God never made a solitary man: ’Twould jar the concord of his general plan. Should man through nature solitary roam, His will his sovereign, every where his home, What force would guard him from the lion’s jaw? What swiftness save him from the panther’s paw? Or should fate lead him to some safer shore, Where panthers never prowl, nor lions roar, Where liberal nature all her charms bestows, Suns shine, birds sing, flowers bloom, and water flows, Still discontented, though such glories shone He’d sigh and murmur to be there alone. Content cannot be procured, except by social intercourse, or a judicious communion with those whom congenial tastes, and similar talent and dispositions, point out for our companions. The civilization of man, from whence the species derive such happy consequences, results entirely from a proper management of the _social principles_; even the source of his support, the melioration of the otherwise rude and unprofitable earth, can only be attained by social combination. How erroneous a notion, therefore, must the minds of those men have formed of “their being’s end and aim,” and how strong must their antipathies to the species be, who like a certain celebrated French hermit, would choose a station among the craters of Vesuvius, as a place which afforded them greater security than the society of mankind! The idea of being able to produce our own happiness from the stores of amusement and delight which we ourselves may possess, independently of all communication with, or assistance from others, is certainly extremely flattering to the natural pride of man; but even if this were possible, and that a solitary enthusiast could work up his feelings to a higher and more lasting degree of felicity, than an active inhabitant of the world, amid all its seducing vices and enchanting follies, is capable of enjoying, it would not follow that society is not the province of all those whom peculiar circumstances have not unfitted for its duties and enjoyments. It is, indeed, a false and deceitful notion, that a purer stream of happiness is to be found in the delightful bowers of solitude than in the busy walks of men. Neither of these stations enjoy exclusively this envied stream: for it flows along the vale of peace, which lies between the two extremes; and those who follow it with a steady pace, without deviating too widely from its brink on either side, will reach its source, and taste it at its spring. But devious, to a certain degree, must be the walk; for the enjoyments of life are best attained by being varied with judgment and discretion. The finest joys grow nauseous to the taste when the cup of pleasure is drained to its dregs. The highest delight loses its attraction by too frequent recurrence. It is only by a proper mixture and combination of the pleasures of society with those of solitude, of the gay and lively recreations of the world with the serene