We frequently find that when two persons are placed in the same situation, one will find much to enjoy while the other will not, and simply because one has the love of Nature in his heart, and the other has not. One person, living in the midst of the most beautiful natural scenery, is not charmed by anything he sees on the earth or in the sky. To him all Nature is like an empty barnyard, in which there is nothing to inspire him with a noble thought or stir him with a generous emotion. Another person living in the same vicinity sees much in his surroundings to admire and to enjoy. He looks at the sunset glows with delight; he sees beauty in the grass, and glory in the flowers; he sees with admiration and awe the storm-clouds, black and terrible, rushing together like veritable war-horses, or piling themselves up like mountains, reverberating with the artillery of heaven and tongued with fire; wherever he looks nearly every prospect pleases; and to him Nature, like the Scriptures, is new every morning and new every night. Such a person is more likely to be a better neighbor, a better citizen, and a better Christian than one who has not the love of Nature in his heart. Ruskin says: "The love of Nature is an invariable sign of goodness of heart and justice of moral perception; that in proportion to the degree in which it is felt, will probably be the degree in which all nobleness and beauty of character will also be felt; that when it is absent from any mind, that mind in many other respects is hard, worldly, and degraded." The love of Nature has ever been characteristic of the greatest and the noblest minds. To Wordsworth the meanest flower that blows gave him thoughts too deep for tears; and to Christ the lily of the field was more beautifully arrayed than Solomon in all his glory. Likewise we often find that two travellers will pass together over the same route, and one will see much to admire and to enjoy by the way, and the other will see nothing to admire or to enjoy. The one who has an observing eye, and enjoys beautiful and grand natural scenery, sees in every nook and corner by the way some lovely flower or comely shrub to admire, and, like Wordsworth,—
"Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze,
He sees the golden daffodils."
And he not only enjoys the present sight, but he enjoys the scene as often as he thinks of it afterwards, as in imagination he views the scene over and over again,—
"For oft when on his couch he lies
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon the inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then his heart with pleasure fills,