All good wishes to you and yours, and many of them.

Thanks for the cheque. You are very confiding to send it without looking at the account. But I have packed up the "Archives," which poor dear Busk handed over to me, and will leave them at the Athenaeum for you. Among them you will find the account book. There are two or three cases, when I was absent, in which the names are not down. I have no doubt Frankland gave them to me by letter, but the book was at home and they never got set down. Peccavi!

I have been picking up in the most astonishing way during the last fortnight or three weeks at Eastbourne. My doctor, Hames, carefully examined my heart yesterday, and told me that though some slight indications were left, he should have thought nothing of them if he had not followed the whole history of the case. With fresh air and exercise and careful avoidance of cold and night air I am to be all right again in a few months.

I am not fond of coddling; but as Paddy gave his pig the best corner in his cabin--because "shure, he paid the rint"--I feel bound to take care of myself as a household animal of value, to say nothing of any other grounds. So, much as I should like to be with you all on the 3rd, I must defer to the taboo.

The wife got a nasty bronchitic cold as soon as she came up. She is much better now. But I shall be glad to get her down to Eastbourne again.

Except that, we are all very flourishing, as I hope you are.

Ever yours very faithfully,

T.H. Huxley.

CHAPTER 3.5.

1889.

[The events to be chronicled in this year are, as might be expected, either domestic or literary. The letters are full of allusions to his long controversy in defence of Agnosticism, mainly with Dr. Wace, who had declared the use of the name to be a "mere evasion" on the part of those who ought to be dubbed infidels (Apropos of this controversy, a letter may be cited which appeared in the "Agnostic Annual" for 1884, in answer to certain inquiries from the editor as to the right definition of Agnosticism:--]

Some twenty years ago, or thereabouts, I invented the word "Agnostic"

to denote people who, like myself, confess themselves to be hopelessly ignorant concerning a variety of matters, about which metaphysicians and theologians, both orthodox and heterodox, dogmatise with the utmost confidence, and it has been a source of some amus.e.m.e.nt to me to watch the gradual acceptance of the term and its correlate, "Agnosticism" (I think the "Spectator" first adopted and popularised both), until now Agnostics are a.s.suming the position of a recognised sect, and Agnosticism is honoured by especial obloquy on the part of the orthodox. Thus it will be seen that I have a sort of patent right in "Agnostic" (it is my trade mark), and I am ent.i.tled to say that I can state authentically what was originally meant by Agnosticism. What other people may understand by it, by this time, I do not know. If a General Council of the Church Agnostic were held, very likely I should be condemned as a heretic. But I speak only for myself in answering these questions.

1. Agnosticism is of the essence of science, whether ancient or modern.

It simply means that a man shall not say he knows or believes that which he has no scientific grounds for professing to know or believe.

2. Consequently Agnosticism puts aside not only the greater part of popular theology, but also the greater part of popular anti-theology.

On the whole, the "bosh" of heterodoxy is more offensive to me than that of orthodoxy, because heterodoxy professes to be guided by reason and science, and orthodoxy does not.

3. I have no doubt that scientific criticism will prove destructive to the forms of supernaturalism which enter into the const.i.tution of existing religions. On trial of any so-called miracle the verdict of science is "Not proven." But true Agnosticism will not forget that existence, motion, and law-abiding operation in nature are more stupendous miracles than any recounted by the mythologies, and that there may be things, not only in the heavens and earth, but beyond the intelligible universe, which "are not dreamt of in our philosophy." The theological "gnosis" would have us believe that the world is a conjurer's house; the anti-theological "gnosis" talks as if it were a "dirt-pie," made by the two blind children, Law and Force. Agnosticism simply says that we know nothing of what may be behind phenomena.); [to the building of the new house at Eastbourne, and to the marriage in quick succession of his two youngest daughters, whereby, indeed, the giving up of the house in London and definite departure from London was made possible.

All the early part of the year, till he found it necessary to go to Switzerland again, he stayed unwillingly in Eastbourne, from time to time running up to town, or having son or daughter to stay with him for a week, his wife being too busy to leave town, with the double preparations for the weddings on hand, so that he writes to her:] "I feel worse than the 'cowardly agnostic' I am said to be--for leaving you to face your botherations alone." [One can picture him still firm of tread, with grizzled head a little stooped from his square shoulders, pacing the sea wall with long strides, or renewing somewhat of his strength as it again began to fail, in the keener air of the downs, warmly defended against chill by a big cap--for he had been suffering from his ears--and a long rough coat. He writes (February 22):] "I have bought a cap with flaps to protect my ears. I look more 'doggy' than ever." [And on March 3:--]

We have had a lovely day, quite an Italian sky and sea, with a good deal of Florentine east wind. I walked up to the Signal House, and was greatly amused by a young sheep-dog whose master could hardly get him away from circling round me and staring at me with a short dissatisfied bark every now and then. It is the undressed wool of my coat bothers all the dogs. They can't understand why a creature which smells so like a sheep should walk on its hind legs. I wish I could have relieved that dog's mind, but I did not see my way to an explanation.

From this time on, the effects of several years' comparative rest became more perceptible. His slowly returning vigour was no longer sapped by the unceasing strain of multifarious occupations. And if his recurrent ill-health sometimes seems too strongly insisted on, it must be remembered that he had always worked at the extreme limit of his powers--the limit, as he used regretfully to say, imposed on his brain by his other organs--and that after his first breakdown he was never very far from a second. When this finally came in 1884, his forces were so far spent that he never expected to recover as he did.

In the marriage this year of his youngest daughter, Huxley was doomed to experience the momentary little twinge which will sometimes come to the supporter of an unpopular principle when he first puts it into practice among his own belongings.

Athenaeum Club, January 14, 1889.

My dear Hooker,

I have just left the x "Archives" here for you. I left them on my table by mischance when I came here on the x day.

I have a piece of family news for you. My youngest daughter Ethel is going to marry John Collier.

I have always been a great advocate for the triumph of common sense and justice in the "Deceased Wife's Sister" business--and only now discover, that I had a sneaking hope that all of my own daughters would escape that experiment!

They are quite suited to one another and I would not wish a better match for her. And whatever annoyances and social pin-p.r.i.c.ks may come in Ethel's way, I know n.o.body less likely to care about them.

We shall have to go to Norway, I believe, to get the business done.

In the meantime, my wife (who has been laid up with bronchitic cold ever since we came home) and I have had as much London as we can stand, and are off to-morrow to Eastbourne again, but to more sheltered quarters.

I hope Lady Hooker and you are thriving. Don't conceal the news from her, as my wife is always accusing me of doing.

Ever yours,

T.H. Huxley.

To Mr. W.F. Collier.

4 Marlborough Place, January 24, 1889.

Many thanks for your kind letter. I have as strong an affection for Jack as if he were my own son, and I have felt very keenly the ruin we involuntarily brought upon him--by our poor darling's terrible illness and death. So that if I had not already done my best to aid and abet other people in disregarding the disabilities imposed by the present monstrous state of the law, I should have felt bound to go as far as I could towards mending his life. Ethel is just suited to him...Of course I could have wished that she should be spared the petty annoyances which she must occasionally expect. But I know of no one less likely to care for them.

Your Shakespere parable is charming--but I am afraid it must be put among the endless things that are read IN to the "divine Williams" as the Frenchman called him. [The second part of the letter replies to the question whether Shakespeare had any notion of the existence of the s.e.xes in plants and the part played in their fertilisation by insects, which, of course, would be prevented from visiting them by rainy weather, when he wrote in the "Midsummer Night's Dream":--

The moon, methinks, looks with a watery eye, And when she weeps, weeps every little flower Lamenting some enforced chast.i.ty.]

There was no knowledge of the s.e.xes of plants in Shakespere's time, barring some vague suggestion about figs and dates. Even in the 18th century, after Linnaeus, the observations of Sprengel, who was a man of genius, and first properly explained the action of insects, were set aside and forgotten.

I take it that Shakespere is really alluding to the "enforced chast.i.ty"

of Dian (the moon). The poets ignore that little Endymion business when they like!

I have recovered in such an extraordinary fashion that I can plume myself on being an "interesting case," though I am not going to compete with you in that line. And if you look at the February "Nineteenth" I hope you will think that my brains are none the worse. But perhaps that conceited speech is evidence that they are.

We came to town to make the acquaintance of Nettie's fiance, and I am happy to say the family takes to him. When it does not take to anybody, it is the worse for that anybody.

So, before long, my house will be empty, and as my wife and I cannot live in London, I think we shall pitch our tent in Eastbourne. Good Jack offers to give us a pied-a-terre when we come to town. To-day we are off to Eastbourne again. Carry off Harry, who is done up from too zealous Hospital work. However, it is nothing serious.

The following is in reply to a request that he would write a letter, as he describes it elsewhere, "about the wife's sister business--for the edification of the peers."

3 Jevington Gardens, Eastbourne, March 12, 1889.

My dear Donnelly,

I feel "downright mean," as the Yankees say, that I have not done for the sake of right and justice what I am moved to do now that I have a personal interest in the matter of the directest kind; and I rather expect that will be thrown in my teeth if my name is at the bottom of anything I write.

On the other hand, I loathe anonymity. However, we can take time to consider that point.

Anyhow I will set to work on the concoction of a letter, if you will supply me with the materials which will enable me to be thoroughly posted up in the facts.

I have just received your second letter. Pity you could not stay over yesterday--it was very fine.