The
drawing-room paper was of a pattern which consisted of bunches of
red and white roses, and I saw several bees at different times fly
up to these bunches and try them, under the impression that they
were real flowers; having tried one bunch, they tried the next, and
the next, and the next, till they reached the one that was nearest the
ceiling, then they went down bunch by bunch as they had ascended, till
they were stopped by the back of the sofa; on this they ascended bunch
by bunch to the ceiling again; and so on, and so on till I was tired
of watching them. As I thought of the family prayers being repeated
night and morning, week by week, month by month, and year by year, I
could not help thinking how like it was to the way in which the bees
went up the wall and down the wall, bunch by bunch, without ever
suspecting that so many of the associated ideas could be present,
and yet the main idea be wanting hopelessly, and for ever.
When Theobald had finished reading we all knelt down and the Carlo
Dolci and the Sassoferrato looked down upon a sea of upturned backs,
as we buried our faces in our chairs. I noted that Theobald prayed
that we might be made "truly honest and conscientious" in all our
dealings, and smiled at the introduction of the "truly.
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