hollow oak tree, which doubtless once belonged to the forest, and which now

shewed in the moonlight its gaping rent; to whose fanciful appearance,

tricked out by the dusk into a resemblance of the human form, the children

had given the name of Falstaff;--all these objects were as well known to

me as the cold hearth of my deserted home, and every moss-grown wall and

plot of orchard ground, alike as twin lambs are to each other in a

stranger's eye, yet to my accustomed gaze bore differences, distinction,

and a name. England remained, though England was dead--it was the ghost

of merry England that I beheld, under those greenwood shade passing

generations had sported in security and ease. To this painful recognition

of familiar places, was added a feeling experienced by all, understood by

none--a feeling as if in some state, less visionary than a dream, in some

past real existence, I had seen all I saw, with precisely the same feelings

as I now beheld them--as if all my sensations were a duplex mirror of a

former revelation. To get rid of this oppressive sense I strove to imagine

change in this tranquil spot--this augmented my mood, by causing me to

bestow more attention on the objects which occasioned me pain.

I reached Datchet and Lucy's humble abode--once noisy with Saturday night

revellers, or trim and neat on Sunday morning it had borne testimony to the

labours and orderly habits of the housewife. The snow lay high about the

door, as if it had remained unclosed for many days.

"What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?" I muttered to myself as

I looked at the dark casements. At first I thought I saw a light in one of

them, but it proved to be merely the refraction of the moon-beams, while

477

The Last Man