156 THE OPEN AIR. 



first a shadow came and then the substance, that is, 

 a gentleman sat down by me and wished me good 

 morning, in a slightly different accent to that we 

 usually hear. I looked wistfully at the immense 

 length of empty seats ; on both sides of the i^ier for 

 two hundred yards or more there extended an 

 endless empty seat. Why could not he have chosen 

 a spot to himself ? Why must he place himself just 

 here, so close as to touch me ? Four hundred yards 

 of vacant seats, and he could not find room for 

 himself. 



It is a remarkable fact in natural history that 

 one's elbow is sure to be jogged. It does not matter 

 what you do; suppose you paint in the most 

 secluded spot, and insert yourself, moreover, in the 

 most inconspicuous part of that spot, some vacant 

 physiognomy is certain to intrude, glaring at you 

 with glassy eye. Suppose you do nothing (like 

 myself), no matter where you do it some inane 

 humanity obtrudes itself. I took out my note-book 

 once in a great open space at the Tower of London, 

 a sort of court or place of arms, quite open and a 

 gunshot across; there was no one in sight, and if 

 there had been half a regiment they could have 

 passed (and would have passed) without interference. 

 I had scarcely written three lines when the pencil 

 flew up the page, some hulking lout having brushed 

 against me. He could not find room for himself. 

 A hundred yards of width was not room enough for 

 him to go by. He meant no harm ; it did not occur 

 to him that he could be otherwise than welcome. 

 He was the sort of man who calmly sleeps on your 



