105 
CHILDREN AND FLOWERS. 
And our only reason for recurring with such a 
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 ? u 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 
