I I take my pencil (at 86 years of age) to describe the first moment of my life that I remember. CLARA BARTON—In _The Story of My Childhood._ Do not sin against the child. GENESIS. The fir trees dark and high, I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky. HOOD—_I remember, I remember_. The rude wooden cradle in which Clara Barton was rocked is now one of the very interesting curios in possession of the Worcester (Mass.) Historical Society. THE AUTHOR. The child’s grief throbs against the round of its little heart as heavily as the man’s sorrow. CHAPIN. Baby lips will laugh me down. TENNYSON. A child’s sob curseth deeper in the silence Than the strong man in his wrath. E. B. BROWNING. Dispel not the happy delusions of children. GOETHE. Happy child! The cradle is to thee a vast space. SCHILLER. Who can foretell for what high cause This destiny of the gods was born. ANDREW MARVELL. BABYHOOD IMPRESSIONS Babyhood repeats itself. Babyhood is practically the same yesterday, today and forever. And yet who does not try to recall first impressions and first experiences? Clara Barton says her first baby experience that she recalls was when she was two and one half years of age. She thus describes it:— “Baby los’ ’im—pitty bird—baby los’ ’im—baby mos’ caught ’im. “At length they succeeded in inducing me to listen to a question, ‘But where did it go, Baby?’ “Among my heart-breaking sobs I pointed to a small round hole under the doorstep. The terrified scream of my mother remained in my memory forevermore. Her baby had ‘mos’ caught’ a snake.” Her second experience that she recalls was when four years old, at a funeral of a beloved friend of the family. She previously had been terrified by a large old ram on the farm. On this occasion she was left in care of a guardian, in a sitting room. The four windows were open. Suddenly there came up a thunder storm. Sharp flashes of lightning darted through the rising, rolling clouds. She thought the whole heavens were full of angry rams and they were coming down upon her. Her screams alarmed, and her brother rushed into the room only to find her on the floor in hysterics. Sorrows put permanent wrinkles on the face, in maturity; on the mind, in childhood. Only strangeness may produce fear in babyhood but, with a baby, strangeness is everywhere. Darkness and strange noises frighten. Forms of phantasy float on the imagination; when gradually, it’s comedy; when suddenly, it’s tragedy.