10 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 



bottom there was written an instruction to call at Somerset 

 House on such a day. I thought that looked like business, 

 so at the appointed time I called and sent in my card, while 

 I waited in Sir William's ante-room. He was a tall, shrewd- 

 looking old gentleman, with a broad Scotch accent — and 

 I think I see him now as he entered with my card in his 

 hand. The first thing he did was to return it, with the 

 frugal reminder that I should probably find it useful on 

 some other occasion. The second was to ask whether I 

 was an Irishman. I suppose the air of modesty about my 

 appeal must have struck him. I satisfied the Director- 

 General that I was English to the backbone, and he made 

 some inquiries as to my student career, finally desiring me 

 to hold myself ready for examination. Having passed this, 

 I was in Her Majesty's Service, and entered on the books 

 of Nelson's old ship, the Victory, for duty at Haslar Hospital, 

 about a couple of months after I made my application. 



My official chief at Haslar was a very remarkable person, 

 the late Sir John Richardson, an excellent naturalist, and 

 far-famed as an indomitable Arctic traveller. He was a 

 silent, reserved man, outside the circle of his family and 

 intimates; and, having a full share of youthful vanity, I 

 was extremely disgusted to find that "Old John," as we 

 irreverent youngsters called him, took not the slightest 

 notice of my worshipful self either the first time I attended 

 him, as it was my duty to do, or for some weeks afterwards. 

 I am afraid to think of the lengths to which my tongue 

 may have run on the subject of the churlishness of the chief, 

 who was, in truth, one of the kindest-hearted and most 

 considerate of men. But one day, as I was crossing the 

 hospital square. Sir' John stopped me, and heaped coals of 

 fire on my head by telling me that he had tried to get me one 

 of the resident appointments, much coveted by the assistant- 



