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102 CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 



trees ? For our part, we think that the life of 

 an idiot, is one of perpetual childhood ; that he 

 is gifted with a double portion of simple and 

 innocent enjoyments, to compensate for the loss 

 of those which result from a right employment 

 of man's intellectual and moral powers : Oh, 

 tell us not that the idiot is deprived of a share 

 in the " poetry of existence !" Is he not the 

 companion of the bird, and the bee, and the 

 butterfly ? Does he not lie about in the green 

 meads, basking in the sunshine ? Does he not 

 plait rushes by the streamlet's brim, and talk to 

 his own image reflected on its glassy surface ? 

 Does he not hide him in flo\\ery nooks and 

 dingles, laughing like a very incarnation of 

 gladness, and murmuring snatches of sweet old 

 ballads ? Even in his melancholy moods, 

 save during those periods when he is possessed 

 by fears, the more terrible from their vague- 

 ness and they are not generally of long dura- 

 tion, his state seems to be that of passive en- 

 joyment. 



And who shall say that he is unhappy ? 

 The tears he shed flow not from disappointment 



