The ocean, perhaps, was stretched out as a plain of silver in the distant view; the heavens were robed in splendor; the sun shone brilliantly. His own person--himself, was an inextricable mystery. He could move; he could think; he could behold the display of creation; he could close his eyes, and exclude every impression. All was new; and everything, he might naturally have fancied, would remain the same; but, he was destined to behold a series of novelties. In a short time, he saw the sun sinking below the horizon. The heavens were adorned in their most splendid robes, like the gorgeous display of an Eastern monarch. A shade was cast over the valleys, and darkness began to gather among the trees, while their tops and branches were still illumined in the sunbeams. The shadows of evening are now gathered around him; the twinkling stars adorn the heavens; but the beauties of hill, vale, waters, trees, and flowers, are departed! How sensibly must he have been affected! He would now conclude that his future time must be spent in darkness; but he looks toward the East, and across the wide expanse of waters he beholds a gleam of light, which leads the eye to some great luminary, rising above the horizon, to cheer the nightly solitude; and, as it mounts to the zenith, new beauties delight the vision of this lonely and astonished inhabitant of the earth. After a short period the moon sinks, the sun rises in the heavens, and the same delightful scenery is exhibited which was beheld the previous day. "We can imagine the effect of novelty in producing admiration; when travellers, who having been toiling for many days or weeks on the burning sands of interminable deserts, come suddenly upon some lovely valley, watered by cooling streams, shaded by groves of trees, and beautified with clusters of flowers. Or, we can fancy the pleasure which would be produced on wayworn voyagers, who had been long toiling on the great deep and they come to some blest isle, ----'Where the voluptuous breeze The peaceful native breathes, at eventide, From nutmeg-groves, and bowers of cinnamon.' To the infant everything is novel, and almost everything is a source of admiration. The people who move to and fro; the walls and furniture of the room; the fire and the candles; the bustle and movement of men and carriages; the heavens, sunshine, and rain. These occasion interest and surprise. Dr. Brown has inquired, 'What metaphysician is there, however subtile and profound in his analytical inquiries, and however successful in the analyses which he has made, who would not give all his past discovery, and all his hopes of future discovery, for the certainty of knowing, with exactness, what every infant feels?" But he would, probably, meet with few who would sacrifice so much for the purpose; and yet the feelings of an infant must be exceedingly interesting.