, Cinderella, the stable
at Bethlehem where the Christ-Child lay in the manger beside the oxen
and asses, the angels who appeared to the shepherds singing "Glory to
God in the Highest," the three kings and the star which led them to the
Christ-Child, are firmly impressed on his memory. I don't know how young
I was when I saw the first picture of the kings in their purple robes
kneeling before the babe in its mother's lap, but its forms and hues
were indelibly stamped upon my mental vision, and I never forgot its
meaning. True, I had no special thoughts concerning it; nay, I scarcely
wondered to see kings in the dust before a child, and now, when I hear
the summons of the purest and noblest of Beings, "Suffer little children
to come unto me," and understand the sacred simplicity of a child's
heart, it no longer awakens surprise.

CHAPTER IV. THE JOURNEY TO HOLLAND TO ATTEND THE GOLDEN WEDDING.

The rattle of wheels and the blast of the postilion's horn closed the
first period of my childhood. When I was four years old we went to my
mother's home to attend my grandparents' golden wedding. If I wished to
describe the journey in its regular order I should be forced to depend
upon the statements of others. So little of all which grown people
deem worth seeing and noting in Belgium, Holland, and on the Rhine has
remained in my memory, that I cannot help smiling when I hear people
say that they intend to take children travelling for their amusement and
instruction. In our case we were put in the carriage because my mother
would not leave us behind, and wanted to give our grandparents pleasure
by our presence. She was right, but in spite of my inborn love of travel
the month we spent on the journey seemed a period of very uncomfortable
restlessness. A child realizes only a single detail of beauty--a flower,
a radiant star, a human face. Any individual recollection of the journey
to Holland, aside from what has been told me, is getting into the
travelling carriage, a little green leather Bajazzo dressed in red and
white given to me by a relative, and the box of candies bestowed to take
on the trip by a friend of my mother.

Of our reception in the Belgian capital at the house of Adolphe Jones,
the husband of my aunt Henriette, a sister of my mother, I retain many
recollections.

Our pleasant host was a painter of animals, whom I afterward saw sharing
his friend Verboeckhoven's studio, and whose flocks of sheep were very