I had， beside all this， an earnest desire to see the great men of the earth. We have， it is true， our great men in America： not a city but has an ample share of them. I have mingled among them in my time， and been almost withered by the shade into which they cast me； for there is nothing so baleful to a small man as the shade of a great one， particularly the great man of a city. But I was anxious to see the great men of Europe； for I had read in the works of various philosophers， that all animals degenerated in America， and man among the number. A great man of Europe， thought I， must therefore be as superior to a great man of America， as a peak of the Alps to a highland of Hudson； and in this idea I was conf？irmed， by observing the comparative importance and swelling magnitude of many English travellers among us， who， I was assured， were very little people in their own county. I will visit this land of wonders， thought I， and see the gigantic race from which I am degenerated.
It has been either my good or evil lot to have my roving passion gratif？ied. I have wandered through different countries， and witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. I cannot say that I have studied them with the eye of a philosopher； but rather with the sauntering gaze with which humble lovers of the picturesque stroll from the window of one print-shop to another； caught sometimes by the delineations of beauty， sometimes by the distortions of caricature， and some times by the loveliness of landscape. As it is the fashion for modern tourists to travel， pencil in hand， and bring home their portfolios f？illed with sketches， I am disposed to get up a few for the entertainment of my friends. When， however， I look over the hints and memorandums I have taken down for the purpose， my heart almost fails me at f？inding how my idle humor has led me aside from the great objects studied by every regular traveler who would make a book. I fear I shall give equal disappointment with an unlucky landscape painter， who had traveled on the continent， but， following the bent of his vagrant inclination， had sketched in nooks， and corners， and by-places. His sketch-book was accordingly crowded with cottages， and landscapes， and obscure ruins； but he neglected to paint St. Peter’s， or the Colosseum the cascade of Terni， or the bay of Naples； and had not a single glacier or volcano in his whole collection.