every day when we were away from one another; and for many
years after her marriage, and as long as her eyes were good, I
don't think she and I ever omitted writing to one another, as,
indeed, we had done all through my school and college life. She
is never out of my mind and thoughts. Her birthday, on the 19th
of July, and mine, on the 7th of June, were days which stood out
amongst all the days of the year."

This extract illustrates the beautiful atmosphere of mutual love
and trust in which the family of Sir Charles and Lady Mary Wood
were reared. In other respects their upbringing was what one would
naturally expect in a Yorkshire country-house, where politics were
judiciously blended with fox-hunting. From the enjoyments of a bright
home, and the benign sway of the governess, and the companionship of
a favourite sister, the transition to a private school is always
depressing. In April, 1849, Charles Wood was sent to the Rev. Charles
Arnold's, at Tinwell, near Stamford. "What I chiefly remember about
the place is being punished all one day, with several canings,
because I either could not or would not learn the Fifth Declension
of the Greek Nouns."

So much for the curriculum of Tinwell; but it only lasted for one
year, and then, after two years with a private tutor at home, Charles
Wood went to Eton in January, 1853. He boarded at the house of the
Rev. Francis Vidal, and his tutor was the famous William Johnson,
afterwards Cory. "Billy Johnson" was not only a consummate scholar
and a most stimulating teacher, but the sympathetic and discerning
friend of the boys who were fortunate enough to be his private
pupils. In his book of verses--_Ionica_--he made graceful play
with a casual word which Charles Wood had let fall in the ecstasy
of swimming--"Oh, how I wish I could fly!"

"Fresh from the summer wave, under the beech,
Looking through leaves with a far-darting eye,
Tossing those river-pearled locks about,
Throwing those delicate limbs straight out,
Chiding the clouds as they sailed out of reach,
Murmured the swimmer, 'I wish I could fly!'

"Laugh, if you like, at the bold reply,
Answer disdainfully, flouting my words:
How should the listener at simple sixteen
Guess what a foolish old rhymer could mean,
Calmly predicting, 'You will surely fly'--
Fish one might vie with, but how be like birds?

* * * * *

"Genius and love will uplift thee; no