eless," said Raymond, "since I well remember
them, and have many others, self-suggested, which speak with unanswerable
persuasion."

He did not explain himself, nor did I make any remark on his reply. Our
silence endured for some miles, till the country with open fields, or shady
woods and parks, presented pleasant objects to our view. After some
observations on the scenery and seats, Raymond said: "Philosophers have
called man a microcosm of nature, and find a reflection in the internal
mind for all this machinery visibly at work around us. This theory has
often been a source of amusement to me; and many an idle hour have I spent,
exercising my ingenuity in finding resemblances. Does not Lord Bacon say
that, 'the falling from a discord to a concord, which maketh great
sweetness in music, hath an agreement with the affections, which are
re-integrated to the better after some dislikes?' What a sea is the tide of
passion, whose fountains are in our own nature! Our virtues are the
quick-sands, which shew themselves at calm and low water; but let the waves
arise and the winds buffet them, and the poor devil whose hope was in their
durability, finds them sink from under him. The fashions of the world, its
exigencies, educations and pursuits, are winds to drive our wills, like
clouds all one way; but let a thunderstorm arise in the shape of love,
hate, or ambition, and the rack goes backward, stemming the opposing air in
triumph."

"Yet," replied I, "nature always presents to our eyes the appearance of a
patient: while there is an active principle in man which is capable of
ruling fortune, and at least of tacking against the gale, till it in some
mode conquers it."

"There is more of what is specious than true in your distinction," said my
companion. "Did we form ourselves, choosing our dispositions, and our
powers? I find myself, for one, as a stringed instrument with chords and
stops--but I have no power to turn the pegs, or pitch my thoughts to a
higher or lower key."

"Other men," I observed, "may be better musicians."

"I talk not of others, but myself," replied Raymond, "and I am as fair an
example to go by as another. I cannot set my heart to a particular tune, or
run voluntary changes on my will. We are born; we choose neither our
parents, nor our station; we are educated by others, or by the world's
circumstance, and this cultivation, mingling with our innate disposition,
is the soil in which our desires, passio