She had reared my mother before me; but her affection put out new flowers for the new generation.

She was a Devonshire woman; and Devonshire women, especially those who have passed their youth near the sea-coast, are generally superstitious.

She had a wonderful budget of fables.

Before I was six years old, I was erudite in that primitive literature in which the legends of all nations are traced to a common fountain,--Puss in Boots, Tom Thumb, Fortunio, Fortunatus, Jack the Giant-Killer; tales, like proverbs, equally familiar, under different versions, to the infant worshippers of Budh and the hardier children of Thor.

I may say, without vanity, that in an examination in those venerable classics I could have taken honors! My dear mother had some little misgivings as to the solid benefit to be derived from such fantastic erudition, and timidly consulted my father thereon.
"My love," answered my father, in that tone of voice which always puzzled even my mother to be sure whether he was in jest or earnest, "in all these fables certain philosophers could easily discover symbolic significations of the highest morality.