I was aroused, by feeling myself
violently shaken. "John!" exclaimed my mother, who had grasped my arm
with a determined hand,--"bless the boy! what ails him? Why, his face
is as white as a sheet!" Slowly I recovered my consciousness, saw the
church and the departing congregation, and mechanically followed my
parents. I could give no explanation of what had happened, except to say
that I had fallen asleep. As I ate my dinner with a good appetite, my
mother's fears were quieted. I was left at home the following Sunday,
and afterwards only ventured to indulge sparingly in the exercise of my
newly discovered faculty. My mother, I was conscious, took more note of
my presence than formerly, and I feared a repetition of the same
catastrophe. As I grew older and my mind became interested in a wider
range of themes, I finally lost the habit, which I classed among the
many follies of childhood.
I retained, nevertheless, and still retain, something of that subtile
instinct which mocks and yet surpasses reason. My feelings with regard
to the persons whom I met were quite independent of their behavior
towards me, or the estimation in which they were held by the world.
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