1S92 LETTERS 353 



Neither you nor I have any business to commit suicide for 

 that which after all is a mere sign of the affection we have no 

 need to prove for our dear old friend, and the chances are that 

 half an hour cold chapel and grave-side on a day like this would 

 finish us. 



I write this not that I imagine you would think of going, 

 but because my last note spoke so decidedly of my own intention. 



But who could have anticipated this sudden reversion to 

 Arctic conditions ? — Ever yours affectionately, 



T. H. Huxley. 



Hodkslea, Eastbourne, March 18, 1892. 



My dear Donnelly — My wife got better and was out for a 

 while yesterday, but she is knocked up again to-day. 



It would have been very pleasant to see you both, but you 

 must not come down till we get fixed with a new cook and maid, 

 as I believe we are to be in a week or so. None of your hotel- 

 going ! 



I mourn over the departure of the present cookie — I believe 

 she is going for no other reason than that she is afraid the house 

 will fall on such ungodly people as we are, and involve her in 

 the ruins. That is the modern martyrdom — you don't roast 

 infidels, but people who can roast go to the pious. 



Lovely day to-day, nothing but east wind to remind one it is 

 not summer. — Crocuses coming out at last. — Ever yours very 

 faithfully, T. H. Huxley. 



Hodeslea, Eastbourne, April 3, 1892. 



My dear Hooker — As I so often tell my wife, " your con- 

 founded sense of duty will be the ruin of you." You really, 

 club or no club, had no business to be travelling in such a bitter 

 east wind. However, I hope the recent sunshine has set you 

 up again. 



Barring snow or any other catastrophe, I will be at " the 

 Club " dinner on the 26th and help elect the P.R.S. I don't 

 think I go more than once a year, and like you I find the smaller 

 the pleasanter meetings. 



I was very sorry to see Bowman's death. What a first-rate 

 man of science he would have been if the Professorship at 

 King's College had been f 1000 a year. But it was mere starva- 

 tion when he held it. 



I am glad to say that my wife is much better — thank yours 

 for her very kind sympathy. I was' very down the last time I 

 wrote to you. — Ever yours affectionately, T. H. Huxley. 



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