I meant to have gone abroad a month ago, but it turned out that my heart was out of order, and though I am getting better, progress is slow, and I do not suppose I shall get away for some weeks yet. I have neither brains nor nerves, and the very thought of controversy puts me in a blue funk! My doctors prophesy good things, as there is no valvular disease, only dilatation. But for the present I must subscribe myself (from an editorial point of view). Your worthless and useless and bad-hearted friend, T.H. Huxley. [The British Association was to meet at Plymouth this year; and Mr. W.F. Collier (an uncle of John Collier, his son-in-law) invited Huxley and any friend of his to be his guest at Horrabridge.] 4 Marlborough Place, June 13, 1888. My dear Mr. Collier, It would have been a great pleasure to me to be your guest once more, but the Fates won't have it this time. Dame Nature has given me a broad hint that I have had my innings, and, for the rest of my time, must be content to look on at the players. It is not given to all of us to defy the doctors and go in for a new lease, as I am glad to hear you are doing. I declare that your open invitation to any friend of mine is the most touching mark of confidence I ever received. I am going to send it to my great ally Michael Foster, Secretary of the Royal Society. I do not know whether he has made any other arrangements, and I am not quite sure whether he and his wife are going to Plymouth. But I hope they may be able to accept, for you will certainly like them, and they will certainly like you. I will ask him to write directly to you to save time. With very kind remembrances to Mrs. Collier. Ever yours very faithfully, T.H. Huxley. I forgot to say that I am mending as fast as I can expect to do. CHAPTER 3.4. 1888. [It was not till June 23 that Huxley was patched up sufficiently by the doctors for him to start for the Engadine. His first stage was to Lugano; the second by Menaggio and Colico to Chiavenna; the third to the Maloja. The summer visitors who saw him arrive so feeble that he could scarcely walk a hundred yards on the level, murmured that it was a shame to send out an old man to die there. Their surprise was the greater when, after a couple of months, they saw him walking his ten miles and going up two thousand feet without difficulty. As far as his heart was concerned, the experiment of sending him to the mountains was perfectly justified. With returning strength he threw himself once more into the pursuit of gentians, being especially interested in their distribution and hybridism, and the possibility of natural hybrids explaining the apparent connecting links between species. No doubt, too, he felt some gratification in learning from his friend Mr. (now Sir W.) Thiselton Dyer, that the results he had already obtained in pursuing this hobby had been of real value:--