"THE footsteps of thought, as they pass higher from material standpoints, are slow, and portend a long night to the traveler; but the angels of His presence are our guardians in the gloom" (Science and Health, p. 174).
My father's family was among those who espoused homceopathy in its early days. I must have heard the subject discussed before my remembrance, and doubtless was thus early awakened to search for better, truer methods of action, rather than to accept without question existing methods.
In our immediate family health was the rule and sickness the exception, but I remember being taken, when about seven years of age, to see a little friend, a girl of twelve, who was dying with what was called "galloping consumption." It was my first glimpse into that realm of "awful unreality," the realm of sickness and death. The shock, as my eyes rested on the invalid, was great, and I ran from the room. Afterward my father and mother talked to me very tenderly about death and heaven, and told me that God Had called my little friend home. But I rebelled inwardly. Something was out of tune, I could not associate that darkened chamber, and its sad pictures with God and heaven.
