apostolic head. His wife, who wore a large black
taffety cap, pale and thoughtful, gave me a similar
impression.

little leaded windows of the chalet, awoke distant
recollections in my mind, like those paintings of
Albert Durer, the mere sight of which carries us
back to the life of faith and patriarchal manners of
the fifteenth century. The long smoky rafters of the
kitchen, the deal tables, the ash-wood chairs, the
backs of which had a heart carved upon them, the
pewter mugs, the dresser covered with fiower-be-
decked plates and dishes, the figure of our Saviour
on ebony inlaid with boxwood, and the old worm-
eaten clock with its porcelain face completed the
illusion.

“But a much more touching face was that of
their daughter, little Reesel. I fancy I can still
see her, with her stiff cap and its long watered
ribbons, her slender waist encircled with a broad
blue sash falling over her knees, her little white
hands crossed in an attitude of abstract thought,
her long fair hair ;—this light airy grace,—yes, I
see Reesel sitting in the leather arm-chair, against
the blue curtain of the alcove, smiling softly, listen-
ing and thinking.

“Since my arrival her sweet face had made a
deep impression on me, and I asked myself the
reason of her suffering and melancholy expression.
Why was her lovely white brow always downward
bent ? Why did she never raise hereyes? Alas!
the poor child was blind from her birth.

“ Never had she seen the vast expanse of the
lake, that blue sheet which blends so harmoniously
with the sky, the fishers’ boats which furrow it,
the wooded heights which overhang it, and are
reflected shimmering in its waves ; nor the moss-
grown rocks, nor those alpine plants so green, so
bright, so glorious in colouring; nor the sun setting
behind the glaciers, nor the long evening shadows
in the valley, nor the golden brooms, nor the end-
less heather-clad hills,—nothing! She had seen
nothing of that which we saw every day through
the windows of the chalet.

“What a bitter sad irony! I said to myself,
looking through the little round panes—darting
a glance through the mist and forecasting the re-
appearance of the sun—what a keen irony of fate!
To be blind here! in the presence of this sublime
nature, of this limitless grandeur ! to be blind!...
Oh, my God, who can judge Thy impenetrable de-
crees ! Who can dispute the justice of Thy severity,
even when it weighs heavily upon the innocent ?
But to be sightless in the presence of Thy grandest
works! What crime can the poor child have com-
mitted to deserve such rigour ?

« And I pondered over these things.

“T also asked myself what compensation divine

| ee ee ee

merey could grant to the creature after having
deprived it of one of its greatest blessings. And

| finding none, I doubted its power.
“These two outlines, standing out against the |

“* The presumptuous man,’ said the poet-king,
‘dares to boast of his knowledge and to judge the
Lord! But his wisdom is but folly, and his light
darkness.’

“That very day a great mystery of nature was
to be revealed to me, no doubt to humble my pride,
and to teach me that with God nothing is impos-
sible ; that it is for Him alone to multiply our
senses, and to gratify those which please Him.”

Here the young professor took a small pinch
from his tortoise-shell snuff-box, which he delicately
inhaled with his left nostril, his eyes lifted thought-
fully to the ceiling ; then after a few seconds, he
continued thus :—

“Has it never happened to you, my dear ladies,
when you are enjoying the country in the fine sum-
mer days—more especially after a passing storm,
when the moist air, the white mists, the thousand
perfumes of the flowers penetrate and infuse you
with fresh life; when the foliage of long, lonely
lanes, overhanging boughs and bushes inclines to-
wards you, as if to surround and embrace you ;
when the little flowers, the Easter daisies, the
forget-me-nots, the convolvuluses in the shade of
the hedges, on the green turf, and the mosses on
the pathway raise their little heads and follow you
with a long, long look,—have you never felt an in-
expressible languor, have you never sighed with-
out any apparent cause, even shed tears, and asked
yourselves, ‘My God, my God, whence comes it
that so much love thrills through me?
my knees tremble beneath me ?

“Whence arises all this, ladies ?
the life, from the love of the thousand spiritual
beings which surround you, which call to you,
which put forth their hands to detain you, murmur-
ing softly, ‘I love thee! I love thee!
do not leave us !

“Tt comes from those thousand little hands,
those many sighs and looks, those kisses of the air,
the leaves, the zephyrs, the sun-light, from all this
vast creation, this universal life, this manifold in-

finite spirit which pervades the sky, the earth, and |

the waves.
“Ladies, that was the reason why you trembled,

sighed, and sat down by the side of the path, your |

head bent, sobbing, and not knowing how to disbur-
den yourself of this overflow of feeling which sprang
from your heart.
deep emotion.

“ But now, imagine the concentrated enthusiasm, |
the religious feeling of one who should be always |

in such a state. Were he blind, deaf, wretched,
forsaken by all, do you think he would have any
cause to envy us? Do you not think that his lot

Stay! oh! |

THE QUEEN OF THE BEES. 89

Why do_
Why do I weep ?’ |
Why from |

Yes, that was the cause of your