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