114 



LIFE OF PROFESSOR HUXLEY chap, vn 



4 Upper York Place, St. John's Wood, Feb. 6, 1853. 



Many thanks, my dearest sister, for your kind and thought- 

 ful letter — it went to my heart no little that you, amidst all your 

 trials and troubles, should find time to think so wisely and so 

 affectionately of mine. Though greatly tempted otherwise, I 

 have acted in the spirit of your advice, and my reward, in the 

 shape of honours at any rate, has not failed me, as the Royal 

 Society gave me one of the Royal medals last year. It's a 

 bigger one than I got under your auspices so many years ago, 

 being worth £50, but I don't know that I cared so much about it. 



It was assigned to me quite unexpectedly, and in the eyes of 

 the world I, of course, am greatly the bigger — but I will confess 

 to you privately that I am by no means dilated, and am the 

 identical Boy Tom I was before I achieved the attainment of 

 my golden porter's badge. Curiously it was given for the first 

 Memoir I have in the Royal Society's Transactions, sent home 

 four years ago with no small fear and trembling, and, " after 

 many days," returning with this queer crust of bread. In the 

 speech I had to make at the Anniversary Dinner I grew quite 

 eloquent on that point, and talked of the dove I had sent from 

 my ark, returning, not with the olive branch, but with a sprig 

 of the bay and a fruit from the garden of the Hesperides — a 

 simile which I thought decidedly clever, but which the audi- 

 ence — distinguished audience I ought to have said — probably 

 didn't, as they did not applaud that, while they did some things 

 I said which were incomparably more stupid. This was in No- 

 vember, and I ought to have written to you about it before, my 

 dear Lizzie, but for one thing I am very much occupied, and 

 for the other (shall I confess it?) I was rather puzzled that 

 I had not heard from you since I wrote. Now my useless con- 

 science, which never makes me do anything right in time, is 

 pitching in to me when it is too late. 



The medal, however, must not be jested at, as it is most 

 decidedly of practical use in giving me a status in the eyes of 

 those charming people, " practical men," such as I had not 

 before, and I am amused to find some of my friends, whose con- 

 tempt for my " dreamy " notions was not small in time past, 

 absolutely advising me to take a far more dreamy course than 

 I dare venture upon. However, I take very much my own 

 course now, even as I have done before — Huxley all over. 



However, that is enough about myself just now. In the next 

 letter I will tell you more at length about my plans and pros- 

 pects, which are mostly, I am sorry to say, only provocative of 



