s bend under the weight of thine infant thoughts, like snowdrops
burdened with the dew of night?

* * * * *

And when thy pale cheek floods with sudden crimson, and, tossing back
thy golden curls, thou gazest sadly into the depths of the sky--tell me,
infant, what seest thou there, and with whom holdest thou communion? For
then the light and subtile wrinkles weave their living mesh across thy
spotless brow, like silken threads untwining by an unseen power from
viewless coils, and thine eyes sparkle, freighted with mystic meanings,
which none are able to interpret! Then thy grandam calls in vain,
'George, George!' and weeps, for thou heedest her not, and she fears
thou dost not love her! Friends and relations then appeal to thee in
vain, for thou seemest not to hear or know them! Thy father is silent
and looks sad; tears fill his anxious eyes, falling coldly back into his
troubled heart.

* * * * *

The physician comes, puts his finger on thy pulse, counts its changeful
beats, and says thy nerves are out of order.

Thy old godfather brings thee sugarplums, strokes thy pale cheeks, and
tells thee thou must be a statesman in thy native land.

The professor passes his hand over thy broad brow, and declares thou
will have talent for the abstract sciences.

The beggar, whom thou never passest without casting a coin in his
tattered hat, promises thee a beautiful wife, and a heavenly crown.

The soldier, raising thee high in the air, declares thou wilt yet be a
great general.

The wandering gypsy looks into thy tender face, traces the lines upon
thy little hand, but will not tell their hidden meaning; she gazes sadly
on thee, and then sighing turns away; she says nothing, and refuses to
take the proffered coin.

The magnetizer makes his passes over thee, presses his fingers on thine
eyes, and circles thy face, but mutters suddenly an oath, for he is
himself growing sleepy; he feels like kneeling down before thee, as
before a holy image. Then thou growest angry, and stampest with thy tiny
feet; and when thy father comes, thou seemest to him a little Lucifer;
and in his picture of the Day of Judgment, he paints thee thus among the
infant demons, the young spirits of evil.

* * * * *

Meanwhile thou growest apace, becoming ever more and more beautiful, not
in the childish beauty of rose bloom and snow, but in the loveliness o