I have filled up and sent your and my copies of entry for Athenaeum. Carpenter has written the best popular statement I know of, of the results of criticism, in a little book called "The First Three Gospels", which is well worth reading. [See above.] I have promised to go to the Royal Society dinner and propose Stokes' health on Monday, but if the weather holds out as Arctic as it is now, I shall not dare to venture. The driving east wind, blowing the snow before it here, has been awful; for ten years they have had nothing like it. I am glad to say that my little house turns out to be warm. We go in next Wednesday, and I fear I cannot be in town on Thursday even if the weather permits. I have had pleurisy that was dangerous and not painful, then pleurisy that was painful and not dangerous; there is only one further combination, and I don't want that. Politics now are immensely interesting. There must be a depth of blackguardism in me, for I cannot help admiring Parnell. I prophesy that it is Gladstone who will retire for a while, and then come back to Parnell's heel like a whipped hound. His letter was carefully full of loopholes. Ever yours affectionately, T.H. Huxley. Hodeslea, Eastbourne, December 2, 1890. My dear Hooker, The question of questions now is whether the Unionists will have the sense to carry a measure settling the land question at once. If they do that, I do not believe it will be in the power of man to stir them further. And my belief is that Parnell will be quite content with that solution. He does not want to be made a nonentity by Davitt or the Irish Americans. But what ingrained liars they all are! That is the bottom of all Irish trouble. Fancy Healy and Sexton going to Dublin to swear eternal fidelity to their leader, and now openly declaring that they only did so because they believed he would resign. Ever yours affectionately, T.H. Huxley. Hodeslea, January 10, 1891. My dear Foster, I am trying to bring the Booth business to an end so far as I am concerned, but it's like getting a wolf by the ears; you can't let him go exactly when you like. But the result is quite worth the trouble. Booth, Stead, Tillett, Manning and Co. have their little game spoilt for the present. You cannot imagine the quantity of letters I get from the Salvation Army subordinates, thanking me and telling me all sorts of stories in strict confidence. The poor devils are frightened out of their lives by headquarter spies. Some beg me not to reply, as their letters are opened. I knew that saints were not bad hands at lying before; but these Booth people beat Banagher. Then there is -- awaits skinning, and I believe the G.O.M. is to be upon me! Oh for a quiet life. Ever yours faithfully, T.H. Huxley. [But by February 17 the Booth business was over, the final rejoinder to Mr. Gladstone sent to press; and he writes to Sir J. Hooker:--]