Hodeslea, Eastbourne, May 9, 1893.

My dear Jack,

...M—­ is better, and I am getting my voice back.  But may St. Ernulphus’ curse descend on influenza microbes!  They tried to work their way out at my nose, and converted me into a disreputable Captain Costigan-looking person ten days ago.  Now they are working at my lips.

For the credit of the family I hope I shall be more reputable by the 18th.

I hope you will appreciate my dexterity.  The lecture is a regular egg-dance.  That I should discourse on Ethics to the University of Oxford and say all I want to say, without a word anybody can quarrel with, is decidedly the most piquant occurrence in my career...

Ever yours affectionately, Pater.

To Professor Tyndall.

P.S. to be read first.

Eastbourne, May 15, 1893.

My dear Tyndall,

There are not many apples (and those mostly of the crab sort) left upon the old tree, but I send you the product of the last shaking.  Please keep it out of any hands but your wife’s and yours till Thursday, when I am to “stand and deliver” it, if I have voice enough, which is doubtful.  The sequelae of influenza in my case have been mostly pimples and procrastination, the former largely on my nose, so that I have been a spectacle.  Besides these, loss of voice.  The pimples are mostly gone and the procrastination is not much above normal, but what will happen when I try to fill the Sheldonian Theatre is very doubtful.

Who would have thought thirty-three years ago, when the great “Sammy” fight came off, that the next time I should speak at Oxford would be in succession to Gladstone, on “Evolution and Ethics” as an invited lecturer?

There was something so quaint about the affair that I really could not resist, though the wisdom of putting so much strain on my creaky timbers is very questionable.  Mind you wish me well through it at 2.30 on Thursday.

I wish we could have better news of you.  As to dying by inches, that is what we are all doing, my dear old fellow; the only thing is to establish a proper ratio between inch and time.  Eight years ago I had good reason to say the same thing of myself, but my inch has lengthened out in a most extraordinary way.  Still I confess we are getting older; and my dear wife has been greatly shaken by repeated attacks of violent pain which seizes her quite unexpectedly.  I am always glad, both on her account and my own, to get back into the quiet and good air here as fast as possible, and in another year or two, if I live so long, I shall clear out of all engagements that take me away...

T.H.  Huxley.

Not to be answered, and you had better get Mrs. Tyndall to read it to you or you will say naughty words about the scrawl.