’ARRY.

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HOW TO SPEND A HOLIDAY ON SCIENTIFIC PRINCIPLES.

(A PAGE FROM THE DIARY OF AN ENTHUSIAST IN SEARCH OF REST.)

["It is a good rule of practice to devote one portion of a short vacation to the serious and necessary business of doing nothing, and doing it very thoroughly too.”—­Letter to the Times.]

At last my time for rest has arrived.  Musn’t be idle, though.  Dr. MORTIMER GRANVILLE says it would be most injurious to my health.  Must hunt up precedents for leisure leading to no results.  Let me see—­why not try the British Museum?  Sure to find something useful there—­and useless, which will be more appropriate.

Take an omnibus.  See one in the distance.  Hail it.  Conductor takes no notice!  Shout and hurry after it.  Try to attract attention of the driver.  Failure.  Capital commencement to my labours.  Had my run for nothing!

Victory!  Stopped one partially occupied.  No room outside.  Enter interior.  Six passengers on one seat.  Five on the other.  The half dozen regard me with contemptuous indifference.  The five make no room.  Explain that I want a seat.  Remark received in silence.  Sit down on knee of small boy.  Mother (next him) expostulates—­angrily.  Chorus of indignant beholders.  Conductor is impertinent.  Ask for his number, he asks for my fare.  Pay him.  While this is going on, young woman has entered omnibus, and taken vacant seat.  Conductor counts places, says there is no room.  Can’t carry me.  Won’t give back fare—­has torn off ticket.  Says I must get out.  Say I will report him.  Impudent again.  Getting out drop ticket.  Incident subsequently (to my later satisfaction) leads to nothing!

Won’t have anything more to do with the omnibuses.  Enter hansom—­old man (the driver) smiles civilly when I say “British Museum.”  Now, I must seriously rest.  Go to sleep.  Slumber until awakened by a jolt.  Look out.  Find myself near the river.  Strikes me that the Thames is not close to the Museum.  Appeal to cabman through the hole in the roof.  Difficulty in attracting his attention.  Stop him at last.  Ask him why he did not take me to the Museum.  He smiles and says he didn’t hear me—­he is deaf!  Very angry.  He expostulates, civilly.  He saw I was asleep and didn’t wish to disturb me!  He has been driving up and down the Thames Embankment for the last three hours—­charge seven and sixpence.  Don’t see my way out of the difficulty, except by payment.  He thanks me, and suggests that he shall now drive me to the Museum for eighteen-pence.  Very angry and refuse.  He is hailed by someone else, and is off to pick up his new fare.  On consideration it seems to me that my anger has led to nothing.  Nothing—­just what I wanted, but not exactly at the right moment.