Chapter IV: Oxford (2)

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.

Mr. Holland writes:

'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!)

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: June 15.

My dear Dyer,--Many thanks for your letter with enclosures. The
letter shows that ----'s opinion has not altered since I last saw
him. As I think I told you at the Athenæum, he undertook some
two or three years ago on my behalf to raise discussions in the
papers, to which he alludes. Since that time he has sent me, I
believe, copies of all the numberless letters which have been
published in consequence. The result of our inquiry has been to
confirm the opinion which he gave me at the first, and also to
form my own in the same direction. (See my article in answer to
Herbert Spencer in the 'Contemporary Review' for April.[115])

As regards the isolation of species I do not understand why you
should suppose that the facts of hybridisation to which you
allude should in any way modify my 'belief.' As fully set forth
in 'Physiological Selection,' what I maintain is that the origin
of species is in _all_ cases due to isolation of _some kind_,
but that only in the case of differential fertility can physo.
sel. have been the kind of isolation at work. Therefore, it
would be fatal to my views if all species were cross-sterile,
because this would prove vastly too much. What the theory of
phy. sel. requires is exactly what occurs, viz. cross-sterility
between allied species in nearly all cases _where species have
been differentiated on common areas_ or identical stations,
and more or less complete cross-fertility where they have been
differentiated on different (discontinuous) areas, or else
prevented from intercrossing by yet some other means of isolation.

I have collected a quantity of evidence in favour of both these
otherwise inexplicable correlations. But I should like to know
the species of wild fowl which you have found to be hybridisable
or cross-fertile, so that I may ascertain whether their natural
breeding areas are, or are not, identical. Of course I should
expect them not to be.

I have been told to save my eyes as much as possible, and
therefore conduct most of my correspondence by dictation. But not
being used to this process, I find it even more difficult than
before to express my meaning with clearness, so I will tackle
with my own hand what you say about Aquilegias.

I have looked up the group, and find that, with the exception
of vulgaris (common columbine), all the European species seem
to occupy restricted areas, or else well-isolated stations.
Also, that the same seems to apply as a very general rule to
other species all over the world, for, wherever mountains are
concerned, stations are apt to be isolated by difference of
altitude, &c.

Now if such be the case with the group in question, the fact
of its constituent species being freely hybridisable when
artificially brought together is exactly what my theory requires.
For the specific differentiation has presumably been effected by
geographical (or topographical) isolation, without physiological
having had anything to do with it. In fact, as stated over and
over again in my original paper, _this_ correlation between
geographical isolation and cross-fertility is _one_ of my lines
of verification, the _other_ line being the correlation between
identical stations and cross-sterility.

Now, as above stated, I have found both these correlations to
obtain in a surprisingly general manner.

I wish that, instead of perpetually misunderstanding the theory,
you English botanists would help me by pointing out _exceptions_
to these two rules, so that I might specially investigate them.
It seems to me that the group you name goes to corroborate the
first of them, while all Jordan's work, for instance, uniformly
bears out the second. And whatever may be thought about him in
other respects, I am not aware that anyone has ever refuted his
observations and experiments so far as I am concerned with them.

Yours ever sincerely,
G. J. ROMANES.

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: June 22.

Dear Dyer,--I received a letter from ---- by the same post
that brought yours of the 19th inst. From it I gather that
his opinion on the subject of telegony has not changed in any
material respect since our inquiry began. His opinion has always
been such as you now quote ('atavism' on the one hand, with a
small minority of 'dormant fertilisation' cases on the other).
His has likewise always been my own view (with the addition
of coincidence), and has been corroborated by the result of
these inquiries. So I think we are all three pretty well in
agreement, because both ---- and myself share in your doubts
as to the minority of the cases being really due to dormant
fertilisation--_i.e._ not to be ascribed to coincidence or
mal-observation. Also, as I said before, I quite agree with
you that 'neither view is any help to Herbert Spencer.' In
fact, I have somewhat elaborately sought to prove this in my
'Contemporary Review' article for April, and have been in private
correspondence with him ever since, but without getting any
'forerder.'

But in this connection I should like to know whether you have
any opinion upon the apparently analogous class of phenomena
in plants which Darwin gives in the eleventh chapter of his
'Variation,' &c. Here, it seems to me, the evidence is much more
cogent and of far more importance to the issue, Weismann _v._
Lamarck. Focke and Dr. Vris, however, seem to doubt the facts
or their interpretation, although, as it seems to me, without
presenting any adequate reasons for doing so. You need not bother
with Dr. Vris, as he merely follows Focke, but I wish you would
read Focke ('Die Pflanzen-Mischlinge,' p. 510, _et sq._), and
compare what he says with the evidence which Darwin presents.

As I do not know in what respects you have found one part of
my previous letter not to 'tally' with another, I cannot fully
explain it; but I fancy that you will find they do, if, in
reading the letter, you carry in your mind the simple proposition
that, from the nature of the case, there can be no physiological
selection except where differentiating varieties ('incipient
species') occur upon common areas and identical stations. I do
not see any difficulty about willows, roses, brambles, &c., since
Naudin's researches on _Datura_ have shown how much variability,
due to the hybridisation of any two species, may give rise to
the _appearance_ of there being many species. This, you will
remember, is the view that Naudin himself takes with regard to
willows &c.--although, of course, without any reference to phy.
sel. If you will refer to p. 405 of the paper on phy. sel. you
will find that from the first I have been aware of the difficulty
about discontinuous areas to which you allude. But I think the
converse line of evidence (viz. that of cross-sterility between
incipient species on identical stations) will alone prove
sufficient to verify the theory. At the same time I look for more
corroboration from the cross-fertility of well differentiated
species upon discontinuous areas where these are, as you say,
oceanic islands, or, still better, mountainous districts where
the allied species are severally peculiar to mountain tops and
isolated valleys. For in these cases there must be much doubt, as
a general rule, touching the species having been differentiated
by topographical isolation upon the particular areas where they
are now found. Moreover, and this I think quite as important,
the consideration which Darwin adduces in another connection is
obviated, viz. 'that if a species was rendered sterile with some
one compatriot, sterility with other species would follow as a
necessary contingency.'

Yours very sincerely,
G. J. ROMANES.

P.S.--From your first letter it would almost seem that you had
supposed me to doubt the fact (or, at any rate, the frequency)
of cross-fertility in general. And this after I had written the
article on 'Hybridisation' in the 'Ency. Brit.'!

In June Mr. Romanes took a small house for the summer months outside Oxford at Boar's Hill, a district well known to Oxford people, and it was hoped country air and quiet might do him much good.

He was rather headachy, and liked to lie on the grass in the garden and have novels read to him, but he was able to go up to London one day, and even planned to take a journey to Wiesbaden in order to consult an eminent oculist.

But on July 11 he was stricken down by hemiplegia. And now began the last year of patient endurance, for from that time the Shadow of Death was ever on him, and he knew it; from that July day he regarded himself as doomed. Sometimes the thought of leaving those whom he loved with such intense devotion, such wonderful tenderness, overwhelmed him; sometimes the longing to finish his work was too great to be borne, but generally he was calm, and always, even when he was most sad, he was gentle and patient, and willing to be amused.

On July 13 Dr. Paget gave him the Holy Communion.

He slowly recovered from this attack, and there were hopes--not of perfect health, but of life, and of power to work. Now, more resolutely than ever, he set himself to face the ultimate problems of Life and Being, to face the question of the possibility of a return to Faith.

It is impossible here to tell of the inner workings of that pure and unselfish soul, of those longings and searchings after God, of the gradual growth in steadfast endurance, in faith.

To one or two these are known, and the example of lofty patience and of single-heartedness is not one they are likely to forget. Of this more later.

It was almost pathetic to see how keen and vigorous his intellect was. In fact, the great difficulty was to keep the busy brain from thinking. Novels helped to some degree, and occasional visits from friends as he grew better. Dr. and Mrs. Burdon Sanderson, the President of Trinity and Mrs. Woods, the Dean, Mr. Gore, the President of Magdalen and Mrs. Warren, and Mr. Waggett, all helped, coming and paying brief visits, which did him good, for if he was not listening to reading or conversation, he would be planning experiments or pondering problems of theology, and ask by-and-by that his thoughts should be taken down from dictation, or that paper and pencil should be given him, or, worse than all, devising arrangements for finishing 'Darwin, and after Darwin.' He dictated some 'Thoughts on Things' in the very first days of his illness, and sent for Professor Lloyd Morgan, who came and received instructions about the unfinished books, instructions which he has carried out with unflagging diligence and never-failing kindness.

But still he grew better, and early in August he went back to Oxford, and by the first of September he was able to be present in the cathedral at the baptism by Dr. Talbot of his youngest son.

The fact that the Vicar of Leeds[116] and Mrs. Talbot were in Oxford during that August was a great pleasure to him, and he much enjoyed occasional talks with Dr. Talbot.

_To Professor Ewart._

I do not know what account E. gave you of my illness, but it is
much too serious an affair to admit of our going to the British
Association. Indeed, I hardly anticipate being able to make any
engagements or do much work during the rest of my life, which
is not likely to be a long one. It is just such an attack as I
expected when walking with you over Magdalen Bridge.[117]

Yours ever,
G. J. ROMANES.

By September he was able to listen to, and discuss, Dr. Sanderson's Presidential Address, which was delivered in Nottingham at the British Association of 1893.

It was one of the great disappointments of that illness that he could not go to Nottingham. To be at the Association when his dear friend and master was president was a great wish of his, and early in the summer a kind invitation from Lady Laura Ridding, to stay with the Bishop of Southwell and herself for it, had been accepted.

Nottingham and a visit to Denton, to which Mr. Romanes had been looking forward, had to be given up.

These things were real trials. It was not the giving up particular bits of pleasure, but the realisation that he was too much of an invalid to do anything of the sort, which he found so hard to bear, and which he did bear with ever-increasing patience.

His letters sometimes show how hard he felt his trial.

_To James Romanes, Esq._

Oxford: September 4.

My dearest James,--I have had two reasons for not writing to
Dunskaith since my letter about the birth of Edmund.

I agree with all you say about Fritz and her numerous brothers,
the last two of whom you have never seen. But, although I have
been so signally blest in my family ... I am not disposed to fall
in with your optimism in other respects. Rather am I disposed to
agree with the Scotch minister, that 'Man is a mi-ser-able worrm,
craaling upon the airth;' for, both as regards the misery and the
craaling I am now a type.

And this brings me to my two reasons for not writing before. The
first is, that I am almost unable to write; and the second is,
that I did not want to let you and Charlotte know all the facts
sooner than I could help.

The long and the short of it is that I believe I am dying. I have
been gradually getting worse and worse, ... nor shall I be sorry
when it comes. Such being the case, I should like to consult you
about setting my house in order....

The photos which the children brought with them of Dunskaith
make me realise what splendid work the buildings are, and even
although it is now improbable that I shall ever see them, I am
glad to think that they will be in the family.[118]

I cannot write more now. In fact I have not written so much since
my attack. But I send you the best love of a life-time's growth
and that of your only brother,

GEORGE.

_To W. T. Thiselton-Dyer, Esq._

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: September 15, 1893.

Dear Dyer,--Many thanks for your letter with enclosures. As you
say, there does not seem to be anything remarkable about the
hybrid; but I am glad to see that both its parent species are
well marked and presumably both of mountain origin. The case thus
well accords with my views, as explained in my previous letters.
I met with many such (_i.e._ hybrids between originally isolated
species) in Madeira and the Canaries.

There are none so blind as those who will not see. Where can
your powers of 'observation' have been when you can still remark
that I ignore the facts of hybridisation? I can only repeat
that from the first I have regarded them as evidence of the
utmost importance as establishing a highly general correlation
between _separate_ origin of allied species and _absence_ of
cross-sterility. In fact, for the last five years I have had
experiments going on in my Alpine garden, which I helped in
founding for the very purpose of inquiring into this matter. And
Focke, with whom I have been in correspondence from the first,
and who _does_ understand the theory, writes that in his opinion
it will 'solve the whole mystery' of natural hybridisation in
relation to artificial.

Since my last letter to you I have been at death's door. On July
11, I was struck down by paralysis of the left side, and am now
a wreck. Not the least of my sorrow is that I fear I shall have
to leave the verification of phys. sel. to other hands in larger
measure than I had hoped. I have little doubt that it will
eventually prevail; but more time will probably be needed before
it does.

Yours very sincerely,
G. J. ROMANES.

Oxford: September 18, 1893.

Dear Dyer,--I am not a little touched by the kind sympathy
expressed in your letter of the 16th. When one is descending
into the dark valley, scientific squabbles seem to fade away
in those elementary principles of good will which bind mankind
together. And I am glad to think that in all the large circle of
my friends and correspondents there is no vestige of ill will in
any quarter, unless it be with ---- and ----, who both seem to me
half-crazy in their enmity, and therefore not of much count.

As for 'fortitude,' sooner or later the night must come for all
of us; and if my daylight is being suddenly eclipsed, there is
only the more need to work while it lasts. But, to tell the
truth, I do not on this account feel less keenly the pity of it.
With five boys--the eldest not yet in his teens and the youngest
still in his weeks; with piles of note-books which nobody else
can utilise, and heaps of experimental researches in project
which nobody else is likely to undertake, I do bitterly feel that
my lot is a hard one.

Looking all the facts in the face, I do not expect ever to see
another birthday,[119] and therefore, like Job, am disposed to
curse my first one. For I know that all my best work was to have
been published in the next ten or fifteen years; and it is
wretched to think of how much labour in the past will thus be
wasted.

However, I do not write to constitute you my confessor, but to
thank you for your letter, and also to say that I am sending you
a copy of my 'Examination of Weismannism,' just published by
Longmans.

With our united kind regards to Mrs. Dyer and yourself, I remain,
yours very sincerely,

GEO. J. ROMANES.

94 St. Aldate's, Oxford: September 26, 1893.

My dear Dyer,--This is one of my bad days, and I have just
exhausted my little store of energy by answering a kind letter
from Huxley. So please excuse brevity, as I cannot leave your
highly appreciated benevolence without an immediate response.

I am much concerned to hear what you say about yourself, and it
makes me doubly desirous of seeing you. On Monday next I am to
try to go to town for the purpose of consulting doctors. But any
day before that we should be truly glad if you could come as
you so kindly propose. _Possibly_ I might be able to drive out
to Kew on Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, should you find it
impracticable to run down here before then. But I fluctuate so
much from day to day that I cannot make any engagements.

Most fully do I agree with all that you say regarding criticism.
And, especially from yourself, I have never met with any but the
fairest. Even the spice of it was never bitter, or such as could
injure the gustatory nerves of the most thin-skinned of men. I
have, indeed, often wondered how you and ---- and ---- can have
so persistently misunderstood my ideas, seeing that neither on
the Continent nor in America has there been any difficulty in
making myself intelligible. But this, of course, is quite another
matter.

As regards Weismannism, I do not include under this term the
question of the inheritance of acquired characters. That has been
a question for me since the publication of Galton's 'theory of
heredity' in 1875. Indeed, even before that, everybody knew the
contrast between congenital and acquired characters in respect
of heritability; and you may remember, the first time we met you
gave me a lot of good advice regarding my experiments on this
subject.

Please remember both of us very kindly to your wife when you
write to her, and with our united best wishes to yourself,

Believe me, ever yours sincerely,
G. J. ROMANES.

_To Francis Darwin, Esq._

St. Aldate's, Oxford: October 8, 1893.

My dear Darwin,--Your very kind letter has been one ray of light
to me in my gloom. Yet you must not think it is the only one.

* * * * *