indeed, have they consumed, and tyrants like, will they consume, yet I am not so perfect a Werter, as to consecrate my every hour to a single feeling; nor am I willing to make a division of my time among my feelings. I endeavor to devote a portion of my time to action, a part to a sympathy with nature, and certainly, a part to a participation in the world.

Frequently I study the livelong day, without looking in a book,-more especially since I have come to spend a short time in the country-I climb the rocks-sometimes only by cutting places for my hands and feet,-I examine their composition, and see the forms into which they crystalize; and presently, in a safe seat, endeavor to trace out the source of their upheaval. I look to see where they are disintegrating, what plants grow at their summit, and what at their base. Seated here, I think how many suns have risen on their grey heads-how many storms broken over them-and how many a long and deeply interesting tale they might tell-oh! how often have I listened to "the still small voice" of these hoary-headed fathers, and striven to interpret their language? How many questions have I asked them-and how few have they answered? These silent rocks remind me of a being of the highest intelligence, with an eternal seal upon his lips.

Men would tell me, that Greece and Italy have a history brightly unfolded on their monuments of art-but I would tell them, that the world has its history-and its true history, written on the yet uninterpreted rocks; and, that when men shall be assiduous in the study of the hieroglyphics of these monuments, as they have been of those of Egypt and the East-they will look rather for history to the Alps and the Andes, than to them. The language of our mountains is so con

cise, that a single one, will give you the history of the world; and still men gad it about, to collect traditionary and legendary history.

But to return to the country, where I am, and the rock on which I am standing-for I have come forth to enjoy the scene which surrounds me, and, perhaps, to feel the pleasing melancholy that we seem to imbibe from the quietude of the scene, and the free country air—a melancholy feeling it is, that inclines us to thought, and so powerful is the effect of surrounding objects, that there arises within us a generosity to the world,— and that world too, which has sought to detract something from our good name, and on the selfish principle, to build up one for themselves on our fall-or we not standing in the way, still elevated above them, to have the demon pleasure of levelling us with themselves. All hard feelings to these, the free country air banishes, and scenes so chaste, chasten. I have often asked myself, whether this was really the reason, or that it arose from our being away now, from scenes of mad selfishness, and restless ambition. Men whom I have hated in the city, I have almost forgiven,-in having an opportunity of thinking quietly on the frailties of human nature-in the country.

Oh! that I could leave the world entirely—for I could leave it and without remorse or regret, and spend the rest of my life in privacy. I have figured to myself, a natural cell at the base of a broad, elevated and overhanging rock, almost or quite hidden from the world's inquisitive eye, by the luxuriance of an old forest, a vine swinging before my door; and its foliage hiding an entrance, so covert that only I knew how to open it to pass in and out. It should lie in the depth of the forest,— where, undisturbed, I might spend my time-where the gentle

dove might tell her love tale, and the whip-poor-will make to me her lament-where the gay butterflies might chase each other from flower to flower-where the squirrel might rustle the leaves and in safety gnaw the nuts-and the snakes,-for oh! I love snakes, those lively-colored and diamond-headed ones in particular, they might sleep in the vine which overhangs my door. I would wish no friend in man, for solitude has nothing to barter for friendship; no companion in woman, for her heart would dwell in the world; no friend in a dog, for he would devour my rustic pets, and he, too, is treacherous, I would as the hermit, gather me fruits and herbs, and divide them with my companions. I would be so simple in my life that Diogenes compared with me, would be the pink of art.

I do not know, indeed, why I should have such cravingsunless it is because I have led an artificial life up to this time, and never known the sweet attractive simplicity of the countrydisappointed in finding the world what I had not as a youth conceived it; and even soured and disgusted, I am inclined to seek to relieve the tedium of the future, by a quiet sojourn into a living grave.

Certain it is that the world, such as I have found it, has no attractions for me. There have been objects in the world and in society, that I have endeavored to endear to me--and at times, perhaps, I have sought to win the favor of the other sex, by a mind I have not neglected to store with information-with a quick apprehension and a facile manner of expression. I have likewise endeavored to make my manners agreeable-but all these, at this moment, I say in my heart of hearts, I generously regret and renounce-not that I believe woman unworthy man's

efforts to please, but

[The rest is perfectly effaced.]

JULY 8th.-But yesterday, and I was filled with the glorious anticipations of a long and pleasant stay in the country-but how altered are matters to-day; the broad scene of hill and valley, has been exchanged for a contracted gaze-for the narrow precincts of a law-office. O! heavens, I should like to know a place more destitute of all that is of an interesting character, than this same law-office. As proof, a man who has been in it for one hour, has had a sufficiency for a life-time.

Perhaps as one who has gone to the law against his inclination, I may be prejudiced-I may have feelings of bitterness and chagrin, that dispose me more than otherwise, to severe opinions in regard to the profession.

My father misconceives me thoroughly, while he thinks he is doing me the greatest act of kindness. We do not agree, and,

therefore, he considers me an obstinate and disobedient child.

I do not say that I cast aside and despise all law books, because there are some that I cannot, for myself, help liking-as Bacon and Blackstone, and a small number of this sort partaking of the literary character. But so far as genuine love goes, I should say, throw the rest in the fire to singe fowls for me. I would not give Virgil for every law-book in the most valuable library. Of course, my means of judging and manner of appreciating, arises from, and are dependent on my prejudices, since I consider that there is a greater number of ideas in the former, irrespective of the superior mauner of expression.

Seated here, among these groaning shelves, I feel that I behold not one that I can call a friend among them-I feel as the traveller in the vast desert, who not only does not meet kind

and familiar faces, but is surrounded by those of a fierce, intractable and treacherous race. How different is my own library! there I look only on friends-tried friends, my only real friends on earth, those whom Byron forgot, when he said, "Experience has taught me that the only friends that we can call our own-that can know no change, are those over whom the grave has closed; the seal of death is the only seal of friendship." These are the friends, whom should sincerely sorrow at parting with-none others in despondency have been my comfort— none, when every friend has left me, on account of my perhaps, singular manners, have always come to my aid and been my solace-save these alone.

It has been thought strange that men should love inanimate objects yet I have oftener known them worthy of love than men; I have even found books more intelligent than men-and is it strange? I think not, for those which I really esteem, are the result of the laborious toil of the most distinguished men of their age-they are century plants. We see epochs, and ages marked by men of genius, and their productions; and in the world, we of a single age, never have an opportunity of meeting with a really great man.

I do not call a man great, whom a particular clique or party may idolize; but, I call him great, whom the world unites in acknowledging as such. But men will say, the world does not entirely agree in esteeming any one man great. Why? Because some portion of it hates him from various motives-others fear him-others again, envy him-and others condemn him from prejudices, and a number from ignorance, so prevalent in the world. I contend, that each one of these is a means of proving him great-for what man is great, but all these prevail