sound, the symmetry of architecture, the delights of eloquence, and the charms of poetry? The fragrant flower, the whitening harvest, the umbrageous grove, the solemn mountain, the mighty cataract, are they not all teachers, or text-books in the hands of the Great Teacher?
Err they not, therefore, who consider a taste for the charms of Nature, a waste of time? The railroad machinery of a jarring world, bridging its abysses, and tunneling the rocks of political ambition, her steamboats rushing to the thousand marts of wealth, silence with their roaring funnels, its still, small voice. But let it be heard by those who meditate at eventide when the rose closes its sweet lips, and the tired babe is lulled on the breast of its mother. Let it be a companion to those, who in the morning prime walk forth amid the dewy fields, loving the beauty of the lily, which Omnipotence stooped to clothe, and from whose bosom, as from a scroll of Heaven, the Redeemer of man taught listening multitudes, the lesson of a living faith.
