island lies out of the ordinary course of vessels; wherefore, but for a merciful Providence, the little party would have perished one by one—a catastrophe which, says Autonous with refreshing simplicity, 'wou'd have depriv'd me of the Opportunity of thus telling my Story.'
Herbs, roots and 'limpid water,' with the produce of the chase, therefore constitute their fare; and their greatest pleasure, animal wants being satisfied, is found in 'the usual Eesort of Persons in affliction'— namely, 'Devotions and Spiritual Exercises.' Incidentally, we are here treated, in the characteristic style of the eighteenth century, to a brief disquisition on 'Nature' and 'Luxury'; but this may be skipped as having nothing directly to do with our narrative. By-and-by, poor Paramythia, unable to endure the hardships of the new life, falls sick and dies. For a time Eugenius is heart-broken. Then he returns to the care of the helpless baby, and, to obtain milk for him, domesticates a hind. By mere power of imitation, Autonous learns from the fawn to take nourishment directly from the animal, while by watching his constant companion, the dog, he soon begins to dig up edible roots.
Things in this way are prepared for the real commencement of Autonous's story. The death of his wife preys upon the mind of Eugenius; he grows restless and spends his time in vain attempts to devise some means of escape. One unusually clear day, he fancies that he can detect a faint streak of land upon the far horizon. Upon this, he patches up the ship's boat, which had been cast ashore, to start out by himself upon a voyage of discovery. Once more Fate shows herself against him. The boat, drawn into a swift current, is carried to another island and afterwards washed away. Eugenius saves himself, but father and son are now separated.
Autonous is not quite two years old when this happens. For nineteen years he lives entirely alone; at the expiration of which time both he and Eugenius are picked up by a stray ship of war and carried back to Epinoia. The latter's innocence is forthwith made clear to the world, and all ends happily. But, it may well be asked, in what condition is Autonous himself, after this long period of isolation? The good people of Epinoia are surprised, as we in our time are surprised, to find him acting more like 'a Philosopher than a Savage.' How had such an amazing result been brought about?
Looking back into the obscurity of his strange past, Autonous declares his first consciousness to have consisted in the simple sense of being in the cottage his father had built. He had, of course, no recollection of anything before his arrival on the island, or of his father and mother; but he remembered, vaguely, taking 'little journeys' from the cottage, the guidance or barking of the dog keeping him from going altogether astray. But he retained no image of the hind by which he had been suckled, for that portion of his experience
