THE GLORIES OF NATURE. 13 



monotonous cry of the grasshopper, -when one sees nothing 

 stirring abi oad but the lizards. The nights are cool, sweet, 





TUB ZaZA&D. 



and fiagraut; the flowering trees are filled with nightingales, 

 exhaling perfumes and celestial melody j and the grass is 

 brilliant with the glow-worms gliding about with their violet 

 flames. 



You will in this manner, describe to me some far-off 

 country J / will thus delineate what my garden affords. The 

 seasons, as they pass away, are climates which travel round 

 the globe, and come to seek me. Your long voyages are 

 nothing but &tiguing visits, which you go to pay to the 

 seasons which would themselves have come to you. 



But there is still another land, a delightful country, which 

 would in vain be sought for on the waves of the sea, or 

 across the lofty mountains. In that coimtry, the flowers not 

 only exhale sweet perfumes, but intoxicating thoughts of 

 love. There every tree, every "plant breathes, in a language 

 more noble than poetry, and more sweet than music, things 

 of which no human tongue can give an idea. The sand of 

 the roads is gold and precious stones; the air is filled with 

 songs, compared to which those of the nightingales and 

 thrushes, which I now listen to, are no better than the 

 croaking of frogs in their reedy marshes. Man in that land 

 is good, great, noble, and generous. 



