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THE LIGHT. 



passion. I trembled at his song. He bent liis head behind him, 

 his swollen bosom; never singer or poet enjoyed so simple an ecstasy. 

 It was not love, however (the season was past), it was clearly the 

 glory of the day which raptured him — the charm of the gentle sun ! 



"Barbarous is the science, the hard pride, which disparages to 

 such an extent animated nature, and raises so impassable a barrier 

 between man and his inferior brothers ! 



" With tears I said to him : ' Poor child of light, which thou 

 reflectest in thy song, truly thou hast good cause to hymn it ! Night, 

 replete with snares and dangers for thee, too closely resembles death. 

 Would that thou mightst see the light of the morrow ! ' Tlien, passing 

 in spirit from his destiny to that of all living beings which, since the 

 dim profundities of creation, have so slowly risen to the day, I said, 

 like Goethe and the little bird : ' Light, light, Lord, more light ! ' " 

 — (MiCHELET, The People, p. 62, edit. 1846.) 



The world of fishes is the world of silence. Men say, "Dumb as 

 a fish." 



The world of insects is the world of night. They are all light- 

 shunners. Even those, which, like the bee, labour during the day- 

 time, prefer the shades of obscurity. 



The world of birds is the world of light — of song. 



All of them live in the sun, fill themselves with it, or are inspired 

 Ijy it. Those of the South carry its reflected radiance on their wings ; 

 those of our colder climates in their songs; many of them follow it 

 from land to land. 



"See," says St. John, " how at morning time they hail the rising 



