HAPPY, happy, never-returning time of childhood! How can we help loving
and dwelling upon its recollections? They cheer and elevate the soul,
and become to one a source of higher joys.
Sometimes, when dreaming of bygone days, I fancy that, tired out with
running about, I have sat down, as of old, in my high arm-chair by the
tea-table. It is late, and I have long since drunk my cup of milk. My
eyes are heavy with sleep as I sit there and listen. How could I not
listen, seeing that Mamma is speaking to somebody, and that the sound
of her voice is so melodious and kind? How much its echoes recall to
my heart! With my eyes veiled with drowsiness I gaze at her wistfully.
Suddenly she seems to grow smaller and smaller, and her face vanishes
to a point; yet I can still see it--can still see her as she looks at me
and smiles. Somehow it pleases me to see her grown so small. I blink and
blink, yet she looks no larger than a boy reflected in the pupil of an
eye. Then I rouse myself, and the picture fades. Once more I half-close
my eyes, and cast about to try and recall the dream, but it has gone.