Morning after morning, of late, I have taken my walk in the same
direction, my purpose being to look at a plantation of young larches.
There is no lovelier colour on earth than that in which they are now
clad; it seems to refresh as well as gladden my eyes, and its influence
sinks deep into my heart. Too soon it will change; already I think the
first radiant verdure has begun to pass into summer's soberness. The
larch has its moment of unmatched beauty--and well for him whose chance
permits him to enjoy it, spring after spring.

Could anything be more wonderful than the fact that here am I, day by
day, not only at leisure to walk forth and gaze at the larches, but
blessed with the tranquillity of mind needful for such enjoyment? On any
morning of spring sunshine, how many mortals find themselves so much at
peace that they are able to give themselves wholly to delight in the
glory of heaven and of earth? Is it the case with one man in every fifty
thousand? Consider what extraordinary kindness of fate must tend upon
one, that not a care, not a preoccupation, should interfere with his
contemplative thought for five or six days successively! So rooted in
the human mind (and so reasonably rooted) is the belief in an Envious
Power, that I ask myself whether I shall not have to pay, by some
disaster, for this period of sacred calm. For a week or so I have been
one of a small number, chosen out of the whole human race by fate's
supreme benediction. It may be that this comes to every one in turn; to
most, it can only be once in a lifetime, and so briefly. That my own lot
seems so much better than that of ordinary men, sometimes makes me
fearful.