The fact is I have been going to write to you ever since we came back last Thursday evening, but I had about fifty other letters to write and got sick of the operation.
We are all in great force, and as for me, I never expected a year ago to be he well I am. I require to look in the glass and study the crows' feet and the increasing snow cap on the summit of my Tete noire (as it once was), to convince myself I am not twenty years younger.
How long it will last I don't feel sure, but I am going to give London as little chance as possible.
I trust you have all been thriving to a like extent. Scott [Assistant Professor of Botany at the Royal College of Science.] wrote to me the other day wanting to take his advanced flock (two—one, I believe, a ewe-lamb) to Kew. I told him I had no objection, but he had better consult you.
I have not been to South Kensington yet—as I have a devil (botanical—) and must satisfy him before doing anything else. It's the greatest sign of amendment that I have gone in for science afresh. When I am ill (and consequently venomous), nothing satisfies me but gnawing at theology; it's a sort of crib-biting.
Our love to Mrs. Donnelly. I suppose G.H. [Gordon Huxley Donnelly, Sir
John's son.] is by this time a kind of Daniel Lambert physically and
Solomon mentally—my blessing to him.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
[As a sequel to the sad event mentioned in the former letter, the relations of the young man who had died so suddenly at Arolla wished to offer Huxley some gift in grateful recognition of the kindness he had shown to the poor fellow; but being unable to fix upon any suitable object, begged him to accept a considerable sum of money and expend it on any object he pleased as a memento. To this he replied, November 21, 1886:—]
I am very much obliged for the kind recognition of my unfortunately unavailing efforts to be of service to your brother-in-law which is contained in your letter.