1793. the Indian cottage, a tale. 15L 
The following night trembling I pat down a tulip; its red leaves and 
black heart exprefsed the fires which consumed mine. Next day I 
found my tulip in the same state with the sumach. I was greatly dise 
treised ; however on the morrow I brought a rose bud with its prickles, 
“as the symbol of my hopes, accompanied with many fears. But what 
was my despair when with the first return of the early dawn, I saw 
my rose bud far from the tomb ! [thought I fhould have lost my reason 
,Whatever might happen I resolved to speak to her. Next night as 
soon as fhe appeared, I threw myself at her feet. But I was quite de- 
prived of the powers of utterance while I presented my rose. She re- 
plied, “‘ Unfortunate man, thou talkest to me of love, whilst in 2 fhort 
time I fhall be no more.. Like my mother I must accompany to the 
funeral pile my hufband just now dead. He was advanced in years: 
I was wedded to him when a child: adieu ! retire and forget me: in 
three days nothing will remain of me but a httle afhes.”” While speak- 
ing these words fhe sighed. For my part, pierced with grief, 1 said 
to her, ‘ Unhappy Brahminefs, nature has bruken asunder the bandS 
that united thee to society ; break instantly those of superstitior also. 
You can do this by taking me for your hufband.’ “* What, replied the 
weeping, fhould I escape death to live with thee in thy disgrace! Ah» 
if thou lovest me, leave me to die.” ‘ God forbid, cried I, that I fhould 
draw you from the evils into which you are about to plunge yourself 
enly to plunge you in mine: dear Brahminefs, let us flee to the 
depth of the forest, it is much safer to trust to tigers than to men. But 
that God in whom I trust, he will not forsake us. Let us flee: love, 
the night, thy unhappy situation, thy innocence, every ‘thing favour 
us. Let us make haste, unfortunate widow, already the funeral pile 
is preparing for thee, and thy dead hufband calls thee thither. Poor 
fallen vine, support thyself on me, I fhall be thy palm tree’ Here 
Sighing fhe cast a look on her mother’s tomb, then towards heaven, 
and letting one of her hands fall into mine, with the other the took 
my rose. Instantly I took hold of her arm, and we set out. J threw 
her veil into the Ganges, to make her relations think that the had 
drowned herself. We travelled several nights along the banks of the 
tiver, concealing ourselves in fields of rice by day. At last wearrived 
in this part of the country, which war had formerly laid waste. I 
pierced into the heart of this wood, where I built this hut, and plane 
ted a little garden. ‘We live here very happily ; I revere my wife like 
the sun, and I love her like the moon. In tiis solitude we are to each 
ether all the werld. We are indeed despised by the world, but as 
