I should think that there is no living man, who, on such an occasion, could intend and contrive to say so much and so well (in form) without ever rising above the level of antiquarian gossip.
My lecture would have been ready if the G.O.M. had failed you, but I am very glad to have six months' respite, as I now shall be able to write and rewrite it to my heart's content.
I will follow the Gladstonian precedent touching cap and gown—but I trust the Vice-Chancellor will not ask me to take part in a "Church Parade" and read the lessons. I couldn't—really.
As to the financial part of the business, to tell you the honest truth, I would much rather not be paid at all for a piece of work of this kind. I am no more averse to turning an honest penny by my brains than any one else in the ordinary course of things—quite the contrary; but this is not an ordinary occasion. However, this is a pure matter of taste, and I do not want to set a precedent which might be inconvenient to other people—so I agree to what you propose.
By the way, is there any type-writer who is to be trusted in Oxford? Some time ago I sent a manuscript to a London type-writer, and to my great disgust I shortly afterwards saw an announcement that I was engaged on the topic.
[On the following day he writes to his wife, who was staying with her youngest daughter in town:—]
The Vice-Chancellor has written to me and I have fixed May—exact day by and by. Mrs. Romanes has written a crispy little letter to remind us of our promise to go there, and I have chirrupped back.
[The "chirrup" ran as follows:—]
Hodeslea, November 1, 1892.
My dear Mrs. Romanes,