My dear Hooker

This note will reach you on your return from your melancholy journey.— I lost my mother during infancy & therefore know not what the loss is, but I can well believe, that with the exception of ones wife, it is the greatest that a man can suffer;—though God knows the loss of a child is bitter enough & overwhelming.—¹

You have sometimes spoken to me as if you felt growing old: I have never seen any signs of this, & I am certain that in the affections, which form incomparably the noblest part of a man’s nature, you are one of the youngest men that I know.— My wife sends her affectionate regards to you.— With respect to the Horse, my wife, I believe, erred in saying that his feet are tender, but he stumbles very badly, & as far as my experience goes a horse stumbles as much on the road or more, when walking as in trotting. So he would not suit: we thought that you wanted him for turf alone, & then he w^d. have suited very well.—² We return home next Saturday, & that will complete my 3 weeks of rest.³ I have been as dull as anyone could desire, & I daresay it will do me some good.—

On your return home you will be compelled to work hard, & that will be your best cure.—

Believe me | yours ever affectionately | Ch. Darwin

I fear Huxley keeps very poorly.—⁴