Part 9

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--the hope 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 different maladies. 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 why _you_ should 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 is very 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 to use. 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 pretty smartly," 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 any communication 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 the vessel'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 knowing what 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 their ill-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 two languages 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 the meaning 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 the wisdom 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 of not 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, _only_ for 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."