CHILDRE 
ADI/ FLOWERS. 
93 
frail mortality, exclaim, with the Prince of Den¬ 
mark,—“ What a piece of work is man ! How 
noble in reason ! How infinite in faculties ! 
in form and moving, how express and admirable ! 
in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, 
how like a god ! the beauty of the world ! the 
paragon of animals !” 
But we are wandering from the path of our 
subject, and must crave the reader’s indulgence 
while we retrace our steps, premising however, 
that it will not be the last time, by many, that 
we shall have occasion to do the like, being as 
one who walketh in a pleasant garden, where 
each fresh object holds out a greater temptation 
than the last, to make us pause and examine its 
beauties, until we become fairly confused by 
admiration, and dazzled with excess of light. 
“A mother kind walks forth in the even, 
She, with her little son,- for pleasure given 
To tread the fringed banks of hn amorous flood. 
That with its music courts a sylvan wood} 
There ever talking to her only bliss, 
That now before, and now behind her is, 
She stoops for flowers, the choicest, may be had, 
And bringing them to please her little lad, 
