professorship. How had he thus been led astray? Not only had his
boyish instincts moved strongly towards science, but was not the
tendency of the age in the same direction? Buckland Warricombe, who
habitually declaimed against classical study, was perfectly right;
the world had learned all it could from those hoary teachers, and
must now turn to Nature. On every hand, the future was with students
of the laws of matter. Often, it was true, he had been tempted by
the thought of a literary career; he had written in verse and prose,
but with small success. An attempt to compose the Prize Poem was
soon abandoned in discouragement; the essay he sent in had not been
mentioned. These honours had fallen to Earwaker, with whom it was
not easy to compete on such ground. No, he was not born a man of
letters. But in science, granted fair opportunity, he might make a
name. He might, and he would!

On the morrow, splendour of sunshine drew him forth to some distance
from the town. He went along the lanes singing; now it was holiday
with him, and for the first time he could enjoy the broad golden
daylight, the genial warmth. In a hollow of grassy fields, where he
least expected to encounter an acquaintance, it was his chance to
come upon Christian Moxey, stretched at full length in the company
of nibbling sheep. Since the dinner at Mr. Moxey's, he had neither
seen nor heard of Christian, who, it seemed probable, was back at
his work in Rotherhithe. As their looks met, both laughed.

'I won't get up,' said Christian; 'the effort would be too great.
Sit down and let us have a talk.'

'I disturb your thoughts,' answered Godwin.