I look at a painting: it represents an old man, a child, a woman giving alms, and a soldier, whose attitude expresses astonishment. I admire the fidelity, the truth and coloring of the picture; and my eye is intensely gratified. But remaining ignorant of the subject, I go away, and the whole shortly vanishes from my memory. I see it again; and am now struck with the inscription at the bottom, ‘_Date obolum Belisario_.’ I remember an interesting passage of history. A crowd of moral images throng upon my spirit: I soften to tenderness; and I comprehend the affecting lesson, which the artist is giving me. I review the painting, again and again; and thrill at the view of the blind warrior, and of the child holding out his helmet to receive alms. When we travel, those points of view in the landscape which long fix our eye, are those which awaken ideas of innocence and peace; affecting the heart with associations connected with the morning of our life; or ideas of that power and immensity, which move and elevate the soul. The paintings of nature, as well as those of men, are thus capable of being embellished by moral associations. In travelling, I perceive a delightful isle embosomed in a peaceful lake. While I contemplate it, with the simple pleasure excited by a charming landscape, I am told that it is inhabited by a happy pair, who were long crossed and separated; but who wore out the persevering opposition of fortune; and are now living there in the innocence and peace of the first tenants of paradise. How different an interest the landscape now assumes! I behold the happy pair, without care or regret, sheltered from jealous observation, enjoying the dream of their happy love, gratefully contemplating the Author of the beautiful nature around them, and elevating their love and their hearts, as a sacrifice to HIM. Sites, which, in themselves, have no peculiar charm, become most beautiful as soon as they awaken touching remembrances. Suppose yourself cast by misfortune on the care of a stranger in a strange land. He attempts to dispel your dejection, and says, ‘these countries are hospitable, and nature here puts forth all her opulence; come, and enjoy it with us.’ The gay landscapes, which spread before you, all assume the appearance of strangers; and offer no attractions. But while your eye traverses the scenery with indifference, you see blue hills melting into the distant horizon. No person remarks them, but yourself. They resemble the mountains of your own country, the scenes upon which your infant view first rested. You turn away to conceal the new emotions, and your eyes are filling with tears. You continue to gaze fondly on those hills, dear to memory. In the midst of a rich landscape, they are all that interests you. You return to review them every day, and demand of them their treasured remembrances and illusions,--the dearest pleasures of your exile.[39]