92 
THE NATURALISTS* JOURNAL. 
study, the curtains were drawn, the fire stirred, the easy chair 
pulled forward, and every preparation completed for the much 
needed rest. For half an hour, at least, I could be perfectly 
quiet. The repose which I had so eagerly anticipated had been 
well earned, and would be proportionately sweet. To retire to 
my bed-chamber would have been worse than useless. The brain 
must be soothed. I must spend a little time in shutting off the 
mental steam which the fire within my brain, rapidly burning and 
constantly fed the live-long day, had generated. Perhaps I could 
as usual, spend a little time with one of my favourite authors. 
There were, around my study walls, full store of much-loved books 
of all kinds—Travels in far distant lands, reminders of my experi¬ 
ences in the Far East, in the days when my locks were darker 
and my beard was shorter—works on languages, dead and living, 
which I never wearied of conning—choice biographies by Boswell, 
after Boswell, and unlike Boswell—poets, especially those of the 
charming Lakeland in which my tent was pitched—science in 
great plenty, from Pliny’s Natural History downwards—and, to 
mention no more, goodly tomes on the lightest and best of all 
sciences, the science of Religion. 
For special reasons I had recommenced the study of the lives 
and writings of the noble men who, at the beginning of this cent¬ 
ury, made the Lake District a centre of unique attractiveness 
and interest. I could revert to Southey, Coleridge, De Quincey, 
or Wordsworth at any moment, no matter how fatigued the mind 
or body might feel, and be sure of instant refreshment. At this 
moment certainly no society could be more congenial. I there¬ 
fore reached down the volumes which I needed, prepared pencil 
and note paper for making the usual memoranda and references, and 
seated myself before the fire. All was calm. The children had 
retired to rest; the ladies were busy with quiet occupations in 
their own apartments. There was nothing to disturb my reveries, 
or prevent me, if so disposed, indulging my fancy to the full. 
Hark! Did I hear the sound of voices in the vestibule ? 
Were those after-bounds the footfall of the servant in the hall ? 
A conversation seemed to be in progress, a door opened and 
closed, so I fancied at least, and I was about to solve the problem 
in my mind and proceed. “ Someone, no doubt, to see the 
ladies. A late caller to arrange for a bazaar or charity tea. Very 
well it is no one to see me. What answer could I give, what 
excuse would it be possible to make if someone really wanted an 
interview on business ? But why think of this ? My hour’s rest 
will certainly not now be broken, nor my peace of mind disturbed.” 
Thus I reasoned in a mechanical kind of way. It was all the 
work of a moment, for the next instant I had shouted “ Come 
in!” The servant, I thought, had tapped at my door. Looking 
round curiously, to ascertain who had knocked, I saw the maid 
standing by, bearing a tray. “ A number of gentlemen have 
