Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
Snow and cold winds here. Hope you are as badly off at Cambridge.
Bournemouth, February 21, 1888.
My dear Foster,
We have had nothing but frost and snow here lately, and at present half a gale of the bitterest north-easter I have felt since we were at Florence is raging. [Similarly to Sir J. Evans on the 28th]—"I get my strength back but slowly, and think of migrating to Greenland or Spitzbergen for a milder climate.">[
I believe I am getting better, as I have noticed that at a particular stage of my convalescence from any sort of illness I pass through a condition in which things in general appear damnable and I myself an entire failure. If that is a sign of returning health you may look upon my restoration as certain.
If it is only Murray's speculations he wants to publish separately, I should say by all means let him. But the facts, whether advanced by him or other people, ought all to be in the official record. I agree we can't stir.
I scented the "goak." How confoundedly proud you are of it. In former days I have been known to joke myself.
I will look after the questions if you like. In my present state of mind I shall be a capital critic—on Dizzy's views of critics…