AUTOBIOGRAPHY 9 



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 trav- 

 eller. 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 consider- 

 ate 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 



