PREFACE. ivi 
leading to Hatch. The father, however, seems to have been 
by no means tired of commercial life, for he again entered into 
business—this time at Godalming—as a wool stapler. This 
step was probably taken by the good man solely for the sake of 
his son, in order that on leaving school he might begin a 
commercial career under parental supervision. For ten years 
father and son continued in the wool trade; but the study of 
* Nature—for which the neighbourhood of Godalming offered 
great opportunity—proved a strong counter-attraction to the 
younger man. He was not energetic in the routine of 
business, and it is to be feared that his absence from duty 
was frequent; nevertheless, he was far from idle. Indeed, 
idleness was foreign to his nature; not only at this period, but 
throughout life, idleness was in his opinion a positive crime. 
He held that no man need ever be without work. He knew 
scarcely any rest: if when he came home there were an interval of 
only a few minutes before a meal, out would come books, papers, 
and insect-boxes, and he would at once be deep in scientific work. 
He was generally in bed by ten o'clock at night, but up again in 
the very early morning; until his later years he was seldom in 
bed after six o’clock, and in summer-time he would often be up 
and at work by five, four, and even three o'clock. After 1840 
the greater part of his writing was done before breakfast ; he 
would also write from about seven to nine in the evening; but 
the greater part of the work was done in the uninterrupted 
quiet of the early morning. 
It was in this spirit of industry that he wandered away from 
business at Godalming, and sought more congenial pursuits in 
the lanes and fields, the woods and commons, of the beautiful 
county of Surrey. Whether shooting blackcock on Hindhead, 
climbing old hollow trees for owlets, or wandering about the 
lanes with an insect-net, the mere present pleasure of the 
occupation was not the principal charm. ‘ When the lengthen- 
ing days give the first impulse to the feathered tribes to bend 
their course northward for the breeding season, it is here that 
I listen for the first notes of the chiffchaff; here I watch for the 
blackeap, the nightingale, the willow wrens, the garden warblers, 
the whitethroat; here, hour after hour, have I hunted for their 
nests,—my object not being plunder, but information. Often 
