My mother died in giving me birth, and by reason of this my father, Thomas Powerscourt, lord of the manor of Woodbury and deputy-lieutenant of the county of Warwickshire, imbibed a certain dislike for me, which showed itself, not indeed in harshness, but in a studied indifference to my existence. He had married my mother rather late in life, and the loss of her so soon after their Union was so much of a blow to him that he seemed determined to vent his displeasure on me, whom he unjustly regarded as in a way the author of his misfortune; and, wrapping himself up in the literary and scientific studies to which he was addicted, seemed to forget altogether that he was a parent.

I was brought up under the care of a middle-aged and kindly but somewhat taciturn Scotch nurse. None of the other servants were permitted to converse familiarly with me, and I had scarcely any young friends of my own age-none indeed, to speak correctly; so that up to the time I was past thirteen years of age I was about as innocent of the mysteries of human life as a youngster could well be, and any curiosity that I had evinced upon such matters had always been severely checked, both by my nurse and by the governess who was afterwards engaged to instill the first principles of learning into my mind.

At the period I am speaking of, however, I was sent to a boarding-school in Devonshire, and in more ways than one the change was a very eventful one for me. The school had been selected on the advice of my father's greatest friend, Colonel Rutherford, whose own son was a pupil there.

It was arranged that a day or two before going to school I should proceed to Rutherford's home, so as to travel down with him; and accordingly, in due time, I was dispatched with my luggage to Everton Grange in Wiltshire, where the Rutherfords lived.

I was greeted most kindly on my arrival, and found it a very different household from that which I had left behind, the only point of resemblance being the fact that Bob was an only child.