Thou who dost through th' eternal round of time, To frame a world, who cannot frame a clod? BENJAMIN STILLINGFLEET. The almost imperceptible gradation in the chain of universal being, from the highest to the lowest link, from man to the worm or vegetable, is a subject of wonder and delight to every thinking mind. The following extract from Soame Jenyns points out, with clearness and elegance, how this mysterious connection exists. "The manner by which the consummate wisdom of the divine Artificer has formed this gradation, so extensive in the whole, and so imperceptible in its parts, is this:-he constantly unites the highest degree of the qualities of each inferior order to the lowest degree of the same qualities, belonging to the order next above it; by which means, like the colours of a skilful painter, they are so blended together, and shaded off into each other, that no line of distinction is anywhere to be seen. Thus, for instance, solidity, extension, and gravity, the qualities of mere matter, being united with the lowest degree of vegetation, compose a stone; from whence this vegetative power ascending through an infinite variety of herbs, flowers, plants, and trees, to its greatest perfection in the sensitive plant, joins there the lowest degree of animal life in the shell-fish, which adheres to the rock; and it is difficult to distinguish which possesses the greater share, as the one shows it only by shrinking from the finger, and the other by opening to receive the water which surrounds it. In the same manner this animal life rises from this low beginning in the shell-fish, through innumerable species of insects, fishes, birds, and beasts, to the confines of reason, where, in the dog, the monkey, and chimpanze, it unites so closely with the lowest degree of that quality in man, that they cannot easily be distinguished from each other. From this lowest degree in the brutal Hottentot, reason, with the assistance of learning and science, advances through the various stages of human understanding, which rise above each other, till in a Bacon or a Newton it attains the summit." WEEDS. How many plants, we call them Weeds, Against our wishes grow, And scatter wide their various seeds With all the winds that blow. Man grumbles when he sees them rise, Kind Providence this way supplies Scatter'd and small, they 'scape our eye, But are not wasted there; Safe they in clefts and furrows lie, The little birds find where. SATURDAY MAGAZINE. WRITTEN IN THE FLY-LEAF OF AN OLD EDITION OF ISAAC 66 WALTON'S COMPLETE ANGLER. As fondly these discoloured leaves I turn, Out steal, methinks, sweet breathings of the may, And flower-embroidered fields, and new-mown hay; And sound of oaten pipe, and trotting burn, And lark and milkmaid's song. Among the fern Nestling, o'ershadowed by a pollard beech, Lessons I learnt the schools can never teach, THE SNOWDROP. DARK winter freezes, and in storm It nodding hangs, fair ev'n as light, The rose may blush in summer-dew, Say, is it not a drop of snow At virgin Flora's will to show Or does it bloom to let us see Sweet flower, O may we learn, like thee To blossom, in the storm. REV. J. RICHARDSON. The Snowdrop, Galanthus nivalis, presents its modest milk-white corolla to our notice early in February. The French give it the name of Perce-neige, because it often pierces the snow. Mrs. Barbauld thus beautifully alludes to it : Already now the Snowdrop dares appear, Had chang'd an icicle into a flower, Its name and hue the scentless plant retains, ON A FLOWER OPENING TO THE SUN. SWEET flower behold the rising sun,— When thou dost ope thine eye; What gentle voice or whisper soft, What secret power impels thy leaf Astonish'd now, I stand and view- The flower, I thought, would droop and die, Thus conscious in my opening mind, Of my more glorious sun; My hopes revive, my spirits rise, But when the evening shades return, My spirit droops again : Nor men, nor angels, all combin'd, Could here relieve my burden'd mind, Or ease me of my pain. SUSANNA WILSON. THE BROOM. OH! the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, I had rather see the bonny broom, I never thought so small a thing As a flower my nerveless heart could wring, It minds one of my native hills, Clad in the heath and fen; Of the green strath and the flowery brae, Of humble faith on bended knees, It minds me of that blessed home, MARY HOWITT. |