systematic, but it was broad and useful.'

Finally to Sandhurst, where Sir George did so well that the authorities
had quite a special word for him; and where one of the teachers, a
Scotsman, gave him Bacon to read.

With his military studies he combined others, working even to elucidate
the Surrey remains of the Romans, whose glamour as rulers hit him.

IV SAXON AND CELT

Ireland, which has sent so many of her own sons across the sea, was to
exercise a real influence upon the going of Sir George Grey.

He was, perhaps, in a special degree, kindly of thought and act towards
Irishmen, fancying that as a race they had suffered, and liking their
humour, buoyant against all odds. Several Irish political prisoners were
released, after serving long sentences, and Sir George read an account,
given by one of them, of the gaol experiences. Herein, complaint was
made--of the distress caused by the flash-flash of the turn-key's
lantern, into the cells, all through the night. He went his rounds, and
as he came to a cell door he flared his lantern inward by its little
opening, making sure of the inmate. It was to the mind and nerves, what a
red-hot wire would have been, driven into the body.

Next morning Sir George said, 'I could not sleep for thinking of that
light, jab-jabbing the poor fellow in his cell. Nay, it appeared to be in
my own bedroom, searching for my face and challenging me, "Are you there?
Ha, ha, are you there?" What an eerie torture, to a slumbering soul, in
that recurrent flame from the prison darkness! The thing stings and
shocks me.'

It gnawed. His heart was full, and perhaps also his mind with the idea,
'Is it ours to impale the soul as well as the body of a fellow-creature?
Surely that is reserved for a higher tribunal!'

The up-come of Ireland would provoke a story affecting Sir George Grey in
a family sense. An ancestor, Ram by name, of his step-father had figured
in a somewhat sudden meeting with Dean Swift. This was Sir George's
telling of it:

Dean Swift, in a modest phaeton, happened to be jogging past Gorey, the
residence of Ram. At that moment, out of the gate drove the more imposing
carriage of the latter, and there was a collision. The Dean and his
phaeton were thrown into the ditch, but neither, by good luck, suffered
hurt. Instead of uttering words, which even the cloth might not have
suppressed in some, the witty Dean shot these lines at Ram's apologetic
confusion:

Her