The Project Gutenberg eBook of The life and letters of George John Romanes, by George John Romanes

It had been arranged that the lectures (which the University, rather against the Founder's wish, decided should be called the 'Romanes Lectures') were to be given in the Trinity Term, but owing to the General Election of 1891, Mr. Gladstone postponed the delivery of his inaugural lecture until October 1892.

Journal, March 1892.—The Comptons have been here for Norman's baptism, which was a strikingly pretty ceremony in cathedral at evening service with the choir. Our Dean and the President of Magdalen, as well as Lady Compton, stood sponsors, so the boy is well provided. The students at St. Hugh's Hall decorated the font, and as the boy's second name is Hugh, he is a special protégé of the little Hall.

April 1.—We spent a week at Malvern, in company with the Walter Hobhouses, and then went on to Denton Manor,[95] where a company of the wise, including Ray Lankester, Professors Poulton and Shadworth Hodgson, and Mr. Sully, were. Also others, including Lady Cecil Scott Montagu, who walked abroad with a divining rod, a real act of courage considering who were among the party.

At Malvern Mr. Romanes wrote a sonnet which, in the light of after years, was a sad prophecy.

Journal, May and June 1892.—Had a delightful visit from the Butchers and Mr. H. Graham, later on the Comptons, and Mr. Edmund Gosse, full of witty and wise sayings. Lord Compton sang more divinely than ever, and the Principal of Brasenose played the piano. It was a real musical feast.

Professor Le Conte came to stay here, we had Mr. Gore and one or two others to meet him.

To Miss C. E. Romanes.

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: June 10, 1892.

My dearest Charlotte,—I received your letter of the 6th inst., together with the pair of slippers; the latter are the very thing that is required when occasion again arises.

Ever since you left we have been having Italian weather, the only objection to which being, that for my taste the sunshine is too continuous.

We have had staying with us Professor Palgrave and his daughter. I am going to take her to the Conversazione of the Royal Society on Wednesday next, as Ethel is going to stay behind for her political work. We have also had Lord Justice Fry, with his wife and daughter, staying with us for two or three days.

I have got a promise from Professor Huxley to give the second Romanes Lecture, provided he is able to do so next year. It will be an interesting occasion if he can, because he has not lectured for the last five or six years.

I am glad you like my book, which is selling off very well; but, as you know, the second volume will be much more interesting.

We are all well, and, with united love to both, I remain yours ever the same,

Geo. J. Romanes.

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: March 27, 1892.

My dear Schäfer,—I think I have found a new ordinal character peculiar to the Primates—viz. a nude condition of the terminal phalanges. This does not occur in any other order of mammals that I have looked at, but in all species of primates from Lemurs to Man, as far, at all events, as I have been able to examine. Now I want to see whether hair-follicles, or vestiges thereof, can be found in the terminal phalanges of any species of the order. So I am making a number of sections of the skin of the backs of the terminal phalanges of fingers and toes, of man (adult and fœtal) apes, monkeys, baboons, and lemurs. Hitherto I cannot detect (nor can Kent) any signs or vestiges of follicles. But I should much like you to look over some of the specimens (a few would be enough), in order to see whether your trained eyes would be also unable to trace any rudiments of follicles. If you would care to do this, of course I should acknowledge my obligations in a paper which I am preparing on the subject.

Yours very truly,

G. J. Romanes.

It was a book which was written, so to speak, with the writer's life-blood, it was a great burden on him from the moment he commenced it, and one of his greatest sorrows was his inability to finish it.

It is curious to those who know Mr. Romanes' mind intimately to note the exceeding severity, the almost harsh manner in which he treated the theological questions involved in the doctrines called, for convenience sake, 'Darwinism.' As more and more he found himself yielding on the side of emotion, of moral convictions, inducement, of spiritual need to the relinquished faith, so much the more did he resolve to be utterly true, to face every difficulty, to push no objection aside, to leave nothing unsaid—to be, in fact, absolutely and entirely honest. As a friend after his death, speaking of this very book, said, 'It was his righteousness which made him seem so hard.'

Yet there is a ring of hope of something which will one day turn to faith in the words which end the book:

'Upon the whole, then, it seems to me that such evidence as we have is against rather than in favour of the inference, that if design be operative in animate nature it has reference to animal enjoyment or well-being, as distinguished from animal improvement or evolution. And if this result should be found distasteful to the religious mind—if it be felt that there is no desire to save the evidences of design unless they serve at the same time to testify to the nature of that design as beneficent—I must once more observe that the difficulty thus presented to theism is not a difficulty of modern creation. On the contrary, it has always constituted the fundamental difficulty with which natural theologians have had to contend. The external world appears, in this respect, to be at variance with our moral sense; and when the antagonism is brought home to the religious mind, it must ever be with a shock of terrified surprise. It has been newly brought home to us by the generalisations of Darwin, and therefore, as I said at the beginning, the religious thought of our generation has been more than ever staggered by the question—Where is now thy God? But I have endeavoured to show that the logical standing of the case has not been materially changed; and when this cry of reason pierces the heart of Faith it remains for Faith to answer now, as she always answered before—and answered with that trust which is at once her beauty and her life—Verily thou art a God that hidest Thyself.'

June 1892 brought the first warnings of serious illness. One day Mr. Romanes announced at lunch that he noticed a blind spot in one eye. He consulted his friend Mr. Doyne, the well-known oculist, who from the first thought seriously of the case.

He went up to town, and saw various doctors, and had some thoughts of taking a voyage. He was, however, well enough to attend the Conversazione at the Royal Society, and showed some experiments on rabbits and rats which bore on questions of acquired characters. He writes:

To Mrs. Romanes.

I have been thinking of you a great deal, and, with a somewhat literal application of a certain expletive addressed by a fast man to his eyes, am driven to address you through my goggles.

Nettleship has appointed to-morrow morning to see me, so I shall not be able to get home sooner than 6 train. Don't trouble to meet me, as I must take a cab for the rabbits and rats. The latter are now at the Royal Society, where ample space has been provided for their exhibition. The Zoological paper [96] went off very well, and Flower made a very good remark on it, the substance of which I will tell you when we meet, it had not previously occurred to me. Your letter to the Pollocks never reached them, so they had given me up. They were as enthusiastically kind as usual, and very sympathetic about my eyes.

He returned to Oxford, and was persuaded to rest, and not to go to London again to pay a promised visit to Professor Palgrave.

To Miss C. E. Romanes.

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: June 18, 1892.

My dearest Charlotte,—Your little differences of opinion with regard to the rats are very amusing to me, and I quite see how the matter stands.

I am very glad to hear of your improvement in general health, and also of James' continued vigour. As regards myself I have no very satisfactory account to give. The headaches indeed are not worse—if anything they are better; but the gout is at work on other parts of this vile body, and the latest assault is a very serious one for a man of my pursuits. About ten days ago I found myself partially blind in the right eye—the upper half of the field of vision being totally obliterated. I have seen an Oxford and also a London oculist, who have both examined the eye and pronounce the sudden seizure to be one of serous effusion upon the retina. It seems probable that the impairment of vision will be permanent, and so prevent all operative work where any delicacy is required. The blindness is so complete, that if I look about an inch below the electric light placed at a distance of a very few yards, I am not able to perceive any luminosity. Meanwhile, I have to wear the darkest of possible goggles, and generally to live the life of a blind man. Per contra, this may prove a blessing in disguise, as it compels me to abstain from work for some considerable time to come, and I had been advised to this course on account of the headaches. How I am to spend the six months' rest which is prescribed I have not yet determined. Shooting will be probably out of the question, as I cannot use the left eye in any form of recreation. My idea is rather to go to Egypt and Palestine, to take a voyage to the Cape, or in some other such way to break my usual habits without altogether wasting time.

All the rest of the household are flourishing, and with love to both,

I remain yours ever the same,

George.

In a day or two a second blind spot appeared, and now the doctors took a very serious view of his case. Life and sight alike were threatened, and instant rest and quiet were ordered. For about three weeks he remained in bed, until the extreme pulse tension was reduced, and then it seemed as if hope might be entertained of years of life, if only care were taken about diet, and work, and thought.

Now began the two years of quiet, steadfast, endurance; no one could realise from his quiet manner and cheerful talk how great was the inconvenience caused by the affection of his eyes, no one ever found him anything but unselfish and gentle. The one difficulty was to persuade him not to work, and this was almost impossible. He was almost feverishly anxious to finish his book, to work out experiments he had been planning; and as time went on, and he thought and pondered as he had ever done on the ultimate mysteries of life and being, other books were planned, other courses of reading mapped out.

Just then a letter came from Canon Scott-Holland which much touched the recipient.

'I hear sad news of you through Philip Waggett.[97] You have passed under the sorest trial perhaps that could have been laid on your courage, your hopefulness, your peace.

I trust, indeed, that there is much to look for yet of recovered power and renewed work, but, for the moment, there must be anxiety, and the bitter strain of disappointment, and the rough curb of pain. You are assured of the deep sympathy of many warmhearted friends to whom you have always shown most generous kindness, and I venture to rank myself among them. We shall remember you often and anxiously.

It is a tremendous moment when first one is called upon to join the great army of those who suffer.

That vast world of love and pain opens suddenly to admit us one by one within its fortress.

We are afraid to enter into the land, yet you will, I know, feel how high is the call. It is as a trumpet speaking to us, that cries aloud—'It is your turn—endure.' Play your part. As they endured before you, so now, close up the ranks—be patient and strong as they were. Since Christ, this world of pain is no accident untoward or sinister, but a lawful department of life, with experiences, interests, adventures, hopes, delights, secrets of its own. These are all thrown open to us as we pass within the gates—things that we could never learn or know or see, so long as we were well.

God help you to walk through this world now opened to you as through a kingdom, regal, royal, and wide and glorious. My warmest sympathies to your wife.'

The first weeks of illness passed away, the physicians seemed more satisfied with his condition, and he was sent to Carlsbad, and after five weeks there, came the last bit of pleasant foreign travel. He and his wife travelled in the Tyrol and in the Bavarian Highlands, and Mr. Romanes was able to enjoy the glorious scenery with what seemed keener appreciation than ever; he especially took a fancy to Parten Kirchen, in Bavaria, and planned a return to it another year with his children.

He got as far as Meran, and much enjoyed meeting Mr. and Mrs. Lecky (Mr. Lecky's works were among the very few historical books he read with any real pleasure). And on his return, Sir Andrew Clark was encouraging, holding out hopes of a return to health: 'You've made a bid for recovery,' he said in his genial way. It was thought best that Mr. Romanes should spend the winter in a warm climate, and Madeira was chosen.

Then came the first Romanes lecture, which was a great success in every way. Mr. Gladstone called it 'An Academic Sketch,' and nothing could have been a happier inauguration of the series. It was a memorable scene. The Prime Minister in his doctor's robes, the crowded Sheldonian theatre, the eloquent lecture, the inspiring words of which came like a trumpet call to Oxford's sons, ending with her motto, 'Dominus illuminatio mea.'

The few days of Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone's visit to Oxford were days of real enjoyment to Mr. Romanes. The Journal notes: 'We had a pleasant luncheon party for the Gladstones and Lord Acton, who was also in Oxford; also a breakfast party on the morning after the lecture, to which, among others, came the Principal of St. Edmund's Hall.[98] I put him next Mr. Gladstone, and the consequence was a Dante talk, to Lady Compton's great satisfaction. Mr. Gladstone's talk was wonderful, and no one would have suspected that he had any political cares whatsoever, or that the Election of 1892 was only just over.'

On the day of the lecture we had a delightful time before lunch. Mary Paget and Lord Compton sang for an hour, and put us in good humour.

It was with real regret that good-bye was said to the illustrious guests, with hopes of future meetings never to be realised.

Mr. Huxley accepted the invitation which the Vice-Chancellor permitted Mr. Romanes to give him privately. The following delightful letter gives his final decision:[99]

Hodeslea, Staveley Road, Eastbourne: November 1, 1892.

My dear Mrs. Romanes,—I have just written to the Vice-Chancellor to say that I hope to meet his disposition any time next May.

My wife is 'larking'—I am sorry to use such a word, but what she is pleased to tell me of her doings leaves me no alternative—in London, whither I go on Monday to fetch her back—in chains, if necessary. But I know, in the matter of being 'taken in and done for' by your hospitable selves, I may, for once, speak for her as much as myself.

Don't ask anybody above the rank of the younger son of a peer, because I shall not be able to go into dinner before him or her, and that part of my dignity is naturally what I prize most.

Would you not like me to come in my P.C.[100] suit? All ablaze with gold, and costing a sum with which I could buy, oh! so many books.

Only if your late experiences should prompt you to instruct your other guests not to contradict me—don't—I rather like it.

Ever yours very truly,

T. H. Huxley.

Bon voyage! You can tell Mr. Jones [101] that I will have him brought before the Privy Council, and fined as in the good old days, if he does not treat you properly.

Then came the departure for Madeira, which was a real trial, for never before had Christmas been spent away from home. But the change seemed to do him much good. Save for occasional days of headache he was very bright and well, and worked at his book and wrote several articles for the 'Contemporary Review' on Professor Weismann's theory. But poetry he could not manage.

To Mrs. Henry Pollock.

Madeira: December 18, 1892.

My dear Mentor,—I fear you must have been thinking that I am either very ill or very heartless not to have written ere this. Yet neither is the case. Ill I assuredly am, but not so much as to have prevented me from sending you a letter for the marriage day. The fact is I have been trying to write a sonnet for that occasion ever since I came out here, and cannot. Since my breakdown in June I have entirely lost the power of poetising; I suppose it will come back if my general health should ever return, but still I did think that such an occasion ought to have inspired me. Nothing further than rhymes, however, would come, so the day passed over without my intended contribution to its memorials.

So, dear Mentor, do not think hardly of me. For indeed both you and Marion have been much in my thoughts; and for you especially I know this time must be one of many and varied feelings of the kind that sink deepest into the heart.[102] So not only my old affection, but a new sympathy, is with you—a sympathy in the joy as in the grief of it.

Ethel will have told you what little has to be told about our uneventful life here. As I have said to all my correspondents, it is the island that Tennyson must have had in view when he wrote his 'Lotus-eaters.' The description is so exact, that I need not write anything in the way of description, if you will only read it.

My headaches are growing less intense, although they still keep wonderfully persistent. I cannot foresee what is likely to happen in the end, as no one seems to know exactly what is the matter with me.

The last mail brought me a letter from the Master of my College at Cambridge, telling me that I had been unanimously elected to fill a vacancy in the list of Honorary Fellows. This seems to me very generous, seeing how I have played the prodigal and squandered my living on endowing the enemy.

Please give my very heartiest love and good wishes to the bride. Take also my Christmas greetings for all three of you, coupled with the congratulations that are so meet, and believe me to remain,

Yours ever affectionately,

Geo. J. Romanes.

To James Romanes, Esq.

Madeira: 1892.

I suppose you will have seen in the newspapers, or have been told by Char.,[103] that Caius College has made me an Honorary Fellow.[104] This is a great pleasure to me, because I have always retained my first love for Cambridge, and yet of late years I have so severed my connection with it. These coals of fire have therefore a heat about them which is all the more gratifying.

To Professor Ewart.

This would be a wonderful place for natural history if I were well enough to knock about.

I get fishermen, however, to bring any marine animals which they know to be rare. There is one fish which I never heard of before, and which seems to me remarkable on account of its curious combinations of character, for in all respects it seems to be a large dog-fish, excepting its teeth, which are those of a shark.

To Professor Poulton.

New Hotel, Madeira: December 2, 1892.

My dear Poulton,—I have now read the correspondence in 'Nature.' It seems to me that —— is quite absurdly 'aggressive,' even supposing that he proves to be right. But I send this to ask you about the grasshopper letter in last week's 'Nature,' just received here. I have noticed the same thing in grasshoppers, but do not remember to have seen any account of the changes of colour, or mechanism thereof, in them. Do you know if it has ever been worked at? If not, I might do so here.

The same question applies to lizards. It seems to me that those here vary their colours to suit those of habitual stations. I remember Eimer read a paper about the lizards in Capri, but forget details. He often alludes to it in his book translated by Cunningham. What are his main results?

G. J. R.

The Cambridge Fellowship was a great pleasure to Mr. Romanes. In the last months of his life he longed eagerly to visit his first University and his own college, and planned visits to Cambridge which, alas, were never paid.

Canon Isaac Taylor was in the same hotel at Madeira, and this considerably relieved the weariness of exile. Mr. Romanes was still full of fun and merriment; the headaches diminished; he played chess interminably, and even took part in a little play given one afternoon by a few people who formed themselves into an 'Oxford Brotherhood,' most of the members having some connection with the University of Oxford.

The members of the brotherhood were supposed to deliver lectures in turn, but the burden chiefly fell on Mr. Romanes. The lecturing, which in this particular case was simply talking, was never any trouble to him, and he used to deliver little impromptu discourses which apparently pleased his friendly audience. Canon Taylor kindly gave a discourse on the Aryans, and displeased one of his audience, a young lady, by remarking at the outset, 'My specimens (alluding to Romanes' scientific lectures) are before me, and I suppose we are all Aryans.' The young lady had imagined she was about to hear a lecture on Church history, and was not pleased at being dubbed an Arian.

Mr. Romanes' letters showed nearly always great brightness and increased feelings of health, although now and then he had 'bad days.'

To James Romanes, Esq.

Madeira: January 1, 1893.

This is the first letter which I write in 1893, and am writing it early in the morning before breakfast. New Year's Day is as glorious in sunshine and azure as all—or nearly all—the others have been since we came. I wish you many returns of them and happy, whether in cloud or sunshine.

January 31, 1893.

Your letter on the 15th has been a great treat to me; it rings true and deep, and the next best thing to having dear ones near is to receive expressions of their dearness.

Besides, I am all alone here, for but a few days, it is true, still the place seems dreary under present circumstances, therefore all you say is opportunely said.

For my own part I have always felt that the two most precious things in life are faith and love, and more and more the older that I grow. Ambition and achievement are a long way behind in my experience, in fact out of the running altogether. The disappointments are many and the prizes few, and by the time they are attained seem small.

The whole thing is vanity and vexation of spirit without faith and love.

Perhaps it is by way of compensation for having lost the former that the latter has been dealt to me in such full measure. I never knew anyone so well off in this respect....

Although I have been very much in the world I have not a single enemy, unless it be the ——, who have entirely dropped out of my life.

On the other hand, I do not know anyone who has so many friends, not merely acquaintances, but men and women who are devoted with an ardent affection....

Now, all this might sound very conceited to anyone who would not understand me as I know you will do. But I have been thinking the matter over in my solitude, and candidly I am wholly unable to account for it. Still, to be further candid, even love is not capable of becoming to me any compensation for the loss of faith....

But it is time for me to go to bed and shut up this egotistic screed to post by to-morrow's mail.

I received a telegram yesterday announcing the arrival in England of my brace of Ethels, and to-morrow I expect the arrival here of Charlotte and Mytsie.[105]...

I forgot about the mesmerism article. You will have seen that the writer rather caved in at the end, so that one cannot well understand how much he himself supposes was genuine and how much imposture.

But quite apart from (this), there is no question in my mind that the facts, even as far as hitherto established, are very perplexing. But on this account there is all the more need for caution. I myself went over the Paris Salpétrière two years ago, and saw the doctors' experiments on a number of girls, who were trotted out for my benefit.

But there was such a lot of hocus pocus with magnets that I was much disappointed. Even if none of the girls were humbugging, I saw nothing that could not be explained by suggestion.

For the doctors made suggestions while performing the very experiments which were designed to exclude suggestion.

To Mrs. Vernon Boys.

New Hotel, Madeira: February 1, 1893.

My dear Marion,—If I have your husband's permission still to call you so—your kind letter has been a great solace to me, after my ineffectual efforts to supply a sonnet for the great occasion. For it shows me that your Laureate is forgiven, and my friend, what that friend has always been. Besides, I am now lonely—as my brace of Ethels has flown away—and therefore your affectionate words are all the more welcome.

This, however, is the last day of my solitude, as Charlotte and Mytsie ought to arrive in a few hours.

And now, having given you all my little news, let me pile up my congratulations as high as words can pile them. I heard all about the wedding from many different sources, and there was but one opinion as to the bride. I will not say what it was, but oh, had I been there to see. It is so so good of you to miss us in the middle of it all. But it may have been telepathy, because I was hard at work on my abortive sonnet all that day.

It is like northern breezes to read your account of all the happy doings you have had on your wedding trip, and it makes me happy to feel that you have made so wise a choice in the greatest event of your life. Long may you live together in the cultivation of domestic bliss, although of course only in the moments snatched from the cultivation of science!

February 2.

Charlotte and Mytsie arrived last night at ten o'clock—twelve hours late. They had the roughest voyage which the boat has ever experienced. Poor Char.[106] is literally more dead than alive. But the weather here is beautiful, and I hope she may soon get to rights again.

With affectionate regards to my mentor, and to yours, I remain, ever the same,

Philosopher.

To James Romanes, Esq.

Madeira: March 8.

Charlotte enjoys this place amazingly, she is always saying, 'Just a very Paradise for James.' I quite agree with her. You liked Nice very much, but Nice is far from being up to this either in regard to sun, flowers, rocks, or mountains. It has certainly done me a lot of good. My headaches are virtually gone, and I can work a little again, which makes all the difference between Heaven and its antipodes.

March 13.

I am glad you are pleased about the lectureship foundation. The principal feature of the scheme is the perpetual publication of the lectures in volumes of ten each through all time, or at least as long as Oxford lasts.

I am better even since I last wrote to you. Even my powers of work have, to a considerable extent, returned. So I am answering H. Spencer's articles on 'Weismannism.'

With warmest love, yours ever the same,

George.

To Mrs. G. J. Romanes.

Madeira.

I got your dear note soon after we went down to the pier to see you start. Through the club telescope I thought I saw you and Fritz. When you got far out I came home. The Taylors joined our table, which is very agreeable. The Canon told me a good joke which came off to-day. Sir 'Gorgias' told the Canon he had bought a second-hand book which he thought Dr. Taylor might find interesting.

The Canon asked what the book was, and the Knight replied it was by a man called Locke, and was all about the Human Understanding.

February 2.

Char., Mytsie, and maid arrived; they had a perfectly frightful passage. All passengers shut down for two days, crockery broken, &c.

S—— presented a large wedding cake for the Sunday tea of the Inner Brotherhood.

February 11.

This is the joyful day.[107] Your telegram was handed to me at lunch, so all the Inner Brotherhood had the benefit. The Canon said you ought to have used the comparative degree, so as to leave me an opportunity of returning the superlative.

What a journey you had, poor dears! It does not seem so certain after all that we should be safe for comfort on a long voyage. Mytsie and Char. had a worse passage than you, the wind was dead against them all the way.

It is indeed shocking about the Dean.[108] I heard it before you did. I will write to him by this mail.

So glad you had such a good concert. If you only knew how I was longing to enjoy it with you....

An adagio movement has now followed the allegro, and I am looking forward to a presto home as a finale.

My news is not much. My cold was very bad from Saturday to Monday, but I slept most of the time straight on. If it were not for my eyes I should be almost as well as ever I was.

I read Walter Hobhouse's child story, and Mrs. —— capped it with another. A little girl she knew asked whether, when she got to heaven, she might 'have a little devil up to play with.' Mytsie's nephew, when three years old, had a much prettier idea. On M. telling him that something had happened before he was born, he said, 'Then that was when I was still in heaven.' 'Yes,' answered M., 'but what was heaven like?' 'Oh, there I played with angels, and there was nothing but Christmas trees.'

Are not the debates first-rate? It seems to me I never read so many good speeches as those of Balfour, Bryce, and Chamberlain. But the measure itself is absurd.

We had a party on board the 'Royal Sovereign' on Tuesday last. It was a dance on deck, and was very pretty. Enormous profusion of flags and flowers all over the ship. I asked one of the midshipmen to dine with us at the 'round table;' he had shown us over one of the ships on a previous day, as I told you, and proved an awfully nice little fellow, curiously like P. N. W.[109] Suffers always horribly from sea-sickness, and gave a dismal account of his life at sea.

By the way, à propos of the B.A. I suppose you have heard that Lord Salisbury is to be President next year at Oxford. You had better be thinking whom to invite as guests, leaving a margin in case —— should redeem his promise. I shall meet him between this and then somewhere and ascertain.

March 12.

There has been a most extraordinary change in the weather. Up to yesterday we had three of the calmest days that have been since I came. The sea was without a ripple, and Char. and I were last night hoping it would be like that when we start, as it would be sure to last till we got home. When, lo and behold, this morning there is by far the highest wind and sea I have yet seen. The spray is flying right over the rocks, once up to where Fritz got over the wall by the bathing-place. Rain in sheets. The 'Drummond Castle' will have an awful time of it. No hope of a letter to-day.

March 16.

Letters, such jolly good gossip that I feel disposed to follow the example of the 'distinguished man' who lived apart from his wife because he so much enjoyed her letters. And yet I am like a hound straining at his leash to get away.

I cannot read what it is that York Powell is going to have designed for us, it looks like 'booky flash.'[110]

... By the time you get this, it will only be another fortnight before you get me, and I believe you will get me in a wonderfully restored state of health.

March 17.

The weather is still the same. Tremendous wind and perpetual squalls of rain, 'the sea and the waves roaring,' also 'men's hearts failing them for fear,' for the occupants of the rooms we used to have never went to bed last night.

This morning an English man-of-war ran in for refuge, but had to run out again before the return salutes had been fired, as her anchors could not hold, and an odd accident happened. At the 18-minute gun from the fort, one of the gunners somehow got in front of the cannon and was blown to atoms. I suppose they were all confused with the wind and the spray.

The waterproof coat you sent me is in great requisition. Moreover it is a source of great amusement to the Inner Brotherhood, as Miss Taylor has discovered in it a close resemblance to a hassock—no, I mean a cassock. She wants me to get a round hat wherewith to 'cap' it when I return to Oxford. All the same, it is the best thing in the way of a waterproof that I have met as yet.

March 19.

I have got Weismann's new book, 'The Germ-Plasm.' It is a much more finished performance than the 'Essays.' In fact, he has evidently been consulting botanists, reading up English literature on the subject, so he has anticipated nearly all the points of my long criticisms. This is a nuisance.

Per contra, since coming here I have heard of no less than three additional cases of cats which have lost their tails afterwards having tailless kittens. I wish to goodness I had been more energetic in getting on with my experiments about this, so I have written to John to get me twelve kittens to meet me on my return. It would be a grand thing to knock down W.'s whole edifice with a cat's tail.

The monotony of life here is becoming intolerable. There is nothing to write about.

You will have seen that Taine is dead. I was just about to write to him, to ask if he would be the Romanes lecturer.

March 21.

Here is an odd thing. I find that Weismann in his new book has discussed all the points raised by Spencer. So Spencer and I have been hammering away at things which W. has already written upon. Luckily, he says about what I anticipated he would say (see my article), but how absurd a fiasco! I have written a postscript to go by the mail, hoping it may arrive in time to be bound up as a separate slip before the issue of April number, explaining that absence from England prevented me from getting W.'s new book until now. But S. ought to have known.

March 22.

I have written to Weismann telling him that Bunting will send him a copy of the 'Cont. Review.'[111]

I have asked W. if he will give the Romanes Lecture some year. Love to you and the chicks. You will have to tell me which is which of the boys.

Unless he has already procured ordinary kittens, tell John [112] to get them either Angora or Persian. They will cost more, but will be much better.

I had a long innings with the doctor to-day; he says I am perfectly sound; believes my headaches are all gastric.

Your last letter just received is such a relief to me. I was just Ernest's age when I nearly died of whooping cough.

The home coming was very bright, and again Mr. Romanes set to work with renewed and, alas, too great vigour. Beyond absolutely refusing invitations to dine out at Oxford, and living as quietly as possible at home, there was no keeping him in order. The following letters show how irrepressible his spirits were whenever a day's health made him hopeful again.

To Mrs. G. J. Romanes.

Athenæum Club: May 10, 1893.

I was very sorry that I could not get home to-day, and hope you will have received my telegram. Everybody was at the Royal Society except Balfour, and I became wearied with congratulations on my improved appearance. I met Moulton,[113] who was awfully nice, and wanted me to dine and sleep at his house some day if I can, in order to talk over 'physiological selection.'

So I asked him to come and hear Huxley. He said he would try.... Galton asked me to join in an investigation of the French calculating boy at his house to-day, so I did. Oliver Lodge was there. The boy was most marvellous.

I am going to the Globe to-night and am very well. After the R.S. last night I went to a party at Lady Tenterden's. Very smart.

Yours ever lovingly,

George.

Journal: May.—Sir A. Clark is fairly encouraging. Dinner at Mrs. Pollock's; met the R. Palgraves and W. Flowers, who have blossomed out into K.C.B.'s since we left.

20th.—The Huxleys' visit has been most delightful. He was most genial and 'mellow,' and his lecture has, of course, aroused great interest. Various people to meet them. Mr. Gore and Professor Froude one day to lunch. Somewhat heterogeneous elements. When the former had gone, Mr. Huxley suddenly awakened to the fact that it was the Principal of the Pusey House whom he had met.

Count and Countess Balzani have been here, and we had an 'historical' dinner for them.

This was the last bit of the old pleasant life which Mr. Romanes had so much enjoyed. He was busy arranging experiments on heliotropism and on the power of germination in dry seeds after precautions had been taken to prevent any ordinary processes of respiration, which were worked up into a Royal Society paper. He writes:

To F. Darwin, Esq.

St. Aldate's, Oxford: June 14.

My dear Darwin,—There has been no hurry about answering my letter because I cannot publish until I shall have ascertained what has already been done upon the subject, and for this purpose I have had to write to Germany. I am greatly obliged to you for the substantial assistance which your letter has given me.

My modus operandi was to give nine different kinds of seeds to Crookes,[114] to place them in one of his ¹/_1000000 atmosphere vacuums for three months last year (viz. February, March, and April). He then left one set undisturbed, whilst the other eight sets were transferred to their respective gases (nine in number), where they remained sealed up for a year. On being planted last month they have all germinated even better than those from the control packets of seeds, which have been in air all the time.

I should have thought beforehand that at any rate the seeds which have been in so high a vacuum for fifteen months would have had any residual air extracted. But I will now try for next year, peeling peas, beans, &c., as you suggest. Do you think it would be well also to soak the seeds for a few hours before sealing in Crookes' tubes?

Do not trouble to answer by letter, as I am going to Cambridge on the 21st inst. for the day, and will then see you if I can find you at home.

I am not exactly 'at work,' as I am not as yet well enough to attempt it at anything like ordinary pressure, but I am certainly better, and much obliged to you for your kind inquiries upon the subject.

With our united kind regards to Mrs. Darwin and yourself,

I remain, yours sincerely,

G. J. Romanes.

P.S. My illness has left me half blind, so I write as much as possible by dictation. (What a bull!)