From William Fullarton Cumming   Nov. 4th. 1860¹

Kinellan² | Nov. 4th. 1860

My dear Tyndall
If you only knew how my conscience has been smiting me for my scandalous behaviour to you, I am sure you would forgive me for not sooner acknowledging your most kind letter³—It reached me ages ago, when located at my snuggery in Mull; and droll enough, when put into my hand, the young Marquis of Lorne⁴ was seated at the breakfast table with me! —so after reading, I passed it to him, and he was greatly amused, and not a little pleased at your description of his rubicund locks &c. &c. I wish you had had longer acquaintance with the young Marquis, for I am sure you would have liked him much.

But what excuse am I to make for my long neglect in writing? Oh Professor, may you never know the miseries of a paralytic limb, and all the “inertia” of body and mind it brings along with it! Day after day I have been resolving and re-resolving, yet never have acted. And I now almost wonder that I should have the courage to take pen in hand—! I am literally good for nothing. A mere cumberer of the ground—a vegetating fungus rather than a living and sentient being. But I am not going to fill a paper with groans and lamentations. This would neither be fair to you nor just to myself, for though sorely smitten, life has still some enjoyments for me, and I desire rather to be thankful for the mercies yet vouchsafed to me than to murmur over those that have been taken away.

True it is that in this world, I have nothing to look forward to but εuθaνaσia,⁵ but fortunately for us all, there is another world, to which my thoughts are often pointing. But you will say when is all this twaddle to have an end? Not until I have made a proposal which I hope you will entertain favourably.

You know well the importance to an over-worked brain of rest from all mental toil in a picturesque and healthy locality.

Now, some years ago, Argyle,⁶ at my suggestion, built a cottage on the shore of a beautiful little loch on an estate of his in Mull as a fishing box for himself and me—Thither I repair every autumn, and pass the months of July, August, September, enjoying immensely the fine air, fine scenery, and—though last, not least—the sport of catching some 6, or 8, or 12 fine sea-trout daily. Even if I can get no fish, I am always overpaid by living on the loch all day in my boat.

Now, why should not you come and take a spell of “Tusculum”⁷ next summer?

I cannot promise you “Proud frowning rocks of sublimity”⁸ like Mont Blanc but we have a mountain—“Benmon” to wit—of some 4000 ft. high,⁹ which even an Alpen climber like you might find pleasure in exploring. Argyle brings the Duchess and several of the children for 2 or 3 weeks, and then our cottage is full, but at all other times it shall be wide open to receive you. Now Professor, I hold you engaged next summer, (if I live so long) to come to my Tusculum when I shall do every thing in my power to make your stay agreeable, besides indoctrinating you into the “gentle art” of angling.

I do not bind you to a promise now, but when the time approaches, I shall write and lay hands upon you.

I find my poor sister¹⁰ in great depression on account of her eldest daughter Mrs Whately¹¹ who is now here, and in a state of health so bad as to leave little or no hope of recovery. By the way I sent to you 2 or 3 days ago, a copy of a great work! you spoke of in your letter. You will find it sad twaddle, but never mind, it will at least, light your fire, or your pipe—and it is all I have to offer in token of the great regard I bear to you. Of course I expected no reply to this letter—only bear in mind I hope to see you in Mull next autumn. Meantime believe me

Ever my dear Tyndall | most truly Yours | [W. F.] Cumming | Professor Tyndall

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