50 



THE AQUAEIUM, JULY, 1896. 



receive those impressions which he 

 feels, to share the train of reflection 

 that comes crowding on his mind, as 

 the affinities of objects lead his ideas 

 to wander from the leafiness of tlie 

 temperate to the exuberant foliage of 

 the torrid zone. We approach a 

 woodland. How inspiriting are the 

 odors that breathe from the upland 

 turf ; from the rock-hung flower ; from 

 the hoary and solemn pine. Deep, and 

 dark, and still are the shadows of the 

 surrounding trees and bushes. The 

 green leaves seem to infuse into our 

 hearts a portion of their happiness as 

 they " cla]) their hands in glee,'' and 

 the joyous birds make melody all 

 around. Here let us pause and gather 

 a single blade of grass and examine for 

 a minute, quietly, its narrow, sword- 

 shaped strip of fluted green. Ruskin 

 says of this, nothing, as it seems there 

 of goodness and beauty. A very little 

 strength, and a very little tallness, and 

 a few delicate long lines meeting in a 

 point ; not a perfect j^oint either, but 

 blunt and unfinished ; by no means a 

 creditable or apparently much cared for 

 examjile of Nature's workmanship, 

 made, as it seems, only to be trodden on 

 to-day, and to-morrow to be " cast 

 into the oven." And yet, think of it 

 well ; and judge whether of all the 

 gorgeous flowers that beam in summer 

 air, and of all strong and goodly trees, 

 pleasant to the eyes, or yielding fruit ; 

 stately palm and pine ; strong ash and 

 oak ; scented citron or burdened 

 vine, there be any by man so deeply 

 loved, by God so highly graced, as that 

 narrow point of feeble grass. And well 

 does it fulfill its mission. Consider 

 what we owe merely to the meadow 

 grass, to the covering of the dark 

 ground by that glorious enamel, by the 

 companies of those soft and countless 



and peaceful spears. The fields ! Fol- 

 low forth but for a little time the 

 thoughts of all that we ought to recog- 

 nize in those words. All spring and 

 summer is in them ; the walks by silent 

 paths, the rests in noonday heat ; the 

 joy of herds and flocks, the sunlight 

 falling in emerald streaks and soft blue 

 shadows, where else it would have 

 struck upon the dark mould or scorch- 

 ing dust ; pastures beside the babbling 

 brooks ; soft banks and knolls of hills, 

 thymy slopes of down, overlooked by 

 the blue line of the distant sea ; crisp 

 lawns, all dim with early dew, or 

 smooth in evening warmth of sunshine; 

 all these are summed up in the simple 

 words, the fields ! 



AVhatever course our thoughts may 

 take, we must remember there is no 

 plant, however humble, no flower or 

 weed that springeth from the earth, 

 but is an organized and living mystery. 

 The secrets of the abyss are not more 

 inscrutable than the work that is 

 wrought in its hidden germ. The 

 goings on of the heavens are not more 

 incomprehensible than the growth of a 

 simple plant as it waves in the summer 

 breeze. The functions that constitute 

 its growth, flower, and fruit, the organs 

 and affinities by which every part re- 

 ceives the material that answers its 

 purpose, who can unfold or explain 

 them ? As the fruit of one year 

 falls the seed of centuries of growth is 

 sown. By the mechanism of nature, 

 the stocking of the earth with every 

 kind of growth, from the oak of a thou- 

 sand years to the weed of a day, is 

 carried on. The acorn falls in moist 

 earth and is trodden in by man or 

 beast to become an oak in course of 

 years, whose timber may resound to 

 and tremble under the roar of warfare 

 on the ocean ; berries are carried by 



