"I remember, I remember
How my childhood fleeted by--
The mirth of its December,
And the warmth of its July."


In a former volume I have recounted the varied scenes of an eventful
childhood, whose auroral dawn was tinted with the rose-hue and perfumed
with the breath of light-winged moments; even as the Goddess of the
Morning ushers in the new-born day with her flower-laden chariot, and the
bright Morning Star lends its light ere it sinks under the horizon.

Having my birth on the rich soil of a Southern land, and cradled under its
tropical skies and sunny smiles, I was early transplanted to colder climes
and ruder blasts, yet through the nurture of a mother's gentle hand, and
the ministrations of a loving band of sisters and brothers, whose
talismanic touch toned every note, softened every sorrow and heightened
every hope, I could but bloom like an Alpine flower in its bed of snow.

But in the golden chain there came to be, in time, a "missing link;" the
mother's life went out, and from the darkened fireside vanished the little
flock, scattered through various ways to various destinies.

My own was a slippery path to tread, and ofttimes led my weary feet into
the shadow, and gloom, and darkness. Through sickness, neglect and
maltreatment came all too soon "sorrow's crown of sorrow;" when over the
young life fell a dark pall, and eyes so used to light no longer held the
prisoned sunbeams, and passed forever under the relentless bond and cruel
curse of blindness. Then indeed my soul grew dark! And could my restless