and good men of her day as its interpreters.  Oh! that she had but persisted in listening to it, as it spoke in her own kindly heart, when with womanly pity she was wont to intercede in favour of the poor cooped-up inmates of some closely beleaguered town or fortress!  But at least the poor Indian can utter nothing but blessing’s on her.  He might have needed no other “protector” had she lived; nor would slavery have found in his fate one of the darkest and most fatal chapters in its history.

  Landing in the new world.

But now, from Granada, and our fancies there, the narrative brings us back to the first land touched by Columbus.  The landing of Columbus in the New World must ever be a conspicuous fact in the annals of mankind, and it was celebrated by a ceremonial worthy of the occasion.  On the ensuing morning, after the light had been observed from the ships, being a Friday, the 12th of October, 1492, Columbus, clad in complete armour, and carrying in his hand the royal banner of Spain, descended upon the level shores of the small island [San Salvador, one of the Bahamas] which had first greeted him, and which he found to be very fruitful—­fresh and verdant, and “like a garden full of trees.”  The other captains accompanied him, each of them bearing a banner with a green cross depicted upon it, and with the initials of Ferdinand and Isabella surmounted by their respective crowns—­a device that well expressed the loyalty and devotion of Columbus, and had been chosen by him.  These chief officers were followed by a large retinue from their crews.  In numerous lines along the shore stood the simple islanders, looking on with innocent amazement.

  Their gratitude.

On touching land, Columbus and all the Spaniards who were present fell upon their knees, and with tears—­tears of that deepest kind which men do not know the cause of—­poured forth their “immense thanksgivings to Almighty God.”

The man who, of all that embassage, if we may call it so, from the Old to the New World, was certainly the least surprised by all he saw, was, at the same time, the most affected.  For thus it is, that the boldness of a great design is never fully appreciated by the designer himself until he has apparently accomplished his work, when he is apt, if it be indeed a great work, to look back with shuddering awe at his own audacity in having proposed it to mankind.  The vast resolve which has sustained such a man throughout his long and difficult enterprise, having for the moment nothing to struggle against, dies away, leaving a strange sinking at the heart:  and thus the greatest successes are often accompanied by a peculiar and bewildering melancholy.  New difficulties, however, bred from success (for nothing is complete in life), soon arise to summon forth again the discoverer’s energies, and to nerve him for fresh disappointments and renewed endeavours.  Columbus will not fail to have his full share of such difficulties.