I have several other early recollections, more or less perfect. I remember that I saw a priest burning a number of Bibles; that I attended a Catholic spelling-school (I often wonder if I learned to say 'papa' there. I can say 'papa' as plainly as any one can — this is the only word I have ever lisped); that I saw much excitement in moving the furnitures and other household articles in a hurried and confused manner, because there was an earthquake (which I afterwards learned in the Annals of S. F. — I was born in S. F.); that I saw a great red comet; that my mother told me that we all should be knocked down if the comet struck the ground; that I watched the comet every night until it disappeared; that I saw a man lassoing another, both on horseback at full speed through the street; that I saw two fires near my home; that my mother took me to church on Sundays and on other days oftener early in the morning. If I was restless during the service, she would give me something to eat. (Although I am not a Catholic, yet now and then I go to the Catholic church, and enjoy my meditation mainly to keep the memory of my mother.) While my mother was alive, I did not know that I was deaf. I did not see the sun and stars figuratively. I remember that I had never observed the moon but once with a sort of wonder, — the moon was new. I seldom went out by myself and played with the children. I was then passively quiet and good, almost an intellectual blank.
I know almost nothing about my mother's death. While she was sick, she gave me some marmalade and kissed me, for the last time. I was then put away. I do not remember if I saw her corpse or attended her funeral, nor how I felt about her death. Only that my friends said that she had gone to the sky to rest.
What then became of me after my mother's death? I remember at best that I was taken to the house of my god-mother. Since she was my mother's best friend, I did not miss my mother consciously at all. A short time afterwards, a French consul (I believe, my father's brother) took me to the house of a Mexican woman and left me there, with a box of Noah's animals, in her charge. I did not feel homesick. She continued as my guardian until I was taken to school (I was the first pupil, then, in the California institution). I remained about four years with her. She, I learned when in school, was my mother's bitter enemy out of jealousy in love affairs.
Hitherto till this time I had but a little, if ever possible, of instinctive language. I could hardly make intelligible signs; but my mother might understand my gestures, that is, such as were moved by feelings for what I should either wish or deny. For example, the idea of food was aroused in my mind by the feeling of hunger. This simply constitutes the Logic of Feeling; bear in mind that it is different from the Logic of Signs. I could neither think nor reason at all, yet I could recognize the persons either with delight or with dislike. Still, nearly all the human emotions were absent, and even the faculty of conscience was wanting. Everything seemed to appear blank around me except the momentary pleasures of perception. What happened at home had not come back within my memory until I went to school. The state of my mental isolation, I believe, is wholly due to my confinement at home. I was then five years old, though.
But no sooner had I been left in charge of my guardian than the knowl-
