foot-traveler; and I can think of none, who more nearly accords with my beau ideal of one, than Goldsmith. Possessing an ardent curiosity, a buoyant spirit, and a constitutional inclination to look rather to the bright than dark side of the prospect, without friends, recommendations, or money, he set out on his travels, and made the tour of Europe on foot. A good voice and a trifling skill in music were the only finances he had, to support an undertaking so extensive; and says he, "whenever I approached a peasant's house towards nightfall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day." Thus, in the Traveler— "How often have I led the sportive choir, With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire ! To a romantic love of natural scenery, joining a good, knowledge of human nature, and a mind which enabled him to prosecute that study with advantage at all times, Goldsmith seems to have been eminently fitted by nature to make a tour of this sort. The pedestrian should be a kind of "philosophic vagabond," of a contemplative turn of mind, looking at things in a cool, rational way, and not to be disconcerted on any sudden emergency, or put out by every thing that is not just as he might wish. He must have a willingness to "please and be pleased," a disposition to adapt himself to circumstances, and to make the best of whatever may come. Thus will he trudge along, contented and happy, above the annoyances of other men, drawing amusement and instruction from every thing he sees, and having the sources of his enjoyment in himself,-a fount, whose riches external circumstances cannot impair. I would fain say something of the joys that fall to the share of the pedestrian, though they be "more than words can wield the matter," and though my tongue be weak in their praise. Wherefore, I pray thee, kind reader, to accompany me, with a lively imagination, while I endeavor to sketch the outlines, leaving it to thee to fill out the picture with the touches of thine own fancy. Whither shall we direct the course of our journey, in so goodly a land, where nature has worked by her largest scale, and which abounds in spots recommending themselves either to our admiration from their scenery, or to our patriotism from their historical connections? If our object be to enjoy nature, let us shape our way to the "old granite State," the Switzerland of America, whose beauteous lakes, clear as crystal, and studded with green islands, like emeralds set in burnished silver, rival Loch Lomond of Scotland, and whose lofty mountains, "soaring snow-clad" through miles of space, "in the wild pomp of mountain majesty," beckon our approach. Or shall we make trial of the hospitality of the South, and visit Virginia, endeared to us by many a recollection of past times, and teeming with interest, as the birthplace of so many of the great and the good, that have figured in our country's history? But, wherever we go, we shall be amply repaid for our walk. Light of heart, and encumbered with no care of baggage or bandboxes, the pedestrian starts out on his day's journey, with the rising of the sun. What though his limbs be somewhat stiff by the toil of the last day, yet the bracing air of morning, and the sight of nature reanimated by the refreshing dew and the beams of the sun, cause him speedily to forget any remains of fatigue, and his step recovers its wonted elasticity. Yielding soon to the promptings of hunger, he stops at a farm-house, indicating, by its exterior, the hospitable character of its occupants. Here he has set before him a platter of bread and a pan of milk, the bottom of which he takes care to see bare before rising from his meal. Again he resumes his journey; yet journey should I not call it, but rather rambling, wandering whithersoever inclination leads him. Whatever object of curiosity or beauty there may be on his route, he suffers it not to pass unnoticed. Every mountain, commanding an extensive view, he ascends; every quiet glen, or mountain gorge rich in scenery, he visits. He delights to follow to its source the mountain flume, as it dashes over precipices and hurries through deep ravines, abounding alternately in wild cascades and rapids,-himself unconscious of the lapse of time or the sense of toil. Or, if he has dabbled in geology or botany, he may take pleasure in prying into the riches of the mineral kingdom, or examining the myriads of flowers that grow by the wayside. Perhaps he can transfer to paper the outlines of some interesting scenery, hereafter to serve as landmarks to the memory. So much the happier then is he. Towards noon, when the sun shines upon travelers with its warmest rays, he seeks shelter in the bushes, by the side of a little brook, and enjoys the luxury, and at the same time necessary precaution against blistering, of bathing his feet in cool water. This finished, he takes out from his knapsack his lunch of bread and cheese, and after therewith taking off the keenness of his appetite, stretches himself out on grass for an hour's nap. the "Weariness Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth Finds the downy pillow hard." His slumbers are unbroken and refreshing, because they are such as tired nature demands; and once more, fresh and vigorous in mind and body, our traveler continues on his way. It may be that the sun is hot, the road dusty, and the country uninteresting; but at such times he reverts to the pleasures of the previous day, thus relieving the fatigue and disagreeableness of the journey, by cheerful recollection. Perhaps he comforts himself with thoughts of some nice little cottage, destined to receive him towards nightfall," the end of cares, the end of pains," "And there I'll rest, as, after much turmoil, A blessed soul doth in Elysium." By no means the least of the pedestrian's delights consist in enjoying the hospitality of the inhabitants, so freely extended to him wherever he goes. His knapsack, and still more the name of student, serve as passports to gain him admittance to every household. Here the best fare in the house is set before him, and hunger is the sauce of the feast. In pleasant conversation with his kind host and hostess, he spends the evening; and who shall say that the farmer's daughter is not often added to the company, "Without hoop, looking prim and gay!" If so, the romantic situation of our traveler opens for him the avenues to her heart, and acquaintance stands not long on tiptoe. At an early hour he is conducted to his chamber,-the best room in the house,— adorned with a motley collection of odd pieces of furniture, and hung around with rude Bible pictures. After taking notes of the day's adventures, he introduces himself to an inviting bed, and fatigue," lying starkly in the traveler's bones," soon hands him over to the embraces of sleep. Haud inexpertus loquor. Each day gives multiplied opportunities for the study of human nature at large, or more particularly for becoming acquainted with the manners and character of the people among whom you travel. A thousand little opportunities occur, by which you are brought into close intercourse with them. Moreover, adventures start up for the pedestrian each mile that he travels. Every day is pregnant with incident, and rife with adventure. Exercise fosters reflection, and in the midst of enjoyment of sense and sight, called forth by nature, the traveler's attention is often directed to Nature's God. He finds meet subject for heavenly contemplation in the objects around his path. If the journey lies through a wild mountain-pass, whose sides, hoary with the moss of ages, saxa vetus ta, lift up their frowning summits to the skies, in solemn grandeur, he sees therein reflected the majesty of the Creator, and is impressed with a sense of his own littleness. If he stands on the "snowy scalp" of some height, over-looking all surrounding objects, at such a time visions of the glory and omnipotence of the Deity burst in upon his soul, and he feels that it is good for him to enter into communion with himself and his God. Or if his steps conduct him through pleasant fields and fertile valleys, by the side of the silver streamlet, or among smiling hamlets, "Where health and plenty cheer the lab'ring swain," such scenes of happiness and of peace strike upon kindred chords in his own bosom, and onward he speeds his way, thanking the mercy of God, that so much prosperity and innocence yet continue on earth. Happy, happy lot of the pedestrian! Thine it is to court closer communion with nature, than less favored mortals enjoy; to pry into her secret beauties, and to discern charms, which other men know not of. "The vulgar knows not all the hidden pockets, To thee it belongs to make voyages of discovery into green lanes and trackless forests, to trace the mountain torrent to its source, and to break the solitude of the woodland glen with thy presence. As thou walkest to the music of the birds singing on the boughs, the grass pearled with dew is thy carpet, the clear sky, and the sun shining in the heavens, thy canopy overhead. Cheerful villages, the laborer at work in the fields, and the face of laughing nature meet thine eye, and thou breathest a "swete ayre of the swete savoure of the meede flours," or of the new-mown grass. The way often lies through parts where yet continue the simple manners of olden times, and whose quiet recesses are seldom penetrated by the rumor of the world's cares and troubles. There he shares the rustic hospitality of the farmer, sits at his friendly board, and if the night be chilly, finds a ready seat in the family circle round the kitchen fire-place of ample dimensions. Full many an houri, I ween, does he find among the rural nymphs, "wasting her sweetness on the desert air," and whose manners partake not of the tone of modern times, but are such only as the heart, that nature has given her, dictates. "Surely, thenne, is there noo man merrier than he is in his spyryte." Oh joys, never ceasing, ever varying, of the pedestrian ! Musa pedestris ! EXCELLENCE INDEPENDENT OF RANK. "The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that." It is related of Richard Savage, that in his youth he expressed a contempt for the middle class of society, and declared his determination "to tower like the cedar or be trampled like the shrub." Experience and observation wrought a change in his opinions, and he was afterwards heard to say, that all the virtue of mankind was comprehended in that condition of life which he had once held in contempt. This change in the views of this remarkable man, is not quoted to introduce an essay on the folly of ambitious desires, but as suggesting the idea, that high stations in life are not necessary to the development of those qualities in the human character, which move in us the deepest feelings of admiration. True excellence, under whatever circumstances it appear, ought to command our high regard, and undoubtedly would, were we entirely free from prejudice and every other perverting influence. But, as the world goes, the merits of those who move in the higher scenes of life, borrow lustre from the splendors with which they are surrounded, while extraordinary virtue, dwelling and operating in the hearts of humbler men, is lost in obscurity. The shining deeds of men in high stations may be done for the purpose of getting for themselves "space in the world's thought," or for a still less worthy motive. There are many "benefactors in the newspapers, Whose alms are money put to interest In the other world,-donations to keep open A running charity-account with Heaven." The generous deeds of the poor man are not likely to be prompted by a hollow heart. In military life, the coward may fight as valiantly from necessity, as the true hero from choice; but if it be known that he is a coward at heart, no one honors him for what he does. It is the noble motive which fixes the seal of greatness upon the act. We doubt not that many an obscure individual has acted from a nobler impulse than the most illustrious, who has been immortalized for his magnanimity that moral excellence has burned more intensely in the bosom of one unknown, than ever lighted up its sacred fire in the heart of a successful aspirant for fame; and the absence of the world's honors diminished not at all its purity or its intensity. It is sometimes less difficult to do, than to endure. There are severer tests of character than the terrors of the battle-field, or the responsibilities of a court. Indeed, we do not know of a higher quality of mind, than that which some one has called "the triumph of subjection," the ability to bear up manfully under accumulating misfortunes and suffering. The unblenching features of the North American Indian, as he hangs lashed to the stake and looks upon the fiendish exultation of his enemies, tell of a higher virtue than the greatest achievements of his perilous warfare. The boy who deliberately burned his arm from his body, gave more convincing proof of firmness, than any exploit of Rome's greatest warrior. The most sublime creations of the poets, are personifications of this indomitable spirit of resistance,hence Prometheus dares defy the "new king of gods," and bid him launch his thunders; and, for the same reason, we detect ourselves admiring the -"one who brings A mind not to be changed by time or place," archfiend though he be. But there is a moral grandeur in the exercise of this bold quality, under the conviction that the world will never hear of it, which we do not discover in that which is suffered to get a name. The individual who said he could die like a hero, if men enough would look at him, showed only the more clearly his cowardice at heart. Thousands, no doubt, have died heroes before the world, who would have quailed in the presence of none but their consciences and their God. It is manful to endure one's griefs and sorrows in silence; and while the groanings of the illustrious sufferer fill the land, the man in humble life, as Carlyle hath it, "is swallowing down how many sore sufferings into silence, a silent hero." When we remember how many of the most distinguished names |