journeyed one long summer's day to the summit of the most distant
hill, from whence I stretched my eye over many a mile of terra
incognita, and was astonished to find how vast a globe I inhabited.

"This rambling propensity strengthened with my years. Books of voyages
and travels became my passion, and in devouring their contents, I
neglected the regular exercises of the school. How wistfully would
I wander about the pier heads in fine weather, and watch the parting
ships bound to distant climes; with what longing eyes would I gaze
after their lessening sails; and waft myself in imagination to the
ends of the earth.

"Farther reading and thinking, though they brought this vague
inclination into more reasonable bounds, only served to make it more
decided. I visited various parts of my own country; and had I been
merely influenced by a love of fine scenery, I should have felt little
desire to seek elsewhere its gratification; for on no country have
the charms of nature been more prodigally lavished. Her mighty lakes,
like oceans of liquid silver; her mountains, with their bright aërial
tints; her valleys, teeming with wild fertility; her tremendous
cataracts, thundering in their solitudes; her boundless plains, waving
with spontaneous verdure; her broad, deep rivers, rolling in solemn
silence to the ocean; her trackless forests, where vegetation puts
forth all its magnificence; her skies, kindling with the magic of
summer clouds and glorious sunshine:--no, never need an American
look beyond his own country for the sublime and beautiful of natural
scenery."[2]

[Footnote 2: Sketch Book, vol. i.]