362 The Naturalist in La Plata. 
the heavens glittering with innumerable stars; the 
muffled sound of the hoofs on the soft sward becomes 
in fancy only the rushing of the wings of our Pegasus, 
while the enchanting illusion that we are soaring 
through space possesses the mind. Unfortunately, 
however, this method of riding is impracticable in 
England. And, even if people with enthusiasm 
enough could be found to put it in practice by im- 
porting swift hght-footed Arabian or pampa horses, 
and careering about level parks on dark starry nights, 
probably a shout of derision would be raised against 
so undignified a pastime. | 
Apropos of dignity, I will relate, in conclusion, an 
incident in my London life which may possibly in- 
terest psychologists. Some time ago in Oxford 
Street I got on top of an omnibus travelling west. . 
My mind was preoccupied, I was anxious to get 
home, and, in an absent kind of way, I became 
irritated at the painfully slow rate of progress. It 
was all an old familar experience, the deep thought, 
lessening pace, and consequent irritation. The in- 
dolent brute [imagined myself riding was, as usual, 
taking advantage of his rider’s abstraction; but I 
would soon ‘‘feelingly persuade”’ him that I was not 
so far gone as to lose sight of the difference between 
a swinging gallop and a walk. So, elevating my 
umbrella, I dealt the side of the omnibus a sounding 
blow, very much to the astonishment of my fellow- 
passengers. So overgrown are we with usages, 
habits, tricks of thought and action springing from 
the soil we inhabit ; and when we have broken away 
and removed ourselves far from it, so long do the 
dead tendrils still cling to us! 
