Now, speaking in grave, deliberate terms, what _do_ we mean by contentment? For my part, I cannot tell, precisely. But that particular prospect, to use the old figure, which is set before me, and becomes my future, is, Heaven knows, sufficiently cheerless and uninteresting. And yet, if I were asked to exchange it for any other in the world, I should be compelled to answer, _no_. Still, I am far from being contented. Not but that the present is well enough, because it receives its character from the future; but with the future itself I am dissatisfied. Dreary as my circumstances are, I would not alter them, nor the past; I would not undo any thing that has been done; but show me some road by which I can regain the position which I once occupied, or by which I can gain another position which I desire, and I despise the past and present, and am contented. That is to say, contentment has respect mainly to the future. This is a bungling and circuitous way of coming at a simple idea; but this truth explains to my mind some things concerning happiness; and among the rest, how it is that this beautiful young woman can be contented, perfectly satisfied, with her lot, in these forests. And how it is (which I have often wondered at) that men whose views are bounded by the limits of their own farm, can be as happy as those who take in at one glance a whole kingdom. And a blessed thing it is, much as those of the latter class may be disposed to sneer, that a few small objects, to the eye accustomed to look at them, can grow into sufficient magnitude and importance to become _the_ objects of life. And I would ask these scorners if they are not afraid that some higher class still will scorn _them_ too? for their pursuits and means of happiness, though large in their own eyes, may be as small to the sight of some being whose glance takes in the world, as the poor man's is to theirs. I am sure I don't know, if I could have my choice, whose lot I would prefer. But I am no sneerer, my gentle hostess. If I could, I would contract my roving vision and desires; like yourself, make my most desired object of attainment, _comfort_, and rustic health; confine my thoughts to my own neighborhood; study and fall in love with Nature; grow wise in that wisdom which is from within--and be happy. I have been _trying_ to do so; but there is something in me that rebels. It cannot be, and I must go restlessly and sorrowfully wandering on. And when I am gone, and you forget the wayfarer, he will not forget you, nor the heart-felt benediction, 'May it remain with you forever!' which he leaves with your household. ODE TO BEAUTY. 'A THING OF BEAUTY IS A JOY FOR EVER.'--KEATS.