4 Marlborough Place, April 16, 1882.

My dear Lecky,

Accept my best thanks for your two volumes, which I found on my return from Scotland yesterday.

I can give no better evidence of my appreciation of their contents than by the confession that they have caused me to neglect my proper business all yesterday evening and all to-day.

The section devoted to Irish affairs is a model of lucidity, and bears on its face the stamp of justice and fair dealing.  It is a most worthy continuation of the chapter on the same subject in the first volume, and that is giving high praise.

You see I write as if I knew something about the subject, but you are responsible for creating the delusion.

With kindest remembrances to Mrs. Lecky,

Ever yours very faithfully,

T.H.  Huxley.

[A few weeks later, the murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish sent a thrill of horror throughout England.  Huxley was as deeply moved as any, but wrote calmly of the situation.

To his eldest son:—­]

4 Marlborough Place, May 9, 1882.

My dear Leonard,

Best thanks for your good wishes [For his birthday, May 4.].  Notwithstanding the disease of A.D., which always proves mortal sooner or later, I am in excellent case...

I knew both Lord F. Cavendish and his wife and Mr. Burke.  I have never been able to get poor Lady Frederick out of my head since the news arrived.

The public mind has been more stirred than by anything since the Indian Mutiny.  But if the Government keep their heads cool, great good may come out of the evil, horrible as it is.  The Fenians have reckoned on creating an irreparable breach between England and Ireland.  It should be our business to disappoint them first and extirpate them afterwards.  But the newspaper writers make me sick, especially the “Times”.

Ever your affectionate father,

T.H.  Huxley.

[It is interesting, also, to see how he appeared about this time to one of a younger generation, acute, indeed, and discriminating, but predisposed by circumstances and upbringing to regard him at first with curiosity rather than sympathy.  For this account I am indebted to one who has the habit, so laudable in good hands, of keeping a journal of events and conversations.  I have every confidence in the substantial accuracy of so well trained a reporter.

Extract from journal.

November 25, 1882.

In the evening we dined at the —­’s, chiefly a family party with the addition of Professor Huxley and his wife and ourselves.  Much lively conversation, after dinner, begun among the ladies, but continued after the gentlemen appeared, on the subjects of Truth, Education, and Women’s Rights, or, more strictly speaking, women’s capabilities.  Our hostess (Lady —­) was, if possible, more vehement and paradoxical than her wont, and vigorously