ford us intense interest with their clever artifices.
To these we added the breeding of the more beautiful butterflies and
moths, and so, without knowing that we were learning, we were taught
many and valuable truths of life. There were horses to ride also, and
a beautiful "plage" to bathe upon. It was always sunny and warm, and I
invariably look back on that winter as spent in paradise. I was
permitted to go over with a young friend to the Carnival at Nice,
where, disguised as a clown, and then as a priest, with the _abandon_
of boys, we enjoyed every moment of the time--the world was so big and
wonderful. The French that I had very quickly learned, as we always
spoke it at our villa, stood me on this occasion in good stead. But
better still, I happened, when climbing into one of the
flower-bedecked carriages parading in the "bataille de fleurs"--which,
being in costume, was quite the right thing to do--to find that the
owner was an old friend of my family, one Sir William Hut. He at once
carried me to his home for the rest of the Carnival, and, of course,
made it doubly enjoyable.

A beautiful expedition, made later in that region which lives in my
memory, was to the gardens at La Mortola, over the Italian line, made
famous by the frequent visits of Queen Victoria to them. They were
owned by Sir Thomas Hanbury, whose wife was my aunt's great friend.

The quaintness of the memories which persist longest in one's mind
often amuse me. We used, as good Episcopalians, to go every Sunday to
the little English Church on the rue des Palmiers. Alas, I can
remember only one thing about those services. The clergyman had a
peculiar impediment in his speech which made him say his _h_'s and
_s_'s, both as _sh_. Thus he always said _sh_uman for _h_uman, and
invariably prayed that God might be pleased to "shave the Queen." He
nearly got me into trouble once or twice through it.

About the middle of the winter I realized that I had made a mistake.
In writing home I had so enthusiastically assured my father that the
place was suiting my health, that he wrote back that he thought in
that case I might stand a little tutoring, and forthwith I was
despatched every morning to a Mr. B., an Englishman, whose house,
called the "Hermitage," was in a thick wood. I soon discovered that
Mr. B. was obliged to live abroad for his health, and that the
coaching of small boys was only a means to that end. He was a good
instructor in mathematics, a s