A Sabbath in the Open 25 



have not hurried too much, will presently be 

 humming all over their spadixes with pollen- 

 scattering flowers, for there is sound in this work 

 of reproduction, though our ears be not finely 

 enough attuned to distinguish it. Our yet im 

 perfect senses miss a hundred shades and hues 

 and tints of colour, which artists are ever striving 

 to discover and fix on canvas ; they cannot see 

 light where multitudes of living things of so- 

 called lower orders do see light and go about 

 their businesses ; they cannot catch the myriad 

 overtones even of the musical instruments we 

 make, no one of which, not even the subtle violin, 

 ever registered the infinite delicacies and refine 

 ments of tone that vibrate to the spiritual sense ; 

 they cannot hear the corn grow, though they hear 

 the waters trickle and the frosts whisper ; and 

 even the movements of the ants in the ground, 

 the beetles in the bark, the larvae in the wood, 

 are only heard by a few whose trained ears have 

 reached a neater touch of hearing. 



We live in a world of sense and manifestation 

 scarce apprehended, and for many of its phenom 

 ena we are less finely organized than the trivial 

 creatures which we regard not. Man is the lord 

 of creation, but while he assumes this rank with 

 great conceit, he knows little of his lordship, and 

 less of his subjects. The few that study life and 



