The Journal of a Disappointed Man

July 6. 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.... July 7. 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 arm-chair--and, with legs dangling in the cool water, opened a Meredith and enjoyed myself. July 28. 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. July 31. 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." August 4. 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.