Hodeslea, October 18, 1892.
My dear Romanes,
I throw dust and ashes on my head for having left your letter almost a week unanswered.
But I went to Tennyson's funeral; and since then my whole mind has been given to finishing the reply forced upon me by Harrison's article in the "Fortnightly", and I have let correspondence slide. I think it will entertain you when it appears in November—and perhaps interest—by the adumbration of the line I mean to take if ever that "Romanes" Lecture at Oxford comes off.
As to Madeira—I do not think you could do better. You can have as much quiet there as in Venice, for there are next to no carts or carriages. I was at an excellent hotel, the "Bona Vista," kept by an Englishman in excellent order, and delightfully situated on the heights outside Funchal. When once acclimatised and able to bear moderate fatigue, I should say nothing would be more delightful and invigorating than to take tents and make the round of the island. There is nothing I have seen anywhere which surpasses the cliff scenery of the north side, or on the way thither, the forest of heaths as big as sycamores.
There is a matter of natural history which might occupy without fatiguing you, and especially without calling for any great use of the eyes. That is the effect of Madeiran climate on English plants transported there—and the way in which the latter are beating the natives. There is a Doctor who has lots of information on the topic. You may trust anything but his physic.
[The rest of the letter gives details about scientific literature touching Madeira.
A piece of advice to his son anent building a house:—]
September 22, 1892.
Lastly and biggestly, don't promise anything, agree to anything, nor sign anything (swear you are an "illiterate voter" rather than this last) without advice—or you may find yourself in a legal quagmire. Builders, as a rule, are on a level with horse-dealers in point of honesty—I could tell you some pretty stories from my small experience of them.