when it is the rainy season.  Thus must God, in an infinitely greater degree, have the same knowledge of the whole created globes of His universe, as of our earth and the human race here.  He must know when that development, that flowering in the human race ordained by Himself, shall come to pass; when the powers of intellect, of full development, are to reign; and under these characters, come to a maturity of development, men will become mighty, driving wheels—­every one be the eternal God’s likeness indeed.

History shows us these things:  joint enters into joint, in the world of spirits, as well as in the materially created world; the eye of wisdom—­the all-seeing eye—­encompasses the whole!  And should we then not be able, in our heart’s distress, to pray to this Father with confidence—­to pray as the Saviour prayed:  “If it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt.”

These last words we do not forget! and our prayer will be granted, if it be for our good; or if it be not, then let us, as the child here, that in its trouble comes to its earthly Father, and does not get its wish fulfilled, but is refreshed by mild words, and the affectionate language of reason, so that the eye weeps, which thereby mitigates sorrow, and the child’s pain is soothed.  This, will prayer also grant us:  the eye will be filled with tears, but the heart will be full of consolation!  And who has penetrated so deeply into the ways of the soul, that he dare deny that prayer is the wings that bear thee to that sphere of inspiration whence God will extend to thee the olive-branch of help and grace?

By walking with open eyes in the path of knowledge, we see the glory of the Annunciation.  The wisdom of generations is but a span on the high pillar of revelation, above which sits the Almighty; but this short span will grow through eternity, in faith and with faith.  Knowledge is like a chemical test that pronounces the gold pure!

IN THE FOREST

* * * * *

We are a long way over the elv.  We have left the corn-fields behind, and have just come into the forest, where we halt at that small inn, which is ornamented over the doors and windows with green branches for the Midsummer festival.  The whole kitchen is hung round with branches of birch and the berries of the mountain-ash:  the oat-cakes hang on long poles under the ceiling; the berries are suspended above the head of the old woman who is just scouring her brass kettle bright.

The tap-room, where the peasant sits and carouse, is just as finely hung round with green.  Midsummer raises its leafy arbour everywhere, yet it is most flush in the forest—­it extends for miles around.  Our road goes for miles through that forest, without seeing a house, or the possibility of meeting travellers, driving, riding or walking.  Come!  The ostler puts fresh horses to the carriage;