; a luxuriant park cradled upon
the waves.

If sometimes, in the mountainous parts, he has encountered sterile and
rugged rocks, even abysses and precipices, they seem to be placed
there only as a contrast to the fresh and green valleys which encircle
them. If he has seen some dark, dense, inaccessible forests, entangled
in the thousand arms of interwoven vines, he has not discovered a
single reptile.

Every where, springs of living water, little streams which are lost
under a thick verdure, or fall in cascades from the summits of the
hills; every where a luxuriant vegetation; esculent and refreshing
plants, celery, cresses, sorrel, spring in profusion beneath his feet;
over his head, and almost within reach of his hand, palm-cabbages, and
unknown fruits of succulent appearance: on the margin of the shores,
muscles, periwinkles, shell-fish of every species, crabs crawling in
the moist sand; beneath the transparent waters, innumerable shoals of
fishes of all colors, all forms. Will game be wanting here? After what
he has seen this morning, he will not even need his gun to obtain it.
Oh! his provision of powder will last him a long time.

What has he to desire more in this terrestrial Paradise? The society
of men? Why? That he may find a master, a chief, under whose will he
must bend? Men! but he despises, detests them! Is he not then
sufficient for himself? Yes! this shall be his glory, his happiness!
To live in entire liberty, to depend only upon himself, will not this
impart to his soul true dignity? Besides, this island cannot be so far
from the coast, but, from time to time, ships, or at least boats must
come in sight. This is then for him but a transient seclusion; but
were he even condemned to eternal isolation, this isolation has ceased
to terrify him, he accepts it! Has he not almost always lived alone,
in spirit at least? When he was in the depths of the hold, was he not
better satisfied with his fate than when surrounded by those coarse
sailors who composed the worthy crew of the Swordfish?

To-day he is no longer the prisoner of Stradling, he is the prisoner
of God! and this thought reassures him.

A sailor, he has never loved but the sea; well! the sea surrounds him,
guards him! He has then only thanks to render to God.

Arrived at his grotto, he takes his Bible, opens it; but the sun,
suddenly sinking below the horizon, permits him to read only this
passage on which his finger is placed: 'Thou shalt p