i8o THE LIFE OF THE BEE 



rounded lime-trees and the grass of the homely graveyard, 

 that faces its native ocean. They are fitly erecting their 

 monument of life underneath the monuments of their dead, 

 who made the same gestures, and still are with them. Take 

 in the whole picture. There are no special, characteristic 

 features such as we find in England, Provence, or Holland. 

 It is the presentment, large and ordinary enough to be 

 symbolic, of a natural and happy life. Observe how 

 rhythmic human existence becomes in its useful moments. 

 Look at the man who is leading the horses, at that other 

 who throws up the sheaves on his fork, at the women 

 bending over the corn, and the children at play. . . . They 

 have not displaced a stone, or removed a spadeful of earth, 

 to add to the beauty of the scenery ; nor do they take one 

 step, plant a tree or a flower, that is not necessary. All 

 that we see is merely the involuntary result of the effort 

 that man puts forth to subsist for a moment in Nature ; 

 and yet those among us whose desire is only to create or 

 imagine spectacles of peace, deep thoughtfulness, or beatitude, 

 have been able to find no scene more perfect than this, which 

 indeed they paint or describe whenever they seek to present 

 us with a picture of beauty or happiness. Here we have 

 the first semblance, which some will call the truth. 



94 



" Let us draw nearer. Can you distinguish the song 

 that blended so well with the whispering of the leaves ? 

 It is made up of abuse and insult ; and when laughter 

 bursts forth it is due to an obscene remark some man or 



