their own ashes. So much for flowers--typifying or typified;--leaves
emblematical of pages--buds of binding dew-veils of covers--and the
wafting away of bloom and fragrance like the dissemination of fine
feelings, bright fancies, and winged thoughts!

The flowers are the periodicals of the earth--the stars are those of
heaven. With what unfailing regularity do the Numbers issue forth!
Hesperus and Lucifer! ye are one concern! The pole-star is studied by
all nations. How beautiful the poetry of the moon! On what subject does
not the sun throw light! No fear of hurting your eyes by reading that
fine, clear, large type on that softened page. Lo! as you turn over, one
blue, another yellow, and another green, all, all alike delightful to
the pupil, and dear to him as the very apple of his eye! Yes, the great
Periodical Press of heaven is unceasingly at work--night and day; and
though even it has been taxed, and its emanations confined, still their
circulation is incalculable; nor have we yet heard that Ministers intend
instituting any prosecution against it. It is yet Free, the only free
Power all over the world. 'Tis indeed like the air we breathe--if we
have it not, we die!

Look, then, at all our paper Periodicals with pleasure, for sake of the
flowers and the stars. Suppose them all extinct, and life would be like
a flowerless earth, a starless heaven. We should soon forget the seasons
themselves--the days of the week--and the weeks of the month--and the
months of the year--and the years of the century--and the centuries of
all Time--and all Time itself flowing away on into eternity. The
Periodicals of external nature would soon all lose their meaning, were
there no longer any Periodicals of the soul. These are the lights and
shadows of life, merrily dancing or gravely stealing over the dial;
remembrancers of the past--teachers of the present--prophets of the