Ever yours,

T.H.  Huxley.

Jermyn Street, July 16, 1865.

My dear Darwin,

I have just counted the pages of your Ms. to see that they are all right, and packed it up to send you by post, registered, so I hope it will reach you safely.  I should have sent it yesterday, but people came in and bothered me about post time.

I did not at all mean by what I said to stop you from publishing your views, and I really should not like to take that responsibility.  Somebody rummaging among your papers half a century hence will find “Pangenesis” and say, “See this wonderful anticipation of our modern theories, and that stupid ass Huxley preventing his publishing them.”  And then the Carlyleans of that day will make me a text for holding forth upon the difference between mere vulpine sharpness and genius.

I am not going to be made a horrid example of in that way.  But all I say is, publish your views, not so much in the shape of formed conclusions, as of hypothetical developments of the only clue at present accessible, and don’t give the Philistines more chances of blaspheming than you can help.

I am very grieved to hear that you have been so ill again.

Ever yours faithfully,

T.H.  Huxley.

26 Abbey Place, October 2, 1865.

My dear Darwin,

“This comes hoping you are well,” and for no other purpose than to say as much.  I am just back from seven weeks’ idleness at Littlehampton with my wife and children, the first time I have had a holiday of any extent with them for years.

We are all flourishing—­the babies particularly so—­and I find myself rather loth to begin grinding at the mill again.  There is a vein of laziness in me which crops out uncommonly strong in your godson, who is about the idlest, jolliest young four year old I know.

You will have been as much grieved as I have been about dear old Hooker.  According to the last accounts, however, he is mending, and I hope to see him in the pristine vigour again before long.

My wife is gone to bed or she would join me in the kindest regards and remembrances to Mrs. Darwin and your family.

Ever yours faithfully,

T.H.  Huxley.

[The sound judgment and nice sense of honour for which Huxley was known among his friends often led those who were in difficulties to appeal to him for advice.  About this time a dispute arose over an alleged case of unacknowledged “conveyance” of information.  Writing to Hooker, he says the one party to the quarrel failed to “set the affair straight with half a dozen words of frank explanation as he might have done;” as to the other, “like all quiet and mild men who do get a grievance, he became about twice as ‘wud’ as Berserks like you and me.”  Both came to him, so that he says, “I have found it very difficult to deal honestly with both sides without betraying the confidence of either or making matters worse.”  Happily, with his help, matters reached a peaceful solution, and his final comment is:—­]