may be discussing stocks or politics in a railroad car of New England, and in two weeks he is asleep in the corner of a French Diligence. There is one very obvious reason for the increase of travel in modern times. It is one of the few adventurous resources that remain to a prosaic epoch. It seems peculiarly desirable that a period should be set apart between youth and the time when life's serious business absorbs every active impulse, for a breathing season to the spirit. It seems right to secure in the spring-time of being, an interval during which youth shall be free to go forth and "with an eye of leisure look on all" the grandeur and beauty of the universe; mingle freely with his kind, and weave ties of affection with all the trophies that antiquity has hallowed, humanity consecrated, and art adorned. There is a strong and innate repugnance to routine in the young heart. It is a sad that its whole experience shall

thought to the aspiring soul occur upon one scene and be "He took great content," says

made up of unvarying events. old Burton, "exceeding delight in that his voyage, as who doth not as shall attempt the like? For peregrination charms our senses with such unspeakable and sweet variety, that some count him unhappy that never travelled, a kind of prisoner, and pity his case, that from his cradle to his old age, he beholds the same still; still, still, the same, the same!" The increasing facilities of travel are, indeed, rapidly diminishing its interest and excitement. The multitude are rushing over the hallowed ground of the earth, and many a precious flower is trampled beneath their ruthless feet. Peculiarities of costume, interesting observances, all that is picturesque and striking in national character, wear gradually away in the whirl of promiscuous intercourse. Still the novelties of art, the contrasting features of nature, and much that is absolutely indigenous in the different

races of men, are sufficiently alluring to beguile us from the monotonous experience of home. And we enjoy an especial privilege in visiting Europe. To no civilized people is the contrast greater or the points of interest more striking. From the old tower built in the reign of Francis I. at the entrance of the dock of Havre de Grace to the Pyramids of Egypt, the American traveller enjoys an uninterrupted series of fresh and powerful impressions.

The very advancement in knowledge which this age has achieved, quickens curiosity. The broad light which popular education has spread abroad, has revealed to human eyes and hearts, such glimpses of the beauty and interest of the world, that, where there is a particle of soul, there springs up an earnest desire to explore creation and commune with man. The newly-developed passion for travel is, then, to a certain extent at least, an evidence of mental activity. So, also, in no small degree, it may be traced to a benevolent spirit. There has been a union of mind effected by literature and philanthropic enterprise of late years unparalleled in human history. And the natural consequence is that our sympathies are more extended. Common objects of pursuit and congeniality of tastes now unite men of different countries, and we feel in departing for distant lands that attractions there await the affections as well as the intellect. We hail, then, this display of the travelling propensity as an auspicious sign. In this view, it is, as yet, not sufficiently estimated. The mere pursuit of pleasure or the spur of necessity enters too largely into the motives of modern travellers, to make their pilgrimage either dignified in aspect or fertile in results. A worthy object and a true spirit are essential to render travel what it should be, and when thus inspired, its records contain some of the most beautiful episodes in human

largeness of views.

experience. The lives of eminent men furnish abundant evidence of the peculiar benefits of travel. Milton was evidently indebted to his sojourn in Italy for much of his imagery and The dense foliage of Vallambrosa, the beautiful view from Fiesole, the arts, the music and literary intercourse with the Italians of his age, left lasting and invaluable impressions. He mentions among the requisites for the great work he so long meditated, "a steady observation and insight into all seemly and generous arts and affairs;" and was contented to live with great economy to atone for his expensive "voyaging about." It has even been conjectured that Shakspeare, in early life, visited the same classic scenes. He betrays a familiarity with the characteristics of cities, the furniture of palaces, local manners, and especially with the old law of betrothment in Katherine and Petrucio, rather too intimate, it has been thought, to have been gleaned wholly from books. He speaks with the fondness of an old resident of "fair Padua, the nursery of arts," "fruitful Lombardy, the pleasant garden of all Italy,” and “Pisa renowned for grave citizens." There are, at all events, strong reasons to believe that he experienced a sea-voyage. But his imagination was so vivid and universal that the records of travellers furnished him with pictures little short of reality; he became the companion of their wanderings by virtue of the rare and quick sympathy which opened to him all the treasures of nature, and made every man a brother. He had small need of travel who could conjure up at will so lovely an island and such marvellous people as compose the Tempest. Petrarch was a constant wanderer, and Dante's poem abounds with local reminiscences. Adventure and novel scenes feed the poetic soul. Cervantes gathered the materials of his works during years of foreign service. We can trace the noble public spirit

of Evelyn, to whom England is indebted for her forest trees, to the influence of his early journeyings. The love of travel was a distinguishing trait of Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Bacon, and Sir Thomas Browne. The great Alfred employed people to travel to satisfy his curiosity respecting distant countries.

Individual taste is strikingly manifested in travel. Scott cared little for the Roman remains, but was instantly attracted by every feudal tower. Dr. Johnson said, if he were to travel, convents would interest him more than palaces. Manners and scenery, arts and literature, statistics and localities, attract men of different fancies. But there is one common altar at which the sympathies of all noble travellers are kindled. They soon become converts to the opinion that “ a beautiful face is the finest of spectacles." They learn more highly to appreciate that sex whose condition in every land forms the standard by which they estimate its degree of civilization. They insensibly acquire, if they never before possessed, something of that chivalric estimate of woman which breathed in the lay of the troubadour and nerved the arm of knighthood. This sentiment may, indeed, be vivified by the novel circumstances under which she is revealed to the wanderer—as a nun or an improvisatrice, amid the sweet solemnity of a cathedral, beneath the awning of a gondola, or in the balmy atmosphere of an orange-grove. His romantic dreams may be buoyed up and irradiated by unaccustomed scenes or novel manners; but they are oftener nurtured by that genial kindness which prompts the cheering salutation of the passing peasant girl, which sustains the almost maternal vigil of the hostess by the sick couch of the wanderer, and leads the refined and lovely to smile so charitably upon his colloquial blunders. It is the sweet prerogative of woman to throw around the traveller's sojourn, the endearing associations

of home; to lift from his heart all consciousness of isolation, and brighten every link of his "lengthening chain" with golden memories.

The acquisitions of no man are largely available until in some measure realized by experiment. Knowledge acquired by the slow and artificial process of reading is not only often a mere isolated benefit, but sometimes an absolute injury to its possessor. It is happy for men of an inquiring turn that life is so ordered that they are compelled to take part in its struggles. "Continual plodders" have won little but "base authority." Pedantry is one of the most unlovable of human qualities. How often may be applied to the merely learned the sad reproach in Wallenstein:

Thy wisdom hath been proved a thriftless friend

To thine ownself. See, it has made thee early

A superannuated man and (but

That my munificent stars should intervene)
Would let thee in some miserable corner,
Go out like an untended lamp."

Health, too, often perishes in chasing the "weary honors." Buoyancy departs from the spirit, and bloom from the cheek. The ambition of scholarship, when it absolutely possesses the mind, is often a gloomy barrier, dividing its votary from the tender humanities and cheerful haunts of his race. But the wisdom born of observation, the lore gathered in conversation, in contemplating the phases of society, in noting the phenomena of life, neither bows the frame nor indurates the heart. No man can garner such fruits except by social activity, which promotes cheerfulness and health, and keeps the better sympathies in constant exercise. They are gleaned in an atmosphere of