hour with the long penitence of after time." The love of Nature, again,
helps us greatly to keep ourselves free from those mean and petty cares
which interfere so much with calm and peace of mind. It turns "every
ordinary walk into a morning or evening sacrifice," and brightens life
until it becomes almost like a fairy tale.

In the romances of the Middle Ages we read of knights who loved, and
were loved by, Nature spirits,--of Sir Launfal and the Fairy Tryamour,
who furnished him with many good things, including a magic purse, in
which

As oft as thou puttest thy hand therein
A mark of gold thou shalt iwinne,

as well as protection from the main dangers of life. Such times have
passed away, but better ones have come. It is not now merely the few,
who are so favoured. All those who love Nature she loves in return, and
will richly reward, not perhaps with the good things, as they are
commonly called, but with the best things, of this world; not with money
and titles, horses and carriages, but with bright and happy thoughts,
contentment and peace of mind.

Happy indeed is the naturalist: to him the seasons come round like old
friends; to him the birds sing: as he walks along, the flowers stretch
out from the hedges, or look up from the ground, and as each year fades
away, he looks back on a fresh store of happy memories.

Though we can never "remount the river of our years," he who loves
Nature is always young. But what is the love of Nature? Some seem to
think they show a love of flowers by gathering them. How often one finds
a bunch of withered blossoms on the roadside, plucked only to be thrown
away! Is this love of Nature? It is, on the contrary, a wicked waste,
for a waste of beauty is almost the worst waste of all.

If we could imagine a day prolonged for a lifetime, or nearly so, and
that sunrise and sunset were rare events which happened but a few times
to each of us, we should certainly be entranced by the beauty of the
morning and evening tints. The golden rays of the morning are a fortune
in themselves, but we too often overlook the loveliness of Nature,
because it is constantly before us. For "the senseless folk," says King
Alfred,

is far more struck
At things it seldom sees.

"Well," says Cicero, "did Aristotle observe, 'If there were men whose
habitations had been always underground, in great and commodious houses,
adorned with statues and pictures, furnished with everything