mode of life, most unfavourable to improvement, are evils, poorly compensated by the advantage of paying a few shillings less to the music-master, and perhaps learning to speak French, and Italian, with a somewhat better accent than could be acquired in England.

The young man, who professedly seeks only for amusement, if he can withstand every kind of vicious allurement, may pass his time as innocently abroad as at home. But let him not over-rate his powers of resistance; for it is but too notorious that many fail in the trial. Besides, where is the man to be found, whatever be his age or station, who can conscientiously declare, that he has not a pursuit which demands his attention, or a duty to fulfil; and who will dare to confess, that he lives. in this state of trial, only to amuse himself?

There are a few, whose lives are dedicated to scientific research, who, with unremitting exertion collect knowledge as they move, and only rest to dispense the fruits of their toil to society. Such travellers rank high amongst the benefactors of the human race. But how much more numerous are they, who, not possessing talents, or previous instruction, to qualify them for amassing wisdom by their own observations, might well employ their

leisure in acquiring and disseminating it at home? Every member of the community is more or less concerned, in applying the fruits of other people's research, to some branch of science, industry, or domestic economy: and it is absurd to undervalue the usefulness, or importance, of any vocation, merely because its operations are subordinate, or its range confined. Half mankind may, if they please, become travellers: but they cannot, even if they would, be useful ones.

No serious argument need be directed against such as only cross the channel, to pass a little idle time, or satisfy a little idle curiosity, and spend a summer at Spa, or at Paris, instead of Brighton or Tunbridge Wells. They may as well run one way as another; and if their temporary absence be an evil to their country, it is one that will soon cure itself. Meantime we may fairly amuse ourselves with the ludicrous occurrences, of which the modern rage for travelling is frequently productive. An honest country tailor, to the great injury of his business, absented himself for three weeks from his counter; and, on his re-appearance, gravely offered for my perusal a manuscript narrative of his tour. If he could have found a friend to correct his orthography, upon the precision of which he ad

mitted that he "did not pique himself;" it would have been published, though its absurdities were too gross, and pitiful, even to be laughed at.

Lest it be deemed disrespectful to the increasing host of travellers, to conclude an essay, of which they furnish the theme, with an anecdote of a tailor, I will borrow one from a higher class.

Pindemonte in one of his satires, relates that an English gentleman, of some consequence, quitted his country, in order to travel. He was resolved to see every thing; and, being more attached to the comforts of his own nation than curious about the habits of others, and having little of that taste for the fine arts, which might have tempted him to linger, his task was quickly performed. He visited every celebrated place he could hear of; purchased pictures, statues, and cameos; inspected churches, palaces, and ruins; and returned to England quite sure of having seen every thing. As he alighted at his own door, an old friend met him; and after the usual greetings, said: "So, you are fresh from Italy! And how do you like Caprarola?" Caprarola! The unfortunate traveller had not even heard of it. "My good fellow," continued the friend, "you ought

to have seen Caprarola; 'tis the finest thing in Italy." The stroke was severe, but not irremediable: he ordered post-horses for the following morning, and returned to Italy, to see Caprarola.

46

ESSAY XXVI.

ON THE PAIN OF SEPARATION.

They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in their death they were not divided.”

SEPARATION from those whom we love is the first affliction we are capable of feeling in childhood, and the last of which we continue to be susceptible in extreme old age. And during every intermediate stage of our existence, we are liable to this distress; from which none can, by any imaginable circumstances, be exempted. Of all the sorrows of life, this may with the most justice be termed inevitable; it therefore becomes our business to discover how it may be rendered useful; for all griefs have their use, and in the days of affliction a wise man will gain lessons of future improvement, which may compensate for present suffering.