stamp.

But how did I obtain these, you ask? My mother, with her sense and
discernment, would not have placed such books in my hands; and you are
right. My grandmother was an inveterate novel-reader, but very careful
that her books fell into no other hands; so that the only means of
satisfying my taste for romantic reading was by stealth. Although novels
were proscribed, no other books were placed in my hands; there were then
scarcely any children's books published, and consumed as I was by an
inordinate passion for reading, was determined to indulge it without
being very particular about the means. How often have I watched my
opportunity when my grandmother had left her apartment for an afternoon
visit or drive, and then drawn forth the cherished volume from beneath
the pillow and even from between the bed and sacking bottom! so
carefully were they concealed from view. Sometimes, indeed, she locked
the door of her room, and took the key with her; and then all ingress
was impossible.

What wild, foolish dreams I indulged in!--What romantic-visions of the
future that were never realized! How well I remember my sensations on
reading the "Scottish Chiefs." Wallace appeared to me almost in the
light of a god--so noble, so touching were all his acts and words, that
I even envied Helen Mar the privilege of calling herself his wife, and
then dying to lay her head in the same grave with him. I resolved to
give up all the common-place of life, and cling unto the spiritual--to
purify myself from every earth-born wish and habit, and live but in the
hope of meeting with a second Wallace. I persevered in this resolution
for a whole week; and then meeting with some equally delightful hero of
an opposite nature, I changed from grave to gay. My mood during these
periods of fascination was as variable as the different heroines I