CHAPTER XVII 



RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD 



ALMOST as much as insects and birds — 

 the former so dear to the child, who loves 

 to rear his Cockchafers and Rose-beetles on a 

 bed of hawthorn in a box pierced with holes; 

 the latter an irresistible temptation, with their 

 nests and their eggs and their little ones open- 

 ing tiny yellow beaks — the mushroom early 

 won my heart with its varied shapes and 

 colours. I can still see myself as an innocent 

 small boy sporting my first braces and be- 

 ginning to know my way through the cabalistic 

 mazes of my reading-book, I see myself in 

 ecstasy before the first bird's-nest found and 

 the first mushroom gathered. Let us relate 

 these grave events. Old age loves to medi- 

 tate the past. 



O happy days when curiosity awakens and 

 frees us from the limbo of unconsciousness, 

 your distant memory makes me live my best 

 years over again. Disturbed at its siesta by 

 some wayfarer, the Partridge's young brood 

 hastily disperses. Each pretty little ball of 

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