THE TRAVELLER.

"Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil
O'er books consumed the midnight oil?
Hast thou old Greece and Rome surveyed,
And the vast sense of Plato weighed ?
Hast Socrates thy soul refined,

And hast thou fathomed Tully's mind?
Or, like the wise Ulysses, thrown

By various fates on realms unknown,

Hast thou through many cities strayed,

Their customs, laws, and manners weighed ?

Thus the philosopher addressed the shepherd, whom he had come to visit in his humble retreat, and to know the source of that wisdom and learning for which he had become famous.

"The shepherd modestly replied,

'I ne'er the paths of learning tried;
Nor have I roamed in foreign parts,
To read mankind, their laws and arts.""

His lessons he had taken at home. He had studied Nature, and endeavored to follow her guidance in learning his duty to its author and to his fellow-men.

He had studied the Creator in the works of his hands -in the brooks and in the trees, in the instincts of the brute creation, in the returning seasons-the snow, the rain, the sunshine, and the tempest, the budding flowers, and the decaying leaves. He learns industry from the bee, and provident thought of the future from the ant, constancy from the dove, and modesty in conversation from the magpie.

"We from the wordy torrent fly,

Who listen to the chattering pie."

Kites, hawks, and wolves warn him against rapacity, and the toad and serpent remind him of the sting of envy and calumny so hard to bear. Fidelity he learns from his dog.

"My dog, (the trustiest of his kind,)
With gratitude inflames my mind;
I mark his true, his faithful way,
And in my service copy Tray.
Thus every object in creation
Can furnish hints for contemplation;
And from the most minute and mean

A virtuous mind can morals glean."

Many, like the shepherd, travel at home to much greater advantage than those who seek knowledge of men by going into foreign parts and spending their time in a constant change of place. A perpetual variety amuses and entertains them, but no small pro

portion of travellers return but little wiser than they set out. They can tell you the height of St. Peter's or St. Paul's, the number of paintings in the Vatican or the Louvre; describe the passage of the Alps, the ruins of the Coliseum or the Parthenon, the Pyramids of Egypt, or the Deserts of Arabia; but they have added but little to their previous knowledge of man, his nature and his wants, his customs, manners, history or laws. They have seen a variety of things, which have left a feeble impression upon their minds, and are glad to get home and find relief from the fatigues and discomforts of journeying.

Travellers have been divided into those who journey with their eyes open, and those who keep them shut. The latter see only bridges, mountains, rivers, palaces, and cathedrals; while the former study the habits, character, and traits of the people through whom they pass. The one sees; the other observes. The one has gained something useful and valuable, while the other brings home little more than he could have learned by visiting some of the various panoramas exhibited in our cities. Both have been over the same scenes, but have gathered from them very different lessons. The one has studied the works of man, while the other has studied man in connection with his works. The one has seen only the splendid architecture and mediæval ornament of the Gothic cathedral, while the other has caught something of

the spirit of those who engaged in the pious work of erecting such noble monuments of the genius and piety of by-gone ages. One sees in the Vatican only a pile of buildings, filled with paintings and statuary; another reads in that vast structure and its countless works of genius the history of our religion, corrupted in its progress through the ages, with heathen and pagan ceremonies, popes, cardinals, temporal power, luxury, vice, and human passions. It is not only the size and sublime proportions of St. Peter's that engage his attention, but the superstition that erected it out of the sale of indulgencies in sin, by the hands of those who claimed to be the successors of Christ and his apostles. He is reminded of what Peter would say, if he should come back upon earth to this great temple which bears his name, but which bears so little resemblance to the humble upper room in which the disciples were wont to assemble. In the vast ruins of Rome he reads the history of a nation which, by its valor, its temperance, its social virtues, and its public justice, became mistress of the world, but which, by falling into luxury and vice, became the prey of the barbarian hordes that hovered over its borders, like the gathering of the eagles where they scent the odor of the decaying carcass.

Those of us who are too poor to go abroad, may now fortunately enjoy something of travel at home, and perhaps with as much advantage to ourselves as