Even those who have climbed the lofty mountain tops, and found themselves lost amidst the clouds, who have been rocked upon the bosom of the heaving ocean, and seen it when the elements held terrible contest, when the howling winds lashed its waves to wild frenzy, when the sheeted lightnings played upon its surface, and the deep, heavy peals of thunder reverberated through the heaven’s vast concave, and those, too, who have traversed the broad prairie, that far as the eye can reach, stretches out in wavy undulations, who have heard the eternal thunder of the cataract, as its waters plunge madly into the abyss below, who have wandered amidst orange bowers and spicy groves, and as Pollock expresses it, “have mused on ruins grey with years, and drank from old and fabulous wells, and plucked the vine that first born prophets plucked; and mused on famous tombs, and on the waves of ocean mused, and on the desert waste:  the heavens and earth of every country, seen where’er the old inspiring Genii dwelt, aught that could rouse, expand, refine the soul,” even such would fail to do justice to the glowing theme.

What renders the pleasure that nature confers doubly valuable, is, that it is free for all.  The poor as well as the rich participate in its enjoyment.  The sun dispenses its genial light and warmth as generously upon the beggar, who seeks his daily bread from door to door, as upon the crowned monarch.  The bird carols as sweet a lay for the toil-worn peasant, who labors from morn till night, to gain a scanty subsistence, as for the titled nobleman, who rolls along in his gilded chariot.  The little ragged sunburnt child of poverty may pluck the wayside flowers with as much freedom as the child of wealth, who is nurtured upon the lap of luxury and ease.  The cool summer breeze, laden with grateful perfume, fans the hot brow of the slave, weary and fainting beneath his task, as freely as it does that of his pompous and lordly master.  Our souls seem to be united by a bond of sympathy, with the inanimate objects of creation.  There are many poor beings who are obliged to toil from early dawn far into the hours of night, to obtain bread for themselves and those who are dearer to them than life, and who have never been instructed, even in the first rudiments of science.  Yet, are they conscious of possessing bright gems of thought, which they find it impossible to detach from the dust and rubbish and cobwebs of ignorance, with which their minds are filled.  There are many such, who, bound down by the grinding hand of oppression, which would, if it were possible, crush out all aspirations of the mind for something higher, nobler, more exalted in the scale of being, are obliged to suppress that longing of the soul that will at times arise to explore the mysterious labyrinths of knowledge, yet, even such, can hold sweet communion with the works of creation.  The great volume of nature lies open before them, and though, in studying its pages, they often make wild mistakes, yet they fear no ridicule.