Geo. J. Romanes.
He had all his old interest in psychical research, and a friend, Mrs. Crawfurd, of Auchinames, who shared this interest, used to beguile many weary hours with ghost stories, and he and she used to 'cap' each other's narratives.
There were pleasant people in the hotels around, and the bright sunshine and balmy air were great sources of enjoyment to him. Dr. Bidon, of Hyères, was unfailing in constant kindness, and it would be ungrateful not to say how much was owed to the kind landlord, M. Peyron, and to Madame Peyron.
The journey to England was apparently borne without undue fatigue, and the home coming was very bright, with joyous meeting with his children and with various friends. The only difficulty was to keep him quiet enough. It was said one day, 'When you go home you must not see too many people.' 'Oh, no,' he replied, 'I only want to see Paget, and Dr. Sanderson, and Gore, and Philip (Waggett), and Mrs. Woods, and Ray Lankester, and ——' but he stopped, laughing, the list was already so long and would soon have been doubled. For a few days his wife was away, and during this brief absence a very dear friend, Miss Rose Price, the daughter of the Master of Pembroke, died.
He writes:
To Mrs. Romanes.
How glad I am you are still mine! I have just returned from Rose's funeral, which was all but too much for me. As you know, I have seen other such things on a grander scale, but never any approach to this one in point of beauty and pathos. The College Chapel was completely filled with members of the University, with wives and daughters, yet all personal friends of hers, including all members of the family, the poor Master separated from the rest in his official seat. All the undergraduates of Pembroke were present, each provided with a lovely wreath, carried in procession to the grave. The whole of the east end was one mass of white flowers, the coffin with its own flowers being placed in the middle of the aisle. The procession walked first all round the quad, and then through Christ Church Meadows, being met at Holywell by the choir.[123]
This is the last letter I shall write. All well here, and the Interlopers[124] know me now. Weismann accepts invitation to lecture, and is on his way on purpose. I have obtained an invitation from the Royal Society for him to the 'soirée.'
Four weeks more, and the writer of this letter was also borne through Christ Church Meadow, and laid to rest near the young girl whom he had made his friend, and whose death he deeply mourned.