Some other passages in this and other letters suggest that with the finishing of the great book, and the lifting of the strain, the young man felt désœuvré, was beginning to think that youth was slipping away and he was perhaps not getting the best out of life, and was liable to alternate fits of depression and of a cynicism which was probably largely a pose intended to hide his true feelings. In brief, he was becoming aware that it is not good for man to dwell alone, and the Glacial Epoch, whatever its charms, proved a chilly substitute for the kind of companionship which his affectionate spirit craved. A few extracts from a letter, undated, but written from Jedburgh, apparently about the same time as the foregoing, may help to make the position clear. The letter may be entitled—anything more specific being avoided—“To a Young Man contemplating Matrimony,” and the quotations must necessarily be disjointed:—
You know your own affairs best. But if I were in your place, and the girl were a really good girl and suitable, hang it I would propose and get her.... Something like fate whispers in my ear, “Jim, my boy, you’ll never have a wife, altho’ you should live to the age of Methusaleh.” ... With the uncertainty of temper and feeling that I have, I seriously doubt whether I would be other than miserable if I were to marry. So lest you should get into the same state, O young man! either flee temptation or be bold and seize the tempter. What more can I say. Perhaps you were only laughing when you wrote me, and are now laughing at me and my soft-heartedness. All right, laugh away. I have had my day, and some time you shall have had yours also.
Perhaps it may be added that when this letter was written its author was thirty-four. His marriage took place some eighteen months later, after an engagement which had lasted more than six months. He was destined to experience nearly forty years of happy married life, to see his children grow up, to welcome the advent of his grandchildren—either it was not fate who did the whispering, or she displayed a more than feminine contrariness.
Other letters during the autumn months give merely notes on the progress of the book, which was unexpectedly delayed, and information as to his prospective plans for the winter in Edinburgh. One to Dr Grossart, dated from Jedburgh on 22nd November, may be quoted as summing up what is said in various other letters which have been preserved:—
With this I send you a short lucubration of mine on the Island of Lewis, the chief point in which is the proof given that the Outer Hebrides were overflowed by land ice from the mainland!
I am happy to say that I am nearly out of the hands of the printer. My book has swelled out beyond what I intended, making close on 600 pages. The illustrations, which have kept back the printing, are now finished, and I expect to have a bound copy in my hands in ten days or so. It won’t be published, however, much before Xmas, as we have made arrangements with an American firm to publish it at the same time in Yankee land. This is a great stroke of good luck, as it will lessen the cost of production and make the book payable. Some of the maps I believe you will find very interesting. In fact, I have so written the book that whether geologists accept all my general conclusions or not, they will at least know a good deal that they did not know before, after they have perused it.... I am booked for a series of lectures this winter at the Museum of Science and Art, my subject being the Carboniferous Epoch. I am going to treat it in a pictorial way, trying to reproduce for them the kind of scenery and climate then enjoyed in Britain. I have also a lot more literary work in hand—A Manual on Coal-Mining—in which I do the geology and an engineering celebrity does the practical part. This and other matters keep my hands full. Nevertheless I have still an occasional dig at my German Songs. (Strange mixture! you will say. But then man is a queer mixture altogether.) Some time or other the Songs will see the light—but as I look on that matter as pleasure, and the scientific work as business, the Songs must stand aside till their betters are served. Write and give me your news. You see, like an old bachelor I have nothing to write about but myself. So you must under the circumstances excuse the egotism.
The book appeared early in the New Year, and the fact that the author was then in Edinburgh and must have presented copies to his nearest friends in person, no doubt accounts for the absence of many letters acknowledging receipt among his papers. Two notes from Prof. Ramsay, to whom, as his “dear friend and teacher,” the book was dedicated, may, however, be quoted. Both are dated from Jermyn Street, and are written on successive days, 20th and 21st January 1874. The letters are as follows:—
My Dear Geikie,—I have got your beautiful vol. quite late in the day and am now engaged in physically cutting it up. Your dedication makes me so proud that since reading it I have held my head quite like the Duke of Argyll, and I only hope it will not fall off behind. I must close, and will take the book home with me to read the dedication aloud in an impressive way after dinner.—Ever sincerely,
Andrw. Ramsay.
My Dear Geikie,—I will read all your book, mair by token that I read 4 chapters of it last night after dinner and liked them all. The plan is good and it is admirably written, as indeed it was sure to be.... As for your converting every reader to all your views, that is not likely as long as the Duke of Argyll remains alive. When a man does anything really in advance he may be well pleased if in 10 or 14 years he gets a fair proportion of the best men on his side. So no more this bout. From yours consumedly,
Andrw. Ramsay.
In May of the same year Ramsay writes again, saying:—“I am delighted to hear of the success of your book, which indeed I never doubted, for I always considered it a first-rate production, though I have only read it by snatches.”