clive, and Wolfe; and of poets, Shakspeare,Ben Jonson, Spenser, Goldsmith, Pope, and Thomson; besides numberless others I cannot now remember; attained their eminence without any assistance from public schools.”
“I suppose you equally condemn their royal societies and academies?” inquired Fortyfolios.
“I do, so far as concerns their utility, don’t you see,” said Tourniquet. “Did their royal societies ever produce a great man? What eminent philosopher or distinguished man of science did they ever create? And as for their royal academies, when you can point out to me the great painters and great musicians they have given to the world, I will acknowledge the benefit society has received from them, but not till then.”
“It is not to be expected that all institutions will perfectly answer the end for which they were designed,” remarked the professor. “The object for which they were founded was wise and admirable, and to a certain extent they realise that object. They collect together the talent in the country, and then as much as possible make it known to the public.”
“They neglect much more talent than they collect, don’t you see,” replied the doctor; “and these being usually governed by a select few who have no conception of such a thing as impartiality, he is considered the greatest man amongst them who possesses the most patronage. But the manner in which superior intelligence was regarded by the government of England was exceedingly discouraging to men of genius. They would lavish pensions upon profligates, spies, political apostates, the tools of power, and the slaves of intrigue; but the man who strived to exercise talents from which his country would derive a certain and lasting advantage was left to struggle on without the slightest assistance. Any person, however ignorant, if he could manage by prostituting his soul to every kind of meanness and chicanery to scrape together a sufficient sum of money, might aspire to the dignity of a title of honour; and sometimes, but very rarely, the same title was conferred upon a favourite painter or physician; minds of the highest order were obliged to be satisfied without any such distinction.The pliant orator, the successful soldier, and the ready lawyer were ennobled; but genius, and virtue, and honour, and worth, such as were developed in the wisest and best of men, were not thought worthy of a regard.”
“Notwithstanding all this, the literature, and science, and art of England flourished till it became the admiration of surrounding nations, and excited the wonder of each succeeding generation,” observed the professor.
“Which proves that neither universities, nor public schools, nor royal societies, nor academies, nor artificial distinctions, such as existed in England, were of any advantage in increasing the intelligence of the people, don’t you see,” added his companion. “All such institutions might be rendered highly serviceable to the state; but the system upon which they were conducted was so faulty, their government so illiberal, and their influence so ineffective, that I cannot conscientiously afford to give them any praise, as they existed among the ancients. As for their extensive libraries, on what principle could a government defend the policy ofnot only withholding from men of genius the patronage they ought to afford them, but robbing every author of several copies of every book he produced without the slightest recompence—merely for the purpose of augmenting their libraries? The wealthiest state then existing was guilty of this meanness. The philosopher might exist as he could—starve—die—rot—in any obscure hole in which he could find refuge, without attracting the least attention: but immediately his works were published—no matter how expensive they were to him, or how much labour and suffering they had cost him—down came a demand for eleven copies for the public libraries, for which the author never in any shape saw a consideration.”
“But the author had proper protection for his publications,” said Fortyfolios.
“Nothing of the kind,” replied the doctor; “the law of copyright, as it was called, then in existence for the protection of authors in the sale of their works, was the most bungling atrocity that ever originated in a legislature.An author was allowed to possess his property, the product of his own labour,onlyfor a certain time. Any man might leave to his heir the land he had received from his father—any man was allowed to bestow on his child the wealth that he possessed; but the children of the man of genius could not inherit any right in the acknowledged property of their parent. After the term had expired in which he was allowed to possess his own—think of their generosity in allowing this!—his labours might enrich any one who chose to make them profitable, and he and his children, and his children’s children, were left to starve. The man who writes a book which acquires a certain value by publication, has as much right to consider all the profits it may produce as belonging to him and to his heirs for ever, as is the man who becomes possessed of land or other property entitled to continue it in the possession of his family from generation to generation: and it is nothing better than an act of robbery for any government to deprive either of a right to which they have so perfect a claim.”
“But you have said nothing about the perfection to which they carried their machinery,” said the professor. “I think the ancients deserve our thanks for their mechanical inventions.”
“I cannot confer praise on any invention, however brilliant it may be, that must come into operation at the expense of human sufferings, don’t you see,” observed the other; “and all those machines which were brought into use for the purpose of diminishing the amount of manual employment, did produce a very great degree of human wretchedness. It may be very satisfactory to some parties, to consider that the country becomes more wealthy according to the increasing facility with which its manufactures are sent to market; but the time must come, if this rapidity of creating produce continue, when the supply must exceed the demand, and then finding an inadequate market for its manufactures, the country must become poor. But while this result is gradually brought about by the manufacturers endeavouring to produce their goods by meansof machinery, at as little cost and with as great facility as it is possible to attain, the thousands who gained their subsistence by the labour which these machines have supplied, are left without a resource; they must crawl out the remainder of their miserable lives as they can, and are left to famish, to beg, or to steal. It is pleasant, perhaps, to know that machinery allows you to purchase half a dozen pairs of shoes at the price you formerly paid for one, but while every one can get shoes for a trifle, they who make them can neither get shoes nor bread.”
“Are you still arguing, gentlemen?” inquired Oriel Porphyry as he returned from another part of the ship to which he had proceeded with the captain on the approach of the philosophers. “There certainly must be a great fascination in your method of reasoning, or you would either be tired of talking, or want subjects to talk about. What has been the matter in debate on this occasion?”
“We have been arguing upon the superiority of the ancients over the moderns,” replied theprofessor. “I maintained and do still maintain, that the ancients far exceeded us in intelligence, in skill, and in every thing which is a sign of superior civilisation. Their works of learning are invaluable—their efforts in art not to be surpassed—their discoveries in science have been the admiration of every succeeding age.”
“And what says the doctor to this?” inquired the young merchant. Fortyfolios looked round, and discovered that his antagonist had left the field.
Zabra’sdisposition appeared to have undergone a complete change. He was no longer to be found in the cabin delighting every one with the stirring eloquence of his language, or on the quarter-deck instructing the gentle Lilya in the wonders of the ship. Instead of, as had hitherto been the case, seeking the company of Oriel Porphyry as the greatest enjoyment he possessed, he had for several days avoided every place where they were likely to meet. He roamed about the vessel without attempting to converse with either officers or crew, and if any one ventured to address him, the proud look with which the speaker was regarded, as the young creole turned away, was sufficiently repulsive to prevent the experiment being repeated. Eventhose with whom he had used to be on terms of intimacy, the captain and the young midshipman, were passed by with the same gloomy look. Every one wondered at the change, and all were ignorant of the cause.
Oriel more than once sought him for the purpose of inquiring the reason of his strange conduct, with the intention of endeavouring to induce him to return to his usual place, as his friend and companion; but the youth fled from his approach so determinedly, and treated his messages with such a studied neglect, that the young merchant, imagining that Zabra was in one of his mysterious moods, at last abandoned all intention of interfering, expecting that in a day or two he would become more reasonable, and join in the cabin circle as usual. Oriel Porphyry had observed so much in the behaviour of his friend that was extraordinary, that he had ceased to be surprised by the strange way in which he frequently acted. His conduct, therefore, in this instance, did not excite in him any particular attention or remark. But no one appeared to regardZabra’s unsocial manner with so deep an interest as Lilya. She felt severely his estrangement from her society: all her pleasures seemed to be completely annihilated by his absence. It was evident that his kind attentions had not been lost upon her grateful disposition, for she was too artless to disguise her feelings, and her sentiments in his favour seemed too evident to be misinterpreted. His handsome features, so warm and eloquent in their expression—his lustrous eyes, shining with so soft a light—and his youthful figure, so buoyant and elastic, had from the first awakened in her breast a feeling of surprise and admiration that was both strange and delightful. A new world seemed rising before her eyes. She entered into a different state of existence. All around her breathed an atmosphere of happiness that made her previous pleasures appear dull and cold; and then she found no enjoyment except in being near him, and when he kindly endeavoured to lead her mind to the contemplation of such subjects as were likely to interest, to amuse, and instruct hersimple nature, as the fire of youthful enthusiasm shone in his brilliant gaze, and his intellectual countenance kept changing its expression in accord with the different feelings which the subject created, she held her breath, as if she thought that there was something in what she saw that the least disturbance would destroy; and hung upon his words as if there was a charm in their sound which, once destroyed, could never be created again.
In the lessons with which he sought to enlighten her untutored intellect, her feelings had participated. Her timid nature acquired confidence in his presence. She more frequently sought than shrunk from his society; and she forgot that she was alone upon the world without a single connecting tie to associate her with its sympathies. It was from such feelings as these that she was first disturbed by Zabra’s unaccountable and unkind behaviour. In vain she endeavoured to find a reasonable cause for such conduct in any thing she had done; she knew nothing in which she could have offended, except in not havingappeared sufficiently grateful to Oriel Porphyry; and this fault of hers she reflected on so long, that she began to regard it as something particularly heinous, and became daily more desirous of attempting, by a different behaviour, to repair the wrong she had committed.
She strived as much as possible to get rid of her natural bashfulness, and sought out the young merchant with the design of repairing her fault in the best way she could. After considerable hesitation and frequent desire to turn back as she proceeded, she ventured as far as the cabin door; where, after waiting a considerable time, daring neither to go on, or to return, she knocked gently. A voice kindly bid her come in, and with a palpitating heart she opened the door and entered.
“Ah, Lilya!” exclaimed Oriel, who sat alone studying a book of military exercises, “this is an unexpected pleasure.” Then hastening towards her with a smile of welcome, he led her blushing and trembling to the sofa.
“I hope you will not any longer be such atruant as you have proved yourself,” said the young merchant, kindly.
“Have I been a truant?” asked the timid girl.
“Yes you have, and a very sad truant too,” replied Oriel Porphyry, with a smile.
“How sorry I am!” murmured Lilya, looking deeply concerned, though she knew not what wrong she had committed.
“Well, I will forgive you if you will promise not to repeat the offence,” said Oriel. “You must let me see you more frequently. It is not kind of you to absent yourself from your best friends. Remember that in me you will always find a friend ready to do any thing that is likely to insure your happiness. Will you promise me, that you will not keep away from me as you have done?”
“If you will forgive me, I will promise any thing that is proper for me to do,” replied the bashful maiden, appearing by her downcast eyes afraid to look upon her companion.
“Of course I will forgive you,” responded the other affectionately, taking one of herhands in his. “There can be very little difficulty in my doing that.”
“But there is something else,” said Lilya, trembling like a condemned criminal.
“What else can there be?” inquired Oriel.
“Something else for you to forgive,” replied the timid girl.
“Indeed, I was not aware of its existence,” responded the young merchant. “Tell me what it is. It will give me pleasure to forgive you.”
“I have never told you how grateful I am for your kindness to me,” murmured his fair companion in a voice scarcely audible. “But indeed I feel it. I cannot help seeing how good you are, and—and—and I like you very much for it.”
“You are an admirable creature,” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry, apparently delighted with her unaffected simplicity; “and it will be a great source of pleasure to me to be able to assist in creating your happiness. As for gratitude, there is no necessity for that, at any rate, at present; but when I have succeeded in insuringyou all the blessings I wish you to enjoy, you may be as grateful as you please.”
“And you forgive me for my neglect?” asked Lilya, looking up to his face imploringly, and then instantly casting her eyes to the ground.
“Forgive you!” cried her companion kindly, “you have committed no fault. But if it be any satisfaction to you to receive my forgiveness, it is readily granted; indeed, I feel so much pleasure in conferring it, that I hope you will very soon either commit the same or a similar fault, that I may be allowed the same enjoyment I now possess.”
“No, I will not do so again, because that would be wrong,” observed the bashful maiden; “I should be unworthy of your kindness if, after you had once been so good as to forgive me for a fault I had committed, I committed the same fault again.”
“In truth, you are a most admirable creature,” exclaimed the young merchant, with impressive emphasis. “But what can I do tomake your stay in the ship more endurable. Your being used to roam at will over the wide fields and open valleys of your native land, must make this voyage appear very tedious. I should like to vary its monotony for you as much as possible. Have you a desire for any pleasure I can gratify?”
Lilya looked confused, the colour in her face disappeared and returned, and she tried once or twice to raise her eyes from the ground to the face of her companion; but as soon as she had elevated them about half way, she let them fall, and seemed as if she had not courage to make another effort.
“You don’t answer me, Lilya,” said Oriel Porphyry. “Do not be afraid of asking for what you require. I wish your time to pass as pleasantly as I can make it, and you will afford me gratification as well as yourself by giving me an opportunity for increasing your enjoyments. Tell me what it is you most wish to be done.”
“I wish Zabra would be as he used to be,” exclaimed the simple girl, and an expression ofsadness became visible upon her beautiful features.
“So do I,” replied the young merchant; “but I have done every thing to induce him to become so, without success. I cannot tell what it is that makes him act so strangely; but he is a strange creature at all times, and as I have allowed him to do as he pleases, I am afraid nothing I could say or do would make him become more rational. He avoids every attempt I have made to prevail upon him to take his place amongst us as usual, and I have therefore no remedy now but patience.”
“He never used to be so,” murmured Lilya.
“He appears to have taken offence at something or somebody, but what the cause is I do not pretend to know,” said Oriel. “I am sure I have said or done nothing at which he ought to have felt offence.”
“I thought he was offended with me, because I did not tell you how grateful I was for your kindness,” observed his companion.
“I doubt that that is the cause,” repliedthe other. “But it is my opinion that, if any one can bring him back to his former behaviour, it is yourself, Lilya.”
“Me!” exclaimed the blushing maiden; “I bring him back to be what he was! Oh I wish I could!”
“I think you have only to try and there is no doubt of success,” remarked Oriel: “Go to him, be kind to him; tell him how much you are afflicted by observing him abandon all his friends, and assure him how happy it will make you to see him exerting himself in the same social offices in which he used to take delight.”
“Do you really think that would be of use?” inquired Lilya, as she raised her eyes till they met those of her companion.
“There is not a doubt of it,” replied he.
“Then I will go this moment,” she exclaimed; and leaping from the sofa, she hastened out of the cabin.
Zabra was alone bending over his harp and striking a series of melancholy chords. He was so completely lost in his own reflections, which evidently from the gloomy expression of hiscountenance were far from being pleasant, that he did not observe the approach of Lilya. The first notice he had of her vicinity was in feeling his hand timidly laid hold of; and on turning his head round, he beheld her gazing on him anxiously and kindly close at his side.
“What brought you here? Why do you follow me? Is there no place where I can be secure from your intrusion?” were the quick inquiries of the young musician, as with a stern look he snatched his hand from the hold of the timid girl.
“Indeed I have no wish to offend you, Zabra,” said Lilya, feeling quite confounded with the unfriendly reception she had met with. “I come to you, because I think you are unhappy.”
“Who told you I was unhappy?” asked Zabra, sharply; “and what is my unhappiness to you?”
“It is much, because it makesmeunhappy,” replied the simple girl; “and I thought you were unhappy, because you have abandoned allyour friends, and deprived me of the pleasure you used to confer.”
“I did not abandon them till they showed themselves unworthy of my companionship,” said the youth proudly. “Do you think I can sit quietly to become the victim of deceit and treachery? Do you imagine I can stand tamely by while the heart I worship is ensnared by another? No! I cannot endure it, and I will not. I wish to be alone.”
“And will you not return to your place among the friends who delight in your presence?” inquired the bashful maiden; “they are very anxious to see you. And I—I should like you—I should very much like you to be as you used to be; for then you were so kind, and talked to me so delightfully, and appeared so very happy.”
“I was very happy then,” exclaimed her companion, in a voice tremulous with emotion. “I loved and believed myself loved in return. But it is all over now; I have been deceived. Go and leave me.”
“And if you did love, Zabra,” murmuredLilya without daring to move her eyes from the ground, “if you are sure you loved—I think I’m convinced—that is, I mean, that if you do love, you must be loved in return.”
“No, no! I saw it too plain,” observed Zabra. “It’s beyond a doubt; it is evident—palpable—I cannot be mistaken. Why do you waste your time here? Have I not told you I wish to be alone?”
“Oh! do not look upon me so sternly,” exclaimed the gentle girl, with tears in her eyes; “indeed I wish to make you happy. I will never offend you. I will be all you desire. I will listen to you with the most perfect attention, and carefully remember every thing you tell me. Come, Zabra, come!” she continued, as she ventured tremblingly to lay hold of his hand. “Let me lead you to the kind friends who are so desirous of your presence; let me assure you that you are loved,” she added, as she raised the hand she held in her own to her lips, and pressed them softly and quickly upon it, and then, as if alarmed by her own temerity,she hastily dropped it and stood blushing and trembling by his side.
“No, no! I tell you no! I am not loved. I know it too well. Why do you come to me with your affectionate words and fond endearments? Take them to Oriel Porphyry; he can best appreciate them,” said her companion.
“Well, I will if you wish it, Zabra,” replied the simple girl. “I would do any thing to please you.”
“No doubt you would,” exclaimed Zabra sarcastically.
“Yes I would, Zabra; and I will go this moment and do what you require me:” and she had scarcely uttered the words before she hurriedly left the presence of her companion.
Zabra sat alone at his harp, half doubting in his mind whether it was simplicity or artifice that Lilya had exhibited; but as he remembered what both had confessed, he felt the conviction that she was again endeavouring to deceive him; and the miserable feeling thus created he endeavoured to express in the following words:—