I have nothing to complain of so long as I do nothing; but although my hair has grown with its usual rapidity I differ from Samson in the absence of a concurrent return of strength. Perhaps that is because a male hairdresser, and no Delilah, cut it last! But I waste Biblical allusions upon you.
My wife and Nettie, who is on a visit, join with me in best wishes.
Please let me have a line to say how you are—Gladstonianly on a post-card.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
Bournemouth, April 7, 1888.
My dear Foster,
"Let thy servant's face be white before thee." The obituary of Darwin went to Rix yesterday! [Assistant Secretary of the Royal Society.] It is not for lack of painstaking if it is not worth much, but I have been in a bad vein for work of any kind, and I thought I should never get even this simple matter ended.
I have been bothered with praecordial uneasiness and intermittent pulse ever since I have been here, and at last I got tired of it and went home the day before yesterday to get carefully overhauled. Hames tells me there is weakness and some enlargement of the left ventricle, which is pretty much what I expected. Luckily the valves are all right.
I am to go and devote myself to coaxing the left ventricle wall to thicken pro rata—among the mountains, and to have nothing to do with any public functions or other exciting bedevilments. So the International Geological Congress will not have the pleasure of seeing its Honorary President in September. I am disgusted at having to break an engagement, but I cannot deny that Hames is right. At present the mere notion of the thing puts me in a funk.