THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY S455 14 OpaeE RIGS Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. A charge is made on all overdue books. U. of I. Library fpk 16 194 APR £6 [94 # MAY 29 x i Tri ce he itr ; RR erie . Ge if ~gitim toe BERNARDIN pr SAINT PIERRE.—1737-1814. PauL AND VirarniA, famous as the most idyllic of love stories, appeared in 1787. Some have been found to pronounce it gaudy in style and un- healthy, notto say unwholesome,intone. The fault in this famous story is that the exuberant sensi- bility of the time finds equally exuberant expres- sion. Where Bernardin is of merit and impor- tance isin his breaking away from the dull and arid vocabulary and phrase which more than a century of classical writing had brought upon France, in his genuine and vigorous preference of the beauties of nature, and inthe attempt which he made to reproduce the aspects of the natural world faithfully. Bernardin was, in French liter- ature, the apostle of the return to nature. “URATRSITY QF m, BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE > “ag Ores UP ‘ 7) PHILADELPHIA . HENRY ALTEMUS COMPA NY, V* eae © ice e neni Peas NCR SEE Sct Swe ea we OP a 4 . . x ; ‘ . ; 5 < im * r, » F » ae ; ¥ * ; yo : z: : : bl ' . WS ¥ ¢ ; » sly we P . 4 e LIBRARY ‘OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS. frontispiece. PAUL AND VIRGINIA, PAUL AND VIRGINIA. SITUATE on the eastern side of the moun- tain which rises above Port Louis, in the “Mauritius, upon a piece of land bearing the marks oe former cultivation, are seen the ‘ruins of two small cottages. These ruins are Snot far from the centre of a valley, formed by | Louis to the Shaddock Grove, where the church bearing that name lifts its head, sur- ip rounded by its avenues of bamboo, in the mid- 2 dle of a spacious plain; and the prospect ter- minates in a forest extending to the farthest 5 iy. 1 4/18/38 “ im pe igo . x g S Bet, See h % : % J ie a: f ’ ee Se Ge Wweu Ld Paul and Virginia. bounds of the island. The front view pre- sents the bay, denominated the Bay of the Tomb; a little on the right is seen the Cape of Misfortune; and beyond rolls the expanded ocean, on the surface of which appear a few uninhabited islands; and, among others, the Point of Endeavor, which resembles a bastion built upon the flood. At the entrance of the valley which pre- sents these various objects, the echoes of the mountain incessantly repeat the hollow mur- murs of the winds that shake the neighboring forests, and the tumultuous dashing of the waves which break at a distance upon the clifis; but near the ruined cottages all is calm and still, and the only objects which there meet the eye are rude steep rocks that rise like a surrounding rampart. Large clumps of trees grow at their base, on their rifted sides, and even on their majestic tops, where the clouds seem to repose. The showers, which their bold points attract, often paint the vivid eolors of the rainbow on their green and brown declivities, and swell the sources of the little river which flows at their feet, called the Paul and Virginia. " river of Fan-Palms. © Within this inclosure reigns the most profound silence. The wa- ters, the air, all the elements, are at peace. Searcely does the echo repeat the whispers of the palm trees, spreading their broad leaves, the long points of which are gently agitated by the winds. A soft light illumines the bot- tom of this deep valley, on which the sun shines only at noon. But even at break of day the rays of light are thrown on the sur- rounding rocks; and their sharp peaks, rising above the shadows of the mountain, appear like tints of gold and purple gleaming upon the azure sky. To this scene I loved to resort, as I could here enjoy at once the richness of an un- bounded landscape and the charm of unin- terrupted solitude. One day, when I was seated at the foot of the cottages and con- templating their ruins, a man advanced in years passed near the spot. He was dressed in the ancient garb of the island, his feet were bare, and he leaned upon a staff of ebony; his hair was white, and the expression of his countenance was dignified and interesting. I hand Paul and Virginia. bowed to him with respect; he returned the salutation, and, after looking at me with some earnestness, came and placed himself upon the hillock on which I was seated. Encouraged by this mark of confidence, I thus addressed him: “Father, can you tell me to whom those cottages once belonged ?” “My son,” replied the old man, “those heaps of rubbish and that untilled land were, twenty years ago, the property of two famil- ies who then found happiness in this solitude. Their history is affecting; but what European, pursuing his way to the Indies, will pause one moment to interest himself in the fate of a few obscure individuals? What European ean picture happiness to his imagination amidst poverty and neglect? The curiosity of mankind is only attracted by the history of the great, and yet from that knowledge little use can be derived.” “Father,” I rejoined, “ from your manner and your observations I perceive that you have acquired much experience of human life. If you have leisure, relate to me, I beseech Paul and Virginia. 9 you, the history of the ancient inhabitants of this desert; and be assured that even the men who are most perverted by the prejudices of the world find a soothing pleasure in con- templating that happiness which belongs to simplicity and virtue.” The old man, after a short silence, during which he leaned his face upon his hands, as if he were trying to recall the images of the past, thus began his narration: Monsieur de la Tour, a young man who was a native of Normandy, after having in vain solicited a commission in the French army, or some support from his own family, at length determined to seek his fortune in this 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. She belonged to a rich and ancient family of the same province; but he had married her secretly and without a fortune, and in opposi- tion to the will of her relations, who refused their consent because he was found guilty of being descended from parents who had no 10 Paul and Virginia. claims to nobility. Monsieur de la Tour, leaving his wife at Port Louis, embarked for Madagascar, in order to purchase a few slaves to assist him in forming a plantation on this island. He landed at Madagascar during that unhealthy season which commences about the middle of October, and soon after his arrival died of the pestilential fever which prevails in that island six months of the year, and which will forever baffle the attempts of the European nations to form establishments on that fatal soil. His effects were seized upon by the rapacity of strangers, as commonly happens to persons dying in foreign parts; and his wife, who was pregnant, found herself a widow in a country where she had neither credit nor acquaintance, and no earthly pos- session, or rather support, but one negro woman. ‘Too delicate to solicit protection or relief from any one else after the death of him whom alone she loved, misfortune armed her with courage, and she resolved to cultivate, with her slave, a little spot of ground, and procure for herself the means of subsistence. Desert as was the island and the ground left Paul and Virginia. 11 to the choice of the settler, she avoided those spots which were most fertile and most favor- able to commerce; seeking some nook of the mountain, some secret asylum, where she might live solitary and unknown, she bent her way from the town toward these rocks, where she might conceal herself from observation. All sensitive and suffering creatures, from a sort of common instinct, fly for refuge amidst their pains to haunts the most wild and deso- late, as if rocks could form a rampart against misfortune—as if the calm of Nature could hush the tumults of the soul. That Provi- dence which lends its support when we ask but the supply of our necessary wants had a blessing in reserve for Madame de la Tour which neither riches nor greatness can pur- chase: this blessing was a friend. The spot to which Madame de la Tour had - fled had already been inhabited for a year by a young woman of a lively, good-natured and affectionate disposition. Margaret (for that was her name) was born in Brittany of a fam- ily of peasants, by whom she was cherished and beloved, and with whom she might have 12 Paul and Virginia. passed through life in simple rustie happiness, if, misled by the weakness of a tender heart, she had not listened to the passion of a gentle- man in the neighborhood who promised her marriage. He soon abandoned her, and, add- ing inhumanity to seduction, refused to en- sure a provision for the child of which she was pregnant. Margaret then determined to leave forever her native village, and retire where her fault might be concealed, to some colony distant from that country where she had lost the only portion of a poor peasant girl—her reputation. 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, where she found Margaret engaged in suckling her child. Soothed and charmed by the sight of a person in a situation somewhat similar to her own, Madame de la Tour related in a few words her past condition and her present wants. Margaret was deeply affected by the recital, and, more anxious to merit confidence than Paul and Virginia. 13 to create esteem, she confessed without dis- guise the errors of which she had been guilty. “As for me,” said she, “I deserve my fate; but you, madam—you! at once virtuous and unhappy;” and, sobbing, she offered Madame de la Tour both her hut and her friendship. That lady, affected by this tender reception, pressed her in her arms and exclaimed: “Ah, surely Heaven has put an end to my misfortunes, since it inspires you, to whom I am a stranger, with more goodness toward me than I have ever experienced from my own relations ! ” I was acquainted with Margaret, and, al- though my habitation is a league and a half from hence, in the woods behind that sloping mountain, I considered myself as her neigh- bor. In the cities of Europe a street, even a simple wall, frequently prevents members of the same family from meeting for years; but in new colonies we consider those persons as neighbors from whom we are divided only by woods and mountains; and above all at that period, when this island had little intercourse with the Indies, vicinity alone gave a claim 14 Paul and Virginia. to friendship, and hospitality toward strangers seemed less a duty than a pleasure. No sooner was I informed that Margaret had found a companion than I hastened to her, in the hope of being useful to my neighbor and her guest. I found Madame de la Tour possessed of all those melancholy graces which, by blending sympathy with admiration, give to beauty ad- ditional power. Her countenance was interest- ing, expressive at once of dignity and dejec- tion. She appeared to be in the last stage of her pregnancy. I told the two friends that for the future interests of their children, and to prevent the intrusion of any other settler, they had better divide between them the prop- erty of this wild, sequestered valley, which is nearly twenty acres in extent. They confided that task to me, and I marked out two equal portions of land. One included the higher part of this enclosure, from the cloudy pinna- cle of that rock, whence springs the river of Fan-Palms, to that precipitous cleft which you see on the summit of the mountain, and which, from its resemblance in form to the battlement of a fortress, is called the Em- Paul and Virginia. 15 brasure. It is difficult to find a path along this wild portion of the enclosure, the soil of which is encumbered with fragments of rock or worn into channels formed by torrents; yet it produces noble trees and innumerable springs and rivulets. The other portion of land comprised the plain extending along the banks of the river of Fan-Palms to the open- ing where we are now seated, whence the river takes its course between those two hills until at last it falls into the sea. You may still trace the vestiges of some meadow-land; and this part of the common is less rugged, but not more valuable, than the other, since in the rainy season it becomes marshy, and in dry weather is so hard and unyielding that it will almost resist the stroke of the pickaxe. When I had thus divided the property I per- suaded my neighbors to draw lots for their respective possessions. The higher portion of land, containing the source of the river of Fan-Palms, became the property of Madame de la Tour; the lower, comprising the plain on the banks of the river, was allotted to Mar- garet; and each seemed satisfied with her 16 Paul and Virginia. share. They entreated me to place their habi- tations together, that they might at all times enjoy the soothing intercourse of friendship and the consolation of mutual kind offices. Margaret’s cottage was situated near the cen- tre of the valley, and just on the boundary of her own plantation. Close to that spot I built another cottage for the residence of Madame de la Tour; and thus the two friends, while they possessed all the advantages.of neighborhood, lived on their own property. I myself cut palisades from the mountain and brought leaves of fan- palms from the sea-shore in order to construct those two cottages, of which you can now dis- cern neither the entrance nor the roof. Yet, alas! there still remain but too many traces for my remembrance! ‘Time, which so rap- idly destroys the proud monuments of em- pires, seems in this desert to spare those of, friendship, as if to perpetuate my regrets to the last hour of my existence. As soon as the second cottage was finished, Madame de la Tour was delivered of a girl. I had been the god-father of Margaret’s child, Paul and Virginia. 17 who was christened by the name cf Paul. Madame de la Tour desired me to perform the same office for her child also, together with her friend, who gave her the name of Vir- ginia. . “She will be virtuous,” cried Margaret, “and she will be happy. I have only known misfortune by wandering from virtue.” About the time Madame de la Tour recoy- ered, these two little estates had already be- gun to yield some produce, perhaps in a small degree owing to the care which I occasionally bestowed on their improvement, but far more to the indefatigable labors of the two slaves. Margaret’s slave, who was called Domingo, was still healthy and robust, though advanced in years: he possessed some knowledge and a good natural understanding. He cultivated indiscriminately, on both plantations, the spots of ground that seemed most fertile, and sowed whatever grain he thought most con- genial to each particular soil. Where the ground was poor, he strewed maize; where it was most fruitful he planted wheat, and rice in such spots as were marshy. He threw the 2 ¥ { 18 Paul and Virginia. seeds of gourds and cucumbers at the foot of the rocks which they loved to climb and dec- orate with their luxuriant foliage. In dry spots he cultivated the sweet potato; the cot- ton tree flourished upon the heights, and the sugar-cane grew in the clayey soil. He reared some plants of coffee on the hills, where the grain, although small, is excellent. His plan- tain trees, which spread their grateful shade on the banks of the river and encircled the cot- tages, yielded fruit throughout ‘the year. And lastly, Domingo, to soothe his cares, eul- tivated a few plants of tobacco. Sometimes he was employed in cutting wood for firing from the mountain, sometimes in hewing pieces of rock within the enclosure in order to level the paths. The zeal which inspired him enabled him to perform all these labors with intelligence and activity. He was much at- tached to Margaret, and not less to Madame de la Tour, whose negro woman, Mary, he had married on the birth of Virginia; and he was passionately fond of his wife. Mary was born at Madagascar, and had there acquired the knowledge of some useful arts. She could Paul and Virginia. 19 weave baskets and a sort of stuff with long grass that grows in the woods. She was active, cleanly, and, above all, faithful. It was her care to prepare their meals, to rear the poul- try, and go sometimes to Port Louis to sell the superfluous produce of these little plantations, which was not, however, very considerable. If you add to the personages already men- tioned two goats, which were brought up with the children, and a great dog, which kept wateh at night, you will have a complete idea of the household, as well as of the productions of these two little farms. Madame de la Tour and her friend were constantly employed in spinning cotton for the use of their families. Destitute of every- thing which their own industry could not sup- ply, at home they went barefooted: shoes were a convenience reserved for Sunday, on which day, at an early hour, they attended mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, which you see yonder. That church was more distant from their homes than Port Louis; but they seldom visited the town, lest they should be treated with contempt on account of their a 20 Paul and Virginia. dress, which consisted simply of the coarse blue linen of Bengal, usually worn by slaves. But is there, in that external deference which fortune commands, a compensation for domestic happiness? If these interesting women had something to suffer from the world, their homes on that very account be- eame more dear to them. No sooner did Mary and Domingo, from this elevated spot, per- ceive their mistress on the road of the Shad- dock Grove, than they flew to the foot of the mountain in order to help them to ascend. They discerned in the looks of their domes- tics the joy which their return excited. They found in their retreat neatness, independence, all the blessings which are the recompense of toil, and they received the zealous services which spring from affection. United by the tie of similar wants and the sympathy of sim- ilar misfortunes, they gave each other the tender names of companion, friend, sister. They had but one will, one interest, one table. All their possessions were in common, And if sometimes a passion more ardent than friendship awakened in their hearts the pang Paul and Virginia. 21 of unavailing anguish, a pure religion, united with chaste manners, drew their: affections toward another life, as the trembling flame rises toward heaven when it no longer finds any ailment on earth. The duties of maternity became a source of additional happiness to these affectionate mothers, whose mutual friendship gained new strength at the sight of their children, equally the offspring of an ill-fated attachment. They delighted in washing their infants together in the same bath, in putting them to rest in the same cradle, and in changing the maternal bosom at which they received nourishment. “My friend,” cried Madame de la Tour, “we shall each of us have two children, and each of our children will have two mothers.” As two buds which remain on different trees of the same kind, after the tempest has broken all their branches, produce more de- licious fruit if each, separated from the ma- ternal stem, be grafted on the neighboring tree, so these two infants, deprived of all their other relations, when thus exchanged - for nourishment by those who had given them 22 Paul and Virginia. birth, imbibed feelings of affection still more tender than those of son and daughter, brother and sister. While they were yet in their cradles their mothers talked of their marriage. They soothed their own cares by looking for- ward to the future happiness of their chil- dren; but this contemplation often drew forth their tears. The misfortunes of one mother had arisen from having neglected marriage, those of the other from having submitted te its laws. One had suffered by aiming to rise above her condition, the other by descending from her rank. But they found consolation in reflecting that their more fortunate chil- dren, far from the cruel prejudices of Europe, would enjoy at once the pleasures of love and the blessings of equality. Rarely, indeed, has such an attachment been seen as that which the two children already testified for each other. If Paul com- plained of any thing, his mother pointed to’ Virginia; at her sight he smiled and was ap- peased. If any accident befell Virginia, the cries of Paul gave notice of the disaster, but the dear little creature would suppress her Paul and Virginia. 23 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 under the arms, as we sce represented the constellation of the Twins. At night these infants often refused to be separated, and were found lying in the same cradle, their cheeks, their bosoms pressed close together, their hands thrown round each other’s neck, and sleeping locked in one an- other’s arms. ‘ When they began to speak the first names they learned to give each other were those of brother and sister, and childhood knows no softer appellation. Their education, by di- recting them ever to consider each other’s wants, tended greatly to increase their affec- tion. Ina short time all the household econ- omy, the care of preparing their rural repasts, became the task of Virginia, whose labors were always crowned with the praises and kisses of her brother. As for Paul, always in motion, he dug the garden with Domingo or followed him with a little hatchet into the 24. Paul and Virginia. woods; and if in his rambles he espied a beau- tiful flower, any delicious fruit, or a nest of birds, even at the top of the tree, he would climb up and bring the spoil to his sister. When you met one of these children you might be sure the other was not far off. One day, as I was coming down that moun- tain, I saw Virginia at the end of the garden running toward the house with her petticoat thrown over her head, in order to sereen her- self from a shower of rain. At a distance I thought she was alone; but as I hastened toward her, in order to help her on, I per- ceived she held Paul by the arm, almost en- tirely enveloped in the same canopy, and both were laughing heartily at their being sheltered together under an umbrella of their own in- vention. Those two charming faces in the middle of a swelling petticoat recalled to my mind the children of Leda enclosed in the same shell. Their sole study was how they could please and assist one another, for of all other things they were ignorant, and indeed could neither read nor write. They were never disturbed Paul and Virginia. 25 by inquiries about past times, nor did their curiosity extend beyond the bounds of their mountain. They believed the world ended at the shores of their own island. and all their ideas and all their affections were confined within its limits. Their mutual tenderness and that of their mothers employed all the energies of their minds. Their tears had never been called forth by tedious application to useless sciences. Their minds had never been wearied by lessons of morality, superflu- ous to bosoms unconscious of ill. They had never been taught not to steal, because every- thing with them was in common; or not to be intemperate, because their simple food was _ left to their own discretion; or not to lie, be- cause they had nothing to conceal. Their young imaginations had never been terrified by the idea that God has punishment in store for ungrateful children, since with them filial affection arose naturally from maternal ten- derness. All they had been taught of religion was to love it, and if they did not offer up long prayers in the church, wherever they were, in the house, in the fields, in the woods, they 26 Paul and Virginia. raised toward heaven their innocent hands and hearts purified by virtuous affections. All their early childhood passed thus like a beautiful dawn, the prelude of a bright day. Already they assisted their mothers in the duties of the household. As soon as the crow- ing of the wakeful cock announced the first beam of the morning, Virginia arose, and has- tened to draw water from a_ neighboring spring; then returning to the house she pre- pared the breakfast. | When the rising sun gilded the points of the rocks which overhung the enclosure in which they lived, Margaret and her child repaired to the dwelling of Mad- ame de la Tour, where they offered up their morning prayer together. This sacrifice of thanksgiving always preceded their first re- past, which they often took before the door of the cottage, seated upon the grass, under a canopy of plantain; and while the branches of that delicious tree afforded a grateful shade, its fruit furnished a substantial food ready prepared for them by nature, and its long glossy leaves, spread upon the table, supplied the place of linen. Plentiful and wholesome Paul and Virginia. 27 nourishment gave early growth and vigor to | the persons of these children, and their coun- tenances expressed the purity and the peace of their souls. At twelve years of age the figure of Virginia was in some degree formed: a profusion of light hair shaded her face, to which her blue eyes and coral lips gave the most charming brilliancy. Her eyes sparkled with vivacity when she spoke, but when she was silent they were habitually turned upward with an expression of extreme sensibility, or rather of tender melancholy. The figure of Paul began already to display the graces of youthful beauty. He was taller than 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 lashes by which they were shaded had not im- parted to them an expression of softness. He was constantly in motion, except when his sister appeared, and then, seated by her side, he became still. Their meals often passed without a word being spoken; and from their silence, the simple elegance of their attitudes, and the beauty of their. naked feet you might 28 Paul and Virginia. have fancied you beheld an antique group of white marble, representing some of the chil- dren of Niobe, but for the glances of their eyes, which were constantly seeking to meet, and their mutual soft and tender smiles, which suggested rather the idea of happy celestial spirits, whose nature is love, and who are obliged to have recourse to words for the ex- pression of their feelings. In the meantime Madame de la Tour, per- ceiving every day some unfolding grace, some new beauty, in her daughter, felt her mater- nal anxiety increase with her tenderness. She often said to me, “If I were to die, what will 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 much eruelty toward her niece upon her mar- riage that Madame de la Tour had determined no extremity of distress should ever compel her to have recourse to her hard-hearted rela- tion. But when she became a mother the pride of resentment was overcome by the stronger feelings of maternal tenderness. She Paul and Virginia. 29 wrote to her aunt, informing her of the sud- den death of her husband, the birth of her daughter, and the difficulties in which she was involved, burdened as she was with an infant and without means of support. She received no answer; but, notwithstanding the high spirit natural to her character, she no longer feared exposing herself to: mortification; and although she knew her aunt would never par- don her for having married a man who was not of noble birth, however estimable, she continued to write to her, with the hope of awakening her compassion for Virginia. Many years, however, passed without receiv- ing any token of her remembrance. At length, in 1738, three years after the arrival of Monsieur de la Bourdonnais in this island, Madame de la Tour was informed that the governor had a letter to give her from her aunt. She flew to Port Louis; maternal joy raised her mind above all trifling considera- tions, and she was careless on this occasion of appearing in her homely attire. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais gave her a letter from her aunt, in which she informed her that she de- 30 Paul and Virginia. ; served her fate for marrying an adventurer and a libertine: that the passions brought with them their own punishment; that the premature death of her husband was a just visitation from Heaven; that she had done well in going to a distant island, rather than dishonor her family by remaining in France; and that, after all, in the colony where she had taken refuge none but the idle failed to grow rich. Having thus censured her niece, she concluded by eulogizing herself. To avoid, she said, the almost inevitable evils of marriage, she had determined to remain sin- gle. In fact, as she was of a very ambitious disposition, she had resolved to marry none but a man of high rank; but although she was very rich, her fortune was not found a suffi- cient bribe even at court, to counterbalance the malignant dispositions of her mind and the disagreeable qualities of her person. After mature deliberations, she added im a postscript that she had strongly recommended her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This she had indeed done, but in a manner of late too common, which renders a patron per- Paul and Virginia. 31 haps even more to be feared than a declared enemy; for, in order to justify herself for her harshness, she had cruelly slandered her niece, while she affected to pity her misfortunes. Madame de la Tour, whom no unprejudiced person could have seen without feelings of sympathy and respect, was received with the utmost coolness by Monsieur de la Bourdon- nais, biased as he was against her. When she painted to him her own situation and that of her child, he replied in abrupt sentences: “We will see what can be done—there are so many to relieve—all in good time—why did you displease your aunt?—you have been 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 she arrived she threw her aunt’s letter on the table, and exclaimed to her friend: “There is the fruit of eleven years of pa- tient expectation ! ” Madame de la Tour being the only person in the little cirele who could read, she again 32 Paul and Virginia. took up the letter and read it aloud. Scarcely had she finished when Margaret exclaimed: “ What have we to do with your relations? Has God then forsaken us? He only is our, Father! Have we not hitherto been happy? Why then this regret? You have no cour- age.” Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw herself upon her neck, and, pressing her in her arms, “ My dear friend! ” eried she, “my dear friend!” but her emotion choked her utterance. At this sight Virginia burst into tears, and pressed her mother’s and Margaret’s hand al- ternately to her lips and heart; while Paul, his eyes inflamed with anger, eried, clasped his hands together, and stamped with his foot, not knowing whom to blame for this scene of misery. The noise soon brought Domingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habitation resounded with cries of distress: “Ah, madam!—My good mistress!—My dear mother!—Do not weep! ”’ These tender proofs of affection at length dispelled the grief of Madame de la Tour. Paul and Virginia. 33 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 am surrounded with happiness.” | Paul and Virginia did not understand this reflection; but when they saw that she was calm they smiled and continued to caress her. Tranquility was thus restored in this happy family, and all that had passed was but as a storm in the midst of fine weather, which dis- turbs the serenity of the atmosphere but for a short time, and then passes away. The amiable disposition of these children unfolded itself daily. One Sunday, at day- break, their mothers having gone to mass at the church of the Shaddock Grove, the chil- dren perceived a negro woman beneath the plantains which surrounded their habitation. She appeared almost wasted to a skeleton, and had no other garment than a piece of coarse cloth thrown around her. She threw herself 3 34 Paul and Virginia. at the feet of Virginia, who was preparing the family breakfast, and said: “ My good young lady, have pity on a poor runaway slave. For a whole month I have wandered among these mountains, half dead with hunger and often pursued by the hunters and their 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 scars from the lashes she had re- ceived. She added, “I was going to drown myself, but hearing you lived here, I said to myself: Since there are still 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 been preparing, which the slave in a few minutes devoured. When her hunger was appeased, Virginia said to her: “Poor woman! I should like to go and ask forgiveness for you of your master. Surely the sight of you will touch him with pity. Will you show me the way ?”’ Paul and Virginia. 35 “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 slave led the way, by winding and difficult paths, through the woods, over mountains, which they climbed with difficulty, and across rivers, through which they were obliged to wade. At length, about the middle of the day, they reached the foot of a steep descent upon the borders of the Black River. There they per- ceived a well-built house, surrounded by ex- tensive plantations, and a number of slaves employed in their various labors. Their mas- ter 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 joined in one. Virginia, holding Paul by the hand, drew near, and with much emo- tion begged him, for the love of God, to par- don his poor slave, who stood trembling a few paces behind. The planter at first paid little attention to the children, who, he saw, were 36 Paul and Virginia. meanly dressed. But when he observed the elegance of Virginia’s form and the profusion of her beautiful light tresses which had es- caped from beneath her blue cap; when he heard the soft tone of her voice, which trem- bled, as well as her whole frame, while she implored his compassion; he took his pipe from his mouth, and, lifting up his stick, swore, with a terrible oath, that he pardoned his slave, not for the love of Heaven, but of her who asked his forgiveness. Virginia made a sign to the slave to approach her master, and instantly sprang away, followed by Peul. They climbed up the steep they had de- scended, and, having gained the summit, seated themselves at the foot of a tree, over- come with fatigue, hunger, and thirst. They had left their home fasting, and walked five leagues since sunrise. Paul said to Virginia: “ My dear sister, it is past noon, and I am sure you are thirsty and hungry: we shall find no dinner here; let us go down the mountain again, and ask the master of the poor slave for some food.” Paul and Virginia. 37 “Oh no,” answered Virginia, “he frightens me too much. Remember what mamma sometimes says: ‘The bread of the wicked ts like stones in the mouth.’ ” “What shall we do, then?” said Paul; “these trees produce no fruit to eat, and I shall not be able to find even a tamarind or a lemon to refresh you.” “God will take care of us,” replied Vir- ginia; “ He listens to the cry even of the lit- tle birds when they ask Him for food.” Searcely had she pronounced these words when they heard the noise of water falling from a neighboring rock. They ran thither, and, having quenched their thirst at this erys- tal spring, they gathered and ate a few cresses which grew on the border of the stream. Soon afterward, while they were wandering back- ward and forward in search of more solid nourishment, Virginia perceived in the thick- est part of the forest a young palm tree. The kind of cabbage which 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 not thicker than a man’s leg, it 38 Paul and Virginia. grows to above sixty feet in height: The wood of the tree, indeed, is composed only of very fine filaments; but the bark is so hard that it turns the edge of the hatchet, and Paul was not furnished even with a knife. At length he thought of setting fire to the palm tree; but a new difficulty occurred: he had no steel with which to 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 have arisen from men placed in most desti- tute situations. Paul determined to kindle a fire after the manner of the negroes. With the sharp end of a 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 same stone, brought to a pomt another dry branch of a different sort of wood, and, afterward, placing the piece of pointed wood in the small hole of the branch which he held with his feet, and turning it rapidly between his hands, in a few minutes smoke and sparks ory: Paul and Virginia. 39 of fire issued from the point of contact. Paul then heaped together dry grass and branches, and set fire to the foot of the palm tree, which soon fell to the ground with a tremendous erash. The fire was further useful to him in stripping off the long, thick and pointed leaves within which the cabbage was en- closed. Having thus succeeded in obtaining this fruit, they ate part of it raw and part dressed upon the ashes, which they found equally palatable. They made this frugal - repast with delight, from the remembrance of the benevolent action they had performed in the morning; yet their joy was embittered by the thoughts of the uneasiness which their long absence from home would occasion their mothers. Virginia often recurred to this sub- ject. But Paul, who felt his strength renewed by their meal, assured her that it would not be long before they reached home, and by the assurance of their safety tranquillized the minds of their parents. _ After dinner they were much embarrassed by the recollection that they had now no guide, and that they were ignorant of the 40 Paul and Virginia. way. Paul, whose spirit was not subdued by difficulties, said to Virginia: “The sun shines 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, so called from the form of its three peaks. They then descended the steep bank of the Black River on the northern side, and arrived, after an hour’s walk, on the banks of a large river, which stopped their further progress. This large portion of the island, covered as it is with forests, is even now so little known that many of its rivers and moun- tains have not yet received a name. The stream on the banks of which Paul and Vir- ginia were now standing rolls foaming over a bed of rocks. The noise of the water fright- ened Virginia, and she was afraid to wade through the current. Paul therefore took her up in his arms, and went thus loaded over the slippery rocks which formed the bed of the river, careless of the tumultuous noise of its waters. Paul and Virginia. 41 “Do not be afraid,” cried he to Virginia; “I feel very strong with you. If that planter at the Black River had refused you the par- don of his slave, I would have fought with him.” “What!” answered Virginia, “with that great wicked man? To what have I exposed you! Gracious heavens! how difficult 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 journey carrying his sister; and he flattered himself that he could ascend in that way the mountain of the ‘Three Breasts, which was still at the distance of half a league; but his strength soon failed, and he was obliged to set down his burden and to rest himself by her side. Virginia then said to him: “My dear brother, the sun is going down; you have still some strength left, but mine has quite failed; do leave me here, 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, I will light a fire, and bring down another palm tree; you 42 Paul and Virginia. shall eat the cabbage, and I will form a cov- ering of the leaves to shelter you.” In the meantime, Virginia being a little rested, she gathered from the trunk of an old tree, which overhung the bank of the river, some long leaves of the plant called hart’s tongue, which grew near its root. Of these 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 her eager desire to do good she had forgotten to put on her shoes. Feeling her feet cooled by the freshness of the leaves, she broke off a branch of 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 the height of the trees and the thickness of their foliage they soon lost sight of the mountain of the Three Breasts, by which they had hitherto directed their course, and also of the sun, which was now setting. At length they wandered, with- out perceiving it, from the beaten path in which they had hitherto walked, and found Paul and Virginia. 43 themselves in a labyrinth of trees, underwood and rocks, whence there appeared to be ro out- let. Paul made Virginia sit down, while he ran backward and forward, half frantic, in search of a path which might lead them out of this thick wood; but he fatigued himself to no purpose. He then climbed to the top of a lofty tree, whence he hoped at least to perceive the mountain of the Three Breasts; but he could discern nothing around him but the tops of trees, some of which were gilded with the last beams of the setting sun. Al- ready the shadows of the mountain were spreading over the forests in the valleys. The wind lulled, as is usually the case at sunset. The most profound silence reigned in those awful solitudes, which was only interrupted by the ery of the deer, who came to their lairs in that unfrequented spot. Paul, in the hope that some hunter would hear his voice, called out as loud as he was able: “Come, come to the help of Virginia.” But the echoes of the forest alone answered his call, and repeated again, “ Virginia! Vir- ginia!”’ 44 Paul and Virginia. Paul at length descended from the tree, overcome with fatigue and vexation. He looked around in order to make some arrange- ment for passing the night in that desert; but he could find neither fountain or palm tree, nor even a branch of dry wood fit for kindling a fire. He was then impressed, by experience, with the sense of his own weakness, and be- gan to weep. Virginia said to him: “To not weep, my dear brother, or I shall be overwhelmed with grief. JI am the cause of all your sorrow, and of all that our mothers are suffering at this moment. I find we ought to do nothing, not even good, without con- sulting our parents. Oh, I have been very imprudent!” and she began to shed tears. “ Let us pray to God, my dear brother,” she again said, “and He will hear us.” They had scarcely finished their prayer when they heard the barking of a dog. “Tt must be the dog of some hunter,” said Paul, “ who comes here at night to lie in wait for the deer.” Paul and Virginia. 45 Soon after, the dog began barking again with increased violence. “Surely,” said Virginia, “it is Fidele, our own dog; yes, now I know his bark. Are we then so near home? at the foot of our own mountain.” A moment after Fidele was at their feet, barking, howling, moaning and devouring them with his caresses. Before they could recover from their surprise they saw Domingo running toward them. At the sight of the good old negro, who wept for joy, they began to weep too, but had not the power to utter a syllable. When Domingo had recovered himself a little, “ Oh, my dear children,” said he, “ how miserable have you made your mothers! How astonished they were when they re- turned with me from mass on not finding you at home! Mary, who was at work at_a little distance, could not tellus where you were gone. I ran backward and forward in the plantation, not knowing where to look for you. At last I took some of your old clothes, and, showing them to Fidele, the 46 Paul and Virginia. poor animal, as if he understood me, immediately began to scent your path, and conducted me, wagging his tail all the while, to the Black River. I there saw a planter, who told me you had brought back a maroon negro woman, his slave, and that he had pardoned her at your request. But what a pardon! He showed her to me with her feet chained to a block of wood, and an iron collar with three hooks fastened around her neck. After that, Fidele, still on the scent, led me up the steep bank of the Black River, where he again stopped, and barked with all his might. This was on the brink of a spring, near which was a fallen palm tree and a fire still smoking. At last he led me to this very spot. We are now at the foot of the mountain of the Three Breasts, and still four good leagues from home. Come, eat and recover your strength.’”? Domingo then pre- sented them with a cake, some fruit, and a large gourd full of beverage composed of wine, water, lemon-juice, sugar and nutmeg, which their mothers had prepared to invig-— orate and refresh them. Virginia sighed at Paul and Virginia. 47 the recollection of the poor slave and at the uneasiness they had given their mothers. She repeated several times: “Oh, how difficult it is to do. good!” While she and Paul were taking refresh- ment, it being already night, Domingo kin- dled a fire; and, having found among the rocks a particular kind of twisted wood called bois de ronde, which burns when quite green and throws out a great blaze, he made a torch of it, which he lighted. But when they pre- pared to continue their journey a new diffi- culty occurred; Paul and Virginia could no longer walk, their feet being violently swollen and inflamed. Domingo knew not what to do—whether to leave them and go in search of help, or remain and pass the night with them on that spot. “ There was a time,” said he, “ when I could earry you both together in my arms. But now you are grown big, and I am grown old.” While he was in this perplexity a troop of maroon negroes appeared at a short distance from them. The chief of the band, approach- 48 Paul and Virginia. ing Paul and Virginia, said to them: “ Good little white people, do not be afraid. We saw you pass this morning with a negro woman ot the Black River. You went to ask pardon for her of her wicked master; and we, in re- turn for this, will carry you home upon our shoulders.” He then made a sign, and four of the strongest negroes immediately formed a sort of litter with the branches of trees and lianas, and, having seated Paul and Virginia on it, carried them upon their shoulders. Do- mingo marched in front with his lighted torch, and then proceeded amidst the rejoic- ings of the whole troop, who overwhelmed them with their benedictions. Virginia, affected by this scene, said to Paul, with emotion: “Oh, my dear brother! God never leaves a good action unrewarded.”’ It was midnight when they arrived at the foot of their mountain, on the ridges of which several fires were lighted. As soon as they began to ascend they heard voices exclaim- ing: Paul and Virginia. 49 “Ts it you, my children?” They answered immediately, and the negroes also: “ Yes, yes, 1t is.” A moment after they could distinguish their mothers and Mary coming toward them with lighted sticks in their hands. “Unhappy children,” cried Madame de la Tour, “where have you been? What agonies you have made us suffer!” “We have been,” said Virginia, “to the Black River, where we went to ask pardon for a poor maroon slave, to whom I gave our breakfast this morning, because she seemed dying of hunger; and these maroon negroes have brought us home.” Madame de la Tour embraced her daugh- ter, without being able to speak; and Vir- ginia, who felt her face wet with her mother’s tears, exclaimed: “ Now I am repaid for all the hardships I have suffered.” Margaret in a transport of delight pressed Paul in her arms, exclaiming: “ And you, also, my dear child, you have done a good action.” When they reached the 4 50 Paul and Virginia. cottages with their children, they entertained all the negroes with a plentiful repast, after which the latter returned to the woods, pray- ing Heaven to shower down every description of blessing on those good white people. Every day was to these families a day of happiness and tranquillity. Neither ambi- tion nor envy disturbed their repose. They did not seek to obtain a useless reputation out of doors, which may be procured by arti- fice and lost by calumny, but were contented to be the sole witnesses and judges of their own actions. In this island, where, as is the case in most colonies, scandal forms the prin- cipal topic of conversation, their virtues, and even their names, were unknown. The passer- by on the road to the Shaddock Grove, indeed, would sometimes ask the inhabitants of the plain who lived in the cottages up there, and was always told, even by those who did not know them, “ They are good people.” The modest violet, thus concealed in thorny places, sheds all unseen its delightful fragrance around. ? Slander, which under an appearance of jus- Paul and Virginia. 51 tice naturally inclines the heart to falsehood or to hatred, was entirely banished from their conversation; for it is impossible not to hate men if we believe them to be wicked, or to live with the wicked without concealing that hatred under a false pretence of good feeling. Slander thus puts us ill at ease with others and with ourselves. In this little circle, therefore, the conduct of individuals was not discussed, but the best manner of doing good to all; and although they had but little in their power, their unceasing good-will and kindness of heart made them constantly ready to do what they could for others. Solitude, far from having blunted these benevolent feelings, had rendered their dispositions even more kindly. Although the petty scandals of the day fur- nished no subject of conversation to them, yet the contemplation of Nature filled their minds with enthusiastic delight. They adored the bounty of that Providence which, by their in- strumentality, had spread abundance and beauty amid these barren rocks, and had en- abled them to enjoy those pure and simple 52 Paul and Virginia. pleasures which are ever grateful and ever new. Paul, at twelve years of age, was stronger and more intelligent than most European youths are at fifteen, and the plantations, which Domingo merely cultivated, were em- bellished by him. He would go with the eld negro into the neighboring woods, where he would root up the young plants of lemon, orange and tamarind trees, the round heads of which are so fresh and green, together with date-palm trees, which produce fruit filled with a sweet cream, possessing the fine per- fume of the orange-flower. These trees, which had already attained to a considerable size, he planted round their little enclosure. He had also sown the seed of many trees which the second year bear flowers or fruit— such as the agathis, encircled with long clus- ters of white flowers, which hang from it like the crystal pendants of a chandelier; the Per- sian lilac, which lifts high in air its gray flax- colored branches; the papaw tree, the branch- less trunk of which forms a column studded with green melons, surmounted by a capital Paul and Virginia. 53 of broad leaves similar to those of the fig tree, The seeds and kernels of the gum tree, ter- minalia, mango, alligator pear, the guava, the bread-fruit tree, and the narrow leaved rose- apple were also planted by him with profu- sion; and the greater number of these trees already afforded their young cultivator both shade and fruit. His industrious hands dif- fused the riches of Nature over even the most barren parts of the plantation. Several spe- cies of aloes, the Indian fig, adorned with yel- low flowers spotted with red, and the thorny torch-thistle, grew upon the dark summits of the rocks, and seemed to aim at reaching 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 exer- cised in the arrangement of these trees. He had so disposed them that the whole could be seen at a single glance. In the middle of the hollow he had planted shrubs of the lowest growth; behind grew the more lofty sorts; then trees of the ordinary height; and beyond 54 Paul and Virginia. and above all the venerable and lofty groves which border the cireumference. Thus this extensive enclosure appeared, from its centre, like a verdant amphitheatre decorated with fruits and flowers, containing a variety of vegetables, some strips of meadow-land, and fields of rice and corn. But in arranging these vegetable productions to his own taste he wandered not too far from the designs of Na- ture. Guided by her suggestions, he had thrown upon the elevated spots such seeds as the winds would scatter about, and near the borders of the springs those which float upon the water. Every plant thus grew in its proper soil, and every spot seemed decorated by Nature’s own hand. ‘The streams which tell from the summits of the rocks, formed in some parts of the valley sparkling cascades, and in others were 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 plantations were, for the most part, easy of access. We had, indeed, Paul and Virginia. 55 all given him our advice and assistance in order to accomplish this end. He had con- ducted one path entirely round the valley, and various branches from it led from the cir- cumference to the centre. He had drawn some advantage from the most rugged spots, and had blended in harmonious union level walks with the inequalities of the soil, and trees which grow wild with the cultivated varieties. | With that immense quantity of large pebbles which now block up these paths, and which are scattered over most of the eround of this island, he formed pyramidal heaps here and there, at the base of which he laid mould and planted rose-bushes, the Bar- badoes flower-fence, and other shrubs which love to climb the rocks. In a short time the dark and shapeless heaps of stones he had constructed were covered with verdure or with the glowing tints of the most beautiful flowers. Hollow recesses on the borders of the streams, shaded by the overhanging boughs of aged trees, formed rural grottoe, impervious to the rays of the sun, in which you might enjoy a refreshing coolness during 56 Paul and Virginia. the mid-day heats. One path led to a clump of forest trees, in the centre of which, shel- tered from the wind, you find a fruit tree {aden with produce. Here was a corn-field, there an orchard; from one avenue you had a view of the cottages, from another of the in- accessible summit of the mountain. Beneath one tufted bower of gum trees, interwoven with lianas, no object whatever could be per- ceived; while the point of the adjoining rock, jutting out from the mountain, commanded a view of the whole enclosure and of the dis- tant ocean, where occasionally we could dis- cern the distant sail arriving from Europe or bound thither. On this rock the two families frequently met in the evening, and enjoyed in silence the freshness of the flowers, the gentle murmurs of the fountain, and the last blended harmonies of light and shade. | Nothing could be more charming than the names which were bestowed upon some of the delightful retreats of this labyrinth. The rock of which I have been speaking, whence they could discern my approach at a consid- erable distance, was called The Discovery of Paul and Virginia. 57 Friendship. Paul and Virginia had amused themselves by planting a bamboo on that spot, and whenever they saw me coming they hoisted a httle white handkerchief by way of signal of my approach, as they had seen a flag hoisted on a neighboring mountain on the sight of a vessel at sea. The idea struck me of engraving an inscription on the stalk of this reed; for I never, in the course of my travels, experienced anything: like the pleas- ure in seeing a statue or other monument of ancient arts as in reading a well-written in- scription. It seems to me as if a human voice issued from the stone, and, making itself heard after the lapse of ages, addressed man in the midst of a desert to tell him that he is not alone, and that other men, on that very spot, had felt and thought and suffered like himself. If the inscription belongs to an ancient nation which no longer exists, it leads the soul through infinite space, and strengthens the consciousness of its immor- tality by demonstrating that a thought has survived the ruins of an empire. T inscribed, then, on the little staff of Paul 58 Paul and Virginia. and Virginia’s flag, the following lines of ‘Horace: Fratres Helene, lucida sidera, Ventorumque regat pater, Obstrictis, aliis, preter Iapiga. ‘““May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, and the Father of the winds, 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 to sit to contem- plate the sea when agitated by storms. On the bark of this tree I engraved the following lines from Virgil: Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes! ‘““Happy art thou, my son, in knowing only the pastoral divinities.” And over the door of Madame de la Tour’s cottage, where the families so frequently 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 had placed at the foot of her flagstaff was too long and too learned. Paul and Virginia. 59 “T should have liked better,” added she, “to have seen inscribed, EVER AGITATED, YET CONSTANT.” “Such a motto,” I answered, “ would have been still more applicable to virtue.” My re- flection made her blush. The delicacy of sentiment of these happy families was manifested in everything around them. They gave the tenderest names to ob- jects in appearance the most indifierent. A border of orange, plantain, and rose-apple trees, planted round a green sward where Vir- ginia and Paul sometimes danced, received the name of Concord. An old tree, beneath the shade of which Madame de la Tour and Margaret used to recount their misfortunes, was called the Burial-place of Tears. They bestowed the names of Brittany and Nor- mandy on two little plots of ground where they had sown corn, strawberries and peas. Domingo and Mary, wishing, in imitation of their mistresses, to recall to mind Angola and Foullepointe, the places of their birth in Africa, gave those names to tie little fields 60 Paul and Virginia. where the grass was sown with which they wove their baskets, and where they had planted a calabash tree. Thus, by cultivating the productions of their respective climates, these exiled families cherished the dear illu- sions which bind us to our native country and softened their regrets in a foreign land. Alas! I have seen these trees, these foun: tains, these heaps of stones, which are now so completely overthrown—which now, like the . desolated plains of Greece, present nothing but masses of ruin and affecting remem- brances—all but called into life by the many charming appellations thus bestowed upon them. But perhaps the most delightful spot of this enclosure was that called Virginia’s Resting- place. At the foot of the rock which bore the name of the Discovery of Friendship is a small crevice whence issues a fountain, form- ing, near its source, a little spot of marshy soil in the middle of a field of rich grass. At the time of Paul’s birth I had made Margaret a present of an Indian cocoa which had been given me, and which she planted on the bor- Paul and Virginia. 61 der of this fenny ground in order that the tree might one day serve to mark the epoch of her son’s birth. Madame de la Tour planted an- other cocoa with the same view at the birth of Virginia. These nuts produced two cocoa trees, which formed the only records of the two families; one was called Paul’s tree, the other Virginia’s. Their growth was in the same proportion as that of the two young per- sons, not exactly equal; but they rose, at the end of twelve years, above the roofs of the cottages. Already their tender stalks were interwoven, and clusters of young cocoas hung from them over the basin of the foun- tain. With the exception of these two trees, this nook of the rock was left as it had been decorated by Nature. On its embrowned and moist sides broad plants of maiden-hair glis- tened with their green and dark stars, and tufts of wave-leaved hart’s tongue, suspended like long ribbons of purpled green, floated on the wind. Near this grew a chain of the Madagascar periwinkle, the flowers of which resemble the red gilliflower, and the long- podded capsicum, the seed-vessels of which are 62 Paul and Virginia. of the color of blood and more resplendent than coral. Near them, the herb balm, with its heart-shaped leaves, and the sweet basil, which has the odor of the clove, exhaled the most delicious perfumes, From the precipitous side of the mountain hung the graceful lianas, like floating draperies, forming magnificent canopies of verdure on the face of the rocks. The sea birds, allured by the stillness of these retreats, resorted here to pass the night. At the hour of sunset we could perceive the eur- lew and the stint skimming along the sea- shore, the frigate-bird poised high in air, and the white bird of the tropic, which abandons with the star of day the solitudes of the In- dian Ocean. Virginia took pleasure in resting herself upon the border of this fountain, deco- rated with wild and sublime magnificence. She often went thither to wash the linen of the family beneath the shade of the two cocoa trees, and thither too she sometimes led her goats to graze. While she was making cheeses of their milk she loved to see them browse on the maiden-hair fern which clothed the steep sides of the rock, and hung suspended by one Paul and Virginia. 63 of its cornices as on a pedestal. Paul, observ- ing that Virginia was fond of this spot, brought thither from the neighboring forest a great variety of birds’ nests. The old birds, following their young, soon established them- selves in this new colony. Virginia, at stated times, distributed amongst them grains of rice, millet and maize. As soon as she ap- peared the whistling blackbird, the amadavid bird, whose note is so soft, the cardinal, with its flame-colored plumage, forsook their bushes; the parroquet, green as an emerald, descended from the neighboring fan-palms; the partridge ran along the grass; all ad- vanced promiscuously toward her, like a brood of chickens; and she and Paul found an ex- haustless source of amusement in observing their sports, their repasts, and their loves. Amiable children! thus passed your earlier days in innocence and in obeying the impulses of kindness! How many times on this very spot have your mothers, pressing you in their arms, blessed Heaven for the consolation of your unfolding virtues prepared for their de- clining years, while they at the same time 64 Paul and Virginia. enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing you begin life under the happiest of auspices! How many times, beneath the shade of those rocks, have I partaken with them of your rural re- pasts, which never cost any animal its life! Gourds full of milk, fresh eggs, cakes of rice served up on plantain-leaves, with baskets of mangoes, oranges, dates, pomegranates, pine- apples, furnished a wholesome repast, the most agreeable to the eye, as well as delicious to the taste, that can possibly be imagined. Like the repast, the conversation was mild and free from everything having a tendency to do harm. Paul often talked of the labors of the day and of the morrow. He was con- tinually planning something for the accom- modation of their little society. Here he dis- covered that the paths were rugged, there that the seats were uncomfortable, sometimes the young arbors did not afford sufficient shade, and Virginia might be better pleased else- where. During the rainy season the two families met together in the cottage and employed themselves in weaving mats of grass and bas- Paul and Virginia. 65 kets of bamboo. Rakes, spades and hatchets were ranged along the walls in the most per- fect order; and near these instruments of agriculture were heaped its products—bags of rice, sheaves of corn, and baskets of plan- tains. Some degree of luxury usually accom- panies abundance; and Virginia was taught by her mother and Margaret to prepare sher bet and cordials from the juice of the sugar- cane, the lemon, and the citron. When night came they all supped together by the light of a lamp; after which Madame de la Tour or Margaret related some story of travelers benighted in those woods of Europe that are still infested by banditti, or told a dismal tale of some shipwrecked vessel thrown by the ‘tempest upon the rocks of a desert island. To these recitals the children listened with eager attention, and earnestly hoped that Heaven would one day grant them the joy of performing the rites of hospitality toward such unfortunate persons. When the time for repose arrived the two families separated and retired for the night, eager to meet again the following morning. Sometimes they were 66 Paul and Virginia. lulled to repose by the beating of the rains, which fell in torrents upon the roofs of their cottages, and sometimes by the hollow winds, which brought to their ear the distant roar of the waves breaking upon the shore. They blessed God for their own safety, the feeling of which was brought home more forcibly to their minds by the sound of remote danger. Madame de la Tour occasionally read aloud some affecting history of the Old or New Tes- tament. Her auditors reasoned but little upon these sacred volumes, for their theology centered in a feeling of devotion toward the Supreme Being, like that of Nature; and their morality was an active principle, like that of the gospel. These families had no particular days devoted to pleasure and others to sad- ness. Every day was to them a holy day, and _ all that surrounded them one holy temple, in which they ever adored the Infinite Intelli- gence, the Almighty God, the Friend of hu- man kind.