After endless discussion we have settled on Brighton for November and December. It is a hateful place to my mind, but there is more chance of sunshine there (at this time) than anywhere else. We shall come up for a week or two on this side of Christmas, and then get away somewhere else out of the way of the east winds of February and March. I do not think that the Hazlemere country would do for us, nor indeed any country place so long as we cannot regularly set up house. Heaven knows I don't want to bother about anything at present. But I should like to convince -- that he does not yet understand the elements of his subject. What a copious ink-spilling cuttlefish of a writer he is! Ever yours, T.H. Huxley. 4 Marlborough Place, London, N.W., November 2, 1888. My dear Skelton, Best thanks for the second volume of "Maitland of Lethington." I have been in the Engadine for the last four months, trying to repair the crazy old "house I live in," and meeting with more success than I hoped for when I left home. Your volume turned up amidst a mountain of accumulated books, papers, and letters, and I can only hope it has not been too long without acknowledgment. I have been much interested in your argument about the "Casket letters." The comparison of Crawford's deposition with the Queen's letter leaves no sort of doubt that the writer of one had the other before him; and under the circumstances I do not see how it can be doubted that the Queen's letter is forged. But though thus wholly agreeing with you in substance, I cannot help thinking that your language on page 341 may be seriously pecked at. My experience of reporters leads me to think that there would be no discrepancy at all comparable to that between the two accounts, and I speak from the woeful memories of the many Royal Commissions I have wearied over. The accuracy of a good modern reporter is really wonderful. And I do not think that "the two documents were drawn by the same hand." I should say that the writer of the letter had Crawford's deposition before him, and made what he considered improvements here and there. You will say this letter is like Falstaff's reckoning, with but a pennyworth of thanks to this monstrous quantity of pecking. But the gratitude is solid and the criticism mere two-dimension stuff. It is a charming book. With kind remembrances to Mrs. Skelton. Ever yours very faithfully, T.H. Huxley. 10 Southcliff Terrace, Eastbourne, November 9, 1888. My dear Foster, We came here on Tuesday, on which day, by ill luck, the east wind also started, and has been blowing half a gale ever since. We are in the last house but one to the west, and as high up as we dare go--looking out on the sea. The first day we had to hold on to our chairs to prevent being blown away in the sitting-room, but we have hired a screen and can now croon over the fire without danger.