There were many things here to arouse my curiosity

The next event I can chronicle was opening my eyes on a scene at once so
beautiful and strange that I started to my feet in amaze. This was not
my study, and I beheld nothing of the magazine which was the last thing
I remembered seeing before I went to sleep. I was in a glorious garden,
gay with brilliant hued flowers, the fragrance of which filled the air
with a subtle and delicate perfume; around me were trees laden with
luscious fruits which I can only compare to apples, pears, and quinces,
only they were as much finer than the fruits I had hitherto been
familiar with as Ribstone pippins are to crabs, and as jargonelles are
to greenbacks. Countless birds were singing overhead, and I was about to
sink down again, and yield to a delicious languor which overpowered me,
when I was recalled to the necessity of behaving more decorously by
hearing someone near me exclaim in mystified accents, “By Jove! But
isn’t this extraordinary? I say, do you live here, or have you been
taking hasheesh too?”

I looked up, and saw, perched on the limb of a great tree, a young man
of about thirty years of age, who looked so ridiculously mystified at
the elevated position in which he found himself, that I could not
refrain from smiling, though I did not feel able to give an immediate
satisfactory reply to his queries.

“Oh, that’s right,” he commented. “It makes a fellow relieved to see a
smile, when he wasn’t at all sure whether he wouldn’t get sent to
Jericho for perching up an apple tree. But really, I don’t know how the
deuce I came to be up here, that is, I beg your pardon, but I can’t
understand how I happen to be up this apple tree. And oh! by Jove! It
isn’t an apple tree, after all! Isn’t it extraordinary?”

But I could positively do nothing but laugh at him for the space of a
moment or two. Then I gravely remarked that as I supposed he was not
glued to the tree, he had better come down, whereat he followed my
advice, being unfortunate enough, however, to graze his hands, and tear
the knees of his trousers during the process of disembarkation.

When at last he had relieved himself of a few spare expletives,
delivered in a tone which he vainly flattered himself was too low for me
to hear, he stood revealed before me, a perfect specimen of the British
masher. His height was not too great, being, I subsequently ascertained
five feet three, an inch less than my own, but he made the most of what
there was of him by holding himself as erect as possible, and as he wore
soles an inch thick to his otherwise smart boots, he looked rather
taller than he really was.

His proportions were not at all bad, and I have seen a good many very
much worse looking fellows who flattered themselves that they were quite
killing. His face had lost the freshness of early youth, and looked as
though it spent a great deal of its time in the haunts of dissipation.
The moustache, however, was perfect—so golden, so long, so elegant was
it, that it must have been the envy of countless members of the masher
tribe, and I was not surprised to notice presently that its owner found
his pet occupation in stroking it.

Just now, however, he was chiefly employed in lamenting the accident
which had occurred to his nether garment, this being, by the way, one
portion of a tweed suit of the most alarmingly demonstrative pattern and
colour.

“By Jove!” he muttered, disconsolately, “it’s awful! you know. When I
was so careful, too! What on earth ever possessed me to mount that tree?
Isn’t it extraordinary?”

This time I was about to attempt a reply, when I was struck dumb with
awe and astonishment, and my companion, who had found his own eyes
sufficiently powerful to take in my appearance, hastily fixed a single
eyeglass into position, and gazed in open-mouthed wonder at an
apparition which approached us.

And he might well gaze, for of a surety the creature which we saw was
something worth looking at, and a specimen of a race the like of which
we had never seen before. “It is a woman,” I thought. “A goddess!” the
masher declared, and for a time I could not feel sure that he was
mistaken.

She was close upon seven feet in height, I am sure, and was of
magnificent build. A magnified Venus, a glorified Hebe, a smiling Juno,
were here all united in one perfect human being whose gait was the very
poetry of motion.

She wore a very peculiar dress, I thought, until I saw that science and
common sense had united in forming a costume in which the requirements
alike of health, comfort, and beauty had reached their acmé.

A modification of the divided skirt came a little below the knee, the
stockings and laced boots serving to heighten, instead of to hide, their
owner’s beautiful symmetry of limb. A short skirt supplemented the
graceful tunic, which was worn slightly open at the neck, and partially
revealed the dainty whiteness of a shapely bust. The whole costume was
of black velvet, and was set off by exquisite filmy laces, and by a
crimson sash which confined the tunic at the waist, and hung gracefully
on the left side of the wearer.

She was wearing a silver-embroidered velvet cap, which she courteously
doffed on beholding us, and I noticed that her hair, but an inch or two
long, curled about her head and temples in the most delightfully
picturesque fashion imaginable.

She was surprised to see us, that was quite apparent, but she evidently
mistook our identity for awhile. “What strange children!” she exclaimed,
in a rich, sonorous voice, which was bewitchingly musical. “Why are you
here, and for what particular purpose are you masquerading in this
extraordinary fashion?”

“Yes, it is extraordinary, isn’t it?” burst forth the masher, “but you
are slightly mistaken about us. I can’t answer for this lady, and I
really don’t know what the deuce she is doing here, but I am the
Honourable Augustus Fitz-Musicus. I daresay you have heard of me. My
ancestor, you know, was King George the Fourth. He fell in love with a
very beautiful lady, who, until the first gentleman in Europe favoured
her with his attentions, was an opera singer. She subsequently became
the mother of a family, who were all provided for by their delighted
father, the king. The eldest son was created Duke of Fitz-Musicus, and
he and his family were endowed with a perpetual pension for
‘distinguished services rendered to the State, you know.’”

“Then you are not a little boy?” queried the giantess. “But of course
you must be. Come here, my little dear, and tell me who taught you to
say those funny things, and who pasted that queer little moustache on
your face.”

As she spoke she actually stooped, kissed the Honourable Augustus
Fitz-Musicus on the forehead, and patted him playfully on the cheek with
one shapely finger. This was, however, an indignity not to be borne
patiently, and the recipient of these well-meant attentions indignantly
sprang on one side, his face scarlet, and his voice tremulous with
humiliated wrath.

“How dare you?” he gasped. “How dare you insult me so? You must know
that I am not a child. Your own hugeness need not prevent you from
seeing that _I am a man_.”

“A man! never! O, this is too splendid a joke to enjoy by myself.”
Saying this, and laughing until the tears came into her eyes, the
goddess raised her voice a little, and called to some companions who
were evidently close at hand, “Myra! Hilda! Agnes! oh, do come quickly.
I have found two such curious creatures.”

In response to this summons three more girls of gigantic stature came
from the further end of the garden, and completed our discomfiture by
joining in the laugh against us.

“What funny little things! Wherever did you find them, Dora?” queried
one of the new comers, whereat Dora composed her risible faculties as
well as she was able, and explained that she had just found us where we
were, and that one of us claimed to be a _man_.

Myra and Agnes were quite as amused at this as Dora had been, but Hilda
took the situation somewhat more seriously. She had noted how furious
the Honourable Augustus Fitz-Musicus looked, and observed my vain
attempt to assume a dignified demeanour in the presence of such a
formidable array of playful goddesses, who now all plied us with
questions together.

I did not feel much inclined to converse, for I was terribly afraid of
being ridiculed. But Hilda questioned me so much more sensibly, in my
opinion, than the others, that I was disposed to be more communicative
to her than to them.

“Where do you come from?” she questioned gently, as if she were afraid
of injuring me by using her normal voice.

“I am English,” I replied proudly, feeling quite sure that the very name
of my beloved native land would prove a talisman of value in any part of
the globe. But although the beautiful quartette refrained from laughing,
they listened to me in mystified astonishment, partly, I perceived,
because my small voice was a revelation to them, and partly because my
answer conveyed no understandable meaning to them.

“English,” at last said Agnes. “What do you mean by English? There is no
such nation now. I believe that centuries ago Teuto-Scotland used to be
called England, and that it used to be inhabited by the English, a
warlike race which is now extinct.”

“My dear Agnes,” interposed Hilda, “You surely forget that we are
ourselves descended from this great race. But suppose we go on with our
questions. Not so fast my little man; here, I will take care of you for
the present.”

The last exclamation was evoked by an attempt on the part of the
Honourable Augustus to escape while the attention of the party was
concentrated upon myself. He was, however, foiled in his attempt, and
Hilda coolly seated him upon a tall garden seat, as if he were a baby,
and kept a detaining hand on his wrist, while she listened to the
replies I now made to my tormentors. “What is your name?” was the next
interrogatory to which I was subjected. I did not consider it necessary
to go into details, so merely gave my name. Other questions were now
asked me, but I was so determined to give no food for ridicule, if I
could help it, that I was rather obstinate in refusing information, and
at last took refuge in the remark, delivered as quietly as my tingling
nerves would permit, “That in my country people were polite to
strangers, and did not interrogate them as if they were so many wild
beasts.”

Even while giving utterance to this remark, I remembered several scenes
which proved that it was far from true. But the goddesses did not know
this much, and my reproof served to convince them that the Honourable
Augustus and myself were not monkeys that had learnt the art of speech,
and been dressed for exhibition, but actual, though very queer,
specimens of the human race divine.

Apologies for their rudeness were now freely tendered by the giantesses,
and one of them proposed to take us into the house at once and supply us
with refreshments. No sooner said than done, and I hardly know whether I
was most amused or humiliated to find myself led by the hand, as if I
were only just learning to walk, and must be carefully guarded from
stumbling.

It was some consolation to observe that the Honourable Augustus was
served likewise, and that he was lifted up the huge steps which must be
ascended to enter the house just as easily as I was. We were taken into
a large hall, which seemingly served as a refectory, for I observed a
table in the centre, upon which many covers were laid.

Just at this juncture a great bell was rung somewhere in the building,
and about fifty other individuals entered the room, but crowded round us
instead of round the table, as was evidently their first intention. They
were, however, upon the whole, quite as polite as a room full of English
people would be, were our respective positions reversed, and Hilda
constituted herself our protector from bothering questions until dinner
was served. The seats and table were on a somewhat larger scale than I
had been hitherto used to, but a cushion considerately brought for me
made me comfortable enough.

While being quizzed by such a number of eyes, I diligently used my own,
and noted that all these magnificent creatures, except six, were
apparently young students, and that they were all habited in somewhat
similar fashion to Dora, such difference as there was consisting, not in
shape or cut, but in variety of material and colouring.

The six exceptions were perfectly beautiful women, all approaching
middle age, and with less exuberance of spirit, but more dignity of
manner than the others. Their dress also was slightly different, their
tunics being ornamented with rich facings, and their sashes, worn on the
right side, being composed of a gorgeous material something like cloth
of gold, but so soft in texture as to drape gracefully.

A number of attendants served the meal, and these were all attired in
the national garb, with the exception of the sashes, while their clothes
were, for the most part, composed of washing materials, in which they
looked very pictures of neatness and cleanliness.

As soon as the meal had begun, we were less scrutinised than we had
been, and I now discovered myself to be very hungry, and disposed to do
full justice to the appetising viands set before me. There was a variety
of dainty dishes to choose from, and much fruit, all of which was
marvellously sweet and luscious. But there was no dish that I could see
prepared from animal food, and I resolved to discover later whether such
a strange omission was of regular or only occasional occurrence.

After dinner was over the students indulged in conversation. I
discovered afterwards that music usually formed a prominent feature in
after dinner amusements, but to-day the Honourable Augustus and myself
afforded sufficient food for pastime. We were, however, not exactly
mobbed, though our audience was a large one in every sense of the word.
One thing puzzled me exceedingly. When I spoke awhile ago of being
“English,” my interrogators seemed thoroughly mystified, and yet they
were speaking my native tongue in all its insular purity. Evidently
there was a good deal to explain on all sides.

Augustus Fitz-Musicus had by this time got over his chagrin, and was, I
could tell, even congratulating himself in a mild sort of way over the
fact that he was proving a much greater source of attraction than I was.
He was receiving the attentions of this bevy of big beauties with such a
ridiculous air of conceited nonchalance, that I was provoked to
laughter, in spite of my polite attempt to restrain my mirth.

Myra comprehended the cause of my amusement, and whispered, “I see,
little lady, that the male biped is the same all the world over,—a
conglomeration of conceit and arrogance. Your little man looks too funny
for anything, and yet I will warrant that he thinks himself capable of
captivating one half of us. What is he thought of in your country?”

But to this question I was unable to give a satisfactory answer, as I
could only say that I was perfectly ignorant of everything connected
with the Honourable Augustus, never having seen him in my life until
to-day.

This reply amazed Myra and others who heard it, but further
interrogations on her part were stopped for a little while by the advent
of the Lady Principal and two of the professors, who wished to speak
with me and to know how I came to be here.

The young students respectfully made way for them, and I confess that my
sensations on beholding them approached something very near akin to awe.
The Lady Principal, especially, was a being to be remembered. In height
she was somewhat superior to the others. Her features were so perfect in
outline and expression that I think Minerva must have looked like this
woman did. There was not one among all these women who did not look the
embodiment of health. Principal Helen Grey did more than this; she
seemed to me to be the goddess of health herself, and to be capable of
endowing others with this most to be prized earthly blessing.

She sat down beside me, and gently asked me who I was, and how I
happened to be here. My answer to the effect that I did not know how I
had got here was evidently a tax on her credulity, but she was too well
bred to do aught but listen quietly while I continued my explanations.

I told of my perusal of certain magazines, and how my feelings had been
strongly excited upon one subject, until I must have gone to sleep while
thinking of it. Then I described my awaking amid strange surroundings,
and that I supposed the Honourable Fitz-Musicus had been transported
hither also. My account of our first interview with each other provoked
amusement, and every face around me rippled with smiles.

After a few moment’s musing, Principal Grey asked me what I meant by
saying that a certain article deprecated the introduction of Women’s
Suffrage into my country. “Do you mean to say,” she asked, “that men are
the only voters in your country?”

“Yes,” I replied, “and men are not the only obstacle to woman’s
advancement in England. Only a small minority of women dare avow their
real opinions on this very subject. More stupid and less enlightened
females hurl all sorts of contemptible reproaches at them for presuming
to endeavour to better the condition of their sex. All the laws of my
country have been made by men, and they are all made in the interests of
men. It is only a few years since it was possible for a married woman to
hold property in her own right. She might earn, or in any other way
acquire, a large fortune. Her husband could take and squander every
penny of it, without the least fear of being taxed with having done more
than he had a perfect right to do.” “Your England, as you call it, must
be a strange country,” said Principal Grey. “But I cannot quite make out
where it is. I am not considered ignorant in matters appertaining to
history and geography, but I am unable to locate this England of yours.
Once upon a time, a matter of a thousand years ago, the neighbouring
island, which is now called Teuto-Scotland, was called Albion, and later
on England, but we have always understood ourselves to be the only race
living which is at all representative of England and the ancient
English.”

“And what country is this?” I enquired in my turn, marvelling much to
hear this giantess speak of “the ancient English.”

“This country is New Amazonia. A long time ago it was called Erin by
some, but Ireland was the name it was best known by. It used to be the
scene of perpetual strife and warfare. Our archives tell us that it was
subjugated by the warlike English, and that it suffered for centuries
from want and oppression. The land was appropriated by English
mercenaries, who exacted enormous rents, which they spent anywhere but
in Ireland. Famines, attempted revolutions and conspiracies, unjust
repressive laws, and all sorts of calamities are said to have ruined and
depopulated the country until the wars arose which resulted in our
coming here. But as all is so strange here to you, you shall, if you
care about it, be taken out this evening, and then you will be better
able to judge what sort of people we are. Meanwhile, our duties must be
attended to. Hilda, be good enough to take this woman to your room,
until we can make other arrangements, and—oh dear, there is the little
gentleman! What shall we do with him?”

The Honourable Augustus was being conducted through the principal
reception rooms of the college, for such the building was, and the
question of his ultimate disposal could be discussed without the
embarrassment which his presence might perhaps have entailed.

“Suppose we request Mr. Medlock to take him until he decides what his
future arrangements will be?” suggested Professor Wise, a lady who had
hitherto taken no part in the conversation. “It would never do to let
him sleep in the college for a night! The poor little thing’s character
would be irretrievably compromised.”

“Of course it would,” agreed Principal Grey, and she set about making
the necessary arrangements forthwith, while I, wondering if I had been
asleep for five or six centuries, followed Hilda to the upper story in
which her sleeping room was situated. But long before I reached it I
felt tired to death. The marble stairs were exceedingly massive, and
were apparently interminable, while the beautiful banister rails were
too large for me to grasp them with my hand, and thus help myself up. I
was at last compelled to sit down exhausted, feeling that not one more
step could I mount.

Hilda looked at me in astonishment, as I sat panting with my unwonted
exertions. “Is it possible,” she cried, “that the walk up these few
steps has exhausted you? You must be ill, or is it the fault of the
queer clothes that you wear that you are incapable of taking exercise?
But whichever way it is, you cannot sit here, so be kind enough to
excuse me.”

The next moment I was lifted up as if I were a child, and Hilda ran
nimbly up another long flight of steps with me, finally depositing me in
a room that was very handsomely furnished, though most of the articles
in it were of a style the like whereof I had never seen before. Seeing
that I had apparently been Rip-van-Winkelized for about six hundred
years, this is not at all surprising.

But I could not help noticing a piano, which was the facsimile of one
which was in my own possession before I fell asleep. In fact, I had an
idea that it was the very same piano, though how it got here I could not
imagine. Hilda saw me looking at it, and did not remove my mystification
by remarking, “Yes, it is a curious old thing, isn’t it, and in
excellent preservation, I believe. We have several more of them in the
capital, all formerly owned by Englishwomen who originally settled in
Dublin after the wars.”

“Then is this Dublin?” I asked. “If so, I am not so very far from home,
after all.”

“This place used to be called Dublin in the time of the ancient Irish,
but when the country was turned over to what was then contemptuously
called ‘petticoat government,’ nearly all place-names were changed, and
the names of famous women applied to them. Thus we have Fawcetville,
Beecherstown, Weldonia, Besantsville, Jarrettburn, and hundreds of other
names, the etymological origin of which is easily traceable. In fact, it
is one of our laws that no town or village shall receive a name which
does not commemorate some woman who has done all she could to advance
the interests of her sex.”

Our conversation lasted awhile longer, but Hilda had her studies to
attend to, and after reaching several books from a bookshelf for me to
amuse myself with during her absence, she left me for awhile to my own
devices promising to do all she could to make my visit a pleasant one.

There were many things here to arouse my curiosity, but I was most
anxious to see if the books were printed in a style which I could
understand, as I hoped to gain a great deal of information relative to
the strange land in which I found myself, through no effort of will on
my own part.

Fortunately I found the type and paper very beautiful, and with the
exception that the spelling was considerably more phonetic than that in
vogue with us, I found very little difference between our language as at
present printed, and as exponed in the pages of “The History of
Amazonia,” which was the first book I opened.

I must have spent at least two hours in close reading, and if anyone
would like to know the results of my investigations in posthumous
history, she or he will find them recorded in the next chapter.

The history began with a brief resumé of such events as school books had
long ago made me tolerably familiar with, but went on to say that it was
in the reign of Victoria that the incidents which ultimately resulted in
the disruption of the British Empire took place, though the final
decisive steps did not eventuate until towards the close of the reign of
her successor, who used his utmost endeavours to secure justice for all
his subjects. But the factious discontent had been growing for so many
years, that it was impossible for him, when he did at last come into
power, to retrieve all the errors, and undo all the mischief, which had
been done during the reign of his predecessor.

Ireland especially was troublesome, for it had always been made to feel
that it was a subjugated State. The Sovereign sedulously petted and
spoiled the northern portion of her dominions, and was so inordinately
fond of everything Scotch, that even the English grew jealous, when year
after year the Sovereign’s chief desire seemed to be to prove that she
possessed no English sympathies whatever, and that she positively
declined to show the light of her countenance to any but Scotch subjects
or German relatives, if she could help it.

The principal emoluments of the State fell to the share of alien
Germans, and British taxpayers were ground to the dust, while scores of
thousands of pounds of their money crossed the Channel for the support
of Germans, some of whom were not too illustriously born, but all of
whom found favour in the eyes of Victoria Regina.

A great deal of encouragement being thus given to the Germans and Scots,
who were always willing to accept conditions to which the English found
it impossible to bow, England became over-run with them, so much so,
indeed, that the natives of the soil found it necessary to emigrate to
other countries, in order to earn their livelihood, and England itself
gradually became the principal abiding-place of a hybrid race, who were
known as Teuto-Scots.

All this time Ireland languished in a state of neglect and discontent,
which was eventually fanned into a fierce flame in consequence of the
treatment bestowed by the English Government upon certain patriots whom
they revered. There were several facsimile copies of allegorical
documents which so evidently referred to events which occurred in my own
time in England, and which were so prominently instanced as the
predisposing causes of the Irish revolution, that I subsequently took
the trouble of copying one of them, and give it in full as follows:—

CAROLUS PATRIOTUS.

A POLITICAL ALLEGORY.

And lo! there dwelt in this country a man whose name was Carolus. And
this Carolus, who was surnamed Patriotus, looked with bitterness upon
the wickedness of the oppressor, and said unto his friends and
disciples, “Verily, I can no longer look upon the tribulations of my
people, but will gird up my loins, and will set forth on a pilgrimage to
the land of the oppressor.”

And behold after many days he came to Londinensis, the chief city of the
Albionites, and saw that which was not good in his sight. But he met
many people who sate him at their board, and who looked upon him as the
deliverer of his people. Unto them he said, “Verily, I will lift up my
voice, so that it shall be heard of all the nations. And I will open the
eyes of the people, so that they shall no longer look with favour upon
the evil doings of their chief rulers. And I will say unto them, ‘Cast
your eyes upon Erinea, the country of my forefathers, and behold how my
brethren gnash their teeth, and struggle in vain under the yoke of the
spoiler and misruler.’ And I will call upon them to give me their help
in the deliverance of my people. And my nation shall bless those who
lift up their voices for Erinea.”

And behold all these things came to pass.

And the friends of Carolus, surnamed Patriotus, said unto him, “It is
well that thou shouldest do this great thing. And, verily, we will aid
thee. Our houses shall be thy houses, and our purses shall be thy
purses, until the great things which thou prophesiest shall come to
pass.”

And Carolus, surnamed Patriotus, lifted up his voice against the
oppressor, yea, even in the assembly of the rulers of the Albionites did
he lift up his voice, and many disciples followed him.

But there was a great prince in Londinensis, the chief city of the
Albionites, who waxed wroth at the preachings of Carolus, and who looked
upon his teachings as evil. The name of this prince was Tempus Londinus,
and he said unto his servants, “Yea, verily, this Carolus is a seditious
man, and we must banish him from the great house of the people, else
will he conquer us, and the power of the Albionites will be as naught in
the eyes of the nations.”

And there came unto the steward of Tempus, surnamed Londinus, a man
named Dupus Journalius. This man longed for riches, and knew much that
was pleasing to the steward of Tempus. Unto him he saith, “Lo, thy
servant hath travelled far to satisfy thy desires, and to please my lord
the prince. He has been to the chief city of the Erinians, and has
spoken to a man who dwells there. This man has a sword, made by Carolus,
and nothing but the poison which is worked into this sword can destroy
Carolus, surnamed Patriotus. Carolus made this sword in order to destroy
his enemies, but lo! he is now himself in their toils, and shall feel
the hand of the smiter.”

And the steward of the mighty Tempus said unto Dupus, he that was
surnamed Journalius, “Fetch this man hither, that we may behold this
weapon.”

But Dupus answered and said, “Not so, my lord, for this thing is
wonderful, and Judas Dublinus will not sell it but for a great price.
Yea, verily, the price is great.”

Then said the chief steward unto Dupus, “Go thy way, and return unto me
to-morrow, when thou shalt see the mighty prince Tempus and his high
priests, and they shall give thee an answer.”

And when Dupus returned on the morrow, he prostrated himself before
Tempus Londinus and his high priests, and they looked with favour upon
him, and gave him great wealth, saying, “Go thou to Judas, surnamed
Dublinus, and give him of thy wealth, and say unto him, ‘Verily I have
spoken of thee to the rulers of the Albionites, and thou and thy doings
have found favour in their sight. Moreover, thou shalt not be punished
for thy sins, but if thou wilt render unto me the poisoned sword
wherewith to destroy Carolus, surnamed Patriotus, thou shalt dwell in
the tents of the righteous.’”

And Dupus journeyed to the chief city of the Erinians, and told all
those things unto Judas, surnamed Dublinus, who answered and said, “Yea,
verily, my lord hath done well by his servant. Here is the sword which
shall destroy Carolus, surnamed Patriotus.”

Therefore Dupus was filled with joy, and hastened to carry the sword to
the mighty prince of the Albionites. And the prince was well pleased
with him, and many of the chief rulers of the people also rejoiced with
him, saying unto each other, “Now we shall be delivered from the
teachings of this vile impostor, and our country shall prosper, for the
false prophet of Erinia is vanquished, and his disciples shall be
scattered over all the earth.”

But lo! and behold! a wonder came to pass. For when the high priests of
Tempus Londinus hurled the poisoned sword, which Carolus was said to
have wrought with his own hands, yea, when it was hurled at Carolus, he
valiantly seized the sword, and fought his enemies therewith, so that
those who thought to see him fall dead were amazed at his vigour.

But although Carolus did not die, he was sick for many days, and many
people prophesied that his end was near, while his enemies said,
“Rejoice, and be glad, for the foe is slain, and our enemies are
crestfallen and hang their heads in shame!”

But there were others who said, “Nay, he shall not die, but shall live
to plant the foot of scorn upon the neck of his enemy. We will give
freely of our treasure, and we will carry him to the great apothecary,
Carolus Magnus, and lo! he will heal his wounds, and lay bare the foul
sores of the slanderers.”

And all the Erinians cried aloud unto Carolus Magnus, saying, “Save our
apostle, and let him not perish under the heel of his enemy.”

Now Carolus, surnamed Magnus, was skilled in the art of healing, and it
came to pass after many days that Carolus, surnamed Patriotus, recovered
from his grievous sickness, and henceforth the great prince and his high
priests looked with disfavour upon Dupus Journalius.

And Tempus Londinus was exceeding wroth, and sent for Judas, surnamed
Dublinus. But the heart of Judas was filled with fear, so that he
repented him of what he had done, and wandered afar off, sending unto
Tempus and his high priests a message, saying, “Verily, I am a sinner,
and have led a mighty prince into error. The sword which should have
destroyed Carolus, surnamed Patriotus, was of a truth poisoned, but the
poison lurks in the hilt, not in the point, of the weapon. If my lord
falls sick thereof, let him not blame his servant Judas, who was tempted
by the promise of great riches. And where Judas goes, let no man
follow.”

And the people clamoured for vengeance upon Judas and the hunters were
set upon the track of the betrayer and he fell into their hands. But
when they took their eyes from him, he sprang into the outermost
darkness, and the inhabitants of the earth knew him no more.

And Tempus Londinus was in his turn grievously sick. But as for Carolus
Patriotus, he grew mightier than ever, and there was rejoicing in Erinia
when he triumphed over his enemies.

But although this Carolus Patriotus was thus allegorically announced to
be the victor, his country still suffered for a long time at the hands
of its rulers. Disaffection and jealousy, increased in many places by
the disinclination of the discontented ones to relieve themselves
honourably of their burdens, caused certain practices to arise in Erinia
or Ireland, which only aggravated the reigning misery.

A custom called “boycotting” prevailed, whereby all those who were
suspected or proved to be unpatriotic were deprived of all communication
with those who might possibly be induced to do business with them.
People caught conveying food or other necessaries to boycotted persons
were ruthlessly shot, and very often horrible cruelties were perpetrated
upon harmless cattle, in order to show that their owners had fallen
under the ban.

Morality became a thing unknown in the country. Farms and houses were
rented from landholders, who had no other source of income, by people
who meant to live upon the produce of the land, but who were resolved
not to pay anything for the privilege. This was accounted quite an
honourable thing to do, and the worst crime of which an Irish farmer
could be accused of being guilty was “paying his rent.”

Murder was an excusable necessity, but rent-paying was a crime
punishable by death. Hence landlords found no encouragement to prove
themselves deserving of confidence. Whole estates went to rack and ruin.
The really earnest reformers found it impossible to fight longer against
the prevailing misery, and emigrated in large numbers, so that the
country at last fell into a state of complete anarchy.

There were many politicians whose sole exertions were directed towards
securing to Ireland privileges which would put it on an equal footing
with the sister isle, but other troubles fell upon Great Britain, and,
as had often happened before, the affairs of Ireland were set aside in
order that other grave difficulties might be grappled with.

Several British colonies and dependencies became alienated. The whole of
the Australian dependencies threw off the yoke of England. The French
became the ultimate possessors of Newfoundland, owing to the supineness
of the Government to which it looked for protection. A treaty between
the United States and France was the means of robbing England of Canada,
and in order to prevent the loss of further slices of the Empire, Great
Britain was obliged to maintain a large standing army and navy.

There were a great many republicans in the House of Commons, and these
people always played upon one string. They urged that all the troubles
and worries of the English had their origin in the huge sums of money
which were paid to the Royal family, which ever grew more exacting and
rapacious in its demands for money. So powerfully did the republicans
appeal to the nation that many of the royalists began to consider the
situation anxiously, and feared lest the reigning dynasty should be
dethroned, and England be turned into a republic.

Others, however, considered that so much had been done to conciliate the
Germans and Scots, who were both brave and of great skill in warfare,
that an alliance with them could be safely counted upon in the event of
a civil war breaking out.

Meanwhile France was also the scene of great political changes. The
people had once more tired of the republic, and, with their usual
extremeness, had once more rejoiced at the coronation of an Emperor.
Bourbonists, Orleanists, and Bonapartists were alike powerless in the
election of a supreme ruler, and their respective claims were all set on
one side in favour of an obscure adventurer, who, emulating Napoleon,
had used the army as the step-ladder for his ambition. The French
nation, jealous of the fast-increasing power of its big German
neighbour, gladly placed in supreme command a man who, among other
things, promised to make the hated Teuton lick the dust.

Russian Autocracy was fast becoming a thing of the past, but Germany
steadily grew in power, until it threatened to emulate the days of
Charlemagne, and engulph all the countries between which it was
sandwiched.

Such was the condition of some of the principal countries of Europe when
the Irish, resolved no longer to “groan under the yoke of the
oppressor,” formed themselves into a secret society which embraced
nearly all the nation; held many clandestine meetings, at which all
manner of dark things were plotted; and finally invoked the aid of
France in a grand fight which they were going to make for independence
and freedom.

France readily agreed to the alliance, the proposal having apparently
come at a most opportune time. The French always thirst for power; they
are somewhat credulous as a nation; and are so vain as to be continually
overestimating their own might and prowess. Add to this, that their
Emperor was still new fledged, and still had to fulfil his promises of
aggrandizement, and it will readily be believed that there was little
difficulty in persuading France to become Ireland’s ally in her crusade
against England.

Not that France was honestly bent upon unselfishly befriending another
country. It was thought that, once firmly fixed on Irish soil, with an
army in occupation, it was simply a question of changing the absolute
rulership of the Emerald Isle in favour of Gallia. Certain emoluments
and prerogatives were to be given to the principal Irish leaders, as a
sop to Cerberus, but the principal plums of conquest were to be reserved
for Frenchmen, as soon as “_Albion la perfide_” was fairly vanquished.

Glorious visions of coming wealth and greatness filled the minds of the
thousands who, led by the brand-new Emperor himself, swarmed into
Ireland, and prepared, in conjunction with their red-hot allies, to
smash England’s greatness into infinitesimal fragments. Naturally the
army was _fêted_ and entertained, but it was unfortunate that so much of
the product of the native distilleries should have been consumed in
drinking confusion to their enemies, for Bacchus always was, and always
will be, a treacherous friend, and he had something to answer for
respecting the ruin, utter, black, and entire, which erelong overtook
his votaries.

As England’s statesmen had foreseen, they were able to count upon mighty
aid from the Scots and Germans, and in their opinion the issue of the
forthcoming struggle was a foregone conclusion. But Germany had to be
very wary and circumspect, for Russia and Austria considered this a
capital time to combine with France and bring about the disruption of
the big German Empire. There was even a treaty signed, by virtue of
which the three allied emperors were to share Germany very equitably, in
event of conquest.

They counted upon Switzerland remaining neutral, but were slightly taken
aback when Italy’s army, which was now a very large one, was placed at
the disposal of England and Germany, thus enabling the latter country to
render powerful help to England, without imperilling its own safety very
much.

The war did not last long. When Ireland struck the blow for liberty,
both Irish and French fought well; the former goaded by desperation and
a desire for revenge; the latter by cupidity and vain-gloriousness. But
their valour was futile, and there came a day when their united forces
were utterly vanquished, and scarcely an Irish or French soldier was
left to show that there had once been a united army.

Fortunately for himself, the Emperor was slain in battle. Otherwise,
with nothing but a list of ignominious defeats to show in what manner he
had been able to keep his brilliant promises, he would have been
disgraced by a nation that was once more enraged at having shown how
huge was its capacity for being duped.

It soon transpired, however, that the residue of the French people had
need to think of something else besides avenging failures. The enemies
of France seized their opportunity; invaded it; conquered it; and
divided it, undeterred by the pusillanimous threats of Russians and
Austrians, who judged it wisest not to take to arms when the situation
of France grew so desperate.

Thus did France cease to be an independent European power, and thus also
were finally exterminated the Irish as a nation, for they were brave,
and did not yield, so long as a man could fight.

In England there was great rejoicing, and so many honours were heaped
upon Germans and Scots, that there was not an opening left for an
Englishman to lift himself into prominence. The Government of the
country gradually fell entirely into the hands of these aliens, and
Englishmen formed so small a minority of the population that a proposal
to change the name of the country from England to Teuto-Scotland was
placed before Parliament, and carried by acclamation.

All record of England, so far as its constitutional policy was
concerned, finished here, and I know not whether a ruler in the direct
line of succession remained upon the throne, or whether a republic was
the immediate outcome of all these changes or not. I learnt
subsequently, however, from the lips of Hilda, that at the time of my
visit to New Amazonia, the chief officer of state in Teuto-Scotland was
a “People’s Agent,” who only remained two years in office, and was then
replaced by such successor, either male or female, as might be elected
by universal suffrage.