It was assigned to me quite unexpectedly, and in the eyes of the world I, of course, am greatly the bigger—­but I will confess to you privately that I am by no means dilated, and am the identical Boy Tom I was before I achieved the attainment of my golden porter’s badge.  Curiously it was given for the first Memoir I have in the Royal Society’s “Transactions,” sent home four years ago with no small fear and trembling, and, “after many days,” returning with this queer crust of bread.  In the speech I had to make at the Anniversary Dinner I grew quite eloquent on that point, and talked of the dove I had sent from my ark, returning, not with the olive branch, but with a sprig of the bay and a fruit from the garden of the Hesperides—­a simile which I thought decidedly clever, but which the audience—­distinguished audience I ought to have said—­probably didn’t, as they did not applaud that, while they did some things I said which were incomparably more stupid.  This was in November, and I ought to have written to you about it before, my dear Lizzie, but for one thing I am very much occupied, and for the other (shall I confess it?) I was rather puzzled that I had not heard from you since I wrote.  Now my useless conscience, which never makes me do anything right in time, is pitching in to me when it is too late.

The medal, however, must not be jested at, as it is most decidedly of practical use in giving me a status in the eyes of those charming people, “practical men,” such as I had not before, and I am amused to find some of my friends, whose contempt for my “dreamy” notions was not small in time past, absolutely advising me to take a far more dreamy course than I dare venture upon.  However, I take very much my own course now, even as I have done before—­Huxley all over.

However, that is enough about myself just now.  In the next letter I will tell you more at length about my plans and prospects, which are mostly, I am sorry to say, only provocative of setting my teeth hard and saying, “Never mind, I will.”  But what I write in a hurry about and want you to do at once, is to write to me and tell me exactly how money may be sent safely to you.  It is inexpedient to send without definite directions, according to the character you give your neighbours.  Don’t expect anything vast, but there is corn in Egypt...

Two classes of people can I deal with and no third.  They are the good people—­people after my own heart, and the thorough men of the world.  Either of these I can act and sympathise with, but the others, who are neither for God nor for the Devil, but for themselves, as grim old Dante has it, and whom he therefore very justly puts in a most uncomfortable place, I cannot do with...

So Florry is growing up into a great girl; the child will not remember me, but kiss her and my godson for me, and give my love to them all.  The Lymph shall come in my next letter for the young Yankee.  I hope the juices of the English cow will prevent him from ever acquiring the snuffle.