la_ Robinson Crusoe.

At this idea my father, who was a thoroughly business-like,
matter-of-fact man, set up his eyes and called me a name not at all
polite; but as he was my parent, and viewed life through older optics
than mine, I daresay he was right in the main, when he called me, to put
it mildly, a "stupid fool." But although he pooh-poohed the idea, and
bade me dismiss it from my mind, I could not help the thought entering
my brain, and I wished something might possibly happen by which I might
be left alone on the island, to try, at all events, what Crusoe life was
really like.

Sure enough something did happen which ultimately gave me the
opportunity of carrying out my idea in its entirety. M. Oudin, the
proprietor of the island, had two events to chronicle in one day,
events which quite altered his after life, and took him at an hour's
notice from his Jethou home to Gardner's Hotel, Guernsey.

A letter arrived at St. Peter Port for him, from Paris, which, according
to custom, was placed in the guernsey breast of a fisherman, who sailed
with it straightway to M. Oudin. The latter gentleman having adjusted
his glasses, after instructing his man to give the messenger spirituous
refreshment (which is so very cheap in these islands), proceeded to scan
the contents of the letter. It was from a lawyer in Paris, informing him
of the decease of his brother, a leather merchant, who, dying wifeless
and childless, had bequeathed him both his business and fortune. This
intelligence of both joy and sorrow so bewildered and unstrung the
nerves of M. Oudin that, in accordance with his custom, he took a
dram--in fact the circumstances were so very warrantable that he took
two--and probably even more; or else they were like Mynheer Van Dunk's,