After I had recovered from my pleurisy, I could not think why my strength did not come back. It turns out that there is some weakness and dilatation of the heart, but lucky no valvular mischief. I am condemned to the life of a prize pig--physical and mental idleness, and corporeal stuffing with meat and drink, and I am certainly improving under the regimen. I am told I have a fair chance of getting all right again. But I take it as a pretty broad hint to be quiet for the rest of my days. At present I have to be very quiet, and I spend most of my time on my back. You and I, my dear friend, have had our innings, and carry our bats out while our side is winning. One could not reasonably ask for more. And considering the infinite possibilities of physical and moral suffering which beset us, I, for my part, am well pleased that things are no worse. Ever yours very faithfully, T.H. Huxley. 4 Marlborough Place, N.W., June 1, 1888. My dear Knowles, I have been living the life of a prize pig for the last six weeks--no exercise, much meat and drink, and as few manifestations of intelligence as possible, for the purpose of persuading my heart to return to its duty. I am astonished to find that there is a kick left in me--even when your friend Kropotkin pitches into me without the smallest justification. Vide 19, June, page 820. Just look at 19, February, page 168. I say, "AT THE PRESENT TIME, the produce of the soil does not suffice," etc. I did not say a word about the capabilities of the soil if, as part and parcel of a political and social revolution on the grandest scale, we all took to spade husbandry. As a matter of fact, I did try to find out a year or two ago, whether the soil of these islands could, under any circumstances, feed its present population with wheat. I could not get any definite information, but I understood Caird to think that it could. In my argument, however, the question is of no moment. There must be some limit to the production of food by a given area, and there is none to population. What a stimulus vanity is!--nothing but the vain dislike of being thought in the wrong would have induced me to trouble myself or bore you with this letter. Bother Kropotkin! I think his article very interesting and important nevertheless. I am getting better but very slowly. Ever yours very truly, T.H. Huxley. [In reply, Mr. Knowles begged him to come to lunch and a quiet talk, and further suggested, "as an ENTIRELY UNBIASSED person," that he ought to answer Kropotkin's errors in the "Nineteenth Century," and not only in a private letter behind his back. The answer is as follows:--] 4 Marlborough Place, June 3, 1888. My dear Knowles, Your invitation is tantalising. I wish I could accept it. But it is now some six weeks that my excursions have been limited to a daily drive. The rest of my time I spend on the flat of my back, eating, drinking, and doing absolutely nothing besides, except taking iron and digitalis.