One evening，in the beginning of June，I had stayed out very late with Mary Ann in the wood; we had，as usual，separated ourselves from the others，and had wandered far; so far that we lost our way，and had to ask it at a lonely cottage，where a man and woman lived，who looked after a herd of half-wild swine that fed on the mast in the wood. When we got back，it was after moonrise: a pony，which we knew to be the surgeon"s，was standing at the garden door. Mary Ann remarked that she supposed some one must be very ill，as Mr. Bates had been sent for at that time of the evening. She went into the house;

I stayed behind a few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest，and which I feared would wither if I left them till the morning. This done，I lingered yet a little longer: the flowers smelt so sweet as the dew fell; it was such a pleasant evening，so serene，so warm; the still glowing west promised so fairly another fine day on the morrow; the moon rose with such majesty in the grave east. I was noting these things and enjoying them as a child might，when it entered my mind as it had never done before:-

"How sad to be lying now on a sick bed，and to be in danger of dying! This world is pleasant- it would be dreary to be called from it，and to have to go who knows where?"

And then my mind made its first earnest effort to prehend what had been infused into it concerning heaven and hell; and for the first time it recoiled，baffled; and for the first time glancing behind，on each side，and before it，it saw all round an unfathomed gulf: it felt the one point where it stood- the present; all the rest was formless cloud and vacant depth; and it shuddered at the thought of tottering，and plunging amid that chaos. While pondering this new idea，I heard the front door open; Mr. Bates came out，and with him was a nurse. After she had seen him mount his horse and depart，she was about to close the door，but I ran up to her.