His father, a Scotch physician of eminence, and also a very successful author,[1] must have occupied a different position from that of the average medical man of those days. He was appointed to be the guardian and the travelling companion of the young Duke of Hamilton, and he showed himself well fitted for the trust; while his son from the first shone as a star in whatever circle he might be placed. The doctor's wife was a daughter of Professor Simpson, of Glasgow University. When the doctor started on a lengthy Continental tour with his charge, he took also his eldest son John, then about ten years old, and the absence lasted nearly five years. No small trial this to members of a most affectionate family, but heavy money losses made it impossible for Dr. Moore to give up his charge, even had he wished to do so. From boyhood John showed a conscientious devotion to duty, and a marked dislike to aught in the shape of fashionable foppery. Although he early learnt self-control, he was as a child very impulsive and hasty-tempered, and addicted to fighting. At the age of eleven he narrowly escaped killing a servant girl through meddling with loaded pistols; and soon after he received his accidental injury from the sword of the Duke, in careless play. Before this wound was healed, he managed to get into a smart quarrel with some French boys in the gardens of the Tuileries. They, being formally powdered, frizzled, and attired like grown men, were disposed to jeer at Jack Moore's boyish simplicity of dress, and Jack proceeded promptly to knock them all down, one upon the top of another. Since he could box, and they had not learnt that noble art, they had no chance against him, and a great outcry was raised. Dr. Moore, hurrying to the spot, picked up the fallen, did his best to comfort them, and severely blamed his son for lack of politeness, which little incident gives one a clue to the perfection of Moore's manners in later life. By the age of fourteen he was a singularly fascinating young fellow, with a face of manly beauty, a daring temper, and a growing passion for the Army. Already he had become a good linguist, and was an adept at both riding and fencing. About this time when, in the course of their travels, the three went to Vienna, the Emperor of Austria definitely offered to take the brilliant boy into his service, promising rapid promotion. But Moore was even then far too ardent a patriot to serve in any other Army than that of his own country. The idea was never for a moment entertained. It is curious to find him at this date, a mere lad of fourteen, writing home to his next brother, Graham, in the style of a grown man to one far his junior.