Cambridge, Mass., November 23, 1869.
Just a line to tell you—which you will be glad to know—that we safely accomplished our voyage home, landing yesterday morning [Monday] early, on the thirteenth day. Very well for that vessel, the slowest of the line, and at this season, with much head wind. No gales, but some stiff breezes, and the vessel tumbled and rolled about, to our discomfort. However, it is all over; and Mrs. G. and the other ladies, who suffered a good deal, are looking brighter again.
My wife sends kind love to you and all yours, and the young people, if they knew of my writing, would send kind and grateful messages. The voyage now seems to me only as a disturbed night’s sleep, dozing off in Old England to awake in the New.
Ever yours affectionately,
A. Gray.
TO CHARLES DARWIN.
Cambridge, February 14, 1870.
My dear Darwin,—Being eve of post-day we respond at once to yours of the 27th January—which arrived this very morning—lest you should send us down to posterity with a fabulous dog-story.
I well remember telling you of our “Max”[85] and his habit of washing cat-fashion; which you suggested might have come from being brought up with a cat, and I think I told you that I had not been able to learn definitely whether that was the case or no. Here, you see, by some shuffling of memory, a suggestion of what might explain a fact has taken the place of the fact itself. I am curious to know if it be true, for it is the only explanation I can think of.
I trust you have some of the slender-leaved Drosera I sent through Hooker.
Well, our homeward voyage was not a nice one, especially for Mrs. Gray, and it now seems a long time ago. I dropped at once into a world of work; but am not killing myself. The main struggle for existence will come in the spring, when my duties crowd on me dreadfully.