Strange tales akin to those I had gleaned from fairy-land, rude songs modelled from such verse-books as fell into my hands, began to mar the contents of marble-covered pages designed for the less ambitious purposes of round text and multiplication.

My mind was yet more disturbed by the intensity of my home affections.

My love for both my parents had in it something morbid and painful.

I often wept to think how little I could do for those I loved so well.

My fondest fancies built up imaginary difficulties for them, which my arm was to smooth.