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of death, whither he must come at last, with a wealthy and powerful name! See, too, how he gathers tribute as he passes – how smaller minds bear homage unto his, and are content to obey his impulses, and run with him in a mingled stream! See, too, how by his well-acquired wealth he increases the wealth of others — how by the judicious distribution of his capital, he affords employment, and consequent profit, to thousands. Thus we have seen our Thames: here he is a little child at play, crawling timidly about, and ignorant of his own strength; by and by, he becomes able to walk alone, as at Lechlade, where he is first navigable. Still gaining strength, and increasing in stature, he becomes like a boy, lingering in quiet nooks, and in woody places, and leading a happy life of it. Next we have him at Oxford, a youth at College — his mind filled with reminiscences of antiquity, and assuming a classical name which does not belong to him, half for frolic and half for ambition. Next, emancipated from college, we have him turning courtier at Windsor — dallying in the consciousness of his youthful grace to gain a smile from royalty, and push his fortune in the world by means of royal favour. This he soon discovers is an idle fancy; and his good sense tells him to trust to
his own strength for success, and to make himself useful to the world at large, and not a mere hangeron at a palace. He therefore quits the court, and deepening as he journeys on; his mind expands, as it were, while his physical strength increases. He now makes himself a reputation — his character is known over the world — he becomes concerned in mercantile speculations, in which he is universally successful, and so full of probity, that traders from all parts of the world give him unlimited credit. They would as soon believe any monstrous improbability, as his failure or bankruptcy. Now he is rich indeed; and his house (which may be called all London) becomes the mart of the world, and thousands of merchant princes attend every day at his levee. He spreads wealth wherever he goes; and a whole population live by him. This is his prime of life — his busy period; and he goes on full of years and honour, till he is swallowed up in the dark ocean of death!
THE TRANSPLANTED FLOWER.
Oh ! lone and languid flower, thou art taken from
the glen, In a gay parterre thou bloomest, thou art watch'd by
careful men, Bright sunbeams shine above thee, fair roses smile
around, Yet thou droopest in the garden — it is not thy
Thus oft are human flowers by officious hands
removed, From shades of calm seclusion, from scenes and
friends beloved, In gilded halls, and proud saloons, amid the great
they roam, Yet they languish in their triumph for their dear and
From this sad and simple story a moral we may
trace, God gives to man and floweret a safe appointed
place; And the blossoms of the vale, and the lowly ones of
earth Ever flourish best and fairest in the sphere that gave them birth.
THERE is a fire-fly in the southern clime,
An idler is a watch that wants both hands,
The phenomena of light and vision have always been held to constitute a most interesting branch of natural science; whether in regard to the beauty of light or its utility. The beauty is seen spread over a varied landscape — among the beds of the flowergardens — on the spangled meads — in the plumage of birds — in the clouds around the rising and setting sun — in the circles of the rainbow. And the utility may be judged of by the reflection, that had man been compelled to supply his wants by groping in utter and unchangeable darkness, even if originally created with all the knowledge now existing in the world, he could scarcely have secured his existence for one day. Indeed, the earth without light would have been an unfit abode even for grubs, generated and living always amidst their food. Eternal night would have been universal death. Light, then, while the beauteous garb of nature, clothing the garden