1854 TEN AX PROPOSITI 173 



very very few friends in the true sense of the word, that 

 it has been perhaps a greater loss to me than to any one 

 although there never was a man so widely lamented. 

 One could trust him so thoroughly ! However, he has 

 gone, poor fellow, and there is nothing for it but to shut 

 one's self up again and I was only going to say that his 

 death leaves his post vacant, and I have been strongly 

 urged to become a candidate for it by several of the most 

 influential Edinburgh Professors. I am greatly puzzled 

 what to do. I do not want to leave London, nor do I 

 think much of my own chances of success if I become a 

 candidate though others do. On the other hand, a 

 stipend which varies between 800 and .1200 a year is 

 not to be pooh-poohed. 



We shall see. If I can carry out some arrangements 

 which are pending with the Government to increase my 

 pay to 400 a year, I shall be strongly tempted to 

 stop in London. It is the place, the centre of the 

 world. 



In the meanwhile, as things always do come in heaps, 

 I obtained my long-fought-for Grant though indirectly 

 from the Government, which is, I think, a great 

 triumph and vindication of the family motto tenax pro- 

 positi. Like many long-sought-for blessings, however, it 

 is rather a bore now I have it, as I don't see how I am 

 to find time to write the book. But things " do them- 

 selves " in a wonderful way. I'll tell you how many irons 

 I have in the fire at this present moment : (1) a manual 

 of Comparative Anatomy for Churchill ; (2) my " Grant " 

 book ; (3) a book for the British Museum people (half 

 done) ; (4) an article for Todd's Cyclopcedia (half done) ; 

 (5) sundry memoirs on Science ; (6) a regular Quarterly 

 article in the Westminster ; (7) lectures at Jermyn Street 

 in the School of Mines ; (8) lectures at the School of Art, 

 Marlborough House ; (9) lectures at the London Institu- 

 tion, and odds and ends. Now, my dearest Lizzie, when- 

 ever you feel inclined to think it unkind I don't write, 





