e myself.
North and south, east and west, in the water and in the skies all is
mystery which I am trying every moment to penetrate. As to myself I know
nothing. Reflection, melancholy introspection, that sweet disease of
youth, from which it is so difficult to escape, have not yet found me.
There is as yet little consciousness of any thing beyond external and
material things save a faint incommunicable magic which hangs like a
veil over the bounds of a small farm. From those bounds my feet will not
disengage me. On very still days I hear sounds far away and feel
something within me that wishes to follow them, does indeed follow over
a great space and leaves my body behind. As I hang far over the rail of
the bridge I see my face in the water and become absorbed in its
distorted reflections. I amuse myself exaggerating them by various
grimaces, swelling out and drawing in my fat cheeks. I dare the image to
battle with my little fists; it accepts the challenge and returns blow
for blow.

The hither side of the bridge became more and more familiar, the farther
side more and more desired. I knew the road to the school-house and to
our three neighbors, all of whom I was accustomed to address as uncles
and aunts. There was a fourth neighbor and nearer, yet there was a
distance of some social kind. They were spoken of as Captain and
Mistress Barber. To this house, a great Colonial mansion, with windows
as large as those of the meeting-house, I was often sent on errands. No
matter how often, I could not deliver my message, or note or borrowed
salt without the greatest confusion. I felt my breath give way,
something fill my throat. It was the words I was told to say over and
over, repeated all the way until I was too full for utterance. Mistress
Barber looked down upon me with her long white face and was able to
guess the purpose of the boy's mission through his stammering and
embarrassment. In her gentle, affable voice, as I now recall it, I
recognise the tone of a lady. She would inquire when the errand was done
if the little boy would like an apple or a cake. The question was too
difficult; so she gave him both. As I turned away I passed under the
great pine tree standing a little way from the mansion. It stood alone
and it still stands two centuries old, in ample space and in consequence
has grown symmetrical in form and luxuriant with foliage. It had
realised the promise of its youth, a fate which happens to few trees in
a