morning prayer. This sacrifice of thanksgiving always preceded their first repast, which they often partook before the door of the cottage, seated upon the grass, under a canopy of plantain; and while the branches of that delightful tree afforded a grateful shade, its solid fruit furnished food ready prepared by nature; and its long glossy leaves, spread upon the table, supplied the want of linen.

"Plentiful and wholesome nourishment gave early growth and vigour to the persons of those children, and their countenances expressed the purity and 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, her look had a cast upwards, which gave it an expression of extreme sensibility, or rather of tender melancholy. Already the figure of Paul displayed the graces of manly 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 eyelashes, by which were shaded, had not given them a look of softness. He was constantly in motion, except when his sister appeared; and then, placed at her side, he became quiet. Their meals often passed in silence, and, from the grace of their attitudes, the beautiful proportions of their figures, and their naked feet, you might have fancied you beheld an antique group of white marble, representing some of the children of Niobe; if those eyes which sought to meet those smiles which were answered by smiles of the most tender softness, had not rather given you the idea of those happy celestial spirits, whose nature is love, and who are not obliged to have recourse to words for the expression of that intuitive sentiment. In the mean time, Madame de la Tour, perceiving every day some unfolding grace, some new beauty, in her daughter, felt her maternal anxiety increase with her tenderness. She often said to me, 'If I should 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 great bigot. She had behaved towards her niece with so much cruelty upon her marriage that Madame de la Tour had determined that no distress or misfortune should ever compel her to have recourse to her hard-hearted relation. But when she became a mother, the pride of resentment was stilled in the stronger feelings of maternal tenderness. She wrote to her aunt, informing her of the sudden death of her husband, the birth of her daughter, and the difficulties in which she was involved at a distance from her own country, without support, and burthened with a child. She received no answer; but, notwithstanding that high spirit which was natural to her character, she no longer feared exposing herself to mortification and reproach; and, although she knew her relation would never pardon her for having married a man of merit, but not of noble birth, she continued to write to her by every opportunity, in the hope of awakening her compassion for Virginia. Many years, however, passed, during which she received not the smallest testimony 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, careless on this occasion of appearing in her homely garment. Maternal hope and joy subdued all those little considerations, which are lost when the mind is absorbed by any powerful sentiment. Monsieur de la Bourdonnais delivered to her a letter from her aunt, who informed her, that she deserved her fate for having married an adventurer and a libertine; that misplaced passions brought along with them their own punishment, and that the sudden death of her husband must be considered as a visitation from heaven; that she had done well in going to a distant island, rather than dishonour her family by remaining in France: and that, after all, in the colony where she had taken refuge, every person grew rich except the idle. Having thus lavished sufficient censure upon the conduct of her niece, she finished by a eulogium on herself. To avoid, she said, the almost inevitable evils of marriage, she had determined to remain in a single state. In truth, being of a very ambitious temper, she had resolved only to unite, herself to a man of high rank; and although she; was very rich, her fortune was not found a sufficient bribe, even at court, to counterbalance the malignant dispositions of her mind, and the disagreeable qualities of her person.

"She added, in a postscript, that, after mature deliberation, she had strongly recommended her niece to Monsieur de la Bourdonnais. This she had indeed done, but in a manner of late too common, and which renders a patron perhaps even more formidable than a declared enemy: for, in order to justify herself, 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 feeling sympathy and respect, was received with the utmost coolness by Monsieur de la Bourdonnais; and when she painted to him her own situation, and that of her child, he replied, 'We will see what can be done—there are so many to relieve—why did you affront so respectable a relation?—You have been much to blame.'

"Madame de la Tour returned to her cottage, her bosom throbbing with all the bitterness of disappointment. When she arrived, she threw herself on a chair, and then flinging her aunt's letter on the table, exclaimed to her friend, 'This is the recompense of eleven years of patient expectation!' As Madame de la Tour was the only person in the little circle who could read, she again took up the letter, which she read 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 courage.' Seeing Madame de la Tour in tears, she threw herself upon her neck, and pressing her in her arms, 'My dear friend!' cried she, 'my dear friend!' But her emotion choked her utterance.

"At this sight Virginia burst into tears, and pressed her mother's hand and Margaret's alternately to her lips and to her heart: while Paul, with his eyes inflamed with anger, cried, clasped his hands together, and stamped with his feet, not knowing whom to blame for this scene of misery. The noise soon led Domingo and Mary to the spot, and the little habitation resounded with the cries of distress. Ah, Madame!—My good mistress!—My dear mother!—Do not weep!'

"Those tender proofs of affection at length dispelled Madame de la Tour's sorrow. She took Paul and Virginia in her arms, and, embracing them, cried, 'You are the cause of my affliction, and yet my only source of delight! Yes, my dear children, misfortune has reached me from a distance, but surely I am surrounded by happiness.' Paul and Virginia did not understand this reflection; but, when they saw that she was calm, they smiled, and continued to caress her. Thus tranquillity was restored, and what had passed proved but a transient storm, which serves to give fresh verdure to a beautiful spring.

"Although Madame de la Tour appeared calm in the presence of her family, she sometimes communicated to me the feelings that preyed upon her mind, and soon after this period gave me the following sonnet:—