"
"Oh! Robinson could not tell a falsehood," said Fritz, "because he never
existed. The whole history is a romance--is not that the name, father,
that is given to works of the imagination?"
"It is," said I; "but we must not call Robinson Crusoe a romance; though
Robinson himself, and all the circumstances of his history are probably
fictitious, the details are all founded on truth--on the adventures and
descriptions of voyagers who may be depended on, and unfortunate
individuals who have actually been wrecked on unknown shores. If ever
our journal should be printed, many may believe that it is only a
romance--a mere work of the imagination."
My boys hoped we should not have to introduce any savages into our
romance, and were astonished that an island so beautiful had not tempted
any to inhabit it; in fact, I had often been myself surprised at this
circumstance; but I told them many voyagers had noticed islands
apparently fertile, and yet uninhabited; besides, the chain of rocks
which surrounded this might prevent the approach of savages, unless they
had discovered the little _Bay of Safety_ where we had landed. Fritz
said he anxiously desired to circumnavigate the island, in order to
ascertain the size of it, and if there were similar chains of rocks on
the opposite side.
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