out the suggestions of
his own observations. Yonder lies the field, and there is the vineyard
where the grapes grow, collecting and transmitting within themselves
all the elements which float in the air, or repose in the earth; and
more than all, the rolling river sends forth into the fruit an
immeasurable strength and a mysterious fragrance. The growth goes on by
day and night, through sunshine and dewy shade; rain and lightning and
hail do their work, and the plants live on to their maturity. Each
separate plant is at first hardly to be noticed, but it grows to meet
its nature-appointed destiny.

Who can name all the elements which mould and build up a human soul?
Who can say how much of what Eric cherished in Roland has grown and
thriven up to this very hour? And yet this unbroken growth brings the
mysterious result which forms our life.

Roland and Eric were present every morning and evening when the lawns
were sprinkled, and when the shrubs and flowers in tubs and pots were
watered; they helped in the work, and this endeavor to promote growth
seemed to satisfy a thirst in themselves. There was a sense of
beneficence in doing something to help the plants which gave beauty and
freshness to day and night.

"Tell me," Roland once asked timidly, "why are there thorns on a
rose-bush."

"Why?" answered Eric. "Certainly not that we may wound ourselves with
them. The butterfly and the bee do not hurt themselves with the thorns
of the rose nor with the spines of the thistle; they only draw honey
and pollen from the flower-cups. Nature has not adapted herself to the
muscular conformation of man, nor indeed to man at all. Everything
exists for itself, and for us only so far as we know how to use and
enjoy it. But, Roland," he added, as he saw that the boy did not well
understand him, "your question is wrongly put. For what purpose? and
why? these are questions for ourselves, not for the rosebush."

The park and garden blossomed and grew, and everything in its place
waited quietly for the return of its master; in Roland, too, a garden
was planted and carefully tended. And the thought comes, Will the
master of this garden, and will his flowers and fruits, bring comfort
and refreshment to those who live with him on the earth?

The nightingales in the park had grown silent, the intoxicating
sweetness of the blossoms had fled, there was a quiet growth
everywhere.

And while the days, were full of mental activity, in the q