I am an English boy twelve years old, but I have spent only two
years of my life in England. I lived a year on the Isle of Jersey,
in the English Channel, and when I was three years old came out to
Virginia with my father and mother, two brothers, and two sisters.
After we had lived here three years we went over to France. We
staid in Rouen, which is a fine old city, with its cathedral and
churches. We used to go rowing up and down the Seine, and sometimes
took our dinner on an island in the middle of the river up toward
Paris. I used to go nearly every morning with my father to the
market on the very spot where Joan of Arc was burned by the
English. I taught our French bonne to speak in English, but I could
not speak plainly myself then, and taught her to count "one, two,
free." We staid a year in Rouen, and then came out here again,
where we have settled down.
My eldest brother Hugh is in London, a student at Guy's Hospital.
Two years ago he joined the Volunteers, and once he and his corps
had luncheon, after a review, at Baron Rothschild's. The last time
he wrote he was expecting to go out to Egypt as assistant surgeon.
I hope he will go, as he will be able to tell me all about the
fighting when he comes home.
We have a little German Dachs-hund (badger-hound) that came all the
way from Germany; his name is Fritz. Once we dug for rats with him,
and he killed twenty-five. Wasn't that pretty good sport for one
day?
I like this country very much. I used to go fox-hunting with an
English friend, but he has gone to New Zealand now. We fish in the
James River, and catch plenty of black bass. I hope this letter is
not so long that no room will be found for it in the Post-office
Box. If I see it in print, I will write again and tell YOUNG PEOPLE
how we camped out up in the mountains last month. Good-by.