1830.] The Eve of Saint Simon, in Colombia. 159 



jealousy. The son of a rich and respectable manufacturer in Yorkshire, 

 young Risdale, with all the ardent feelings of youthful ambition, and his 

 heart glowing with enthusiasm to become a participator in the glorious 

 struggle of South American independence, left his father's house; ex- 

 changing the advantages of affluence for a precarious existence, the delights 

 of a peaceful home (endeared to him by a thousand infantile recollections) 

 for a country convulsed by civil war, the salubrity of his native air 

 for the pestiferous .vapours of a foreign clime; sacrificing, in short, every 

 earthly blessing to a vain phantom which has lured millions to destruc- 

 tion ! 



Unfortunate and misguided youth, may the tears of the brave that 

 have been shed o'er thy untimely fate propitiate thine honoured shade ! 

 may the remembrance of thy virtues sooth the regrets of the friends 

 tha^t survive thee ! The turf that covers thy humble sepulchre will lie 

 light upon thy bosom, for it is not burthened with the curses of the 

 widow or the orphan; whilst the marble that entombs the oppressor 

 cannot shelter him from the execration he merits ! 



The reader will, I am sure, pardon my digression. I was unable to 

 check this small tribute of respect to the manes of one endowed with 

 every noble quality. Should a parent's eye peruse this tale, in deploring 

 the melancholy event that bereaved him of his son, he will, I trust, de- 

 rive some consolation from even my feeble efforts to do justice to the 

 memory of my friend, and shield his character from aspersion. 



How many young men, like poor Risdale, impelled by the fervour of 

 an ardent imagination, and the spirit of chivalrous enterprise, embraced a 

 cause which presented to their view the nattering perspective of immor- 

 tal renown ! how soon, alas ! were the evergreen laurels they sought 

 changed into mournful cypress ! Denied even by the soil they aided in 

 delivering from the yoke of the despot a little earth to cover their inani- 

 mate remains, their mouldering bones, the refuse of vultures, are still left 

 to bleach upon the arid plains of Candalaria, a sad memento of republican 

 gratitude! But to resume my narration. The company to which Ris- 

 dale belonged was commanded by the son of an old British officer. Their 

 relative situation as comrades linked them together, whilst a similarity of 

 disposition and sentiments cemented an attachment, the natural result of 

 this reciprocity of feeling. Captain Hodgkinson was an excellent officer, 

 and, by his persevering exertions, the light company of the " British 

 legion" would have done credit to the best-disciplined battalion in Europe. 

 Respected and esteemed by his superiors, he was likewise beloved by 

 his equals. No man knew better than himself how to draw the line of dis- 

 tinction betwixt hauteur and prudent reserve. He was condescending to 

 all, familiar with none ; but he regarded Risdale in the double light of 

 friend and pupil, and took both pride and pleasure in imparting to him 

 the fruits of his experience. Under these friendly auspices the young 

 aspirant soon became a proficient in all military exercises, and bid fair to 

 rival his instructor, which Hodgkinson rather gloried in than envied. 

 Proud of his own creation, he neglected no opportunity of extolling the 

 merits of his youthful competitor ; and the affection which they mutually 

 cherished towards each other made them inseparable companions, and 

 caused them to be considered as the Damon and Pythias of modern friend- 

 ship. 



The very soul of honour himself, it is not surprising that Captain Hodg- 

 kinson should have shrunk from the polluting touch of infamy. Too 



