In view of my present cult for Russia and things Russian, I like to think that my first childish memory is of the word “Moscow”. Moscow to me was a dog, not a town--an old Newfoundland dog named, no doubt, in honour of the Crimean War, which will sufficiently date these reminiscences. Moscow had his kennel in the backyard under a big spreading tree, and from this tree exuded drops of bright gum. It was my fearful joy to rush to the tree, seize the gum-drops which were well within the length of Moscow’s chain, and be back before he could begin to bark ferociously. When later I learnt that to some people Moscow was a cathedral city, not a dog, my universe rocked with Einsteinian relativity. Ru…
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