Dear M^r. Darwin,

This ought to have been written many days ago—but, a little idleness (in truth not excessive) much business, some grievances, and a heap of other trifles that would make a long list when put together—and if you knew them all would make a plausible excuse for my Laches—have united to keep me steeled against the pricks of conscience thus far. Then to soften your heart and ensure condonation, I have ventured to drop the somewhat stately address of “dear Sir”, into the more familiar one of your own name. For this also I hope to receive condonation.—

It would indeed give me the greatest pleasure to pay you and M^rs. Darwin a visit if it were in my power at any time.¹ But a very serious illness for which I was attended by Sir. H. Thompson² more then fifteen years since, reduced my vital energies so much during the two years while under his care, that I never found the heart again to commence a visiting intercourse outside my own house. Increasing years and chronic instead of acute ailments render any change of habits after so long an interval an utter impossibility. In the case of your kind invitation I say this with the very greatest regret.—

If you ever move away from home with your family on a visit to the sea side, and were to select with that purpose any of the south coast “watering places” we might be within the distance that a morning’s drive by road or rail would bring us face to face. Or, if you ever screw up your courage to the effort of—leaving your tellus et domus, et placens uxor, to pass a few days en garçon,³ need I say what delight it would give me to see you here at Heene installed in the one spare bed room, which my hermitage can boast of, whenever you liked. Or, if, as I fear, such luck is not to be hoped for, and any one of your sons should at any time fancy a walk by the seashore or a dip into the sea they need not drive to the hotel, but up to my gate, and be sure of a ready wellcome. Only to let me know two days before, and to stand upon no ceremony. One son, I think you said was at Cambridge. That is my own University; which makes a sort of free-masonry and fellow feeling.⁴

Having thus quieted my conscience; and made what amends I can for tardy letter writing, I will only add seasonable well wishes to you and yours from the solitary chief of this monastery, who is pleased to sign himself

Very truly yours | Anthony Rich