Thanks to Mr. Gilbert, the negotiation was brought to a successful issue. Mrs. Davy yielded to her son’s wishes, and Mr. Borlase surrendered his indenture, on the back of which he wrote that he released him from “all engagements whatever on account of his excellent behaviour”; adding, “because being a youth of great promise, I would not obstruct his present pursuits, which are likely to promote his fortune and his fame.” The only one of his friends who disapproved of the scheme was his old benefactor, Mr. John Tonkin, who had hoped to have established Davy in his native town as a surgeon. Mr. Tonkin was so irritated at the failure of his plans that he altered his will, and revoked the legacy of his house, which he had bequeathed to him. CHAPTER II. THE PNEUMATIC INSTITUTION, BRISTOL, 1798-1801. On October 2nd, 1798, Davy set out for Clifton with such books and apparatus as he possessed, and the MSS. of his essays on Heat and Light safely stowed away among his baggage. He was in the highest spirits, and full of confidence in the future. On his way through Okehampton he met the London coach decked with laurels and ribbons, and bringing the news of Nelson’s victory of the Nile, which he interpreted as a happy omen. A few days after his arrival, he thus wrote to his mother:-- “_October 11th, 1798._ Clifton. “MY DEAR MOTHER,--I have now a little leisure time, and I am about to employ it in the pleasing occupation of communicating to you an account of all the _new_ and _wonderful_ events that have happened to me since my departure. “I suppose you received my letter, written in a great hurry last Sunday, informing you of my safe arrival and kind reception. I must now give you a more particular account of Clifton, the place of my residence, and of my new friends Dr. and Mrs. Beddoes and their family. “Clifton is situated on the top of a hill, commanding a view of Bristol and its neighbourhood, conveniently elevated above the dirt and noise of the city. Here are houses, rocks, woods, town and country in one small spot; and beneath us, the sweetly-flowing Avon, so celebrated by the poets. Indeed there can hardly be a more beautiful spot; it almost rivals Penzance and the beauties of Mount’s Bay.