with sobs and cries of agony, red-hot demagogues fumed and foamed, drums beat, trumpets sounded, gay music, to cast a false sweetness on death, was played through day and night, heroes were made, poets wrote stanzas and immortalised themselves, the whole world was in convulsion. It touched us not. Our sympathies, desires, and aspirations were centred in our own little world. The stone walls which surrounded the estate upon which our house and cottage were built were eight feet in height. Our servants performed their duties almost noiselessly; our gardener was deaf and dumb. These conditions of existence could not have been accidental; they must have been carefully planned and considered. For what reason? We were rich enough to pay for colour and variety, and yet they were not allowed to enter our lives. We were thrown entirely upon ourselves and our own narrow resources.

I cannot truthfully say that I was unhappy during those years. We can scarcely miss that to which we are not accustomed, and I have learned since that the world is too full of wants for happiness. My passion for books grew more profound and engrossing; I grew passionately endeared to solitude. There were some fine woods near our house, and I was in the habit of wandering in them by day and night. If in the daylight I heard the sound of voices, or was made aware of the proximity of human creatures, I wandered in the opposite direction. It was known that I frequented the woods by day, but my nocturnal ramblings were secretly indulged in. Even my father was not aware that the nights which should have been devoted to repose were spent in the open. When all in the house were sleeping, I would steal out and wander for hours in darkness, which had no terrors for me. Shadows took comprehensive shapes--comprehensive to me, but perhaps not to all men--and that some were weird and monstrous, like nothing that moved and lived upon the sunlit earth, suited my mood and nature. I did not ask myself whether they were or were not creatures of my imagination. I accepted them without question, and I humoured and made sport of them; spoke to them, taunted them; dared them to action; asked them their mission; and walked among them fearlessly. I loved the supernatural in book and fancy, and on rare occasions, when I was in a state of spiritual exaltation, a vague belief would steal upon me that I should one day possess the power of piercing the veil which shuts off the unseen from mortal eyes. In winter the snow-robed trees, standing like white sentinels in a white eternal night, possessed for me an irresistible fascination. I saw wondrous scenes and pictures. The woods were filled with myriad eyes, gleaming with love, with hate, with joy, with despair; 

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