Hodeslea, Eastbourne, March 27, 1892.
My dear Hooker,
I had to run up to town on Friday and forgot your letter. The x is a puzzle—I will stick by the ship as long as you do, depend upon that. I fear we can hardly expect to see dear old Tyndall there again. As for myself, I dare not venture when snow is on the ground, as on the last two occasions. And now, I am sorry to say, there is another possible impediment in my wife's state of health.
I have had a very anxious time of it altogether lately. But sich is life!
My sagacious grand-daughter Joyce (gone home now) observed to her grandmother some time ago—"I don't want to grow up." "Why don't you want to grow up?" "Because I notice that grown-up people have a great deal of trouble." Sagacious philosopheress of 7!
Ever yours affectionately,
T.H. Huxley.
Hodeslea, Eastbourne, April 3, 1892.
My dear Hooker,
As I so often tell my wife, "your confounded 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.