We shall not be back at Eastbourne till the latter half of September, and I doubt if we shall get into our house even then.  We leave this for Gloucester, where we are going to spend the festival week with my daughter to-morrow.

With our love to you both, ever yours very faithfully,

T.H.  Huxley.

I see a report that Owen is sinking.  Poor old man; it seems queer that just as I am hoist to the top of my tree he should be going underground.  But at 88 life cannot be worth much.

To Mr. W.F.  Collier.

Cors-y-Gedol Hotel, Barmouth Water, August 31, 1892.

Accept my wife’s and my hearty thanks for your kind congratulations.  When I was a mere boy I took for motto of an essay, “What is honour?  Who hath it?  He that died o’ Wednesday,” and although I have my full share of ambition and vanity, I doubt not, yet Falstaff’s philosophical observation has dominated my mind and acted as a sort of perpetual refrigerator to these passions.  So I have gone my own way, sought for none of these things and expected none—­and it would seem that the deepest schemer’s policy could not have answered better.  We must have a new Beatitude, “Blessed is the man who expecteth nothing,” without its ordinary appendix.

I tell Jack [His son-in-law, Hon. John Collier.] I have worked hard for a dignity which will enable me to put down his aristocratic swaggering.

[It took some time, however, to get used to the title, and it was October before he wrote:—­]

The feeling that “The Right Honourable” on my letters is a piece of chaff is wearing off, and I hope to get used to my appendix in time.

[The “very quaint” ceremony of kissing hands is described at some length in a letter to Mrs. Huxley from London on his way back from Osborne:—­]

Great Western Hotel, August 25, 1892, 6.40 P.M.

I have just got back from Osborne, and I find there are a few minutes to send you a letter—­by the help of the extra halfpenny.  First-rate weather there and back, a special train, carriage with postillions at the Osborne landing-place, and a grand procession of officers of the new household and P.C.’s therein.  Then waiting about while the various “sticks” were delivered.

Then we were shown into the presence chamber where the Queen sat at a table.  We knelt as if we were going to say our prayers, holding a testament between two, while the Clerk of the Council read an oath of which I heard not a word.  We each advanced to the Queen, knelt and kissed her hand, retired backwards, and got sworn over again (Lord knows what I promised and vowed this time also).  Then we shook hands with all the P.C.’s present, including Lord Lorne, and so exit backwards.  It was all very curious...

After that a capital lunch and back we came.  Ribblesdale and several other people I knew were of the party, and I found it very pleasant talking with him and Jesse Collings, who is a very interesting man.