shawl of lilac barege (it was the period of the shawl) sprinkled with
tiny bouquets of violets. Her dark curls (the poor beloved curls to-day,
alas! so thin and white) were at this time without a gray hair. There
was about her the fragrance of the May day, and her face as it looked
that morning with its broad brimmed hat is still distinctly present with
me. Besides the bouquet of pink hyacinths, she had brought me a tiny
watering-pot, an exact imitation in miniature of the crockery ones so
much used by the country people.

As she leaned over my bed to embrace me I felt as if every wish was
gratified. I no longer had a desire to weep, nor to rise from my bed,
nor to go out. She was with me and that sufficed--I was consoled,
tranquillized, and re-created by her gracious presence.

I was, I think, a little more than three years old at this time, and my
mother must have been about forty-two years of age; but I had not the
least notion of age in regard to her, and it had never occurred to me
to wonder whether she was young or old; nor did I realize until a later
time that she was beautiful. No, at this period that she was her own
dear self was enough; to me she was in face and form a person so apart
and so unique that I would not have dreamed of comparing her with
any one else. From her whole being there emanated such a joyousness,
security and tenderness, and so much goodness that from thence was born
my understanding of faith and prayer.

I would that I could speak hallowed words to the first blessed form
that I find in the book of memory. I would it were possible that I could
greet my mother with words filled with the meaning I wish to convey.
They are words which cause bountiful tears to flow, but tears fraught
with I know not how much of the sweetness of consolation and joy, words
that are ever, and in spite of everything, filled with the hope of an
immortal reunion.

And since I have touched upon this mystery that has had such an
influence upon my soul, I will here set down that my mother alone is the
only person in the world of whom I have the feeling that death cannot
separate me. With other human beings, those whom I have loved with all
my heart and soul, I have tried to imagine a hereafter, a to-morrow
in which there shall be no to-morrow; but no, I cannot! Rather I have
always had a horrible consciousness of our nothingness--dust to dust,
ashes to ashes. Because of my mother alone have I been able to keep
int