olation,
No sister to soften by prayer;
No father to gladden my triumphs,
No mother my sins to atone;
No children to lean on in dying--
I must finish my journey alone!

In that hall, where their feet tripp'd before me,
How lone would now echo my tread!
While each fading portrait threw o'er me
The chill, stony smile of the dead.
One sad thought bewilders my slumbers,
From eve till the coming of dawn:
I cry out in visions, "_Where are they_?"
And echo responds, "_They are gone_!"

But fain, ere the life-fount grows colder,
I'd wend to that lone, distant place,
That row of green hillocks, where moulder
The rest of my early doom'd race.
There slumber the true and the manly,
There slumber the spotless and fair;
And when my last journey is ended,
My place of repose be it there!

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XX.

_THE TWO GEORGES._

Between the years of our Lord 1730 and 1740, two men were born on
opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean, whose lives were destined to exert
a commanding influence on the age in which they lived, as well as to
control the fortunes of many succeeding generations.

One was by birth a plain peasant, the son of a Virginia farmer; the
other an hereditary Prince, and the heir of an immense empire. It will
be the main object of this sketch to trace the histories of these two
individuals, so dissimilar in their origin, from birth to death, and
show how it happened that one has left a name synonymous with tyranny,
whilst the other will descend to the lowest posterity, radiant with
immortal glory, and renowned the world over as the friend of virtue, the
guardian of liberty, and the benefactor of his race.

Go with me for one moment to the crowded and splendid metropolis of
England. It is the evening of the 4th of June 1734. Some joyful event
must have occurred, for the bells are ringing merrily, and the
inhabitants are dressed in holiday attire. Nor is the circumstance of a
private nature, for banners are everywhere displayed, the vast city is
illuminated, and a thousand cannon are proclaiming it from their iron
throats. The population seem frantic with joy, and rush tumultuously
into each other's arms, in token of a national jubilee. Tens of
thousands are hurrying along toward a splendid marble pile, situated on
a commanding eminence, near the river Thames, whilst from the lo