Caroline Helstone was just eighteen years old, and at eighteen the true narrative of life is yet to be commenced. Before that time we sit listening to a tale, a marvellous fiction, delightful sometimes, and sad sometimes, almost always unreal. Before that time our world is heroic, its inhabitants half-divine or semi-demon; its scenes are dream-scenes; darker woods and stranger hills, brighter skies, more dangerous waters, sweeter flowers, more tempting fruits, wider plains, drearier deserts, sunnier fields than are found in nature, overspread our enchanted globe. What a moon we gaze on before that time! How the trembling of our hearts at her aspect bears witness to its unutterable beauty! As to our sun, it is a burning heaven--the world of gods.

Caroline Helstone was just eighteen years old, and at eighteen the true narrative of life is yet to begin. Before that age we sit listening to a tale, a marvellous fiction: our world is heroic, its scenes are dream-scenes, with darker woods and stranger hills, brighter skies, more dangerous waters, wider plains, and sunnier fields than are found in nature.
