What its shell is to the tortoise, solitude has become to me--my protection; nay, my life!" "But," said Walter, "with us, at least, you would not have to dread restraint; you might come when you would; be silent or converse, according to your will." Aram smiled faintly, but made no immediate reply.
"So, you have been angling!" he said, after a short pause, and as if willing to change the thread of conversation.

"Fie! It is a treacherous pursuit; it encourages man's worst propensities--cruelty and deceit." "I should have thought a lover of Nature would have been more indulgent to a pastime which introduces us to her most quiet retreats." "And cannot Nature alone tempt you without need of such allurements?
What! that crisped and winding stream, with flowers on its very tide--the water-violet and the water-lily--these silent brakes--the cool of the gathering evening--the still and luxuriance of the universal life around you; are not these enough of themselves to tempt you forth?
if not, go to--your excuse is hypocrisy." "I am used to these scenes," replied Walter; "I am weary of the thoughts they produce in me, and long for any diversion or excitement." "Ay, ay, young man! The mind is restless at your age--have a care.
Perhaps you long to visit the world--to quit these obscure haunts which you are fatigued in admiring ?" "It may be so," said Walter, with a slight sigh.

"I should at least like to visit our great capital, and note the contrast; I should come back, I imagine, with a greater zest to these scenes." Aram laughed.

"My friend," said he, "when men have once plunged into the great sea of human toil and passion, they soon wash away all love and zest for innocent enjoyments.

What once was a soft retirement, will become the most intolerable monotony; the gaming of social existence--the feverish and desperate chances of honour and wealth, upon which the men of cities set their hearts, render all pursuits less exciting, utterly insipid and dull.