It was on one of those
glorious autumn afternoons, that we sometimes enjoy in
England, when I was asked to go in and sit with
the well known professor, Charles Darwin. He was almost bedridden for some months before he died. I used
to feel when I saw him that his fine presence would make a grand picture for our Royal Academy, but never did I
think so more strongly than on this
particular occasion. He was sitting up in bed, wearing
a soft embroidered dressing gown, of rather a rich
purple shade. Propped up by pillows, he was gazing out on a far-stretching scene of woods and
cornfields, which glowed in the light of one of
those marvelous sunsets which are the
beauty of Kent and Surrey. His
noble forehead and fine features seemed to
be lit up with pleasure as I entered the room.