scern 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
considerable distance, was called the Discovery of Friendship. Paul and
Virginia had amused themselves by planting a bamboo on that spot; and
whenever they saw me coming, they hoisted a little white handkerchief,
by way of signal of my approach, as they had seen a flag hoisted on the
neighbouring 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 any thing like the pleasure
in seeing a statue or other monument of ancient art, as in reading a
well-written inscription. 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 immortality, by demonstrating that a thought
has survived the ruins of an empire.

I inscribed then, on the little staff of Paul and Virginia's flag, the
following lines of Horace:--

Fratres Helenae, lucida sidera,
Ventorumque regat pater,
Obstrictis, aliis, praeter Iapiga.

"May the brothers of Helen, bright stars like you, and the Father of 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 contemplate 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 are 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 d