fellow-creature
suffering from these sad limitations, and yet to be conscious of being
in the presence of so perfectly contented and cheerful a spirit.
Before we parted, he wrote on his pad that he was working hard. "I am
trying to write a little book; of course I know that I can never see
it, but I should like to tell people that it is possible to live a life
like mine, and to be full of happiness; that God sends me abundance of
joy, so that I can say with truth that I am happier now than ever I was
in the old days. Such peace and joy, with so many to love me; so
little that I can do for others, except to speak of the marvellous
goodness of God, and of the beautiful thoughts he gives me." "Yes, he
has written some chapters," said the faithful wife; "but he does not
want any one to see them till they are done."

I shall never forget the sight of the two as we went away: he stood,
smiling and waving his hand, under an apple-tree in full bloom, with
the sun shining on the flowers. It gave me the sense of a pure and
simple content such as I have rarely experienced. The beauty and
strength of the picture have dwelt with me ever since, showing me that
a soul can be thus shut up in what would seem to be so dark a prison,
with the windows, through which most of us look upon the world, closed
and shuttered; and yet not only not losing the joy of life, but seeming
to taste it in fullest measure. If one could but accept thus one's own
limitations, viewing them not as sources of pleasure closed, but as
opening the door more wide to what remains; the very simplicity and
rarity of the perceptions that are left, gaining in depth and quality
from their isolation. But beyond all this lies that well-spring of
inner joy, which seems to be withheld from so many of us. Is it indeed
withheld? Is it conferred upon this poor soul simply as a tender
compensation? Can we not by quiet passivity, rather than by resolute
effort, learn the secret of it? I believe myself that the source is
there in many hearts, but that we visit it too rarely, and forget it in
the multitude of little cares and businesses, which seem so important,
so absorbing. It is like a hidden treasure, which we go so far abroad
to seek, and for which we endure much weariness of wandering; while all
the while it is buried in our own garden-ground; we have paced to and
fro above it many times, never dreaming that the bright thing lay
beneath our feet, and within reach