a manner, that we expected we should all have perished immediately."

The ship being thus stuck fast, the crew took to the boat, which soon swamped, and all perished, except Robinson Crusoe, who swam to shore, and found himself on an island, from the highest part of which, the main-land was distinctly visible on a fair day. In his first conversation with his "man Friday," Crusoe states that they talked of a current which swept by the island, which, he says, "I understood to be no more than the sets of the tide, as going out or coming in; but I afterwards understood it was occasioned by the great draft and reflux of the mighty river Oroonoko, in the mouth or gulf of which river, as I found afterwards, our island lay; and this land which I perceived to the west and northwest, was the great island Trinidad, on the north point of the mouth of the river." This is certainly sufficient to prove that Juan Fernandez was not Robinson Crusoe's island, and has in fact no more claims to be so considered, than Martha's Vineyard, or Staten Island. But, if any more evidence be needed, it will settle the question to quote the title of the original edition of Robinson Crusoe, which is generally abridged, or modified, by modern publishers. It reads: "The Life and Strange Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner; who lived eight and twenty years, all alone, in an uninhabited Island, on the Coast of America, near the mouth of the Great River Oroonoque; having been cast on shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the men perished but himself. With an Account how he was at last strangely delivered by Pirates. Written by himself. London: printed for Mr. Taylor, at the Ship, in Paternoster Row."

It is possible that Defoe may have been indebted to Selkirk's brief and bold narrative, for a few hints and suggestions; but considering the locality which he has assigned to Robinson Crusoe's island, the manner in which Crusoe gets there, and some other circumstances of the story, it seems to us highly probable that, in planning his work, Defoe was thinking less of Selkirk, than of Peter Serrano, a Spanish sailor, whose story is told in a book, with which Defoe could not have failed to become acquainted with, namely: "The Royal Commentaries of Peru, written originally in Spanish, by the Juca Garcillasso de la Vega, and rendered into English by Sir Paul Rycaut, Kt." This is a large folio volume, published in the best style of the day, at London, in 1688, when Defoe was twenty-seven years old. The translator, Sir Paul Rycaut, was a notable personage in his time, and his book at

tracted general attention. The story of Peter Serrano is at the very beginning of the volume, on the third page, and it is altogether unlikely that it should have escaped Defoe's attention. It is interesting in itself, and affords, so far as it goes, a tolerably close parallel to the Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. The island on which Serrano was cast, is one of a small cluster now called the Serrano Keys, lying in the Caribbean Sea, in latitude fourteen degrees north, and longitude eighty degrees west from Greenwich, about midway between Cuba and the Isthmus of Panama. The locality given by Defoe to Robinson Crusoe's island, is two degrees further south, and eighteen degrees further east.

The following, with the omission of a few unimportant sentences, is Rycaut's translation of the account of Serrano.

So

"Peter Serrano escaped from shipwreck by swimming to that desert island, which from him received its name, being, as he reported, about two leagues in compass. *** It was Peter Serrano's misfortune to be lost upon these places, and to save his life on this disconsolate island, where was neither water, nor wood, nor grass, nor anything for support of human life, at least not for maintenance of him for so long a time as until some ship passing by might redeem him from perishing by hunger and thirst, which languishing manner of death is much more miserable than by a speedy suffocation in the waters. With the sad thoughts hereof he passed the first night, lamenting his affliction with as many melancholy reflections as we may imagine capable to enter into the mind of a wretch in like extremities. soon as it grew day, he began to traverse his island, and found on the shore some cockles, shrimps, and other creatures of like nature, which the sea had thrown up, and which he was forced to eat raw, because he wanted fire wherewith to roast them: and with this small entertainment he passed his time, till observing some turtles not far from the shore, he watched a convenience until they came within his reach, and then throwing them on their backs (which is the manner of taking that sort of fish) he cut the throat, drinking the blood instead of water and slicing out the flesh with a knife which was fastened to his girdle, he laid the pieces to be dried and roasted by the sun: the shell he made use of to rake up rain-water, which lay in little puddles, for that is a country often subject to great and sudden rains. In this manner he passed the first of his days by killing all the turtles he was able, some of which were so large that their shells were as big as targets or bucklers; others were so great that he was not able to stop them in their way to the sea, so that in a short time experience taught him which sort he was able to deal with and which were too unwieldy for his force. With his lesser shells he poured

water into the greater, some of which contained twelve gallons: so that having made sufficient provision of meat and drink, he began to contrive some way to strike fire, that so he might not only dress his meat with it, but also make a smoke to give a sign to any ship which was passing in those seas. Considering of this invention (for seamen are much more ingenious in all times of extremity than men bred at land), he searched every where to find out a couple of hard pebbles instead of flint, his knife serving in the place of a steel: but the island being all covered with a dead sand, and no stone appearing, he swam into the sea, and diving often to the bottom, he at length found a couple of stones fit for his purpose, which he rubbed together until he got them to an edge, with which being able to strike fire, he drew some thread out of his shirt which he worked so small that it was like cotton and served for tinder; so that having contrived a means to kindle fire, he then gathered a 'great quantity of sea-weeds thrown up by the waves, which, with the shells of fish and planks of ships which had been wrecked on those shoals, afforded nourishment for his fuel and lest sudden showers should extinguish his fire, he made a little covering like a small hut with the shells of the largest turtles or tortoises that he had killed, taking great care that his fire should not go out. In the space of two months and sooner, he was as unprovided of all things as he was at first, for with the great rains, heat and moisture of that climate, his provisions were corrupted; and the great heat of the sun was so violent on him, having neither clothes to cover him nor shadow for a shelter, that when he was, as it were, broiled in the sun, he had no remedy but to run into the sea. In this misery and care he passed three years, during which time he saw several ships at sea and as often made his smoke; but none turned out of their way to see what it meant, for fear of those shelves and sands, which wary pilots avoid with all imaginable circumspection; so that the poor wretch, despairing of all manner of relief, esteemed it a mercy for him to die, and arrive at that period which could only put an end to his iniseries: and being exposed in this manner to all weathers, the hair of his body grew in that manner that he was covered all over with bristles, the hair of his head and beard reaching to his waist, that he appeared like some wild and savage creature. At the end of three years, Serrano was strangely surprised with the appearance of a man in his island, whose ship had the night before been cast away upon those sands, and had saved himself on a plank of the vessel. So soon as it was day, he espied the smoke, and imagining whence it was, he made towards it. So soon as they saw each other, it is hard to say which was the most amazed. Serrano imagined that it was the Devil who came in the shape of a man to tempt him to despair: the new-comer believed Serrano to be the Devil in his own proper shape and figure,

being covered over with hair and beard: in fine, they were both afraid, flying one from the other; Peter Serrano cried out as he ran, "Jesus, Jesus, deliver me from the Devil." The other hearing this, took courage, and returning again to him, called out, "Brother, Brother, don't fly from me, for I am a Christian as thou art: and because he saw that Serrano still ran from him, he repeated the Credo, or Apostle's creed, in words aloud, which, when Serrano heard, he knew it was no Devil that would recite those words, and thereupon gave a stop to his flight, and returning to him with great kindness, they embraced each other, with sighs and tears, lamenting their sad estate without any hopes of deliverance. Serrano supposing that his guest wanted refreshment, entertained him with such provisions as his miserable life afforded; and having a little comforted each other, they began to recount the manner and occasion of their sad disasters. Then for the better government in their way of living, they designed their hours of day and night to certain services. Such a time was appointed to kill fish for eating, such hours for gathering weeds, fish-bones and other matters which the sea threw up to maintain their constant fire: and especial care they had to observe their watches and relieve each other at certain hours that so they might be sure their fire went not out. In this manner they lived amicably together for certain days, for many did not pass before a quarrel arose between them, so high, that they were ready to fight. The occasion proceeded from some words that one gave the other, that he took not that care and labor as the extremity of their condition required; and this difference so increased (for to such misery do our passions often betray us) that at length they separated and lived apart one from the other. However, in a short time, having experienced the want of that comfort which mutual society procures, their choler was appeased, and so they returned to enjoy converse and the assistance which friendship and company afforded, in which condition they passed four years; during all which time they saw many ships sail near them, yet none would be so charitable or curious as to be invited by their smoke and flame: so that now being almost desperate, they expected no other remedy besides death to put an end to their miseries.

However, at length a ship adventuring to pass nearer than ordinary, espied the smoke, and rightly judging that it must be made by some shipwrecked persons escaped to those sands, hoisted out their boat to take them in. Serrano and his companion readily ran to the place where they saw the boat coming; but so soon as the mariners were approached so near as to distinguish the strange figures and looks of these two men, they were so affrighted, that they began to row back: but the poor men cried out, and that they might believe them not to be devils or evil spirits, they rehearsed the creed, and called aloud upon the name of Jesus: with

concurrence in it. In the old world these men wear big wigs, and gold-headed canes, and shovel hats, which are so many badges of public recognition, and which you intinctively defer to, therefore, as the tokens of a superior presence, as signs of the supreme power. There is something very grateful to the imagination in these marks of a close alliance between the public and private life, something very admirable in seeing the general unity thus impressing itself by means of each particular diversity. It is quite an "experience" to an American to confide his affairs to one of these big-wigs, to have his pulse counted by one of these gold-headed canes, or receive the gospel from under the eaves of one of these egregious brims. Both soul and body feel agreeably soothed and flattered by this ceremonial. They seem for the first time to have found their due respect and observance. It is hard to believe that you shall not get sounder law, more virtuous medicine, and humaner divinity from these stately and authentic gentlemen, so enforced by the public good-will and inomentum. You say to yourself that you have scarcely before looked upon the State and the Church as credible or vital facts, so much do these foolish paraphernalia set them off; and you are tempted to feel a momentary compassion for your somewhat nude and pagan brethren, sitting away off at home there, unconscious of your advantages.

Democracy, therefore, in thus destroying the wall of partition between the professions and the laity, destroys also the peculiar dignity of these professions, and so renders the female aspiration in that direction absurd. And the leaders of "the woman's movement," as it is somewhat ambitiously called, have acted therefore very unwisely, we think, in making professional distinctions so prominent an element of the remedial treatment they propose for woman's grievances. Altogether it appears to us that these amiable and precipitate ladies have exhibited a complete misapprehension of the genius of their own sex, which by the way is not a fact to be wondered at. For each sex finds in the other its own best appreciation. Woman, no doubt, has a much wiser sense of what is manly than man himself has, because she surveys him from without, and gathers up the scattered rays of his character in one full and symmetric impression. She has no private biases to deflect her vision. So it is with man in respect to woman. His spontaneous appreciation of woman is much truer than her own. Intellectually, no doubt, they are very equally qualified to judge of each other and themselves; but as to the

judgment which precedes deliberation, which anticipates induction-in short the spontaneous judgment of either sex with respect to the other-it is much more reliable than its own. Both man and woman instinctively acknowledge the truth of this position, by the entire frankness with which each discovers to the other depths of romantic emotion, depths of poetic sensibility in themselves, which they would never think of disclosing to their own sex. We have heard when favorably situated for the purpose, our friend Fairshake the broker say things to women which Sir Philip Sidney would have envied, but which all Wall-street would be sure to laugh at as totally incongruous with Fairshake's character. And what is worse, foolish Fairshake himself would join in the laugh, so much are we all in the habit of accepting the estimate which the stupid people about us put upon our character. Poor Fairshake passes so much of his time in Wall-street, and is so faultless in deference to the decisions of the Board, that if it should decree the human heart essentially devoid of sentiment, he would dupe himself into acquiescence. Yet nature makes very light of conventions, and will go on to surprise Fairshake with revelations of a mild divinity in his own soul, which must finally teach him self-respect, respect for humanity. As things are now, neither man nor woman disclose themselves truly, that is poetically, save to each other, because neither has a perfect faith in themselves, but only in the other. Hence as a general rule, we may conclude that the appreciation of either sex by itself is quite untrustworthy, when compared with that offered by its opposite.

But settle this as you may, it is an undeniable misconception of woman to suppose her at all capable of entering into rivalry with man, capable of competing with him for ecclesiastical and political distinction. It is nothing short of a scandalous misconception of womanhood. We shall be pointed to Elizabeth of England, Catharine of Russia, Mary de Medicis, and the other illustrious women who have exhibited a great genius for affairs. But we do not say that there are not very unwomanly women to be met with along the course of history. We see them in the street, in the market, in domestic life, every where, women who fairly compete with men in the pursuits of learning, traffic, and so forth. All we say is, that these women are exceptions to the rule of their sex, that they are extreme or unwomanly women. We have long been persuaded that man and woman have not yet been so sharply discriminated as they

shall one day be; that a great actual confusion indeed exists in the sexes, so that there are many technical women who are really or inwardly men, and many technical men who are really women. Man is not man, nor woman woman, primarily by virtue of their formal differences from each other, but by virtue of their spiritual or interior differences, the difference of their genius or temper of mind. And where this fundamental difference does not exist the outward difference is only transient. The natural body in that case has only to be laid aside by its decease, for the spiritual one to assert its latent sexuality; so that probably many a woman who has unmisgivingly laid down on this side Jordan in shortgown and petticoat, will wake up by sheer spiritual gravitation on the other side in corduroys and top-boots, and many a man who has laid down in coat and pantaloons, will similarly come to true self-consciousness in petticoat and curl

papers.

It is idle, therefore, to argue to woman from certain exceptional women. We must learn to discriminate between women and woman, between the infirm actual and the stainless ideal. Mrs. A. B. and C. are doubtless capital women, and properly estimable to all their acquaintance. But they have not the least title to call themselves woman, nor to charge any possible perturbation of their private orbits to the influence of that sweet sanctity. Woman is a grand and divine reality, who is not so foolish as to commit herself to any special guardianship, nor so vulgar as to whisper secrets in any private ear. She appoints no attorneys. No one speaks by her authority. They who know her best and are most transfigured by her intimate loveliness, suspect their great fortune the least, and are still the lowliest in all feminine modesty. It is doubtless excellent to hear Mrs. A. B. or C. discourse of woman, and belabor our sex and hers very deservedly on that behalf. But we cannot help feeling the thing to be sheer comedy all the while. If they will read lectures, or write paragraphs and pamphlets upon the sufferings of the poor maidens who lack suitable and healthy employment, and upon the temptations to vice which such lack engenders; and if they will scornfully stigmatize our heartless public morality which permits all this temptation, and then visits the shrinking victim with its Pharisaic scorn; then every manly breast in the community will second their eloquent zeal and indignation. Here is a manifest case of suffering, calling upon every passer-by, man and woman

equally, to cry aloud for its relief. The extremity of the case sanctions any mode of action which promises to be effectual, and if there were no other means of drawing attention to it, one would excuse a single-minded woman for dressing herself in military costume, or climbing a churchsteeple, or riding Godiva-like through the public streets. It is an exceptional exigency, and any sincere mode of advertising it on the part of those whose sympathies are so powerfully assailed, will not only be tolerated but applauded.

But no one believes in this didactic attitude as the normal or permanent attitude of woman. One excuses it only when a certain necessity calls for it, and does not willingly think of woman coming before the public, without such invincible necessity. No man believes, nor ever will believe, in woman, as a teacher or preacher, until he has grown indifferent to her as woman. His instinctive loyalty forbids him to believe her capable of any serious didactic intention. He will believe any good thing you have to say of her, any wonders you have to tell of her de votion to her lover, to her husband, to her child, to her friend, or to the needy at her door. He will believe you when you speak of her disinterested affection, her cheerful self-denial, her blithe and genial activity, and the power which these things give her to redeem the longest day from tedium, and people the darkest night with eminent stars of hope and consolation. But he will not believe you when you tell him of her seriously taking the great unwashed condition of humanity at large to heart, and drawing on the seven-league boots of philanthropy, to go forth upon a mission of reform. For woman, in her true and unperverted estate, is incapable of philanthropy, which is the love of all mankind. She loves only man, and cannot be taught to bestow her affection upon the race. The conception is too vague for her affection, the motive too vast for her strictly practical genius. She believes only in the concrete, the tangible, the visible, and her mission, as they call it, is strictly proportionate. Of course, she is so blissfully sympathetic a creature, that if her lover or husband or friend, conceive a concern for the Patagonians, and give up his substance to proselyte the Choctaws, she will very meekly toil up to that cheerless height of virtue, purely by way of keeping him company. But she will not stay there a single moment of her own accord. She would see all Patagonia hanged, and every Chootaw in Halifax, before she would get up any original trepidation on their behalf. For the only credible Patagonian to her