March 20, 1901.
Here comes the first instalment of “Reminiscences” and I hope to forward more to you in due course. The history of “Rise and Progress of Annual Reports” is in Miss Ashworth’s hands. Indeed, I am very thankful to you for helping me about the typewriting. I had no idea of the helpful difference it makes even to me. Please, I earnestly beg of you, do not think that your delightful and helpful visit, only too short, had anything to do with my having to call in the doctor again. I am sure he does not. But I am sure, too, you will understand how very trying indeed, though mostly very kind, the outbreak of newspaper and private comment on what they call “my retirement” was. So to get my cough really cured, and drive constitutional coincidences out of the field I went to bed with the best possible effects (really). I think the doctor will let me get up to-morrow, but he wants me to keep safe from snow chills.
March 24, 1901.
Here is another bit [of autobiography] begging your reading when you are inclined, and now “Birth, Parentage, &c.,” is gone up to London. I should so very much like (if not too much trouble) if you would make some sort of mark on the margin of your copy, wherever you think some alteration is needed, and then when I have the pleasure of seeing you here we could go comfortably into it.
Now (as the fates permit) I am working on “The Severn and the Wye” (chap. V.), and I think it will be interesting, there is such a variety of fresh observation, “Fish, fishers, and fisheries,” some specialities in zoology and semi-marine botany, and something of a good many sorts of things.
I am much mended and doctor says I may tell you I am getting on all right, but the long illness has pulled me down very much so that I am only allowed at present to be up in my own room—such a little thing brings the cough back and we have snow showers still—but as soon as ever I can get about again I have no reason to doubt I should be much as usual.
March 29, 1901.
I seem very unlucky this winter, but on Tuesday, when I hoped I was pretty well again, a chill so bad and so strangely sudden seized me, that breathing got hurried, I could not speak with comfort, and an acute pain set in in my right side. Doctor set to work and did not mention that congestion of the lungs was present, but taking affairs at once did great good, and the enemy was routed; still, I am a good deal pulled down, and do not mean risking another chill at present. I had greatly hoped this time not to tell you any long stories about my health, but it is no good pretending, so please you must let your friendly sympathy in my troubles be my excuse.
I wonder what you will think of the enclosed [“copy”]. I incline to think the subjects are rather nice, but that as we get on bits of this may fit into future papers, or of future papers here? It seems to me best to write whatever I can as well as I can manage, and sift by and by. “Am not I ’umble” (as Uriah Heap says) about Edward I.? (page 13).
April 1, 1901.