A BUTTERFLY’S WINGS. 
93 
called, Sir ! They begged me to apologise to you for coming at 
this late hour, and regretted that they had not brought their cards. 
When I asked if they would kindly give their names I found they 
spoke in some foreign tongue, then each took a book from his coat 
pocket. ‘ Give these to your master,’ said one of them who 
could speak English. Tell him the authors of these works are 
desirous of speaking with him.’ He added, Sir, that you would 
know their names when you saw these volumes.” The authors 
desire to see me ! They speaking foreign tongues! Was it a 
hoax, or was I dreaming ? I looked at the books. They varied 
in size, age, title and appearance. At bottom lay a leather-bound 
folio, printed in Latin and Greek, and bearing the title of 
Historia Plantarum. Next a vellum quarto with the words 
Systema Natura met my eye. Then a small octavo in cloth 
entitled Natural Theology. After this my eye alighted on the 
words Origin of Species, and finally to crown the whole came a 
beautiful little volume of poems. These titles I had finished 
reading while the servant was telling her story, and at once I 
exclaimed—“ The authors of these splendid volumes wish to 
spend an hour in my society! What an unspeakable honour. 
Passing strange it is too, for they have all joined the great 
majority. Push back the table, Susan, draw up the chairs, put 
the kettle on by and bye and be ready to do the necessary 
honours, and now, shew the gentlemen, with every mark of 
courtesy and respect, into my retreat.” 
Thoughts, words, actions* followed each other in quick 
succession, and within a few moments of their appearing at my 
door the gentlemen who are about to be introduced were within 
the walls of my sanctum. “ I am delighted to be thus honoured, 
gentlemen ! ” I exclaimed as I rose to my feet to grasp the extended 
hand of the first, and then of the other distinguished visitors, 
At a glance I could tell who they were, and attach to each his 
rightful name, for their portraits had been familiar to me for 
years. However, I was relieved from all embarassment by the 
timely remarks of one who wore the garb of an English clergyman, 
and thus addressed me. “ We seem scarcely to be strangers, Sir, 
for we have lived and laboured in the same city, and for the 
selfsame Master. I have observed once and again that you have 
stood fondly by my tablet in the Cathedral at Carlisle, and have 
brought more than one of your friends to view the spot, and 
examine the beautiful pulpit which loving hands have chased and 
erected to my memory.” It was, as the reader will have recog¬ 
nized, William Paley, the well known author of Natural Theology , 
who was acting the part of spokesman. “ I believe,” he con¬ 
tinued, “ that you will feel quite as much at home with my honoured 
and worthy friends, whom I have the pleasure to introduce. 
Charles Darwin’s name, is a household word wherever science is 
cultivated—this is the author of The Origin of Species , and The 
