of grass and fresh leaves,--never had the beauty of the sky over the
trees, and the serene might of noble tree contours, so deeply
affected my senses and all my being; and the pleasure I felt in that
silence, broken only by faintest tinkling sounds, was at once of
the senses and of the soul.

I sat down in the shade of the roadside under a clump of young oaks.
And there I made a promise to myself not to die, or at least not
to consent to die, before I should be again able to sit down under
and oak, where--in the great peace of the open country--I could
meditate on the nature of the soul and the ultimate destiny of man.
A bee, whose brown breast-plate gleamed in the sun like armour of
old gold, came to light upon a mallow-flower close by me--darkly
rich in colour, and fully opened upon its tufted stalk. It was
certainly not the first time I had witnessed so common an incident;
but it was the first time that I had watched it with such
comprehensive and friendly curiosity. I could discern that there
were all sorts of sympathies between the insect and the flower--a
thousand singular little relationships which I had never before even
suspected.

Satiated with nectar, the insect rose and buzzed away in a straight
line, while I lifted myself up as best I could, and readjusted myself
upon my legs.

"Adieu!" I said to the flower and to the bee. "Adieu! Heaven grant
I may live long enough to discover the secret of your harmonies. I
am very tired. But man is so made that he can only find relaxation
from one kind of labour by taking up another. The flowers and
insects will give me that relaxation, with God's will, after my