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My father made no reproach in his letters and only took notice of

my silence by inquiring into my occupations more particularly

than before. Winter, spring, and summer passed away during my

labours; but I did not watch the blossom or the expanding

leaves-sights which before always yielded me supreme delight-so

deeply was I engrossed in my occupation. The leaves of that year

had withered before my work drew near to a close, and now every

day showed me more plainly how well I had succeeded. But my

enthusiasm was checked by my anxiety, and I appeared rather like

one doomed by slavery to toil in the mines, or any other

unwholesome trade than an artist occupied by his favourite

employment. Every night I was oppressed by a slow fever, and I

became nervous to a most painful degree; the fall of a leaf

startled me, and I shunned my fellow creatures as if I had been

guilty of a crime.