Northern Star, And Warren And Bristol Gazette

BEAUTIES OF NATURE.

Intellectual curiosity is the distinguishing characteristic of man. It is this that stimulates the aspiring youth "to climb the rugged steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar"—which gives birth to all those bright and valuable improvements in the arts and sciences which so nobly adorn civilized life. Aided by these Archimedes could set in frantic sport the Roman fleet; the trembling needle direct the mariner across the pathless ocean; and the immortal press save from the wreck of time the noblest productions of human genius; while the philosopher, disdaining all bounds, traces the very footsteps of Nature, and pursues her to the last seat of her operations. Not content with observing her ordinary conduct, he strives to extort, by incessant interrogation, the innermost secrets of her bosom. Now scrutinizing the inimitable texture of the radiant sunbeam; and now, with daring boldness, stealing the lightning from the clouds.

To the wise observer, every thing affords a theme for the most devout and pleasing contemplation. The falling of an apple; the burning of a taper; and the gentle breeze that shakes the quivering leaf, speak no less instructions to his mind, than the still louder voice that is heard in the furious whirlwind, and the dashing cataract. Every thing about us is life and beauty. Every fragrant gale that blows; every murmuring stream; and every verdant plain, conspire to transport the mind, and cheer the sad and melancholy hours of life. All around is happiness and joy. The cheerful bee that revels upon the flowers, the playful lambs that sport upon the hills, and the myriads of tuneful birds that carol in the grove, manifest their joy in the surrounding scenery. Thus indeed ought to be a happy world.—Nature seems to have lavished her goodness in its creation. But man, ungrateful man! amidst every thing that can please his eye, charm his imagination, or gratify his appetite, alone remains the slave of discontent and misery.

In natural scenery the poet loves to range; here he plucks those delicious flowers which so richly adorn his words; and here the aspiring mind imbibes that restless desire for philosophic research, which knows no bounds but the Universe. The beauties of art may indeed for a time entertain the mind; but they soon become insipid. Familiarity renders them tasteless. The capacious mind, scorned to be confined to the nice contrivances of art, bursts forth into the boundless field of creation, and there contemplates without restraint whatever is "sublimely great or elegantly little," just as it fell from the rough hand of Nature. In vain does art attempt to imitate the bold grandeur of the mountain: in vain does she endeavour to enhance the beauty of the landscape.