Characterisation, especially by Letters 513 



tendency is still, there, and I might have a bad attack of it if I got a cold. One must submit. 

 Forgive this long story. I am quite well now and full of engagements. We go to-day to lunch 

 with Lionel Tollemache at the Crystal Palace Hotel. Next Sunday I go to Mrs Simpson (nee 

 Senior) who now chiefly lives near Guildford (I think you know her). Then there is to be a grand 

 affair of three days, beginning on May 31, at .Cambridge — "the Stokes' Jubilee." Then comes 

 a big dinner in the City, at which the Duke of Northumberland presides. It is the Centenary 

 of the Royal Institution and is given, I fancy, by the Secretary, Sir F. Bramwell. 



Eva is a capital companion and I shall miss her much. She is exceptionally good-tempered, 

 prompt, and inclined to see the best side of men and tilings, and she takes her part well in 

 entertaining. Mr Henry, the Chief Inspector of Police in India, dined with me on Tuesday. 

 He uses finger-prints in India (all India and Burmah), exclusively as a means of finding out 

 whether prisoners have been convicted before, and he has got a law passed in India to allow 

 the evidence of experts on finger-prints to be accepted in Courts of Law. He will read a paper 

 at the British Association (which meets at Dover on Sept. 16) upon it. Hubert Gal ton's brother- 

 in-law, H. Clifford of the Malay Peninsula, is in town. They two, and their wives, come to 

 dinner on Tuesday. My news is much scattered ; many small things difficult to bring into one. 

 Lady Galton has gone to Himbleton for a fortnight or so, but will return in a week. Mrs Robb 

 is as gay as ever. Eva and I went to pour out heart-fulls of gratitude for her useful introduc- 

 tions. I was sorry to miss Grace. I look forward to a Monday morning letter. I trust Darwin 

 continues as well as he was when you wrote. 



Best loves, ever affectionately, Francis Galton. 



Address to: 42, Rutland Gate, S.W. June 3, 1899. 



Deau Eva, The grand doings are just over here at Cambridge. I talked to Miss Pertz 

 (the artist) who asked much after you. Previously, in London, I happened to meet your friend 

 Miss Julia Young, who did the same. I asked her to come and see you when you are with me. 

 You must arrange to see both. The amusing thing was discovering a man whose face I knew and 

 who kept looking at me. He was a chance acquaintance at Castellammare when travelling last 

 year with Frank Butler, and he turned out to be Herkomer. I talked to him about you. We 

 sat near together at dinner last night, and I asked him if there was any truth in the tale current 

 about him and the posthumous portrait of the Hungarian baron*. He exploded with negatives, 

 and I asked him to tell the story, which he did with admirable emphasis. His explosive denials 

 had attracted attention some way up and down the table, and his tale excited roars of laughter. 

 You recollect the story ? He said it was told of many painters, especially, as I understood, of 

 Howies (am I right in the name'?). Lowes Dickinson, the old portrait painter, was next to me 

 and three good pictures of his (portraits) were hanging against the wall of the great Hall of 

 Trinity just in front. The ceremonies and the swards and the trees and the red and all sorts of 

 bright-coloured robes and the niceness of the people have been charming. 



I shall lie so glad when you come. L. Tollemache comes to town for an afternoon and holds 

 a party on J line 1 '2, to which you must go with me. 



Affectionately yours, Francis Galton. 



.M. ile Falbe goes to lioyat at about the same time as ourselves. Leonard and Horace 

 Darwin go this month. We .shall hardly overlap them. 



42, Rutland Gate, S.W. September 9, 1899. 



Dear PROFESSOR K. Pearson, I have been back three weeks, and on my road northwards 

 saw Weldon at Oxford, and heard of a hitch in the way of granting Miss Lee the doctor's degree. 

 A few days later a batch of papers reached me from the Registrar. The Joint Report of 



* A Hungarian baron asked an artist to paint a portrait of his deceased father, sending him 

 photographs and verbal descriptions. When the picture was completed, the son came to the 

 studio to see it ; and, looking for a time very sad and silent, said : "My poor dear Father, how 

 you have changed." The story, perhaps, is of small humour in print, but it was otherwise, when 

 Galton told it with the proper emphasis. 



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