My beloved friend, the Rev.Newman Hall, asked the privilege of accompanying me, as, like most Londoners, he had never put his eye on the recluse philosopher.

We found the same old brick house, No.

5 Cheyne Row, Chelsea, without the slightest change outside or in.
But, during those thirty years the gifted wife had departed, and a sad change had come over the once hale, stalwart man.

After we had waited some time, a feeble, stooping figure, attired in a long blue flannel gown, moved slowly into the room.

His gray hair was unkempt, his blue eyes were still keen and piercing, and a bright hectic spot of red appeared on each of his hollow cheeks.