unsubstantial matter of
divine beings.

It was pleasant in my afternoon rambles to see my form projected over
places where I could not follow; on the other shore of a stream and
along stony fields good for nothing but a crop of shadows. Thus by my
shadow I triumphed over space, and when it came to a vanishing point, I
imagined it still extending itself to some neighbor's door or into the
next town. My eyes could not follow it nor my feet; yet something in me
accompanied it and gave me a sense of magic power. An unconscious
feeling for beauty in things of earth began to draw me away from houses
and children and to make me lonely. I found playthings I could not carry
in my pocket. These have remained with me all my life. The path we leave
behind us is the one we oftenest tread. One little brook still flows
through my heart. I feel it, I hear its smothered ripple, not meant for
hearing, and I smell its meadowy fragrance.

I treated matter with the perfect frankness and credulity which passes
away with childhood; and she rewarded me with visions and illusions that
are withheld from self-guarded and discreet manhood. I knew not then
that shadows were the scoffing synonym for all unsubstantial vanities
and day-dreams, or that other mystic conception that substance itself is
but the shadow and reflection of the power which created it, or that
light itself is but the adumbration of God. How good it is that the
child is ignorant of so many things. It leaves room for the existence
and growth of a mind, of an imagination which, in time, shall lead
rather than follow the processes of reason; which shall leap before it
looks, conscious of prescience before proof, arriving on wings while the
shoestrings are being tied. Blessed are the ignorance, the beliefs and
the innocency of the country boy. For if he can maintain a remnant of
these into maturity the world will be more beautiful; he will idealize
his friends and lovers, and never be conquered by the untoward
circumstances and events of his life. The child is a plant that blossoms
first at the root underground, like the fringed polygala, and only after
a free and natural nurture, again blossoms at the top with the same
color, the same modest beauty. Let the child pursue shadows and believe
them real; let him discover their unreality and suffer defeats; but he
shall not know when he is defeated, for still other shadows shall allure
him to the end of his days. The pursuit, not the