PAUL AND VIRGINIA by Bernardin de Saint Pierre

PAUL AND VIRGINIA

by Bernardin de Saint Pierre

With A Memoir Of The Author

PREFACE

In introducing to the Public the present edition of this well known and affecting Tale, --the _chef d'oeuvre_ of

its gifted author, thePublishers take occasion to say, that it affords them no little gratification, to apprise the

numerous admirers of "Paul and Virginia, "that the _entire_ work of St. Pierre is now presented to them. All

the previous editions have been disfigured by interpolations, and mutilated by numerous omissions and

alterations, which have had the effect of reducing it from the rank of a Philosophical Tale, to the level of a mere

story for children.

Of the merits of "Paul and Virginia, " it is hardly necessary to uttera word; it tells its own story eloquently and

impressively, and in alanguage simple, natural and true, it touches the common heart of theworld. There are

but few works that have obtained a greater degreeof popularity, none are more deserving it; and the Publishers

cannottherefore refrain from expressing a hope that their efforts in thusgiving a faithful transcript of the work,

--an acknowledged classic bythe European world, --may be, in some degree, instrumental in awakeninghere, at

home, a taste for those higher works of Fancy, which, whilethey seek to elevate and strengthen the

understanding, instruct andpurify the heart. It is in this character that the Tale of "Paul andVirginia" ranks

pre-eminent. [Prepared from an edition published byPorter & Coates, Philadelphia, U. S. A. ]

MEMOIR OF BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE

Love of Nature, that strong feeling of enthusiasm which leads toprofound admiration of the whole works of

creation, belongs, it may bepresumed, to a certain peculiarity of organization, and has, no doubt, existed in

different individuals from the beginning of the world. Theold poets and philosophers, romance writers, and

troubadours, had alllooked upon Nature with observing and admiring eyes. They have most ofthem given

incidentally charming pictures of spring, of the setting sun, of particular spots, and of favourite flowers.

There are few writers of note, of any country, or of any age, fromwhom quotations might not be made in proof

of the love with whichthey regarded Nature. And this remark applies as much to religious andphilosophic

writers as to poets, --equally to Plato, St. Francois deSales, Bacon, and Fenelon, as to Shakespeare, Racine,

Calderon, orBurns; for from no really philosophic or religious doctrine can the loveof the works of Nature be

excluded.

But before the days of Jean Jacques Rousseau, Buffon, and Bernardinde St. Pierre, this love of Nature had not

been expressed in all itsintensity. Until their day, it had not been written on exclusively. The lovers of Nature

were not, till then, as they may perhaps since beconsidered, a sect apart. Though perfectly sincere in all the

adorationsthey offered, they were less entirely, and certainly less diligently andconstantly, her adorers.

It is the great praise of Bernardin de St. Pierre, that comingimmediately after Rousseau and Buffon, and being

one of the mostproficient writers of the same school, he was in no degree theirimitator, but perfectly original

and new. He intuitively perceived theimmensity of the subject he intended to explore, and has told us thatno

day of his life passed without his collecting some valuable materialsfor his writings. In the divine works of

Nature, he diligently soughtto discover her laws. It was his early intention not to begin to writeuntil he had

ceased to observe; but he found observation endless, andthat he was "like a child who with a shell digs a hole

in the sand toreceive the waters of the ocean. " He elsewhere humbly says, that notonly the general history of

Nature, but even that of the smallest plant, was far beyond his ability. Before, however, speaking further of

him asan author, it will be necessary to recapitulate the chief events of hislife.

HENRI-JACQUES BERNARDIN DE ST. PIERRE, was born at Havre in 1737. Healways considered himself

descended from that Eustache de St. Pierre, who is said by Froissart, (and I believe by Froissart only), to have

sogenerously offered himself as a victim to appease the wrath of Edwardthe Third against Calais. He, with his

companions in virtue, it is alsosaid, was saved by the intercession of Queen Philippa. In one of hissmaller

works, Bernardin asserts this descent, and it was certainly oneof which he might be proud. Many anecdotes are

related of his childhood, indicative of the youthful author, --of his strong love of Nature, andhis humanity to

animals.

That "the child is the father of the man, " has been seldom more stronglyillustrated. There is a story of a cat,

which, when related by him manyyears afterwards to Rousseau, caused that philosopher to shed tears. Ateight

years of age, he took the greatest pleasure in the regular cultureof his garden; and possibly then stored up some

of the ideas whichafterwards appeared in the "Fraisier. " His sympathy with all livingthings was extreme.

In "Paul and Virginia, " he praises, with evident satisfaction, theirmeal of milk and eggs, which had not cost

any animal its life. It hasbeen remarked, and possibly with truth, that every tenderly disposedheart, deeply

imbued with a love of Nature, is at times somewhatBraminical. St. Pierre's certainly was.

When quite young, he advanced with a clenched fist towards a carterwho was ill-treating a horse. And when

taken for the first time, by hisfather, to Rouen, having the towers of the cathedral pointed out to him, he

exclaimed, "My God! how high they fly. " Every one present naturallylaughed. Bernardin had only noticed the

flight of some swallows who hadbuilt their nests there. He thus early revealed those instincts whichafterwards

became the guidance of his life: the strength of whichpossibly occasioned his too great indifference to all

monuments ofart. The love of study and of solitude were also characteristics ofhis childhood. His temper is

said to have been moody, impetuous, andintractable. Whether this faulty temper may not have been

producedor rendered worse by mismanagement, cannot not be ascertained. It, undoubtedly became afterwards,

to St. Pierre a fruitful source ofmisfortune and of woe.

The reading of voyages was with him, even in childhood, almost apassion. At twelve years of age, his whole

soul was occupied by RobinsonCrusoe and his island. His romantic love of adventure seeming to hisparents to

announce a predilection in favour of the sea, he was sentby them with one of his uncles to Martinique. But St.

Pierre hadnot sufficiently practised the virtue of obedience to submit, as wasnecessary, to the discipline of a

ship. He was afterwards placed withthe Jesuits at Caen, with whom he made immense progress in his studies.

But, it is to be feared, he did not conform too well to the regulationsof the college, for he conceived, from that

time, the greatestdetestation for places of public education. And this aversion he hasfrequently testified in his

writings. While devoted to his books oftravels, he in turn anticipated being a Jesuit, a missionary or amartyr;

but his family at length succeeded in establishing him at Rouen, where he completed his studies with brilliant

success, in 1757. He soonafter obtained a commission as an engineer, with a salary of one hundredlouis. In

this capacity he was sent (1760) to Dusseldorf, under thecommand of Count St. Germain. This was a career in

which he might haveacquired both honour and fortune; but, most unhappily for St. Pierre, he looked upon the

useful and necessary etiquettes of life as so manyunworthy prejudices. Instead of conforming to them, he

sought to trampleon them. In addition, he evinced some disposition to rebel against hiscommander, and was

unsocial with his equals. It is not, therefore, to bewondered at, that at this unfortunate period of his existence,

he madehimself enemies; or that, notwithstanding his great talents, or thecoolness he had exhibited in

moments of danger, he should have been sentback to France. Unwelcome, under these circumstances, to his

family, hewas ill received by all.

It is a lesson yet to be learned, that genius gives no charter for theindulgence of error, --a truth yet _to be_

remembered, that only a smallportion of the world will look with leniency on the failings of thehighly-gifted;

and, that from themselves, the consequences of theirown actions can never be averted. It is yet, alas! _to be_

added tothe convictions of the ardent in mind, that no degree of excellence inscience or literature, not even the

immortality of a name can exemptits possessor from obedience to moral discipline; or give him happiness,

unless "temper's image" be stamped on his daily words and actions. St. Pierre's life was sadly embittered by

his own conduct. The adventurouslife he led after his return from Dusseldorf, some of the circumstancesof

which exhibited him in an unfavourable light to others, tended, perhaps, to tinge his imagination with that wild

and tender melancholyso prevalent in his writings. A prize in the lottery had just doubledhis very slender

means of existence, when he obtained the appointment ofgeographical engineer, and was sent to Malta. The

Knights of the Orderwere at this time expecting to be attacked by the Turks. Having alreadybeen in the

service, it was singular that St. Pierre should have had theimprudence to sail without his commission. He thus

subjected himself toa thousand disagreeables, for the officers would not recognize himas one of themselves.

The effects of their neglect on his mind weretremendous; his reason for a time seemed almost disturbed by

themortifications he suffered. After receiving an insufficient indemnityfor the expenses of his voyage, St.

Pierre returned to France, there toendure fresh misfortunes.

Not being able to obtain any assistance from the ministry or his family, he resolved on giving lessons in the

mathematics. But St. Pierre wasless adapted than most others for succeeding in the apparently easy, but really

ingenious and difficult, art of teaching. When educationis better understood, it will be more generally

acknowledged, that, to impart instruction with success, a teacher must possess deeperintelligence than is

implied by the profoundest skill in any one branchof science or of art. All minds, even to the youngest,

require, whilebeing taught, the utmost compliance and consideration; and thesequalities can scarcely be

properly exercised without a true knowledge ofthe human heart, united to much practical patience. St. Pierre,

at thisperiod of his life, certainly did not possess them. It is probable thatRousseau, when he attempted in his

youth to give lessons in music, notknowing any thing whatever of music, was scarcely less fitted forthe task of

instruction, than St. Pierre with all his mathematicalknowledge. The pressure of poverty drove him to Holland.

He was wellreceived at Amsterdam, by a French refugee named Mustel, who edited apopular journal there,

and who procured him employment, with handsomeremuneration. St. Pierre did not, however, remain long

satisfied withthis quiet mode of existence. Allured by the encouraging reception givenby Catherine II. To

foreigners, he set out for St. Petersburg. Here, until he obtained the protection of the Marechal de Munich, and

thefriendship of Duval, he had again to contend with poverty. The lattergenerously opened to him his purse

and by the Marechal he was introducedto Villebois, the Grand Master of Artillery, and by him presented to

theEmpress. St. Pierre was so handsome, that by some of his friends it wassupposed, perhaps, too, hoped, that

he would supersede Orloff in thefavor of Catherine. But more honourable illusions, though they werebut

illusions, occupied his own mind. He neither sought nor wished tocaptivate the Empress. His ambition was to

establish a republic on theshores of the lake Aral, of which in imitation of Plato or Rousseau, he was to be the

legislator. Pre-occupied with the reformation ofdespotism, he did not sufficiently look into his own heart, or

seek toavoid a repetition of the same errors that had already changed friendsinto enemies, and been such a

terrible barrier to his success inlife. His mind was already morbid, and in fancying that others didnot

understand him, he forgot that he did not understand others. TheEmpress, with the rank of captain, bestowed

on him a grant of fifteenhundred francs; but when General Dubosquet proposed to take him with himto

examine the military position of Finland, his only anxiety seemed tobe to return to France: still he went to

Finland; and his own notes ofhis occupations and experiments on that expedition prove, that he gavehimself

up in all diligence to considerations of attack and defence. He, who loved Nature so intently, seems only to

have seen in the extensiveand majestic forests of the north, a theatre of war. In this instance, he appears to

have stifled every emotion of admiration, and to havebeheld, alike, cities and countries in his character of

militarysurveyor.

On his return to St. Petersburg, he found his protector Villebois, disgraced. St. Pierre then resolved on

espousing the cause of the Poles. He went into Poland with a high reputation, --that of having refusedthe

favours of despotism, to aid the cause of liberty. But it was hisprivate life, rather than his public career, that

was affected by hisresidence in Poland. The Princess Mary fell in love with him, and, forgetful of all

considerations, quitted her family to reside withhim. Yielding, however, at length, to the entreaties of her

mother, she returned to her home. St. Pierre, filled with regret, resorted toVienna; but, unable to support the

sadness which oppressed him, andimagining that sadness to be shared by the Princess, he soon went backto

Poland. His return was still more sad than his departure; for hefound himself regarded by her who had once

loved him, as an intruder. It is to this attachment he alludes so touchingly in one of his letters. "Adieu! friends

dearer than the treasures of India! Adieu! forests ofthe North, that I shall never see again!--tender friendship,

and thestill dearer sentiment which surpassed it!--days of intoxication andof happiness adeiu! adieu! We live

but for a day, to die during a wholelife!"

This letter appears to one of St. Pierre's most partial biographers, as if steeped in tears; and he speaks of his

romantic and unfortunateadventure in Poland, as the ideal of a poet's love.

"To be, " says M. Sainte-Beuve, "a great poet, and loved before he hadthought of glory! To exhale the first

perfume of a soul of genius, believing himself only a lover! To reveal himself, for the first time, entirely, but

in mystery!"

In his enthusiasm, M. Sainte-Beuve loses sight of the melancholy sequel, which must have left so sad a

remembrance in St. Pierre's own mind. His suffering, from this circumstance, may perhaps have conduced to

hismaking Virginia so good and true, and so incapable of giving pain.

In 1766, he returned to Havre; but his relations were by this time deador dispersed, and after six years of exile,

he found himself oncemore in his own country, without employment and destitute of pecuniaryresources.

The Baron de Breteuil at length obtained for him a commission asEngineer to the Isle of France, whence he

returned in 1771. In thisinterval, his heart and imagination doubtless received the germs of hisimmortal works.

Many of the events, indeed, of the "Voyage a l'Ile deFrance, " are to be found modified by imagined

circumstances in "Paul andVirginia. " He returned to Paris poor in purse, but rich in observationand mental

resources, and resolved to devote himself to literature. Bythe Baron de Breteuil he was recommended to

D'Alembert, who procureda publisher for his "Voyage, " and also introduced him to Mlle. Del'Espinasse. But

no one, in spite of his great beauty, was so illcalculated to shine or please in society as St. Pierre. His

mannerswere timid and embarrassed, and, unless to those with whom he was veryintimate, he scarcely

appeared intelligent.

It is sad to think, that misunderstanding should prevail to such anextent, and heart so seldom really speak to

heart, in the intercourse ofthe world, that the most humane may appear cruel, and the sympathizingindifferent.

Judging of Mlle. De l'Espinasse from her letters, and thetestimony of her contemporaries, it seems quite

impossible that shecould have given pain to any one, more particularly to a man possessingSt. Pierre's

extraordinary talent and profound sensibility. Both she andD'Alembert were capable of appreciating him; but

the society in whichthey moved laughed at his timidity, and the tone of raillery in whichthey often indulged

was not understood by him. It is certain that hewithdrew from their circle with wounded and mortified

feelings, and, inspite of an explanatory letter from D'Alembert, did not return to it. The inflictors of all this

pain, in the meantime, were possibly asunconscious of the meaning attached to their words, as were the birds

ofold of the augury drawn from their flight.

St. Pierre, in his "Preambule de l'Arcadie, " has pathetically andeloquently described the deplorable state of his

health and feelings, after frequent humiliating disputes and disappointments had driven himfrom society; or

rather, when, like Rousseau, he was "self-banished"from it.

"I was struck, " he says, "with an extraordinary malady. Streams of fire, like lightning, flashed before my eyes;

every object appeared to medouble, or in motion: like OEdipus, I saw two suns. . . In thefinest day of summer,

I could not cross the Seine in a boat withoutexperiencing intolerable anxiety. If, in a public garden, I

merelypassed by a piece of water, I suffered from spasms and a feeling ofhorror. I could not cross a garden in

which many people were collected:if they looked at me, I immediately imagined they were speaking ill ofme.

" It was during this state of suffering, that he devoted himself withardour to collecting and making use of

materials for that work which wasto give glory to his name.

It was only by perseverance, and disregarding many rough anddiscouraging receptions, that he succeeded in

making acquaintance withRousseau, whom he so much resembled. St. Pierre devoted himself to hissociety

with enthusiasm, visiting him frequently and constantly, tillRousseau departed for Ermenonville. It is not

unworthy of remark, thatboth these men, such enthusiastic admirers of Nature and the naturalin all things,

should have possessed factitious rather than practicalvirtue, and a wisdom wholly unfitted for the world. St.

Pierre askedRousseau, in one of their frequent rambles, if, in delineating St. Preux, he had not intended to

represent himself. "No, " replied Rousseau, "St. Preux is not what I have been, but what I wished to be. " St.

Pierrewould most likely have given the same answer, had a similar questionbeen put to him with regard to the

Colonel in "Paul and Virginia. "This at least, appears the sort of old age he loved to contemplate, andwished to

realize.

For six years, he worked at his "Etudes, " and with some difficulty founda publisher for them. M. Didot, a

celebrated typographer, whose daughterSt. Pierre afterwards married, consented to print a manuscript which

hadbeen declined by many others. He was well rewarded for the undertaking. The success of the "Etudes de la

Nature" surpassed the most sanguineexpectation, even of the author. Four years after its publication, St. Pierre

gave to the world "Paul and Virginia, " which had for some timebeen lying in his portfolio. He had tried its

effect, in manuscript, on persons of different characters and pursuits. They had given it noapplause; but all had

shed tears at its perusal: and perhaps, few worksof a decidedly romantic character have ever been so generally

read, orso much approved. Among the great names whose admiration of it is onrecord, may be mentioned

Napoleon and Humboldt.

In 1789, he published "Les Veoeux d'un Solitaire, " and "La Suite desVoeux. " By the _Moniteur_ of the day,

these works were compared to thecelebrated pamphlet of Sieyes, --"Qu'est-ce que le tiers etat?" whichthen

absorbed all the public favour. In 1791, "La Chaumiere Indienne"was published: and in the following year,

about thirteen days beforethe celebrated 10th of August, Louis XVI. Appointed St. Pierresuperintendant of the

"Jardin des Plantes. " Soon afterwards, the King, on seeing him, complimented him on his writings and told

him he washappy to have found a worthy successor to Buffon.

Although deficient in the exact knowledge of the sciences, and knowinglittle of the world, St. Pierre was, by

his simplicity, and theretirement in which he lived, well suited, at that epoch, to thesituation. About this time,

and when in his fifty-seventh year, hemarried Mlle. Didot.

In 1795, he became a member of the French Academy, and, as was just, after his acceptance of this honour, he

wrote no more against literarysocieties. On the suppression of his place, he retired to Essonne. It isdelightful to

follow him there, and to contemplate his quiet existence. His days flowed on peaceably, occupied in the

publication of "LesHarmonies de la Nature, " the republication of his earlier works, andthe composition of

some lesser pieces. He himself affectingly regrets aninterruption to these occupations. On being appointed

Instructor to theNormal School, he says, "I am obliged to hang my harp on the willowsof my river, and to

accept an employment useful to my family and mycountry. I am afflicted at having to suspend an occupation

which hasgiven me so much happiness. "

He enjoyed in his old age, a degree of opulence, which, as much asglory, had perhaps been the object of his

ambition. In any case, it isgratifying to reflect, that after a life so full of chance and change, he was, in his

latter years, surrounded by much that should accompanyold age. His day of storms and tempests was closed

by an evening ofrepose and beauty.

Amid many other blessings, the elasticity of his mind was preserved tothe last. He died at Eragny sur l'Oise,

on the 21st of January, 1814. The stirring events which then occupied France, or rather the wholeworld,

caused his death to be little noticed at the time. The Academydid not, however, neglect to give him the honour

due to its members. Mons. Parseval Grand Maison pronounced a deserved eulogium on histalents, and Mons.

Aignan, also, the customary tribute, taking his seatas his successor.

Having himself contracted the habit of confiding his griefs and sorrowsto the public, the sanctuary of his

private life was open alike to thediscussion of friends and enemies. The biographer, who wishes to beexact,

and yet set down nought in malice, is forced to the contemplationof his errors. The secret of many of these, as

well as of his miseries, seems revealed by himself in this sentence: "I experience more pain froma single thorn,

than pleasure from a thousand roses. " And elsewhere, "The best society seems to me bad, if I find in it one

troublesome, wicked, slanderous, envious, or perfidious person. " Now, taking intoconsideration that St. Pierre

sometimes imagined persons who were reallygood, to be deserving of these strong and very contumacious

epithets, it would have been difficult indeed to find a society in which he couldhave been happy. He was,

therefore, wise, in seeking retirement, andindulging in solitude. His mistakes, --for they were mistakes,

--arosefrom a too quick perception of evil, united to an exquisite and diffusesensibility. When he felt wounded

by a thorn, he forgot the beauty andperfume of the rose to which it belonged, and from which perhaps itcould

not be separated. And he was exposed (as often happens) to thevery description of trials that were least in

harmony with his defects. Few dispositions could have run a career like his, and have remainedunscathed. But

one less tender than his own would have been less souredby it. For many years, he bore about with him the

consciousness ofunacknowledged talent. The world cannot be blamed for not appreciatingthat which had

never been revealed. But we know not what the jostlingand elbowing of that world, in the meantime, may

have been to him--howoften he may have felt himself unworthily treated--or how far thattreatment may have

preyed upon and corroded his heart. Who shallsay that with this consciousness there did not mingle a quick

andinstinctive perception of the hidden motives of action, --that he didnot sometimes detect, where others

might have been blind, theunder-shuffling of the hands, in the by-play of the world?

Through all his writings, and throughout his correspondence, there arebeautiful proofs of the tenderness of his

feelings, --the most essentialquality, perhaps, in any writer. It is at least, one that if notpossessed, can never be

attained. The familiarity of his imaginationwith natural objects, when he was living far removed from them,

isremarkable, and often affecting.

"I have arranged, " he says to Mr. Henin, his friend and patron, "veryinteresting materials, but it is only with

the light of Heaven overme that I can recover my strength. Obtain for me a _rabbit's hole_, inwhich I may pass

the summer in the country. " And again, "With the _firstviolet_, I shall come to see you. " It is soothing to

find, in passageslike these, such pleasing and convincing evidence that

"Nature never did betray, The heart that loved her. "

In the noise of a great city, in the midst of annoyances of many kindsthese images, impressed with quietness

and beauty, came back to the mindof St. Pierre, to cheer and animate him.

In alluding to his miseries, it is but fair to quote a passage fromhis "Voyage, " which reveals his fond

remembrance of his native land. "Ishould ever prefer my own country to every other, " he says, "not becauseit

was more beautiful, but because I was brought up in it. Happy he, who sees again the places where all was

loved, and all was lovely!--themeadows in which he played, and the orchard that he robbed!"

He returned to this country, so fondly loved and deeply cherished inabsence, to experience only trouble and

difficulty. Away from it, he hadyearned to behold it, --to fold it, as it were, once more to his bosom. He

returned to feel as if neglected by it, and all his rapturousemotions were changed to bitterness and gall. His

hopes had proveddelusions--his expectations, mockeries. Oh! who but must look withcharity and mercy on all

discontent and irritation consequent on sucha depth of disappointment: on what must have then appeared to

him suchunmitigable woe. Under the influence of these saddened feelings, histhoughts flew back to the island

he had left, to place all beauty, aswell as all happiness, there!

One great proof that he did beautify the distant, may be found in thecontrast of some of the descriptions in the

"Voyage a l'Ile de France, "and those in "Paul and Virginia. " That spot, which when peopled by thecherished

creatures of his imagination, he described as an enchantingand delightful Eden, he had previously spoken of as

a "rugged countrycovered with rocks, "--"a land of Cyclops blackened by fire. " Truth, probably, lies between

the two representations; the sadness ofexile having darkened the one, and the exuberance of his

imaginationembellished the other.

St. Pierre's merit as an author has been too long and too universallyacknowledged, to make it needful that it

should be dwelt on here. Acareful review of the circumstances of his life induces the belief, thathis writings

grew (if it may be permitted so to speak) out of his life. In his most imaginative passages, to whatever height

his fancy soared, the starting point seems ever from a fact. The past appears to have beenalways spread out

before him when he wrote, like a beautiful landscape, on which his eye rested with complacency, and from

which his mindtransferred and idealized some objects, without a servile imitationof any. When at Berlin, he

had had it in his power to marry VirginiaTabenheim; and in Russia, Mlle. De la Tour, the niece of

GeneralDubosquet, would have accepted his hand. He was too poor to marryeither. A grateful recollection

caused him to bestow the names of thetwo on his most beloved creation. Paul was the name of a friar,

withwhom he had associated in his childhood, and whose life he wished toimitate. How little had the owners

of these names anticipated thatthey were to become the baptismal appellations of half a generation inFrance,

and to be re-echoed through the world to the end of time!

It was St. Pierre who first discovered the poverty of languagewith regard to picturesque descriptions. In his

earliest work, theoften-quoted "Voyages, " he complains, that the terms for describingnature are not yet

invented. "Endeavour, " he says, "to describe amountain in such a manner that it may be recognised. When

you havespoken of its base, its sides, its summit, you will have said all!But what variety there is to be found in

those swelling, lengthened, flattened, or cavernous forms! It is only by periphrasis that all thiscan be

expressed. The same difficulty exists for plains and valleys. But if you have a palace to describe, there is no

longer any difficulty. Every moulding has its appropriate name. "

It was St. Pierre's glory, in some degree, to triumph over thisdearth of expression. Few authors ever introduced

more new terms intodescriptive writing: yet are his innovations ever chastened, and in goodtaste. His style, in

its elegant simplicity, is, indeed, perfection. Itis at once sonorous and sweet, and always in harmony with the

sentimenthe would express, or the subject he would discuss. Chenier might wellarm himself with "Paul and

Virginia, " and the "Chaumiere Indienne, " inopposition to those writers, who, as he said, made prose

unnatural, byseeking to elevate it into verse.

The "Etudes de la Nature" embraced a thousand different subjects, andcontained some new ideas on all. It is to

the honour of human nature, that after the uptearing of so many sacred opinions, a production likethis,

revealing the chain of connection through the works of Creation, and the Creator in his works, should have

been hailed, as it was, withenthusiasm.

His motto, from his favourite poet Virgil, "Taught by calamity, I pitythe unhappy, " won for him, perhaps

many readers. And in its touchingillusions, the unhappy may have found suspension from the realities oflife,

as well as encouragement to support its trials. For, throughout, it infuses admiration of the arrangements of

Providence, and a desirefor virtue. More than one modern poet may be supposed to have drawn aportion of his

inspiration, from the "Etudes. " As a work of science itcontains many errors. These, particularly his theory of

the tides, (*)St. Pierre maintained to the last, and so eloquently, that it was saidat the time, to be impossible to

unite less reason with more logic.

(*) Occasioned, according to St. Pierre, by the melting of the ice at the Poles.

In "Paul and Virginia, " he was supremely fortunate in his subject. Itwas an entirely new creation, uninspired

by any previous work; but whichgave birth to many others, having furnished the plot to six theatricalpieces. It

was a subject to which the author could bring all hisexcellences as a writer and a man, while his deficiencies

and defectswere necessarily excluded. In no manner could he incorporate politics, science, or misapprehension

of persons, while his sensibility, morals, and wonderful talent for description, were in perfect accordance with,

and ornaments to it. Lemontey and Sainte-Beuve both consider successto be inseparable from the happy

selection of a story so entirely inharmony with the character of the author; and that the most successfulwriters

might envy him so fortunate a choice. Buonaparte was in thehabit of saying, whenever he saw St. Pierre, "M.

Bernardin, when do youmean to give us more Pauls and Virginias, and Indian Cottages? You oughtto give us

some every six months. "

The "Indian Cottage, " if not quite equal in interest to "Paul andVirginia, " is still a charming production, and

does great honour to thegenius of its author. It abounds in antique and Eastern gems of thought. Striking and

excellent comparisons are scattered through its pages; andit is delightful to reflect, that the following beautiful

and solemnanswer of the Paria was, with St. Pierre, the results of his ownexperience:--"Misfortune resembles

the Black Mountain of Bember, situated at the extremity of the burning kingdom of Lahore; while youare

climbing it, you only see before you barren rocks; but when you havereached its summit, you see heaven

above your head, and at your feet thekingdom of Cachemere. "

When this passage was written, the rugged, and sterile rock had beenclimbed by its gifted author. He had

reached the summit, --his genius hadbeen rewarded, and he himself saw the heaven he wished to point out

toothers.

SARAH JONES.

[For the facts contained in this brief Memoir, I am indebted to St. Pierre's own works, to the "Biographie

Universelle, " to the "Essai sur la Vie et les Ouvrages de Bernardin de St. Pierre, " by M. Aime Martin, and to

the very excellent and interesting "Notice Historique et Litteraire, " of M. Sainte- Beauve. ]

PAUL AND VIRGINIA

Situated on the eastern side of the mountain which rises above PortLouis, in the Mauritius, upon a piece of

land bearing the marks offormer cultivation, are seen the ruins of two small cottages. Theseruins are not far

from the centre of a valley, formed by immense rocks, and which opens only towards the north. On the left

rises the mountaincalled the Height of Discovery, whence the eye marks the distant sailwhen it first touches

the verge of the horizon, and whence the signal isgiven when a vessel approaches the island. At the foot of this

mountainstands the town of Port Louis. On the right is formed the road whichstretches from Port Louis to the

Shaddock Grove, where the churchbearing that name lifts its head, surrounded by its avenues of bamboo, in

the middle of a spacious plain; and the prospect terminates in aforest extending to the furthest bounds of the

island. The front viewpresents the bay, denominated the Bay of the Tomb; a little on the rightis seen the Cape

of Misfortune; and beyond rolls the expanded ocean, on the surface of which appear a few uninhabited islands;

and, amongothers, the Point of Endeavour, which resembles a bastion built upon theflood.

At the entrance of the valley which presents these various objects, the echoes of the mountain incessantly

repeat the hollow murmurs of thewinds that shake the neighbouring forests, and the tumultuous dashing ofthe

waves which break at a distance upon the cliffs; but near the ruinedcottages all is calm and still, and the only

objects which there meetthe eye are rude steep rocks, that rise like a surrounding rampart. Large clumps of

trees grow at their base, on their rifted sides, andeven on their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to repose.

Theshowers, which their bold points attract, often paint the vivid coloursof the rainbow on their green and

brown declivities, and swell thesources of the little river which flows at their feet, called the riverof

Fan-Palms. Within this inclosure reigns the most profound silence. The waters, the air, all the elements are at

peace. Scarcely does theecho repeat the whispers of the palm-trees spreading their broad leaves, the long

points of which are gently agitated by the winds. A soft lightillumines the bottom of this deep valley, on which

the sun shines onlyat noon. But, even at the break of day, the rays of light are thrown onthe surrounding rocks;

and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadowsof the mountain, appear like tints of gold and purple gleaming

upon theazure sky.

To this scene I loved to resort, as I could here enjoy at once therichness of an unbounded landscape, and the

charm of uninterruptedsolitude. One day, when I was seated at the foot of the cottages, andcontemplating their

ruins, a man, advanced in years, passed near thespot. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the island, his feet

werebare, and he leaned upon a staff of ebony; his hair was white, and theexpression of his countenance was

dignified and interesting. I bowed tohim with respect; he returned the salutation; and, after looking at mewith

some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the hillock on whichI was seated. Encouraged by this mark

of confidence I thusaddressed him: "Father, can you tell me to whom those cottages oncebelonged?"--"My

son, " replied the old man, "those heaps of rubbish, and that untilled land, were, twenty years ago, the property

of twofamilies, who then found happiness in this solitude. Their history isaffecting; but what European,

pursuing his way to the Indies, will pauseone moment to interest himself in the fate of a few obscure

individuals?What European can picture happiness to his imagination amidst povertyand neglect? The curiosity

of mankind is only attracted by thehistory of the great, and yet from that knowledge little use canbe derived.

"--"Father, " I rejoined, "from your manner and yourobservations, I perceive that you have acquired much

experience of humanlife. If you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech you, the history ofthe ancient inhabitants

of this desert; and be assured, that eventhe men who are most perverted by the prejudices of the world, finda

soothing pleasure in contemplating that happiness which belongs tosimplicity and virtue. " The old man, after

a short silence, during whichhe leaned his face upon his hands, as if he were trying to recall theimages of the

past, thus began his narration:--

Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was a native of Normandy, afterhaving in vain solicited a commission

in the French army, or somesupport from his own family, at length determined to seek his fortune inthis

island, where he arrived in 1726. He brought hither a young woman, whom he loved tenderly, and by whom

he was no less tenderly beloved. Shebelonged to a rich and ancient family of the same province: but he

hadmarried her secretly and without fortune, and in opposition to the willof her relations, who refused their

consent because he was found guiltyof being descended from parents who had no claims to nobility.

Monsieurde la Tour, leaving his wife at Port Louis, embarked for Madagascar, inorder to purchase a few

slaves, to assist him in forming a plantation onthis island. He landed at Madagascar during that unhealthy

season whichcommences about the middle of October; and soon after his arrival diedof the pestilential fever,

which prevails in that island six months ofthe year, and which will forever baffle the attempts of the

Europeannations to form establishments on that fatal soil. His effects wereseized upon by the rapacity of

strangers, as commonly happens to personsdying in foreign parts; and his wife, who was pregnant, found

herself awidow in a country where she had neither credit nor acquaintance, and noearthly possession, or rather

support, but one negro woman. Too delicateto solicit protection or relief from any one else after the death

ofhim whom alone she loved, misfortune armed her with courage, and sheresolved to cultivate, with her slave,

a little spot of ground, andprocure for herself the means of subsistence.

Desert as was the island, and the ground left to the choice of thesettler, she avoided those spots which were

most fertile and mostfavorable to commerce: seeking some nook of the mountain, some secretasylum where

she might live solitary and unknown, she bent her wayfrom the town towards these rocks, where she might

conceal herselffrom observation. All sensitive and suffering creatures, from a sort ofcommon instinct, fly for

refuge amidst their pains to haunts themost wild and desolate; as if rocks could form a rampart

againstmisfortune--as if the calm of Nature could hush the tumults of the soul. That Providence, which lends

its support when we ask but the supply ofour necessary wants, had a blessing in reserve for Madame de la

Tour, which neither riches nor greatness can purchase:--this blessing was afriend.

The spot to which Madame de la Tour had fled had already been inhabitedfor a year by a young woman of a

lively, good-natured and affectionatedisposition. Margaret (for that was her name) was born in Brittany, of

afamily of peasants, by whom she was cherished and beloved, and withwhom she might have passed through

life in simple rustic happiness, if, misled by the weakness of a tender heart, she had not listened to thepassion

of a gentleman in the neighbourhood, who promised her marriage. He soon abandoned her, and adding

inhumanity to seduction, refused toinsure a provision for the child of which she was pregnant. Margaretthen

determined to leave forever her native village, and retire, whereher fault might be concealed, to some colony

distant from that countrywhere she had lost the only portion of a poor peasant girl--herreputation. With some

borrowed money she purchased an old negro slave, with whom she cultivated a little corner of this district.

Madame de la Tour, followed by her negro woman, came to this spot, whereshe found Margaret engaged in

suckling her child. Soothed and charmed bythe sight of a person in a situation somewhat similar to her own,

Madamede la Tour related, in a few words, her past condition and her presentwants. Margaret was deeply

affected by the recital; and more anxious tomerit confidence than to create esteem, she confessed without

disguise, the errors of which she had been guilty. "As for me, " said she, "I deserve my fate: but you,

madam--you! at once virtuous andunhappy"--and, sobbing, she offered Madame de la Tour both her hut

andher friendship. That lady, affected by this tender reception, pressedher in her arms, and exclaimed, --"Ah

surely Heaven has put an end to mymisfortunes, since it inspires you, to whom I am a stranger, with

moregoodness towards me than I have ever experienced from my own relations!"

I was acquainted with Margaret: and, although my habitation is a leagueand a half from hence, in the woods

behind that sloping mountain, Iconsidered myself as her neighbour. In the cities of Europe, a street, even a

simple wall, frequently prevents members of the same family frommeeting for years; but in new colonies we

consider those persons asneighbours from whom we are divided only by woods and mountains; andabove all

at that period, when this island had little intercourse withthe Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim to friendship,

and hospitalitytowards strangers seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No sooner was Iinformed that Margaret

had found a companion, than I hastened to her, inthe hope of being useful to my neighbour and her guest. I

found Madamede la Tour possessed of all those melancholy graces which, byblending sympathy with

admiration give to beauty additional power. Her countenance was interesting, expressive at once of dignity

anddejection. She appeared to be in the last stage of her pregnancy. I toldthe two friends that for the future

interests of their children, andto prevent the intrusion of any other settler, they had better dividebetween them

the property of this wild, sequestered valley, which isnearly twenty acres in extent. They confided that task to

me, and Imarked out two equal portions of land. One included the higher part ofthis enclosure, from the

cloudy pinnacle of that rock, whence springsthe river of Fan-Palms, to that precipitous cleft which you see on

thesummit of the mountain, and which, from its resemblance in form to thebattlement of a fortress, is called

the Embrasure. It is difficult tofind a path along this wild portion of the enclosure, the soil of whichis

encumbered with fragments of rock, or worn into channels formedby torrents; yet it produces noble trees, and

innumerable springs andrivulets. The other portion of land comprised the plain extending alongthe banks of

the river of Fan-Palms, to the opening where we are nowseated, whence the river takes its course between

these two hills, untilit falls into the sea. You may still trace the vestiges of some meadowland; and this part of

the common is less rugged, but not more valuablethan the other; since in the rainy season it becomes marshy,

and in dryweather is so hard and unyielding, that it will almost resist the strokeof the pickaxe. When I had thus

divided the property, I persuaded myneighbours to draw lots for their respective possessions. The

higherportion of land, containing the source of the river of Fan-Palms, becamethe property of Madame de la

Tour; the lower, comprising the plainon the banks of the river, was allotted to Margaret; and each

seemedsatisfied with her share. They entreated me to place their habitationstogether, that they might at all

times enjoy the soothing intercourseof friendship, and the consolation of mutual kind offices.

Margaret'scottage was situated near the centre of the valley, and just on theboundary of her own plantation.

Close to that spot I built anothercottage for the residence of Madame de la Tour; and thus the twofriends,

while they possessed all the advantages of neighbourhood livedon their own property. I myself cut palisades

from the mountain, andbrought leaves of fan-palms from the sea-shore in order to constructthose two cottages,

of which you can now discern neither the entrancenor the roof. Yet, alas! there still remains but too many

traces formy remembrance! Time, which so rapidly destroys the proud monuments ofempires, seems in this

desert to spare those of friendship, as if toperpetuate my regrets to the last hour of my existence.

As soon as the second cottage was finished, Madame de la Tour wasdelivered of a girl. I had been the

godfather of Margaret's child, whowas christened by the name of Paul. Madame de la Tour desired me

toperform the same office for her child also, together with her friend, who gave her the name of Virginia. "She

will be virtuous, " criedMargaret, "and she will be happy. I have only known misfortune bywandering from

virtue. "

About the time Madame de la Tour recovered, these two little estates hadalready begun to yield some produce,

perhaps in a small degree owingto the care which I occasionally bestowed on their improvement, but farmore

to the indefatigable labours of the two slaves. Margaret's slave, who was called Domingo, was still healthy and

robust, though advanced inyears: he possessed some knowledge, and a good natural understanding. He

cultivated indiscriminately, on both plantations, the spots of groundthat seemed most fertile, and sowed

whatever grain he thought mostcongenial to each particular soil. Where the ground was poor, he

strewedmaize; where it was most fruitful, he planted wheat; and rice in suchspots as were marshy. He threw

the seeds of gourds and cucumbers at thefoot of the rocks, which they loved to climb and decorate with

theirluxuriant foliage. In dry spots he cultivated the sweet potatoe; thecotton-tree flourished upon the heights,

and the sugar-cane grew in theclayey soil. He reared some plants of coffee on the hills, where thegrain,

although small, is excellent. His plantain-trees, which spreadtheir grateful shade on the banks of the river, and

encircled thecottages, yielded fruit throughout the year. And lastly, Domingo, tosoothe his cares, cultivated a

few plants of tobacco. Sometimes he wasemployed in cutting wood for firing from the mountain, sometimes

inhewing pieces of rock within the enclosure, in order to level the paths. The zeal which inspired him enabled

him to perform all these labourswith intelligence and activity. He was much attached to Margaret, andnot less

to Madame de la Tour, whose negro woman, Mary, he had marriedon the birth of Virginia; and he was

passionately fond of his wife. Marywas born at Madagascar, and had there acquired the knowledge of

someuseful arts. She could weave baskets, and a sort of stuff, with longgrass that grows in the woods. She was

active, cleanly, and, above all, faithful. It was her care to prepare their meals, to rear the poultry, and go

sometimes to Port Louis, to sell the superfluous produce of theselittle plantations, which was not however,

very considerable. If youadd to the personages already mentioned two goats, which were brought upwith the

children, and a great dog, which kept watch at night, you willhave a complete idea of the household, as well as

of the productions ofthese two little farms.

Madame de la Tour and her friend were constantly employed in spinningcotton for the use of their families.

Destitute of everything whichtheir own industry could not supply, at home they went bare-footed:shoes were a

convenience reserved for Sunday, on which day, at an earlyhour, they attended mass at the church of the

Shaddock Grove, whichyou see yonder. That church was more distant from their homes than PortLouis; but

they seldom visited the town, lest they should be treatedwith contempt on account of their dress, which

consisted simply of thecoarse blue linen of Bengal, usually worn by slaves. But is there, in that external

deference which fortune commands, a compensation fordomestic happiness? If these interesting women had

something to sufferfrom the world, their homes on that very account became more dear tothem. No sooner did

Mary and Domingo, from this elevated spot, perceivetheir mistresses on the road of the Shaddock Grove, than

they flew tothe foot of the mountain in order to help them to ascend. They discernedin the looks of their

domestics the joy which their return excited. Theyfound in their retreat neatness, independence, all the

blessings whichare the recompense of toil, and they received the zealous serviceswhich spring from affection.

United by the tie of similar wants, and thesympathy of similar misfortunes, they gave each other the tender

namesof companion, friend, sister. They had but one will, one interest, onetable. All their possessions were in

common. And if sometimes a passionmore ardent than friendship awakened in their hearts the pang

ofunavailing anguish, a pure religion, united with chaste manners, drewtheir affections towards another life: as

the trembling flame risestowards heaven, when it no longer finds any ailment on earth.

The duties of maternity became a source of additional happiness to theseaffectionate mothers, whose mutual

friendship gained new strength atthe sight of their children, equally the offspring of an ill-fatedattachment.

They delighted in washing their infants together in the samebath, in putting them to rest in the same cradle,

and in changing thematernal bosom at which they received nourishment. "My friend, " criedMadame de la

Tour, "we shall each of us have two children, and eachof our children will have two mothers. " As two buds

which remain ondifferent trees of the same kind, after the tempest has broken all theirbranches, produce more

delicious fruit, if each, separated from thematernal stem, be grafted on the neighbouring tree, so these

twoinfants, deprived of all their other relations, when thus exchangedfor nourishment by those who had given

them birth, imbibed feelings ofaffection still more tender than those of son and daughter, brother andsister.

While they were yet in their cradles, their mothers talked oftheir marriage. They soothed their own cares by

looking forward to thefuture happiness of their children; but this contemplation often drewforth their tears.

The misfortunes of one mother had arisen from havingneglected marriage; those of the other from having

submitted to itslaws. One had suffered by aiming to rise above her condition, the otherby descending from her

rank. But they found consolation in reflectingthat their more fortunate children, far from the cruel prejudices

ofEurope, would enjoy at once the pleasures of love and the blessings ofequality.

Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment been seen as that which thetwo children already testified for each

other. If Paul complained ofanything, his mother pointed to Virginia: at her sight he smiled, andwas appeased.

If any accident befel Virginia, the cries of Paul gavenotice of the disaster; but the dear little creature would

suppressher complaints if she found that he was unhappy. When I came hither, I usually found them quite

naked, as is the custom of the country, tottering in their walk, and holding each other by the hands and

underthe arms, as we see represented in the constellation of the Twins. Atnight these infants often refused to

be separated, and were found lyingin the same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms pressed close together, their

hands thrown round each other's neck, and sleeping, locked in oneanother's arms.

When they first began to speak, the first name they learned to give eachother were those of brother and sister,

and childhood knows no softerappellation. Their education, by directing them ever to consider eachother's

wants, tended greatly to increase their affection. In a shorttime, all the household economy, the care of

preparing their ruralrepasts, became the task of Virginia, whose labours were always crownedwith the praises

and kisses of her brother. As for Paul, always inmotion, he dug the garden with Domingo, or followed him

with a littlehatchet into the woods; and if, in his rambles he espied a beautifulflower, any delicious fruit, or a

nest of birds, even at the top of thetree, he would climb up and bring the spoil to his sister. When you metone

of these children, you might be sure the other was not far off.

One day as I was coming down that mountain, I saw Virginia at the end ofthe garden running towards the

house with her petticoat thrown over herhead, in order to screen herself from a shower of rain. At a distance, I

thought she was alone; but as I hastened towards her in order to helpher on, I perceived she held Paul by the

arm, almost entirely envelopedin the same canopy, and both were laughing heartily at their beingsheltered

together under an umbrella of their own invention. Those twocharming faces in the middle of a swelling

petticoat, recalled to mymind the children of Leda, enclosed in the same shell.

Their sole study was how they could please and assist one another; forof all other things they were ignorant,

and indeed could neither readnor write. They were never disturbed by inquiries about past times, nordid their

curiosity extend beyond the bounds of their mountain. Theybelieved the world ended at the shores of their

own island, and alltheir ideas and all their affections were confined within its limits. Their mutual tenderness,

and that of their mothers, employed all theenergies of their minds. Their tears had never been called forth

bytedious application to useless sciences. Their minds had never beenwearied by lessons of morality,

superfluous to bosoms unconscious ofill. They had never been taught not to steal, because every thing

withthem was in common: or not to be intemperate, because their simplefood was left to their own discretion;

or not to lie, because they hadnothing to conceal. Their young imaginations had never been terrifiedby the idea

that God has punishment in store for ungrateful children, since, with them, filial affection arose naturally from

maternaltenderness. All they had been taught of religion was to love it, and ifthey did not offer up long prayers

in the church, wherever they were, inthe house, in the fields, in the woods, they raised towards heaven

theirinnocent hands, and hearts purified by virtuous affections.

All their early childhood passed thus, like a beautiful dawn, theprelude of a bright day. Already they assisted

their mothers in theduties of the household. As soon as the crowing of the wakeful cockannounced the first

beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and hastened todraw water from a neighbouring spring: then returning to

the house sheprepared the breakfast. When the rising sun gilded the points of therocks which overhang the

enclosure in which they lived, Margaret and herchild repaired to the dwelling of Madame de la Tour, where

they offeredup their morning prayer together. This sacrifice of thanksgiving alwayspreceded their first repast,

which they often took before the door ofthe cottage, seated upon the grass, under a canopy of plantain:

andwhile the branches of that delicious tree afforded a grateful shade, itsfruit furnished a substantial food

ready prepared for them by nature, and its long glossy leaves, spread upon the table, supplied the place

oflinen. Plentiful and wholesome nourishment gave early growth and vigourto the persons of these children,

and their countenances expressed thepurity and the peace of their souls. At twelve years of age the figureof

Virginia was in some degree formed: a profusion of light hair shadedher face, to which her blue eyes and coral

lips gave the most charmingbrilliancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when she spoke; but when shewas

silent they were habitually turned upwards, with an expression ofextreme sensibility, or rather of tender

melancholy. The figure of Paulbegan already to display the graces of youthful beauty. He was tallerthan

Virginia: his skin was of a darker tint; his nose more aquiline;and his black eyes would have been too piercing,

if the long eye-lashesby which they were shaded, had not imparted to them an expression ofsoftness. He was

constantly in motion, except when his sister appeared, and then, seated by her side, he became still. Their

meals often passedwithout a word being spoken; and from their silence, the simple eleganceof their attitudes,

and the beauty of their naked feet, you might havefancied you beheld an antique group of white marble,

representing someof the children of Niobe, but for the glances of their eyes, which wereconstantly seeking to

meet, and their mutual soft and tender smiles, which suggested rather the idea of happy celestial spirits, whose

natureis love, and who are not obliged to have recourse to words for theexpression of their feelings.

In the meantime Madame de la Tour, perceiving every day some unfoldinggrace, some new beauty, in her

daughter, felt her maternal anxietyincrease with her tenderness. She often said to me, "If I were to die, what

would become of Virginia without fortune?"

Madame de la Tour had an aunt in France, who was a woman of quality, rich, old, and a complete devotee.

She had behaved with so muchcruelty towards her niece upon her marriage, that Madame de la Tourhad

determined no extremity of distress should ever compel her to haverecourse to her hard-hearted relation. But

when she became a mother, thepride of resentment was overcome by the stronger feelings of

maternaltenderness. She wrote to her aunt, informing her of the sudden death ofher husband, the birth of her

daughter, and the difficulties in whichshe was involved, burthened as she was with an infant, and without

meansof support. She received no answer; but notwithstanding the high spiritnatural to her character, she no

longer feared exposing herself tomortification; and, although she knew her aunt would never pardon herfor

having married a man who was not of noble birth, however estimable, she continued to write to her, with the

hope of awakening her compassionfor Virginia. Many years, however passed without receiving any token

ofher remembrance.

At length, in 1738, three years after the arrival of Monsieur de laBourdonnais in this island, Madame de la

Tour was informed that theGovernor had a letter to give her from her aunt. She flew to Port Louis;maternal

joy raised her mind above all trifling considerations, andshe was careless on this occasion of appearing in her

homely attire. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais gave her a letter from her aunt, in which sheinformed her, that she

deserved her fate for marrying an adventurer anda libertine: that the passions brought with them their own

punishment;that the premature death of her husband was a just visitation fromHeaven; that she had done well

in going to a distant island, rather thandishonour her family by remaining in France; and that, after all, inthe

colony where she had taken refuge, none but the idle failed togrow rich. Having thus censured her niece, she

concluded by eulogizingherself. To avoid, she said, the almost inevitable evils of marriage, she had

determined to remain single. In fact, as she was of a veryambitious disposition she had resolved to marry none

but a man ofhigh rank; but although she was very rich, her fortune was not founda sufficient bribe, even at

court, to counterbalance the malignantdispositions of her mind, and the disagreeable qualities of her person.

After mature deliberations, she added, in a postscript, that she hadstrongly recommended her niece to

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This shehad indeed done, but in a manner of late too common which renders

apatron perhaps even more to be feared than a declared enemy; for, inorder to justify herself for her harshness,

she had cruelly slanderedher niece, while she affected to pity her misfortunes.

Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced person could have seen withoutfeelings of sympathy and respect,

was received with the utmost coolnessby Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, biased as he was against her. When

shepainted to him her own situation and that of her child, he replied inabrupt sentences, --"We shall see what

can be done--there are so many torelieve--all in good time--why did you displease your aunt?--you havebeen

much to blame. "

Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her heart torn with grief, and filled with all the bitterness of

disappointment. When shearrived, she threw her aunt's letter on the table, and exclaimed to herfriend, --"There

is the fruit of eleven years of patient expectation!"Madame de la Tour being the only person in the little circle

who couldread, she again took up the letter, and read it aloud. Scarcely hadshe finished, when Margaret

exclaimed, "What have we to do with yourrelations? Has God then forsaken us? He only is our father! Have

we nothitherto been happy? Why then this regret? You have no courage. "Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears,

she threw herself upon her neck, and pressing her in her arms, --"My dear friend!" cried she, "my

dearfriend!"--but her emotion choked her utterance. At this sight Virginiaburst into tears, and pressed her

mother's and Margaret's handalternately to her lips and heart; while Paul, his eyes inflamed withanger, cried,

clasped his hands together, and stamped his foot, notknowing whom to blame for this scene of misery. The

noise soon broughtDomingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habitation resounded withcries of distress,

--"Ah, madame!--My good mistress!--My dear mother!--Donot weep!" These tender proofs of affections at

length dispelled thegrief of Madame de la Tour. She took Paul and Virginia in her arms, and, embracing them,

said, "You are the cause of my affliction, my children, but you are also my only source of delight! Yes, my

dear children, misfortune has reached me, but only from a distance: here, I amsurrounded with happiness. "

Paul and Virginia did not understand thisreflection; but, when they saw that she was calm, they smiled,

andcontinued to caress her. Tranquillity was thus restored in this happyfamily, and all that had passed was but

a storm in the midst of fineweather, which disturbs the serenity of the atmosphere but for a shorttime, and then

passes away.

The amiable disposition of these children unfolded itself daily. OneSunday, at day-break, their mothers having

gone to mass at the churchof Shaddock Grove, the children perceived a negro woman beneath theplantains

which surrounded their habitation. She appeared almost wastedto a skeleton, and had no other garment than a

piece of coarse cloththrown around her. She threw herself at the feet of Virginia, who waspreparing the family

breakfast, and said, "My good young lady, have pityon a poor runaway slave. For a whole month I have

wandered among thesemountains, half dead with hunger, and often pursued by the hunters andtheir dogs. I

fled from my master, a rich planter of the Black River, who has used me as you see;" and she showed her body

marked with scarsfrom the lashes she had received. She added, "I was going to drownmyself, but hearing you

lived here, I said to myself, since there arestill some good white people in this country, I need not die yet.

"Virginia answered with emotion, --"Take courage, unfortunate creature!here is something to eat;" and she

gave her the breakfast she had beenpreparing, which the slave in a few minutes devoured. When her

hungerwas appeased, Virginia said to her, --"Poor woman! I should like to goand ask forgiveness for you of

your master. Surely the sight of youwill touch him with pity. Will you show me the way?"--"Angel of

heaven!"answered the poor negro woman, "I will follow you where you please!"Virginia called her brother,

and begged him to accompany her. The slaveled the way, by winding and difficult paths, through the woods,

overmountains, which they climbed with difficulty, and across rivers, through which they were obliged to

wade. At length, about the middle ofthe day, they reached the foot of a steep descent upon the borders ofthe

Black River. There they perceived a well-built house, surrounded byextensive plantations, and a number of

slaves employed in their variouslabours. Their master was walking among them with a pipe in his mouth, and

a switch in his hand. He was a tall thin man, of a brown complexion;his eyes were sunk in his head, and his

dark eyebrows were joinedin one. Virginia, holding Paul by the hand, drew near, and with muchemotion

begged him, for the love of God, to pardon his poor slave, whostood trembling a few paces behind. The

planter at first paid littleattention to the children, who, he saw, were meanly dressed. But whenhe observed the

elegance of Virginia's form, and the profusion of herbeautiful light tresses which had escaped from beneath

her blue cap;when he heard the soft tone of her voice, which trembled, as well as herwhole frame, while she

implored his compassion; he took his pipe fromhis mouth, and lifting up his stick, swore, with a terrible oath,

thathe pardoned his slave, not for the love of Heaven, but of her who askedhis forgiveness. Virginia made a

sign to the slave to approach hermaster; and instantly sprang away followed by Paul.

They climbed up the steep they had descended; and having gained thesummit, seated themselves at the foot of

a tree, overcome with fatigue, hunger and thirst. They had left their home fasting, and walked fiveleagues

since sunrise. Paul said to Virginia, --"My dear sister, it ispast noon, and I am sure you are thirsty and hungry:

we shall find nodinner here; let us go down the mountain again, and ask the masterof the poor slave for some

food. "--"Oh, no, " answered Virginia, "hefrightens me too much. Remember what mamma sometimes says,

'The breadof the wicked is like stones in the mouth. ' "--"What shall we do then, "said Paul; "these trees

produce no fruit fit to eat; and I shall not beable to find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh you. "--"God

will takecare of us, " replied Virginia; "he listens to the cry even of the littlebirds when they ask him for food.

" Scarcely had she pronounced thesewords when they heard the noise of water falling from a

neighbouringrock. They ran thither and having quenched their thirst at this crystalspring, they gathered and ate

a few cresses which grew on the borderof the stream. Soon afterwards while they were wandering backwards

andforwards in search of more solid nourishment, Virginia perceived inthe thickest part of the forest, a young

palm-tree. The kind of cabbagewhich is found at the top of the palm, enfolded within its leaves, is well

adapted for food; but, although the stock of the tree is notthicker than a man's leg, it grows to above sixty feet

in height. Thewood of the tree, indeed, is composed only of very fine filaments; butthe bark is so hard that it

turns the edge of the hatchet, and Paul wasnot furnished even with a knife. At length he thought of setting fire

tothe palm-tree; but a new difficulty occurred: he had no steel with whichto strike fire; and although the whole

island is covered with rocks, I do not believe it is possible to find a single flint. Necessity, however, is fertile

in expedients, and the most useful inventions havearisen from men placed in the most destitute situations. Paul

determinedto kindle a fire after the manner of the negroes. With the sharp end ofa stone he made a small hole

in the branch of a tree that was quite dry, and which he held between his feet: he then, with the edge of the

samestone, brought to a point another dry branch of a different sort ofwood, and, afterwards, placing the piece

of pointed wood in the smallhole of the branch which he held with his feet and turning it rapidlybetween his

hands, in a few minutes smoke and sparks of fire issuedfrom the point of contact. Paul then heaped together

dried grass andbranches, and set fire to the foot of the palm-tree, which soon fell tothe ground with a

tremendous crash. The fire was further useful to himin stripping off the long, thick, and pointed leaves, within

which thecabbage was inclosed. Having thus succeeded in obtaining this fruit, they ate part of it raw, and part

dressed upon the ashes, which theyfound equally palatable. They made this frugal repast with delight, from the

remembrances of the benevolent action they had performed in themorning: yet their joy was embittered by the

thoughts of the uneasinesswhich their long absence from home would occasion their mothers. Virginia often

recurred to this subject; but Paul, who felt his strengthrenewed by their meal, assured her, that it would not be

long beforethey reached home, and, by the assurance of their safety, tranquillizedthe minds of their parents.

After dinner they were much embarrassed by the recollection that theyhad now no guide, and that they were

ignorant of the way. Paul, whosespirit was not subdued by difficulties, said to Virginia, --"The sunshines full

upon our huts at noon: we must pass, as we did this morning, over that mountain with its three points, which

you see yonder. Come, let us be moving. " This mountain was that of the Three Breasts, socalled from the

form of its three peaks. They then descended the steepbank of the Black River, on the northern side; and

arrived, after anhour's walk, on the banks of a large river, which stopped their furtherprogress. This large

portion of the island, covered as it is withforests, is even now so little known that many of its rivers

andmountains have not yet received a name. The stream, on the banks ofwhich Paul and Virginia were now

standing, rolls foaming over a bed ofrocks. The noise of the water frightened Virginia, and she was afraidto

wade through the current: Paul therefore took her up in his arms, andwent thus loaded over the slippery rocks,

which formed the bed ofthe river, careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters. "Do not beafraid, " cried he to

Virginia; "I feel very strong with you. If thatplanter at the Black River had refused you the pardon of his slave,

I would have fought with him. "--"What!" answered Virginia, "with thatgreat wicked man? To what have I

exposed you! Gracious heaven! howdifficult it is to do good! and yet it is so easy to do wrong. "

When Paul had crossed the river, he wished to continue the journeycarrying his sister: and he flattered himself

that he could ascendin that way the mountain of the Three Breasts, which was still at thedistance of half a

league; but his strength soon failed, and he wasobliged to set down his burthen, and to rest himself by her side.

Virginia then said to him, "My dear brother, the sun is going down; youhave still some strength left, but mine

has quite failed: do leave mehere, and return home alone to ease the fears of our mothers. "--"Oh no, "said

Paul, "I will not leave you if night overtakes us in this wood, Iwill light a fire, and bring down another

palm-tree: you shall eat thecabbage, and I will form a covering of the leaves to shelter you. " Inthe meantime,

Virginia being a little rested, she gathered from thetrunk of an old tree, which overhung the bank of the river,

some longleaves of the plant called hart's tongue, which grew near its root. Ofthese leaves she made a sort of

buskin, with which she covered her feet, that were bleeding from the sharpness of the stony paths; for in

hereager desire to do good, she had forgotten to put on her shoes. Feelingher feet cooled by the freshness of

the leaves, she broke off a branchof bamboo, and continued her walk, leaning with one hand on the staff, and

with the other on Paul.

They walked on in this manner slowly through the woods; but from theheight of the trees, and the thickness of

their foliage, they soon lostsight of the mountain of the Three Breasts, by which they had hithertodirected their

course, and also of the sun, which was now setting. Atlength they wandered, without perceiving it, from the

beaten path inwhich they had hitherto walked, and found themselves in a labyrinth oftrees, underwood, and

rocks, whence there appeared to be no outlet. Paul made Virginia sit down, while he ran backwards and

forwards, halffrantic, in search of a path which might lead them out of this thickwood; but he fatigued himself

to no purpose. He then climbed to the topof a lofty tree, whence he hoped at least to perceive the mountain

ofthe Three Breasts: but he could discern nothing around him but the topsof trees, some of which were gilded

with the last beams of the settingsun. Already the shadows of the mountains were spreading over theforests in

the valleys. The wind lulled, as is usually the case atsunset. The most profound silence reigned in those awful

solitudes, which was only interrupted by the cry of the deer, who came to theirlairs in that unfrequented spot.

Paul, in the hope that some hunterwould hear his voice, called out as loud as he was able, --"Come, come tothe

help of Virginia. " But the echoes of the forest alone answered hiscall, and repeated again and again,

"Virginia--Virginia. "

Paul at length descended from the tree, overcome with fatigue andvexation. He looked around in order to

make some arrangement for passingthe night in that desert; but he could find neither fountain, norpalm-tree,

nor even a branch of dry wood fit for kindling a fire. He wasthen impressed, by experience, with the sense of

his own weakness, andbegan to weep. Virginia said to him, --"Do not weep, my dear brother, orI shall be

overwhelmed with grief. I am the cause of all your sorrow, and of all that our mothers are suffering at this

moment. I find weought to do nothing, not even good, without consulting our parents. Oh, I have been very

imprudent!"--and she began to shed tears. "Let us prayto God, my dear brother, " she again said, "and he will

hear us. " Theyhad scarcely finished their prayer, when they heard the barking of adog. "It must be the dog of

some hunter, " said Paul, "who comes here atnight, to lie in wait for the deer. " Soon after, the dog began

barkingagain with increased violence. "Surely, " said Virginia, "it is Fidele, our own dog: yes, --now I know

his bark. Are we then so near home?--atthe foot of our own mountain?" A moment after, Fidele was at their

feet, barking, howling, moaning, and devouring them with his caresses. Beforethey could recover from their

surprise, they saw Domingo running towardsthem. At the sight of the good old negro, who wept for joy, they

beganto weep too, but had not the power to utter a syllable. When Domingohad recovered himself a little,

--"Oh, my dear children, " said he, "howmiserable have you made your mothers! How astonished they were

when theyreturned with me from mass, on not finding you at home. Mary, who was atwork at a little distance,

could not tell us where you were gone. I ranbackwards and forwards in the plantation, not knowing where to

lookfor you. At last I took some of your old clothes, and showing them toFidele, the poor animal, as if he

understood me, immediately began toscent your path; and conducted me, wagging his tail all the while, tothe

Black River. I there saw a planter, who told me you had brought backa Maroon negro woman, his slave, and

that he had pardoned her at yourrequest. But what a pardon! he showed her to me with her feet chained toa

block of wood, and an iron collar with three hooks fastened round herneck! After that, Fidele, still on the

scent, led me up the steep bankof the Black River, where he again stopped, and barked with all hismight. This

was on the brink of a spring, near which was a fallenpalm-tree, and a fire, still smoking. At last he led me to

this veryspot. We are now at the foot of the mountain of the Three Breasts, and still a good four leagues from

home. Come, eat, and recover yourstrength. " Domingo then presented them with a cake, some fruit, anda

large gourd, full of beverage composed of wine, water, lemon-juice, sugar, and nutmeg, which their mothers

had prepared to invigorate andrefresh them. Virginia sighed at the recollection of the poor slave, and at the

uneasiness they had given their mothers. She repeated severaltimes--"Oh, how difficult it is to do good!"

While she and Paul weretaking refreshment, it being already night, Domingo kindled a fire: andhaving found

among the rocks a particular kind of twisted wood, calledbois de ronde, which burns when quite green, and

throws out a greatblaze, he made a torch of it, which he lighted. But when they preparedto continue their

journey, a new difficulty occurred; Paul and Virginiacould no longer walk, their feet being violently swollen

and inflamed. Domingo knew not what to do; whether to leave them and go in search ofhelp, or remain and

pass the night with them on that spot. "There wasa time, " said he, "when I could carry you both together in

my arms!But now you are grown big, and I am grown old. " When he was in thisperplexity, a troop of Maroon

negroes appeared at a short distance fromthem. The chief of the band, approaching Paul and Virginia, said

tothem, --"Good little white people, do not be afraid. We saw you pass thismorning, with a negro woman of

the Black River. You went to ask pardonfor her of her wicked master; and we, in return for this, will carry

youhome upon our shoulders. " He then made a sign, and four of the strongestnegroes immediately formed a

sort of litter with the branches of treesand lianas, and having seated Paul and Virginia on it, carried them

upontheir shoulders. Domingo marched in front with his lighted torch, andthey proceeded amidst the

rejoicings of the whole troop, who overwhelmedthem with their benedictions. Virginia, affected by this scene,

saidto Paul, with emotion, --"Oh, my dear brother! God never leaves a goodaction unrewarded. "

It was midnight when they arrived at the foot of their mountain, on theridges of which several fires were

lighted. As soon as they began toascend, they heard voices exclaiming--"Is it you, my children?"

Theyanswered immediately, and the negroes also, --"Yes, yes, it is. " A momentafter they could distinguish

their mothers and Mary coming towards themwith lighted sticks in their hands. "Unhappy children, " cried

Madamede la Tour, "where have you been? What agonies you have made ussuffer!"--"We have been, " said

Virginia, "to the Black River, where wewent to ask pardon for a poor Maroon slave, to whom I gave our

breakfastthis morning, because she seemed dying of hunger; and these Maroonnegroes have brought us home.

" Madame de la Tour embraced her daughter, without being able to speak; and Virginia, who felt her face wet

withher mother's tears, exclaimed, "Now I am repaid for all the hardships Ihave suffered. " Margaret, in a

transport of delight, pressed Paul inher arms, exclaiming, "And you also, my dear child, you have done agood

action. " When they reached the cottages with their children, theyentertained all the negroes with a plentiful

repast, after which thelatter returned to the woods, praying Heaven to shower down everydescription of

blessing on those good white people.

Every day was to these families a day of happiness and tranquillity. Neither ambition nor envy disturbed their

repose. They did not seekto obtain a useless reputation out of doors, which may be procuredby artifice and lost

by calumny; but were contented to be the solewitnesses and judges of their own actions. In this island, where,

asis the case in most colonies, scandal forms the principal topic ofconversation, their virtues, and even their

names were unknown. Thepasser-by on the road to Shaddock Grove, indeed, would sometimes ask

theinhabitants of the plain, who lived in the cottages up there? andwas always told, even by those who did not

know them, "They are goodpeople. " The modest violet thus, concealed in thorny places sheds allunseen its

delightful fragrance around.

Slander, which, under an appearance of justice, naturally inclinesthe heart to falsehood or to hatred, was

entirely banished from theirconversation; for it is impossible not to hate men if we believe themto be wicked,

or to live with the wicked without concealing that hatredunder a false pretence of good feeling. Slander thus

puts us ill at easewith others and with ourselves. In this little circle, therefore, theconduct of individuals was

not discussed, but the best manner of doinggood to all; and although they had but little in their power,

theirunceasing good-will and kindness of heart made them constantly ready todo what they could for others.

Solitude, far from having blunted thesebenevolent feelings, had rendered their dispositions even morekindly.

Although the petty scandals of the day furnished no subject ofconversation to them, yet the contemplation of

nature filled their mindswith enthusiastic delight. They adored the bounty of that Providence, which, by their

instrumentality, had spread abundance and beauty amidthese barren rocks, and had enabled them to enjoy

those pure and simplepleasures, which are ever grateful and ever new.

Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger and more intelligent thanmost European youths are at fifteen; and

the plantations, which Domingomerely cultivated, were embellished by him. He would go with the oldnegro

into the neighbouring woods, where he would root up the youngplants of lemon, orange, and tamarind trees,

the round heads of whichare so fresh a green, together with date-palm trees, which produce fruitfilled with a

sweet cream, possessing the fine perfume of the orangeflower. These trees, which had already attained to a

considerable size, he planted round their little enclosure. He had also sown the seed ofmany trees which the

second year bear flowers or fruit; such as theagathis, encircled with long clusters of white flowers which hang

fromit like the crystal pendants of a chandelier; the Persian lilac, whichlifts high in air its gray flax-coloured

branches; the pappaw tree, the branchless trunk of which forms a column studded with greenmelons,

surmounted by a capital of broad leaves similar to those of thefig-tree.

The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, terminalia, mango, alligatorpear, the guava, the bread-fruit tree, and the

narrow-leaved rose-apple, were also planted by him with profusion: and the greater number of thesetrees

already afforded their young cultivator both shade and fruit. His industrious hands diffused the riches of nature

over even the mostbarren parts of the plantation. Several species of aloes, the Indianfig, adorned with yellow

flowers spotted with red, and the thorny torchthistle, grew upon the dark summits of the rocks, and seemed to

aim atreaching the long lianas, which, laden with blue or scarlet flowers, hung scattered over the steepest parts

of the mountain.

I loved to trace the ingenuity he had exercised in the arrangement ofthese trees. He had so disposed them that

the whole could be seen at asingle glance. In the middle of the hollow he had planted shrubs ofthe lowest

growth; behind grew the more lofty sorts; then trees ofthe ordinary height; and beyond and above all, the

venerable and loftygroves which border the circumference. Thus this extensive enclosureappeared, from its

centre, like a verdant amphitheatre decorated withfruits and flowers, containing a variety of vegetables, some

stripsof meadow land, and fields of rice and corn. But, in arranging thesevegetable productions to his own

taste, he wandered not too far fromthe designs of Nature. Guided by her suggestions, he had thrown upon

theelevated spots such seeds as the winds would scatter about, and nearthe borders of the springs those which

float upon the water. Everyplant thus grew in its proper soil, and every spot seemed decorated byNature's own

hand. The streams which fell from the summits of the rocksformed in some parts of the valley sparkling

cascades, and in otherswere spread into broad mirrors, in which were reflected, set in verdure, the flowering

trees, the overhanging rocks, and the azure heavens.

Notwithstanding the great irregularity of the ground, these plantationswere, for the most part, easy of access.

We had, indeed, all givenhim our advice and assistance, in order to accomplish this end. He hadconducted one

path entirely round the valley, and various branches fromit led from the circumference to the centre. He had

drawn some advantagefrom the most rugged spots, and had blended, in harmonious union, levelwalks with the

inequalities of the soil, and trees which grow wild withthe cultivated varieties. With that immense quantity of

large pebbleswhich now block up these paths, and which are scattered over most of theground of this island,

he formed pyramidal heaps here and there, atthe base of which he laid mould, and planted rose-bushes, the

Barbadoesflower-fence, and other shrubs which love to climb the rocks. In a shorttime the dark and shapeless

heaps of stones he had constructed werecovered with verdure, or with the glowing tints of the most

beautifulflowers. Hollow recesses on the borders of the streams shaded by theoverhanging boughs of aged

trees, formed rural grottoes, imperviousto the rays of the sun, in which you might enjoy a refreshing

coolnessduring the mid-day heats. One path led to a clump of forest trees, inthe centre of which sheltered from

the wind, you found a fruit-tree, laden with produce. Here was a corn-field; there, an orchard; from oneavenue

you had a view of the cottages; from another, of the inaccessiblesummit of the mountain. Beneath one tufted

bower of gum trees, interwoven with lianas, no object whatever could be perceived: while thepoint of the

adjoining rock, jutting out from the mountain, commandeda view of the whole enclosure, and of the distant

ocean, where, occasionally, we could discern the distant sail, arriving from Europe, or bound thither. On this

rock the two families frequently met in theevening, and enjoyed in silence the freshness of the flowers, the

gentlemurmurs of the fountain, and the last blended harmonies of light andshade.

Nothing could be more charming than the names which were bestowed uponsome of the delightful retreats of

this labyrinth. The rock of whichI have been speaking, whence they could discern my approach at

aconsiderable distance, was called the Discovery of Friendship. Paul andVirginia had amused themselves by

planting a bamboo on that spot; andwhenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a little white handkerchief, by

way of signal of my approach, as they had seen a flag hoisted on theneighbouring mountain on the sight of a

vessel at sea. The idea struckme of engraving an inscription on the stalk of this reed; for I never, in the course

of my travels, experienced any thing like the pleasurein seeing a statue or other monument of ancient art, as in

reading awell-written inscription. It seems to me as if a human voice issued fromthe stone, and, making itself

heard after the lapse of ages, addressedman in the midst of a desert, to tell him that he is not alone, and

thatother men, on that very spot, had felt, and thought, and suffered likehimself. If the inscription belongs to

an ancient nation, which nolonger exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, and strengthensthe

consciousness of its immortality, by demonstrating that a thoughthas survived the ruins of an empire.

I inscribed then, on the little staff of Paul and Virginia's flag, thefollowing lines of Horace:--

Fratres Helenae, lucida sidera, Ventorumque regat pater, Obstrictis, aliis, praeter Iapiga.

"May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, and the Father of thewinds, guide you; and may you feel

only the breath of the zephyr. "

There was a gum-tree, under the shade of which Paul was accustomed tosit, to contemplate the sea when

agitated by storms. On the bark of thistree, I engraved the following lines from Virgil:--

Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes!

"Happy are thou, my son, in knowing only the pastoral divinities. "

And over the door of Madame de la Tour's cottage where the families sofrequently met, I placed this line:--

At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita.

"Here dwell a calm conscience, and a life that knows not deceit. "

But Virginia did not approve of my Latin: she said, that what I hadplaced at the foot of her flagstaff was too

long and too learned. "Ishould have liked better, " added she, "to have seen inscribed, EVERAGITATED,

YET CONSTANT. "--"Such a motto, " I answered, "would have beenstill more applicable to virtue. " My

reflection made her blush.

The delicacy of sentiment of these happy families was manifested inevery thing around them. They gave the

tenderest names to objectsin appearance the most indifferent. A border of orange, plantain androse-apple trees,

planted round a green sward where Virginia and Paulsometimes danced, received the name of Concord. An

old tree, beneaththe shade of which Madame de la Tour and Margaret used to recount theirmisfortunes, was

called the Burial-place of Tears. They bestowed thenames of Brittany and Normandy on two little plots of

ground, where theyhad sown corn, strawberries, and peas. Domingo and Mary, wishing, inimitation of their

mistresses, to recall to mind Angola and Foullepoint, the places of their birth in Africa, gave those names to

the littlefields where the grass was sown with which they wove their baskets, and where they had planted a

calabash-tree. Thus, by cultivatingthe productions of their respective climates, these exiled familiescherished

the dear illusions which bind us to our native country, andsoftened their regrets in a foreign land. Alas! I have

seen these trees, these fountains, these heaps of stones, which are now so completelyoverthrown, --which now,

like the desolated plains of Greece, presentnothing but masses of ruin and affecting remembrances, all called

intolife by the many charming appellations thus bestowed upon them!

But perhaps the most delightful spot of this enclosure was that calledVirginia's resting-place. At the foot of the

rock which bore the nameof The Discovery of Friendship, is a small crevice, whence issues afountain,

forming, near its source, a little spot of marshy soil in themiddle of a field of rich grass. At the time of Paul's

birth I had madeMargaret a present of an Indian cocoa which had been given me, and whichshe planted on the

border of this fenny ground, in order that the treemight one day serve to mark the epoch of her son's birth.

Madame de laTour planted another cocoa with the same view, at the birth of Virginia. These nuts produced

two cocoa-trees, which formed the only records ofthe two families; one was called Paul's tree, the other,

Virginia's. Their growth was in the same proportion as that of the two youngpersons, not exactly equal: but

they rose, at the end of twelve years, above the roofs of the cottages. Already their tender stalks

wereinterwoven, and clusters of young cocoas hung from them over the basinof the fountain. With the

exception of these two trees, this nook of therock was left as it had been decorated by nature. On its

embrowned andmoist sides broad plants of maiden-hair glistened with their green anddark stars; and tufts of

wave-leaved hart's tongue, suspended like longribands of purpled green, floated on the wind. Near this grew a

chainof the Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of which resemble the redgilliflower; and the long-podded

capsicum, the seed-vessels of which areof the colour of blood, and more resplendent than coral. Near them,

theherb balm, with its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet basil, which hasthe odour of the clove, exhaled the

most delicious perfumes. From theprecipitous side of the mountain hung the graceful lianas, like

floatingdraperies, forming magnificent canopies of verdure on the face ofthe rocks. The sea-birds, allured by

the stillness of these retreats, resorted here to pass the night. At the hour of sunset we could perceivethe curlew

and the stint skimming along the seashore; the frigate-birdpoised high in air; and the white bird of the tropic,

which abandons, with the star of day, the solitudes of the Indian ocean. Virginia tookpleasure in resting herself

upon the border of this fountain, decoratedwith wild and sublime magnificence. She often went thither to

washthe linen of the family beneath the shade of the two cocoa-trees, andthither too she sometimes led her

goats to graze. While she was makingcheeses of their milk, she loved to see them browse on the

maiden-hairfern which clothes the steep sides of the rock, and hung suspended byone of its cornices, as on a

pedestal. Paul, observing that Virginiawas fond of this spot, brought thither, from the neighbouring forest,

agreat variety of bird's nests. The old birds following their young, soonestablished themselves in this new

colony. Virginia, at stated times, distributed amongst them grains of rice, millet, and maize. As soon asshe

appeared, the whistling blackbird, the amadavid bird, whose note isso soft, the cardinal, with its flame

coloured plumage, forsooktheir bushes; the parroquet, green as an emerald, descended from theneighbouring

fan-palms, the partridge ran along the grass; all advancedpromiscuously towards her, like a brood of chickens:

and she and Paulfound an exhaustless source of amusement in observing their sports, their repasts, and their

loves.

Amiable children! thus passed your earlier days in innocence, and inobeying the impulses of kindness. How

many times, on this very spot, have your mothers, pressing you in their arms, blessed Heaven for

theconsolation your unfolding virtues prepared for their declining years, while they at the same time enjoyed

the satisfaction of seeing you beginlife under the happiest auspices! How many times, beneath the shadeof

those rocks, have I partaken with them of your rural repasts, whichnever cost any animal its life! Gourds full

of milk, fresh eggs, cakesof rice served up on plantain leaves, with baskets of mangoes, oranges, dates,

pomegranates, pineapples, furnished a wholesome repast, themost agreeable to the eye, as well as delicious to

the taste, that canpossibly be imagined.

Like the repast, the conversation was mild, and free from every thinghaving a tendency to do harm. Paul often

talked of the labours of theday and of the morrow. He was continually planning something for

theaccommodation of their little society. Here he discovered that the pathswere rugged; there, that the seats

were uncomfortable: sometimes theyoung arbours did not afford sufficient shade, and Virginia might bebetter

pleased elsewhere.

During the rainy season the two families met together in the cottage, and employed themselves in weaving

mats of grass, and baskets of bamboo. Rakes, spades, and hatchets, were ranged along the walls in the

mostperfect order; and near these instruments of agriculture were heaped itsproducts, --bags of rice, sheaves of

corn, and baskets of plantains. Somedegree of luxury usually accompanies abundance; and Virginia was

taughtby her mother and Margaret to prepare sherbert and cordials from thejuice of the sugar-cane, the lemon

and the citron.

When night came, they all supped together by the light of a lamp; afterwhich Madame de la Tour or Margaret

related some story of travellersbenighted in those woods of Europe that are still infested by banditti;or told a

dismal tale of some shipwrecked vessel, thrown by the tempestupon the rocks of a desert island. To these

recitals the childrenlistened with eager attention, and earnestly hoped that Heaven would oneday grant them

the joy of performing the rites of hospitality towardssuch unfortunate persons. When the time for repose

arrived, the twofamilies separated and retired for the night, eager to meet again thefollowing morning.

Sometimes they were lulled to repose by the beatingof the rains, which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their

cottages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, which brought to their ear thedistant roar of the waves breaking

upon the shore. They blessed God fortheir own safety, the feeling of which was brought home more forcibly

totheir minds by the sound of remote danger.

Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud some affecting history of theOld or New Testament. Her auditors

reasoned but little upon these sacredvolumes, for their theology centred in a feeling of devotion towardsthe

Supreme Being, like that of nature: and their morality was an activeprinciple, like that of the Gospel. These

families had no particulardays devoted to pleasure, and others to sadness. Every day was to thema holyday,

and all that surrounded them one holy temple, in which theyever adored the Infinite Intelligence, the Almighty

God, the Friend ofhuman kind. A feeling of confidence in his supreme power filled theirminds with

consolation for the past, with fortitude under presenttrials, and with hope in the future. Compelled by

misfortune to returnalmost to a state of nature, these excellent women had thus developed intheir own and

their children's bosoms the feelings most natural to thehuman mind, and its best support under affliction.

But, as clouds sometimes arise, and cast a gloom over the best regulatedtempers, so whenever any member of

this little society appeared to belabouring under dejection, the rest assembled around, and endeavouredto

banish her painful thoughts by amusing the mind rather than by gravearguments against them. Each performed

this kind office in their ownappropriate manner: Margaret, by her gaiety; Madame de la Tour, by thegentle

consolations of religion; Virginia, by her tender caresses; Paul, by his frank and engaging cordiality. Even

Mary and Domingo hastenedto offer their succour, and to weep with those that wept. Thus do weakplants

interweave themselves with each other, in order to withstand thefury of the tempest.

During the fine season, they went every Sunday to the church of theShaddock Grove, the steeple of which you

see yonder upon the plain. Manywealthy members of the congregation, who came to church in palanquins,

sought the acquaintance of these united families, and invited themto parties of pleasure. But they always

repelled these overtures withrespectful politeness, as they were persuaded that the rich and powerfulseek the

society of persons in an inferior station only for the sake ofsurrounding themselves with flatterers, and that

every flatterer mustapplaud alike all the actions of his patron, whether good or bad. On theother hand, they

avoided, with equal care, too intimate an acquaintancewith the lower class, who are ordinarily jealous,

calumniating, andgross. They thus acquired, with some, the character of being timid, andwith others, of pride:

but their reserve was accompanied with so muchobliging politeness, above all towards the unfortunate and the

unhappy, that they insensibly acquired the respect of the rich and the confidenceof the poor.

After service, some kind office was often required at their hands bytheir poor neighbours. Sometimes a person

troubled in mind sought theiradvice; sometimes a child begged them to its sick mother, in one of theadjoining

hamlets. They always took with them a few remedies for theordinary diseases of the country, which they

administered in thatsoothing manner which stamps a value upon the smallest favours. Aboveall, they met with

singular success in administrating to the disordersof the mind, so intolerable in solitude, and under the

infirmities of aweakened frame. Madame de la Tour spoke with such sublime confidence ofthe Divinity, that

the sick, while listening to her, almost believed himpresent. Virginia often returned home with her eyes full of

tears, andher heart overflowing with delight, at having had an opportunity ofdoing good; for to her generally

was confided the task of preparing andadministering the medicines, --a task which she fulfilled with

angelicsweetness. After these visits of charity, they sometimes extended theirwalk by the Sloping Mountain,

till they reached my dwelling, where Iused to prepare dinner for them on the banks of the little rivulet

whichglides near my cottage. I procured for these occasions a few bottles ofold wine, in order to heighten the

relish of our Oriental repast bythe more genial productions of Europe. At other times we met on thesea-shore,

at the mouth of some little river, or rather mere brook. Webrought from home the provisions furnished us by

our gardens, to whichwe added those supplied us by the sea in abundant variety. We caughton these shores the

mullet, the roach, and the sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, and all other kinds of shell-fish. In

thisway, we often enjoyed the most tranquil pleasures in situations the mostterrific. Sometimes, seated upon a

rock, under the shade of the velvetsunflower-tree, we saw the enormous waves of the Indian Ocean

breakbeneath our feet with a tremendous noise. Paul, who could swim like afish, would advance on the reefs

to meet the coming billows; then, attheir near approach, would run back to the beach, closely pursued by

thefoaming breakers, which threw themselves, with a roaring noise, far onthe sands. But Virginia, at this sight,

uttered piercing cries, and saidthat such sports frightened her too much.

Other amusements were not wanting on these festive occasions. Ourrepasts were generally followed by the

songs and dances of the two youngpeople. Virginia sang the happiness of pastoral life, and the miseryof those

who were impelled by avarice to cross the raging ocean, ratherthan cultivate the earth, and enjoy its bounties

in peace. Sometimes sheperformed a pantomime with Paul, after the manner of the negroes. Thefirst language

of man is pantomime: it is known to all nations, and isso natural and expressive, that the children of the

European inhabitantscatch it with facility from the negroes. Virginia, recalling, from amongthe histories which

her mother had read to her, those which had affectedher most, represented the principal events in them with

beautifulsimplicity. Sometimes at the sound of Domingo's tantam she appeared uponthe green sward, bearing

a pitcher upon her head, and advanced with atimid step towards the source of a neighbouring fountain, to draw

water. Domingo and Mary, personating the shepherds of Midian forbade her toapproach, and repulsed her

sternly. Upon this Paul flew to her succour, beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia's pitcher, and placing it

uponher heard, bound her brows at the same time with a wreath of the redflowers of the Madagascar

periwinkle, which served to heighten thedelicacy of her complexion. Then joining in their sports, I took

uponmyself the part of Raguel, and bestowed upon Paul, my daughter Zephorain marriage.

Another time Virginia would represent the unhappy Ruth, returning poorand widowed with her mother-in-law,

who, after so prolonged an absence, found herself as unknown as in a foreign land. Domingo and

Marypersonated the reapers. The supposed daughter of Naomi followed theirsteps, gleaning here and there a

few ears of corn. When interrogated byPaul, --a part which he performed with the gravity of a patriarch,

--sheanswered his questions with a faltering voice. He then, touchedwith compassion, granted an asylum to

innocence, and hospitality tomisfortune. He filled her lap with plenty; and, leading her towards usas before the

elders of the city, declared his purpose to take herin marriage. At this scene, Madame de la Tour, recalling the

desolatesituation in which she had been left by her relations, her widowhood, and the kind reception she had

met with from Margaret, succeeded nowby the soothing hope of a happy union between their children, could

notforbear weeping; and these mixed recollections of good and evil causedus all to unite with her in shedding

tears of sorrow and of joy.

These dramas were performed with such an air of reality that youmight have fancied yourself transported to

the plains of Syria or ofPalestine. We were not unfurnished with decorations, lights, or anorchestra, suitable to

the representation. The scene was generallyplaced in an open space of the forest, the diverging paths from

whichformed around us numerous arcades of foliage, under which we weresheltered from the heat all the

middle of the day; but when the sundescended towards the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of thetrees,

darted amongst the shadows of the forest in long lines of light, producing the most magnificent effect.

Sometimes its broad disk appearedat the end of an avenue, lighting it up with insufferable brightness. The

foliage of the trees, illuminated from beneath by its saffron beams, glowed with the lustre of the topaz and the

emerald. Their brown andmossy trunks appeared transformed into columns of antique bronze; andthe birds,

which had retired in silence to their leafy shades to passthe night, surprised to see the radiance of a second

morning, hailed thestar of day all together with innumerable carols.

Night often overtook us during these rural entertainments; but thepurity of the air and the warmth of the

climate, admitted of oursleeping in the woods, without incurring any danger by exposure to theweather, and

no less secure from the molestations of robbers. On ourreturn the following day to our respective habitations,

we found them inexactly the same state in which they had been left. In this island, thenunsophisticated by the

pursuits of commerce, such were the honesty andprimitive manners of the population, that the doors of many

houses werewithout a key, and even a lock itself was an object of curiosity to nota few of the native

inhabitants.

There were, however, some days in the year celebrated by Paul andVirginia in a more peculiar manner; these

were the birth-days of theirmothers. Virginia never failed the day before to prepare some wheatencakes, which

she distributed among a few poor white families, bornin the island, who had never eaten European bread.

These unfortunatepeople, uncared for by the blacks, were reduced to live on tapioca inthe woods; and as they

had neither the insensibility which is the resultof slavery, nor the fortitude which springs from a liberal

education, to enable them to support their poverty, their situation was deplorable. These cakes were all that

Virginia had it in her power to give away, butshe conferred the gift in so delicate a manner as to add tenfold

toits value. In the first place, Paul was commissioned to take the cakeshimself to these families, and get their

promise to come and spend thenext day at Madame de la Tour's. Accordingly, mothers of families, withtwo or

three thin, yellow, miserable looking daughters, so timid thatthey dared not look up, made their appearance.

Virginia soon put themat their ease; she waited upon them with refreshments, the excellenceof which she

endeavoured to heighten by relating some particularcircumstance which in her own estimation, vastly

improved them. Onebeverage had been prepared by Margaret; another, by her mother: herbrother himself had

climbed some lofty tree for the very fruit she waspresenting. She would then get Paul to dance with them, nor

would sheleave them till she saw that they were happy. She wished them to partakeof the joy of her own

family. "It is only, " she said, "by promoting thehappiness of others, that we can secure our own. " When they

left, shegenerally presented them with some little article they seemed to fancy, enforcing their acceptance of it

by some delicate pretext, that shemight not appear to know they were in want. If she remarked that

theirclothes were much tattered, she obtained her mother's permission togive them some of her own, and then

sent Paul to leave them, secretly attheir cottage doors. She thus followed the divine precept, --concealingthe

benefactor, and revealing only the benefit.

You Europeans, whose minds are imbued from infancy with prejudices atvariance with happiness, cannot

imagine all the instruction and pleasureto be derived from nature. Your souls, confined to a small sphere

ofintelligence, soon reach the limit of its artificial enjoyments: butnature and the heart are inexhaustible. Paul

and Virginia had neitherclock, nor almanack, nor books of chronology, history or philosophy. The periods of

their lives were regulated by those of the operations ofnature, and their familiar conversation had a reference

to the changesof the seasons. They knew the time of day by the shadows of the trees;the seasons, by the times

when those trees bore flowers or fruit;and the years, by the number of their harvests. These soothing

imagesdiffused an inexpressible charm over their conversation. "It is time todine, " said Virginia, "the

shadows of the plantain-trees are at theirroots:" or, "Night approaches, the tamarinds are closing their leaves.

""When will you come and see us?" inquired some of her companions inthe neighbourhood. "At the time of

the sugar-canes, " answered Virginia. "Your visit will be then still more delightful, " resumed her

youngacquaintances. When she was asked what was her own age and that ofPaul, --"My brother, " said she, "is

as old as the great cocoa-tree of thefountain; and I am as old as the little one: the mangoes have bore

fruittwelve times and the orange-trees have flowered four-and-twenty times, since I came into the world. "

Their lives seemed linked to that of thetrees, like those of Fauns or Dryads. They knew no other

historicalepochs than those of the lives of their mothers, no other chronologythan that of doing good, and

resigning themselves to the will of Heaven.

What need, indeed, had these young people of riches or learning suchas ours? Even their necessities and their

ignorance increased theirhappiness. No day passed in which they were not of some service to oneanother, or in

which they did not mutually impart some instruction. Yes, instruction; for if errors mingled with it, they were,

at least, not ofa dangerous character. A pure-minded being has none of that descriptionto fear. Thus grew these

children of nature. No care had troubled theirpeace, no intemperance had corrupted their blood, no misplaced

passionhad depraved their hearts. Love, innocence, and piety, possessed theirsouls; and those intellectual

graces were unfolding daily in theirfeatures, their attitudes, and their movements. Still in the morning oflife,

they had all its blooming freshness: and surely such in the gardenof Eden appeared our first parents, when

coming from the hands of God, they first saw, and approached each other, and conversed together, likebrother

and sister. Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding as Eve;and Paul, like Adam, united the stature of

manhood with the simplicityof a child.

Sometimes, if alone with Virginia, he has a thousand times told me, heused to say to her, on his return from

labour, --"When I am wearied, thesight of you refreshes me. If from the summit of the mountain I perceiveyou

below in the valley, you appear to me in the midst of our orchardlike a blooming rose-bud. If you go towards

our mother's house, thepartridge, when it runs to meet its young, has a shape less beautiful, and a step less

light. When I lose sight of you through the trees, Ihave no need to see you in order to find you again.

Something of you, Iknow not how, remains for me in the air through which you have passed, on the grass

where you have been seated. When I come near you, youdelight all my senses. The azure of the sky is less

charming than theblue of your eyes, and the song of the amadavid bird less soft than thesound of your voice. If

I only touch you with the tip of my finger, my whole frame trembles with pleasure. Do you remember the day

when wecrossed over the great stones of the river of the Three Breasts? I wasvery tired before we reached the

bank: but, as soon as I had taken youin my arms, I seemed to have wings like a bird. Tell me by what

charmyou have thus enchanted me! Is it by your wisdom?--Our mothers have morethan either of us. Is it by

your caresses?--They embrace me much oftenerthan you. I think it must be by your goodness. I shall never

forget howyou walked bare-footed to the Black River, to ask pardon for the poorrun-away slave. Here, my

beloved, take this flowering branch of alemon-tree, which I have gathered in the forest: you will let it remainat

night near your bed. Eat this honey-comb too, which I have taken foryou from the top of a rock. But first lean

on my bosom, and I shall berefreshed. "

Virginia would answer him, --"Oh, my dear brother, the rays of the sun inthe morning on the tops of the rocks

give me less joy than the sight ofyou. I love my mother, --I love yours; but when they call you their son, I love

them a thousand times more. When they caress you, I feel it moresensibly than when I am caressed myself.

You ask me what makes you loveme. Why, all creatures that are brought up together love one another. Look at

our birds; reared up in the same nests, they love each other aswe do; they are always together like us. Hark!

how they call and answerfrom one tree to another. So when the echoes bring to my ears the airwhich you play

on your flute on the top of the mountain, I repeat thewords at the bottom of the valley. You are dear to me

more especiallysince the day when you wanted to fight the master of the slave for me. Since that time how

often have I said to myself, 'Ah, my brother has agood heart; but for him, I should have died of terror. ' I pray

toGod every day for my mother and for yours; for you, and for ourpoor servants; but when I pronounce your

name, my devotion seems toincrease;--I ask so earnestly of God that no harm may befall you! Whydo you go

so far, and climb so high, to seek fruits and flowers forme? Have we not enough in our garden already? How

much you arefatigued, --you look so warm!"--and with her little white handkerchiefshe would wipe the damps

from his face, and then imprint a tender kisson his forehead.

For some time past, however, Virginia had felt her heart agitated bynew sensations. Her beautiful blue eyes

lost their lustre, her cheekits freshness, and her frame was overpowered with a universal langour. Serenity no

longer sat upon her brow, nor smiles played upon her lips. She would become all at once gay without cause for

joy, and melancholywithout any subject for grief. She fled her innocent amusements, hergentle toils, and even

the society of her beloved family; wanderingabout the most unfrequented parts of the plantations, and seeking

everywhere the rest which she could no where find. Sometimes, at the sightof Paul, she advanced sportively to

meet him; but, when about to accosthim, was overcome by a sudden confusion; her pale cheeks were

coveredwith blushes, and her eyes no longer dared to meet those of her brother. Paul said to her, --"The rocks

are covered with verdure, our birds beginto sing when you approach, everything around you is gay, and you

onlyare unhappy. " He then endeavoured to soothe her by his embraces, butshe turned away her head, and fled,

trembling towards her mother. Thecaresses of her brother excited too much emotion in her agitated heart, and

she sought, in the arms of her mother, refuge from herself. Paul, unused to the secret windings of the female

heart, vexed himself invain in endeavouring to comprehend the meaning of these new and strangecaprices.

Misfortunes seldom come alone, and a serious calamity nowimpended over these families.

One of those summers, which sometimes desolate the countries situatedbetween the tropics, now began to

spread its ravages over this island. It was near the end of December, when the sun, in Capricorn, darts overthe

Mauritius, during the space of three weeks, its vertical fires. The southeast wind, which prevails throughout

almost the whole year, no longer blew. Vast columns of dust arose from the highways, and hungsuspended in

the air; the ground was every where broken into clefts;the grass was burnt up; hot exhalations issued from the

sides ofthe mountains, and their rivulets, for the most part, became dry. Norefreshing cloud ever arose from

the sea: fiery vapours, only, duringthe day, ascended from the plains, and appeared, at sunset, like

thereflection of a vast conflagration. Night brought no coolness tothe heated atmosphere; and the red moon

rising in the misty horizon, appeared of supernatural magnitude. The drooping cattle, on the sidesof the hills,

stretching out their necks towards heaven, and panting forbreath, made the valleys re-echo with their

melancholy lowings: even theCaffre by whom they were led threw himself upon the earth, in search ofsome

cooling moisture: but his hopes were vain; the scorching sunhad penetrated the whole soil, and the stifling

atmosphere everywhereresounded with the buzzing noise of insects, seeking to allay theirthirst with the blood

of men and of animals.

During this sultry season, Virginia's restlessness and disquietude weremuch increased. One night, in particular,

being unable to sleep, shearose from her bed, sat down, and returned to rest again; but could findin no attitude

either slumber or repose. At length she bent her way, bythe light of the moon, towards her fountain, and gazed

at its spring, which, notwithstanding the drought, still trickled, in silver threadsdown the brown sides of the

rock. She flung herself into the basin: itscoolness reanimated her spirits, and a thousand soothing

remembrancescame to her mind. She recollected that in her infancy her mother andMargaret had amused

themselves by bathing her with Paul in this veryspot; that he afterwards, reserving this bath for her sole use,

hadhollowed out its bed, covered the bottom with sand, and sown aromaticherbs around its borders. She saw

in the water, upon her naked arms andbosom, the reflection of the two cocoa trees which were planted at

herown and her brother's birth, and which interwove above her head theirgreen branches and young fruit. She

thought of Paul's friendship, sweeter than the odour of the blossoms, purer than the waters of thefountain,

stronger than the intertwining palm-tree, and she sighed. Reflecting on the hour of the night, and the profound

solitude, herimagination became disturbed. Suddenly she flew, affrighted, from thosedangerous shades, and

those waters which seemed to her hotter than thetropical sunbeam, and ran to her mother for refuge. More than

once, wishing to reveal her sufferings, she pressed her mother's hand withinher own; more than once she was

ready to pronounce the name of Paul: buther oppressed heart left her lips no power of utterance, and,

leaningher head on her mother's bosom, she bathed it with her tears.

Madame de la Tour, though she easily discerned the source of herdaughter's uneasiness, did not think proper

to speak to her on thesubject. "My dear child, " said she, "offer up your supplications to God, who disposes at

his will of health and of life. He subjects you to trialnow, in order to recompense you hereafter. Remember

that we are onlyplaced upon earth for the exercise of virtue. "

The excessive heat in the meantime raised vast masses of vapour from theocean, which hung over the island

like an immense parasol, and gatheredround the summits of the mountains. Long flakes of fire issued from

timeto time from these mist-embosomed peaks. The most awful thunder soonafter re-echoed through the

woods, the plains, and the valleys: therains fell from the skies in cataracts; foaming torrents rushed down

thesides of this mountain; the bottom of the valley became a sea, and theelevated platform on which the

cottages were built, a little island. Theaccumulated waters, having no other outlet, rushed with violence

throughthe narrow gorge which leads into the valley, tossing and roaring, andbearing along with them a

mingled wreck of soil, trees, and rocks.

The trembling families meantime addressed their prayers to God alltogether in the cottage of Madame de la

Tour, the roof of which crackedfearfully from the force of the winds. So incessant and vivid were

thelightnings, that although the doors and window-shutters were securelyfastened, every object without could

be distinctly seen throughthe joints in the wood-work! Paul, followed by Domingo, went withintrepidity from

one cottage to another, notwithstanding the fury of thetempest; here supporting a partition with a buttress,

there driving ina stake; and only returning to the family to calm their fears, by theexpression of a hope that the

storm was passing away. Accordingly, inthe evening the rains ceased, the trade-winds of the southeast

pursuedtheir ordinary course, the tempestuous clouds were driven away to thenorthward, and the setting sun

appeared in the horizon.

Virginia's first wish was to visit the spot called her Resting-place. Paul approached her with a timid air, and

offered her the assistanceof his arm; she accepted it with a smile, and they left the cottagetogether. The air was

clear and fresh: white vapours arose from theridges of the mountain, which was furrowed here and there by the

coursesof torrents, marked in foam, and now beginning to dry up on allsides. As for the garden, it was

completely torn to pieces by deepwater-courses, the roots of most of the fruit trees were laid bare, andvast

heaps of sand covered the borders of the meadows, and had chokedup Virginia's bath. The two cocoa trees,

however, were still erect, andstill retained their freshness; but they were no longer surrounded byturf, or

arbours, or birds, except a few amadavid birds, which, upon thepoints of the neighbouring rocks, were

lamenting, in plaintive notes, the loss of their young.

At the sight of this general desolation, Virginia exclaimed toPaul, --"You brought birds hither, and the

hurricane has killed them. You planted this garden, and it is now destroyed. Every thing thenupon earth

perishes, and it is only Heaven that is not subject tochange. "--"Why, " answered Paul, "cannot I give you

something thatbelongs to Heaven? but I have nothing of my own even upon the earth. "Virginia with a blush

replied, "You have the picture of Saint Paul. "As soon as she had uttered the words, he flew in quest of it to

hismother's cottage. This picture was a miniature of Paul the Hermit, whichMargaret, who viewed it with

feelings of great devotion, had worn at herneck while a girl, and which, after she became a mother, she had

placedround her child's. It had even happened, that being, while pregnant, abandoned by all the world, and

constantly occupied in contemplatingthe image of this benevolent recluse, her offspring had contracted

someresemblance to this revered object. She therefore bestowed upon him thename of Paul, giving him for his

patron a saint who had passed his lifefar from mankind by whom he had been first deceived and then forsaken.

Virginia, on receiving this little present from the hands of Paul, saidto him, with emotion, "My dear brother, I

will never part with thiswhile I live; nor will I ever forget that you have given me the onlything you have in

the world. " At this tone of friendship, --this unhopedfor return of familiarity and tenderness, Paul attempted to

embraceher; but, light as a bird, she escaped him, and fled away, leaving himastonished, and unable to account

for conduct so extraordinary.

Meanwhile Margaret said to Madame de la Tour, "Why do we not unite ourchildren by marriage? They have a

strong attachment for each other, andthough my son hardly understands the real nature of his feelings, yetgreat

care and watchfulness will be necessary. Under such circumstances, it will be as well not to leave them too

much together. " Madame de laTour replied, "They are too young and too poor. What grief would itoccasion

us to see Virginia bring into the world unfortunate children, whom she would not perhaps have sufficient

strength to rear! Your negro, Domingo, is almost too old to labor; Mary is infirm. As for myself, mydear

friend, at the end of fifteen years, I find my strength greatlydecreased; the feebleness of age advances rapidly

in hot climates, and, above all, under the pressure of misfortune. Paul is our only hope: letus wait till he comes

to maturity, and his increased strength enableshim to support us by his labour: at present you well know that

we haveonly sufficient to supply the wants of the day: but were we to send Paulfor a short time to the Indies,

he might acquire, by commerce, themeans of purchasing some slaves; and at his return we could unite him

toVirginia; for I am persuaded no one on earth would render her so happyas your son. We will consult our

neighbour on this subject. "

They accordingly asked my advice, which was in accordance with Madamede la Tour's opinion. "The Indian

seas, " I observed to them, "are calm, and, in choosing a favourable time of the year, the voyage out is

seldomlonger than six weeks; and the same time may be allowed for the returnhome. We will furnish Paul

with a little venture from my neighbourhood, where he is much beloved. If we were only to supply him with

some rawcotton, of which we make no use for want of mills to work it, someebony, which is here so common

that it serves us for firing, and somerosin, which is found in our woods, he would be able to sell thosearticles,

though useless here, to good advantage in the Indies. "

I took upon myself to obtain permission from Monsieur de la Bourdonnaisto undertake this voyage; and I

determined previously to mention theaffair to Paul. But what was my surprise, when this young man said

tome, with a degree of good sense above his age, "And why do you wish meto leave my family for this

precarious pursuit of fortune? Is there anycommerce in the world more advantageous than the culture of the

ground, which yields sometimes fifty or a hundred-fold? If we wish to engagein commerce, can we not do so

by carrying our superfluities to the townwithout my wandering to the Indies? Our mothers tell me, that

Domingois old and feeble; but I am young, and gather strength every day. Ifany accident should happen during

my absence, above all to Virginia, whoalready suffers--Oh, no, no!--I cannot resolve to leave them. "

So decided an answer threw me into great perplexity, for Madame de laTour had not concealed from me the

cause of Virginia's illness and wantof spirits, and her desire of separating these young people till theywere a

few years older. I took care, however, not to drop any thingwhich could lead Paul to suspect the existence of

these motives.

About this period a ship from France brought Madame de la Tour a letterfrom her aunt. The fear of death,

without which hearts as insensible ashers would never feel, had alarmed her into compassion. When she

wroteshe was recovering from a dangerous illness, which had, however, lefther incurably languid and weak.

She desired her niece to return toFrance: or, if her health forbade her to undertake so long a voyage, she

begged her to send Virginia, on whom she promised to bestow a goodeducation, to procure for her a splendid

marriage, and to leaveher heiress of her whole fortune. She concluded by enjoining strictobedience to her will,

in gratitude, she said, for her great kindness.

At the perusal of this letter general consternation spread itselfthrough the whole assembled party. Domingo

and Mary began to weep. Paul, motionless with surprise, appeared almost ready to burst withindignation;

while Virginia, fixing her eyes anxiously upon her mother, had not power to utter a single word. "And can you

now leave us?" criedMargaret to Madame de la Tour. "No, my dear friend, no, my belovedchildren, " replied

Madame de la Tour; "I will never leave you. I havelived with you, and with you I will die. I have known no

happiness butin your affection. If my health be deranged, my past misfortunes are thecause. My heart has been

deeply wounded by the cruelty of my relations, and by the loss of my beloved husband. But I have since found

moreconsolation and more real happiness with you in these humble huts, thanall the wealth of my family

could now lead me to expect in my country. "

At this soothing language every eye overflowed with tears of delight. Paul, pressing Madame de la Tour in his

arms, exclaimed, --"Neither willI leave you! I will not go to the Indies. We will all labour for you, dear

mamma; and you shall never feel any want with us. " But of the wholesociety, the person who displayed the

least transport, and who probablyfelt the most, was Virginia; and during the remainder of the day, thegentle

gaiety which flowed from her heart, and proved that her peace ofmind was restored, completed the general

satisfaction.

At sun-rise the next day, just as they had concluded offering up, asusual, their morning prayer before

breakfast, Domingo came to informthem that a gentleman on horseback, followed by two slaves, was

comingtowards the plantation. It was Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. He enteredthe cottage, where he found the

family at breakfast. Virginia hadprepared, according to the custom of the country, coffee, and riceboiled in

water. To these she had added hot yams, and fresh plantains. The leaves of the plantain-tree, supplied the want

of table-linen; andcalabash shells, split in two, served for cups. The governor exhibited, at first, some

astonishment at the homeliness of the dwelling; then, addressing himself to Madame de la Tour, he observed,

that althoughpublic affairs drew his attention too much from the concerns ofindividuals, she had many claims

on his good offices. "You have an auntat Paris, madam, " he added, "a woman of quality, and immensely rich,

whoexpects that you will hasten to see her, and who means to bestow uponyou her whole fortune. " Madame

de la Tour replied, that the state of herhealth would not permit her to undertake so long a voyage. "At least,

"resumed Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, "you cannot without injustice, deprive this amiable young lady, your

daughter, of so noble aninheritance. I will not conceal from you, that your aunt has made use ofher influence

to secure your daughter being sent to her; and that I havereceived official letters, in which I am ordered to

exert my authority, if necessary, to that effect. But as I only wish to employ my power forthe purpose of

rendering the inhabitants of this country happy, I expectfrom your good sense the voluntary sacrifice of a few

years, upon whichyour daughter's establishment in the world, and the welfare of yourwhole life depends.

Wherefore do we come to these islands? Is it not toacquire a fortune? And will it not be more agreeable to

return and findit in your own country?"

He then took a large bag of piastres from one of his slaves, and placedit upon the table. "This sum, " he

continued, "is allotted by your auntto defray the outlay necessary for the equipment of the young lady forher

voyage. " Gently reproaching Madame de la Tour for not having hadrecourse to him in her difficulties, he

extolled at the same time hernoble fortitude. Upon this Paul said to the governor, --"My mother didapply to

you, sir, and you received her ill. "--"Have you another child, madam?" said Monsieur de la Bourdonnais to

Madame de la Tour. "No, Sir, "she replied; "this is the son of my friend; but he and Virginia areequally dear to

us, and we mutually consider them both as our ownchildren. " "Young man, " said the governor to Paul, "when

you haveacquired a little more experience of the world, you will know that itis the misfortune of people in

place to be deceived, and bestow, inconsequence, upon intriguing vice, that which they would wish to give

tomodest merit. "

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, at the request of Madame de la Tour, placedhimself next to her at table, and

breakfasted after the manner of theCreoles, upon coffee, mixed with rice boiled in water. He was

delightedwith the order and cleanliness which prevailed in the little cottage, the harmony of the two interesting

families, and the zeal of their oldservants. "Here, " he exclaimed, "I discern only wooden furniture; but Ifind

serene countenances and hearts of gold. " Paul, enchanted with theaffability of the governor, said to him, --"I

wish to be your friend: foryou are a good man. " Monsieur de la Bourdonnais received with pleasurethis

insular compliment, and, taking Paul by the hand, assured him hemight rely upon his friendship.

After breakfast, he took Madame de la Tour aside and informed herthat an opportunity would soon offer itself

of sending her daughter toFrance, in a ship which was going to sail in a short time; that he wouldput her under

the charge of a lady, one of the passengers, who wasa relation of his own; and that she must not think of

renouncing animmense fortune, on account of the pain of being separated from herdaughter for a brief

interval. "Your aunt, " he added, "cannot livemore than two years; of this I am assured by her friends. Think of

itseriously. Fortune does not visit us every day. Consult your friends. I am sure that every person of good

sense will be of my opinion. " Sheanswered, "that, as she desired no other happiness henceforth in theworld

than in promoting that of her daughter, she hoped to be allowed toleave her departure for France to her own

inclination. "

Madame de la Tour was not sorry to find an opportunity of separatingPaul and Virginia for a short time, and

provide by this means, for theirmutual felicity at a future period. She took her daughter aside, andsaid to her,

--"My dear child, our servants are now old. Paul is stillvery young, Margaret is advanced in years, and I am

already infirm. IfI should die what would become of you, without fortune, in the midstof these deserts? You

would then be left alone, without any person whocould afford you much assistance, and would be obliged to

labourwithout ceasing, as a hired servant, in order to support your wretchedexistence. This idea overcomes me

with sorrow. " Virginia answered, --"Godhas appointed us to labour, and to bless him every day. Up to this

timehe has never forsaken us, and he never will forsake us in time to come. His providence watches most

especially over the unfortunate. You havetold me this very often, my dear mother! I cannot resolve to leave

you. "Madame de la Tour replied, with much emotion, --"I have no other aim thanto render you happy, and to

marry you one day to Paul, who is not reallyyour brother. Remember then that his fortune depends upon you. "

A young girl who is in love believes that every one else is ignorant ofher passion; she throws over her eyes the

veil with which she covers thefeelings of her heart; but when it is once lifted by a friendly hand, the hidden

sorrows of her attachment escape as through a newly-openedbarrier, and the sweet outpourings of unrestrained

confidence succeedto her former mystery and reserve. Virginia, deeply affected by this newproof of her

mother's tenderness, related to her the cruel strugglesshe had undergone, of which heaven alone had been

witness; she saw, she said, the hand of Providence in the assistance of an affectionatemother, who approved of

her attachment; and would guide her by hercounsels; and as she was now strengthened by such support,

everyconsideration led her to remain with her mother, without anxiety for thepresent, and without

apprehension for the future.

Madame de la Tour, perceiving that this confidential conversation hadproduced an effect altogether different

from that which she expected, said, --"My dear child, I do not wish to constrain you; think over it atleisure, but

conceal your affection from Paul. It is better not to let aman know that the heart of his mistress is gained. "

Virginia and her mother were sitting together by themselves the sameevening, when a tall man, dressed in a

blue cassock, entered theircottage. He was a missionary priest and the confessor of Madame de laTour and her

daughter, who had now been sent to them by the governor. "My children, " he exclaimed as he entered, "God

be praised! you arenow rich. You can now attend to the kind suggestions of your benevolenthearts, and do

good to the poor. I know what Monsieur de la Bourdonnaishas said to you, and what you have said in reply.

Your health, dearmadam, obliges you to remain here; but you, young lady, are withoutexcuse. We must obey

our aged relations, even when they are unjust. A sacrifice is required of you; but it is the will of God. Our

Lorddevoted himself for you; and you in imitation of his example, must giveup something for the welfare of

your family. Your voyage to France willend happily. You will surely consent to go, my dear young lady. "

Virginia, with downcast eyes, answered, trembling, "If it is the commandof God, I will not presume to oppose

it. Let the will of God be done!"As she uttered these words, she wept.

The priest went away, in order to inform the governor of the success ofhis mission. In the meantime Madame

de la Tour sent Domingo to requestme to come to her, that she might consult me respecting

Virginia'sdeparture. I was not at all of opinion that she ought to go. I considerit as a fixed principle of

happiness, that we ought to prefer theadvantages of nature to those of fortune, and never go in search of thatat

a distance, which we may find at home, --in our own bosoms. But whatcould be expected from my advice, in

opposition to the illusions of asplendid fortune?--or from my simple reasoning, when in competition withthe

prejudices of the world, and an authority held sacred by Madame dela Tour? This lady indeed only consulted

me out of politeness; she hadceased to deliberate since she had heard the decision of her confessor. Margaret

herself, who, notwithstanding the advantages she expected forher son from the possession of Virginia's

fortune, had hitherto opposedher departure, made no further objections. As for Paul, in ignorance ofwhat had

been determined, but alarmed at the secret conversations whichVirginia had been holding with her mother, he

abandoned himself tomelancholy. "They are plotting something against me, " cried he, "forthey conceal every

thing from me. "

A report having in the meantime been spread in the island that fortunehad visited these rocks, merchants of

every description were seenclimbing their steep ascent. Now, for the first time, were seendisplayed in these

humble huts the richest stuffs of India; the finedimity of Gondelore; the handkerchiefs of Pellicate and

Masulipatan;the plain, striped, and embroidered muslins of Dacca, so beautifullytransparent: the delicately

white cottons of Surat, and linens of allcolours. They also brought with them the gorgeous silks of China, satin

damasks, some white, and others grass-green and bright red; pinktaffetas, with the profusion of satins and

gauze of Tonquin, both plainand decorated with flowers; soft pekins, downy as cloth; and white andyellow

nankeens, and the calicoes of Madagascar.

Madame de la Tour wished her daughter to purchase whatever she liked;she only examined the goods, and

inquired the price, to take care thatthe dealers did not cheat her. Virginia made choice of everything

shethought would be useful or agreeable to her mother, or to Margaret andher son. "This, " said she, "will be

wanted for furnishing the cottage, and that will be very useful to Mary and Domingo. " In short, the bag

ofpiastres was almost emptied before she even began to consider her ownwants; and she was obliged to

receive back for her own use a share ofthe presents which she had distributed among the family circle.

Paul, overcome with sorrow at the sight of these gifts of fortune, whichhe felt were a presage of Virginia's

departure, came a few days after tomy dwelling. With an air of deep despondency he said to me--"My sisteris

going away; she is already making preparations for her voyage. Iconjure you to come and exert your influence

over her mother andmine, in order to detain her here. " I could not refuse the young man'ssolicitations,

although well convinced that my representations would beunavailing.

Virginia had ever appeared to me charming when clad in the coarsecloth of Bengal, with a red handkerchief

tied round her head: youmay therefore imagine how much her beauty was increased, when she wasattired in

the graceful and elegant costume worn by the ladies of thiscountry! She had on a white muslin dress, lined

with pink taffeta. Her somewhat tall and slender figure was shown to advantage in her newattire, and the

simple arrangement of her hair accorded admirably withthe form of her head. Her fine blue eyes were filled

with an expressionof melancholy; and the struggles of passion, with which her heart wasagitated, imparted a

flush to her cheek, and to her voice a tone of deepemotion. The contrast between her pensive look and her gay

habilimentsrendered her more interesting than ever, nor was it possible to see orhear her unmoved. Paul

became more and more melancholy; and at lengthMargaret, distressed at the situation of her son, took him

aside andsaid to him, --"Why, my dear child, will you cherish vain hopes, whichwill only render your

disappointment more bitter? It is time for me tomake known to you the secret of your life and of mine.

Mademoiselle dela Tour belongs, by her mother's side, to a rich and noble family, whileyou are but the son of

a poor peasant girl; and what is worse you areillegitimate. "

Paul, who had never heard this last expression before, inquired witheagerness its meaning. His mother replied,

"I was not married to yourfather. When I was a girl, seduced by love, I was guilty of a weaknessof which you

are the offspring. The consequence of my fault is, that youare deprived of the protection of a father's family,

and by my flightfrom home you have also lost that of your mother's. Unfortunate child!you have no relations

in the world but me!"--and she shed a flood oftears. Paul, pressing her in his arms, exclaimed, "Oh, my dear

mother!since I have no relation in the world but you, I will love you all themore. But what a secret have you

just disclosed to me! I now see thereason why Mademoiselle de la Tour has estranged herself so much from

mefor the last two months, and why she has determined to go to France. Ah!I perceive too well that she

despises me!"

The hour of supper being arrived, we gathered round the table; butthe different sensations with which we were

agitated left us littleinclination to eat, and the meal, if such it may be called, passedin silence. Virginia was the

first to rise; she went out, and seatedherself on the very spot where we now are. Paul hastened after her, and

sat down by her side. Both of them, for some time, kept a profoundsilence. It was one of those delicious nights

which are so commonbetween the tropics, and to the beauty of which no pencil can dojustice. The moon

appeared in the midst of the firmament, surroundedby a curtain of clouds, which was gradually unfolded by

her beams. Herlight insensibly spread itself over the mountains of the island, andtheir distant peaks glistened

with a silvery green. The winds wereperfectly still. We heard among the woods, at the bottom of the valleys,

and on the summits of the rocks, the piping cries and the soft notes ofthe birds, wantoning in their nests, and

rejoicing in the brightnessof the night and the serenity of the atmosphere. The hum of insects washeard in the

grass. The stars sparkled in the heavens, and their luridorbs were reflected, in trembling sparkles, from the

tranquil bosom ofthe ocean. Virginia's eye wandered distractedly over its vast and gloomyhorizon,

distinguishable from the shore of the island only by the redfires in the fishing boats. She perceived at the

entrance of the harboura light and a shadow; these were the watchlight and the hull of thevessel in which she

was to embark for Europe, and which, all ready forsea, lay at anchor, waiting for a breeze. Affected at this

sight, sheturned away her head, in order to hide her tears from Paul.

Madame de la Tour, Margaret, and I, were seated at a little distance, beneath the plantain-trees; and, owing to

the stillness of the night, wedistinctly heard their conversation, which I have not forgotten.

Paul said to her, --"You are going away from us, they tell me, in threedays. You do not fear then to encounter

the danger of the sea, at thesight of which you are so much terrified?" "I must perform my duty, "answered

Virginia, "by obeying my parent. " "You leave us, " resumedPaul, "for a distant relation, whom you have

never seen. " "Alas!" criedVirginia, "I would have remained here my whole life, but my mother wouldnot have

it so. My confessor, too, told me it was the will of God that Ishould go, and that life was a scene of trials!--and

Oh! this is indeeda severe one. "

"What!" exclaimed Paul, "you could find so many reasons for going, andnot one for remaining here! Ah! there

is one reason for your departurethat you have not mentioned. Riches have great attractions. You willsoon find

in the new world to which you are going, another, to whom youwill give the name of brother, which you

bestow on me no more. You willchoose that brother from amongst persons who are worthy of you by

theirbirth, and by a fortune which I have not to offer. But where can you goto be happier? On what shore will

you land, and find it dearer to youthan the spot which gave you birth?--and where will you form around youa

society more delightful to you than this, by which you are so muchaccustomed? What will become of her,

already advanced in years, whenshe no longer sees you at her side at table, in the house, in the walks, where

she used to lean upon you? What will become of my mother, wholoves you with the same affection? What

shall I say to comfort them whenI see them weeping for your absence? Cruel Virginia! I say nothing toyou of

myself; but what will become of me, when in the morning I shallno more see you; when the evening will

come, and not reunite us?--whenI shall gaze on these two palm trees, planted at our birth, and solong the

witnesses of our mutual friendship? Ah! since your lot ischanged, --since you seek in a far country other

possessions than thefruits of my labour, let me go with you in the vessel in which youare about to embark. I

will sustain your spirits in the midst of thosetempests which terrify you so much even on shore. I will lay my

headupon your bosom: I will warm your heart upon my own; and in France, where you are going in search of

fortune and of grandeur, I will waitupon you as your slave. Happy only in your happiness, you will findme, in

those palaces where I shall see you receiving the homage andadoration of all, rich and noble enough to make

you the greatest of allsacrifices, by dying at your feet. "

The violence of his emotions stopped his utterance, and we then heardVirginia, who, in a voice broken by

sobs, uttered these words:--"It isfor you that I go, --for you whom I see tired to death every day by thelabour

of sustaining two helpless families. If I have accepted thisopportunity of becoming rich, it is only to return a

thousand-foldthe good which you have done us. Can any fortune be equal to yourfriendship? Why do you talk

about your birth? Ah! if it were possiblefor me still to have a brother, should I make choice of any other

thanyou? Oh, Paul, Paul! you are far dearer to me than a brother! How muchhas it cost me to repulse you from

me! Help me to tear myself from whatI value more than existence, till Heaven shall bless our union. ButI will

stay or go, --I will live or die, --dispose of me as you will. Unhappy that I am! I could have repelled your

caresses; but I cannotsupport your affliction. "

At these words Paul seized her in his arms, and, holding her pressedclose to his bosom, cried, in a piercing

tone, "I will go withher, --nothing shall ever part us. " We all ran towards him; and Madame dela Tour said to

him, "My son, if you go, what will become of us?"

He, trembling, repeated after her the words, --"My son!--my son! You mymother!" cried he; "you, who would

separate the brother from the sister!We have both been nourished at your bosom; we have both been reared

uponyour knees; we have learnt of you to love another; we have said so athousand times; and now you would

separate her from me!--you would sendher to Europe, that inhospitable country which refused you an asylum,

and to relations by whom you yourself were abandoned. You will tell methat I have no right over her, and that

she is not my sister. She iseverything to me;--my riches, my birth, my family, --all that I have! Iknow no other.

We have had but one roof, --one cradle, --and we will havebut one grave! If she goes, I will follow her. The

governor will preventme! Will he prevent me from flinging myself into the sea?--will heprevent me from

following her by swimming? The sea cannot be more fatalto me than the land. Since I cannot live with her, at

least I willdie before her eyes, far from you. Inhuman mother!--woman withoutcompassion!--may the ocean,

to which you trust her, restore her to youno more! May the waves, rolling back our bodies amid the shinglesof

this beach, give you in the loss of your two children, an eternalsubject of remorse!"

At these words, I seized him in my arms, for despair had deprived himof reason. His eyes sparkled with fire,

the perspiration fell in greatdrops from his face; his knees trembled, and I felt his heart beatviolently against

his burning bosom.

Virginia, alarmed, said to him, --"Oh, my dear Paul, I call to witnessthe pleasures of our early age, your griefs

and my own, and every thingthat can for ever bind two unfortunate beings to each other, that if Iremain at

home, I will live but for you; that if I go, I will one dayreturn to be yours. I call you all to witness;--you who

have reared mefrom my infancy, who dispose of my life, and who see my tears. I swearby that Heaven which

hears me, by the sea which I am going to pass, bythe air I breathe, and which I never sullied by a falsehood. "

As the sun softens and precipitates an icy rock from the summit ofone of the Appenines, so the impetuous

passions of the young man weresubdued by the voice of her he loved. He bent his head, and a torrent oftears

fell from his eyes. His mother, mingling her tears with his, held him in her arms, but was unable to speak.

Madame de la Tour, halfdistracted, said to me, "I can bear this no longer. My heart is quitebroken. This

unfortunate voyage shall not take place. Do take my sonhome with you. Not one of us has had any rest the

whole week. "

I said to Paul, "My dear friend, your sister shall remain here. To-morrow we will talk to the governor about it;

leave your family totake some rest, and come and pass the night with me. It is late; it ismidnight; the southern

cross is just above the horizon. "

He suffered himself to be led away in silence; and, after a night ofgreat agitation, he arose at break of day, and

returned home.

But why should I continue any longer to you the recital of this history?There is but one aspect of human

pleasure. Like the globe upon which werevolve, the fleeting course of life is but a day; and if one part ofthat

day be visited by light, the other is thrown into darkness.

"My father, " I answered, "finish, I conjure you, the history which youhave begun in a manner so interesting.

If the images of happiness arethe most pleasing, those of misfortune are the more instructive. Tell mewhat

became of the unhappy young man. "

The first object beheld by Paul in his way home was the negro womanMary, who, mounted on a rock, was

earnestly looking towards the sea. Assoon as he perceived her, he called to her from a distance, --"Where

isVirginia?" Mary turned her head towards her young master, and began toweep. Paul, distracted, retracing his

steps, ran to the harbour. He wasthere informed, that Virginia had embarked at the break of day, andthat the

vessel had immediately set sail, and was now out of sight. Heinstantly returned to the plantation, which he

crossed without utteringa word.

Quite perpendicular as appears the wall of rocks behind us, those greenplatforms which separate their summits

are so many stages, by means ofwhich you may reach, through some difficult paths, that cone of slopingand

inaccessible rocks, which is called The Thumb. At the foot of thatcone is an extended slope of ground, covered

with lofty trees, and sosteep and elevated that it looks like a forest in the air, surrounded bytremendous

precipices. The clouds, which are constantly attracted roundthe summit of the Thumb, supply innumerable

rivulets, which fall to sogreat a depth in the valley situated on the other side of the mountain, that from this

elevated point the sound of their cataracts cannot beheard. From that spot you can discern a considerable part

of the island, diversified by precipices and mountain peaks, and amongst others, Peter-Booth, and the Three

Breasts, with their valleys full of woods. You also command an extensive view of the ocean, and can even

perceivethe Isle of Bourbon, forty leagues to the westward. From the summit ofthat stupendous pile of rocks

Paul caught sight of the vessel which wasbearing away Virginia, and which now, ten leagues out at sea,

appearedlike a black spot in the midst of the ocean. He remained a great part ofthe day with his eyes fixed

upon this object: when it had disappeared, he still fancied he beheld it; and when, at length, the traces

whichclung to his imagination were lost in the mists of the horizon, heseated himself on that wild point,

forever beaten by the winds, whichnever cease to agitate the tops of the cabbage and gum trees, and thehoarse

and moaning murmurs of which, similar to the distant sound oforgans, inspire a profound melancholy. On this

spot I found him, hishead reclined on the rock, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. I hadfollowed him from

the earliest dawn, and, after much importunity, Iprevailed on him to descend from the heights, and return to

his family. I went home with him, where the first impulse of his mind, on seeingMadame de la Tour, was to

reproach her bitterly for having deceived him. She told us that a favourable wind having sprung up at three

o'clock inthe morning, and the vessel being ready to sail, the governor, attendedby some of his staff and the

missionary, had come with a palanquin tofetch her daughter; and that, notwithstanding Virginia's objections,

herown tears and entreaties, and the lamentations of Margaret, every bodyexclaiming all the time that it was

for the general welfare, they hadcarried her away almost dying. "At least, " cried Paul, "if I had bidher

farewell, I should now be more calm. I would have said toher, --'Virginia, if, during the time we have lived

together, one wordmay have escaped me which has offended you, before you leave me forever, tell me that

you forgive me. ' I would have said to her, --'Since I amdestined to see you no more, farewell, my dear

Virginia, farewell! Livefar from me, contented and happy!'" When he saw that his mother andMadame de la

Tour were weeping, --"You must now, " said he, "seek someother hand to wipe away your tears;" and then,

rushing out of the house, and groaning aloud, he wandered up and down the plantation. He hoveredin

particular about those spots which had been most endeared toVirginia. He said to the goats, and their little

ones, which followedhim, bleating, --"What do you want of me? You will see with me no moreher who used

to feed you with her own hand. " He went to the bower calledVirginia's Resting-place, and, as the birds flew

around him, exclaimed, "Poor birds! you will fly no more to meet her who cherished you!"--andobserving

Fidele running backwards and forwards in search of her, heheaved a deep sigh, and cried, --"Ah! you will

never find her again. "At length he went and seated himself upon a rock where he had conversedwith her the

preceding evening; and at the sight of the ocean upon whichhe had seen the vessel disappear which had borne

her away, his heartoverflowed with anguish, and he wept bitterly.

We continually watched his movements, apprehensive of some fatalconsequence from the violent agitation of

his mind. His mother andMadame de la Tour conjured him, in the most tender manner, not toincrease their

affliction by his despair. At length the latter soothedhis mind by lavishing upon him epithets calculated to

awaken hishopes, --calling him her son, her dear son, her son-in-law, whom shedestined for her daughter. She

persuaded him to return home, and to takesome food. He seated himself next to the place which used to be

occupiedby the companion of his childhood; and, as if she had still beenpresent, he spoke to her, and made as

though he would offer her whateverhe knew as most agreeable to her taste: then, starting from thisdream of

fancy, he began to weep. For some days he employed himself ingathering together every thing which had

belonged to Virginia, the lastnosegays she had worn, the cocoa-shell from which she used to drink; andafter

kissing a thousand times these relics of his beloved, to him themost precious treasures which the world

contained, he hid them in hisbosom. Amber does not shed so sweet a perfume as the veriest triflestouched by

those we love. At length, perceiving that the indulgence ofhis grief increased that of his mother and Madame

de la Tour, and thatthe wants of the family demanded continual labour, he began, with theassistance of

Domingo, to repair the damage done to the garden.

But, soon after, this young man, hitherto indifferent as a Creole toevery thing that was passing in the world,

begged of me to teach himto read and write, in order that he might correspond with Virginia. Heafterwards

wished to obtain a knowledge of geography, that he might formsome idea of the country where she would

disembark; and of history, thathe might know something of the manners of the society in which she wouldbe

placed. The powerful sentiment of love, which directed his presentstudies, had already instructed him in

agriculture, and in the art oflaying out grounds with advantage and beauty. It must be admitted, thatto the fond

dreams of this restless and ardent passion, mankind areindebted for most of the arts and sciences, while its

disappointmentshave given birth to philosophy, which teaches us to bear up undermisfortune. Love, thus, the

general link of all beings, becomes thegreat spring of society, by inciting us to knowledge as well as

topleasure.

Paul found little satisfaction in the study of geography, which, insteadof describing the natural history of each

country, gave only a view ofits political divisions and boundaries. History, and especially modernhistory,

interested him little more. He there saw only general andperiodical evils, the causes of which he could not

discover; warswithout either motive or reason; uninteresting intrigues; with nationsdestitute of principle, and

princes void of humanity. To this branchof reading he preferred romances, which, being chiefly occupied by

thefeelings and concerns of men, sometimes represented situations similarto his own. Thus, no book gave him

so much pleasure as Telemachus, fromthe pictures it draws of pastoral life, and of the passions which aremost

natural to the human breast. He read aloud to his mother and Madamede la Tour, those parts which affected

him most sensibly; but sometimes, touched by the most tender remembrances, his emotion would choke

hisutterance, and his eyes be filled with tears. He fancied he had foundin Virginia the dignity and wisdom of

Antiope, united to the misfortunesand the tenderness of Eucharis. With very different sensations heperused our

fashionable novels, filled with licentious morals andmaxims, and when he was informed that these works drew

a tolerablyfaithful picture of European society, he trembled, and not without someappearance of reason, lest

Virginia should become corrupted by it, andforget him.

More than a year and a half, indeed, passed away before Madame de laTour received any tidings of her aunt or

her daughter. During thatperiod she only accidently heard that Virginia had safely arrived inFrance. At length,

however, a vessel which stopped here on its way tothe Indies brought a packet to Madame de la Tour, and a

letter writtenby Virginia's own hand. Although this amiable and considerate girlhad written in a guarded

manner that she might not wound her mother'sfeelings, it appeared evident enough that she was unhappy. The

letterpainted so naturally her situation and her character, that I haveretained it almost word for word.

"MY DEAR AND BELOVED MOTHER, "I have already sent you several letters, written by my own hand,

buthaving received no answer, I am afraid they have not reached you. I havebetter hopes for this, from the

means I have now gained of sending youtidings of myself, and of hearing from you.

"I have shed many tears since our separation, I who never used to weep, but for the misfortunes of others! My

aunt was much astonished, when, having, upon my arrival, inquired what accomplishments I possessed, Itold

her that I could neither read nor write. She asked me what then Ihad learnt, since I came into the world; and

when I answered that Ihad been taught to take care of the household affairs, and to obey yourwill, she told me

that I had received the education of a servant. Thenext day she placed me as a boarder in a great abbey near

Paris, whereI have masters of all kinds, who teach me, among other things, history, geography, grammar,

mathematics, and riding on horseback. But I haveso little capacity for all these sciences, that I fear I shall

make butsmall progress with my masters. I feel that I am a very poor creature, with very little ability to learn

what they teach. My aunt's kindness, however, does not decrease. She gives me new dresses every season;

andshe had placed two waiting women with me, who are dressed like fineladies. She has made me take the

title of countess; but has obliged meto renounce the name of LA TOUR, which is as dear to me as it is to you,

from all you have told me of the sufferings my father endured in orderto marry you. She has given me in place

of your name that of yourfamily, which is also dear to me, because it was your name when a girl. Seeing

myself in so splendid a situation, I implored her to let me sendyou something to assist you. But how shall I

repeat her answer! Yet youhave desired me always to tell you the truth. She told me then thata little would be

of no use to you, and that a great deal would onlyencumber you in the simple life you led. As you know I

could not write, I endeavoured upon my arrival, to send you tidings of myself by anotherhand; but, finding no

person here in whom I could place confidence, Iapplied night and day to learn to read and write, and Heaven,

who saw mymotive for learning, no doubt assisted my endeavours, for I succeeded inboth in a short time. I

entrusted my first letters to some of the ladieshere, who, I have reason to think, carried them to my aunt. This

time Ihave recourse to a boarder, who is my friend. I send you her direction, by means of which I shall receive

your answer. My aunt has forbid meholding any correspondence whatever, with any one, lest, she says,

itshould occasion an obstacle to the great views she has for my advantage. No person is allowed to see me at

the grate but herself, and an oldnobleman, one of her friends, who, she says is much pleased with me. I am

sure I am not at all so with him, nor should I, even if it werepossible for me to be pleased with any one at

present.

"I live in all the splendour of affluence, and have not a sous atmy disposal. They say I might make an

improper use of money. Even myclothes belong to my femmes de chambre, who quarrel about them before

Ihave left them off. In the midst of riches I am poorer than when I livedwith you; for I have nothing to give

away. When I found that the greataccomplishments they taught me would not procure me the power of

doingthe smallest good, I had recourse to my needle, of which happily you hadtaught me the use. I send

several pairs of stockings of my own makingfor you and my mamma Margaret, a cap for Domingo, and one of

my redhandkerchiefs for Mary. I also send with this packet some kernels, andseeds of various kinds of fruits

which I gathered in the abbey parkduring my hours of recreation. I have also sent a few seeds of violets,

daisies, buttercups, poppies and scabious, which I picked up in thefields. There are much more beautiful

flowers in the meadows of thiscountry than in ours, but nobody cares for them. I am sure that you andmy

mamma Margaret will be better pleased with this bag of seeds, thanyou were with the bag of piastres, which

was the cause of our separationand of my tears. It will give me great delight if you should one daysee apple

trees growing by the side of our plantains, and elms blendingtheir foliage with that of our cocoa trees. You

will fancy yourself inNormandy, which you love so much.

"You desired me to relate to you my joys and my griefs. I have nojoys far from you. As far as my griefs, I

endeavour to soothe them byreflecting that I am in the situation in which it was the will of Godthat you should

place me. But my greatest affliction is, that no onehere speaks to me of you, and that I cannot speak of you to

any one. Myfemmes de chambre, or rather those of my aunt, for they belong moreto her than to me, told me

the other day, when I wished to turn theconversation upon the objects most dear to me: 'Remember,

mademoiselle, that you are a French woman, and must forget that land of savages. ' Ah!sooner will I forget

myself, than forget the spot on which I wasborn and where you dwell! It is this country which is to me a land

ofsavages, for I live alone, having no one to whom I can impart thosefeelings of tenderness for you which I

shall bear with me to the grave. I am, "My dearest and beloved mother, "Your affectionate and dutiful

daughter, "VIRGINIE DE LA TOUR. "

"I recommend to your goodness Mary and Domingo, who took so much care ofmy infancy; caress Fidele for

me, who found me in the wood. "

Paul was astonished that Virginia had not said one word of him, --she, who had not forgotten even the

house-dog. But he was not aware that, however long a woman's letter may be, she never fails to leave

herdearest sentiments for the end.

In a postscript, Virginia particularly recommended to Paul's attentiontwo kinds of seed, --those of the violet

and the scabious. She gave himsome instructions upon the natural characters of these flowers, andthe spots

most proper for their cultivation. "The violet, " she said, "produces a little flower of a dark purple colour,

which delights toconceal itself beneath the bushes; but it is soon discovered by itswide-spreading perfume. "

She desired that these seeds might be sownby the border of the fountain, at the foot of her cocoa-tree.

"Thescabious, " she added, "produces a beautiful flower of a pale blue, and ablack ground spotted with white.

You might fancy it was in mourning; andfor this reason it is also called the widow's flower. It grows best

inbleak spots, beaten by the winds. " She begged him to sow this upon therock where she had spoken to him at

night for the last time, and that, in remembrance of her, he would henceforth give it the name of the Rockof

Adieus.

She had put these seeds into a little purse, the tissue of which wasexceedingly simple; but which appeared

above all price to Paul, whenhe saw on it a P and a V entwined together, and knew that the beautifulhair which

formed the cypher was the hair of Virginia.

The whole family listened with tears to the reading of the letter ofthis amiable and virtuous girl. Her mother

answered it in the name ofthe little society, desiring her to remain or to return as she thoughtproper; and

assuring her, that happiness had left their dwelling sinceher departure, and that, for herself, she was

inconsolable.

Paul also sent her a very long letter, in which he assured her that hewould arrange the garden in a manner

agreeable to her taste, and mingletogether in it the plants of Europe with those of Africa, as she hadblended

their initials together in her work. He sent her some fruit fromthe cocoa-trees of the fountain, now arrived at

maturity telling her, that he would not add any of the other productions of the island, thatthe desire of seeing

them again might hasten her return. He conjured herto comply as soon as possible with the ardent wishes of

her family, andabove all, with his own, since he could never hereafter taste happinessaway from her.

Paul sowed with a careful hand the European seeds, particularly theviolet and the scabious, the flowers of

which seemed to bear someanalogy to the character and present situation of Virginia, by whom theyhad been

so especially recommended; but either they were dried up inthe voyage, or the climate of this part of the world

is unfavourable totheir growth, for a very small number of them even came up, and not onearrived at full

perfection.

In the meantime, envy, which ever comes to embitter human happiness, particularly in the French colonies,

spread some reports in the islandwhich gave Paul much uneasiness. The passengers in the vessel whichbrought

Virginia's letter, asserted that she was upon the point of beingmarried, and named the nobleman of the court to

whom she was engaged. Some even went so far as to declare that the union had already takenplace, and that

they themselves had witnessed the ceremony. Paul atfirst despised the report, brought by a merchant vessel, as

he knew thatthey often spread erroneous intelligence in their passage; but some ofthe inhabitants of the island,

with malignant pity, affecting to bewailthe event, he was soon led to attach some degree of belief to this

cruelintelligence. Besides, in some of the novels he had lately read, he hadseen that perfidy was treated as a

subject of pleasantry; and knowingthat these books contained pretty faithful representations of

Europeanmanners, he feared that the heart of Virginia was corrupted, and hadforgotten its former

engagements. Thus his new acquirements had alreadyonly served to render him more miserable; and his

apprehensions weremuch increased by the circumstance, that though several ships touchedhere from Europe,

within the six months immediately following thearrival of her letter, not one of them brought any tidings of

Virginia.

This unfortunate young man, with a heart torn by the most cruelagitation, often came to visit me, in the hope

of confirming orbanishing his uneasiness, by my experience of the world.

I live, as I have already told you, a league and a half from thispoint, upon the banks of a little river which

glides along the SlopingMountain: there I lead a solitary life, without wife, children, orslaves.

After having enjoyed, and lost the rare felicity of living with acongenial mind, the state of life which appears

the least wretched isdoubtless that of solitude. Every man who has much cause of complaintagainst his

fellow-creatures seeks to be alone. It is also remarkablethat all those nations which have been brought to

wretchedness by theiropinions, their manners, or their forms of government, have producednumerous classes

of citizens altogether devoted to solitude andcelibacy. Such were the Egyptians in their decline, and the

Greeks ofthe Lower Empire; and such in our days are the Indians, the Chinese, the modern Greeks, the

Italians, and the greater part of the eastern andsouthern nations of Europe. Solitude, by removing men from the

miserieswhich follow in the train of social intercourse, brings them in somedegree back to the unsophisticated

enjoyment of nature. In the midst ofmodern society, broken up by innumerable prejudices, the mind is in

aconstant turmoil of agitation. It is incessantly revolving in itself athousand tumultuous and contradictory

opinions, by which the members ofan ambitious and miserable circle seek to raise themselves above

eachother. But in solitude the soul lays aside the morbid illusions whichtroubled her, and resumes the pure

consciousness of herself, of nature, and of its Author, as the muddy water of a torrent which has ravaged

theplains, coming to rest, and diffusing itself over some low grounds outof its course, deposits there the slime

it has taken up, and, resumingits wonted transparency, reflects, with its own shores, the verdure ofthe earth

and the light of heaven. Thus does solitude recruit the powersof the body as well as those of the mind. It is

among hermits that arefound the men who carry human existence to its extreme limits; suchare the Bramins of

India. In brief, I consider solitude so necessary tohappiness, even in the world itself, that it appears to me

impossibleto derive lasting pleasure from any pursuit whatever, or to regulateour conduct by any pursuit

whatever, or to regulate our conduct byany stable principle, if we do not create for ourselves a mental void,

whence our own views rarely emerge, and into which the opinionsof others never enter. I do not mean to say

that man ought to liveabsolutely alone; he is connected by his necessities with all mankind;his labours are due

to man: and he owes something too to the rest ofnature. But, as God has given to each of us organs perfectly

adapted tothe elements of the globe on which we live, --feet for the soil, lungsfor the air, eyes for the light,

without the power of changing the useof any of these faculties, he has reserved for himself, as the Author

oflife, that which is its chief organ, --the heart.

I thus passed my days far from mankind, whom I wished to serve, and bywhom I have been persecuted. After

having travelled over many countriesof Europe, and some parts of America and Africa, I at length pitched

mytent in this thinly-peopled island, allured by its mild climate and itssolitudes. A cottage which I built in the

woods, at the foot of a tree, a little field which I cleared with my own hands, a river which glidesbefore my

door, suffice for my wants and for my pleasures. I blend withthese enjoyments the perusal of some chosen

books, which teach me tobecome better. They make that world, which I have abandoned, stillcontribute

something to my happiness. They lay before me pictures ofthose passions which render its inhabitants so

miserable; and in thecomparison I am thus led to make between their lot and my own, I feel akind of negative

enjoyment. Like a man saved from shipwreck, and thrownupon a rock, I contemplate, from my solitude, the

storms which ragethrough the rest of the world; and my repose seems more profound fromthe distant sound of

the tempest. As men have ceased to fall in my way, I no longer view them with aversion; I only pity them. If I

sometimesfall in with an unfortunate being, I try to help him by my counsels, asa passer-by on the brink of a

torrent extends his hand to save awretch from drowning. But I have hardly ever found any but the

innocentattentive to my voice. Nature calls the majority of men to her in vain. Each of them forms an image of

her for himself, and invests her with hisown passions. He pursues during the whole of his life this vain

phantom, which leads him astray; and he afterwards complains to Heaven of themisfortunes which he has thus

created for himself. Among the manychildren of misfortune whom I have endeavoured to lead back to

theenjoyments of nature, I have not found one but was intoxicated with hisown miseries. They have listened to

me at first with attention, in thehope that I could teach them how to acquire glory or fortune, but whenthey

found that I only wished to instruct them how to dispense withthese chimeras, their attention has been

converted into pity, because Idid not prize their miserable happiness. They blamed my solitary life;they

alleged that they alone were useful to men, and they endeavoured todraw me into their vortex. But if I

communicate with all, I lay myselfopen to none. It is often sufficient for me to serve as a lesson tomyself. In

my present tranquillity, I pass in review the agitatingpursuits of my past life, to which I formerly attached so

muchvalue, --patronage, fortune, reputation, pleasure, and the opinions whichare ever at strife over all the

earth. I compare the men whom I haveseen disputing furiously over these vanities, and who are no more, tothe

tiny waves of my rivulet, which break in foam against its rockybed, and disappear, never to return. As for me,

I suffer myself tofloat calmly down the stream of time to the shoreless ocean of futurity;while, in the

contemplation of the present harmony of nature, I elevatemy soul towards its supreme Author, and hope for a

more happy lot inanother state of existence.

Although you cannot descry from my hermitage, situated in the midst ofa forest, that immense variety of

objects which this elevated spotpresents, the grounds are disposed with peculiar beauty, at least toone who,

like me, prefers the seclusion of a home scene to great andextensive prospects. The river which glides before

my door passes in astraight line across the woods, looking like a long canal shaded by allkinds of trees.

Among them are the gum tree, the ebony tree, and thatwhich is here called bois de pomme, with olive and

cinnamon-wood trees;while in some parts the cabbage-palm trees raise their naked stemsmore than a hundred

feet high, their summits crowned with a cluster ofleaves, and towering above the woods like one forest piled

upon another. Lianas, of various foliage, intertwining themselves among the trees, form, here, arcades of

foliage, there, long canopies of verdure. Mostof these trees shed aromatic odours so powerful, that the

garments of atraveller, who has passed through the forest, often retain for hours themost delicious fragrance.

In the season when they produce their lavishblossoms, they appear as if half-covered with snow. Towards the

endof summer, various kinds of foreign birds hasten, impelled by someinexplicable instinct, from unknown

regions on the other side of immenseoceans, to feed upon the grain and other vegetable productions of

theisland; and the brilliancy of their plumage forms a striking contrast tothe more sombre tints of the foliage

embrowned by the sun. Among theseare various kinds of parroquets, and the blue pigeon, called here

thepigeon of Holland. Monkeys, the domestic inhabitants of our forests, sport upon the dark branches of the

trees, from which they are easilydistinguished by their gray and greenish skin, and their black visages. Some

hang, suspended by the tail, and swing themselves in air; othersleap from branch to branch, bearing their

young in their arms. Themurderous gun has never affrighted these peaceful children of nature. You hear

nothing but sounds of joy, --the warblings and unknown notes ofbirds from the countries of the south, repeated

from a distance by theechoes of the forest. The river, which pours, in foaming eddies, overa bed of rocks,

through the midst of the woods, reflects here and thereupon its limpid waters their venerable masses of

verdure and of shade, along with the sports of their happy inhabitants. About a thousand pacesfrom thence it

forms several cascades, clear as crystal in their fall, but broken at the bottom into frothy surges. Innumerable

confused soundsissue from these watery tumults, which, borne by the winds across theforest, now sink in

distance, now all at once swell out, booming on theear like the bells of a cathedral. The air, kept ever in

motion bythe running water, preserves upon the banks of the river, amid all thesummer heats, a freshness and

verdure rarely found in this island, evenon the summits of the mountains.

At some distance from this place is a rock, placed far enough from thecascade to prevent the ear from being

deafened with the noise of itswaters, and sufficiently near for the enjoyment of seeing it, of feelingits coolness,

and hearing its gentle murmurs. Thither, amidst the heatsof summer, Madame de la Tour, Margaret, Virginia,

Paul, and myself, sometimes repaired, to dine beneath the shadow of this rock. Virginia, who always, in her

most ordinary actions, was mindful of the good ofothers, never ate of any fruit in the fields without planting

the seedor kernel in the ground. "From this, " said she, "trees will come, whichwill yield their fruit to some

traveller, or at least to some bird. "One day, having eaten of the papaw fruit at the foot of that rock, sheplanted

the seeds on the spot. Soon after, several papaw trees sprangup, among which was one with female blossoms,

that is to say, afruit-bearing tree. This tree, at the time of Virginia's departure, wasscarcely as high as her knee;

but, as it is a plant of rapid growth, inthe course of two years it had gained the height of twenty feet, andthe

upper part of its stem was encircled by several rows of ripe fruit. Paul, wandering accidentally to the spot, was

struck with delight atseeing this lofty tree, which had been planted by his beloved; but theemotion was

transient, and instantly gave place to a deep melancholy, at this evidence of her long absence. The objects

which are habituallybefore us do not bring to our minds an adequate idea of the rapidity oflife; they decline

insensibly with ourselves: but it is those we beholdagain, that most powerfully impress us with a feeling of the

swiftnesswith which the tide of life flows on. Paul was no less over-whelmed andaffected at the sight of this

great papaw tree, loaded with fruit, thanis the traveller when, after a long absence from his own country,

hefinds his contemporaries no more, but their children, whom he left atthe breast, themselves now become

fathers of families. Paul sometimesthought of cutting down the tree, which recalled too sensibly thedistracting

remembrance of Virginia's prolonged absence. At other times, contemplating it as a monument of her

benevolence, he kissed its trunk, and apostrophized it in terms of the most passionate regret. Indeed, I have

myself gazed upon it with more emotion and more veneration thanupon the triumphal arches of Rome. May

nature, which every day destroysthe monuments of kingly ambition, multiply in our forests those whichtestify

the beneficence of a poor young girl!

At the foot of this papaw tree I was always sure to meet with Paul whenhe came into our neighbourhood. One

day, I found him there absorbed inmelancholy and a conversation took place between us, which I will relateto

you, if I do not weary you too much by my long digressions; they areperhaps pardonable to my age and to my

last friendships. I will relateit to you in the form of a dialogue, that you may form some idea of thenatural

good sense of this young man. You will easily distinguish thespeakers, from the character of his questions and

of my answers.

_Paul. _--I am very unhappy. Mademoiselle de la Tour has now been gonetwo years and eight months and a

half. She is rich, and I am poor;she has forgotten me. I have a great mind to follow her. I will goto France; I

will serve the king; I will make my fortune; and thenMademoiselle de la Tour's aunt will bestow her niece

upon me when Ishall have become a great lord.

_The Old Man. _--But, my dear friend, have not you told me that you arenot of noble birth?

_Paul. _--My mother has told me so; but, as for myself, I know not whatnoble birth means. I never perceived

that I had less than others, orthat others had more than I.

_The Old Man. _--Obscure birth, in France, shuts every door of access togreat employments; nor can you even

be received among any distinguishedbody of men, if you labour under this disadvantage.

_Paul. _--You have often told me that it was one source of the greatnessof France that her humblest subject

might attain the highest honours;and you have cited to me many instances of celebrated men who, born ina

mean condition, had conferred honour upon their country. It was yourwish, then, by concealing the truth to

stimulate my ardour?

_The Old Man. _--Never, my son, would I lower it. I told you the truthwith regard to the past; but now, every

thing has undergone a greatchange. Every thing in France is now to be obtained by interest alone;every place

and employment is now become as it were the patrimony of asmall number of families, or is divided among

public bodies. The kingis a sun, and the nobles and great corporate bodies surround him like somany clouds; it

is almost impossible for any of his rays to reach you. Formerly, under less exclusive administrations, such

phenomena have beenseen. Then talents and merit showed themselves every where, as newlycleared lands are

always loaded with abundance. But great kings, who canreally form a just estimate of men, and choose them

with judgment, arerare. The ordinary race of monarchs allow themselves to be guided by thenobles and people

who surround them.

_Paul. _--But perhaps I shall find one of these nobles to protect me.

_The Old Man. _--To gain the protection of the great you must lendyourself to their ambition, and administer

to their pleasures. You wouldnever succeed; for, in addition to your obscure birth, you have too muchintegrity.

_Paul. _--But I will perform such courageous actions, I will be sofaithful to my word, so exact in the

performance of my duties, sozealous and so constant in my friendships, that I will render myselfworthy to be

adopted by some one of them. In the ancient histories, youhave made me read, I have seen many examples of

such adoptions.

_The Old Man. _--Oh, my young friend! among the Greeks and Romans, evenin their decline, the nobles had

some respect for virtue; but out ofall the immense number of men, sprung from the mass of the people,

inFrance, who have signalized themselves in every possible manner, Ido not recollect a single instance of one

being adopted by any greatfamily. If it were not for our kings, virtue, in our country, wouldbe eternally

condemned as plebeian. As I said before, the monarchsometimes, when he perceives it, renders to it due

honour; but in thepresent day, the distinctions which should be bestowed on merit aregenerally to be obtained

by money alone.

_Paul. _--If I cannot find a nobleman to adopt me, I will seek to pleasesome public body. I will espouse its

interests and its opinions: I willmake myself beloved by it.

_The Old Man. _--You will act then like other men?--you will renounceyour conscience to obtain a fortune?

_Paul. _--Oh no! I will never lend myself to any thing but the truth.

_The Old Man. _--Instead of making yourself beloved, you would become anobject of dislike. Besides, public

bodies have never taken much interestin the discovery of truth. All opinions are nearly alike to ambitiousmen,

provided only that they themselves can gain their ends.

_Paul. _--How unfortunate I am! Every thing bars my progress. I amcondemned to pass my life in ignoble toil,

far from Virginia.

As he said this he sighed deeply.

_The Old Man. _--Let God be your patron, and mankind the public bodyyou would serve. Be constantly

attached to them both. Families, corporations, nations and kings have, all of them, their prejudices andtheir

passions; it is often necessary to serve them by the practice ofvice: God and mankind at large require only the

exercise of the virtues.

But why do you wish to be distinguished from other men? It is hardly anatural sentiment, for, if all men

possessed it, every one would be atconstant strife with his neighbour. Be satisfied with fulfilling yourduty in

the station in which Providence has placed you; be grateful foryour lot, which permits you to enjoy the

blessing of a quiet conscience, and which does not compel you, like the great, to let your happinessrest on the

opinion of the little, or, like the little, to cringe to thegreat, in order to obtain the means of existence. You are

now placedin a country and a condition in which you are not reduced to deceive orflatter any one, or debase

yourself, as the greater part of those whoseek their fortune in Europe are obliged to do; in which the exerciseof

no virtue is forbidden you; in which you may be, with impunity, good, sincere, well-informed, patient,

temperate, chaste, indulgent to others'faults, pious and no shaft of ridicule be aimed at you to destroy

yourwisdom, as yet only in its bud. Heaven has given you liberty, health, agood conscience, and friends; kings

themselves, whose favour you desire, are not so happy.

_Paul. _--Ah! I only want to have Virginia with me: without her I havenothing, --with her, I should possess all

my desire. She alone is to mebirth, glory, and fortune. But, since her relations will only give herto some one

with a great name, I will study. By the aid of study and ofbooks, learning and celebrity are to be attained. I

will become a man ofscience: I will render my knowledge useful to the service of my country, without

injuring any one, or owning dependence on any one. I will becomecelebrated, and my glory shall be achieved

only by myself.

_The Old Man. _--My son, talents are a gift yet more rare than eitherbirth or riches, and undoubtedly they are

a greater good than either, since they can never be taken away from us, and that they obtain forus every where

public esteem. But they may be said to be worth allthat they cost us. They are seldom acquired but by every

species ofprivation, by the possession of exquisite sensibility, which oftenproduces inward unhappiness, and

which exposes us without to the maliceand persecutions of our contemporaries. The lawyer envies not,

inFrance, the glory of the soldier, nor does the soldier envy that of thenaval officer; but they will all oppose

you, and bar your progress todistinction, because your assumption of superior ability will woundthe self-love

of them all. You say that you will do good to men; butrecollect, that he who makes the earth produce a single

ear of cornmore, renders them a greater service than he who writes a book.

_Paul. _--Oh! she, then, who planted this papaw tree, has made a moreuseful and more grateful present to the

inhabitants of these foreststhan if she had given them a whole library.

So saying, he threw his arms around the tree, and kissed it withtransport.

_The Old Man. _--The best of books, --that which preaches nothing butequality, brotherly love, charity, and

peace, --the Gospel, has served asa pretext, during many centuries, for Europeans to let loose all theirfury.

How many tyrannies, both public and private, are still practisedin its name on the face of the earth! After this,

who will dare toflatter himself that any thing he can write will be of service to hisfellow men? Remember the

fate of most of the philosophers who havepreached to them wisdom. Homer, who clothes it in such noble

verse, asked for alms all his life. Socrates, whose conversation and examplegave such admirable lessons to the

Athenians, was sentenced by them tobe poisoned. His sublime disciple, Plato was delivered over to slaveryby

the order of the very prince who protected him; and, before them, Pythagoras, whose humanity extended even

to animals, was burned aliveby the Crotoniates. What do I say?--many even of these illustrious nameshave

descended to us disfigured by some traits of satire by whichthey became characterized, human ingratitude

taking pleasure in thusrecognising them; and if, in the crowd, the glory of some names is comedown to us

without spot or blemish, we shall find that they who haveborne them have lived far from the society of their

contemporaries;like those statues which are found entire beneath the soil in Greeceand Italy, and which, by

being hidden in the bosom of the earth, haveescaped uninjured, from the fury of the barbarians.

You see, then, that to acquire the glory which a turbulent literarycareer can give you, you must not only be

virtuous, but ready, ifnecessary, to sacrifice life itself. But, after all, do not fancy thatthe great in France

trouble themselves about such glory as this. Littledo they care for literary men, whose knowledge brings them

neitherhonours, nor power, nor even admission at court. Persecution, itis true, is rarely practised in this age,

because it is habituallyindifferent to every thing except wealth and luxury; but knowledge andvirtue no longer

lead to distinction, since every thing in the stateis to be purchased with money. Formerly, men of letters were

certainof reward by some place in the church, the magistracy, or theadministration; now they are considered

good for nothing but to writebooks. But this fruit of their minds, little valued by the world atlarge, is still

worthy of its celestial origin. For these booksis reserved the privilege of shedding lustre on obscure virtue,

ofconsoling the unhappy, of enlightening nations, and of telling the trutheven to kings. This is,

unquestionably, the most august commission withwhich Heaven can honour a mortal upon this earth. Where is

the authorwho would not be consoled for the injustice or contempt of those who arethe dispensers of the

ordinary gifts of fortune, when he reflects thathis work may pass from age to age, from nation to nation,

opposing abarrier to error and to tyranny; and that, from amidst the obscurityin which he has lived, there will

shine forth a glory which will effacethat of the common herd of monarchs, the monuments of whose deeds

perishin oblivion, notwithstanding the flatterers who erect and magnify them?

_Paul. _--Ah! I am only covetous of glory to bestow it on Virginia, andrender her dear to the whole world. But

can you, who know so much, tellme whether we shall ever be married? I should like to be a very learnedman,

if only for the sake of knowing what will come to pass.

_The Old Man. _--Who would live, my son, if the future were revealedto him?--when a single anticipated

misfortune gives us so much uselessuneasiness--when the foreknowledge of one certain calamity is enoughto

embitter every day that precedes it! It is better not to pry toocuriously, even into the things which surround us.

Heaven, which hasgiven us the power of reflection to foresee our necessities, gave usalso those very

necessities to set limits to its exercise.

_Paul. _--You tell me that with money people in Europe acquire dignitiesand honours. I will go, then, to

enrich myself in Bengal, and afterwardsproceed to Paris, and marry Virginia. I will embark at once.

_The Old Man. _--What! would you leave her mother and yours?

_Paul. _--Why, you yourself have advised my going to the Indies.

_The Old Man. _--Virginia was then here; but you are now the only meansof support both of her mother and

of your own.

_Paul. _--Virginia will assist them by means of her rich relation.

_The Old Man. _--The rich care little for those, from whom no honour isreflected upon themselves in the

world. Many of them have relationsmuch more to be pitied than Madame de la Tour, who, for want of

theirassistance, sacrifice their liberty for bread, and pass their livesimmured within the walls of a convent.

_Paul. _--Oh, what a country is Europe! Virginia must come back here. What need has she of a rich relation?

She was so happy in these huts;she looked so beautiful and so well dressed with a red handkerchief ora few

flowers around her head! Return, Virginia! leave your sumptuousmansions and your grandeur, and come back

to these rocks, --to the shadeof these woods and of our cocoa trees. Alas! you are perhaps even

nowunhappy!"--and he began to shed tears. "My father, " continued he, "hidenothing from me; if you cannot

tell me whether I shall marry Virginia, tell me at least if she loves me still, surrounded as she is by

noblemenwho speak to the king, and who go to see her. "

_The Old Man. _--Oh, my dear friend! I am sure, for many reasons, thatshe loves you; but above all, because

she is virtuous. At these words hethrew himself on my neck in a transport of joy.

_Paul. _--But do you think that the women of Europe are false, as theyare represented in the comedies and

books which you have lent me?

_The Old Man. _--Women are false in those countries where men aretyrants. Violence always engenders a

disposition to deceive.

_Paul. _--In what way can men tyrannize over women?

_The Old Man. _--In giving them in marriage without consulting theirinclinations;--in uniting a young girl to

an old man, or a woman ofsensibility to a frigid and indifferent husband.

_Paul. _--Why not join together those who are suited to each other, --theyoung to the young, and lovers to

those they love?

_The Old Man. _--Because few young men in France have property enoughto support them when they are

married, and cannot acquire it till thegreater part of their life is passed. While young, they seduce the wivesof

others, and when they are old, they cannot secure the affections oftheir own. At first, they themselves are

deceivers: and afterwards, theyare deceived in their turn. This is one of the reactions of that eternaljustice, by

which the world is governed; an excess on one side is sureto be balanced by one on the other. Thus, the greater

part of Europeanspass their lives in this twofold irregularity, which increaseseverywhere in the same

proportion that wealth is accumulated in thehands of a few individuals. Society is like a garden, where

shrubscannot grow if they are overshadowed by lofty trees; but there is thiswide difference between them,

--that the beauty of a garden may resultfrom the admixture of a small number of forest trees, while

theprosperity of a state depends on the multitude and equality of itscitizens, and not on a small number of very

rich men.

_Paul. _--But where is the necessity of being rich in order to marry?

_The Old Man. _--In order to pass through life in abundance, withoutbeing obliged to work.

_Paul. _--But why not work? I am sure I work hard enough.

_The Old Man. _--In Europe, working with your hands is considered adegradation; it is compared to the

labour performed by a machine. Theoccupation of cultivating the earth is the most despised of all. Even

anartisan is held in more estimation than a peasant.

_Paul. _--What! do you mean to say that the art which furnishes food formankind is despised in Europe? I

hardly understand you.

_The Old Man. _--Oh! it is impossible for a person educated according tonature to form an idea of the

depraved state of society. It is easy toform a precise notion of order, but not of disorder. Beauty, virtue,

happiness, have all their defined proportions; deformity, vice, andmisery have none.

_Paul. _--The rich then are always very happy! They meet with noobstacles to the fulfilment of their wishes,

and they can lavishhappiness on those whom they love.

_The Old Man. _--Far from it, my son! They are, for the most partsatiated with pleasure, for this very reason,

--that it costs them notrouble. Have you never yourself experienced how much the pleasure ofrepose is

increased by fatigue; that of eating, by hunger; or that ofdrinking, by thirst? The pleasure also of loving and

being loved isonly to be acquired by innumerable privations and sacrifices. Wealth, byanticipating all their

necessities, deprives its possessors of all thesepleasures. To this ennui, consequent upon satiety, may also be

addedthe pride which springs from their opulence, and which is wounded bythe most trifling privation, when

the greatest enjoyments have ceased tocharm. The perfume of a thousand roses gives pleasure but for a

moment;but the pain occasioned by a single thorn endures long after theinfliction of the wound. A single evil

in the midst of their pleasuresis to the rich like a thorn among flowers; to the poor, on the contrary, one

pleasure amidst all their troubles is a flower among a wildernessof thorns; they have a most lively enjoyment

of it. The effect of everything is increased by contrast; nature has balanced all things. Whichcondition, after

all, do you consider preferable, --to have scarcely anything to hope, and every thing to fear, or to have every

thing to hopeand nothing to fear? The former condition is that of the rich, the latter, that of the poor. But either

of these extremes is withdifficulty supported by man, whose happiness consists in a middlestation of life, in

union with virtue.

_Paul. _--What do you understand by virtue?

_The Old Man. _--To you, my son, who support your family by your labour, it need hardly be defined. Virtue

consists in endeavouring to do all thegood we can to others, with an ultimate intention of pleasing God alone.

_Paul. _--Oh! how virtuous, then, is Virginia! Virtue led her to seek forriches, that she might practise

benevolence. Virtue induced her to quitthis island, and virtue will bring her back to it.

The idea of her speedy return firing the imagination of this young man, all his anxieties suddenly vanished.

Virginia, he was persuaded, had notwritten, because she would soon arrive. It took so little time to comefrom

Europe with a fair wind! Then he enumerated the vessels which hadmade this passage of four thousand five

hundred leagues in less thanthree months; and perhaps the vessel in which Virginia had embarkedmight not be

more than two. Ship-builders were now so ingenious, andsailors were so expert! He then talked to me of the

arrangements heintended to make for her reception, of the new house he would build forher, and of the

pleasures and surprises which he would contrive for herevery day, when she was his wife. His wife! The idea

filled him withecstasy. "At least, my dear father, " said he, "you shall then do no morework than you please.

As Virginia will be rich, we shall have plenty ofnegroes, and they shall work for you. You shall always live

with us, andhave no other care than to amuse yourself and be happy;"--and, his heartthrobbing with joy, he

flew to communicate these exquisite anticipationsto his family.

In a short time, however, these enchanting hopes were succeeded by themost cruel apprehensions. It is always

the effect of violent passions tothrow the soul into opposite extremes. Paul returned the next day to

mydwelling, overwhelmed with melancholy, and said to me, --"I hear nothingfrom Virginia. Had she left

Europe she would have written me word of herdeparture. Ah! the reports which I have heard concerning her

are buttoo well founded. Her aunt has married her to some great lord. She, like others, has been undone by the

love of riches. In those books whichpaint women so well, virtue is treated but as a subject of romance.

IfVirginia had been virtuous, she would never have forsaken her motherand me. I do nothing but think of her,

and she has forgotten me. I amwretched, and she is diverting herself. The thought distracts me; Icannot bear

myself! Would to Heaven that war were declared in India! Iwould go there and die. "

"My son, " I answered, "that courage which prompts us to court death isbut the courage of a moment, and is

often excited by the vain applauseof men, or by the hopes of posthumous renown. There is anotherdescription

of courage, rarer and more necessary, which enables us tosupport, without witness and without applause, the

vexations of life;this virtue is patience. Relying for support, not upon the opinionsof others, or the impulse of

the passions, but upon the will of God, patience is the courage of virtue. "

"Ah!" cried he, "I am then without virtue! Every thing overwhelms meand drives me to despair. "--"Equal,

constant, and invariable virtue, "I replied, "belongs not to man. In the midst of the many passions whichagitate

us, our reason is disordered and obscured: but there is aneverburning lamp, at which we can rekindle its flame;

and that is, literature.

"Literature, my dear son, is the gift of Heaven, a ray of that wisdom bywhich the universe is governed, and

which man, inspired by a celestialintelligence, has drawn down to earth. Like the rays of the sun, itenlightens

us, it rejoices us, it warms us with a heavenly flame, andseems, in some sort, like the element of fire, to bend

all nature toour use. By its means we are enabled to bring around us all things, allplaces, all men, and all

times. It assists us to regulate our mannersand our life. By its aid, too, our passions are calmed, vice

issuppressed, and virtue encouraged by the memorable examples of great andgood men which it has handed

down to us, and whose time-honoured imagesit ever brings before our eyes. Literature is a daughter of Heaven

whohas descended upon earth to soften and to charm away all the evils ofthe human race. The greatest writers

have ever appeared in the worsttimes, --in times in which society can hardly be held together, --thetimes of

barbarism and every species of depravity. My son, literaturehas consoled an infinite number of men more

unhappy than yourself:Xenophon, banished from his country after having saved to her tenthousand of her

sons; Scipio Africanus, wearied to death by thecalumnies of the Romans; Lucullus, tormented by their cabals;

andCatinat, by the ingratitude of a court. The Greeks, with theirnever-failing ingenuity, assigned to each of the

Muses a portion of thegreat circle of human intelligence for her especial superintendence;we ought in the same

manner, to give up to them the regulation of ourpassions, to bring them under proper restraint. Literature in

thisimaginative guise, would thus fulfil, in relation to the powers ofthe soul, the same functions as the Hours,

who yoked and conducted thechariot of the Sun.

"Have recourse to your books, then, my son. The wise who have writtenbefore our days are travellers who

have preceded us in the paths ofmisfortune, and who stretch out a friendly hand towards us, and inviteus to

join in their society, when we are abandoned by every thing else. A good book is a good friend. "

"Ah!" cried Paul, "I stood in no need of books when Virginia was here, and she had studied as little as myself;

but when she looked at me, andcalled me her friend, I could not feel unhappy. "

"Undoubtedly, " said I, "there is no friend so agreeable as a mistressby whom we are beloved. There is,

moreover, in woman a liveliness andgaiety, which powerfully tend to dissipate the melancholy feelings of

aman; her presence drives away the dark phantoms of imagination producedby over-reflection. Upon her

countenance sit soft attraction and tenderconfidence. What joy is not heightened when it is shared by her?

Whatbrow is not unbent by her smiles? What anger can resist her tears?Virginia will return with more

philosophy than you, and will be quitesurprised to find the garden so unfinished;--she who could think of

itsembellishments in spite of all the persecutions of her aunt, and whenfar from her mother and from you. "

The idea of Virginia's speedy return reanimated the drooping spirits ofher lover, and he resumed his rural

occupations, happy amidst his toils, in the reflection that they would soon find a termination so dear to

thewishes of his heart.

One morning, at break of day, (it was the 24th of December, 1744, )Paul, when he arose, perceived a white

flag hoisted upon the Mountainof Discovery. This flag he knew to be the signal of a vessel descried atsea. He

instantly flew to the town to learn if this vessel brought anytidings of Virginia, and waited there till the return

of the pilot, who was gone, according to custom, to board the ship. The pilot did notreturn till the evening,

when he brought the governor information thatthe signalled vessel was the Saint-Geran, of seven hundred tons

burthen, and commanded by a captain of the name of Aubin; that she was nowfour leagues out at sea, but

would probably anchor at Port Louis thefollowing afternoon, if the wind became fair: at present there was

acalm. The pilot then handed to the governor a number of letters whichthe Saint-Geran had brought from

France, among which was one addressedto Madame de la Tour, in the hand-writing of Virginia. Paul seized

uponthe letter, kissed it with transport, and placing it in his bosom, flewto the plantation. No sooner did he

perceive from a distance the family, who were awaiting his return upon the rock of Adieus than he waved

theletter aloft in the air, without being able to utter a word. No soonerwas the seal broken, than they all

crowded round Madame de la Tour, to hear the letter read. Virginia informed her mother that she

hadexperienced much ill-usage from her aunt, who, after having in vainurged her to a marriage against her

inclination, had disinheritedher, and had sent her back at a time when she would probably reachthe Mauritius

during the hurricane season. In vain, she added, had sheendeavoured to soften her aunt, by representing what

she owed to hermother, and to her early habits; she was treated as a romantic girl, whose head had been turned

by novels. She could now only think of thejoy of again seeing and embracing her beloved family, and would

havegratified her ardent desire at once, by landing in the pilot's boat, ifthe captain had allowed her: but that he

had objected, on account of thedistance, and of a heavy swell, which, notwithstanding the calm, reignedin the

open sea.

As soon as the letter was finished, the whole of the family, transportedwith joy, repeatedly exclaimed,

"Virginia is arrived!" and mistressesand servants embraced each other. Madame de la Tour said to Paul,

--"Myson, go and inform our neighbour of Virginia's arrival. " Domingoimmediately lighted a torch of bois de

ronde, and he and Paul bent theirway towards my dwelling.

It was about ten o'clock at night, and I was just going to extinguish mylamp, and retire to rest, when I

perceived, through the palisades roundmy cottage, a light in the woods. Soon after, I heard the voice of

Paulcalling me. I instantly arose, and had hardly dressed myself, whenPaul, almost beside himself, and panting

for breath, sprang on my neck, crying, --"Come along, come along. Virginia is arrived. Let us go to theport;

the vessel will anchor at break of day. "

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when we set off. As we were passingthrough the woods of the Sloping

Mountain, and were already on theroad which leads from the Shaddock Grove to the port, I heard some

onewalking behind us. It proved to be a negro, and he was advancing withhasty steps. When he had reached

us, I asked him whence he came, andwhither he was going with such expedition. He answered, "I come

fromthat part of the island called Golden Dust; and am sent to the port, toinform the governor that a ship from

France has anchored under the Isleof Amber. She is firing guns of distress, for the sea is very rough. "Having

said this, the man left us, and pursued his journey without anyfurther delay.

I then said to Paul, --"Let us go towards the quarter of the Golden Dust, and meet Virginia there. It is not more

than three leagues from hence. "We accordingly bent our course towards the northern part of the island. The

heat was suffocating. The moon had risen, and was surrounded bythree large black circles. A frightful

darkness shrouded the sky; butthe frequent flashes of lightning discovered to us long rows of thickand gloomy

clouds, hanging very low, and heaped together over the centreof the island, being driven in with great rapidity

from the ocean, although not a breath of air was perceptible upon the land. As we walkedalong, we thought we

heard peals of thunder; but, on listening moreattentively, we perceived that it was the sound of cannon at a

distance, repeated by the echoes. These ominous sounds, joined to the tempestuousaspect of the heavens, made

me shudder. I had little doubt of theirbeing signals of distress from a ship in danger. In about half an hourthe

firing ceased, and I found the silence still more appalling than thedismal sounds which had preceded it.

We hastened on without uttering a word, or daring to communicate toeach other our mutual apprehensions. At

midnight, by great exertion, wearrived at the sea shore, in that part of the island called GoldenDust. The

billows were breaking against the bench with a horrible noise, covering the rocks and the strand with foam of

a dazzling whiteness, blended with sparks of fire. By these phosphoric gleams wedistinguished,

notwithstanding the darkness, a number of fishing canoes, drawn up high upon the beach.

At the entrance of a wood, a short distance from us, we saw a fire, round which a party of the inhabitants were

assembled. We repairedthither, in order to rest ourselves till the morning. While we wereseated near the fire,

one of the standers-by related, that late inthe afternoon he had seen a vessel in the open sea, driven towards

theisland by the currents; that the night had hidden it from his view; andthat two hours after sunset he had

heard the firing of signal gunsof distress, but that the surf was so high, that it was impossible tolaunch a boat

to go off to her; that a short time after, he thought heperceived the glimmering of the watch-lights on board the

vessel, which, he feared, by its having approached so near the coast, had steeredbetween the main land and the

little island of Amber, mistaking thelatter for the Point of Endeavour, near which vessels pass in order togain

Port Louis; and that, if this were the case, which, however, hewould not take upon himself to be certain of, the

ship, he thought, was in very great danger. Another islander informed us, that he hadfrequently crossed the

channel which separates the isle of Amber fromthe coast, and had sounded it, that the anchorage was very

good, andthat the ship would there lie as safely as in the best harbour. "Iwould stake all I am worth upon it, "

said he, "and if I were on board, I should sleep as sound as on shore. " A third bystander declared thatit was

impossible for the ship to enter that channel, which was scarcelynavigable for a boat. He was certain, he said,

that he had seen thevessel at anchor beyond the isle of Amber; so that, if the wind rosein the morning, she

would either put to sea, or gain the harbour. Other inhabitants gave different opinions upon this subject,

whichthey continued to discuss in the usual desultory manner of the indolentCreoles. Paul and I observed a

profound silence. We remained on thisspot till break of day, but the weather was too hazy to admit of

ourdistinguishing any object at sea, every thing being covered with fog. All we could descry to seaward was a

dark cloud, which they told us wasthe isle of Amber, at the distance of a quarter of a league from thecoast. On

this gloomy day we could only discern the point of land onwhich we were standing, and the peaks of some

inland mountains, whichstarted out occasionally from the midst of the clouds that hung aroundthem.

At about seven in the morning we heard the sound of drums in the woods:it announced the approach of the

governor, Monsieur de la Bourdonnais, who soon after arrived on horseback, at the head of a detachment

ofsoldiers armed with muskets, and a crowd of islanders and negroes. Hedrew up his soldiers upon the beach,

and ordered them to make a generaldischarge. This was no sooner done, than we perceived a glimmering

lightupon the water which was instantly followed by the report of a cannon. We judged that the ship was at no

great distance and all ran towardsthat part whence the light and sound proceeded. We now discerned

throughthe fog the hull and yards of a large vessel. We were so near to her, that notwithstanding the tumult of

the waves, we could distinctly hearthe whistle of the boatswain, and the shouts of the sailors, who criedout

three times, VIVE LE ROI! this being the cry of the French inextreme danger, as well as in exuberant joy;--as

though they wishedto call their princes to their aid, or to testify to him that they areprepared to lay down their

lives in his service.

As soon as the Saint-Geran perceived that we were near enough to renderher assistance, she continued to fire

guns regularly at intervals ofthree minutes. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais caused great fires to belighted at

certain distances upon the strand, and sent to all theinhabitants of the neighbourhood, in search of provisions,

planks, cables, and empty barrels. A number of people soon arrived, accompaniedby their negroes loaded with

provisions and cordage, which they hadbrought from the plantations of Golden Dust, from the district of

LaFlaque, and from the river of the Ram part. One of the most aged ofthese planters, approaching the

governor, said to him, --"We have heardall night hollow noises in the mountain; in the woods, the leaves of

thetrees are shaken, although there is no wind; the sea-birds seek refugeupon the land: it is certain that all

these signs announce a hurricane. ""Well, my friends, " answered the governor, "we are prepared for it, andno

doubt the vessel is also. "

Every thing, indeed, presaged the near approach of the hurricane. Thecentre of the clouds in the zenith was of

a dismal black, while theirskirts were tinged with a copper-coloured hue. The air resounded withthe cries of

the tropic-birds, petrels, frigate-birds, and innumerableother sea-fowl, which notwithstanding the obscurity of

the atmosphere, were seen coming from every point of the horizon, to seek for shelter inthe island.

Towards nine in the morning we heard in the direction of the ocean themost terrific noise, like the sound of

thunder mingled with that oftorrents rushing down the steeps of lofty mountains. A general cry washeard of,

"There is the hurricane!" and the next moment a frightfulgust of wind dispelled the fog which covered the isle

of Amber and itschannel. The Saint-Geran then presented herself to our view, her deckcrowded with people,

her yards and topmasts lowered down, and her flaghalf-mast high, moored by four cables at her bow and one

at her stern. She had anchored between the isle of Amber and the main land, insidethe chain of reefs which

encircles the island, and which she had passedthrough in a place where no vessel had ever passed before. She

presentedher head to the waves that rolled in from the open sea, and as eachbillow rushed into the narrow

strait where she lay, her bow lifted tosuch a degree as to show her keel; and at the same moment her stern,

plunging into the water, disappeared altogether from our sight, as if itwere swallowed up by the surges. In this

position, driven by the windsand waves towards the shore, it was equally impossible for her to returnby the

passage through which she had made her way; or, by cutting hercables, to strand herself upon the beach, from

which she was separatedby sandbanks and reefs of rocks. Every billow which broke upon the coastadvanced

roaring to the bottom of the bay, throwing up heaps of shingleto the distance of fifty feet upon the land; then,

rushing back, laidbare its sandy bed, from which it rolled immense stones, with a hoarseand dismal noise. The

sea, swelled by the violence of the wind, rosehigher every moment; and the whole channel between this island

and theisle of Amber was soon one vast sheet of white foam, full of yawningpits of black and deep billows.

Heaps of this foam, more than six feethigh, were piled up at the bottom of the bay; and the winds which

sweptits surface carried masses of it over the steep sea-bank, scattering itupon the land to the distance of half a

league. These innumerable whiteflakes, driven horizontally even to the very foot of the mountains, looked like

snow issuing from the bosom of the ocean. The appearance ofthe horizon portended a lasting tempest; the sky

and the water seemedblended together. Thick masses of clouds, of a frightful form, sweptacross the zenith

with the swiftness of birds, while others appearedmotionless as rocks. Not a single spot of blue sky could be

discerned inthe whole firmament; and a pale yellow gleam only lightened up all theobjects of the earth, the

sea, and the skies.

From the violent rolling of the ship, what we all dreaded happened atlast. The cables which held her bow were

torn away: she then swung to asingle hawser, and was instantly dashed upon the rocks, at the distanceof half a

cable's length from the shore. A general cry of horror issuedfrom the spectators. Paul rushed forward to throw

himself into thesea, when, seizing him by the arm, "My son, " I exclaimed, "would youperish?"--"Let me go to

save her, " he cried, "or let me die!" Seeingthat despair had deprived him of reason, Domingo and I, in order

topreserve him, fastened a long cord around his waist, and held it fastby the end. Paul then precipitated

himself towards the Saint-Geran, now swimming, and now walking upon the rocks. Sometimes he had hopes

ofreaching the vessel, which the sea, by the reflux of its waves, had leftalmost dry, so that you could have

walked round it on foot; but suddenlythe billows, returning with fresh fury, shrouded it beneath mountains

ofwater, which then lifted it upright upon its keel. The breakers at thesame moment threw the unfortunate Paul

far upon the beach, his legsbathed in blood, his bosom wounded, and himself half dead. The momenthe had

recovered the use of his senses, he arose, and returned with newardour towards the vessel, the parts of which

now yawned asunder fromthe violent strokes of the billows. The crew then, despairing of theirsafety, threw

themselves in crowds into the sea, upon yards, planks, hen-coops, tables, and barrels. At this moment we

beheld an objectwhich wrung our hearts with grief and pity; a young lady appeared in thestern-gallery of the

Saint-Geran, stretching out her arms towards himwho was making so many efforts to join her. It was Virginia.

She haddiscovered her lover by his intrepidity. The sight of this amiable girl, exposed to such horrible danger,

filled us with unutterable despair. Asfor Virginia, with a firm and dignified mien, she waved her hand, asif

bidding us an eternal farewell. All the sailors had flung themselvesinto the sea, except one, who still remained

upon the deck, and whowas naked, and strong as Hercules. This man approached Virginia withrespect, and,

kneeling at her feet, attempted to force her to throwoff her clothes; but she repulsed him with modesty, and

turned awayher head. Then were heard redoubled cries from the spectators, "Saveher!--save her!--do not leave

her!" But at that moment a mountainbillow, of enormous magnitude, ingulfed itself between the isle of

Amberand the coast, and menaced the shattered vessel, towards which it rolledbellowing, with its black sides

and foaming head. At this terriblesight the sailor flung himself into the sea; and Virginia, seeing

deathinevitable, crossed her hands upon her breast, and raising upwards herserene and beauteous eyes, seemed

an angel prepared to take her flightto Heaven.

Oh, day of horror! Alas! every thing was swallowed up by the relentlessbillows. The surge threw some of the

spectators, whom an impulse ofhumanity had prompted to advance towards Virginia, far upon the beach, and

also the sailor who had endeavoured to save her life. This man, who had escaped from almost certain death,

kneeling on the sand, exclaimed, --"Oh, my God! thou hast saved my life, but I would have givenit willingly

for that excellent young lady, who had persevered in notundressing herself as I had done. " Domingo and I

drew the unfortunatePaul to the ashore. He was senseless, and blood was flowing from hismouth and ears. The

governor ordered him to be put into the hands of asurgeon, while we, on our part, wandered along the beach,

in hopesthat the sea would throw up the corpse of Virginia. But the wind havingsuddenly changed, as it

frequently happens during hurricanes, our searchwas in vain; and we had the grief of thinking that we should

not be ableto bestow on this sweet and unfortunate girl the last sad duties. Weretired from the spot

overwhelmed with dismay, and our minds whollyoccupied by one cruel loss, although numbers had perished

in the wreck. Some of the spectators seemed tempted, from the fatal destiny of thisvirtuous girl, to doubt the

existence of Providence: for there are inlife such terrible, such unmerited evils, that even the hope of the

wiseis sometimes shaken.

In the meantime Paul, who began to recover his senses, was taken to ahouse in the neighbourhood, till he was

in a fit state to be removedto his own home. Thither I bent my way with Domingo, to discharge themelancholy

duty of preparing Virginia's mother and her friend for thedisastrous event which had happened. When we had

reached the entrance ofthe valley of the river of Fan-Palms, some negroes informed us thatthe sea had thrown

up many pieces of the wreck in the opposite bay. Wedescended towards it and one of the first objects that

struck my sightupon the beach was the corpse of Virginia. The body was half coveredwith sand, and preserved

the attitude in which we had seen her perish. Her features were not sensibly changed, her eyes were closed,

and hercountenance was still serene; but the pale purple hues of death wereblended on her cheek with the

blush of virgin modesty. One of her handswas placed upon her clothes: and the other, which she held on her

heart, was fast closed, and so stiffened, that it was with difficulty that Itook from its grasp a small box. How

great was my emotion when I sawthat it contained the picture of Paul, which she had promised him neverto

part with while she lived! As for Domingo, he beat his breast, andpierced the air with his shrieks. With heavy

hearts we then carried thebody of Virginia to a fisherman's hut, and gave it in charge of somepoor Malabar

women, who carefully washed away the sand.

While they were employed in this melancholy office, we ascended the hillwith trembling steps to the

plantation. We found Madame de la Tour andMargaret at prayer; hourly expecting to have tidings from the

ship. Assoon as Madame de la Tour saw me coming, she eagerly cried, --"Whereis my daughter--my dear

daughter--my child?" My silence and my tearsapprised her of her misfortune. She was instantly seized with

aconvulsive stopping of the breath and agonizing pains, and her voice wasonly heard in sighs and groans.

Margaret cried, "Where is my son? I donot see my son!" and fainted. We ran to her assistance. In a short

timeshe recovered, and being assured that Paul was safe, and under the careof the governor, she thought of

nothing but of succouring her friend, who recovered from one fainting fit only to fall into another. Madame

dela Tour passed the whole night in these cruel sufferings, and I becameconvinced that there was no sorrow

like that of a mother. When sherecovered her senses, she cast a fixed, unconscious look towards heaven. In

vain her friend and myself pressed her hands in ours: in vain wecalled upon her by the most tender names; she

appeared wholly insensibleto these testimonials of our affection, and no sound issued from heroppressed

bosom, but deep and hollow moans.

During the morning Paul was carried home in a palanquin. He had nowrecovered the use of his reason, but

was unable to utter a word. Hisinterview with his mother and Madame de la Tour, which I had dreaded,

produced a better effect than all my cares. A ray of consolation gleamedon the countenances of the two

unfortunate mothers. They pressed closeto him, clasped him in their arms, and kissed him: their tears,

whichexcess of anguish had till now dried up at the source, began to flow. Paul mixed his tears with theirs;

and nature having thus found relief, a long stupor succeeded the convulsive pangs they had suffered,

andafforded them a lethargic repose, which was in truth, like that ofdeath.

Monsieur de la Bourdonnais sent to apprise me secretly that the corpseof Virginia had been borne to the town

by his order, from whence it wasto be transferred to the church of the Shaddock Grove. I immediatelywent

down to Port Louis, where I found a multitude assembled from allparts of the island, in order to be present at

the funeral solemnity, as if the isle had lost that which was nearest and dearest to it. Thevessels in the harbour

had their yards crossed, their flags half-mast, and fired guns at long intervals. A body of grenadiers led the

funeralprocession, with their muskets reversed, their muffled drums sendingforth slow and dismal sounds.

Dejection was depicted in the countenanceof these warriors, who had so often braved death in battle

withoutchanging colour. Eight young ladies of considerable families of theisland, dressed in white, and

bearing palm-branches in their hands, carried the corpse of their amiable companion, which was covered

withflowers. They were followed by a chorus of children, chanting hymns, andby the governor, his field

officers, all the principal inhabitants ofthe island, and an immense crowd of people.

This imposing funeral solemnity had been ordered by the administrationof the country, which was desirous of

doing honour to the virtues ofVirginia. But when the mournful procession arrived at the foot of thismountain,

within sight of those cottages of which she had been so longan inmate and an ornament, diffusing happiness

all around them, andwhich her loss had now filled with despair, the funeral pomp wasinterrupted, the hymns

and anthems ceased, and the whole plain resoundedwith sighs and lamentations. Numbers of young girls ran

from theneighbouring plantations, to touch the coffin of Virginia with theirhandkerchiefs, and with chaplets

and crowns of flowers, invoking her asa saint. Mothers asked of heaven a child like Virginia; lovers, a heartas

faithful; the poor, as tender a friend; and the slaves as kind amistress.

When the procession had reached the place of interment, some negressesof Madagascar and Caffres of

Mozambique placed a number of baskets offruit around the corpse, and hung pieces of stuff upon the

adjoiningtrees, according to the custom of their several countries. Some Indianwomen from Bengal also, and

from the coast of Malabar, brought cagesfull of small birds, which they set at liberty upon her coffin. Thus

deeply did the loss of this amiable being affect the nativesof different countries, and thus was the ritual of

various religionsperformed over the tomb of unfortunate virtue.

It became necessary to place guards round her grave, and to employgentle force in removing some of the

daughters of the neighbouringvillagers, who endeavoured to throw themselves into it, saying thatthey had no

longer any consolation to hope for in this world, and thatnothing remained for them but to die with their

benefactress.

On the western side of the church of the Shaddock Grove is a small copseof bamboos, where, in returning

from mass with her mother and Margaret, Virginia loved to rest herself, seated by the side of him whom she

thencalled her brother. This was the spot selected for her interment.

At his return from the funeral solemnity, Monsieur de la Bourdonnaiscame up here, followed by part of his

numerous retinue. He offeredMadame de la Tour and her friend all the assistance it was in his powerto bestow.

After briefly expressing his indignation at the conduct ofher unnatural aunt, he advanced to Paul, and said

every thing which hethought most likely to soothe and console him. "Heaven is my witness, "said he, "that I

wished to insure your happiness, and that of yourfamily. My dear friend, you must go to France; I will obtain

acommission for you, and during your absence I will take the same careof your mother as if she were my own.

" He then offered him his hand; butPaul drew away and turned his head aside, unable to bear his sight.

I remained for some time at the plantation of my unfortunate friends, that I might render to them and Paul

those offices of friendship thatwere in my power, and which might alleviate, though they could not healthe

wounds of calamity. At the end of three weeks Paul was able towalk; but his mind seemed to droop in

proportion as his body gatheredstrength. He was insensible to every thing; his look was vacant; andwhen

asked a question, he made no reply. Madame de la Tour, who wasdying said to him often, --"My son, while I

look at you, I think I see mydear Virginia. " At the name of Virginia he shuddered, and hastened awayfrom

her, notwithstanding the entreaties of his mother, who begged himto come back to her friend. He used to go

alone into the garden, andseat himself at the foot of Virginia's cocoa-tree, with his eyes fixedupon the

fountain. The governor's surgeon, who had shown the most humaneattention to Paul and the whole family,

told us that in order to curethe deep melancholy which had taken possession of his mind, we mustallow him to

do whatever he pleased, without contradiction: this, hesaid, afforded the only chance of overcoming the

silence in which hepersevered.

I resolved to follow this advice. The first use which Paul made of hisreturning strength was to absent himself

from the plantation. Beingdetermined not to lose sight of him I set out immediately, and desiredDomingo to

take some provisions and accompany us. The young man'sstrength and spirits seemed renewed as he

descended the mountain. Hefirst took the road to the Shaddock Grove, and when he was near thechurch, in the

Alley of Bamboos, he walked directly to the spot wherehe saw some earth fresh turned up; kneeling down

there, and raisinghis eyes to heaven, he offered up a long prayer. This appeared to mea favourable symptom of

the return of his reason; since this mark ofconfidence in the Supreme Being showed that his mind was

beginning toresume its natural functions. Domingo and I, following his example, fellupon our knees, and

mingled our prayers with his. When he arose, he benthis way, paying little attention to us, towards the

northern part of theisland. As I knew that he was not only ignorant of the spot where thebody of Virginia had

been deposited, but even of the fact that it hadbeen recovered from the waves, I asked him why he had offered

up hisprayer at the foot of those bamboos. He answered, --"We have been thereso often. "

He continued his course until we reached the borders of the forest, whennight came on. I set him the example

of taking some nourishment, andprevailed on him to do the same; and we slept upon the grass, at thefoot of a

tree. The next day I thought he seemed disposed to retrace hissteps; for, after having gazed a considerable time

from the plain uponthe church of the Shaddock Grove, with its long avenues of bamboos, hemade a movement

as if to return home; but suddenly plunging into theforest, he directed his course towards the north. I guessed

what was hisdesign, and I endeavoured, but in vain, to dissuade him from it. Aboutnoon we arrived at the

quarter of Golden Dust. He rushed down to thesea-shore, opposite to the spot where the Saint-Geran had been

wrecked. At the sight of the isle of Amber, and its channel, when smooth asa mirror, he exclaimed,

--"Virginia! oh my dear Virginia!" and fellsenseless. Domingo and I carried him into the woods, where we had

somedifficulty in recovering him. As soon as he regained his senses, hewished to return to the sea-shore; but

we conjured him not to renew hisown anguish and ours by such cruel remembrances, and he took

anotherdirection. During a whole week he sought every spot where he had oncewandered with the companion

of his childhood. He traced the path bywhich she had gone to intercede for the slave of the Black River.

Hegazed again upon the banks of the river of the Three Breasts, where shehad rested herself when unable to

walk further, and upon that part ofthe wood where they had lost their way. All the haunts, which recalledto his

memory the anxieties, the sports, the repasts, the benevolenceof her he loved, --the river of the Sloping

Mountain, my house, theneighbouring cascade, the papaw tree she had planted, the grassy fieldsin which she

loved to run, the openings of the forest where she used tosing, all in succession called forth his tears; and those

very echoeswhich had so often resounded with their mutual shouts of joy, nowrepeated only these accents of

despair, --"Virginia! oh, my dearVirginia!"

During this savage and wandering life, his eyes became sunk and hollow, his skin assumed a yellow tint, and

his health rapidly declined. Convinced that our present sufferings are rendered more acute by thebitter

recollection of bygone pleasures, and that the passions gatherstrength in solitude, I resolved to remove my

unfortunate friend fromthose scenes which recalled the remembrance of his loss, and to lead himto a more

busy part of the island. With this view, I conducted him tothe inhabited part of the elevated quarter of

Williams, which he hadnever visited, and where the busy pursuits of agriculture and commerceever

occasioned much bustle and variety. Numbers of carpenters wereemployed in hewing down and squaring

trees, while others were sawingthem into planks; carriages were continually passing and repassing onthe

roads; numerous herds of oxen and troops of horses were feeding onthose wide-spread meadows, and the

whole country was dotted with thedwellings of man. On some spots the elevation of the soil permitted

theculture of many of the plants of Europe: the yellow ears of ripe cornwaved upon the plains; strawberry

plants grew in the openings ofthe woods, and the roads were bordered by hedges of rose-trees. Thefreshness of

the air, too, giving tension to the nerves, was favourableto the health of Europeans. From those heights,

situated near the middleof the island, and surrounded by extensive forests, neither the sea, norPort Louis, nor

the church of the Shaddock Grove, nor any other objectassociated with the remembrance of Virginia could de

discerned. Eventhe mountains, which present various shapes on the side of PortLouis, appear from hence like

a long promontory, in a straight andperpendicular line, from which arise lofty pyramids of rock,

whosesummits are enveloped in the clouds.

Conducting Paul to these scenes, I kept him continually in action, walking with him in rain and sunshine, by

day and by night. I sometimeswandered with him into the depths of the forests, or led him overuntilled

grounds, hoping that change of scene and fatigue might diverthis mind from its gloomy meditations. But the

soul of a lover findseverywhere the traces of the beloved object. Night and day, the calmof solitude and the

tumult of crowds, are to him the same; time itself, which casts the shade of oblivion over so many other

remembrances, invain would tear that tender and sacred recollection from the heart. Theneedle, when touched

by the loadstone, however it may have been movedfrom its position, is no sooner left to repose, than it returns

to thepole of its attraction. So, when I inquired of Paul, as we wanderedamidst the plains of Williams,

--"Where shall we now go?" he pointed tothe north, and said, "Yonder are our mountains; let us return home. "

I now saw that all the means I took to divert him from his melancholywere fruitless, and that no resource was

left but an attempt tocombat his passion by the arguments which reason suggested I answeredhim, --"Yes,

there are the mountains where once dwelt your belovedVirginia; and here is the picture you gave her, and

which she held, whendying, to her heart--that heart, which even in its last moments onlybeat for you. " I then

presented to Paul the little portrait which hehad given to Virginia on the borders of the cocoa-tree fountain. At

thissight a gloomy joy overspread his countenance. He eagerly seized thepicture with his feeble hands, and

held it to his lips. His oppressedbosom seemed ready to burst with emotion, and his eyes were filled withtears

which had no power to flow.

"My son, " said I, "listen to one who is your friend, who was the friendof Virginia, and who, in the bloom of

your hopes, has often endeavouredto fortify your mind against the unforeseen accidents of life. Whatdo you

deplore with so much bitterness? Is it your own misfortunes, orthose of Virginia, which affect you so deeply?

"Your own misfortunes are indeed severe. You have lost the most amiableof girls, who would have grown up

to womanhood a pattern to her sex, onewho sacrificed her own interests to yours: who preferred you to all

thatfortune could bestow, and considered you as the only recompense worthyof her virtues.

"But might not this very object, from whom you expected the puresthappiness, have proved to you a source of

the most cruel distress?She had returned poor and disinherited; all you could henceforthhave partaken with her

was your labour. Rendered more delicate by hereducation, and more courageous by her misfortunes, you

might have beheldher every day sinking beneath her efforts to share and lighten yourfatigues. Had she brought

you children, they would only have served toincrease her anxieties and your own, from the difficulty of

sustainingat once your aged parents and your infant family.

"Very likely you will tell me that the governor would have helped you;but how do you know that in a colony

where governors are sofrequently changed, you would have had others like Monsieur de laBourdonnais?--that

one might not have been sent destitute of goodfeeling and of morality?--that your young wife, in order, to

procuresome miserable pittance, might not have been obliged to seek his favour?Had she been weak you

would have been to be pitied; and if she hadremained virtuous, you would have continued poor: forced even

toconsider yourself fortunate if, on account of the beauty and virtue ofyour wife, you had not to endure

persecution from those who had promisedyou protection.

"It would have remained to you, you may say, to have enjoyed a pleasureindependent of fortune, --that of

protecting a loved being, who, inproportion to her own helplessness, had more attached herself to you. You

may fancy that your pains and sufferings would have served to endearyou to each other, and that your passion

would have gathered strengthfrom your mutual misfortunes. Undoubtedly virtuous love does findconsolation

even in such melancholy retrospects. But Virginia is nomore; yet those persons still live, whom, next to

yourself, she heldmost dear; her mother, and your own: your inconsolable affliction isbringing them both to

the grave. Place your happiness, as she did hers, in affording them succour. My son, beneficence is the

happiness of thevirtuous: there is no greater or more certain enjoyment on the earth. Schemes of pleasure,

repose, luxuries, wealth, and glory are not suitedto man, weak, wandering, and transitory as he is. See how

rapidly onestep towards the acquisition of fortune has precipitated us all to thelowest abyss of misery! You

were opposed to it, it is true; but whowould not have thought that Virginia's voyage would terminate in

herhappiness and your own? an invitation from a rich and aged relation, theadvice of a wise governor, the

approbation of the whole colony, and thewell-advised authority of her confessor, decided the lot of Virginia.

Thus do we run to our ruin, deceived even by the prudence of those whowatch over us: it would be better, no

doubt, not to believe them, noreven to listen to the voice or lean on the hopes of a deceitful world. But all men,

--those you see occupied in these plains, those who goabroad to seek their fortunes, and those in Europe who

enjoy repose fromthe labours of others, are liable to reverses! not one is secure fromlosing, at some period, all

that he most values, --greatness, wealth, wife, children, and friends. Most of these would have their

sorrowincreased by the remembrance of their own imprudence. But you havenothing with which you can

reproach yourself. You have been faithful inyour love. In the bloom of youth, by not departing from the

dictates ofnature, you evinced the wisdom of a sage. Your views were just, because they were pure, simple,

and disinterested. You had, besides, onVirginia, sacred claims which nothing could countervail. You have

losther: but it is neither your own imprudence, nor your avarice, nor yourfalse wisdom which has occasioned

this misfortune, but the will of God, who had employed the passions of others to snatch from you the object

ofyour love; God, from whom you derive everything, who knows what is mostfitting for you, and whose

wisdom has not left you any cause for therepentance and despair which succeed the calamities that are

broughtupon us by ourselves.

"Vainly, in your misfortunes, do you say to yourself, 'I have notdeserved them. ' Is it then the calamity of

Virginia--her death and herpresent condition that you deplore? She has undergone the fate allottedto all, --to

high birth, to beauty, and even to empires themselves. Thelife of man, with all his projects, may be compared

to a tower, at whosesummit is death. When your Virginia was born, she was condemned to die;happily for

herself, she is released from life before losing her mother, or yours, or you; saved, thus from undergoing pangs

worse than those ofdeath itself.

"Learn then, my son, that death is a benefit to all men: it is the nightof that restless day we call by the name of

life. The diseases, thegriefs, the vexations, and the fears, which perpetually embitter ourlife as long as we

possess it, molest us no more in the sleep of death. If you inquire into the history of those men who appear to

have been thehappiest, you will find that they have bought their apparent felicityvery dear; public

consideration, perhaps, by domestic evils; fortune, by the loss of health; the rare happiness of being loved, by

continualsacrifices; and often, at the expiration of a life devoted to the goodof others, they see themselves

surrounded only by false friends, andungrateful relations. But Virginia was happy to her very last moment.

When with us, she was happy in partaking of the gifts of nature; whenfar from us, she found enjoyment in the

practice of virtue; and even atthe terrible moment in which we saw her perish, she still had causefor

self-gratulation. For, whether she cast her eyes on the assembledcolony, made miserable by her expected loss,

or on you, my son, who, with so much intrepidity, were endeavouring to save her, she must haveseen how dear

she was to all. Her mind was fortified against the futureby the remembrance of her innocent life; and at that

moment she receivedthe reward which Heaven reserves for virtue, --a courage superior todanger. She met

death with a serene countenance.

"My son! God gives all the trials of life to virtue, in order to showthat virtue alone can support them, and even

find in them happiness andglory. When he designs for it an illustrious reputation, he exhibits iton a wide

theatre, and contending with death. Then does the courage ofvirtue shine forth as an example, and the

misfortunes to which it hasbeen exposed receive for ever, from posterity, the tribute of theirtears. This is the

immortal monument reserved for virtue in a worldwhere every thing else passes away, and where the names,

even of thegreater number of kings themselves, are soon buried in eternal oblivion.

"Meanwhile Virginia still exists. My son, you see that every thingchanges on this earth, but that nothing is

ever lost. No art of man canannihilate the smallest particle of matter; can, then, that whichhas possessed

reason, sensibility, affection, virtue, and religion besupposed capable of destruction, when the very elements

with which it isclothed are imperishable? Ah! however happy Virginia may have been withus, she is now

much more so. There is a God, my son; it is unnecessaryfor me to prove it to you, for the voice of all nature

loudly proclaimsit. The wickedness of mankind leads them to deny the existence of aBeing, whose justice they

fear. But your mind is fully convinced ofhis existence, while his works are ever before your eyes. Do you

thenbelieve that he would leave Virginia without recompense? Do youthink that the same Power which

inclosed her noble soul in a form sobeautiful, --so like an emanation from itself, could not have saved herfrom

the waves?--that he who has ordained the happiness of man here, bylaws unknown to you, cannot prepare a

still higher degree of felicityfor Virginia by other laws, of which you are equally ignorant? Beforewe were

born into this world, could we, do you imagine, even if we werecapable of thinking at all, have formed any

idea of our existence here?And now that we are in the middle of this gloomy and transitory life, can we

foresee what is beyond the tomb, or in what manner we shall beemancipated from it? Does God, like man,

need this little globe, the earth, as a theatre for the display of his intelligence and hisgoodness?--and can he

only dispose of human life in the territory ofdeath? There is not, in the entire ocean, a single drop of water

whichis not peopled with living beings appertaining to man: and does thereexist nothing for him in the

heavens above his head? What! is there nosupreme intelligence, no divine goodness, except on this little

spotwhere we are placed? In those innumerable glowing fires, --in thoseinfinite fields of light which surround

them, and which neither stormsnor darkness can extinguish, is there nothing but empty space and aneternal

void? If we, weak and ignorant as we are, might dare to assignlimits to that Power from whom we have

received every thing, we mightpossibly imagine that we were placed on the very confines of his empire, where

life is perpetually struggling with death, and innocence for everin danger from the power of tyranny!

"Somewhere, then, without doubt, there is another world, where virtuewill receive its reward. Virginia is now

happy. Ah! if from the abode ofangels she could hold communication with you, she would tell you, as shedid

when she bade you her last adieus, --'O, Paul! life is but a scene oftrial. I have been obedient to the laws of

nature, love, and virtue. Icrossed the seas to obey the will of my relations; I sacrificedwealth in order to keep

my faith; and I preferred the loss of life todisobeying the dictates of modesty. Heaven found that I had fulfilled

myduties, and has snatched me for ever from all the miseries I might haveendured myself, and all I might have

felt for the miseries of others. Iam placed far above the reach of all human evils, and you pity me! Iam become

pure and unchangeable as a particle of light, and you wouldrecall me to the darkness of human life! O, Paul!

O, my beloved friend!recollect those days of happiness, when in the morning we felt thedelightful sensations

excited by the unfolding beauties of nature; whenwe seemed to rise with the sun to the peaks of those rocks,

and thento spread with his rays over the bosom of the forests. We experienced adelight, the cause of which we

could not comprehend. In the innocence ofour desires, we wished to be all sight, to enjoy the rich colours

ofthe early dawn; all smell, to taste a thousand perfumes at once; allhearing, to listen to the singing of our

birds; and all heart, to becapable of gratitude for those mingled blessings. Now, at the sourceof the beauty

whence flows all that is delightful upon earth, my soulintuitively sees, hears, touches, what before she could

only be madesensible of through the medium of our weak organs. Ah! what language candescribe these shores

of eternal bliss, which I inhabit for ever! Allthat infinite power and heavenly goodness could create to console

theunhappy: all that the friendship of numberless beings, exulting in thesame felicity can impart, we enjoy in

unmixed perfection. Support, then, the trial which is now allotted to you, that you may heighten thehappiness

of your Virginia by love which will know no termination, --by aunion which will be eternal. There I will calm

your regrets, I will wipeaway your tears. Oh, my beloved friend! my youthful husband! raise yourthoughts

towards the infinite, to enable you to support the evils of amoment. '"

My own emotion choked my utterance. Paul, looking at me steadfastly, cried, --"She is no more! she is no

more!" and a long fainting fitsucceeded these words of woe. When restored to himself, he said, "Sincedeath is

good, and since Virginia is happy, I will die too, and beunited to Virginia. " Thus the motives of consolation I

had offered, only served to nourish his despair. I was in the situation of a manwho attempts to save a friend

sinking in the midst of a flood, and whoobstinately refuses to swim. Sorrow had completely overwhelmed

hissoul. Alas! the trials of early years prepare man for the afflictions ofafter-life; but Paul had never

experienced any.

I took him back to his own dwelling, where I found his mother and Madamede la Tour in a state of increased

languor and exhaustion, but Margaretseemed to droop the most. Lively characters, upon whom petty

troubleshave but little effect, sink the soonest under great calamities.

"O my good friend, " said Margaret, "I thought last night I saw Virginia, dressed in white, in the midst of

groves and delicious gardens. She saidto me, 'I enjoy the most perfect happiness:' and then approaching

Paulwith a smiling air, she bore him away with her. While I was strugglingto retain my son, I felt that I myself

too was quitting the earth, andthat I followed with inexpressible delight. I then wished to bid myfriend

farewell, when I saw that she was hastening after me, accompaniedby Mary and Domingo. But the strangest

circumstance remains yet to betold; Madame de la Tour has this very night had a dream exactly likemine in

every possible respect. "

"My dear friend, " I replied, "nothing, I firmly believe, happens in thisworld without the permission of God.

Future events, too, are sometimesrevealed in dreams. "

Madame de la Tour then related to me her dream which was exactly thesame as Margaret's in every particular;

and as I had never observed ineither of these ladies any propensity to superstition, I was struck withthe

singular coincidence of their dreams, and I felt convinced thatthey would soon be realized. The belief that

future events are sometimesrevealed to us during sleep, is one that is widely diffused among thenations of the

earth. The greatest men of antiquity have had faith init; among whom may be mentioned Alexander the Great,

Julius Caesar, the Scipios, the two Catos, and Brutus, none of whom were weak-mindedpersons. Both the Old

and the New Testament furnish us with numerousinstances of dreams that came to pass. As for myself, I need

only, onthis subject, appeal to my experience, as I have more than once had goodreason to believe that

superior intelligences, who interest themselvesin our welfare, communicate with us in these visions of the

night. Things which surpass the light of human reason cannot be proved byarguments derived from that

reason; but still, if the mind of man is animage of that of God, since man can make known his will to the ends

ofthe earth by secret missives, may not the Supreme Intelligence whichgoverns the universe employ similar

means to attain a like end? Onefriend consoles another by a letter, which, after passing through

manykingdoms, and being in the hands of various individuals at enmity witheach other, brings at last joy and

hope to the breast of a single humanbeing. May not in like manner the Sovereign Protector of innocence

comein some secret way, to the help of a virtuous soul, which puts its trustin Him alone? Has He occasion to

employ visible means to effect Hispurpose in this, whose ways are hidden in all His ordinary works?

Why should we doubt the evidence of dreams? for what is our life, occupied as it is with vain and fleeting

imaginations, other than aprolonged vision of the night?

Whatever may be thought of this in general, on the present occasion thedreams of my friends were soon

realized. Paul expired two months afterthe death of his Virginia, whose name dwelt on his lips in his

expiringmoments. About a week after the death of her son, Margaret saw her lasthour approach with that

serenity which virtue only can feel. She badeMadame de la Tour a most tender farewell, "in the certain hope, "

shesaid, "of a delightful and eternal re-union. Death is the greatest ofblessings to us, " added she, "and we

ought to desire it. If life be apunishment, we should wish for its termination; if it be a trial, weshould be

thankful that it is short. "

The governor took care of Domingo and Mary, who were no longer able tolabour, and who survived their

mistresses but a short time. As for poorFidele, he pined to death, soon after he had lost his master.

I afforded an asylum in my dwelling to Madame de la Tour, who boreup under her calamities with incredible

elevation of mind. She hadendeavoured to console Paul and Margaret till their last moments, as ifshe herself

had no misfortunes of her own to bear. When they were notmore, she used to talk to me every day of them as

of beloved friends, who were still living near her. She survived them however, but onemonth. Far from

reproaching her aunt for the afflictions she had caused, her benign spirit prayed to God to pardon her, and to

appease thatremorse which we heard began to torment her, as soon as she had sentVirginia away with so much

inhumanity.

Conscience, that certain punishment of the guilty, visited with all itsterrors the mind of this unnatural relation.

So great was her torment, that life and death became equally insupportable to her. Sometimes shereproached

herself with the untimely fate of her lovely niece, and withthe death of her mother, which had immediately

followed it. At othertimes she congratulated herself for having repulsed far from her twowretched creatures,

who, she said, had both dishonoured their familyby their grovelling inclinations. Sometimes, at the sight of the

manymiserable objects with which Paris abounds, she would fly into a rage, and exclaim, --"Why are not these

idle people sent off to the colonies?"As for the notions of humanity, virtue and religion, adopted by allnations,

she said, they were only the inventions of their rulers, toserve political purposes. Then, flying all at once to the

other extreme, she abandoned herself to superstitious terrors, which filled herwith mortal fears. She would

then give abundant alms to the wealthyecclesiastics who governed her, beseeching them to appease the wrath

ofGod by the sacrifice of her fortune, --as if the offering to Him of thewealth she had withheld from the

miserable could please her HeavenlyFather! In her imagination she often beheld fields of fire, with

burningmountains, wherein hideous spectres wandered about, loudly calling onher by name. She threw herself

at her confessor's feet, imagining everydescription of agony and torture; for Heaven--just Heaven, always

sendsto the cruel the most frightful views of religion and a future state.

Atheist, thus, and fanatic in turn, holding both life and death in equalhorror, she lived on for several years. But

what completed the tormentsof her miserable existence, was that very object to which she hadsacrificed every

natural affection. She was deeply annoyed at perceivingthat her fortune must go, at her death, to relations

whom she hated, andshe determined to alienate as much of it as she could. They, however, taking advantage of

her frequent attacks of low spirits, caused her tobe secluded as a lunatic, and her affairs to be put into the

hands oftrustees. Her wealth, thus completed her ruin; and, as the possessionof it had hardened her own heart,

so did its anticipation corrupt thehearts of those who coveted it from her. At length she died; and, tocrown her

misery, she retained enough reason at last to be sensible thatshe was plundered and despised by the very

persons whose opinions hadbeen her rule of conduct during her whole life.

On the same spot, and at the foot of the same shrubs as his Virginia, was deposited the body of Paul; and

round about them lie the remains oftheir tender mothers and their faithful servants. No marble marks thespot

of their humble graves, no inscription records their virtues;but their memory is engraven upon the hearts of

those whom they havebefriended, in indelible characters. Their spirits have no need of thepomp, which they

shunned during their life; but if they still take aninterest in what passes upon earth, they no doubt love to

wander beneaththe roofs of these humble dwellings, inhabited by industrious virtue, toconsole poverty

discontented with its lot, to cherish in the heartsof lovers the sacred flame of fidelity, and to inspire a taste

forthe blessings of nature, a love of honest labour, and a dread of theallurements of riches.

The voice of the people, which is often silent with regard to themonuments raised to kings, has given to some

parts of this island nameswhich will immortalize the loss of Virginia. Near the isle of Amber, inthe midst of

sandbanks, is a spot called The Pass of the Saint-Geran, from the name of the vessel which was there lost. The

extremity of thatpoint of land which you see yonder, three leagues off, half covered withwater, and which the

Saint-Geran could not double the night before thehurricane, is called the Cape of Misfortune; and before us, at

the endof the valley, is the Bay of the Tomb, where Virginia was found buriedin the sand; as if the waves had

sought to restore her corpse to her family, that they might render it the last sad duties on those shoreswhere so

many years of her innocent life had been passed.

Joined thus in death, ye faithful lovers, who were so tenderly united!unfortunate mothers! beloved family!

these woods which sheltered you with their foliage, --these fountains which flowed for you, --thesehill-sides

upon which you reposed, still deplore your loss! No one hassince presumed to cultivate that desolate spot of

land, or to rebuildthose humble cottages. Your goats are become wild: your orchards aredestroyed; your birds

are all fled, and nothing is heard but the cry ofthe sparrow-hawk, as it skims in quest of prey around this rocky

basin. As for myself, since I have ceased to behold you, I have felt friendlessand alone, like a father bereft of

his children, or a traveller whowanders by himself over the face of the earth.

Ending with these words, the good old man retired, bathed in tears; andmy own, too, had flowed more than

once during this melancholy recital.