Economic biology may be very useful but I am not interested in it. Give me the pure science. I don’t want to be worrying my head over remedies for potato disease nor cures for fleas in fowls. Heaven preserve me from ever becoming a County Council lecturer or a Government Entomologist!5 … Give me the recluse life of a scholar or investigator, full of leisure, culture, and delicate skill. I would rather know Bergson than be able to stay at the Ritz Hotel. I would rather be able to dissect a starfish’s water-vascular system than know the price of Consols. I should make a most industrious country gentleman with £5,000 a year and a deer park. … My idea is to withdraw from the mobile vulgus and spend laborious days in the library or laboratory. The world is too much with us. I long for the monotony of monastic life! Father Wasmann and the Abbé Spallanzani are the type. Let me set my face towards them. Such lives afford poor material for novelists or dramatists, but so much the better. Hamlet makes fine reading, but I don’t want to be Hamlet myself.
“So you’ve had no training in Zoology at all?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, if you’ve taught yourself all you know, you’ve done remarkably well.”
He still seemed a little incredulous, and when I explained how I got a great many of my marine animals for dissection and study at the Plymouth Marine Laboratory, he immediately asked me suspiciously if I had ever worked there. We shook hands, and he wished me all success in the future, to which I to myself devoutly said Amen.
Came home very elated at having impressed someone at last.
Now for Dublin.
In the afternoon went out dredging in fifteen fathoms off the pier at I⸺, but without much success. … Got a large number of interesting things, however, in the tow net, including some advanced eggs of Loligo and a Tomopteris. …
Went to the trout stream again. After stretching a muslin net crosswise on the water for insects floating down, sat on the footbridge and read Geology for the Dublin Examination. Later, waded downstream to a hazel bush on the right bank beneath a shady oak. Squatted right down on the bush, which supported me like an armchair—and, with legs dangling in the cool water, opened a Meredith and enjoyed myself.
Had to write backing out of the Dublin Examination for which I am nominated to sit. I am simply not fit for the racket of such a journey in my present state of health. My chances of success, too, are not such as to warrant my drawing on Dad for the money. He is still ill, and secretly agitated, I fear, because I am so bent on giving up his work. It looks, however, as if newspaper journalism is to be my fate. It was the refinement of torture having to write.
Had a letter from Dr. S⸺ enough to wring tears from a monument.
Sat like a valetudinarian in the Park all day getting fresh air—among the imbeciles, invalids, and children. Who cares? “But, gentlemen, you shall hear.”
Still another chance—quite unexpectedly received a second nomination this morning to sit for another exam, for two vacancies in the British Museum. Good luck this.
Very hot, so went to S⸺, and bathed in the salmon pool. Stretched myself out in the water, delighted to find that I had at last got to the very heart of the countryside. I was not just watching from the outside—on the bank. I was in it, and plunging in it, too, up to my armpits. What did I care about the British Museum or Zoology then? All but the last enemy and object of conquest I had overcome—for the moment perhaps even Death himself was under heel—I was immortal—in that minute I was always prostrate in the stream—sunk deep in the bosom of old Mother Earth who cannot die!
At 4 p.m. to the Salmon Pool for a bathe. 87.3 in the shade. The meadow was delicious in the sunshine. It made me want to hop, flirt my tail, sing. I felt ever such a bright-eyed wily bird!
Caught the afternoon train to C⸺, but unfortunately forgot to take with me either watch or tubes (for insects). So I applied to the stationmaster, a youth of about eighteen, who is also signalman, porter, ticket-collector, and indeed very factotal—even to the extent of providing me with empty match boxes. I agreed with him to be called by three halloos from the viaduct just before the evening train came in. Then I went up to the leat, set up my muslin net in it for insects floating down, and then went across to the stream and bathed. Afterwards, went back and boxed the insects caught, and returned to the little station, with its creepers on the walls and over the roof, all as delightfully quiet as ever, and the station youth as delightfully silly. Then the little train came around the bend of the line—green puffing engine and red coaches, like a crawling caterpillar of gay colour.
A trapper killed a specimen of Tropidonotus natrix and brought it to me. I gave him sixpence for it and am just going to dissect it.
There are folk who notice nothing. (Witness Capt. McWhirr in Conrad’s “Typhoon.”) They live side by side with genius or tragedy as innocent as babies; there are heaps of people who live on a mountain, a volcano, even, without knowing it. If the stars of Heaven fell and the Moon were turned into blood someone would have to direct their attention to it. … Perhaps after all,
