Part 7

"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."