Oh! how must thou lament thy station,
And envy mine!
Were it possible for man to be so totally wrapped up in himself, as to live in absolute seclusion from human nature, and could yet feel the tranquillity which these lines express, I allow that the situation of the Hermit would be more desirable than to live in a world so pregnant with every vice and folly. But this never can be the case. This inscription was merely placed for the ornament of the grotto; and the sentiments, and the Hermit are equally imaginary. Man was born for society. However little he may be attached to the world, he never can wholly forget it, or bear to be wholly forgotten by it. Disgusted at the guilt or absurdity of mankind, the misanthrope flies from it; he resolves to become an hermit, and buries himself in the cavern of some gloomy rock. While hate inflames his bosom, possibly he may be contented with his situation : but when his passions begin to cool, when time has mellowed his sorrows, and healed those wounds which he bore with him to solitude, think you that content becomes his companion ? Ah ! no—no longer sustained by the violence of his passions, he feels all the monotony of his way of living, and his heart becomes the prey of ennui and weariness. He looks round him, and finds himself alone in the universe : the love of society revives in his bosom, and he pants to return to that world which he has abandoned. Nature loses her charms in his eyes : No one is near him to point out her beauties, or share in
