CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 105 



And our only reason for recurring with such tr 

 tenderness to the scenes and pleasures of by- 

 gone times, is that we are ever dissatisfied with 

 our present lot, and inclined to murmur at the 

 decrees of Providence. But, oh, this is a vain 

 philosophy ! Reason may preach and moralize 

 after this fashion, but Feeling denies the 

 truth of the inference drawn. The very cir- 

 cumstance of our forgetfulness with regard to 

 the griefs and troubles of childhood, proves their 

 trifling and easily effaceable nature. Is it so 

 with the cares and anxieties of maturity ? 

 Where is the favoured mortal who, if his bosom 

 were laid bare, would not exhibit traces of 

 wounds, many freshly bleeding, and scars too 

 deep ever to be effaced ? " The many ills to 

 which the flesh is heir," when do they come 

 most thickly upon us ? not in the early days ! 

 not in the spring of life ! but in the summer, 

 and the autumn, and the winter ; 'tis then the 

 desolating tempest sweeps over the landscape, 

 and we behold the buds of hope, and the full- 

 blown flowers of joy, alike withered, scattered, 

 and destroyed. This, it may be said, is a 



