22 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



bumble-bees have a hot reception for whatever 

 tackles them a hen's gullet being no exception 

 for the receipt of such reception. 



what atoms we are as we wander on and 

 on over the surface of this great sphere, think- 

 ing we control it, when in truth we only live 

 and sin and agonize and die upon its outer rim ! 

 No one of us, did we live a thousand years and 

 travel every day, could see in detail a millionth 

 part of its surface, or become acquainted with 

 more than an infinitesimal part of the workings 

 of nature's forces when in action. We think 

 we live. We only exist. A little matter, dom- 

 inated and led here and there for a little time 

 by a little energy, we are but as a drop to the 

 sea, but as a cubic inch in that infinite space 

 which stretches on and on beyond our ken. 



And two there were whose childhood days 

 were spent together, free from care and with 

 ambition's banner pointing to the skies, each 

 with a great soul longing which never was or 

 never will be satisfied. And one did wander 

 far in search of fame, did tread the Afric sands 

 beneath his feet the Alaskan ice at times with- 

 in his view. The world was his and opened 

 here and there her secrets to his gaze. The 

 other, pent up between four walls, did watch 

 for years, long years, the sun rise and set and 

 make his arc across the same area. Ah fate, 

 which guideth all, which leadeth all how 



