om their depths.

I came forth from the darkness of unconsciousness very gradually, for my
mind was illumined only fitfully, but then by outbursts of splendor
that compelled and fascinated my infant gaze. When the light was
extinguished, I lapsed once more into the non-consciousness of the
new-born animal, of the tiny plant just germinating.

The history of my earliest years is that of a child much indulged
and petted to whom nothing of moment happened; and into whose narrow,
protected life no jarring came that was not foreseen, and the shock of
which was not deadened with solicitous care. In my manners I was always
very tractable and submissive. That I may not make my recital tedious,
I will note without continuity and without the proper transitions those
moments which are impressed upon my mind because of their strangeness,
those moments that are still so vividly remembered, although I have
forgotten many poignant sorrows, many lands, adventures, and places.

I was at that time like a fledgling swallow living high up in a niche in
the eaves, who from time to time peeps out over the top of its nest with
its little bright eyes. With the eyes of imagination it sees into the
deeps of space, although to the actual vision only a courtyard and
street are visible; and it sees into depths which it will presently need
to journey through. It was during such moments of clairvoyance that I
had a vision of the infinity of which before my present life I was a
part. Then, in spite of myself, my consciousness flagged, and for days
together I lived the tranquil, subconscious life of early childhood.

At first my mind, altogether unimpressed and undeveloped, may be
compared to a photographer's apparatus fitted with its sensitized glass.
Objects insufficiently lighted up make no impression upon the virgin
plates; but when a vivid splendor falls upon them, and when they
are encircled by disks of light, these once dim objects now engrave
themselves upon the glass. My first recollections are of bright summer
days and sparkling noon times,--or more truly, are recollections of the
light of wood fires burning with great ruddy flames.

CHAPTER II.

As if it were yesterday I recall the evening when I suddenly discovered
that I could run and jump; and I remember that I was intoxicated by the
delicious sensation almost to the point of falling.

This must have been at about the commencement of my second winter. At
the sad hour of twi