LETTERS 



303 



The remaining letters of the year are of miscellaneous 

 interest. They show him happily established in his retreat 

 at Eastbourne in very fair health, on his guard against any 

 further repetition of his " jubilee honour " in the shape of 

 his old enemy pleurisy ; unable to escape the more insidious 

 attacks of influenza, but well enough on the whole to be in 

 constant good spirits. 



Hodeslea, Eastbourne, Jan. 13, 1891. 



My dear Skelton — Many thanks to you for reminding me 

 that there are such things as " Summer Isles " in the universe. 

 The memory of them has been pretty well blotted out here for 

 the last seven weeks. You see some people can retire to " Her- 

 mitages " as well as other people ; and though even Argyll cum 

 Gladstone powers of self-deception could not persuade me that 

 the view from my window is as good as that from yours, yet I 

 do see a fine wavy chalk down with " cwms " and soft turfy 

 ridges, over which an old fellow can stride as far as his legs are 

 good to carry him. 



The fact is, that I discovered that staying in London any 

 longer meant for me a very short life, and by no means a merry 

 one. So I got my son-in-law to build me a cottage here, where 

 my wife and I may go down-hill quietly together, and " make 

 our sowls " as the Irish say, solaced by an occasional visit from 

 children and grandchildren. 



The deuce of it is, that however much the weary want to be 

 at rest the wicked won't cease from troubling. Hence the occa- 

 sional skirmishes and alarms which may lead my friends to mis- 

 doubt my absolute detachment from sublunary affairs. Perhaps 

 peace dwells only among the fork-tailed Petrels ! 



I trust Mrs. Skelton and you are flourishing, and that 

 trouble will keep far from the hospitable doors of Braid through 

 the New Year. — Ever yours very faithfully, 



T. H. Huxley. 



No sooner had he settled down in his new country home, 

 than a strange piece of good fortune, such as happens more 

 often in a story-book than in real life, enabled him at one 

 stroke to double his little estate, to keep off the unwelcome 

 approach of the speculative builder, and to give himself 

 scope for the newly-discovered delights of the garden. The 

 sale of the house in Marlborough Place covered the greater 



