Manchester, 10 June 1869 
My dear child, 

I was firmly resolved to leave Manchester yesterday. But on the 
pretext, that, during the first week of my stay, I had been an 
invalid, Engels insisted so much upon my remaining here till 
Monday next, that I had to give way.* He is really too kind 
towards me to seriously oppose such a whim on his part. 

On our three days’ trip to the Devonshire Arms, near the 
Bolton Abbey, I made the acquaintance of a most strange fellow, 
Mr Dakyns, a geologist, who lives transitorily in that part of 
Yorkshire in order to make a geological survey. En passant, 
you ought to know that a geological map is taken up of all 
England, under the orders of government, and under the 
leadership of Professor Ramsay, of Jermyn street. Moore is 
himself a geologist. By him Engels and Schorlemmer became 
acquainted with Dakyns who lives in a farmer house, in midst of a 
Yorkshire wilderness. That farmer’s house was also an old abbey, 
and the lower part of it still serves as a chapel. It was to see 
Dakyns that we set out for that part of the world. Dakyns looks 
much like a German peasant of stunted side, with a face always 
grinning a broad smile, something monkeyish in the formation of 
his head, nothing British about him save the protruding upper set 
of teeth which reminded me of the late Mrs Seiler. His dress is 
about that of a slovenly and ‘underdressed’ farm servant, of utmost 
negligence. Cravat and such paraphernalia of civilisation he is a 
stranger to. The first impression he makes upon you is that of a 

boorish clown whose good heart leaps through his eyes and grins 
on his lips, but you would give him no credit for intellect. Still, this 
is a highly scientific man, even an enthusiast for his science and 
whose name begins already to pierce through a big valley of rivals. 
He is naive like a child; without the least pretention always ready 
to communicate his scientific discoveries to the first comer wanting 
to pump him out. There is in fact always a couple of other 
geological surveyors swarming to and from him for the express 
' purpose to beat money out of him, or fame, by appropriating his 
researches. In fact, we found him in the company of two such 
fellows, one of whom, named Ward, was a timid youth and the 
other, named Green, a bold, pushing man. We had a dinner on 
his farm—on Sunday last—in the room directly lying over the 
chapel. The room had evidently formerly served as an assembly 
room of the monks, big walled (ich meine, mit dicken Mauern 
umgeben*), with a look out to magnificent trees, and to an 
amphitheatrical group of mountains, the one overtopping the 
other, and wrapt in that blue veil Currer Bell” is so delighted with. 
During the very merry, and in spite of its rusticity comfortable 
dinner, the singsong of the youth in the chapel, coming from the 
depth, intercepted by the big walls, and sounding as from a 
far-away place, reminded me somewhat of the Christian Song in 
Faust. 

Well, our friend Dakyns is a sort of Felix Holt,‘ less the 
affectation of that man, and plus the knowledge (by the by, the 
Tories here say ‘Felix Holt, the rascal’, instead of the ‘radical’). He 
invites once a week the factory lads, treats them to beer and 
tobacco, and chats with them on social questions. He is a 
‘naturwüchsiger’* communist. I could of course not forbear 
making a lite fun of him and warning him to fight shy of any 
meeting with Mrs Eliot who would at once lay hold of him and 
make literary property out of him. He had already written to 
Moore that he wanted to enter the International. So I brought 
him a card and he made a donation, as his entrance fee, of 10 sh., 
which is a sum for him. These men get only 150 £ a year, and 
have very hard work, mentally and bodily. The Government could 
not afford to get these men at such a price, if it was a mere 
matter of competition, but most of them are full of ‘geological’ 

aI mean, surrounded by thick walls - > pseudonym of Charlotte Bronté - 
¢ Apparently the reference is to the angels’ chorus in Gounod’s opera Faust. - 4 the 
main character of George Eliot’s novel Felix Holt, the Radical - © natural 

zeal and improve this opportunity afforded them of making 
researches. They are provided with cards which bind every 
landowner, farmer and so forth, to allow them to walk over their 
estates, and farms and look into the formation of the soil. Dakyns, 
who has a good deal of farcical humour about himself, often 
enters into a farm, takes out his instruments, and sets at working, 
when the farmer comes up, growls at the impudent intruder, and 
bids him to pack himself off, lest he want to become acquainted 
with the teeth of his dog or the momentum of his flail. Dakyns 
affects not to mind him, proceeds in his business, and provokes 
the boor by some bad jokes. When the comedy has been 
approaching to a certain climax, he pulls out his card, and the 
cerberus is softened. During our stay he gave me to read in the 
nick of time the last number of The Fortnightly Review—an article 
of Huxley* where he merrily thrashes old Congreve. Dakyns is 
also a declared enemy of the Comtists or Positivists. He is of my 
opinion that there is nothing positive about them except their 
arrogance. As to my friend Beesly, he mentioned him amongst the 
‘doctrinaires’ who mistake their fanciful crotchets for science.—In 
the same number of the Fortnightly is the second article of Mill? 
on Thornton’s Capital and Labour. I saw from the criticism that 
both are equally small fry.— Dakyns is a neighbour of ours. That is 
to say, he lives at Kilburn (when in London) with his father, a 
lawyer. 

Yesterday evening I had the unavoidable tea at the Gumperts. 
Mrs Gumpert has been much affected by the teeth of time. I have 
never before witnessed a more rapid change. The hypocrisy of a 
Greek nose has given way to the true Jewish type, everything 
about her looks rather shrivelled and dried up, and the voice has 
that guttural sound which the selected people is to some degree 
cursed with. Speaking of the disagreeableness to be in an omnibus, 
or at public firework, or in the theatre even near to the pit—all 
this because of the bad smells of the vile multitude, she said: ‘I lke 
the clean million, but not the dirty million’. I affected to have 
understood, clear million, and said that it was a very common 
predilection with mankind to prefer a clear million of pounds 
sterling to any million of men, whether washed or unwashed. 

And now my dear child addio. Give my best wishes to all. On 

aT. H. Huxley, ‘The Scientific Aspects of Positivism’, The Fortnightly Review, 
Vol. V, No. XXX, 1 June 1869. - b J. S. Mill, ‘Thornton on Labour and _ its 
Claims’, Part II, The Fortnightly Review, Vol. V, No. XXX, 1 June 1869. 

Monday’ I shall positively leave. As to Tussy, she looks quite 
blooming, and a little longer stay at Manchester will do her good. 

Yours 

Old Nick