they had been left. In this island, which then had no commerce, there was
so much simplicity and good faith, that the doors of several houses were
without a key, and a lock was an object of curiosity to many of the
natives.

"Amidst the luxuriant beauty of this favoured climate, Madame de la Tour
often regretted the quick succession from day to night which takes place
between the tropics, and which deprived her pensive mind of that hour of
twilight, the softened gloom of which is so soothing and sacred to the
feelings of tender melancholy. This regret is expressed in the following
sonnet:--

SONNET

TO THE TORRID ZONE.

Pathway of light! o'er thy empurpled zone
With lavish charms perennial summer strays;
Soft 'midst thy spicy groves the zephyr plays,
While far around the rich perfumes are thrown:
The amadavid bird for thee alone
Spreads his gay plumes, that catch thy vivid rays,
For thee the gems with liquid lustre blaze,
And Nature's various wealth is all thy own.
But, ah! not thine is twilight's doubtful gloom,
Those mild gradations, mingling day with night;
Here instant darkness shrouds thy genial bloom,
Nor leaves my pensive soul that lingering light,
When musing memory would each trace resume
Of fading pleasures in successive flight.

"Paul and Virginia had neither clock nor almanac, nor books of chronology,
history, or philosophy. The periods of their lives were regulated by those
of nature. They knew the hours of the day by the shadows of the trees, the
seasons by the times when those trees bore flowers or fruit, and the years
by the number of their harvests. These soothing images diffused an
inexpressible charm over their conversation. 'It is time to dine,' said
Virginia, 'the shadows of the plantain trees are at their roots; or, 'night
approaches; the tamarinds close their leaves.' 'When will you come to see
us?' inquired some of her companions in the neighbourhood. 'At the time of
the sugar canes,' answered Virginia. 'Your visit will be then still more
delightful,' resumed her young acquaintances. When she was asked what was
her own age, and that of Paul, 'My brother,' said she, 'is as old as the
great cocoa tree of the fountain; and I am as old as the little cocoa tree.
The mangoes have borne fruit twelve times, and the orange trees have borne
flowers four-and-twenty times, since I came into the world.' Their lives
seemed linked