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THE JOURNEY TO HOLLAND TO ATTEND THE GOLDEN WEDDING.
The rattle of wheels and the blast of the postilion's horn closed the first period of my childhood.

When I was four years old we went to my mother's home to attend my grandparents' golden wedding.

If I wished to describe the journey in its regular order I should be forced to depend upon the statements of others.

So little of all which grown people deem worth seeing and noting in Belgium, Holland, and on the Rhine has remained in my memory, that I cannot help smiling when I hear people say that they intend to take children travelling for their amusement and instruction.