1 It; Life (did Letters of Francis Galtou 



I shall commence this chapter of Galton's Life and Letters with an 

 appreciation of her uncle by his niece, Mrs Lethbridge — Millicent Bunbury — 

 the child of Galton's beloved sister and instructress Adele. She most kindly 

 prepared it for me on Galton's death, 19 years ago, and it seems best to me 

 to publish it now just as it was written. She is the "Milly" of many of the 

 letters printed below. It is very characteristic of Galton that when his 

 "home" letters ceased on the death in 1904 of his Sister Emma, aged 93, 

 he felt the need of continuing the family correspondence, and selected his 

 niece, Mrs Lethbridge, to exchange letters with him. 



Recollections of Francis Galton by Millicent Lethbridge. 



I will begin these short "recollections" of my dear uncle, Francis Galton, by repeating the 

 child-stories my mother has told me, but first you must allow me a digression that I may 

 explain the share she had in his early life. My mother spent a dreary childhood and girlhood, 

 seldom leaving the sofa to which she was condemned owing to curvature of the spine. She had 

 little to amuse or interest her in those weary years, until, when she was eleven, my uncle 

 Francis was born. My grandfather took the baby to her, saying: "Here, Adt'le, is a baby 

 brother come as a present for you! How do you like him?" — "Like him!" A new life began 

 then and there for my mother. She set feverishly to work, teaching herself Latin, Greek, 

 German, Italian, and I know not what besides, to fit herself for the task of educating the baby. 

 All her interests, thoughts and ambitions were wrapped up in the little creature. It lay by her 

 side on the sofa, and with the enthusiasm and impatience of a child, she lost no time in 

 eramming it with all her miscellaneous, self-acquired knowledge. I believe the baby could 

 read at two, and what it had learnt by the age of four, I do not venture to report! Strange to 

 say, the baby throve on the system, and delighted as much in learning as his sister in teaching. 

 The two were devoted to each other, and it was a bitter wrench to my mother, when, at eight 

 years old, her darling was sent to a school at Boulogne. 



I recollect two or three anecdotes my mother told me of his very early years. My grand- 

 father, anxious to render his boys self-reliant, sent Francis, then about seven years old, to pay 

 a visit to a relative at some distance. The child was to ride his pony, spend the night at 

 a certain inn, and finish the journey next day. A servant was instructed to follow (unknown 

 to the boy) two or three miles behind in case of accidents. When Francis was questioned about 

 his adventures, he related how, on reaching the inn, he had ordered supper and a bedroom, 

 and had then proceeded to empty his purse and hide a shilling under a pillow, a sixpence under 

 a chair and so on, "because then, if a robber came, he might take some of my money, but not 

 all, so that I could still pay my bill!" I am sorry, however, to say that I cannot verify this 

 story, my uncle having entirely forgotten the occurrence. 



He had a remarkably sweet temper, and it used to be a joke between his brothers to see if 

 they could not make him angry. Do what they would, they hardly ever succeeded. My mother 

 once said : "Frank, how can you keep your temper as you do?" "I don't," he answered, "but 

 I've found out a capital plan. I go to my room as soon as I can get away, and I beat and kick 

 my pillow till I'm tired out, and by the time I've finished, my temper's all gone." In later life 

 my uncle's self-control was really wonderful. I have seen him, on more than one occasion, 

 "keep himself in hand" under the greatest provocation, although I presume the "pillow-recipe" 

 had long been abandoned. 



Another child-story is that of his falling off his pony into a ditch, and being dragged out 

 by the legs by his elder brother, the seven or eight year old boy, half-choked with mud, 

 spluttering out Hudibras, 



"I am not now in Fortune's power, 

 He that is down can fall no lower!" 



One more story and I have done. A lion had escaped from a menagerie and the child was 

 in terror lest it should suddenly pounce down upon him. His father found him trembling in 

 bed, and said : "Why, Frank, you know the lion has no pocket-money to pay the turnpike, so 



