Have you seen that madcap Tyndall’s letter in the “Times?” He’ll break his blessed neck some day, and that will be a great hole in the efficiency of my scientific young England.  We mean to return next Saturday, and somewhere about the 16th of 17th I shall go down to York, where I want to study Plesiosaurs.  I shall return after the British Association.  The interesting question arises, Shall I have a row with the Great O. there?  What a capital title that is they give him of the British Cuvier.  He stands in exactly the same relation to the French as British brandy to cognac.

Ever yours faithfully,

T.H.  Huxley.

Am I to send the “Gardener’s Chronicle” on, and where? please.  I have mislaid the address.

Jermyn Street, October 25, 1858.

My dear Spencer,

I read your article on the “Archetype” the other day with great delight, particularly the phrase which puts the Owenian and Cummingian interpolations on the same footing.  It is rayther strong, but quite just.

I do not remember a word to object to, but I think I could have strengthened your argument in one or two places.  Having eaten the food, will you let me have back the dish?  I am winding up the “Croonian,” and want “L’Archetype” to refer to.  So if you can let me have it I shall be obliged.  When do you return?

Ever yours faithfully,

T.H.  Huxley.

14 Waverley Place, January 1, 1859.

My dearest Lizzie,

If intentions were only acts, the quantity of letter paper covered with my scrawl which you should have had by this time should have been something wonderful.  But I live at high pressure, with always a number of things crying out to be done, and those that are nearest and call loudest get done, while the others, too often, don’t.  However, this day shall not go by without my wishing you all happiness in the new year, and that wish you know necessarily includes all belonging to you, and my love to them.

I have been long wanting to send you the photographs of myself, wife, and boy, but one reason or other (Nettie’s incessant ill-health being, I am sorry to say, the chief) has incessantly delayed the procuring of the last.  However, at length, we have obtained a tolerably successful one, though you must not suppose that Noel has the rather washed out look of his portrait.  That comes of his fair hair and blue gray eyes—­for the monkey is like his mother and has not an atom of resemblance to me.

He was two years old yesterday, and is the apple of his father’s eye and chief deity of his mother’s pantheon, which at present contains only a god and goddess.  Another is expected shortly, however, so that there is no fear of Olympus looking empty.

...Here is the 26th of January and no letter gone yet...Since I began this letter I have been very busy with lectures and other sorts of work, and besides, my whole household almost has been ill—­chicks with whooping cough, mother with influenza, a servant ditto.  I don’t know whether you have such things in Tennessee.