I am not so vigorous as I was at Maloja, but still infinitely better than when I left England.
I hope the mosquitoes left something of you in Venice. When I was there in October there were none!
My wife joins with me in love to Mrs. Foster and yourself.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
[Some friendly chaff in Sir M. Foster's reply to the latter contains at least a real indication of the way in which Huxley became the centre of the little society at the Maloja:—]
You may reflect that you have done the English tourists a good service this summer. At most table d'hotes in the Lakes I overheard people talking about the joys of Maloja, and giving themselves great airs on account of their intimacy with "Professor Huxley"!!
[But indeed he made several friends here, notably one in an unexpected quarter. This was Father Steffens, Professor of Palaeography in Freiburg University, resident Catholic priest at Maloja in the summer, with whom he had many discussions, and whose real knowledge of the critical questions confronting Christian theology he used to contrast with the frequent ignorance and occasional rudeness of the English representatives of that science who came to the hotel.
A letter to Mr. Spencer from Ragatz shows him on his return journey:—]
In fact, so long as I was taking rather sharp exercise in sunshine I felt quite well, and I could walk as well as any time these ten years. It needed damp cold weather to remind me that my pumping apparatus was not to be depended upon under unfavourable conditions. Four thousand feet descent has impressed that fact still more forcibly upon me, and I am quite at sea as to what it will be best to do when we return. Quite certainly, however, we shall not go to Bournemouth. I like the place, but the air is too soft and moist for either of us.