What has a little child to do with thought?
That sad, though glorious reversion of our riper and darker years?
Ah me! I never recollect the time that my spirit was not travelling to grasp some grown idea, to fathom the mystery of my being, to roll away the shadows that surrounded me, groping for light, toiling, then dreaming, not resting.

It was no wonder I was weary before my journey was well begun.
"What a remarkable countenance Gabriella has!" I then often heard it remarked.

"Her features are childish, but her eyes have such a peculiar depth of expression,--so wild, and yet so wise." I wish I had a picture of myself taken at this period of my life.

I have no doubt I looked older then than I do now..