enwrapt their reposing limbs with warmth more pleasant than beds of down.

The south is the native place of the human race; the land of fruits, more

grateful to man than the hard-earned Ceres of the north,--of trees, whose

boughs are as a palace-roof, of couches of roses, and of the

thirst-appeasing grape. We need not there fear cold and hunger.

Look at England! the grass shoots up high in the meadows; but they are dank

and cold, unfit bed for us. Corn we have none, and the crude fruits cannot

support us. We must seek firing in the bowels of the earth, or the unkind

atmosphere will fill us with rheums and aches. The labour of hundreds of

thousands alone could make this inclement nook fit habitation for one man.

To the south then, to the sun!--where nature is kind, where Jove has

showered forth the contents of Amalthea's horn, and earth is garden.

England, late birth-place of excellence and school of the wise, thy

children are gone, thy glory faded! Thou, England, wert the triumph of man!

Small favour was shewn thee by thy Creator, thou Isle of the North; a

ragged canvas naturally, painted by man with alien colours; but the hues he

gave are faded, never more to be renewed. So we must leave thee, thou

marvel of the world; we must bid farewell to thy clouds, and cold, and

scarcity for ever! Thy manly hearts are still; thy tale of power and

liberty at its close! Bereft of man, O little isle! the ocean waves will

buffet thee, and the raven flap his wings over thee; thy soil will be

birth-place of weeds, thy sky will canopy barrenness. It was not for the

rose of Persia thou wert famous, nor the banana of the east; not for the

spicy gales of India, nor the sugar groves of America; not for thy vines

424

The Last Man