"I believe that every one who sets about
writing in earnest does his work, as a friend
of mine phrased it, on something—tea, or
coffee, or tobacco. I suppose there is a
material waste that must be hourly supplied
in such occupations, or that we should
grow too abstracted, and the mind, as it
were, pass out of the body, unless it were
reminded often of the connexion by actual
sensation. At all events, I felt the want,
and I supplied it. Tea was my companion
—at first the ordinary black tea, made in
the usual way, not too strong; but I
drank a great deal, and increased its
strength as I went on. I never experienced
an uncomfortable symptom from it. I
began to take a little green tea. I found
the effect pleasanter, it cleared and
intensified the power of thought so. I had
come to take it frequently, but not stronger
than one might take it for pleasure. I wrote
a great deal out here, it was so quiet, and
in this room. I used to sit up very late,
and it became a habit with me to sip my
tea—green tea—every now and then as my
work proceeded. I had a little kettle on
my table, that swung over a lamp, and
made tea two or three times between eleven
o'clock and two or three in the morning,
my hours of going to bed. I used to go
into town every day. I was not a monk,
and, although I often spent an hour or two
in a library, hunting up authorities and
looking out lights upon my theme, I was
in no morbid state, so far as I can judge.
I met my friends pretty much as usual, and
enjoyed their society, and, on the whole,
existence had never been, I think, so
pleasant before.

"I had met with a man who had some odd
old books, German editions in mediæval
Latin, and I was only too happy to be
permitted access to them. This obliging
person's books were in the City, a very
out-of-the-way part of it. I had rather
out-stayed my intended hour, and, on coming
out, seeing no cab near, I was tempted
to get into the omnibus which used to drive
past this house. It was darker than this
by the time the 'bus had reached an old
house, you may have remarked, with four
poplars at each side of the door, and there
the last passenger but myself got out. "We
drove along rather faster. It was twilight
now. I leaned back in my corner next the
door ruminating pleasantly.

"The interior of the omnibus was nearly
dark. I had observed in the corner opposite
to me at the other side, and at the end next
the horses, two small circular reflections, as
it seemed to me, of a reddish light. They
were about two inches apart, and about the
size of those small brass buttons that yachting
men used to put upon their jackets. I
began to speculate, as listless men will, upon
this trifle, as it seemed. From what centre
did that faint but deep red light come, and
from what—glass beads, buttons, toy
decorations—was it reflected? We were
lumbering along gently, having nearly a
mile still to go. I had not solved the
puzzle, and it became in another minute
more odd, for these two luminous points,
with a sudden jerk, descended nearer the
floor, keeping still their relative distance
and horizontal position, and then, as
suddenly, they rose to the level of the seat on
which I was sitting, and I saw them no
more.

"My curiosity was now really excited,
and, before I had time to think, I saw again
these two dull lamps, again together near
the floor; again they disappeared, and
again in their old corner I saw them.

"So, keeping my eyes upon them, I edged
quietly up my own side, towards the end
at which I still saw these tiny discs of red.

"There was very little light in the 'bus.
It was nearly dark. I leaned forward to aid
my endeavour to discover what these little
circles really were. They shifted their
position a little as I did so. I began now
to perceive an outline of something black,
and I soon saw with tolerable distinctness
the outline of a small black monkey, pushing
its face forward in mimicry to meet
mine; those were its eyes, and I now dimly
saw its teeth grinning at me.

"I drew back, not knowing whether it
might not meditate a spring. I fancied that
one of the passengers had forgot this ugly
pet, and wishing to ascertain something
of its temper, though not caring to trust
my fingers to it, I poked my umbrella softly
towards it. It remained immovable—up to
it—through it! For through it, and back
and forward, it passed, without the slightest
resistance.

"I can't, in the least, convey to you the
kind of horror that I felt. When I had
ascertained that the thing was an illusion,
as I then supposed, there came a misgiving
about myself and a terror that fascinated
me in impotence to remove my gaze from
the eyes of the brute for some moments.
As I looked, it made a little skip back, quite
into the corner, and I, in a panic, found
myself at the door, having put my head
out, drawing deep breaths of the outer air,
and staring at the lights and trees we were