352 



LIFE OF PROFESSOR HUXLEY CHAP, xx 



sort of a father. But perhaps his daughters were "just women " 

 of the same type ; and the family circle as warm as the interior 

 of an ice-pail. 



A certain artist, who wanted to have Huxley sit to him, 

 tried to manage the matter through his son-in-law, Hon. J. 

 Collier, to whom the following is addressed : 



HODESLEA, EASTBOURNE, Jan. 27, 1892. 



MY DEAR JACK Inclosed is a letter for you. Will you com- 

 mit the indiscretion of sending it on to Mr. A. B. if you see no 

 reason to the contrary? 



I hope the subsequent proceedings will interest you no more. 



I am sorry you have been so bothered by the critter but in 

 point of pertinacity he has met his match. (I have no objection 

 to your saying that your father-in-law is a brute, if you think 

 that will soften his disappointment.) 



Here the weather has been tropical. The bananas in the 

 new garden are nearly ripe, and the cocoanuts are coming on. 

 But of course you expect this, for if it is unbearably sunny in 

 London what must it be here? 



All our loves to all of you. Ever yours affectionately, 



PATER. 



HODESLEA, EASTBOURNE, Feb. i, 1892. 



MY DEAR HOOKER I hear you have influenza rampaging 

 about the Camp ; * and I want to point out to you that if you 

 want a regular bad bout of it, the best thing you can do is to 

 go home next Thursday evening, at ten o'clock at night, and 

 plunge into the thick of the microbes, tired and chilled. 



If you don't get it then, you will, at any rate, have the satis- 

 faction of feeling that you have done your best ! 



I am going to the x, but then you see I fly straight after 

 dinner to Collier's per cab, and there is no particular microbe 

 army in Eton Avenue lying in wait for me. 



Either let me see after the dinner, or sleep in town, and don't 

 worry. Yours affectionately, T. H. HUXLEY. 



HODESLEA, EASTBOURNE, Feb. 19, 1892. 



MY DEAR HOOKER I have just received a notice that Hirst's 

 funeral is to-morrow. But we are in the midst of the bitterest 

 easterly gale and snowfall we have had all the winter, and there 

 is no sign of the weather mending. 



* The name of Sir J. Hooker's house at Sunningdale. 



