Well, we shall stop some days and give San Remo a chance—at least a week, unless the weather turns bad.
As to your postcards which have been sent on from Venice and are really shabby, I am not going to any dinners whatsoever, either Middle Temple or Academy. Just write to both that "Mr. H. regrets he is unable to accept the invitation with which — have honoured him." (It's like putting the shutters up," [he said sadly to his wife, when he felt unable to attend the Royal Academy dinner as he had done for many years.])
I have really nothing the matter with me now—but my stock of strength is not great, and I can't afford to spend any on dinners.
The blessedest thing now will be to have done with the nomadic life of the last five months—and see your ugly faces (so like their dear father) again. I believe it will be the best possible tonic for me.
M— has not got rid of her cold yet, but a few warm days here will, I hope, set her up.
I met Lady Whitworth on the esplanade to-day—she is here with Sir Joseph, and this afternoon we went to call on her. The poor old man is very feeble and greatly altered since I saw him last.
Write here on receiving this. We shall take easy stages home, but I don't know that I shall be able to give you any address.
M— sends heaps of love to all (including Charles [The cat.]).
Ever your loving father,
T.H. Huxley.