tical of his life. Hitherto, he has been kept in a state of agitation—every hour has presented to his wondering eye something new and something gratifying; he has been sated with variety almost to intoxication, and has had only one drawback to complete his happiness—the want of some dear friend or companion to enhance his enjoyment, by socially sharing it with him. But the novelty of his arrival has now passed away; the flood-tide of excitement has turned, has ebbed, and neaped—left him stranded upon the sands of ennui. He sees every one around him busy but himself; every one too eager in the pursuit of his own affairs to pay any attention to a stranger. He has delivered his letters of introduction, and some of the addressed have left their cards at his quarters, or invited him to a dinner; and there the acquaintance has been suspended. He feels himself idle, indolent,solitary, and unfriended, and becomes unsettled, dispirited, perhaps home-sick and miserable.
There is a tide in the spirits of men as there is a tide in the affairs of men. There are in the sensorial ocean as many fluctuations as in the great Atlantic; the spring-tides of prosperity, and the neap-tides of adversity; the currents of self-interest, and the counter-currents of others' interest; the tornadoes of passion, and the calms of contemplation; the electric flashes of excitement,
