238 THE HOME OF A NATURALIST. 



* Amid his senses' giddy wheel, 

 Did he not desperate impulse feel, 

 Headlong to plunge himself below, 

 And meet the worst his fears foreshow ? ' 



** It was not a dream with me, but a terrible reality, 

 and the * desperate impulse ' became well-nigh over- 

 mastering, I fought against it with all the strength I 

 could command. Would it not be cowardice ? Would 

 it not be suicide ? I would not listen to the tempta- 

 tion ; I would not think of it, not while there was a 

 gleam of hope, not while reason remained, not at least 

 till the water had risen to my feet. I was no coward. 

 I had often been in positions of utmost peril, when 

 coolness of head, readiness of resource, or promptitude 

 of action, had carried me through ; and I rather prided 

 myself on my presence of mind in circumstances of 

 difficulty or danger. I had once been driven far out 

 to sea in a storm. On another occasion, my boat had 

 been swamped. I had lost my way in a snow-storm. 

 I had once been compelled to spend thirty-six long 

 hours of tempest and snow and sleet in the dead of 

 winter on an uninhabited island, when no boat could 

 possibly come with help. But in these and other 

 cases of emergency, I had never lost coolness or 

 courage or hope, for there was always something to 

 do, something that could be done. There was the 

 need and the demand for action of some sort. But 

 here it was very different. Sitting on this terrible 

 rock, perforce so utterly passive and powerless, with 

 nothing that I could do, and little of promise to hope 



