Among this farrago—though not of nonsense—geological topics, since Miss Horner had similar tastes, occupy a considerable space. She, however, evidently was, comparatively speaking, a beginner, and in one or two characteristic sentences her lover and preceptor passes from information to counsel: "If you are not frightened by De la Beche, I think you are in a fair way to be a geologist; though it is in the field only that a person can really get to like the stiff part of it. Not that there is really anything in it that is not very easy, when put into plainer language than scientific writers choose often unnecessarily to employ." He also records[51] a piece of advice from his old friend, Dr. Fleming, which is enough to make a modern professor of geology sigh for "the good old times." He said to Lyell:
"If you lecture once a year for a short course, I am sure you will derive advantage from it. A short practice of lecturing is a rehearsal of what you may afterwards publish, and teaches you by the contact with pupils how to instruct, and in what you are obscure. A little of this will improve your power, perhaps as an author. Then, as you are pursuing a path of original and purely independent discovery and observation, it increases much your public usefulness in a science so unavoidably controversial to have thrown over you the moral protection of being in a public and responsible situation, connected with a body like King's College. But then you must stipulate that you are to be free to travel, and must only be bound to give one short course annually."
Truly those must have been halcyon days for professors!
The journal also proves, by its brief account of a Scotch festival, which accords with little hints dropped elsewhere in it or in letters, that our forefathers, not wholly excluding men of science, some sixty years ago habitually consumed much more "strong drink" than would be considered correct at the present day:—
"It was just an Angus set-to of the old régime. They arrived at half-past six o'clock and waited dinner one hour. Gentlemen rejoined the ladies at half-past twelve o'clock! They, in the meantime, had had tea, and a regular supper laid out in the drawing-room. After an hour with the ladies they returned to the dining-room to supper at half-past one o'clock, and my father left them at half-past two o'clock! The ladies did not go to this supper."
The journal, in short, like the well-known Scotch dish, affords a great deal of "confused feeding" of a pleasant sort, but no samples of love-making. The nearest approach to it is in the following passage, which is worth quoting, not for that reason, but as incidentally disclosing the strength of the author's character:—
"I shall write a few words before I get into the steamboat just to tranquillise my mind a little, after reading several controversial articles by Elie de Beaumont and others against my system. If I find myself growing too warm or annoyed at such hostile demonstrations I shall always retreat to you. You will be my harbour of peace to retire to, and where I may forget the storm. I know that by persevering steadily I shall some years hence stand very differently from where I now am in science; and my only danger is the being impatient, and tempted to waste my time on petty controversies and quarrels about the priority of the discovery of this or that fact or theory."[52]
Friends in plenty were awaiting him in London, which was reached about the first of November: the Murchisons and Somervilles, Broderip, Curtis, Basil Hall, and Hooker, with Necker from Switzerland, and many more. He is also cheered by finding that his ideas are steadily gaining ground among geologists, converts becoming more confident, unbelievers more uneasy. He made good progress with his book, and realised, before the end of the year, that his materials could not be compressed into a single volume; so he determined to issue the part already completed as a second volume, and to finish the work in a third.
From time to time the diary contains references to a recent contest for the Presidency of the Royal Society, and to political matters such as the Reform Bill; but, though in favour of the latter, he is not very enthusiastic on the subject, for on one occasion he expresses regret at having been absent, through forgetfulness, from a meeting of the Geographical Society, where he would have "got some sound information instead of hearing politicians discuss the interminable bill."
The lectures at King's College evidently weighed upon his mind as they drew near, and he was not stirred to enthusiasm by the prospect of teaching; for towards the close of the year he more than once debated with his friends the question whether or no he should retain the appointment. Murchison was in favour of resignation; Conybeare took the opposite view. Of his advice Lyell remarks, "The fact is, Conybeare's notion of these things is what the English public have not yet come up to, which, if they had, the geological professorship in London would be a worthy aim for any man's ambition, whereas it is now one that the multitude would rather wonder at one's accepting."[53] The British public apparently still lags a long way behind the Conybearian ideal, and retains its contempt for all those who, by presuming to teach, insinuate doubts as to its innate omniscience.