The Romance of a Pro-Consul | Page 8

given much thought, namely, 'Of what does human life consist? what
are its elements?' Thereon he had the deliverance:
'Quite early in my own life, I formed the opinion that we had neglected
to consider an element of existence; that besides the solids and the
fluids there was ether. It seemed to me that ether played a very
important part, alike in the creation and the maintenance of life. That
was the everlasting ingredient, the something which never perished, but
went on and on, the soul in the body of flesh and blood. Brought into
contact with various eminent men, I was happily able to discuss such
vital questions with them.'
Sir George's mother first set him thinking, and he had a recollection of
learning the Lord's Prayer from her. Indeed, his earliest mental problem
arose from the opening words, 'Our Father, which art in Heaven.'
'I took the "which art in" to be all one word, and puzzled over its
possible meaning. The circumstance was a light to the obstacles that
beset a child's mind, and a lamp to parents in training that mind. Never
was there a mother more fitted than mine, for the glorious
responsibilities of motherhood. Very highly educated, she added Latin
to her other accomplishments, in order that she might teach the
language to me. She had married a second time, and my step-father, a

wise and large- hearted man, one of the best men I have ever known,
also bestowed much care on my upbringing.'
As a little fellow he had lived a good deal in London with relations, a
family of whom had a house near Hyde Park. He could call up, from
the farthest caverns of his memory, a Sunday forenoon on which he
was carried off to church, because there was nobody at home, except
the servants, to look after him.
'What West End church it may have been I cannot tell,' Sir George said,
'but I imagine the one the household usually attended. The other detail
that a fire burned in our pew, did impress itself definitely upon my
mind. I was at least big enough to lift a poker, and what must I do but
seize that instrument, and set to scraping the fire, to the confusion of
those with me. Perhaps the idea of a fire in a church pew may be
deemed curious at this date, so much later. But why not? It was really a
great boon to those worshippers whom delicacy of health might
otherwise have kept at home. For, of course, there was then no better
means of warming a church.
'The house of another London relative was in Lombard Street, looking
on to Old Change Alley, and there, likewise, I was a pet. A store of
books filled one of the rooms, and it was my delight, having already
learned to read, to pick out diverting volumes. There were accounts of
the travels of Captain Cook and other explorers, and these quite caught
my fancy. I felt I should like to travel, when I grew up, and this
glimmering idea was advanced by the contemplation of a fruit stall that
did business in Change Alley. I marvelled from whence came the
oranges and bananas, and I whispered to myself, "I'll go where they
grow."
Some afternoon, Sir George journeyed down to Lombard Street, in
order to revisit his ancient shrine. He returned triumphant with the
news, 'Would you believe it? I have found many of those old books just
where they were, so very long ago. Dear me! the discovery almost took
my breath away, and a sort of lump was in my throat.' And the orange
stall? Aye, even it lingered; at least there was still a stall in Change
Alley. London had not rolled over it.

The romance of war descended to Sir George Grey on his mother's side,
as well as from his father. She was daughter to a military officer, whose
exploit at the siege of Gibraltar she recited to her boy. It was that of a
derring-do soldier.
He happened to be on leave, from his duties at the fortress, when the
famous siege began. He hurried to the neighbourhood, laid hold of a
boat, and actually rowed through the Spanish fleet. The British garrison
gave him a tremendous reception, and the officers marked his feat by
the gift of a gold snuff-box. He was thrice welcome: for himself, for the
coolness with which he had broken the blockade, and for the news he
brought from the outside.
The precious snuff-box descended to Sir George Grey, an heirloom that
suggested an adventure of his own. He was sent to a school at
Guildford in Surrey, and he ran away from it. He found the teaching all
towards the classics, making