362 The Naturalist in La Plata. 



the heavens glittering with innumerable stars ; the 

 muffled sound of the hoofs on the soft sward becomes 

 inlanoy 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 light-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. 



A'^TOfO?, 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 familiar experience, the deep thought, 

 lessening pace, and consequent irritation. The in- 

 dolent brute I 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 1 



