[Many others spoke.  Mr. Gresley, an old Oxford don, pointed out that in human nature at least orderly development was not the necessary rule:  Homer was the greatest of poets, but he lived 3000 years ago, and has not produced his like.

Admiral FitzRoy was present, and said he had often expostulated with his old comrade of the “Beagle” for entertaining views which were contradictory to the First Chapter of Genesis.

Sir John Lubbock declared that many of the arguments by which the permanence of species was supported came to nothing, and instanced some wheat which was said to have come off an Egyptian mummy, and was sent to him to prove that wheat had not changed since the time of the Pharaohs; but which proved to be made of French chocolate.  Sir Joseph (then Dr.) Hooker spoke shortly, saying that he had found the hypothesis of Natural Selection so helpful in explaining the phenomena of his own subject of Botany, that he had been constrained to accept it.  After a few words from Darwin’s old friend, Professor Henslow, who occupied the chair, the meeting broke up, leaving the impression that those most capable of estimating the arguments of Darwin in detail saw their way to accept his conclusions.

Note.—­Sir John Lubbock also insisted on the embryological evidence for evolution.  F.D.]

[T.H.  Huxley To Francis Darwin (ibid.).]

June 27, 1891.

I should say that Freemantle’s account is substantially correct, but that Green has the substance of my speech more accurately.  However, I am certain I did not use the word, “equivocal.”

The odd part of the business is, that I should not have been present except for Robert Chambers.  I had heard of the Bishop’s intention to utilise the occasion.  I knew he had the reputation of being a first-class controversialist, and I was quite aware that if he played his cards properly, we should have little chance, with such an audience, of making an efficient defence.  Moreover, I was very tired, and wanted to join my wife at her brother-in-law’s country house near Reading, on the Saturday.  On the Friday I met Chambers in the street, and in reply to some remark of his, about his going to the meeting, I said that I did not mean to attend it—­did not see the good of giving up peace and quietness to be episcopally pounded.  Chambers broke out into vehement remonstrances, and talked about my deserting them.  So I said, “Oh! if you are going to take it that way, I’ll come and have my share of what is going on.”

So I came, and chanced to sit near old Sir Benjamin Brodie.  The Bishop began his speech, and to my astonishment very soon showed that he was so ignorant that he did not know how to manage his own case.  My spirits rose proportionately, and when he turned to me with his insolent question, I said to Sir Benjamin, in an undertone, “The Lord hath delivered him into mine hands.”

That sagacious old gentleman stared at me as if I had lost my senses.  But, in fact, the Bishop had justified the severest retort I could devise, and I made up my mind to let him have it.  I was careful, however, not to rise to reply, until the meeting called for me—­then I let myself go.