is is no mere
figure of speech. The airs of heaven were ever balmy. In those days one
never heard of cold and snow and frost on the Riviera. We have since
approached some degrees nearer to the North Pole. Little need for others
to go off in search of it and bring it to us. At that time we lived in
perpetual summer. The sapphire waters of the Mediterranean for ever
flashed and flowed upon the white sands of the shores that belonged to
us. It seems to me now that the skies were always blue and the sun ever
shone. Olive-yards and vineyards, I have said, surrounded us. Orange and
lemon-groves sent forth an exquisite perfume only known to those who
live amongst them. An amphitheatre of hills rose about us; the lovely
Maritime Alps with all their graceful undulations, all their rich
foliage. Birds flashed in the sunshine. In the balmy nights of May the
nightingales never ceased their song.

"I must have been an impressionable child, with all my strong, sturdy
health, inheriting something of my mother's romantic nature. It is
certain that the memory of those early days has never faded, but has
been the background and colouring of all my after life. Even now in
thought I often go back to them. There are times when I am a little
undecided how to act. I ask myself how my father or mother would have
acted under the circumstances, and in their clear, sensible tones seem
to hear the reply.

"Up to the age of seven they were my sole instructors. Then fresh plans
were formed. A precocious child, it was felt that I ought to enter upon
more serious studies than they had leisure to direct.

"A tutor was found; the Abbe Riviere; a man of large mind and solid
attainments; a profound thinker. To this he added the simple nature of a
child. The marvel was that he condescended to become tutor and companion
to a lad of seven. We soon found that his ambition was to have leisure
for the writing of metaphysical works. His present appointment gave him
his heart's desire. He had no parish or people to look after. With less
singleness of purpose and more worldliness, he might have risen to any
position in the church. No better companion for a boy could have been
found, and he possessed the rare faculty of imparting knowledge. His
mind could unbend, and he adapted his conversation to his hearers. No
mere bookworm was he, dry, tedious and incomprehensible. My studies were
a delight. I knew afterwards that one of the joys of his life was to
watch day