152 WANDERINGS IN SOUTH AMERICA. 



shall feed in the finest pasture. No burden shall be 

 placed upon her, and she shall end her days in peace. 1 



For three revolving autumns the ague-beaten wanderer 

 never saw, without a sigh, the swallow bend her flight 

 towards warmer regions. He wished to go too, but could 

 not ; for sickness had enfeebled him, and prudence pointed 

 out the folly of roving again too soon across the northern 

 tropic. To be sure, the continent was now open, and change 

 of air might prove beneficial ; but there was nothing very 

 tempting in a trip across the Channel, and as for a tour 

 through England! England has long ceased to be the 

 land for adventures. Indeed, when good King Arthur re- 

 appears to claim his crown he will find things strangely 

 altered here ; and may we not look for his coming ? for 

 there is written upon his grave-stone : 



"Hie jacet Arturus, Rex quondam Rexque futurus," 

 "Here Arthur lies, who formerly 

 Was king and king again to be." 



Don Quixote was always of opinion that this famous 

 king did not die, but that he was changed into a raven by 

 enchantment, and that the English are momentarily ex- 

 pecting his return. Be this as it may, it is certain that 

 when he reigned here all was harmony and joy. The 

 browsing herds passed from vale to vale, the swains sang 

 from the bluebell-teeming groves, and nymphs with eglan- 

 tine and roses in their neatly-braided hair went hand in 

 hand to the flowery mead to weave garlands for their lamb- 

 kins. If by chance some rude uncivil fellow dared to 

 molest them, or attempted to throw thorns in their path, 

 there was sure to be a knight-errant not far off ready to 



1 Poor Wouralia breathed her last on the 15th of February, 1839, 

 having survived the operation nearly five and twenty years. 



