York, as to the most conscientious tourist. Still we go, and feel that we have learned something; and we are right; but it is not something that can be written down or pictured, anywhere but in the individual mind. So much of the mountain or the cataract as becomes a part of us and of our being, is an inestimable gain; nought else of all the costly accomplishment of travel. This is why travelled people are radically different from others. And the fact that people who are always travelling are good for nothing, does not conflict with our statement, but rather confirms it, for they fail in the very point we have specified. They furnish their minds with little else than a daguerreotype or a panorama, destitute of the intelligent commentary that alone makes such a show valuable. People who are restlessly racing the world over, year after year, come at length to be emptied of all but the driest facts, without one grace of imagination or combination. What they have seen has given them just enough pleasure or knowledge to make all that is present insipid; and as to affections, the insatiable traveller must systematically dry them up, in self-defense. Old Weller, who had "thirty mile of chambermaids" in love with him, and only laughed coolly in his sleeve at all of them, was not to be blamed, for how could he return their affection? The moon looks On many brooks, The brook can see no moon but this. And a game so unequal must soon end. So the love of travelling must have its limits. It is a passion in some; as much so as ambition or pity, and, like them, requires reasonable bounds. The moment we find ourselves uneasy at home, we should cease to travel, and sedulously cultivate home interests; engage more earnestly in social life, and, as far as possible, make ourselves necessary to the people among whom it is our duty to live. For what state is so terrible as isolation? And isolation of mind is worse than all. The heart must starve and dwindle when it loses the rel'sh for its natural food. Travel, rightly used, makes us happier and more useful at home. Freshened eyes give a happy shine to whatever they look upon, and renewed good humor brightens not only our own faces but the faces of others to us. Stagnation is the enemy of cheerfulness. The black pool would run dancing and laughing in the sun, if it had a proper outlet. When things do not go right with us, it is half the time owing to a lack of animal spirits; and much of our discontent with others has the same source. Let any thing occur to set the blood leaping through the veins, even something not particularly pleasurable, and a thousand petty vexations and gloomy thoughts fly off, we know not whither, showing that they had only a phantom-life; for the mind from the smallest materials forms images according to its own nature or condition. Sir Walter Scott, looking up from a Life of Byron which had absorbed him for some time, saw Byron himself standing at no great distance, every lineament perfect; but when Scott had walked but a few steps, the figure of his brother poet resolved itself into a few shawls and plaids, that had been hanging in the hall, day after day, unnoticed. So we have only to quit the occupation that has fatigued the mind, and just stir the blood into a healthful flow, to let daylight in upon the gloomiest megrims, and discover that Providence has no particular spite against us, but 1 offers us much more of happiness and comfort than we choose to accept. But when this great object is accomplished, let us sit down again, and remember that direct self-cultivation is by no means the sole or the highest object of life. The effect of grand scenery upon the mind is very decided, and can hardly fail to tend towards good. There may be as many wonders in a midge's wing as in Mont Blanc or the Mammoth Cave; but they are not wonders that affect the mind in the same direction. Providence has so ordered it that the objects most important to the great human family and most accordant with our nature, are those which ask us aid of science for their enjoyment and appreciation. There is probably no rational being who is wholly unaffected by the grandeur of mountains, the waving and the shadow of primeval woods, the thunder of the mighty cataract. However dull and ignorant the brain, the blood will thrill and the nerves shake at these manifestations of Supreme power. Witness the deification of natural objects in the early days of the world-a form given to thoughts and feelings which could find no vent or explanation but worship. And worship is now the impulse, but with the dignity and sanction of knowledge, which transfers the heart's instinctive language from the most sublime of created objects to Him who made them all, and who, from immeasurable distance, inspires them with the charm which no human heart can wholly resist. But who can measure how greatly cultivation enhances the power of these feelings-not only direct but general cultivation; an acquaintance and familiarity, not only with the objects themselves, but with what genius has said and shown of them. Every real advance, intellectual or moral, tells on our power of admiration; the loss or lessening of this power is one of the surest signs of general deterioration. The nil admirari, which some would-be fashionables affect, is an emulation towards the owl and the tortoise. The habit of admiring is one of the noblest; it is next to the habit of loving. Ignorance and envy are its opposites; and the mind and heart may be so corrupted by these as to resist the feelings of admiration, even when merely inanimate objects are concerned. But the greatest souls that have ever lived have owned the influences of natural scenery most fully. Next to human interest, the poet and the artist find their best inspiration in wild, sublime Nature. Even the most verbose descriptions and the poorest paintings of natural scenery show its power over the imagination; for in no other direction are men so apt to attempt the impossible, and to fancy they have succeeded because memory supplied to themselves all that their skill has been unequal to impart to others. Let not, then, the impulse to summer travel be classed among fashionable follies. It may be turned to poor account, indeed, as witness the unsavory crowds, the steamy lights, the unwholesome habits of too many of the retreats alternately made 'fashionable' or 'vulgar' by the caprices of a few of the bolder leaders of ton. If there be hundreds willing, rather than be omitted from the list of notables, to swelter amid inconveniences that they would not tolerate at a friend's house, there are thousands who roam during the hot months among the mountains and lakes of their own country, or try the fresh breezes of ocean and the wonders of foreign lands, from pure love of nature and improvement; who love the freshness of the summer morning, the forest shade at noon, the moonlit walk, the exciting ascent of woody mountains, the roar of cataracts; 1.0t because |