OE, PLAIN TEACHING. 



31 



(aves), and especially the genus 

 of birds of paradise^ Paradiseidce, 

 14, so beautiful and fairy-like 

 that they were believed by the 

 ancients to pass their whole ex- 

 istence sailing in the air, the 

 dew of heaven being their only 

 food! And also the interesting 

 class insecta, insects,15, including 



179. 



the beautiful lepidopterous (but- 

 terfly) tribes. 



The atmosphere is the purifier, 

 and promoter of health. Its winds 

 sweep over the surface of the 

 earth, and bear away the un- 

 healthy gases and vapours that 

 would be detrimental to life if 

 allowed to accumulate. It forces 

 its way into the walls, crevices, 

 and drains of our houses, enters 

 our rooms, visits every recess 

 and corner of them, and sweeps 

 , out imperceptible accumulations 

 that would otherwise surround 

 us with poisonous air; it scat- 

 ters the seeds of plants, and 

 gives variety and increase to ve- 

 getable productions. It feeds 

 every leaf, flower, and tree, and 

 is the chief element of life to 

 every living creature upon the 

 face of the earth. 



I 



"WORDS AND WINDS. 



" Woeds are like Summer wind, 



When sweetly spoken, 

 That unto drooping fllowrets bring 

 Refreshing dew-drops scattering. 

 Yet not like winds, for kind words dwell 

 Deep in the heart's most sacred cell 



And part from memory never. 

 The winds but breathe o'er each fair flower, 

 Or kiss them with a fragrant shower, 



And then are gone for ever. 



** Words are like Autumn's wind, 



When harshly spoken, 

 Whose heightened power upon the plain 

 Whirls far the leaves that yet remain. 

 Yet not so keen the wild wind blows, 

 As wordathat wound the heart's repose, 



And cause the tear to flow. 

 The summer leaves will bloom again— 

 Uot so the heart ; its griefs remain, 



Deep hid from outwari show. 



" Words are like Winter's wind, 



When breathed in wrath, 

 Which in its fury o'er the wild 

 Bends the tough oak, the forest-child. 

 Yet the fell storm hath not such power, 

 As anger speaks in passion's hour, 



Nor gives more lasting woe. 

 The whirlwind past, the dread is o'er, 

 The bark hopes soon to gain the shore, 

 Where silent waters flow. 



" Words are like Spring's sweet wind, 

 When whispering Hope, 

 Whose young breath revels o'er the fields, 

 Till the glad earth its treasure yields. 

 And yet not so— for words thus spoken 

 Will cheer the spirit, e'en when broken, 



And give it joys to cherish. 

 The winds but woo the flowers gay, 

 Then bear their incense far away, 



And leave their form's to periah I" 



