“‘What an ironical commentary on the gifts of Fortune!’ thought I, as I sat looking out of the window at the mist, in expectation of the sun’s appearing once more, ’to be blind in this place! here in presence of Nature in its sublimest form, of such limitless grandeur!  To be blind!  Oh, Almighty God, who shall dare to dispute Thy impenetrable decrees, or who shall venture to murmur at the severity of Thy justice, even when its weight falls on an innocent child?  But to be thus blind in the presence of Thy grandest creations, of creations which ceaselessly renew our enthusiasm, our love, and our adoration for Thy genius, Thy power, and Thy goodness; of what crime can this poor child have been guilty thus to deserve Thy chastisement?’

“And my reflections continually reverted to this topic.

“I asked myself, too, what compensation Divine pity could make its creature for the deprival of its greatest blessing, and, finding none, I began to doubt its power.

“‘Man, in his presumption,’ said the royal poet, ’dares to glorify himself in his knowledge, and judge the Eternal.  But his wisdom is but folly, and his light darkness.’

“Oh that day one of Nature’s great mysteries was revealed to me, doubtless with the purpose of humbling my vanity, and of teaching me that nothing is impossible to God, and that it is in His power only to multiply our senses, and by so doing gratify those who please Him.”

Here the young professor took a pinch from his tortoiseshell snuff-box, raised his eyes to the ceiling with a contemplative air, and then, after a short pause, continued in these terms:—­

“Does it not often happen to you, ladies, when you are in the country in fine weather in summer, especially after a brief storm, when the air is warm, and the exhalations from the ground filling it with the perfume of thousands of plants, and their sweet scent penetrates and warms you; when the foliage from the trees in the solitary avenues, as well as from the bushes, seems to lean over you as if it sought to take you in its arms and embrace you; when the minutest flowers, the humble daisy, the blue forget-me-not, the convolvulus in the hedgerows raise their heads and follow you with a longing look—­does it not happen to you to experience an inexpressible sensation of languor, to sigh for no apparent reason, and even to feel inclined to shed tears, and to ask yourselves, ’Why does this feeling of love oppress me? why do my knees bend under me? whence these tears?’

“Whence indeed, ladies?  Why from life, and the thousands of living things which surround you, lean to you, and call to you to stay with them, while they gently murmur, ‘We love you; love us, and do not leave us.’

“You can easily imagine, then, the deep enthusiastic feeling and the religious sentiment of a person always in a similar state of ecstasy.  Even if blind, abandoned by his friends, do you think there is nothing to envy in his lot? or that his destiny is not infinitely happier than our own?  For my own part I have not the slightest doubt of it.