I have been led away from what I meant the portion included in these brackets to inform my readers about.  I say, then, most of the boarders had left the table about the time when I began telling some of these secrets of mine, all of them, in fact, but the old gentleman opposite and the schoolmistress.  I understand why a young woman should like to hear these homely but genuine experiences of early life, which are, as I have said, the little brown seeds of what may yet grow to be poems with leaves of azure and gold; but when the old gentleman pushed up his chair nearer to me, and slanted round his best ear, and once, when I was speaking of some trifling, tender reminiscence, drew a long breath, with such a tremor in it that a little more and it would have been a sob, why, then I felt there must be something of nature in them which redeemed their seeming insignificance.  Tell me, man or woman with whom I am whispering, have you not a small store of recollections, such as these I am uncovering, buried beneath the dead leaves of many summers, perhaps under the unmelting snows of fast-returning winters,—­a few such recollections, which, if you should write them all out, would be swept into some careless editor’s drawer, and might cost a scanty half-hour’s lazy reading to his subscribers,—­and yet, if Death should cheat you of them, you would not know yourself in eternity?]

——­I made three acquaintances at a very early period of life, my introduction to whom was never forgotten.  The first unequivocal act of wrong that has left its trace in my memory was this:  it was refusing a small favor asked of me,—­nothing more than telling what had happened at school one morning.  No matter who asked it; but there were circumstances which saddened and awed me.  I had no heart to speak;—­I faltered some miserable, perhaps petulant excuse, stole away, and the first battle of life was lost.  What remorse followed I need not tell.  Then and there; to the best of my knowledge, I first consciously took Sin by the hand and turned my back on Duty.  Time has led me to look upon my offence more leniently; I do not believe it or any other childish wrong is infinite, as some have pretended, but infinitely finite.  Yet, oh if I had but won that battle!

The great Destroyer, whose awful shadow it was that had silenced me, came near me,—­but never, so as to be distinctly seen and remembered, during my tender years.  There flits dimly before me the image of a little girl, whose name even I have forgotten, a schoolmate, whom we missed one day, and were told that she had died.  But what death was I never had any very distinct idea, until one day I climbed the low stone wall of the old burial-ground and mingled with a group that were looking into a very deep, long, narrow hole, dug down through the green sod, down through the brown loam, down through the yellow gravel, and there at the bottom was an oblong red box, and a still, sharp, white face of a young man seen through an opening at one end of it.  When the lid was closed, and the gravel and stones rattled down pell-mell, and the woman in black, who was crying and wringing her hands, went off with the other mourners, and left him, then I felt that I had seen Death, and should never forget him.