al conceit. The spirit of nature and the spirit of
the age are a pair of idols which you philosophers have manufactured
for yourselves. There is no such thing as nature, and there is no such
thing as an age; and even if there were both, you cannot predicate
spirit of either of them."

Eric was deeply struck by this apparently combative and violently
aggressive manner of speaking; and yet more so, when Sonnenkamp now
leaned over suddenly, and said:--

"The real man to educate would be he who was able to train men as these
trees are trained: for some immediate end, with no superfluous trash
and no roundabout methods. What they call nature is a fable. There is
no nature, or at least only an infinitesimal particle. With us human
beings everything is habit, education, tradition. There's no such thing
as nature."

"That is something new to me," Eric said, when he was at last able to
put in a word. "The gentlemen of tradition call us men of science
deniers of God, but a denier of nature I have never until now become
acquainted with, and never have even heard him mentioned. You are
joking."

"Well, yes, I am joking," said Sonnenkamp, bitterly.

And Eric, who seemed to himself to be utterly bewildered, added in a
low tone:--

"Perhaps it may be said that those who derive the laws of our life from
revelation deny nature, or rather they do not deny her, but disregard
her."

"I am not a learned man, and, above all, I am no theologian,"
Sonnenkamp abruptly broke in. "All is fate. Damage is done by worms in
the forest; there stands near us an oak-tree clean eaten up by them,
and there stands another all untouched. Why is this? No one knows. And
look here at these trees. I have watched what they call the economy of
nature, and here a thousand life-germs perish in order that one may
thrive; and it is just the same in human life."

"I understand," Eric said. "All the things that survive have an
aristocratic element wholly different from those things that perish;
the blossom that unfolds itself to the perfect fruit is rich, the
blighted one is poor. Do I rightly apprehend your meaning?"

"In part," Sonnenkamp replied, somewhat weary. "I would only say to you
that I have done looking for the man, for I despair of finding him, who
could train my son, so that he would be fitted in the most direct way
for his position in life."

For some time the two walked together through the marvellously-blooming
garden, where the bees were