pure and unalloyed, not chilled
by jealous doubts or fears, but warm and gushing--the incense of a
happy heart, the outpourings of a guileless nature. Nothing can be more
beautiful than the picture of maternal fondness, the gracefulness
of woman thrown like a garment around her children. Her look of love
etherealised by the holiest sentiment of tenderness; her loveliness
exalted above the earth by the contemplation of those, her own dear
ones, who are but a 'little lower than the angels'--is a sight to make
the eyes gush tears of happiness, and the heart swell with thankfulness
to Heaven. Second alone to this is the unbending of man's stern nature
before the charms of childhood, when, casting away the pride of manhood
and the cold spirit of worldly ambition, he becomes like one among his
children, the participator in their joys and sorrows, the companion of
their games, the confidant of their little secrets. How insensibly does
each moment thus passed draw him further from the world and its cares;
how soon does he forget disappointments, or learn to think of them less
poignantly; and how by Nature's own magnetism does the sinless spirit
of the child mix with the subtle workings of the man, and lift him above
the petty jarrings and discords of life! And thus, while he teaches
_them_ precepts of truth and virtue, _they_ pour into his heart lessons
of humility and forbearance. If he point out the future to them, with
equal force they show the past to him, and a blessing rests on both. The
_populus me sibilat_ of the miser is a miserable philosophy compared to
his who can retire from the rancorous assaults of enemies and the dark
treachery of false friends, to the bosom of a happy home, and feel his
hearth a sanctuary where come no forms of malice to assail him!

Such were my musings as I saw the father pass on with his children; and
never before did my loneliness seem so devoid of happiness.

Would that I could stop here; would that I might leave my reader to
ponder over these things, and fashion them to his mind's liking; but I
may not. I have but one object in these notes of my loiterings. It is
to present to those younger in the world, and fresher to its wiles than
myself, some of the dangers as well as some of the enjoyments of foreign
travel; and having surveyed the cost with much care and caution, I would
fix a wreck-buoy here and there along the channel as a warning and a
guide. And now to begin.

Let me take the