[He continues:—­]

I am decidedly picking up.  The air here is wonderful, and as we can set good cookery against hard lying (I don’t mean in the Munchausen line) the consequent appetite becomes a mild source of gratification.  Also, I have not met with more than two people who knew me, and that in my present state is a negative gratification of the highest order.

[Later on he tried Bournemouth; being no better, he thought of an entirely new remedy.]

The only thing I am inclined to do is to write a book on Miracles.  I think it might do good and unload my biliary system.

[In this state of indecision, so unnatural to him, he writes to Sir M. Foster:—­]

I am anything but clear as to the course I had best take myself.  While undoubtedly much better in general health, I am in a curious state of discouragement, and I should like nothing better than to remain buried here (Bournemouth) or anywhere else, out of the way of trouble and responsibility.  It distresses me to think that I shall have to say something definite about the Presidency at the meeting of the Council in October.

[Finally on October 20, he writes:—­]

I think the lowest point of my curve of ups and downs is gradually rising—­but I have by no means reached the point when I can cheerfully face anything.  I got over the Board of Visitors (two hours and a half) better than I expected, but my deafness was a horrid nuisance.

I believe the strings of the old fiddle will tighten up a good deal, if I abstain from attempting to play upon the instrument at present—­but that a few jigs now will probably ruin that chance.

But I will say my final word at our meeting next week.  I would rather step down from the chair than dribble out of it.  Even the devil is in the habit of departing with a “melodious twang,” and I like the precedent.

[So at the Anniversary meeting on November 30, he definitely announced in his last Presidential address his resignation of that] “honourable office” [which he could no longer retain] “with due regard to the interests of the Society, and perhaps, I may add, of self-preservation.”

I am happy to say [he continued] that I have good reason to believe that, with prolonged rest—­by which I do not mean idleness, but release from distraction and complete freedom from those lethal agencies which are commonly known as the pleasures of society—­I may yet regain so much strength as is compatible with advancing years.  But in order to do so, I must, for a long time yet, be content to lead a more or less anchorite life.  Now it is not fitting that your President should be a hermit, and it becomes me, who have received so much kindness and consideration from the Society, to be particularly careful that no sense of personal gratification should delude me into holding the office of its representative one moment after reason and conscience have pointed out my incapacity to discharge the serious duties which devolve upon the President, with some approach to efficiency.