"I was born," writes my father, "on the 9th of March, 1802.... I was a precocious child, for I was told that I knew my letters at about two years of age, and could read at three and a half and recite on a table at about four. I perfectly recollect declaiming the quarrel between Brutus and Cassius in Shakespeare's 'Julius Cæsar.' Also I remember the announcement of the death of Nelson in October, 1805, and witnessing his funeral procession in January, 1806.[1] I was perched on the shoulders of a journeyman baker named Guesnel at the corner of Poland Street, from whence I beheld the catafalque containing the remains of the illustrious Nelson, the whole affair resembling much the interment of the Duke of Wellington, which I witnessed in 1852—forty-six years later. My brother Harry (the artist, H. C. Selous), who was thirteen months younger than I, remembers witnessing this spectacle too.... I can recollect weeping bitterly at hearing the first news of our great admiral's death, and the awe and wonder with which I looked upon the ceremony of his interment.... I was sent to school at Islington at the age of seven, and upon the master desiring me to read from a book which he gave to me he expressed himself so surprised at my reading that he told my mother he would not put me into any of the reading classes of the upper boys, as I should put them to shame. I was at that time so strong and so hungry that I frequently carried some of the biggest boys round the playground (which was a large one) for an extra slice of bread and butter with which they repaid me. I was at school about a twelve-month and then came under my mother's care for instruction, and to her I owe more than I can possibly express with regard to my early education. She taught me the French language, Greek and Roman history, and the three R's—reading, writing, and arithmetic. When I was ten years, I was sent to a school called the Burlington school, where I improved my French, became a tolerable Latin scholar, and gained a smattering of mathematics. After being for two years at this academy, I was recalled to home rule and education and never had any further instruction from master or professor. At this time my brother and myself were allowed to wander about the streets uncontrolled and might have been considered as a sort of street Arabs, though we always selected our associates carefully." (Later on my father had to work very hard, very long hours, up till midnight four days in the week, but it did him no harm, and he was very strong and active. A great part of his time was occupied in reading every variety of book he could get hold of, from which he gained much general information, having an unusually good memory. Plutarch's lives were his first admired works. Pope, Addison and Johnson came next. He made the acquaintance of some of the celebrated Italian singers and learnt to speak their language fluently. All this part about the Italian singers is very interesting, and many things connected with the theatre likewise.)

"I also witnessed another performance which shocked me more than anything I ever beheld, for I was then very young. It was in 1815 or 16, I think, I happened to be rather early one day in my long walk to Great St. Helen's, which took me past St. Sepulchre's and the broad opening to the narrow streets of the Old Bailey. The sun was shining brightly across Newgate, and on chancing to look towards Ludgate Hill I saw dangling to a beam at the west side of Newgate five human beings suspended by the neck. One of them was a woman, who with a feeling for symmetry had been hung in the centre. All five had white night-caps drawn over their faces to conceal the horrible convulsions of the features. I don't know what their crimes had been, people were hanged in those savage days for stealing a shilling, or even cutting a stick from a plantation. The time appointed for cutting down the bodies had nearly arrived, and the crowd had diminished to an apathetic group principally engaged in cracking nuts and jokes, and eating brandy balls all hot; but horror gave speed to my steps and I soon left hideous Newgate behind me. I recollect a great sensation caused by the execution of Fauntleroy for forgery." Here end these notes by my father.

"I think I remember rightly that at fourteen my father was not only making a livelihood for himself, but supporting his father and mother. He was most charitable and had the kindest heart in the world, and that high sense of honour which so distinguished his son. I think that though these few extracts from his reminiscences are not, perhaps, of importance, yet they throw some light on my father's character, and indirectly it may be on my brother's also, for certainly in strength of purpose, energy, and will to succeed, also in vigorous health and constitution, they were alike. They also had both a great facility for learning languages. We were amused to read in a book on African travel by, I think, a Portuguese, whose name for the moment I forget, that he came across the great hunter (I forget if he put it like that) Selous, 'somewhere' in Africa, who addressed him in the French of the 'Boulevard des Italiens!' As I think this traveller was supposed to have a lively imagination, we accepted Fred's superior accent (after so many years of never speaking or hearing French) with some grains of salt. But not very many years ago at some international meeting to do with sport, at Turin or Paris, Fred representing England, he made a speech in French, on which he was much complimented, for accent, wit, and fluency alike.[2]

"My mother, like my father, had a wonderful memory, and was a great reader, from childhood, her home possessing a big library. Scott was her great delight then, and indeed always, and poetry was as nectar and ambrosia to her. She had great facility in writing herself, very charmingly, both poetry and prose, all of the fantastic and imaginative order, and she had quite a gift for painting. Considering all the calls made on her time, of home and family (social, likewise), which were never neglected, it was wonderful that she could yet find time for all her writing and painting. Her perseverance and industry in the arts that she loved were really remarkable. We children greatly benefited by her love of poetry and story, for she was a true 'raconteuse' and