earthly paradise after an hundred thousand years, was
clouded to him by the knowledge that in a certain period of time after, an
earthly hell or purgatory, would occur, when the ecliptic and equator would
be at right angles.[1] Our party at length broke up; "We are all dreaming
this morning," said Ryland, "it is as wise to discuss the probability of a
visitation of the plague in our well-governed metropolis, as to calculate
the centuries which must escape before we can grow pine-apples here in the
open air."

But, though it seemed absurd to calculate upon the arrival of the plague in
London, I could not reflect without extreme pain on the desolation this
evil would cause in Greece. The English for the most part talked of Thrace
and Macedonia, as they would of a lunar territory, which, unknown to them,
presented no distinct idea or interest to the minds. I had trod the soil.
The faces of many of the inhabitants were familiar to me; in the towns,
plains, hills, and defiles of these countries, I had enjoyed unspeakable
delight, as I journied through them the year before. Some romantic village,
some cottage, or elegant abode there situated, inhabited by the lovely and
the good, rose before my mental sight, and the question haunted me, is the
plague there also?--That same invincible monster, which hovered over and
devoured Constantinople--that fiend more cruel than tempest, less tame
than fire, is, alas, unchained in that beautiful country--these
reflections would not allow me to rest.

The political state of England became agitated as the time drew near when
the new Protector was to be elected. This event excited the more interest,
since it was the current report, that if the popular candidate (Ryland)
should be chosen, the question of the abolition of hereditary rank, and
other feudal relics, would come under the consideration of parliament. Not
a word had been spoken during the present session on any of these topics.
Every thing would depend upon the choice of a Protector, and the elections
of the ensuing year. Yet this very silence was awful, shewing the deep
weight attributed to the question; the fear of either party to hazard an
ill-timed attack, and the expectation of a furious contention when it
should begin.

But although St. Stephen's did not echo with the voice which filled each
heart, the newspapers teemed with nothing else; and in private companies
the conversation however remotely begun, soon verged towards t