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How severe are the shocks of early disillusionment! It was



not until long after the hare was skinned, roasted, served as

CIVET and as PUREE that I discovered the truth. I was not at



all grateful to the gentlemen of the chateau whose dupe I had

been; was even wrath with my dear old 'Maman' for treating



them with extra courtesy for their kindness to her PETIT

CHERI.



That was a happy summer. After it was ended, and it was time

for me to return to England and begin my education for the



Navy I never again set eyes on Larue, or that charming nest

of old ladies who had done their utmost to spoil me. Many



and many a time have I been to Paris, but nothing could tempt

me to visit Larue. So it is with me. Often have I



questioned the truth of the NESSUN MAGGIOR DOLORE than the

memory of happy times in the midst of sorry ones. The



thought of happiness, it would seem, should surely make us

happier, and yet - not of happiness for ever lost. And are



not the deepening shades of our declining sun deepened by

youth's contrast? Whatever our sweetest songs may tell us



of, we are the sadder for our sweetest memories. The grass

can never be as green again to eyes grown watery. The lambs



that skipped when we did were long since served as mutton.

And if



Die Fusse tragen mich so muthig nicht empor

Die hohen Stufen die ich kindisch ubersprang,



why, I will take the fact for granted. My youth is fled, my

friends are dead. The daisies and the snows whiten by turns



the grave of him or her - the dearest I have loved. Shall I

make a pilgrimage to that sepulchre? Drop futile tears upon



it? Will they warm what is no more? I for one have not the

heart for that. Happily life has something else for us to



do. Happily 'tis best to do it.

CHAPTER IV



THE passage from the romantic to the realistic, from the

chimerical to the actual, from the child's poetic



interpretation of life to life's practical version of itself,

is too gradual to be noticed while the process is going on.



It is only in the retrospect we see the change. There is

still, for yet another stage, the same and even greater



receptivity, - delight in new experiences, in gratified

curiosity, in sensuous enjoyment, in the exercise of growing



faculties. But the belief in the impossible and the bliss of

ignorance are seen, when looking back, to have assumed almost



abruptly a cruder state of maturer dulness. Between the

public schoolboy and the child there is an essential



difference; and this in a boy's case is largely due, I fancy,

to the diminished influence of woman, and the increased



influence of men.

With me, certainly, the rough usage I was ere long to undergo



materially modified my view of things in general. In 1838,

when I was eleven years old, my uncle, Henry Keppel, the



future Admiral of the Fleet, but then a dashing young

commander, took me (as he mentions in his Autobiography) to



the Naval Academy at Gosport. The very afternoon of my

admittance - as an illustration of the above remarks - I had



three fights with three different boys. After that the 'new

boy' was left to his own devices, - QUA 'new boy,' that is;



as an ordinary small boy, I had my share. I have spoken of

the starvation at Dr. Pinkney's; here it was the terrible



bullying that left its impress on me - literally its mark,

for I still bear the scar upon my hand.



Most boys, I presume, know the toy called a whirligig, made

by stringing a button on a loop of thread, the twisting and



untwisting of which by approaching and separating the hands

causes the button to revolve. Upon this design, and by



substituting a jagged disk of slate for the button, the

senior 'Bull-dogs' (we were all called 'Burney's bull-dogs')



constructed a very simple instrument of torture. One big boy

spun the whirligig, while another held the small boy's palm



till the sharp slate-edge gashed it. The wound was severe.




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