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.