272 LIFE OF PROFESSOR HUXLEY chap, xv 



The air here is like that of South Devon at its best — very 

 soft, but not stifling as at Orotava. We had a capital expedition 

 yesterday to the Grand Corral — the ancient volcanic crater in 

 the middle of the island with walls some 3000 feet high all 

 scarred and furrowed by ravines, and overgrown with rich vege- 

 tation. There is a little village at the bottom of it which I 

 should esteem as a retreat if I wished to be out of sight and 

 hearing of the pomps and vanities of this world. By the way, 

 I have been pretty well out of hearing of everything as it is, 



for I only had three letters from M while we were in Tene- 



riffe, and not one here up to this date. After I had made all 

 my arrangements to start to-morrow I heard that a mail would 

 be in at noon. So the letters will have to follow us in the after- 

 noon by one of the men, who will wait for them. 



We went to-day to lunch with Mr. Blandy, the head of the 

 principal shipping agency here, whose wife is the daughter of 



my successor at the Fishery Office. has called upon me. 



What an effusive bore he is ! But I believe he was very kind 

 to poor Clifford, and restrained my unregenerate impatience of 

 that kind of creature. 



Well, our trip has done us both a world of good ; but I am 

 getting homesick, and shall rejoice to be back again. I hope that 

 Joyce is flourishing, and Jack satisfied with the hanging of his 

 pictures, and that a millionaire has insisted on buying the picture 

 and adding a bonus. Our best love to you all. — Ever your lov- 

 ing Pater. 



Don't know M 's whereabouts. But if she is with you, 



say I wrote her a long screed (No. 8) and posted it to-day — 

 with my love as a model husband and complete letter-writer. 



On returning home he found that the Linnean medal 

 had been awarded him. 



4 Marlborough Place, May 18, 1890. 

 My dear Hooker — How's a' wi' you ? My boy an/d I came 

 back from Madeira yesterday in great feather. As for myself, 

 riding about on mules, or horses, for six to ten hours at a stretch 

 — burning in sun or soaking in rain — over the most entirely 

 breakneck roads and tracts I have ever made acquaintance with, 

 except perhaps in Morocco — has proved a most excellent tonic, 

 cathartic, and alterative all in one. Existence of heart and 

 stomach are matters of faith, not of knowledge, with me at 

 present. I hope it may last, and I have had such a sickener 



