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298 SKETCHES.
vainly. They have changed much. There is now snow on
my locks, the hot winds have become cool, I feel the fan-
ning of another spring-air from other regions, and I thank
God for it.
My window looks again out upon a square, but a differ-
ent one to that of thirty years ago. I see less of the street
and more of the sky. Iam living one story higher up.
Again I am alone, quite alone in my homie, but yet less
lonely than ever, and my desire for activity that was so in-
tense thirty years ago has been more than fulfilled, for I
have more to do than I can really manage. J expect no
visitor, and long for none. But there are visitors which are
still dear to me, and heartily welcome. Amongst these is
the sun, which about noon usually peeps into my window.
In the evening I have his last ray, for my room lies towards
that point where he sets. Across a great number of house-
tops Ilook forth upon fir-crowned hills on the horizon, and
see in the green valleys between them small white rural
cottages, and on the heights seven windmills, swinging
round their wings and grinding a great deal of corn.
When I open my window, I feel coming from those hills a
fresh country air, as delightful as if it had not crossed the
town and square to reach me. This is a great enjoyment
indeed.
I love to stand in my window morning and evening for
a short time; in the morning to contemplate the wondrous
beauty of the changing colors of early dawn ; to behold the
sun’s first, brilliant rays falling upon the windows of the
cottages amongst the hills; to see the active life of the
market-place under my windows awake and become astir ;
in the evening, to see it die away and cease, and to catch
the, last farewell looks of the sun sinking behind the hills.
Occasionally also during the day I amuse myself by looking
at the market-place and its bustle and trade.
But that which is the object of my contemplation, what
I enjoy, what I receive within me as a bright image, ora
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