The Island of Juan Fernandez.--Encounter in the Mountains.--Discussion.
--A New Captivity.--A Cannon-shot.--Dampier and Selkirk.--_Mas a Fuera_.
--News of Stradling.--Confidences.--End of the History of the real
Robinson Crusoe.--Nebuchadnezzar.
On the 1st of February, 1709, an English vessel, equipped and sent to
sea by the merchants of Bristol, after having sailed around Cape Horn,
in company with another vessel belonging to the same expedition,
touched alone, about the 33d degree of south latitude, at the Island
of Juan Fernandez, from a hundred and ten to a hundred and twenty
leagues distant from the coast of Chili.
The second ship was to join her without delay. Symptoms of the scurvy
had appeared on board, and it was intended to remain here for some
time, to give the crew opportunity of recovering their health.
Their tents pitched, towards evening several sailors, having ventured
upon the island, were not a little surprised to see, through the
obscurity, a strange being, bearing some resemblance to the human
form, who, at their approach, scaling the mountains, leaping from rock
to rock, fled with the rapidity of a deer, the lightness of a chamois.
Some doubted whether it was a man, and prepared to fire at him. They
were prevented by an officer named Dower, who accompanied them.
On their return to their companions, the sailors related what they had
seen; Dower did not fail to do the same among the officers; and this
evening, at the encampment on the shore, in the forecastle as well as
on the quarter-deck, there were narratives and suppositions that would
'amuse an assembly of Puritans through the whole of Lent,' says the
account from which we borrow a part of our information.
At this period, tales of the marvellous gained great credence among
sailors. Not long before, the Spaniards had discovered giants in
Patagonia; the Portuguese, sirens in the seas of Brazil; the French,
tritons and satyrs at Martinique; the Dutch, black men, with feet like
lobsters, beyond Paramaribo.
The strange individual under discussion was unquestionably a satyr, or
at least one of those four-footed, hairy men, such as the authentic
James Carter declared he had met with in the northern part of America.
Some, thinking this conclusion too simple, adroitly insinuated that no
one among the sailors who had met this monster, had noticed in him so
great a number of paws. Why four paws?--why should he not be a
monopedous man, a man whose body, terminated by a single leg, cleared,
with this support alone, considerable distances? Was not the existence
of the monopedous man attested by modern travellers, and even in
antiquity and the middle ages, by Pliny and St. Augustine?
Others preferred to imagine in this singular personage the acephalous
man, the man without a head, named by the grave Baumgarthen as
existing on the new continent. They had not discovered many legs, but
neither had they discovered a head; why should he have one?
And the discussion continued, and not a voice was raised to risk this
judicious observation; if neither head nor limbs have been
distinguished, it may perhaps be because he has been seen only in the
dark.
The next day, each wished to be satisfied; a regular hunt was
organized against this phenomenon; they set out, invaded his retreat,
pursued him, surrounded him, at last seized him, and the brave sailors
of Great Britain discovered with stupefaction, in this monopedous,
acephalous man, in this satyr, this cercopithecus, what? A countryman,
a Scotchman, a subject of Queen Anne!
It was Selkirk; Selkirk, his hair long and in disorder, his limbs
encased in fragments of skins, and half deprived of his reason.
His island was Juan Fernandez, so called by the first navigator who
discovered it; this was Selkirk Island.
When he was conducted before Captain Woodes Rogers, commander of the
expedition, to the interrogations of the latter, the unfortunate man,
with downcast look, and agitated with a nervous trembling, replied
only by repeating mechanically the last syllables of the phrases which
were addressed to him by the captain.
A little recovered from his agitation, discovering that he had
Englishmen to deal with, he attempted to pronounce some words; he
could only mutter a few incoherent and disconnected sentences.
'Solitude and the care of providing for his subsistence,' says Paw,
'had so occupied his mind, that all rational ideas were effaced from
it. As savage as the animals, and perhaps more so, he had almost
entirely forgotten the secret of articulating intelligible sounds.'
Captain Rogers having asked him how long he had been secluded in this
island, Selkirk remained silent; he nevertheless understood the
question, for his eyes immediately opened with terror, as if he had
just measured the long space of time which his exile had lasted. He
was far from having an exact idea of it; he appreciated it only by the
sufferings he had endured there, and, looking fixedly at his hands, he
opened and shut them several times.
Reckoning by the number of his fingers, it was twenty or thirty years,
and every one at first believed in the accuracy of his calculation, so
completely did his forehead, furrowed with wrinkles, his skin
blackened, withered by the sun, his hair whitened at the roots, his
gray beard, give him the aspect of an old man.
Selkirk was born in 1680; he was then only twenty-nine.
After having replied thus, he turned his head, cast a troubled look on
the objects which surrounded him; a remembrance seemed to awaken, and,
uttering a cry, stepping forward, he pointed with his finger to a
cedar on his left. It was the tree on which, when he left the
Swordfish, he had inscribed the date of his arrival in the island. The
officer Dower approached, and, notwithstanding the crumbling of the
decayed bark, could still read there this inscription:
'Alexander Selkirk--from Largo, Scotland, Oct. 27, 1704.'
His exile from the world had therefore lasted four years and three
months.
Notwithstanding the interest excited by his misfortunes, by his name,
his accent, more than by his language, Captain Rogers, an honorable
and humane man, but of extreme severity on all that appertained to
discipline, recognized him as a British subject, suspected him to be a
deserter from the English navy, and gave orders that he should be put
under guard, pending a definitive decision.
The sailors commissioned to this office did not find it an easy thing
to guard a prisoner who could climb the trees like a squirrel, and
outstrip them all in a race. As a precaution, they commenced by
binding him firmly to the same cedar on which his name was engraved.
There the unfortunate Selkirk figured as a curious animal, ornamented
with a label.
Afterwards, more for pastime than through mischief, they tormented him
with questions, to obtain from him hesitating or almost senseless
replies, which bewildered him much; then they began to examine, with
childish surprise, the length of his beard, of his hair and nails; the
prodigious development of his muscles; his bare feet, so hardened by
travel, that they seemed to be covered with horn moccasins. Having
found beneath his goat-skin rags, a knife, whose blade, by dint of use
and sharpening, was almost reduced to the proportions of that of a
penknife, they took it away to examine it; but on seeing himself
deprived of this single weapon, the only relic of his shipwreck, the
prisoner struggled, uttering wild howls; they restored it to him.
At the hour of repast, Selkirk had, like the rest, his portion of meat
and biscuit. He ate the biscuit, manifesting great satisfaction; but
he, who had at first suffered so much from being deprived of salt,
found in the meat a degree of saltness insupportable. He pointed to
the stream; one of his guards courteously offered him his gourd,
containing a mixture of rum and water; he approached it to his lips,
and immediately threw it away with violence, as if it had burned him.
At evening, he was transported on board.
A few days after he began to acquire a taste for common food; his
ideas became more definite; speech returned to his lips more freely
and clearly; but liberty of motion was not yet restored to him, a new
captivity opened before him, and his irritation at this was presenting
an obstacle to the complete restoration of his faculties, when God,
who had so deeply tried him, came to his assistance.
One morning, as the crew of the ship were occupied, some in caulking
and tarring it, others in gathering edible plants on the island, a
cannon-shot resounded along the waves. The caulkers climbed up the
rigging, the provision-hunters ran to the shore, the officers seized
their spy-glasses, and all together quickly uttered a _huzza_! The
vessel which had sailed in company with that of Captain Rogers, the
Duchess, of Bristol, had arrived. This vessel, commanded by William
Cook, had, for a master-pilot, a man more celebrated in maritime
annals than the commanders of the expedition themselves;--this was
Dampier, the indefatigable William Dampier, who, a short time since a
millionaire, now completely ruined in consequence of foolish
speculations and prodigalities, had just undertaken a third voyage
around the world.
Scarcely had he disembarked, when he heard of the great event of the
day--of the wild man. His name was mentioned, he remembered having
known an Alexander Selkirk at St. Andrew, at the inn of the Royal
Salmon. He went to him, interrogated him, recognized him, and, without
loss of time, after having had his hair and beard cut, and procured
suitable clothing for him, presented him to Capt. Rogers; he
introduced him as one of his old comrades, formerly an intrepid and
distinguished officer in the navy, one of the conquerors of Vigo, who
had been induced by himself to embark in the Swordfish, partly at his
expense.
Restored to liberty, supported, revived, by the kind cares of Dampier,
his old hero, Selkirk felt rejuvenated. His first thought then is for
that other unfortunate man, still an exile perhaps in his desert
island. After having informed the old sailor that he had found a
little bottle, containing a written parchment, he said: 'Dear Captain,
it would be a meritorious act, and one worthy of you, to co-operate in
the deliverance of this unhappy man. A boat will suffice for the
voyage, since the Island of San Ambrosio is so near this. Oh! how
joyfully would I accompany you in this excursion!'
'My brave hermit,' replied Dampier, shaking his head, 'the neighboring
island of which you speak is no other than the second in this group,
named _Mas a Fuera_. As for the other, that San Ambrosio which you
think so near, if it has not become a floating island since my last
voyage, if it is still where I left it, under the Tropic of Capricorn,
to reach it will not be so trifling a matter; besides, your little
bottle must be a bottle of ink. There is here confusion of place and
confusion of time; not only is _Mas a Fuera_ not _San Ambrosio_ but
this latter island, far from being a desert, as your correspondent has
said, has been inhabited more than twenty years by a multitude of
madmen, fishermen and pirates, potato-eaters and old sailors, who,
when I visited them, in 1702, politely received me with gun-shots, and
whose politeness I returned with cannon-shots. Therefore, my boy, he
who wrote to you must have been dead when you received his letter.
What date did it bear?'
'None,' said Selkirk; 'the last lines were effaced;' and he trembled
at the idea of all the dangers he had run in pursuit of this friend,
who no longer existed, and of a land which he had never inhabited.
After having satisfied a duty of humanity, that which he had regarded
as a debt contracted towards a friend, Selkirk, among other inquiries,
let fall the name of Stradling. This time, it was hatred which asked
information.
His hatred was destined to be gratified.
In pursuing his voyage, after having coasted along the shores of the
Straits of Magellan, Stradling, surprised by a frightful hurricane,
had seen his vessel entirely disabled. Repulsed at five different
times, now by the tempest, now by the Spaniards, from the ports where
he attempted to take refuge, he was thrown, near La Plata, on an
inhospitable shore. Attacked, pillaged by the natives, half of his
crew having perished, with the remains of his ship he constructed
another, to which he gave the name of the Cinque Ports, instead of
that of the Swordfish, which it was no longer worthy to bear. This was
a large pinnace, on which he had secretly returned to England. For
several years past, Dampier had not heard of him.
Selkirk thought himself sufficiently avenged; his present happiness
silenced his past ill-will. He even became reconciled to his island.
Each day he traversed its divers parts, with emotions various as the
remembrances it awakened. But he was now no longer alone! Arm and arm
with Dampier, he revisited these places where he had suffered so much,
and which often resumed for him their enchanting aspects.
His companion was soon informed of his history. When he had related
what we already know, from his landing to the construction of his
raft, and to his frightful shipwreck, he at last commenced, not
without some mortification, the recital of his final miseries, which
alone could explain the deplorable state in which the English sailors
had found him.
By the loss of his hatchets, his ladder, his other instruments of
labor, condemned to inaction, to powerlessness, he had nothing to
occupy himself with but to provide sustenance. But the sea had taken
his snares along with the rest. He at first subsisted on herbs, fruits
and roots; afterwards his stomach rejected these crudities, as it had
repulsed the fish. Armed with a stick, he had chased the agoutis; for
want of agoutis, he had eaten rats.
By night, he silently climbed the trees to surprise the female of the
toucan or blackbird, which he pitilessly stifled over their young
brood. Meanwhile, at the noise he made among the branches, this winged
prey almost always escaped him.
He tried to construct a ladder; by the aid of his knife alone, he
attempted to cut down two tall trees. During this operation his knife
broke--only a fragment remained. This was for him a great trial.
He thought of making, with reeds and the fibres of the aloe, a net to
catch birds; but all patient occupation, all continuous labor, had
become insupportable to him.
That he might escape the gloomy ideas which assailed him more and
more, it became necessary to avoid repose, to court bodily fatigue.
By continual exercise, his powers of locomotion had developed in
incredible proportions. His feet had become so hardened that he no
longer felt the briers or sharp stones. When he grew weary, he slept,
in whatever place he found himself, and these were his only quiet
hours.
To chase the agoutis had ceased to be an object worthy of his efforts;
the kids took their turn, afterwards the goats. He had acquired such
dexterity of movement, and such strength of muscle, such certainty of
eye, that to leap from one projection of rock to another, to spring at
one bound over ravines and deep cavities, was to him but a childish
sport. In these feats he took pleasure and pride.
Sometimes, in the midst of his flights through space, he would seize a
bird on the wing.
The goats themselves soon lost their power to struggle against such a
combatant. Notwithstanding their number, had Selkirk wished it, he
might have depopulated the island. He was careful not to do this.
If he wished to procure a supply of provisions, he directed his steps
towards the most elevated peaks of the mountain, marked his game,
pursued it, caught it by the horns, or felled it by a blow from his
stick; after which his knife-blade did its office. The goat killed, he
threw it on his shoulders, and, almost as swiftly as before, regained
the cavernous grotto or leafy tree, in the shelter of which he could
this day eat and sleep. He had for a long time forsaken his cabin,
which was too far distant from his hunting-grounds.
If he had a stock of provision on hand, he still pursued the goats as
usual, but only for his personal gratification. If he caught one, he
contented himself with slitting its ear; this was his seal, the mark
by which he recognized his free flock. During the last years of his
abode in the island, he had killed or marked thus nearly five
hundred.[1]
[Footnote 1: Long after his departure from Juan Fernandez, the ship's
crews, who came there for supplies, or the pirates who took refuge
there, found goats whose ears had been slit by Selkirk's knife.]
In the natural course of things, as his physical powers increased, his
intelligence became enfeebled.
Necessity had at first aroused his industry, for all industry awakes
at the voice of want; but his own had been due rather to his
recollections than to his ingenuity. He thought himself a creator, he
was only an imitator.
Whatever may have been said by those who, in the pride of a deceitful
philosophy, have wished to glorify the power of the solitary man--if
the latter, supported by certain fortunate circumstances, can remain
some time in a state hardly endurable, it is not by his own strength,
but by means which society itself has furnished. This is the
incontestable truth, from which, in his pride, Selkirk had turned
away.
Deprived of exercise and of aliment, his thoughts, no longer sustained
by reading the Holy Book, were day by day lost in a chaos of dreams
and reveries.
A prey to terrors which he could not explain, he feared darkness, he
trembled at the slightest sound of the wind among the branches; if it
blew violently, he thought the trees would be uprooted and crush him;
if the sea roared, he trembled at the idea of the submersion of his
entire island.
When he traversed the woods, especially if the heat was great, he
often heard, distinctly, voices which called him or replied. He caught
entire phrases; others remained unfinished. These phrases, connected
neither with his thoughts nor his situation, were strange to him.
Sometimes he even recognized the voice.
Now it was that of Catherine, scolding her servants; now that of
Stradling, of Dampier, or one of his college tutors. Once he heard
thus the voice of one of his classmates whom he least remembered; at
another time it was that of his old admiral, Rourke, uttering the
words of command.
If he attempted to raise his own to impose silence on these choruses
of demons who tormented him, it was only with painful efforts that he
could succeed in articulating some confused syllables.
He no longer talked, but he still sang; he sang the monotonous and
mournful airs of his psalms, the words of which he had totally
forgotten. His memory by degrees became extinct. Sometimes even, he
lost the sentiment of his identity; then, at least, his state of
isolation, and the memory of his misfortunes ceased to weigh upon him.
He nevertheless remembered, that about this time, having approached
Swordfish Beach, attracted by an unusual noise there, he had seen it
covered with soldiers and sailors, doubtless Spaniards. The idea of
finding himself among men, had suddenly made his heart beat; but when
he descended the declivity of the hills in order to join them, several
shots were fired; the balls whistled about his ears, and, filled with
terror, he had fled.
Once more he had found himself there, but without intending it, for
then he could no longer find his way, by the points of the compass,
through the woods and valleys leading to the shore. Ah! how had his
ancient abode changed its aspect! How many years had rolled away since
he lived there! The little gravelled paths, which conducted to the
grotto and the mimosa, were effaced; the mimosa, its principal
branches broken, seemed buried beneath its own ruins; of his
fish-pond, his bed of water-cresses, not a vestige remained; his
grotto, veiled, hid beneath the thick curtains of vines and
heliotropes, was no longer visible; his cabin had ceased to
exist,--overthrown, swept away doubtless, by a hurricane, as his
inclosure had been. He could discover the spot only by the five
myrtles, which, disembarrassed of their roof of reeds and their
plaster walls, had resumed their natural decorations, green and
glossy, as if the hatchet had never touched them. At their feet tufts
of briers and other underbrush had grown up, as formerly. The two
streams, the _Linnet_ and the _Stammerer_, alone had suffered no
change. The one with its gentle murmur, the other with its silvery
cascades, after having embraced the lawn, still continued to flow
towards the sea, where they seemed to have buried, with their waves,
the memory of all that had passed on their borders.
At sight of his shore, which seemed to have retained no vestige of
himself, Selkirk remained a few moments, mournful and lost in his
incoherent thoughts, in the midst of which this was most
prominent:--Yet alive, already forgotten by the world, I have seen my
traces disappear, even from this island which I have so long
inhabited!
A rustling was heard in the foliage; he raised his eyes, expecting to
see Marimonda swinging on the branch of a tree. Perceiving nothing, he
remembered that Marimonda reposed at the Oasis; he took the road from
the mountain which led thither, but when he arrived there, when he was
before her tomb, covered with tall grass, he had forgotten why he
came.
One of those unaccountable fits of terror, which were now more
frequent than formerly, seized him, and he precipitately descended the
mountain, springing from peak to peak along the rocks.
The religious sentiment, which formerly sustained Selkirk in his
trials, was not entirely extinct; but it was obscured beneath his
darkened reason. His religion was only that of fear. When the sea was
violently agitated, when the storm howled, he prostrated himself with
clasped hands; but it was no longer God whom he implored; it was the
angry ocean, the thunder. He sought to disarm the genius of evil. The
lightning having one day struck, not far from him, a date-palm, he
worshipped the tree. His perverted faith had at last terminated in
idolatry.
This was, in substance, what Alexander Selkirk related to William
Dampier; what solitude had done for this man, still so young, and
formerly so intelligent; this was what had become of the despiser of
men, when left to his own reason.
Dampier listened with the most profound attention, interrupting him in
his narrative only by exclamations of interest or of pity. When he
ceased to speak, holding out his hand to him, he said:
'My boy, the lesson is a rude one, but let it be profitable to you;
let it teach you that _ennui_ on board a vessel, even with a
Stradling, is better than _ennui_ in a desert. Undoubtedly there are
among us troublesome, wicked people, but fewer wicked than
crack-brained. Believe, then, in friendship, especially in mine; from
this day it is yours, on the faith of William Dampier.'
And he opened his arms to the young man, who threw himself into them.
On their return to the vessel, Dampier presented to Selkirk his own
Bible. The latter seized it with avidity, and, after having turned
over its leaves as if to find a text which presented itself to his
mind, read aloud the following passage:
'He was driven from the sons of men; and his heart was made like the
beasts, and his dwelling was with the wild asses; they fed him with
grass like oxen, and his body was wet with the dew of heaven.'--DANIEL
v. 21.
CONCLUSION.
Capt. Rogers, in his turn, learned the misfortunes of Selkirk and
became attached to him; from this moment, the sailors themselves
showed him great deference; he was known among them by the name of
_the governor_, and this title clung to him.
To do the honors of his island, the governor one day gave to the crews
of the two vessels, the spectacle of one of his former hunts. Resuming
his ancient costume, he returned to the high mountains, where, before
their eyes, he started a goat, and darting in pursuit of it, over a
thousand cliffs, sometimes clearing frightful abysses, by means of a
vine which he seized on his passage,--this method he owed to
Marimonda,--he succeeded in forcing his game to the hills of the
shore. Arrived there, exhausted, panting, drawing itself up like a
stag at bay, the goat stopped short. Selkirk took it living on his
shoulders, and presented it to Capt. Rogers. Its ear was already slit.
By way of thanks, the captain announced that he might henceforth be
connected with the expedition, with his old rank of mate, which was
restored to him. For this favor Selkirk was indebted to the
solicitations of Dampier.
In the same vessel with Dampier, he made another three years' voyage,
visited Mexico, California, and the greater part of North America;
after which, still in company with Dampier, and possessor of a pretty
fortune, he returned to England, where the recital of his adventures,
already made public, secured him the most honorable patronage and
friendship. Among his friends, may be reckoned Steele, the co-laborer,
the rival of Addison, who consecrated a long chapter to him in his
publication of the Tatler.
Selkirk did not fail to visit Scotland. Passing through St. Andrew,
could he help experiencing anew the desire to see his old friend
pretty Kitty? Once more he appeared before the bar of the Royal
Salmon. This time, on meeting, Selkirk and Catherine both experienced
a sentiment of painful surprise. The latter, stouter and fuller than
ever, fat and red-faced, touched the extreme limit of her fourth and
last youth; the solitary of Juan Fernandez, with his gray hair, his
copper complexion, could scarcely recall to the respectable hostess of
the tavern the elegant pilot of the royal navy, still less the pale
and blond student, of whom she had been, eighteen years before, the
first and only love.
'Is it indeed you, my poor Sandy,' said she, with an accent of pity;
'I thought you were dead.'
'I have been nearly so, indeed, and a long time ago, Kitty. But who
has told you of me?'
'Alas! It was my husband himself.'
'You are married then, Catherine. So much the better.'
'So much the worse rather, my friend; for, would you believe it, the
old monster, bent double as he is with age and rheumatism, was bright
enough to dupe me finely; to dupe me twice. In the first place, by
making me believe you were dead when you were not. But he well knew,
the cheat, that if I refused him once, it was because my views were
turned in your direction.'
Selkirk made a movement which escaped Catherine; she continued:
'His second deception was to arrive here in triumph, in the midst of
the cries of joy and embraces of the _Sea-Dogs_ and _Old Pilots_. One
would have thought he had in his pockets all the mines of Guinea and
Peru. He did not say so, but I thought it could not be otherwise; and
I married him, since I believed you no longer living. His trick having
succeeded, he then told me of his shipwreck, his complete ruin. Ah!
with what a good heart would I have sent him packing! But it was too
late, and it became necessary that the Royal Salmon, founded by the
honorable Andrew Felton, should furnish subsistence for two; and this
is the reason why, Mr. Selkirk, you find me still here, a prisoner in
my bar, and cursing all the captains who make the tour of the world
only to come afterwards and impose upon poor and inexperienced young
girls!'
Selkirk had not at first understood the lamentations of Catherine; but
a twilight commenced to dawn in his ideas; he divined that his name
had been used for an act of baseness; and, without being able to
account for it, he felt the return of an old leaven of spite, an old
hatred revived.
'Who is your husband? What is his name?' asked he, in a loud voice and
with a tone of authority.
'Do not grow angry, Sandy? Do not seek a quarrel with him now. What is
done, is done; I am his wife, do you understand? It is of no use to
recall the past.'
'And who thinks of recalling it? I simply asked you who he was?'
'You will be prudent; you promise me? Well! do you see him yonder, in
the second stall, at the same place he formerly occupied? He has just
poured out some gin to those sailors, and is drinking with them. It is
he who is standing up with an apron on.'
'Stradling!' exclaimed Selkirk, with sparkling eyes. But at the sight
of this apron, finding his old captain become a waiter, his hatred and
projects of vengeance were suddenly extinguished.
Alexander Selkirk returned to England in 1712. The history of his
captivity in the Island of Juan Fernandez had appeared in the papers;
several apocryphal relations had been already published, when in 1717,
Daniel De Foe published his _Robinson Crusoe_.
He is really the same personage; but in this latter version, the
Island of Juan Fernandez, in spite of distance and geographical
impossibilities, is peopled with savage Caribs; Marimonda is
transformed into the simple Friday; history is turned into romance,
but this romance is elevated to all the dignity of a philosophical
treatise.
Rendering full justice to the merit of the writer, we must
nevertheless acknowledge that he has completely altered, in a mental
view, the physiognomy of his model. Robinson is not a man suffering
entire isolation; he has a companion, and the savages are incessantly
making inroads around him. It is the European developing the resources
of his industry, to contend at once with an unproductive land and the
dangers created by his enemies.
Selkirk has no enemies to repulse, and he inhabits a fruitful country.
He needs, before every thing else, the presence of man, one of those
fraternal affections in which he refuses to believe. His sufferings
originate in his very solitude. In solitude, Robinson improves and
perfects himself; Selkirk, at first as full of resources as he, ends
by becoming discouraged and brutified.
Which of the two is most true to nature?
The first is an ideal being, for in no quarter of the globe has there
ever been found one analogous to the Robinson of De Foe; the other, on
the contrary, is to be met with every where, denying the dependence of
an isolated individual; but this dependence, even in the midst of a
prodigal nature, if it is not to the honor of man, is to the honor of
society at large.
Notwithstanding all that has been said, the solitary is a man
imbruted, vegetating, deprived of his crown. 'Solitude is sweet only
in the vicinity of great cities.'[1] By an admirable decree of
Providence, the isolated being is an imperfect being; man is completed
by man.
[Footnote 1: Bernardin de St. Pierre. Seneca had said: _Miscenda et
alternanda sunt solitudo et frequentia_.]
Notwithstanding the false maxims of a deceitful philosophy, it is to
the social state that we owe, from the greatest to the least, the
courage which animates and sustains us; God has created us to live
there and to love one another; it is for this reason that selfishness
is a shameful vice, a crime! It is, so to speak, an infringement of
one of the great laws of Nature.
THE END.
NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS
PUBLISHED BY TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS
* * * * *
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS [Transcriber's Note: missing text.] the six
Volumes mentioned below, and [Tr. Note: missing text.] the market. In two
volumes, 16mo, $2.00
In separate Volumes, each [Tr. Note: missing text.] cents. VOICES OF THE
NIGHT. BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS. SPANISH STUDENT; A PLAY IN THREE ACTS.
BELFRY OF BRUGES AND OTHER POEMS. EVANGELINE; A TALE OF ACADIE[Tr. Note:
missing text.] THE SEASIDE AND THE FIRESIDE. THE WAIF. A Collection of
Poems. Edited by [Tr. Note: missing text] THE ESTRAY. A Collection of
Poems. Edited [Tr. Note: missing text]
MR. LONGFELLOW'S PROSE WORKS HYPERION. A Romance. In one volume. price
$1.00.
OUTRE-MER. A Pilgrimage Beyond the Sea. In one volume, 16mo, price $1.00.
KAVANAGH. A Tale. Lately published. In one vol., 16mo, price 75 cents.
NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE'S WRITINGS
TWICE-TOLD TALES. A New Edition. In two vol., 16mo, with Portrait, price
$1.50.
THE SCARLET LETTER. A Romance. In one vol., 16mo, price 75 cents.
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. In one volume, 16mo, price $1.00.
TRUE STORIES FROM HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. In one volume, 16mo, with fine
Engravings, price 75 cents.
WHITTIER'S WRITINGS.
[Transcriber's Note: text too damaged to reconstruct.]
[Tr. Note: OLIVER WEND]ELL HOLMES'S WRITINGS.
[Tr. Note: text too damaged to reconstruct.]
ALFRED TENNYSON'S WRITINGS.
[Tr. Note: text too damaged to reconstruct.]
[Tr. Note: THOM]AS DE QUINCEY'S WRITINGS.
[Tr. Note: text too damaged to reconstruct.]
CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER AND [Tr. Note: missing text] DE
PROFUNDIS. In one volume, 16mo, price 75 cents.
BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS. In one volume, 16mo, price 75 cents.
MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. In one volume, 16mo, price 75 cents.
THE CAESARS. In one volume, 16mo, price 75 cents.
GRACE GREENWOOD'S WRITINGS.
GREENWOOD LEAVES. A Collection of Stories and Letters. In one volume,
12mo. New Edition, price $1.25.
POEMS. In one volume, 16mo, with fine Portrait. Price 75 cents.
HISTORY OF MY PETS. A Book for Children. With fine Engravings. Price 50
cents.
EDWIN P. WHIPPLE'S WRITINGS.
ESSAYS AND REVIEWS. A New and Revised edition. In two volumes, 16mo, price
2.00.
LECTURES ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH LITERATURE AND LIFE. In one volume,
16mo, price 63 cents.
WASHINGTON AND THE REVOLUTION. In one volume, 16mo, price 20 cents.
HENRY GILES'S WRITINGS.
LECTURES, ESSAYS, AND MISCELLANEOUS WRITINGS. Two volumes, 16mo, price
$1.50.
CHRISTIAN THOUGHT ON LIFE. In Twelve Discourses. In one volume, 16mo,
price 75 cents.
WILLIAM MOTHERWELL'S WRITINGS.
POEMS, NARRATIVE AND LYRICAL. A New Edition, Enlarged. In one volume,
16mo, price 75 cents.
POSTHUMOUS POEMS. In one volume, 16mo, price 50 cents.
MINSTRELSY, ANCIENT AND MODERN. In two vols. 16mo, price $1.50.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL'S WRITINGS.
COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Revised, with Additions. In two volumes, 16mo,
price $1.50.
THE BIGLOW PAPERS. In one vol. 16mo, 50 cents.
* * * * *
MISCELLANEOUS.
CHARLES SPRAGUE. POETICAL AND PROSE WRITINGS. With fine Portrait. In one
volume, 16mo, price 75 cents.
JOHN G. SAXE. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL POEMS. In one volume, 16mo, price 50
cents.
ROBERT BROWNING. COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. In two volumes, 16mo, price
$2.00.
BARRY CORNWALL. ENGLISH SONGS AND OTHER SMALL POEMS. Enlarged Edition. In
one volume, 16mo, $1.00.
RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES. POEMS OF MANY YEARS. In one volume, 16mo, price
75 cents.
GOETHE'S WILHELM MEISTER. Translated by CARLYLE. In two volumes, 16mo,
price $2.50.
GOETHE'S FAUST. Translated by HAYWARD. In one volume, 16mo. New Edition,
price 75 cents.
CHARLES SUMNER. ORATIONS AND SPEECHES. In two volumes, 16mo, price $2.50.
GEORGE S. HILLARD. THE DANGERS AND DUTIES OF THE MERCANTILE PROFESSION. In
one volume, 16mo, price 25 cents.
HORACE MANN. A FEW THOUGHTS FOR A YOUNG MAN. In one volume, 16mo, price 25
cents.
HENRY T. TUCKERMAN. POEMS. In one volume, 16mo, price 75 cents.
PHILLIP JAMES BAILEY. THE ANGEL WORLD AND OTHER POEMS. In one volume,
16mo, price 50 cents.
F.W.P. GREENWOOD. SERMONS OF CONSOLATION. In one volume, 16mo, price
$1.00.
MEMORY AND HOPE. A BOOK OF POEMS, REFERRING TO CHILDHOOD. In one volume,
8vo, price [Transcriber's Note: missing text.].00.
REJECTED ADDRESSES. By HORACE and JAMES SMITH. In one volume, 16mo, price
50 cents.
WARRENIANA. By the Authors of Rejected Addresses. In one volume, 16mo,
price 75 cents.
ALDERBROOK. By FANNY FORESTER. In two vols. 12mo, price 1.75.
THE BOSTON BOOK. BEING SPECIMENS OF METROPOLITAN LITERATURE. In one
volume, 12mo, price $1.25.
HEROINES OF THE MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE. In one volume, 16mo, price 75
cents.
ANGEL-VOICES; or WORDS OF COUNSEL FOR OVERCOMING THE WORLD. In one volume,
18mo, price 38 cents.
THE CONSTITUTION OF MAN. By GEORGE COMBE. 27th Edition. In one volume,
12mo, price 75 cents.
MEMOIR OF THE BUCKMINSTERS, FATHER AND SON. By Mrs. LEE. In one volume,
12mo.
EACH OF THE ABOVE POEMS AND PROSE WRITINGS, MAY BE HAD IN VARIOUS STYLES