You will observe that a great deal remains to be done.  The muscular system is untouched; the structure and nature of the terminal circumvallate papilla have to be made out; the lingual teeth must be re-examined; and the characters of the male determined.  If I recollect rightly, Owen published something about the last point.

If I can be of any service to you in any questions that arise, I shall be very glad; but as I am putting the trouble of the work on your shoulders, I wish you to have the credit of it.

So far as I am concerned, all that is needful is to say that such and such drawings were made by me.

Ever yours very faithfully,

T.H.  Huxley.

Hodeslea, October 12, 1893.

Dear Professor Pelseneer,

I am very glad to hear from you that the homology of the cephalopod arms with the gasteropod foot is now generally admitted.  When I advocated that opinion in my memoir on the “Morphology of the Cephalous Mollusca,” some forty years ago, it was thought a great heresy.

As to publication; I am quite willing to agree to whatever arrangement you think desirable, so long as you are kind enough to take all trouble (but that of “consulting physician”) off my shoulders.  Perhaps putting both names to the memoir, as you suggest, will be the best way.  I cannot undertake to write anything, but if you think I can be of any use as an adviser or critic, do not hesitate to demand my services.

Ever yours very faithfully,

T.H.  Huxley.

[Although in February he had stayed several days in town with the Donnellys, who “take as much care of me as if I were a piece of old china,” and had attended a levee and a meeting of his London University Association, had listened with interest to a lecture of Professor Dewar, who “made liquid oxygen by the pint,” and dined at Marlborough House, the influenza had prevented him during the spring from fulfilling several engagements in London; but after his return from Oxford he began to recruit in the fine weather, and found delightful occupation in putting up a rockery in the garden for his pet Alpine plants.

In mid June he writes to his wife, then on a visit to one of her daughters:—­]

What a little goose you are to go having bad dreams about me—­who am like a stalled ox—­browsing in idle comfort—­in fact, idle is no word for it.  Sloth is the right epithet.  I can’t get myself to do anything but potter in the garden, which is looking lovely.

On June 21 he went to Cambridge for the Harvey Celebration at Gonville and Caius College, and made a short speech.]

The dinner last night [he writes] was a long affair, and I was the last speaker; but I got through my speech very well, and was heard by everybody, I am told.

[But as is the way with influenza, it was thrown off in the summer only to return the next winter, and on the eve of the Royal Society Anniversary Dinner he writes to Sir M. Foster:—­]