If I take up my pen to tell you about this, you must not look for any story at my hands, for I was only in my earliest manhood when these things befell; and although I saw something of the stories of other lives, I could scarce claim one of my own.  It is the love of a woman that makes the story of a man, and many a year was to pass before I first looked into the eyes of the mother of my children.  To us it seems but an affair of yesterday, and yet those children can now reach the plums in the garden whilst we are seeking for a ladder, and where we once walked with their little hands in ours, we are glad now to lean upon their arms.  But I shall speak of a time when the love of a mother was the only love I knew, and if you seek for something more, then it is not for you that I write.  But if you would come out with me into that forgotten world; if you would know Boy Jim and Champion Harrison; if you would meet my father, one of Nelson’s own men; if you would catch a glimpse of that great seaman¹ himself, and of George, afterwards the unworthy King of England; if, above all, you would see my famous uncle, Sir Charles Tregellis, the King of the Bucks², and the great fighting men whose names are still household words amongst you, then give me your hand and let us start.

 

But I must warn you also that, if you think you will find much that is of interest in your guide, you are

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