THE PINE WOOD. 73 



contained in those signs ! It was thought a wonderful 

 thing when at last the strange inscriptions of Assyria 

 were read, made of nail-headed characters whose sound 

 was lost ; it was thought a triumph when the yet older 

 hieroglyphics of Egypt were compelled to give up their 

 messages, and the world hoped that we should know 

 the secrets of life. That hope was disappointed; there 

 was nothing in the records but superstition and useless 

 ritual. But here we go back to the beginning; the 

 antiquity of Egypt is nothing to the age of these 

 signs — they date from unfathomable time. In them 

 the sun has written his commands, and the wind 

 inscribed deep thought. They were before superstition 

 began; they were composed in the old, old world, 

 when the Immortals walked on earth. They have 

 been handed down thousands upon thousands of years 

 to tell us that to-day we are still in the presence of 

 the heavenly visitants, if only we will give up the 

 soul to these pure influences. The language in which 

 they are written has no alphabet, and cannot be 

 reduced to order. It can only be understood by the 

 heart and spirit. Look down into this foxglove bell 

 and you will know that; look long and lovingly at 

 this blue butterfly's underwing, and a feeling will 

 rise to your consciousness. 



Some time passed, but the butterfly did not move ; 

 a touch presently disturbed him, and flutter, flutter 

 went his blue wings, only for a few seconds, to another 

 grass-stalk, and so on from grass-stalk to grass-stalk 

 as compelled, a yard flight at most. He would not 

 go farther ; he settled as if it had been night. There 

 was no sunshine, and under the clouds he had no 



