which the poor, afflicted with disease, or hurt by accidents, were
promptly cared for, and skilfully treated. The ablest physicians, the
most experienced surgeons, and the most skilful nurses waited upon them;
and all that the necessities of their cases demanded was immediately
rendered. They had asylums for females who had strayed from the path of
virtue, where they were taught industrious and moral habits, and then
restored to society capable of taking a place with its most useful and
honourable members. They had houses of instruction to reclaim young
thieves, in which they received an excellent education, were taught
some useful trade, and then re-entered the community capable of passing
through the busy scenes of life with credit to themselves and others.
They had----."
"They had hospitals and asylums for every vice that disgraces humanity,
don't you see," said the doctor, interrupting the speaker with more
bitterness than was usual with him. "The vilest of the vile were
sheltered and preached to, and made comfortable and happy; but while
vice received every possible attention in fine buildings, with numerous
servants, virtue might crawl through the public streets and starve;
and while the rogue was carefully instructed in all things that were
excellent to save his wretched life and soul, the honest man, struggling
with adversity and sickness, was left to die and be damned. There was no
asylum for the virtuous woman; but the vilest prostitute had always a
ready home. Integrity and intelligence had to fight with famine alone
and unnoticed; but ignorance and dishonesty, profligacy and crime, were
sought after and generously provided for. In fact, under this miserable
state of things there existed a bonus upon vice. If the vile were
only vile enough, they were the objects of universal benevolence:
but to be poor without being vile--oh! it was considered something so
contemptible, that the charitable could not be brought to pay it the
slightest regard."
For a wonder Fortyfolios made no reply.
"This place is also of considerable importance to the scientific
inquirer," continued the professor; "for here was a famous observatory,
in which the most illustrious astronomers carried on their
investigations into the motions of the heavenly bodies, and the laws
which govern them. Many interesting discoveries were here made. From
here were calculated the distances of various parts of the world. The
neighbourhood was also distinguished by being a place of favorite resort
of the inhabitants of the metropolis; and even members of the government
used to indulge themselves occasionally with a trip to this once
delightful place, for the purpose of enjoying a delicacy in the shape of
a very small fish, a thousand of which would scarcely make a sufficient
meal."
"Here are many heaps of stones and fragments of brickwork. I should
suppose that they are the remains of a town of some kind," observed the
young merchant.
"They cover a space sufficiently extensive to make it probable," replied
Fortyfolios; "but they ought to be considered as a distant suburb of
the metropolis. They were chiefly inhabited by persons engaged in the
production or sale of naval stores, and boat-builders, fishermen, and
sailors employed in managing the craft upon the river. In some places
there are wharves for merchandise, in others for coals; here was a
factory for the produce of canvass, there an establishment of engineers
who sent steam vessels to every sea that flows. The river here used to
be crowded with shipping; so much so that the passage of the vessels
often became slow and dangerous. Here were ships from every commercial
nation on the globe, each laden with the produce of their country, and
each intent on returning with a cargo of English goods."
"What a gloomy looking building this must have been, if we may judge
from what remains of it!" remarked Zabra.
"That used to be a fortress and state prison," said the Professor.
"There were once confined persons accused of treason, and there they
remained previous to their execution. Some of the noblest and best
spirits of the time have been incarcerated in those old walls. The noble
Raleigh, the patriot Russell, the lovely Anna Boleyn, and numberless
others whose names have become a part of history. There also were kept
the regalia and--."
"And there also were kept the wild beasts," observed the doctor, good
humouredly, "and there is every reason for believing that the latter
managed to get at the regalia; for an ancient poem I have met with
says--
"The lion and the unicorn
Were fighting for the crown,
And the lion beat the unicorn
All about the town"--
no doubt to the great astonishment of the citizens."
"I am going to anchor now, sir," here exclaimed the captain, "as the
navigation o' the river beyond this arn't practicable for a vessel o'
such tonnage as the Albatross."
"Let it be done then," replied the young merchant; "and let an armed
party be got ready to accompany me on land, as I am desirous of
examining the antiquities of the place."
"Yes, sir," responded Hearty; and preparations were immediately made to
go ashore.
"You see before you the remains of a bridge," observed Fortyfolios,
pointing to several broken arches that appeared above the water; "it was
considered one of the finest examples of that kind of structure that
had ever been erected, and an old chronicler I lately perused gives an
elaborate account of the ceremonies that took place when it was first
opened to the public. On that occasion the king and queen went in state,
accompanied by their court, and all the great men were there, and the
great merchants, and thousands upon thousands of citizens. Now you
can behold nothing but the crumbling stone-work, green with age, and
instead of the music and shouts which accompanied the procession, we can
only hear the hoarse cry of the bittern from the neighbouring marshes,
and the fierce howl of the jackal from some ruined building."
"The boat's ready, sir!" said the captain; and shortly afterwards the
whole party proceeded in a boat to the shore.
CHAP. IV.
THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.
A large tent had been pitched in an open space among the ruins of the
ancient city. Before it stood Oriel Porphyry leaning on a gun, with
Zabra at his side, resting on his harp. At the distance of a few feet
Fortyfolios and Tourniquet were seated on a fallen pillar, disputing
about the character of a building, the remains of which lay before them.
The captain and the midshipman were conversing together by the side
of the tent, and grouped about were twenty or thirty sailors well
armed--some reclining on the ground, others leaning against a column,
and the rest congregated into little parties, engaged in talking over
the adventures of the day, or in passing their opinions upon the
neighbouring ruins.
On one side of the tent stood a great portion of a very elegant
structure, of considerable dimensions, and of a classical style of
architecture; on the other side stood the ruins of a building of about
the same size, with a handsome portico supported by several beautiful
pillars, upon which might be observed a female draperied figure much
mutilated. A short distance from between them there arose a tall column
with a bronze statue of a warrior, broken and disfigured, lying at its
base. Beyond the column was a flight of broken steps that led to an open
space overgrown with wild shrubs and weeds; and beyond these, and around
in every direction, nothing met the eye but confused heaps of stone and
brickwork, overgrown with rank herbage; and pillars, and walls, and
glassless windows.
"I am tired of this continual ruin," exclaimed Oriel Porphyry. "We
have travelled all the day and met nothing but broken pedestals, and
prostrate capitals; porches without pillars, and pillars without
porches; trembling porticoes, tottering walls, and roofless dwellings.
I never witnessed such a perfect desolation. The only living thing I
have seen was a wolf, who stared at me as if quite unused to a human
countenance, and never attempted to move till I sent the contents of my
gun at his head. Then, immediately I had fired, there flew around me
such flights of bats, ravens, vultures, and owls, and they created such
a din of screaming and hooting, that I was absolutely startled."
"See how the ivy clings to the wall, Oriel!" said Zabra to his patron,
as he pointed to a ruin beside them; "how it twines round the fluted
pillar, and hides the ornaments of the richly decorated capital. There
is poetry astir in those leaves--there is a music breathing in the
breeze that shakes them. There! see you the bird moving out its head
from their friendly shelter to notice our movements? She has her nest
there, Oriel: in that little circle are all her pleasures concentrated.
She has made her happiness in the very desolation of which you complain.
It is impossible to look around and say all is barren. There is not a
weed that grows but what is full of enjoyment for myriads of creatures
of which we take no note. Is there nothing in these stones which does
not awaken in you associations that ought to people them with the
countless multitudes that once found pleasure in this wilderness? I see
not the ruin. I notice not the silence. Memory looks through the vista
of departed time, and lo! all is splendour and beauty--and the deserted
porticoes echo with the voice of gladness. Let me sing to you, Oriel;
this is a glorious place for sweet sounds and antique memories, and I
will see to what use I can apply them."
The young musician, after a short, touching prelude, then sung, with the
deep expression that characterised all his attempts at minstrelsy, the
following words:--
"To the home of the brave ones, the true and the kind,
With a heart filled with hope I have been;
And I thought of the gladness and peace I should find,
And the smiles of delight I had seen.
"But the dwelling was homeless, and roofless, and bare,
'Twas a ruin that threatened to fall;
And my sorrowing heart seemed to cling to despair,
Like the ivy that clung to the wall.
"Oh! where are the roses that clustered and spread
Round the porch where my wishes were told?
Alas! from the porch all the roses have fled,
And the hands that once plucked them are cold.
"Oh! where are the friends, the young, thoughtless, and gay,
Who gave life to the garden and hall?
All, all have departed--all, all passed away,
Save the ivy that clings to the wall.
"Be glad, my fond heart--there is hope for you yet,
For these leaves have a comfort convey'd;
There are moments and pleasures I ne'er can forget,
Though both roses and friends have decayed.
"Though this breast be a ruin where sorrow hath cast
Desolations she cannot recal;
Still mem'ry shall cling to the joys that are past,
Like the ivy that clings to the wall."
"I tell you, Dr. Tourniquet, you're completely in error," exclaimed
Fortyfolios. "The meaning of the word United Service is evident, and
admits of no dispute. In old authors we frequently read of people 'going
to service,' and as often of a union of offices in the same person,
such as butler and steward, valet and footman, gardener and groom; and
there cannot be a doubt that this is what was called united service, and
that this building was dedicated to the purpose of finding situations
for such people."
"Dedicated to a fiddle-stick. Don't you see?" replied the doctor. "I
tell you it was a club that met there to play at cards, and that was the
reason that they had a king of clubs, and a queen of clubs, and a knave
of clubs, and ever so many other clubs; and as a qualification, all the
members were obliged to be club-footed, and they were governed by what
they called club law."
"'T was no such thing, Dr. Tourniquet, depend upon it," said the
professor. "I'm sure 't was the united service, because I have a book
in my library that mentions it as the United Service."
"And I'm sure it was a club, because I've got a book in my library that
mentions it as a club," responded the other.
"Then the building opposite was devoted to very different purposes,"
continued Fortyfolios. "It was called the Athenæum, the derivation of
which word I have never been able to discover. Perhaps it had its origin
in the Modern Athens, a place of some importance in the neighbourhood of
Blackwood's Magazine--once a famous depôt for combustibles, that blew up
occasionally with great damage. However, it was erected for the purpose
of bringing together all the intelligence of the country.
'Together let us range the fields,
Impearled with the morning dew,'
says an ancient poet, and there is no doubt that the lines were
addressed by one member of the Athenæum to another."
"And what good did they ever do by being brought together?" inquired
Tourniquet.
"That has never been ascertained," replied the other.
"For what purpose was this column erected?" asked the young merchant.
"It was erected to commemorate the victories of a certain Duke of
York," said the professor. "He distinguished himself greatly during the
wars of the rival houses of York and Lancaster. Besides being a great
general, his piety was so great that he became a bishop, and there are a
series of moral discourses extant, that took place between the Bishop
and the Bishop's Clarke, a person who was also very celebrated. It may
be said that this Duke of York enjoyed more credit in his day than any
of his predecessors; indeed he was in such general requisition that the
constant inquiries after him, gave rise to the saying, 'York, you're
wanted;' and it was to him that the people, after a disturbance which
he had pacified, said,--
'Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by the son of York.'"
"I certainly feel the charm of association as much as any one," observed
Oriel to his companion; "but the gratification I find in treading shores
so celebrated by historic recollections is changed to a painful feeling
at beholding the wreck to which has been reduced the greatness I have
honoured. I should suppose, from what I have seen, that the whole land
is in a similar state as that portion of it which has come under my
observation. I can imagine nothing so deplorable. There appear to be no
living things in the island but wild animals. I can only account for
their being here, from my knowledge that, in former times, the natives
kept several large collections of them for show, and that these having
escaped, they spread themselves over the country."
At this moment Oriel's quick ear caught the sound of a low sharp growl
at no great distance from him, and turning round, beheld a large lion
crouching behind a heap of stones near the two philosophers, who were
disputing so vehemently that they had not the slightest idea of their
danger. The young merchant had just time to get his gun in readiness and
give the alarm to the sailors, when, with a fierce roar that came like
a peal of thunder upon the terrified disputants, the lion sprung upon
them, and knocked them both down. He stood majestically with one paw
upon the prostrate philosophers, looking defiance on Oriel and his
companions, as they cautiously approached him from all sides with their
muskets in their hands.
"Now, my friends," exclaimed the young merchant, "don't fire till
you come within good aiming distance--don't more than half fire at a
time--let the others reserve their fire, in case he makes a spring--be
steady, and aim at his head."
"Ay, ay, sir," was murmured by the captain; and every man held his
breath, cocked his gun, picked his way carefully over the stones, and
prepared himself for a struggle with his dangerous enemy. The lion saw
them advancing--shook his mane, lashed his tail, and, bending his head
to the ground, uttered a long and deafening roar.
"Now then, mind your aim," said the young merchant. About a dozen
discharged their pieces; and, with a piercing howl, the lion dashed
among his foes, knocking down some half-a-dozen of them, and scattering
the rest in all directions. Luckily, he had been too severely wounded
to do any more serious mischief. His roar was terrible; but the men
having again approached him, poured in a more deadly fire, and with a
vain attempt to reach them, he gave a savage growl, and fell covered
with wounds. Scarcely had this been done, before a distant roar was
heard by the victors.
"Make haste and reload, for, if I mistake not, we shall have the lioness
upon us in a few seconds," said Oriel Porphyry earnestly; and all
quickened their preparations, to be in readiness for another contest.
"Take up a position behind that ruin, for the lioness will first make to
the dead lion, and then she will attempt to turn her rage upon us. We
shall have her within gun range as soon as she comes to the lion, and
shall be in some sort of shelter when she begins her attack."
Scarcely had the position been taken and the arrangements made, when the
roar became more distinct; and, soon afterwards, the lioness was seen
rapidly approaching, with a series of prodigious leaps that quickly
brought her into the immediate neighbourhood of the party in ambush. She
instantly proceeded to the lion. At first, she patted him with her paw.
Finding he took no notice of that, she fawned upon him, and licked him
with her tongue, playfully bit his ear, and played with his mane.
Observing that he was still inattentive to her movements, she gently
turned him over; and then, noticing the wounds in his head and body, and
his incapability of replying to her caresses, she uttered a roar so loud
and piercing, that it made the old walls about her echo again. This
was replied to by a peal of musketry from the neighbouring ruin. In a
moment, with another deafening howl, she rushed towards the place whence
came the reports, and with one desperate bound, leaped to the window
behind which Oriel and his companions lay concealed upon a heap of
stones and rubbish. She had got her fore paws and head upon the ledge of
the window, when another shower of balls sent her reeling back. Howling
with rage she made the leap again; when a blow on the head from the
butt end of a gun, held by a stout seaman, made her loosen her hold,
and, with a savage growl, she fell to the ground. From there she next
crawled to the body of the lion, licking the upper part of his body,
and uttering the most wild and melancholy howls. She was evidently much
wounded; but she managed to crawl round him several times, drawing her
long tongue over his mane, and moving a paw, or his head, in hopes of
noticing some sign of recognition. At last, finding all her efforts
ineffectual, she emitted a roar that rivalled the loudest thunder,
lashed her body furiously with her tail, began tearing up the stones and
soil around her, and then, as if putting forth her strength for a last
effort, she made two or three prodigious leaps towards the adjoining
building. The bullets that met her in her way did not stop her progress,
for with one enormous bound she cleared the window, and came down in
the midst of the voyagers, dashing them about with a violence that gave
several of the men very severe contusions, and grasping one by the neck
so furiously that he would have inevitably been killed, had not Loop
stabbed her to the heart with a short sword he carried, while Hearty
gave her a desperate blow on the head with an immense fragment of stone.
Letting go the man she had got so firmly in her grasp, she turned upon
her assailants a look of the most savage ferocity, and then, with a
short howl of agony, fell back dead at their feet.
They had dragged the lioness out of the building, and several of the men
were busily engaged taking off the skins of the two animals, and the
rest were talking over the dangers they had escaped, when Zabra pointed
out to his patron the figures of an old man and a young female, who were
advancing up the broken steps that led to the base of the column. The
sight of human beings was so novel, that every one paid particular
attention to the individuals they now beheld. The man appeared to have
reached extreme old age, for his hair was white and long, and hung down
upon his neck and shoulders. His complexion was ruddy, but although the
face was covered with wrinkles and deeply marked furrows, there was
an animation in his eyes that showed that the fire of life was still
brilliantly burning. He was tall, and walked firmly, supporting himself
by a long staff. The skin of a lion hung from his neck over his manly
shoulders. The rest of his dress was composed of skins fastened by
thongs round his body and legs. A long sword was suspended at his side,
which, with a knife or dagger at his waist, seemed all the weapons he
possessed.
He was accompanied by a young girl, whose complexion had evidently
been browned by exposure to the sun, the effect of which gave a warmer
character to the quiet beauty of her features. Her eyes were of a soft,
deep, blue, beaming with tenderness and benevolence; and her hair, which
was silken in its texture, and very light in colour, fell in clustering
curls from her forehead to her neck. A sort of cape, made of feathers,
covered her shoulders; beneath which was a long garment reaching below
the knees, made of different skins neatly sewed together, and bound
round the waist with a belt of the same. Her arms and legs were bare,
and they were of the most exquisite symmetry, delicately and beautifully
formed. In one hand she carried a light spear, and the other she rested
upon the shoulder of her companion.
As soon as the young girl observed the voyagers, she started back with
an exclamation of fear, and clung to the arm of her elder companion,
who, noticing the cause of her alarm, immediately let fall his staff and
drew his sword. There was something remarkably imposing in the attitude
of the old man. He drew up his stately form to its full height; and as
he stood upon the defensive with his weapon firmly grasped in his right
hand, while with his left arm he clasped the young girl by the waist and
drew her behind him, there seemed a vigour in his silvery hairs, and
a fire in his sunken eyes, that neither youth or manhood could have
rivalled.
Oriel Porphyry, who looked upon them with peculiar interest, laid down
his arms and advanced towards them, accompanied only by Zabra, who was
also unarmed. Their approaches were closely regarded by the man, and
watched with curiosity by the female.
"Fear us not, old man, we will do you no harm," said the young merchant.
"Fear!" exclaimed the old man proudly, "I know it not."
"We are voyagers from a distant land, who have been induced to visit
your shores, from a desire to do honour to a country once so famous."
The old man, without making any reply, hastily returned his sword to
its scabbard, and then, with a countenance in which fearlessness and
kindness were blended, held out his right hand. The hand of Oriel
Porphyry was soon in its cordial and friendly grasp, and a compact of
sociality seemed immediately agreed to between both parties. "And you,
fair maid, need not be alarmed," said Zabra, approaching the maiden with
a look that might have inspired a savage with confidence. "You will meet
amongst us none but friends anxious to do you honour and service."
She shrunk back from his advances with a strong feeling of timidity
expressed in her features; yet continued to gaze on the handsome face
and graceful person of the speaker, as if they had for her an attraction
impossible to be resisted.
"The child is unused to strangers," observed her companion, as he
noticed the shy and wondering manner with which she regarded Zabra. "It
is long since she has seen a human being except myself. Be not afraid,
Lilya," he exclaimed, as he drew her towards him. "These are not
enemies. They are wanderers, like ourselves; but they have a home and
kindred--we have neither."
The cheerful countenance of the old man now became clouded with
melancholy, and he sighed as if there was a heaviness upon his heart
that could not be removed; but the timid Lilya still gazed upon the
features of the young musician, as if she found it impossible to remove
her eyes from their beauty. There was an extraordinary contrast between
her and her companion. She seemed just in the dawn of womanhood, with
delicate limbs, and looks all bashfulness and pleased surprise; while
he appeared on the extreme verge of old age--all bone and sinews, hard
and rough with exposure to the severities of time and climate. She
was evidently too young to be his daughter; but that there was some
relationship between them was evident, for even in the gentle loveliness
that distinguished her youthful face might be discerned faint traces of
resemblance to the ancient but noble example of manhood that stood by
her side.