great elm-branches
temper so delightfully the noontide rays beating upon them? And, when
the hour of rest was over, should I spring to my feet as then I did,
eager to put forth my strength again? No, no; what I remember is just
one moment of my earlier life, linked by accident with that picture of
the Suffolk landscape. The place no longer exists; it never existed save
for me. For it is the mind which creates the world about us, and, even
though we stand side by side in the same meadow, my eyes will never see
what is beheld by yours, my heart will never stir to the emotions with
which yours is touched.

XI.

I awoke a little after four o'clock. There was sunlight upon the blind,
that pure gold of the earliest beam which always makes me think of
Dante's angels. I had slept unusually well, without a dream, and felt
the blessing of rest through all my frame; my head was clear, my pulse
beat temperately. And, when I had lain thus for a few minutes, asking
myself what book I should reach from the shelf that hangs near my pillow,
there came upon me a desire to rise and go forth into the early morning.
On the moment I bestirred myself. The drawing up of the blind, the
opening of the window, only increased my zeal, and I was soon in the
garden, then out in the road, walking light-heartedly I cared not
whither.

How long is it since I went forth at the hour of summer sunrise? It is
one of the greatest pleasures, physical and mental, that any man in
moderate health can grant himself; yet hardly once in a year do mood and
circumstance combine to put it within one's reach. The habit of lying in
bed hours after broad daylight is strange enough, if one thinks of it; a
habit entirely evil; one of the most foolish changes made by modern
system in the healthier life of the old time. But that my energies are
not equal to such great innovation, I would begin going to bed at sunset
and rising with the beam of day; ten to one, it would vastly improve my
health, and undoubtedly it would add to the pleasures of my existence.

When travelling, I have now and then watched the sunrise, and always with
an exultation unlike anything produced in me by other aspects of nature.
I remember daybreak on the Mediterranean; the shapes of islands growing
in hue after hue of tenderest light, until they floated amid a sea of
glory. And among the mountains--that crowning height, one moment a cold
pallor, the next soft-glowing under the t