THERE is no man in the world more fond than

I am of a cheerful countenance, a quick step, an

enterprising spirit, an active and inquiring mind; nor can I bear to see any one, gentle or simple, in the bloom of youth, or the decay of age, sluggish and out of humour, whining over trifles, and cast down by the common calamities of life. Is it at all likely that, by being out of temper with the world, we shall put the world in good temper with us? no such thing!

But though I love an active, enterprising spirit, I do not love a proud one: one that over estimates itself, and undervalues another. We are for ever giving ourselves airs on account of some fancied superiority, at least, I know that I am, and I know also that this is very foolish; and as I here set you an example in confessing my error, I trust that you will follow it and acknowledge your's.

Now there is nothing that humbles a man more

than solitude, for it is of no use to give himself airs when there is no one to admire his superiority, or to gaze on his grandeur. Solitude, take my word for it, has an excellent influence in humbling the heart.

I know not that I ever derived more advantage from solitude than when amidst the wild and romantic recesses of North and South America.

Wherever the alpine cliff, the heaven-aspiring mountain, the boundless forest, and the immeasurable plain present themselves, romantic spirits ever hold with them pleasurable communion; where there are no men, the beasts of the earth, the birds of the air, and the trees of the field become companionable. No one can fully enter into this feeling who is a stranger to the influence of solitude.

In a state of society we fancy that all things

are expressly created for our benefit; in solitude we find that we are, comparatively, ciphers.

The uninhabited banks of the river Cassiquiare are covered with forests of the most gigantic trees; the voice of man is heard not, his footprint is unknown, his supremacy is unacknowledged. The emperor of all the Russias would there be of no more consequence than a common scavenger. The scaly crocodile and the boa are the monarchs of the river-the jaguar, or panther, the peccary, a kind of small hog, and the monkey, range the forest, fearless and secure it is their domain, their ancient inheritance; and when man puts his foot upon their territory, he is an intruder, a trespasser, an interloper! strong in society, and weak in solitude. thou know thy own weakness

Man is

Wouldst

Go to the boundless forest! Does the tree
Raise his gigantic arms in air for thee?
And deeply delve beneath the soil, to bring
The fruits of autumn and the flowers of spring?
Will the wild jaguar at thy voice lie down,
Crouch in the dust, and tremble at thy frown?
Go to the river!-can thy puny force

Control the rushing wave, and change its course?
The scaly monarchs of the floods appear-

The boa and the crocodile are there,

And they will not obey thee! In the wave
They are thy masters-proud one!

Thou their slave !

It was on the afternoon of a burning day that I once wandered from my companions into the deep solitude of the forest, where the trees seemed to rear their gigantic and aspiring heads almost to the clouds. Evening came, the shades of twilight fell around, and the clear moon rose and rode majestically through the heavens. The bright and fitful glimmering of the moonbeams through the apertures of the trees, contrasted