Life and Letters of Charles Darwin _ Volume 1 Charles Darwin 13086 downloads.pdf

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Life and Letters of Charles
Darwin — Volume 1
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will
have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using
this eBook.

Title: Life and Letters of Charles Darwin — Volume 1

Author: Charles Darwin

Editor: Sir Francis Darwin

Release date: February 1, 2000 [eBook #2087]
Most recently updated: January 23, 2013

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2087

Credits: Produced by Sue Asscher and David Widger

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE AND
LETTERS OF CHARLES DARWIN — VOLUME 1 ***

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF

CHARLES DARWIN

Volume I

By Charles Darwin

Including An Autobiographical Chapter

Edited By His Son Francis Darwin

VOLUME I

PREFACE
In choosing letters for publication I have been largely guided by the wish
to illustrate my father's personal character. But his life was so essentially
one of work, that a history of the man could not be written without
following closely the career of the author. Thus it comes about that the chief
part of the book falls into chapters whose titles correspond to the names of
his books.
In arranging the letters I have adhered as far as possible to chronological
sequence, but the character and variety of his researches make a strictly
chronological order an impossibility. It was his habit to work more or less
simultaneously at several subjects. Experimental work was often carried on
as a refreshment or variety, while books entailing reasoning and the
marshalling of large bodies of facts were being written. Moreover, many of
his researches were allowed to drop, and only resumed after an interval of
years. Thus a rigidly chronological series of letters would present a
patchwork of subjects, each of which would be difficult to follow. The
Table of Contents will show in what way I have attempted to avoid this
result.
In printing the letters I have followed (except in a few cases) the usual
plan of indicating the existence of omissions or insertions. My father's
letters give frequent evidence of having been written when he was tired or
hurried, and they bear the marks of this circumstance. In writing to a friend,
or to one of his family, he frequently omitted the articles: these have been
inserted without the usual indications, except in a few instances, where it is
of special interest to preserve intact the hurried character of the letter. Other
small words, such as "of", "to", etc., have been inserted usually within
brackets. I have not followed the originals as regards the spelling of names,
the use of capitals, or in the matter of punctuation. My father underlined
many words in his letters; these have not always been given in italics,—a
rendering which would unfairly exaggerate their effect.
The Diary or Pocket-book, from which quotations occur in the following
pages, has been of value as supplying a frame-work of facts round which
letters may be grouped. It is unfortunately written with great brevity, the

history of a year being compressed into a page or less; and contains little
more than the dates of the principal events of his life, together with entries
as to his work, and as to the duration of his more serious illnesses. He rarely
dated his letters, so that but for the Diary it would have been all but
impossible to unravel the history of his books. It has also enabled me to
assign dates to many letters which would otherwise have been shorn of half
their value.
Of letters addressed to my father I have not made much use. It was his
custom to file all letters received, and when his slender stock of files
("spits" as he called them) was exhausted, he would burn the letters of
several years, in order that he might make use of the liberated "spits." This
process, carried on for years, destroyed nearly all letters received before
1862. After that date he was persuaded to keep the more interesting letters,
and these are preserved in an accessible form.
I have attempted to give, in Chapter III., some account of his manner of
working. During the last eight years of his life I acted as his assistant, and
thus had an opportunity of knowing something of his habits and methods.
I have received much help from my friends in the course of my work. To
some I am indebted for reminiscences of my father, to others for
information, criticisms, and advice. To all these kind coadjutors I gladly
acknowledge my indebtedness. The names of some occur in connection
with their contributions, but I do not name those to whom I am indebted for
criticisms or corrections, because I should wish to bear alone the load of my
short-comings, rather than to let any of it fall on those who have done their
best to lighten it.
It will be seen how largely I am indebted to Sir Joseph Hooker for the
means of illustrating my father's life. The readers of these pages will, I
think, be grateful to Sir Joseph for the care with which he has preserved his
valuable collection of letters, and I should wish to add my acknowledgment
of the generosity with which he has placed it at my disposal, and for the
kindly encouragement given throughout my work.
To Mr. Huxley I owe a debt of thanks, not only for much kind help, but
for his willing compliance with my request that he should contribute a
chapter on the reception of the 'Origin of Species.'
Finally, it is a pleasure to acknowledge the courtesy of the publishers of
the 'Century Magazine' who have freely given me the use of their

illustrations. To Messrs. Maull and Fox and Messrs. Elliott and Fry I am
also indebted for their kindness in allowing me the use of reproductions of
their photographs.
FRANCIS DARWIN.
Cambridge, October, 1887.

CONTENTS

VOLUME I
PREFACE

LIFE AND LETTERS OF CHARLES DARWIN.
VOLUME I.
CHAPTER 1.I. — THE DARWIN FAMILY.
CHAPTER 1.II. — AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
CHAPTER 1.III. — REMINISCENCES OF MY FATHER'S
EVERYDAY LIFE.
CHAPTER 1.IV. — CAMBRIDGE LIFE.
CHAPTER 1.V. — THE APPOINTMENT TO THE 'BEAGLE.'
CHAPTER 1.VI. — THE VOYAGE.
CHAPTER 1.VII. — LONDON AND CAMBRIDGE.
CHAPTER 1.VIII. — RELIGION.
CHAPTER 1.IX. — LIFE AT DOWN.

CHAPTER 1.X. — THE GROWTH OF THE 'ORIGIN OF
SPECIES.'
Chapter I. "On the kind of intermediateness necessary,
and the number
Chapter II. "The gradual appearance and disappearance of
organic
Chapter III. "Geographical Distribution." Corresponds to
Chapters XI.
Chapter IV. "Affinities and Classification of Organic
beings."
Chapter V. "Unity of Type," Morphology, Embryology.
Chapter VI. Rudimentary Organs.
Chapter VII. Recapitulation and Conclusion. The final
sentence of the
CHAPTER 1.XI. — THE GROWTH OF THE 'ORIGIN OF
SPECIES.'
CHAPTER 1.XII. — THE UNFINISHED BOOK.
CHAPTER 1. XIII. — THE WRITING OF THE 'ORIGIN OF
SPECIES.'
CHAPTER 1.XIV. — BY PROFESSOR HUXLEY.

LIFE AND LETTERS OF
CHARLES DARWIN.

VOLUME I.

CHAPTER 1.I. — THE DARWIN FAMILY.
The earliest records of the family show the Darwins to have been
substantial yeomen residing on the northern borders of Lincolnshire, close
to Yorkshire. The name is now very unusual in England, but I believe that it
is not unknown in the neighbourhood of Sheffield and in Lancashire. Down
to the year 1600 we find the name spelt in a variety of ways—Derwent,
Darwen, Darwynne, etc. It is possible, therefore, that the family migrated at
some unknown date from Yorkshire, Cumberland, or Derbyshire, where
Derwent occurs as the name of a river.
The first ancestor of whom we know was one William Darwin, who
lived, about the year 1500, at Marton, near Gainsborough. His great
grandson, Richard Darwyn, inherited land at Marton and elsewhere, and in
his will, dated 1584, "bequeathed the sum of 3s. 4d. towards the settynge up
of the Queene's Majestie's armes over the quearie (choir) doore in the
parishe churche of Marton." (We owe a knowledge of these earlier members
of the family to researches amongst the wills at Lincoln, made by the well-
known genealogist, Colonel Chester.)
The son of this Richard, named William Darwin, and described as
"gentleman," appears to have been a successful man. Whilst retaining his
ancestral land at Marton, he acquired through his wife and by purchase an
estate at Cleatham, in the parish of Manton, near Kirton Lindsey, and fixed
his residence there. This estate remained in the family down to the year
1760. A cottage with thick walls, some fish-ponds and old trees, now alone
show where the "Old Hall" once stood, and a field is still locally known as
the "Darwin Charity," from being subject to a charge in favour of the poor
of Marton. William Darwin must, at least in part, have owed his rise in
station to his appointment in 1613 by James I. to the post of Yeoman of the
Royal Armoury of Greenwich. The office appears to have been worth only
33 pounds a year, and the duties were probably almost nominal; he held the
post down to his death during the Civil Wars.
The fact that this William was a royal servant may explain why his son,
also named William, served when almost a boy for the King, as "Captain-
Lieutenant" in Sir William Pelham's troop of horse. On the partial

dispersion of the royal armies, and the retreat of the remainder to Scotland,
the boy's estates were sequestrated by the Parliament, but they were
redeemed on his signing the Solemn League and Covenant, and on his
paying a fine which must have struck his finances severely; for in a petition
to Charles II. he speaks of his almost utter ruin from having adhered to the
royal cause.
During the Commonwealth, William Darwin became a barrister of
Lincoln's Inn, and this circumstance probably led to his marriage with the
daughter of Erasmus Earle, serjeant-at-law; hence his great-grandson,
Erasmus Darwin, the Poet, derived his Christian name. He ultimately
became Recorder of the city of Lincoln.
The eldest son of the Recorder, again called William, was born in 1655,
and married the heiress of Robert Waring, a member of a good Staffordshire
family. This lady inherited from the family of Lassells, or Lascelles, the
manor and hall of Elston, near Newark, which has remained ever since in
the family. (Captain Lassells, or Lascelles, of Elston was military secretary
to Monk, Duke of Albemarle, during the Civil Wars. A large volume of
account books, countersigned in many places by Monk, are now in the
possession of my cousin Francis Darwin. The accounts might possibly
prove of interest to the antiquarian or historian. A portrait of Captain
Lassells in armour, although used at one time as an archery-target by some
small boys of our name, was not irretrievably ruined.) A portrait of this
William Darwin at Elston shows him as a good-looking young man in a
full-bottomed wig.
This third William had two sons, William, and Robert who was educated
as a barrister. The Cleatham property was left to William, but on the
termination of his line in daughters reverted to the younger brother, who
had received Elston. On his mother's death Robert gave up his profession
and resided ever afterwards at Elston Hall. Of this Robert, Charles Darwin
writes (What follows is quoted from Charles Darwin's biography of his
grandfather, forming the preliminary notice to Ernst Krause's interesting
essay, 'Erasmus Darwin,' London, 1879, page 4.):—
"He seems to have had some taste for science, for he was an early
member of the well-known Spalding Club; and the celebrated antiquary Dr.
Stukeley, in 'An Account of the almost entire Sceleton of a large Animal,'
etc., published in the 'Philosophical Transactions,' April and May 1719,

begins the paper as follows: 'Having an account from my friend Robert
Darwin, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn, a person of curiosity, of a human sceleton
impressed in stone, found lately by the rector of Elston,' etc. Stukeley then
speaks of it as a great rarity, 'the like whereof has not been observed before
in this island to my knowledge.' Judging from a sort of litany written by
Robert, and handed down in the family, he was a strong advocate of
temperance, which his son ever afterwards so strongly advocated:—

From a morning that doth shine,
From a boy that drinketh wine,
From a wife that talketh Latine,
Good Lord deliver me!

"It is suspected that the third line may be accounted for by his wife, the
mother of Erasmus, having been a very learned lady. The eldest son of
Robert, christened Robert Waring, succeeded to the estate of Elston, and
died there at the age of ninety-two, a bachelor. He had a strong taste for
poetry, like his youngest brother Erasmus. Robert also cultivated botany,
and, when an oldish man, he published his 'Principia Botanica.' This book in
MS. was beautifully written, and my father [Dr. R.W. Darwin] declared that
he believed it was published because his old uncle could not endure that
such fine caligraphy should be wasted. But this was hardly just, as the work
contains many curious notes on biology—a subject wholly neglected in
England in the last century. The public, moreover, appreciated the book, as
the copy in my possession is the third edition."
The second son, William Alvey, inherited Elston, and transmitted it to his
granddaughter, the late Mrs. Darwin, of Elston and Creskeld. A third son,
John, became rector of Elston, the living being in the gift of the family. The
fourth son, the youngest child, was Erasmus Darwin, the poet and
philosopher.
TABLE OF RELATIONSHIP. (An incomplete list of family members.)
ROBERT DARWIN of Elston, 1682-1754, had three sons, William Alvey
Darwin, 1726-1783, Robert Waring Darwin, 1724-1816, and Erasmus
Darwin, 1731-1802.
William Alvey Darwin, 1726-1783, had a son, William Brown Darwin,
1774- 1841, and a daughter, Anne Darwin.
William Brown Darwin, 1774-1841, had two daughters, Charlotte
Darwin and Sarah Darwin.

Charlotte Darwin married Francis Rhodes, now Francis Darwin of
Creskeld and Elston.
Sarah Darwin married Edward Noel.
Anne Darwin married Samuel Fox and had a son, William Darwin Fox.
ERASMUS DARWIN, 1731-1802, married (1) MARY HOWARD, 1740-
1770, with whom he had two sons, Charles Darwin, 1758-1778, and
ROBERT WARING DARWIN, and (2) Eliz. Chandos-Pole, 1747-1832,
with whom he had a daughter, Violetta Darwin, and a son, Francis
Sacheverel Darwin.
ROBERT WARING DARWIN, 1767-1848, married SUSANNAH
WEDGWOOD and had a son, CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN, b. February
12, 1809, d. April 19, 1882.
Violetta Darwin married Samuel Tertius Galton and had a son, Francis
Galton.
Francis Sacheverel Darwin, 1786-1859, had two sons, Reginald Darwin
and Edward Darwin, "High Elms."
The table above shows Charles Darwin's descent from Robert, and his
relationship to some other members of the family, whose names occur in his
correspondence. Among these are included William Darwin Fox, one of his
earliest correspondents, and Francis Galton, with whom he maintained a
warm friendship for many years. Here also occurs the name of Francis
Sacheverel Darwin, who inherited a love of natural history from Erasmus,
and transmitted it to his son Edward Darwin, author (under the name of
"High Elms") of a 'Gamekeeper's Manual' (4th Edition 1863), which shows
keen observation of the habits of various animals.
It is always interesting to see how far a man's personal characteristics can
be traced in his forefathers. Charles Darwin inherited the tall stature, but not
the bulky figure of Erasmus; but in his features there is no traceable
resemblance to those of his grandfather. Nor, it appears, had Erasmus the
love of exercise and of field-sports, so characteristic of Charles Darwin as a
young man, though he had, like his grandson, an indomitable love of hard
mental work. Benevolence and sympathy with others, and a great personal
charm of manner, were common to the two. Charles Darwin possessed, in
the highest degree, that "vividness of imagination" of which he speaks as
strongly characteristic of Erasmus, and as leading "to his overpowering

tendency to theorise and generalise." This tendency, in the case of Charles
Darwin, was fully kept in check by the determination to test his theories to
the utmost. Erasmus had a strong love of all kinds of mechanism, for which
Charles Darwin had no taste. Neither had Charles Darwin the literary
temperament which made Erasmus a poet as well as a philosopher. He
writes of Erasmus ('Life of Erasmus Darwin,' page 68.): "Throughout his
letters I have been struck with his indifference to fame, and the complete
absence of all signs of any over-estimation of his own abilities, or of the
success of his works." These, indeed, seem indications of traits most
strikingly prominent in his own character. Yet we get no evidence in
Erasmus of the intense modesty and simplicity that marked Charles
Darwin's whole nature. But by the quick bursts of anger provoked in
Erasmus, at the sight of any inhumanity or injustice, we are again reminded
of him.
On the whole, however, it seems to me that we do not know enough of
the essential personal tone of Erasmus Darwin's character to attempt more
than a superficial comparison; and I am left with an impression that, in spite
of many resemblances, the two men were of a different type. It has been
shown that Miss Seward and Mrs. Schimmelpenninck have misrepresented
Erasmus Darwin's character. (Ibid., pages 77, 79, etc.) It is, however,
extremely probable that the faults which they exaggerate were to some
extent characteristic of the man; and this leads me to think that Erasmus had
a certain acerbity or severity of temper which did not exist in his grandson.
The sons of Erasmus Darwin inherited in some degree his intellectual
tastes, for Charles Darwin writes of them as follows:
"His eldest son, Charles (born September 3, 1758), was a young man of
extraordinary promise, but died (May 15, 1778) before he was twenty-one
years old, from the effects of a wound received whilst dissecting the brain
of a child. He inherited from his father a strong taste for various branches of
science, for writing verses, and for mechanics...He also inherited
stammering. With the hope of curing him, his father sent him to France,
when about eight years old (1766-'67), with a private tutor, thinking that if
he was not allowed to speak English for a time, the habit of stammering
might be lost; and it is a curious fact, that in after years, when speaking
French, he never stammered. At a very early age he collected specimens of
all kinds. When sixteen years old he was sent for a year to [Christ Church]

Oxford, but he did not like the place, and thought (in the words of his
father) that the 'vigour of his mind languished in the pursuit of classical
elegance like Hercules at the distaff, and sighed to be removed to the
robuster exercise of the medical school of Edinburgh.' He stayed three years
at Edinburgh, working hard at his medical studies, and attending 'with
diligence all the sick poor of the parish of Waterleith, and supplying them
with the necessary medicines.' The Aesculapian Society awarded him its
first gold medal for an experimental inquiry on pus and mucus. Notices of
him appeared in various journals; and all the writers agree about his
uncommon energy and abilities. He seems like his father to have excited the
warm affection of his friends. Professor Andrew Duncan... spoke...about
him with the warmest affection forty-seven years after his death when I was
a young medical student at Edinburgh...
"About the character of his second son, Erasmus (born 1759), I have little
to say, for though he wrote poetry, he seems to have had none of the other
tastes of his father. He had, however, his own peculiar tastes, viz.,
genealogy, the collecting of coins, and statistics. When a boy he counted all
the houses in the city of Lichfield, and found out the number of inhabitants
in as many as he could; he thus made a census, and when a real one was
first made, his estimate was found to be nearly accurate. His disposition
was quiet and retiring. My father had a very high opinion of his abilities,
and this was probably just, for he would not otherwise have been invited to
travel with, and pay long visits to, men so distinguished in different ways as
Boulton the engineer, and Day the moralist and novelist." His death by
suicide, in 1799, seems to have taken place in a state of incipient insanity.
Robert Waring, the father of Charles Darwin, was born May 30, 1766,
and entered the medical profession like his father. He studied for a few
months at Leyden, and took his M.D. (I owe this information to the
kindness of Professor Rauwenhoff, Director of the Archives at Leyden. He
quotes from the catalogue of doctors that "Robertus Waring Darwin, Anglo-
britannus," defended (February 26, 1785) in the Senate a Dissertation on the
coloured images seen after looking at a bright object, and "Medicinae
Doctor creatus est a clar. Paradijs." The archives of Leyden University are
so complete that Professor Rauwenhoff is able to tell me that my
grandfather lived together with a certain "Petrus Crompton, Anglus," in
lodgings in the Apothekersdijk. Dr. Darwin's Leyden dissertation was
published in the 'Philosophical Transactions,' and my father used to say that

the work was in fact due to Erasmus Darwin.—F.D.) at that University on
February 26, 1785. "His father" (Erasmus) "brought ('Life of Erasmus
Darwin,' page 85.) him to Shrewsbury before he was twenty-one years old
(1787), and left him 20 pounds, saying, 'Let me know when you want more,
and I will send it you.' His uncle, the rector of Elston, afterwards also sent
him 20 pounds, and this was the sole pecuniary aid which he ever
received...Erasmus tells Mr. Edgeworth that his son Robert, after being
settled in Shrewsbury for only six months, 'already had between forty and
fifty patients.' By the second year he was in considerable, and ever
afterwards in very large, practice."
Robert Waring Darwin married (April 18, 1796) Susannah, the daughter
of his father's friend, Josiah Wedgwood, of Etruria, then in her thirty-second
year. We have a miniature of her, with a remarkably sweet and happy face,
bearing some resemblance to the portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds of her
father; a countenance expressive of the gentle and sympathetic nature which
Miss Meteyard ascribes to her. ('A Group of Englishmen,' by Miss
Meteyard, 1871.) She died July 15, 1817, thirty-two years before her
husband, whose death occurred on November 13, 1848. Dr. Darwin lived
before his marriage for two or three years on St. John's Hill; afterwards at
the Crescent, where his eldest daughter Marianne was born; lastly at the
"Mount," in the part of Shrewsbury known as Frankwell, where the other
children were born. This house was built by Dr. Darwin about 1800, it is
now in the possession of Mr. Spencer Phillips, and has undergone but little
alteration. It is a large, plain, square, red-brick house, of which the most
attractive feature is the pretty green-house, opening out of the morning-
room.
The house is charmingly placed, on the top of a steep bank leading down
to the Severn. The terraced bank is traversed by a long walk, leading from
end to end, still called "the Doctor's Walk." At one point in this walk grows
a Spanish chestnut, the branches of which bend back parallel to themselves
in a curious manner, and this was Charles Darwin's favourite tree as a boy,
where he and his sister Catherine had each their special seat.
The Doctor took a great pleasure in his garden, planting it with
ornamental trees and shrubs, and being especially successful in fruit-trees;
and this love of plants was, I think, the only taste kindred to natural history
which he possessed. Of the "Mount pigeons," which Miss Meteyard

describes as illustrating Dr. Darwin's natural-history taste, I have not been
able to hear from those most capable of knowing. Miss Meteyard's account
of him is not quite accurate in a few points. For instance, it is incorrect to
describe Dr. Darwin as having a philosophical mind; his was a mind
especially given to detail, and not to generalising. Again, those who knew
him intimately describe him as eating remarkably little, so that he was not
"a great feeder, eating a goose for his dinner, as easily as other men do a
partridge." ('A Group of Englishmen,' page 263.) In the matter of dress he
was conservative, and wore to the end of his life knee-breeches and drab
gaiters, which, however, certainly did not, as Miss Meteyard says, button
above the knee—a form of costume chiefly known to us in grenadiers of
Queen Anne's day, and in modern wood-cutters and ploughboys.
Charles Darwin had the strongest feeling of love and respect for his
father's memory. His recollection of everything that was connected with
him was peculiarly distinct, and he spoke of him frequently; generally
prefacing an anecdote with some such phrase as, "My father, who was the
wisest man I ever knew, etc..." It was astonishing how clearly he
remembered his father's opinions, so that he was able to quote some
maxims or hint of his in most cases of illness. As a rule, he put small faith
in doctors, and thus his unlimited belief in Dr. Darwin's medical instinct and
methods of treatment was all the more striking.
His reverence for him was boundless and most touching. He would have
wished to judge everything else in the world dispassionately, but anything
his father had said was received with almost implicit faith. His daughter
Mrs. Litchfield remembers him saying that he hoped none of his sons would
ever believe anything because he said it, unless they were themselves
convinced of its truth,—a feeling in striking contrast with his own manner
of faith.
A visit which Charles Darwin made to Shrewsbury in 1869 left on the
mind of his daughter who accompanied him a strong impression of his love
for his old home. The then tenant of the Mount showed them over the
house, etc., and with mistaken hospitality remained with the party during
the whole visit. As they were leaving, Charles Darwin said, with a pathetic
look of regret, "If I could have been left alone in that green-house for five
minutes, I know I should have been able to see my father in his wheel-chair
as vividly as if he had been there before me."

Perhaps this incident shows what I think is the truth, that the memory of
his father he loved the best, was that of him as an old man. Mrs. Litchfield
has noted down a few words which illustrate well his feeling towards his
father. She describes him as saying with the most tender respect, "I think
my father was a little unjust to me when I was young, but afterwards I am
thankful to think I became a prime favourite with him." She has a vivid
recollection of the expression of happy reverie that accompanied these
words, as if he were reviewing the whole relation, and the remembrance left
a deep sense of peace and gratitude.
What follows was added by Charles Darwin to his autobiographical
'Recollections,' and was written about 1877 or 1878.
"I may here add a few pages about my father, who was in many ways a
remarkable man.
"He was about 6 feet 2 inches in height, with broad shoulders, and very
corpulent, so that he was the largest man whom I ever saw. When he last
weighed himself, he was 24 stone, but afterwards increased much in weight.
His chief mental characteristics were his powers of observation and his
sympathy, neither of which have I ever seen exceeded or even equalled. His
sympathy was not only with the distresses of others, but in a greater degree
with the pleasures of all around him. This led him to be always scheming to
give pleasure to others, and, though hating extravagance, to perform many
generous actions. For instance, Mr. B—, a small manufacturer in
Shrewsbury, came to him one day, and said he should be bankrupt unless he
could at once borrow 10,000 pounds, but that he was unable to give any
legal security. My father heard his reasons for believing that he could
ultimately repay the money, and from [his] intuitive perception of character
felt sure that he was to be trusted. So he advanced this sum, which was a
very large one for him while young, and was after a time repaid.
"I suppose that it was his sympathy which gave him unbounded power of
winning confidence, and as a consequence made him highly successful as a
physician. He began to practise before he was twenty-one years old, and his
fees during the first year paid for the keep of two horses and a servant. On
the following year his practice was large, and so continued for about sixty
years, when he ceased to attend on any one. His great success as a doctor
was the more remarkable, as he told me that he at first hated his profession
so much that if he had been sure of the smallest pittance, or if his father had

given him any choice, nothing should have induced him to follow it. To the
end of his life, the thought of an operation almost sickened him, and he
could scarcely endure to see a person bled—a horror which he has
transmitted to me—and I remember the horror which I felt as a schoolboy
in reading about Pliny (I think) bleeding to death in a warm bath...
"Owing to my father's power of winning confidence, many patients,
especially ladies, consulted him when suffering from any misery, as a sort
of Father-Confessor. He told me that they always began by complaining in a
vague manner about their health, and by practice he soon guessed what was
really the matter. He then suggested that they had been suffering in their
minds, and now they would pour out their troubles, and he heard nothing
more about the body...Owing to my father's skill in winning confidence he
received many strange confessions of misery and guilt. He often remarked
how many miserable wives he had known. In several instances husbands
and wives had gone on pretty well together for between twenty and thirty
years, and then hated each other bitterly; this he attributed to their having
lost a common bond in their young children having grown up.
"But the most remarkable power which my father possessed was that of
reading the characters, and even the thoughts of those whom he saw even
for a short time. We had many instances of the power, some of which
seemed almost supernatural. It saved my father from ever making (with one
exception, and the character of this man was soon discovered) an unworthy
friend. A strange clergyman came to Shrewsbury, and seemed to be a rich
man; everybody called on him, and he was invited to many houses. My
father called, and on his return home told my sisters on no account to invite
him or his family to our house; for he felt sure that the man was not to be
trusted. After a few months he suddenly bolted, being heavily in debt, and
was found out to be little better than an habitual swindler. Here is a case of
trustfulness which not many men would have ventured on. An Irish
gentleman, a complete stranger, called on my father one day, and said that
he had lost his purse, and that it would be a serious inconvenience to him to
wait in Shrewsbury until he could receive a remittance from Ireland. He
then asked my father to lend him 20 pounds, which was immediately done,
as my father felt certain that the story was a true one. As soon as a letter
could arrive from Ireland, one came with the most profuse thanks, and
enclosing, as he said, a 20 pound Bank of England note, but no note was
enclosed. I asked my father whether this did not stagger him, but he

answered 'not in the least.' On the next day another letter came with many
apologies for having forgotten (like a true Irishman) to put the note into his
letter of the day before...(A gentleman) brought his nephew, who was insane
but quite gentle, to my father; and the young man's insanity led him to
accuse himself of all the crimes under heaven. When my father afterwards
talked over the matter with the uncle, he said, 'I am sure that your nephew is
really guilty of...a heinous crime.' Whereupon [the gentleman] said, 'Good
God, Dr. Darwin, who told you; we thought that no human being knew the
fact except ourselves!' My father told me the story many years after the
event, and I asked him how he distinguished the true from the false self-
accusations; and it was very characteristic of my father that he said he could
not explain how it was.
"The following story shows what good guesses my father could make.
Lord Shelburne, afterwards the first Marquis of Lansdowne, was famous (as
Macaulay somewhere remarks) for his knowledge of the affairs of Europe,
on which he greatly prided himself. He consulted my father medically, and
afterwards harangued him on the state of Holland. My father had studied
medicine at Leyden, and one day [while there] went a long walk into the
country with a friend who took him to the house of a clergyman (we will
say the Rev. Mr. A—, for I have forgotten his name), who had married an
Englishwoman. My father was very hungry, and there was little for
luncheon except cheese, which he could never eat. The old lady was
surprised and grieved at this, and assured my father that it was an excellent
cheese, and had been sent her from Bowood, the seat of Lord Shelburne.
My father wondered why a cheese should be sent her from Bowood, but
thought nothing more about it until it flashed across his mind many years
afterwards, whilst Lord Shelburne was talking about Holland. So he
answered, 'I should think from what I saw of the Rev. Mr. A—, that he was
a very able man, and well acquainted with the state of Holland.' My father
saw that the Earl, who immediately changed the conversation was much
startled. On the next morning my father received a note from the Earl,
saying that he had delayed starting on his journey, and wished particularly
to see my father. When he called, the Earl said, 'Dr. Darwin, it is of the
utmost importance to me and to the Rev. Mr. A— to learn how you have
discovered that he is the source of my information about Holland.' So my
father had to explain the state of the case, and he supposed that Lord
Shelburne was much struck with his diplomatic skill in guessing, for during

many years afterwards he received many kind messages from him through
various friends. I think that he must have told the story to his children; for
Sir C. Lyell asked me many years ago why the Marquis of Lansdowne (the
son or grand-son of the first marquis) felt so much interest about me, whom
he had never seen, and my family. When forty new members (the forty
thieves as they were then called) were added to the Athenaeum Club, there
was much canvassing to be one of them; and without my having asked any
one, Lord Lansdowne proposed me and got me elected. If I am right in my
supposition, it was a queer concatenation of events that my father not eating
cheese half-a-century before in Holland led to my election as a member of
the Athenaeum.
"The sharpness of his observation led him to predict with remarkable
skill the course of any illness, and he suggested endless small details of
relief. I was told that a young doctor in Shrewsbury, who disliked my father,
used to say that he was wholly unscientific, but owned that his power of
predicting the end of an illness was unparalleled. Formerly when he thought
that I should be a doctor, he talked much to me about his patients. In the old
days the practice of bleeding largely was universal, but my father
maintained that far more evil was thus caused than good done; and he
advised me if ever I was myself ill not to allow any doctor to take more
than an extremely small quantity of blood. Long before typhoid fever was
recognised as distinct, my father told me that two utterly distinct kinds of
illness were confounded under the name of typhus fever. He was vehement
against drinking, and was convinced of both the direct and inherited evil
effects of alcohol when habitually taken even in moderate quantity in a very
large majority of cases. But he admitted and advanced instances of certain
persons who could drink largely during their whole lives without apparently
suffering any evil effects, and he believed that he could often beforehand
tell who would thus not suffer. He himself never drank a drop of any
alcoholic fluid. This remark reminds me of a case showing how a witness
under the most favourable circumstances may be utterly mistaken. A
gentleman-farmer was strongly urged by my father not to drink, and was
encouraged by being told that he himself never touched any spirituous
liquor. Whereupon the gentleman said, 'Come, come, Doctor, this won't do
—though it is very kind of you to say so for my sake—for I know that you
take a very large glass of hot gin and water every evening after your dinner.'
(This belief still survives, and was mentioned to my brother in 1884 by an

old inhabitant of Shrewsbury.—F.D.) So my father asked him how he knew
this. The man answered, 'My cook was your kitchen-maid for two or three
years, and she saw the butler every day prepare and take to you the gin and
water.' The explanation was that my father had the odd habit of drinking hot
water in a very tall and large glass after his dinner; and the butler used first
to put some cold water in the glass, which the girl mistook for gin, and then
filled it up with boiling water from the kitchen boiler.
"My father used to tell me many little things which he had found useful
in his medical practice. Thus ladies often cried much while telling him their
troubles, and thus caused much loss of his precious time. He soon found
that begging them to command and restrain themselves, always made them
weep the more, so that afterwards he always encouraged them to go on
crying, saying that this would relieve them more than anything else, and
with the invariable result that they soon ceased to cry, and he could hear
what they had to say and give his advice. When patients who were very ill
craved for some strange and unnatural food, my father asked them what had
put such an idea into their heads; if they answered that they did not know,
he would allow them to try the food, and often with success, as he trusted to
their having a kind of instinctive desire; but if they answered that they had
heard that the food in question had done good to some one else, he firmly
refused his assent.
"He gave one day an odd little specimen of human nature. When a very
young man he was called in to consult with the family physician in the case
of a gentleman of much distinction in Shropshire. The old doctor told the
wife that the illness was of such a nature that it must end fatally. My father
took a different view and maintained that the gentleman would recover: he
was proved quite wrong in all respects (I think by autopsy) and he owned
his error. He was then convinced that he should never again be consulted by
this family; but after a few months the widow sent for him, having
dismissed the old family doctor. My father was so much surprised at this,
that he asked a friend of the widow to find out why he was again consulted.
The widow answered her friend, that 'she would never again see the odious
old doctor who said from the first that her husband would die, while Dr.
Darwin always maintained that he would recover!' In another case my
father told a lady that her husband would certainly die. Some months
afterwards he saw the widow, who was a very sensible woman, and she
said, 'You are a very young man, and allow me to advise you always to

give, as long as you possibly can, hope to any near relative nursing a
patient. You made me despair, and from that moment I lost strength.' My
father said that he had often since seen the paramount importance, for the
sake of the patient, of keeping up the hope and with it the strength of the
nurse in charge. This he sometimes found difficult to do compatibly with
truth. One old gentleman, however, caused him no such perplexity. He was
sent for by Mr.P—, who said, 'From all that I have seen and heard of you I
believe that you are the sort of man who will speak the truth, and if I ask,
you will tell me when I am dying. Now I much desire that you should
attend me, if you will promise, whatever I may say, always to declare that I
am not going to die.' My father acquiesced on the understanding that his
words should in fact have no meaning.
"My father possessed an extraordinary memory, especially for dates, so
that he knew, when he was very old, the day of the birth, marriage, and
death of a multitude of persons in Shropshire; and he once told me that this
power annoyed him; for if he once heard a date, he could not forget it; and
thus the deaths of many friends were often recalled to his mind. Owing to
his strong memory he knew an extraordinary number of curious stories,
which he liked to tell, as he was a great talker. He was generally in high
spirits, and laughed and joked with every one—often with his servants—
with the utmost freedom; yet he had the art of making every one obey him
to the letter. Many persons were much afraid of him. I remember my father
telling us one day, with a laugh, that several persons had asked him whether
Miss —, a grand old lady in Shropshire, had called on him, so that at last he
enquired why they asked him; and he was told that Miss —, whom my
father had somehow mortally offended, was telling everybody that she
would call and tell 'that fat old doctor very plainly what she thought of him.'
She had already called, but her courage had failed, and no one could have
been more courteous and friendly. As a boy, I went to stay at the house of
—, whose wife was insane; and the poor creature, as soon as she saw me,
was in the most abject state of terror that I ever saw, weeping bitterly and
asking me over and over again, 'Is your father coming?' but was soon
pacified. On my return home, I asked my father why she was so frightened,
and he answered he was very glad to hear it, as he had frightened her on
purpose, feeling sure that she would be kept in safety and much happier
without any restraint, if her husband could influence her, whenever she

became at all violent, by proposing to send for Dr. Darwin; and these words
succeeded perfectly during the rest of her long life.
"My father was very sensitive, so that many small events annoyed him or
pained him much. I once asked him, when he was old and could not walk,
why he did not drive out for exercise; and he answered, 'Every road out of
Shrewsbury is associated in my mind with some painful event.' Yet he was
generally in high spirits. He was easily made very angry, but his kindness
was unbounded. He was widely and deeply loved.
"He was a cautious and good man of business, so that he hardly ever lost
money by an investment, and left to his children a very large property. I
remember a story showing how easily utterly false beliefs originate and
spread. Mr. E —, a squire of one of the oldest families in Shropshire, and
head partner in a bank, committed suicide. My father was sent for as a
matter of form, and found him dead. I may mention, by the way, to show
how matters were managed in those old days, that because Mr. E — was a
rather great man, and universally respected, no inquest was held over his
body. My father, in returning home, thought it proper to call at the bank
(where he had an account) to tell the managing partners of the event, as it
was not improbable that it would cause a run on the bank. Well, the story
was spread far and wide, that my father went into the bank, drew out all his
money, left the bank, came back again, and said, 'I may just tell you that Mr.
E — has killed himself,' and then departed. It seems that it was then a
common belief that money withdrawn from a bank was not safe until the
person had passed out through the door of the bank. My father did not hear
this story till some little time afterwards, when the managing partner said
that he had departed from his invariable rule of never allowing any one to
see the account of another man, by having shown the ledger with my
father's account to several persons, as this proved that my father had not
drawn out a penny on that day. It would have been dishonourable in my
father to have used his professional knowledge for his private advantage.
Nevertheless, the supposed act was greatly admired by some persons; and
many years afterwards, a gentleman remarked, 'Ah, Doctor, what a splendid
man of business you were in so cleverly getting all your money safe out of
that bank!'
"My father's mind was not scientific, and he did not try to generalize his
knowledge under general laws; yet he formed a theory for almost

everything which occurred. I do not think I gained much from him
intellectually; but his example ought to have been of much moral service to
all his children. One of his golden rules (a hard one to follow) was, 'Never
become the friend of any one whom you cannot respect.'"
Dr. Darwin had six children (Of these Mrs. Wedgwood is now the sole
survivor.): Marianne, married Dr. Henry Parker; Caroline, married Josiah
Wedgwood; Erasmus Alvey; Susan, died unmarried; Charles Robert;
Catherine, married Rev. Charles Langton.
The elder son, Erasmus, was born in 1804, and died unmarried at the age
of seventy-seven.
He, like his brother, was educated at Shrewsbury School and at Christ's
College, Cambridge. He studied medicine at Edinburgh and in London, and
took the degree of Bachelor of Medicine at Cambridge. He never made any
pretence of practising as a doctor, and, after leaving Cambridge, lived a
quiet life in London.
There was something pathetic in Charles Darwin's affection for his
brother Erasmus, as if he always recollected his solitary life, and the
touching patience and sweetness of his nature. He often spoke of him as
"Poor old Ras," or "Poor dear old Philos"—I imagine Philos (Philosopher)
was a relic of the days when they worked at chemistry in the tool-house at
Shrewsbury—a time of which he always preserved a pleasant memory.
Erasmus being rather more than four years older than Charles Darwin, they
were not long together at Cambridge, but previously at Edinburgh they
lived in the same lodgings, and after the Voyage they lived for a time
together in Erasmus' house in Great Marlborough Street. At this time also
he often speaks with much affection of Erasmus in his letters to Fox, using
words such as "my dear good old brother." In later years Erasmus Darwin
came to Down occasionally, or joined his brother's family in a summer
holiday. But gradually it came about that he could not, through ill health,
make up his mind to leave London, and then they only saw each other when
Charles Darwin went for a week at a time to his brother's house in Queen
Anne Street.
The following note on his brother's character was written by Charles
Darwin at about the same time that the sketch of his father was added to the
'Recollections.':—

"My brother Erasmus possessed a remarkably clear mind with extensive
and diversified tastes and knowledge in literature, art, and even in science.
For a short time he collected and dried plants, and during a somewhat
longer time experimented in chemistry. He was extremely agreeable, and
his wit often reminded me of that in the letters and works of Charles Lamb.
He was very kind-hearted...His health from his boyhood had been weak,
and as a consequence he failed in energy. His spirits were not high,
sometimes low, more especially during early and middle manhood. He read
much, even whilst a boy, and at school encouraged me to read, lending me
books. Our minds and tastes were, however, so different, that I do not think
I owe much to him intellectually. I am inclined to agree with Francis Galton
in believing that education and environment produce only a small effect on
the mind of any one, and that most of our qualities are innate."
Erasmus Darwin's name, though not known to the general public, may be
remembered from the sketch of his character in Carlyle's 'Reminiscences,'
which I here reproduce in part:—
"Erasmus Darwin, a most diverse kind of mortal, came to seek us out
very soon ('had heard of Carlyle in Germany, etc.') and continues ever since
to be a quiet house-friend, honestly attached; though his visits latterly have
been rarer and rarer, health so poor, I so occupied, etc., etc. He had
something of original and sarcastically ingenious in him, one of the
sincerest, naturally truest, and most modest of men; elder brother of Charles
Darwin (the famed Darwin on Species of these days) to whom I rather
prefer him for intellect, had not his health quite doomed him to silence and
patient idleness...My dear one had a great favour for this honest Darwin
always; many a road, to shops and the like, he drove her in his cab
(Darwingium Cabbum comparable to Georgium Sidus) in those early days
when even the charge of omnibuses was a consideration, and his sparse
utterances, sardonic often, were a great amusement to her. 'A perfect
gentleman,' she at once discerned him to be, and of sound worth and
kindliness in the most unaffected form." (Carlyle's 'Reminiscences,' vol. ii.
page 208.)
Charles Darwin did not appreciate this sketch of his brother; he thought
Carlyle had missed the essence of his most lovable nature.
I am tempted by the wish of illustrating further the character of one so
sincerely beloved by all Charles Darwin's children, to reproduce a letter to

the "Spectator" (September 3, 1881) by his cousin Miss Julia Wedgwood.
"A portrait from Mr. Carlyle's portfolio not regretted by any who loved
the original, surely confers sufficient distinction to warrant a few words of
notice, when the character it depicts is withdrawn from mortal gaze.
Erasmus, the only brother of Charles Darwin, and the faithful and
affectionate old friend of both the Carlyles, has left a circle of mourners
who need no tribute from illustrious pen to embalm the memory so dear to
their hearts; but a wider circle must have felt some interest excited by that
tribute, and may receive with a certain attention the record of a unique and
indelible impression, even though it be made only on the hearts of those
who cannot bequeath it, and with whom, therefore, it must speedily pass
away. They remember it with the same distinctness as they remember a
creation of genius; it has in like manner enriched and sweetened life,
formed a common meeting-point for those who had no other; and, in its
strong fragrance of individuality, enforced that respect for the
idiosyncracies of human character without which moral judgment is always
hard and shallow, and often unjust. Carlyle was one to find a peculiar
enjoyment in the combination of liveliness and repose which gave his
friend's society an influence at once stimulating and soothing, and the
warmth of his appreciation was not made known first in its posthumous
expression; his letters of anxiety nearly thirty years ago, when the frail life
which has been prolonged to old age was threatened by serious illness, are
still fresh in my memory. The friendship was equally warm with both
husband and wife. I remember well a pathetic little remonstrance from her
elicited by an avowal from Erasmus Darwin, that he preferred cats to dogs,
which she felt a slur on her little 'Nero;' and the tones in which she said,
'Oh, but you are fond of dogs! you are too kind not to be,' spoke of a long
vista of small, gracious kindnesses, remembered with a tender gratitude. He
was intimate also with a person whose friends, like those of Mr. Carlyle,
have not always had cause to congratulate themselves on their place in her
gallery,—Harriet Martineau. I have heard him more than once call her a
faithful friend, and it always seemed to me a curious tribute to something in
the friendship that he alone supplied; but if she had written of him at all, I
believe the mention, in its heartiness of appreciation, would have afforded a
rare and curious meeting-point with the other 'Reminiscences,' so like and
yet so unlike. It is not possible to transfer the impression of a character; we
can only suggest it by means of some resemblance; and it is a singular

illustration of that irony which checks or directs our sympathies, that in
trying to give some notion of the man whom, among those who were not his
kindred, Carlyle appears to have most loved, I can say nothing more
descriptive than that he seems to me to have had something in common
with the man whom Carlyle least appreciated. The society of Erasmus
Darwin had, to my mind, much the same charm as the writings of Charles
Lamb. There was the same kind of playfulness, the same lightness of touch,
the same tenderness, perhaps the same limitations. On another side of his
nature, I have often been reminded of him by the quaint, delicate humour,
the superficial intolerance, the deep springs of pity, the peculiar mixture of
something pathetic with a sort of gay scorn, entirely remote from contempt,
which distinguish the Ellesmere of Sir Arthur Helps' earlier dialogues.
Perhaps we recall such natures most distinctly, when such a resemblance is
all that is left of them. The character is not merged in the creation; and what
we lose in the power to communicate our impression, we seem to gain in its
vividness. Erasmus Darwin has passed away in old age, yet his memory
retains something of a youthful fragrance; his influence gave much
happiness, of a kind usually associated with youth, to many lives besides
the illustrious one whose records justify, though certainly they do not
inspire, the wish to place this fading chaplet on his grave."
The foregoing pages give, in a fragmentary manner, as much perhaps as
need be told of the family from which Charles Darwin came, and may serve
as an introduction to the autobiographical chapter which follows.

CHAPTER 1.II. — AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
[My father's autobiographical recollections, given in the present chapter,
were written for his children,—and written without any thought that they
would ever be published. To many this may seem an impossibility; but
those who knew my father will understand how it was not only possible, but
natural. The autobiography bears the heading, 'Recollections of the
Development of my Mind and Character,' and end with the following note:
—
"Aug.3, 1876. This sketch of my life was begun about May 28th at
Hopedene (Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood's house in Surrey.), and since then I
have written for nearly an hour on most afternoons." It will easily be
understood that, in a narrative of a personal and intimate kind written for
his wife and children, passages should occur which must here be omitted;
and I have not thought it necessary to indicate where such omissions are
made. It has been found necessary to make a few corrections of obvious
verbal slips, but the number of such alterations has been kept down to the
minimum.—F.D.]
A German Editor having written to me for an account of the development
of my mind and character with some sketch of my autobiography, I have
thought that the attempt would amuse me, and might possibly interest my
children or their children. I know that it would have interested me greatly to
have read even so short and dull a sketch of the mind of my grandfather,
written by himself, and what he thought and did, and how he worked. I have
attempted to write the following account of myself, as if I were a dead man
in another world looking back at my own life. Nor have I found this
difficult, for life is nearly over with me. I have taken no pains about my
style of writing.
I was born at Shrewsbury on February 12th, 1809, and my earliest
recollection goes back only to when I was a few months over four years old,
when we went to near Abergele for sea-bathing, and I recollect some events
and places there with some little distinctness.

My mother died in July 1817, when I was a little over eight years old,
and it is odd that I can remember hardly anything about her except her
death-bed, her black velvet gown, and her curiously constructed work-table.
In the spring of this same year I was sent to a day-school in Shrewsbury,
where I stayed a year. I have been told that I was much slower in learning
than my younger sister Catherine, and I believe that I was in many ways a
naughty boy.
By the time I went to this day-school (Kept by Rev. G. Case, minister of
the Unitarian Chapel in the High Street. Mrs. Darwin was a Unitarian and
attended Mr. Case's chapel, and my father as a little boy went there with his
elder sisters. But both he and his brother were christened and intended to
belong to the Church of England; and after his early boyhood he seems
usually to have gone to church and not to Mr. Case's. It appears ("St. James'
Gazette", Dec. 15, 1883) that a mural tablet has been erected to his memory
in the chapel, which is now known as the 'Free Christian Church.') my taste
for natural history, and more especially for collecting, was well developed. I
tried to make out the names of plants (Rev. W.A. Leighton, who was a
schoolfellow of my father's at Mr. Case's school, remembers his bringing a
flower to school and saying that his mother had taught him how by looking
at the inside of the blossom the name of the plant could be discovered. Mr.
Leighton goes on, "This greatly roused my attention and curiosity, and I
enquired of him repeatedly how this could be done?"—but his lesson was
naturally enough not transmissible.—F.D.), and collected all sorts of things,
shells, seals, franks, coins, and minerals. The passion for collecting which
leads a man to be a systematic naturalist, a virtuoso, or a miser, was very
strong in me, and was clearly innate, as none of my sisters or brother ever
had this taste.
One little event during this year has fixed itself very firmly in my mind,
and I hope that it has done so from my conscience having been afterwards
sorely troubled by it; it is curious as showing that apparently I was
interested at this early age in the variability of plants! I told another little
boy (I believe it was Leighton, who afterwards became a well-known
lichenologist and botanist), that I could produce variously coloured
polyanthuses and primroses by watering them with certain coloured fluids,
which was of course a monstrous fable, and had never been tried by me. I
may here also confess that as a little boy I was much given to inventing
deliberate falsehoods, and this was always done for the sake of causing

excitement. For instance, I once gathered much valuable fruit from my
father's trees and hid it in the shrubbery, and then ran in breathless haste to
spread the news that I had discovered a hoard of stolen fruit.
I must have been a very simple little fellow when I first went to the
school. A boy of the name of Garnett took me into a cake shop one day, and
bought some cakes for which he did not pay, as the shopman trusted him.
When we came out I asked him why he did not pay for them, and he
instantly answered, "Why, do you not know that my uncle left a great sum
of money to the town on condition that every tradesman should give
whatever was wanted without payment to any one who wore his old hat and
moved [it] in a particular manner?" and he then showed me how it was
moved. He then went into another shop where he was trusted, and asked for
some small article, moving his hat in the proper manner, and of course
obtained it without payment. When we came out he said, "Now if you like
to go by yourself into that cake-shop (how well I remember its exact
position) I will lend you my hat, and you can get whatever you like if you
move the hat on your head properly." I gladly accepted the generous offer,
and went in and asked for some cakes, moved the old hat and was walking
out of the shop, when the shopman made a rush at me, so I dropped the
cakes and ran for dear life, and was astonished by being greeted with shouts
of laughter by my false friend Garnett.
I can say in my own favour that I was as a boy humane, but I owed this
entirely to the instruction and example of my sisters. I doubt indeed whether
humanity is a natural or innate quality. I was very fond of collecting eggs,
but I never took more than a single egg out of a bird's nest, except on one
single occasion, when I took all, not for their value, but from a sort of
bravado.
I had a strong taste for angling, and would sit for any number of hours on
the bank of a river or pond watching the float; when at Maer (The house of
his uncle, Josiah Wedgwood.) I was told that I could kill the worms with
salt and water, and from that day I never spitted a living worm, though at
the expense probably of some loss of success.
Once as a very little boy whilst at the day school, or before that time, I
acted cruelly, for I beat a puppy, I believe, simply from enjoying the sense
of power; but the beating could not have been severe, for the puppy did not
howl, of which I feel sure, as the spot was near the house. This act lay

heavily on my conscience, as is shown by my remembering the exact spot
where the crime was committed. It probably lay all the heavier from my
love of dogs being then, and for a long time afterwards, a passion. Dogs
seemed to know this, for I was an adept in robbing their love from their
masters.
I remember clearly only one other incident during this year whilst at Mr.
Case's daily school,—namely, the burial of a dragoon soldier; and it is
surprising how clearly I can still see the horse with the man's empty boots
and carbine suspended to the saddle, and the firing over the grave. This
scene deeply stirred whatever poetic fancy there was in me.
In the summer of 1818 I went to Dr. Butler's great school in Shrewsbury,
and remained there for seven years still Midsummer 1825, when I was
sixteen years old. I boarded at this school, so that I had the great advantage
of living the life of a true schoolboy; but as the distance was hardly more
than a mile to my home, I very often ran there in the longer intervals
between the callings over and before locking up at night. This, I think, was
in many ways advantageous to me by keeping up home affections and
interests. I remember in the early part of my school life that I often had to
run very quickly to be in time, and from being a fleet runner was generally
successful; but when in doubt I prayed earnestly to God to help me, and I
well remember that I attributed my success to the prayers and not to my
quick running, and marvelled how generally I was aided.
I have heard my father and elder sister say that I had, as a very young
boy, a strong taste for long solitary walks; but what I thought about I know
not. I often became quite absorbed, and once, whilst returning to school on
the summit of the old fortifications round Shrewsbury, which had been
converted into a public foot-path with no parapet on one side, I walked off
and fell to the ground, but the height was only seven or eight feet.
Nevertheless the number of thoughts which passed through my mind during
this very short, but sudden and wholly unexpected fall, was astonishing, and
seem hardly compatible with what physiologists have, I believe, proved
about each thought requiring quite an appreciable amount of time.
Nothing could have been worse for the development of my mind than Dr.
Butler's school, as it was strictly classical, nothing else being taught, except
a little ancient geography and history. The school as a means of education to
me was simply a blank. During my whole life I have been singularly

incapable of mastering any language. Especial attention was paid to verse-
making, and this I could never do well. I had many friends, and got together
a good collection of old verses, which by patching together, sometimes
aided by other boys, I could work into any subject. Much attention was paid
to learning by heart the lessons of the previous day; this I could effect with
great facility, learning forty or fifty lines of Virgil or Homer, whilst I was in
morning chapel; but this exercise was utterly useless, for every verse was
forgotten in forty-eight hours. I was not idle, and with the exception of
versification, generally worked conscientiously at my classics, not using
cribs. The sole pleasure I ever received from such studies, was from some
of the odes of Horace, which I admired greatly.
When I left the school I was for my age neither high nor low in it; and I
believe that I was considered by all my masters and by my father as a very
ordinary boy, rather below the common standard in intellect. To my deep
mortification my father once said to me, "You care for nothing but shooting,
dogs, and rat-catching, and you will be a disgrace to yourself and all your
family." But my father, who was the kindest man I ever knew and whose
memory I love with all my heart, must have been angry and somewhat
unjust when he used such words.
Looking back as well as I can at my character during my school life, the
only qualities which at this period promised well for the future, were, that I
had strong and diversified tastes, much zeal for whatever interested me, and
a keen pleasure in understanding any complex subject or thing. I was taught
Euclid by a private tutor, and I distinctly remember the intense satisfaction
which the clear geometrical proofs gave me. I remember, with equal
distinctness, the delight which my uncle gave me (the father of Francis
Galton) by explaining the principle of the vernier of a barometer with
respect to diversified tastes, independently of science, I was fond of reading
various books, and I used to sit for hours reading the historical plays of
Shakespeare, generally in an old window in the thick walls of the school. I
read also other poetry, such as Thomson's 'Seasons,' and the recently
published poems of Byron and Scott. I mention this because later in life I
wholly lost, to my great regret, all pleasure from poetry of any kind,
including Shakespeare. In connection with pleasure from poetry, I may add
that in 1822 a vivid delight in scenery was first awakened in my mind,
during a riding tour on the borders of Wales, and this has lasted longer than
any other aesthetic pleasure.

Early in my school days a boy had a copy of the 'Wonders of the World,'
which I often read, and disputed with other boys about the veracity of some
of the statements; and I believe that this book first gave me a wish to travel
in remote countries, which was ultimately fulfilled by the voyage of the
"Beagle". In the latter part of my school life I became passionately fond of
shooting; I do not believe that any one could have shown more zeal for the
most holy cause than I did for shooting birds. How well I remember killing
my first snipe, and my excitement was so great that I had much difficulty in
reloading my gun from the trembling of my hands. This taste long
continued, and I became a very good shot. When at Cambridge I used to
practise throwing up my gun to my shoulder before a looking-glass to see
that I threw it up straight. Another and better plan was to get a friend to
wave about a lighted candle, and then to fire at it with a cap on the nipple,
and if the aim was accurate the little puff of air would blow out the candle.
The explosion of the cap caused a sharp crack, and I was told that the tutor
of the college remarked, "What an extraordinary thing it is, Mr. Darwin
seems to spend hours in cracking a horse-whip in his room, for I often hear
the crack when I pass under his windows."
I had many friends amongst the schoolboys, whom I loved dearly, and I
think that my disposition was then very affectionate.
With respect to science, I continued collecting minerals with much zeal,
but quite unscientifically—all that I cared about was a new-NAMED
mineral, and I hardly attempted to classify them. I must have observed
insects with some little care, for when ten years old (1819) I went for three
weeks to Plas Edwards on the sea-coast in Wales, I was very much
interested and surprised at seeing a large black and scarlet Hemipterous
insect, many moths (Zygaena), and a Cicindela which are not found in
Shropshire. I almost made up my mind to begin collecting all the insects
which I could find dead, for on consulting my sister I concluded that it was
not right to kill insects for the sake of making a collection. From reading
White's 'Selborne,' I took much pleasure in watching the habits of birds, and
even made notes on the subject. In my simplicity I remember wondering
why every gentleman did not become an ornithologist.
Towards the close of my school life, my brother worked hard at
chemistry, and made a fair laboratory with proper apparatus in the tool-
house in the garden, and I was allowed to aid him as a servant in most of his

experiments. He made all the gases and many compounds, and I read with
great care several books on chemistry, such as Henry and Parkes' 'Chemical
Catechism.' The subject interested me greatly, and we often used to go on
working till rather late at night. This was the best part of my education at
school, for it showed me practically the meaning of experimental science.
The fact that we worked at chemistry somehow got known at school, and as
it was an unprecedented fact, I was nicknamed "Gas." I was also once
publicly rebuked by the head-master, Dr. Butler, for thus wasting my time
on such useless subjects; and he called me very unjustly a "poco curante,"
and as I did not understand what he meant, it seemed to me a fearful
reproach.
As I was doing no good at school, my father wisely took me away at a
rather earlier age than usual, and sent me (Oct. 1825) to Edinburgh
University with my brother, where I stayed for two years or sessions. My
brother was completing his medical studies, though I do not believe he ever
really intended to practise, and I was sent there to commence them. But
soon after this period I became convinced from various small circumstances
that my father would leave me property enough to subsist on with some
comfort, though I never imagined that I should be so rich a man as I am; but
my belief was sufficient to check any strenuous efforts to learn medicine.
The instruction at Edinburgh was altogether by lectures, and these were
intolerably dull, with the exception of those on chemistry by Hope; but to
my mind there are no advantages and many disadvantages in lectures
compared with reading. Dr. Duncan's lectures on Materia Medica at 8
o'clock on a winter's morning are something fearful to remember. Dr.—
made his lectures on human anatomy as dull as he was himself, and the
subject disgusted me. It has proved one of the greatest evils in my life that I
was not urged to practise dissection, for I should soon have got over my
disgust; and the practice would have been invaluable for all my future work.
This has been an irremediable evil, as well as my incapacity to draw. I also
attended regularly the clinical wards in the hospital. Some of the cases
distressed me a good deal, and I still have vivid pictures before me of some
of them; but I was not so foolish as to allow this to lessen my attendance. I
cannot understand why this part of my medical course did not interest me in
a greater degree; for during the summer before coming to Edinburgh I
began attending some of the poor people, chiefly children and women in
Shrewsbury: I wrote down as full an account as I could of the case with all

the symptoms, and read them aloud to my father, who suggested further
inquiries and advised me what medicines to give, which I made up myself.
At one time I had at least a dozen patients, and I felt a keen interest in the
work. My father, who was by far the best judge of character whom I ever
knew, declared that I should make a successful physician,—meaning by this
one who would get many patients. He maintained that the chief element of
success was exciting confidence; but what he saw in me which convinced
him that I should create confidence I know not. I also attended on two
occasions the operating theatre in the hospital at Edinburgh, and saw two
very bad operations, one on a child, but I rushed away before they were
completed. Nor did I ever attend again, for hardly any inducement would
have been strong enough to make me do so; this being long before the
blessed days of chloroform. The two cases fairly haunted me for many a
long year.
My brother stayed only one year at the University, so that during the
second year I was left to my own resources; and this was an advantage, for I
became well acquainted with several young men fond of natural science.
One of these was Ainsworth, who afterwards published his travels in
Assyria; he was a Wernerian geologist, and knew a little about many
subjects. Dr. Coldstream was a very different young man, prim, formal,
highly religious, and most kind-hearted; he afterwards published some good
zoological articles. A third young man was Hardie, who would, I think,
have made a good botanist, but died early in India. Lastly, Dr. Grant, my
senior by several years, but how I became acquainted with him I cannot
remember; he published some first-rate zoological papers, but after coming
to London as Professor in University College, he did nothing more in
science, a fact which has always been inexplicable to me. I knew him well;
he was dry and formal in manner, with much enthusiasm beneath this outer
crust. He one day, when we were walking together, burst forth in high
admiration of Lamarck and his views on evolution. I listened in silent
astonishment, and as far as I can judge without any effect on my mind. I
had previously read the 'Zoonomia' of my grandfather, in which similar
views are maintained, but without producing any effect on me. Nevertheless
it is probable that the hearing rather early in life such views maintained and
praised may have favoured my upholding them under a different form in my
'Origin of Species.' At this time I admired greatly the 'Zoonomia;' but on

reading it a second time after an interval of ten or fifteen years, I was much
disappointed; the proportion of speculation being so large to the facts given.
Drs. Grant and Coldstream attended much to marine Zoology, and I often
accompanied the former to collect animals in the tidal pools, which I
dissected as well as I could. I also became friends with some of the
Newhaven fishermen, and sometimes accompanied them when they trawled
for oysters, and thus got many specimens. But from not having had any
regular practice in dissection, and from possessing only a wretched
microscope, my attempts were very poor. Nevertheless I made one
interesting little discovery, and read, about the beginning of the year 1826, a
short paper on the subject before the Plinian Society. This was that the so-
called ova of Flustra had the power of independent movement by means of
cilia, and were in fact larvae. In another short paper I showed that the little
globular bodies which had been supposed to be the young state of Fucus
loreus were the egg-cases of the wormlike Pontobdella muricata.
The Plinian Society was encouraged and, I believe, founded by Professor
Jameson: it consisted of students and met in an underground room in the
University for the sake of reading papers on natural science and discussing
them. I used regularly to attend, and the meetings had a good effect on me
in stimulating my zeal and giving me new congenial acquaintances. One
evening a poor young man got up, and after stammering for a prodigious
length of time, blushing crimson, he at last slowly got out the words, "Mr.
President, I have forgotten what I was going to say." The poor fellow
looked quite overwhelmed, and all the members were so surprised that no
one could think of a word to say to cover his confusion. The papers which
were read to our little society were not printed, so that I had not the
satisfaction of seeing my paper in print; but I believe Dr. Grant noticed my
small discovery in his excellent memoir on Flustra.
I was also a member of the Royal Medical Society, and attended pretty
regularly; but as the subjects were exclusively medical, I did not much care
about them. Much rubbish was talked there, but there were some good
speakers, of whom the best was the present Sir J. Kay-Shuttleworth. Dr.
Grant took me occasionally to the meetings of the Wernerian Society, where
various papers on natural history were read, discussed, and afterwards
published in the 'Transactions.' I heard Audubon deliver there some
interesting discourses on the habits of N. American birds, sneering

somewhat unjustly at Waterton. By the way, a negro lived in Edinburgh,
who had travelled with Waterton, and gained his livelihood by stuffing
birds, which he did excellently: he gave me lessons for payment, and I used
often to sit with him, for he was a very pleasant and intelligent man.
Mr. Leonard Horner also took me once to a meeting of the Royal Society
of Edinburgh, where I saw Sir Walter Scott in the chair as President, and he
apologised to the meeting as not feeling fitted for such a position. I looked
at him and at the whole scene with some awe and reverence, and I think it
was owing to this visit during my youth, and to my having attended the
Royal Medical Society, that I felt the honour of being elected a few years
ago an honorary member of both these Societies, more than any other
similar honour. If I had been told at that time that I should one day have
been thus honoured, I declare that I should have thought it as ridiculous and
improbable, as if I had been told that I should be elected King of England.
During my second year at Edinburgh I attended —'s lectures on Geology
and Zoology, but they were incredibly dull. The sole effect they produced
on me was the determination never as long as I lived to read a book on
Geology, or in any way to study the science. Yet I feel sure that I was
prepared for a philosophical treatment of the subject; for an old Mr. Cotton
in Shropshire, who knew a good deal about rocks, had pointed out to me
two or three years previously a well-known large erratic boulder in the town
of Shrewsbury, called the "bell-stone"; he told me that there was no rock of
the same kind nearer than Cumberland or Scotland, and he solemnly
assured me that the world would come to an end before any one would be
able to explain how this stone came where it now lay. This produced a deep
impression on me, and I meditated over this wonderful stone. So that I felt
the keenest delight when I first read of the action of icebergs in transporting
boulders, and I gloried in the progress of Geology. Equally striking is the
fact that I, though now only sixty-seven years old, heard the Professor, in a
field lecture at Salisbury Craigs, discoursing on a trapdyke, with
amygdaloidal margins and the strata indurated on each side, with volcanic
rocks all around us, say that it was a fissure filled with sediment from
above, adding with a sneer that there were men who maintained that it had
been injected from beneath in a molten condition. When I think of this
lecture, I do not wonder that I determined never to attend to Geology.

From attending —'s lectures, I became acquainted with the curator of the
museum, Mr. Macgillivray, who afterwards published a large and excellent
book on the birds of Scotland. I had much interesting natural-history talk
with him, and he was very kind to me. He gave me some rare shells, for I at
that time collected marine mollusca, but with no great zeal.
My summer vacations during these two years were wholly given up to
amusements, though I always had some book in hand, which I read with
interest. During the summer of 1826 I took a long walking tour with two
friends with knapsacks on our backs through North wales. We walked thirty
miles most days, including one day the ascent of Snowdon. I also went with
my sister a riding tour in North Wales, a servant with saddle-bags carrying
our clothes. The autumns were devoted to shooting chiefly at Mr. Owen's, at
Woodhouse, and at my Uncle Jos's (Josiah Wedgwood, the son of the
founder of the Etruria Works.) at Maer. My zeal was so great that I used to
place my shooting-boots open by my bed-side when I went to bed, so as not
to lose half a minute in putting them on in the morning; and on one
occasion I reached a distant part of the Maer estate, on the 20th of August
for black-game shooting, before I could see: I then toiled on with the game-
keeper the whole day through thick heath and young Scotch firs.
I kept an exact record of every bird which I shot throughout the whole
season. One day when shooting at Woodhouse with Captain Owen, the
eldest son, and Major Hill, his cousin, afterwards Lord Berwick, both of
whom I liked very much, I thought myself shamefully used, for every time
after I had fired and thought that I had killed a bird, one of the two acted as
if loading his gun, and cried out, "You must not count that bird, for I fired at
the same time," and the gamekeeper, perceiving the joke, backed them up.
After some hours they told me the joke, but it was no joke to me, for I had
shot a large number of birds, but did not know how many, and could not
add them to my list, which I used to do by making a knot in a piece of string
tied to a button-hole. This my wicked friends had perceived.
How I did enjoy shooting! But I think that I must have been half-
consciously ashamed of my zeal, for I tried to persuade myself that shooting
was almost an intellectual employment; it required so much skill to judge
where to find most game and to hunt the dogs well.
One of my autumnal visits to Maer in 1827 was memorable from meeting
there Sir J. Mackintosh, who was the best converser I ever listened to. I

heard afterwards with a glow of pride that he had said, "There is something
in that young man that interests me." This must have been chiefly due to his
perceiving that I listened with much interest to everything which he said,
for I was as ignorant as a pig about his subjects of history, politics, and
moral philosophy. To hear of praise from an eminent person, though no
doubt apt or certain to excite vanity, is, I think, good for a young man, as it
helps to keep him in the right course.
My visits to Maer during these two or three succeeding years were quite
delightful, independently of the autumnal shooting. Life there was perfectly
free; the country was very pleasant for walking or riding; and in the evening
there was much very agreeable conversation, not so personal as it generally
is in large family parties, together with music. In the summer the whole
family used often to sit on the steps of the old portico, with the flower-
garden in front, and with the steep wooded bank opposite the house
reflected in the lake, with here and there a fish rising or a water-bird
paddling about. Nothing has left a more vivid picture on my mind than
these evenings at Maer. I was also attached to and greatly revered my Uncle
Jos; he was silent and reserved, so as to be a rather awful man; but he
sometimes talked openly with me. He was the very type of an upright man,
with the clearest judgment. I do not believe that any power on earth could
have made him swerve an inch from what he considered the right course. I
used to apply to him in my mind the well-known ode of Horace, now
forgotten by me, in which the words "nec vultus tyranni, etc.," come in.
(Justum et tenacem propositi virum Non civium ardor prava jubentium Non
vultus instantis tyranni Mente quatit solida.)
CAMBRIDGE 1828-1831.
After having spent two sessions in Edinburgh, my father perceived, or he
heard from my sisters, that I did not like the thought of being a physician,
so he proposed that I should become a clergyman. He was very properly
vehement against my turning into an idle sporting man, which then seemed
my probable destination. I asked for some time to consider, as from what
little I had heard or thought on the subject I had scruples about declaring
my belief in all the dogmas of the Church of England; though otherwise I
liked the thought of being a country clergyman. Accordingly I read with
care 'Pearson on the Creed,' and a few other books on divinity; and as I did

not then in the least doubt the strict and literal truth of every word in the
Bible, I soon persuaded myself that our Creed must be fully accepted.
Considering how fiercely I have been attacked by the orthodox, it seems
ludicrous that I once intended to be a clergyman. Nor was this intention and
my father's wish ever formerly given up, but died a natural death when, on
leaving Cambridge, I joined the "Beagle" as naturalist. If the phrenologists
are to be trusted, I was well fitted in one respect to be a clergyman. A few
years ago the secretaries of a German psychological society asked me
earnestly by letter for a photograph of myself; and some time afterwards I
received the proceedings of one of the meetings, in which it seemed that the
shape of my head had been the subject of a public discussion, and one of
the speakers declared that I had the bump of reverence developed enough
for ten priests.
As it was decided that I should be a clergyman, it was necessary that I
should go to one of the English universities and take a degree; but as I had
never opened a classical book since leaving school, I found to my dismay,
that in the two intervening years I had actually forgotten, incredible as it
may appear, almost everything which I had learnt, even to some few of the
Greek letters. I did not therefore proceed to Cambridge at the usual time in
October, but worked with a private tutor in Shrewsbury, and went to
Cambridge after the Christmas vacation, early in 1828. I soon recovered my
school standard of knowledge, and could translate easy Greek books, such
as Homer and the Greek Testament, with moderate facility.
During the three years which I spent at Cambridge my time was wasted,
as far as the academical studies were concerned, as completely as at
Edinburgh and at school. I attempted mathematics, and even went during
the summer of 1828 with a private tutor (a very dull man) to Barmouth, but
I got on very slowly. The work was repugnant to me, chiefly from my not
being able to see any meaning in the early steps in algebra. This impatience
was very foolish, and in after years I have deeply regretted that I did not
proceed far enough at least to understand something of the great leading
principles of mathematics, for men thus endowed seem to have an extra
sense. But I do not believe that I should ever have succeeded beyond a very
low grade. With respect to Classics I did nothing except attend a few
compulsory college lectures, and the attendance was almost nominal. In my
second year I had to work for a month or two to pass the Little-Go, which I

did easily. Again, in my last year I worked with some earnestness for my
final degree of B.A., and brushed up my Classics, together with a little
Algebra and Euclid, which latter gave me much pleasure, as it did at school.
In order to pass the B.A. examination, it was also necessary to get up
Paley's 'Evidences of Christianity,' and his 'Moral Philosophy.' This was
done in a thorough manner, and I am convinced that I could have written
out the whole of the 'Evidences' with perfect correctness, but not of course
in the clear language of Paley. The logic of this book and, as I may add, of
his 'Natural Theology,' gave me as much delight as did Euclid. The careful
study of these works, without attempting to learn any part by rote, was the
only part of the academical course which, as I then felt and as I still believe,
was of the least use to me in the education of my mind. I did not at that time
trouble myself about Paley's premises; and taking these on trust, I was
charmed and convinced by the long line of argumentation. By answering
well the examination questions in Paley, by doing Euclid well, and by not
failing miserably in Classics, I gained a good place among the oi polloi or
crowd of men who do not go in for honours. Oddly enough, I cannot
remember how high I stood, and my memory fluctuates between the fifth,
tenth, or twelfth, name on the list. (Tenth in the list of January 1831.)
Public lectures on several branches were given in the University,
attendance being quite voluntary; but I was so sickened with lectures at
Edinburgh that I did not even attend Sedgwick's eloquent and interesting
lectures. Had I done so I should probably have become a geologist earlier
than I did. I attended, however, Henslow's lectures on Botany, and liked
them much for their extreme clearness, and the admirable illustrations; but I
did not study botany. Henslow used to take his pupils, including several of
the older members of the University, field excursions, on foot or in coaches,
to distant places, or in a barge down the river, and lectured on the rarer
plants and animals which were observed. These excursions were delightful.
Although, as we shall presently see, there were some redeeming features
in my life at Cambridge, my time was sadly wasted there, and worse than
wasted. From my passion for shooting and for hunting, and, when this
failed, for riding across country, I got into a sporting set, including some
dissipated low-minded young men. We used often to dine together in the
evening, though these dinners often included men of a higher stamp, and we
sometimes drank too much, with jolly singing and playing at cards
afterwards. I know that I ought to feel ashamed of days and evenings thus

spent, but as some of my friends were very pleasant, and we were all in the
highest spirits, I cannot help looking back to these times with much
pleasure.
But I am glad to think that I had many other friends of a widely different
nature. I was very intimate with Whitley (Rev. C. Whitley, Hon. Canon of
Durham, formerly Reader in Natural Philosophy in Durham University.),
who was afterwards Senior Wrangler, and we used continually to take long
walks together. He inoculated me with a taste for pictures and good
engravings, of which I bought some. I frequently went to the Fitzwilliam
Gallery, and my taste must have been fairly good, for I certainly admired
the best pictures, which I discussed with the old curator. I read also with
much interest Sir Joshua Reynolds' book. This taste, though not natural to
me, lasted for several years, and many of the pictures in the National
Gallery in London gave me much pleasure; that of Sebastian del Piombo
exciting in me a sense of sublimity.
I also got into a musical set, I believe by means of my warm-hearted
friend, Herbert (The late John Maurice Herbert, County Court Judge of
Cardiff and the Monmouth Circuit.), who took a high wrangler's degree.
From associating with these men, and hearing them play, I acquired a strong
taste for music, and used very often to time my walks so as to hear on week
days the anthem in King's College Chapel. This gave me intense pleasure,
so that my backbone would sometimes shiver. I am sure that there was no
affectation or mere imitation in this taste, for I used generally to go by
myself to King's College, and I sometimes hired the chorister boys to sing
in my rooms. Nevertheless I am so utterly destitute of an ear, that I cannot
perceive a discord, or keep time and hum a tune correctly; and it is a
mystery how I could possibly have derived pleasure from music.
My musical friends soon perceived my state, and sometimes amused
themselves by making me pass an examination, which consisted in
ascertaining how many tunes I could recognise when they were played
rather more quickly or slowly than usual. 'God save the King,' when thus
played, was a sore puzzle. There was another man with almost as bad an ear
as I had, and strange to say he played a little on the flute. Once I had the
triumph of beating him in one of our musical examinations.
But no pursuit at Cambridge was followed with nearly so much eagerness
or gave me so much pleasure as collecting beetles. It was the mere passion

for collecting, for I did not dissect them, and rarely compared their external
characters with published descriptions, but got them named anyhow. I will
give a proof of my zeal: one day, on tearing off some old bark, I saw two
rare beetles, and seized one in each hand; then I saw a third and new kind,
which I could not bear to lose, so that I popped the one which I held in my
right hand into my mouth. Alas! it ejected some intensely acrid fluid, which
burnt my tongue so that I was forced to spit the beetle out, which was lost,
as was the third one.
I was very successful in collecting, and invented two new methods; I
employed a labourer to scrape during the winter, moss off old trees and
place it in a large bag, and likewise to collect the rubbish at the bottom of
the barges in which reeds are brought from the fens, and thus I got some
very rare species. No poet ever felt more delighted at seeing his first poem
published than I did at seeing, in Stephens' 'Illustrations of British Insects,'
the magic words, "captured by C. Darwin, Esq." I was introduced to
entomology by my second cousin W. Darwin Fox, a clever and most
pleasant man, who was then at Christ's College, and with whom I became
extremely intimate. Afterwards I became well acquainted, and went out
collecting, with Albert Way of Trinity, who in after years became a well-
known archaeologist; also with H. Thompson of the same College,
afterwards a leading agriculturist, chairman of a great railway, and Member
of Parliament. It seems therefore that a taste for collecting beetles is some
indication of future success in life!

I am surprised what an indelible impression many of the beetles which I
caught at Cambridge have left on my mind. I can remember the exact
appearance of certain posts, old trees and banks where I made a good
capture. The pretty Panagaeus crux-major was a treasure in those days, and
here at Down I saw a beetle running across a walk, and on picking it up

instantly perceived that it differed slightly from P. crux-major, and it turned
out to be P. quadripunctatus, which is only a variety or closely allied
species, differing from it very slightly in outline. I had never seen in those
old days Licinus alive, which to an uneducated eye hardly differs from
many of the black Carabidous beetles; but my sons found here a specimen,
and I instantly recognised that it was new to me; yet I had not looked at a
British beetle for the last twenty years.
I have not as yet mentioned a circumstance which influenced my whole
career more than any other. This was my friendship with Professor
Henslow. Before coming up to Cambridge, I had heard of him from my
brother as a man who knew every branch of science, and I was accordingly
prepared to reverence him. He kept open house once every week when all
undergraduates, and some older members of the University, who were
attached to science, used to meet in the evening. I soon got, through Fox, an
invitation, and went there regularly. Before long I became well acquainted
with Henslow, and during the latter half of my time at Cambridge took long
walks with him on most days; so that I was called by some of the dons "the
man who walks with Henslow;" and in the evening I was very often asked
to join his family dinner. His knowledge was great in botany, entomology,
chemistry, mineralogy, and geology. His strongest taste was to draw
conclusions from long-continued minute observations. His judgment was
excellent, and his whole mind well balanced; but I do not suppose that any
one would say that he possessed much original genius. He was deeply
religious, and so orthodox that he told me one day he should be grieved if a
single word of the Thirty-nine Articles were altered. His moral qualities
were in every way admirable. He was free from every tinge of vanity or
other petty feeling; and I never saw a man who thought so little about
himself or his own concerns. His temper was imperturbably good, with the
most winning and courteous manners; yet, as I have seen, he could be
roused by any bad action to the warmest indignation and prompt action.
I once saw in his company in the streets of Cambridge almost as horrid a
scene as could have been witnessed during the French Revolution. Two
body-snatchers had been arrested, and whilst being taken to prison had been
torn from the constable by a crowd of the roughest men, who dragged them
by their legs along the muddy and stony road. They were covered from head
to foot with mud, and their faces were bleeding either from having been
kicked or from the stones; they looked like corpses, but the crowd was so

dense that I got only a few momentary glimpses of the wretched creatures.
Never in my life have I seen such wrath painted on a man's face as was
shown by Henslow at this horrid scene. He tried repeatedly to penetrate the
mob; but it was simply impossible. He then rushed away to the mayor,
telling me not to follow him, but to get more policemen. I forget the issue,
except that the two men were got into the prison without being killed.
Henslow's benevolence was unbounded, as he proved by his many
excellent schemes for his poor parishioners, when in after years he held the
living of Hitcham. My intimacy with such a man ought to have been, and I
hope was, an inestimable benefit. I cannot resist mentioning a trifling
incident, which showed his kind consideration. Whilst examining some
pollen-grains on a damp surface, I saw the tubes exserted, and instantly
rushed off to communicate my surprising discovery to him. Now I do not
suppose any other professor of botany could have helped laughing at my
coming in such a hurry to make such a communication. But he agreed how
interesting the phenomenon was, and explained its meaning, but made me
clearly understand how well it was known; so I left him not in the least
mortified, but well pleased at having discovered for myself so remarkable a
fact, but determined not to be in such a hurry again to communicate my
discoveries.
Dr. Whewell was one of the older and distinguished men who sometimes
visited Henslow, and on several occasions I walked home with him at night.
Next to Sir J. Mackintosh he was the best converser on grave subjects to
whom I ever listened. Leonard Jenyns (The well-known Soame Jenyns was
cousin to Mr. Jenyns' father.), who afterwards published some good essays
in Natural History (Mr. Jenyns (now Blomefield) described the fish for the
Zoology of the "Beagle"; and is author of a long series of papers, chiefly
Zoological.), often stayed with Henslow, who was his brother-in-law. I
visited him at his parsonage on the borders of the Fens [Swaffham
Bulbeck], and had many a good walk and talk with him about Natural
History. I became also acquainted with several other men older than me,
who did not care much about science, but were friends of Henslow. One
was a Scotchman, brother of Sir Alexander Ramsay, and tutor of Jesus
College: he was a delightful man, but did not live for many years. Another
was Mr. Dawes, afterwards Dean of Hereford, and famous for his success in
the education of the poor. These men and others of the same standing,

together with Henslow, used sometimes to take distant excursions into the
country, which I was allowed to join, and they were most agreeable.
Looking back, I infer that there must have been something in me a little
superior to the common run of youths, otherwise the above-mentioned men,
so much older than me and higher in academical position, would never have
allowed me to associate with them. Certainly I was not aware of any such
superiority, and I remember one of my sporting friends, Turner, who saw
me at work with my beetles, saying that I should some day be a Fellow of
the Royal Society, and the notion seemed to me preposterous.
During my last year at Cambridge, I read with care and profound interest
Humboldt's 'Personal Narrative.' This work, and Sir J. Herschel's
'Introduction to the Study of Natural Philosophy,' stirred up in me a burning
zeal to add even the most humble contribution to the noble structure of
Natural Science. No one or a dozen other books influenced me nearly so
much as these two. I copied out from Humboldt long passages about
Teneriffe, and read them aloud on one of the above-mentioned excursions,
to (I think) Henslow, Ramsay, and Dawes, for on a previous occasion I had
talked about the glories of Teneriffe, and some of the party declared they
would endeavour to go there; but I think that they were only half in earnest.
I was, however, quite in earnest, and got an introduction to a merchant in
London to enquire about ships; but the scheme was, of course, knocked on
the head by the voyage of the "Beagle".
My summer vacations were given up to collecting beetles, to some
reading, and short tours. In the autumn my whole time was devoted to
shooting, chiefly at Woodhouse and Maer, and sometimes with young Eyton
of Eyton. Upon the whole the three years which I spent at Cambridge were
the most joyful in my happy life; for I was then in excellent health, and
almost always in high spirits.
As I had at first come up to Cambridge at Christmas, I was forced to keep
two terms after passing my final examination, at the commencement of
1831; and Henslow then persuaded me to begin the study of geology.
Therefore on my return to Shropshire I examined sections, and coloured a
map of parts round Shrewsbury. Professor Sedgwick intended to visit North
Wales in the beginning of August to pursue his famous geological
investigations amongst the older rocks, and Henslow asked him to allow me
to accompany him. (In connection with this tour my father used to tell a

story about Sedgwick: they had started from their inn one morning, and had
walked a mile or two, when Sedgwick suddenly stopped, and vowed that he
would return, being certain "that damned scoundrel" (the waiter) had not
given the chambermaid the sixpence intrusted to him for the purpose. He
was ultimately persuaded to give up the project, seeing that there was no
reason for suspecting the waiter of especial perfidy.—F.D.) Accordingly he
came and slept at my father's house.
A short conversation with him during this evening produced a strong
impression on my mind. Whilst examining an old gravel-pit near
Shrewsbury, a labourer told me that he had found in it a large worn tropical
Volute shell, such as may be seen on the chimney-pieces of cottages; and as
he would not sell the shell, I was convinced that he had really found it in the
pit. I told Sedgwick of the fact, and he at once said (no doubt truly) that it
must have been thrown away by some one into the pit; but then added, if
really embedded there it would be the greatest misfortune to geology, as it
would overthrow all that we know about the superficial deposits of the
Midland Counties. These gravel-beds belong in fact to the glacial period,
and in after years I found in them broken arctic shells. But I was then
utterly astonished at Sedgwick not being delighted at so wonderful a fact as
a tropical shell being found near the surface in the middle of England.
Nothing before had ever made me thoroughly realise, though I had read
various scientific books, that science consists in grouping facts so that
general laws or conclusions may be drawn from them.
Next morning we started for Llangollen, Conway, Bangor, and Capel
Curig. This tour was of decided use in teaching me a little how to make out
the geology of a country. Sedgwick often sent me on a line parallel to his,
telling me to bring back specimens of the rocks and to mark the
stratification on a map. I have little doubt that he did this for my good, as I
was too ignorant to have aided him. On this tour I had a striking instance of
how easy it is to overlook phenomena, however conspicuous, before they
have been observed by any one. We spent many hours in Cwm Idwal,
examining all the rocks with extreme care, as Sedgwick was anxious to find
fossils in them; but neither of us saw a trace of the wonderful glacial
phenomena all around us; we did not notice the plainly scored rocks, the
perched boulders, the lateral and terminal moraines. Yet these phenomena
are so conspicuous that, as I declared in a paper published many years
afterwards in the 'Philosophical Magazine' ('Philosophical Magazine,'

1842.), a house burnt down by fire did not tell its story more plainly than
did this valley. If it had still been filled by a glacier, the phenomena would
have been less distinct than they now are.
At Capel Curig I left Sedgwick and went in a straight line by compass
and map across the mountains to Barmouth, never following any track
unless it coincided with my course. I thus came on some strange wild
places, and enjoyed much this manner of travelling. I visited Barmouth to
see some Cambridge friends who were reading there, and thence returned to
Shrewsbury and to Maer for shooting; for at that time I should have thought
myself mad to give up the first days of partridge-shooting for geology or
any other science.
"VOYAGE OF THE 'BEAGLE' FROM DECEMBER 27, 1831, TO
OCTOBER 2, 1836."
On returning home from my short geological tour in North Wales, I found
a letter from Henslow, informing me that Captain Fitz-Roy was willing to
give up part of his own cabin to any young man who would volunteer to go
with him without pay as naturalist to the Voyage of the "Beagle". I have
given, as I believe, in my MS. Journal an account of all the circumstances
which then occurred; I will here only say that I was instantly eager to accept
the offer, but my father strongly objected, adding the words, fortunate for
me, "If you can find any man of common sense who advises you to go I
will give my consent." So I wrote that evening and refused the offer. On the
next morning I went to Maer to be ready for September 1st, and, whilst out
shooting, my uncle (Josiah Wedgwood.) sent for me, offering to drive me
over to Shrewsbury and talk with my father, as my uncle thought it would
be wise in me to accept the offer. My father always maintained that he was
one of the most sensible men in the world, and he at once consented in the
kindest manner. I had been rather extravagant at Cambridge, and to console
my father, said, "that I should be deuced clever to spend more than my
allowance whilst on board the 'Beagle';" but he answered with a smile, "But
they tell me you are very clever."
Next day I started for Cambridge to see Henslow, and thence to London
to see Fitz-Roy, and all was soon arranged. Afterwards, on becoming very
intimate with Fitz-Roy, I heard that I had run a very narrow risk of being
rejected, on account of the shape of my nose! He was an ardent disciple of
Lavater, and was convinced that he could judge of a man's character by the

outline of his features; and he doubted whether any one with my nose could
possess sufficient energy and determination for the voyage. But I think he
was afterwards well satisfied that my nose had spoken falsely.
Fitz-Roy's character was a singular one, with very many noble features:
he was devoted to his duty, generous to a fault, bold, determined, and
indomitably energetic, and an ardent friend to all under his sway. He would
undertake any sort of trouble to assist those whom he thought deserved
assistance. He was a handsome man, strikingly like a gentleman, with
highly courteous manners, which resembled those of his maternal uncle, the
famous Lord Castlereagh, as I was told by the Minister at Rio. Nevertheless
he must have inherited much in his appearance from Charles II., for Dr.
Wallich gave me a collection of photographs which he had made, and I was
struck with the resemblance of one to Fitz-Roy; and on looking at the name,
I found it Ch. E. Sobieski Stuart, Count d'Albanie, a descendant of the same
monarch.
Fitz-Roy's temper was a most unfortunate one. It was usually worst in the
early morning, and with his eagle eye he could generally detect something
amiss about the ship, and was then unsparing in his blame. He was very
kind to me, but was a man very difficult to live with on the intimate terms
which necessarily followed from our messing by ourselves in the same
cabin. We had several quarrels; for instance, early in the voyage at Bahia, in
Brazil, he defended and praised slavery, which I abominated, and told me
that he had just visited a great slave-owner, who had called up many of his
slaves and asked them whether they were happy, and whether they wished
to be free, and all answered "No." I then asked him, perhaps with a sneer,
whether he thought that the answer of slaves in the presence of their master
was worth anything? This made him excessively angry, and he said that as I
doubted his word we could not live any longer together. I thought that I
should have been compelled to leave the ship; but as soon as the news
spread, which it did quickly, as the captain sent for the first lieutenant to
assuage his anger by abusing me, I was deeply gratified by receiving an
invitation from all the gun-room officers to mess with them. But after a few
hours Fitz-Roy showed his usual magnanimity by sending an officer to me
with an apology and a request that I would continue to live with him.
His character was in several respects one of the most noble which I have
ever known.

The voyage of the "Beagle" has been by far the most important event in
my life, and has determined my whole career; yet it depended on so small a
circumstance as my uncle offering to drive me thirty miles to Shrewsbury,
which few uncles would have done, and on such a trifle as the shape of my
nose. I have always felt that I owe to the voyage the first real training or
education of my mind; I was led to attend closely to several branches of
natural history, and thus my powers of observation were improved, though
they were always fairly developed.
The investigation of the geology of all the places visited was far more
important, as reasoning here comes into play. On first examining a new
district nothing can appear more hopeless than the chaos of rocks; but by
recording the stratification and nature of the rocks and fossils at many
points, always reasoning and predicting what will be found elsewhere, light
soon begins to dawn on the district, and the structure of the whole becomes
more or less intelligible. I had brought with me the first volume of Lyell's
'Principles of Geology,' which I studied attentively; and the book was of the
highest service to me in many ways. The very first place which I examined,
namely St. Jago in the Cape de Verde islands, showed me clearly the
wonderful superiority of Lyell's manner of treating geology, compared with
that of any other author, whose works I had with me or ever afterwards
read.
Another of my occupations was collecting animals of all classes, briefly
describing and roughly dissecting many of the marine ones; but from not
being able to draw, and from not having sufficient anatomical knowledge, a
great pile of MS. which I made during the voyage has proved almost
useless. I thus lost much time, with the exception of that spent in acquiring
some knowledge of the Crustaceans, as this was of service when in after
years I undertook a monograph of the Cirripedia.
During some part of the day I wrote my Journal, and took much pains in
describing carefully and vividly all that I had seen; and this was good
practice. My Journal served also, in part, as letters to my home, and
portions were sent to England whenever there was an opportunity.
The above various special studies were, however, of no importance
compared with the habit of energetic industry and of concentrated attention
to whatever I was engaged in, which I then acquired. Everything about
which I thought or read was made to bear directly on what I had seen or

was likely to see; and this habit of mind was continued during the five years
of the voyage. I feel sure that it was this training which has enabled me to
do whatever I have done in science.
Looking backwards, I can now perceive how my love for science
gradually preponderated over every other taste. During the first two years
my old passion for shooting survived in nearly full force, and I shot myself
all the birds and animals for my collection; but gradually I gave up my gun
more and more, and finally altogether, to my servant, as shooting interfered
with my work, more especially with making out the geological structure of
a country. I discovered, though unconsciously and insensibly, that the
pleasure of observing and reasoning was a much higher one than that of
skill and sport. That my mind became developed through my pursuits
during the voyage is rendered probable by a remark made by my father,
who was the most acute observer whom I ever saw, of a sceptical
disposition, and far from being a believer in phrenology; for on first seeing
me after the voyage, he turned round to my sisters, and exclaimed, "Why,
the shape of his head is quite altered."
To return to the voyage. On September 11th (1831), I paid a flying visit
with Fitz-Roy to the "Beagle" at Plymouth. Thence to Shrewsbury to wish
my father and sisters a long farewell. On October 24th I took up my
residence at Plymouth, and remained there until December 27th, when the
"Beagle" finally left the shores of England for her circumnavigation of the
world. We made two earlier attempts to sail, but were driven back each time
by heavy gales. These two months at Plymouth were the most miserable
which I ever spent, though I exerted myself in various ways. I was out of
spirits at the thought of leaving all my family and friends for so long a time,
and the weather seemed to me inexpressibly gloomy. I was also troubled
with palpitation and pain about the heart, and like many a young ignorant
man, especially one with a smattering of medical knowledge, was
convinced that I had heart disease. I did not consult any doctor, as I fully
expected to hear the verdict that I was not fit for the voyage, and I was
resolved to go at all hazards.
I need not here refer to the events of the voyage—where we went and
what we did—as I have given a sufficiently full account in my published
Journal. The glories of the vegetation of the Tropics rise before my mind at
the present time more vividly than anything else; though the sense of

sublimity, which the great deserts of Patagonia and the forest-clad
mountains of Tierra del Fuego excited in me, has left an indelible
impression on my mind. The sight of a naked savage in his native land is an
event which can never be forgotten. Many of my excursions on horseback
through wild countries, or in the boats, some of which lasted several weeks,
were deeply interesting: their discomfort and some degree of danger were at
that time hardly a drawback, and none at all afterwards. I also reflect with
high satisfaction on some of my scientific work, such as solving the
problem of coral islands, and making out the geological structure of certain
islands, for instance, St. Helena. Nor must I pass over the discovery of the
singular relations of the animals and plants inhabiting the several islands of
the Galapagos archipelago, and of all of them to the inhabitants of South
America.
As far as I can judge of myself, I worked to the utmost during the voyage
from the mere pleasure of investigation, and from my strong desire to add a
few facts to the great mass of facts in Natural Science. But I was also
ambitious to take a fair place among scientific men,—whether more
ambitious or less so than most of my fellow-workers, I can form no opinion.
The geology of St. Jago is very striking, yet simple: a stream of lava
formerly flowed over the bed of the sea, formed of triturated recent shells
and corals, which it has baked into a hard white rock. Since then the whole
island has been upheaved. But the line of white rock revealed to me a new
and important fact, namely, that there had been afterwards subsidence round
the craters, which had since been in action, and had poured forth lava. It
then first dawned on me that I might perhaps write a book on the geology of
the various countries visited, and this made me thrill with delight. That was
a memorable hour to me, and how distinctly I can call to mind the low cliff
of lava beneath which I rested, with the sun glaring hot, a few strange desert
plants growing near, and with living corals in the tidal pools at my feet.
Later in the voyage, Fitz-Roy asked me to read some of my Journal, and
declared it would be worth publishing; so here was a second book in
prospect!
Towards the close of our voyage I received a letter whilst at Ascension, in
which my sisters told me that Sedgwick had called on my father, and said
that I should take a place among the leading scientific men. I could not at
the time understand how he could have learnt anything of my proceedings,

but I heard (I believe afterwards) that Henslow had read some of the letters
which I wrote to him before the Philosophical Society of Cambridge (Read
at the meeting held November 16, 1835, and printed in a pamphlet of 31
pages for distribution among the members of the Society.), and had printed
them for private distribution. My collection of fossil bones, which had been
sent to Henslow, also excited considerable attention amongst
palaeontologists. After reading this letter, I clambered over the mountains of
Ascension with a bounding step, and made the volcanic rocks resound
under my geological hammer. All this shows how ambitious I was; but I
think that I can say with truth that in after years, though I cared in the
highest degree for the approbation of such men as Lyell and Hooker, who
were my friends, I did not care much about the general public. I do not
mean to say that a favourable review or a large sale of my books did not
please me greatly, but the pleasure was a fleeting one, and I am sure that I
have never turned one inch out of my course to gain fame.
FROM MY RETURN TO ENGLAND (OCTOBER 2, 1836) TO MY
MARRIAGE (JANUARY 29, 1839.)
These two years and three months were the most active ones which I ever
spent, though I was occasionally unwell, and so lost some time. After going
backwards and forwards several times between Shrewsbury, Maer,
Cambridge, and London, I settled in lodgings at Cambridge (In Fitzwilliam
Street.) on December 13th, where all my collections were under the care of
Henslow. I stayed here three months, and got my minerals and rocks
examined by the aid of Professor Miller.
I began preparing my 'Journal of Travels,' which was not hard work, as
my MS. Journal had been written with care, and my chief labour was
making an abstract of my more interesting scientific results. I sent also, at
the request of Lyell, a short account of my observations on the elevation of
the coast of Chile to the Geological Society. ('Geolog. Soc. Proc. ii. 1838,
pages 446-449.)
On March 7th, 1837, I took lodgings in Great Marlborough Street in
London, and remained there for nearly two years, until I was married.
During these two years I finished my Journal, read several papers before the
Geological Society, began preparing the MS. for my 'Geological
Observations,' and arranged for the publication of the 'Zoology of the
Voyage of the "Beagle".' In July I opened my first note-book for facts in

relation to the Origin of Species, about which I had long reflected, and
never ceased working for the next twenty years.
During these two years I also went a little into society, and acted as one
of the honorary secretaries of the Geological Society. I saw a great deal of
Lyell. One of his chief characteristics was his sympathy with the work of
others, and I was as much astonished as delighted at the interest which he
showed when, on my return to England, I explained to him my views on
coral reefs. This encouraged me greatly, and his advice and example had
much influence on me. During this time I saw also a good deal of Robert
Brown; I used often to call and sit with him during his breakfast on Sunday
mornings, and he poured forth a rich treasure of curious observations and
acute remarks, but they almost always related to minute points, and he
never with me discussed large or general questions in science.
During these two years I took several short excursions as a relaxation,
and one longer one to the Parallel Roads of Glen Roy, an account of which
was published in the 'Philosophical Transactions.' (1839, pages 39-82.) This
paper was a great failure, and I am ashamed of it. Having been deeply
impressed with what I had seen of the elevation of the land of South
America, I attributed the parallel lines to the action of the sea; but I had to
give up this view when Agassiz propounded his glacier-lake theory.
Because no other explanation was possible under our then state of
knowledge, I argued in favour of sea-action; and my error has been a good
lesson to me never to trust in science to the principle of exclusion.
As I was not able to work all day at science, I read a good deal during
these two years on various subjects, including some metaphysical books;
but I was not well fitted for such studies. About this time I took much
delight in Wordsworth's and Coleridge's poetry; and can boast that I read the
'Excursion' twice through. Formerly Milton's 'Paradise Lost' had been my
chief favourite, and in my excursions during the voyage of the "Beagle",
when I could take only a single volume, I always chose Milton.

FROM MY MARRIAGE, JANUARY 29, 1839, AND RESIDENCE IN
UPPER GOWER STREET, TO OUR LEAVING LONDON AND
SETTLING AT DOWN, SEPTEMBER 14, 1842.
(After speaking of his happy married life, and of his children, he
continues:—)

During the three years and eight months whilst we resided in London, I
did less scientific work, though I worked as hard as I possibly could, than
during any other equal length of time in my life. This was owing to
frequently recurring unwellness, and to one long and serious illness. The
greater part of my time, when I could do anything, was devoted to my work
on 'Coral Reefs,' which I had begun before my marriage, and of which the
last proof-sheet was corrected on May 6th, 1842. This book, though a small
one, cost me twenty months of hard work, as I had to read every work on
the islands of the Pacific and to consult many charts. It was thought highly
of by scientific men, and the theory therein given is, I think, now well
established.
No other work of mine was begun in so deductive a spirit as this, for the
whole theory was thought out on the west coast of South America, before I
had seen a true coral reef. I had therefore only to verify and extend my
views by a careful examination of living reefs. But it should be observed
that I had during the two previous years been incessantly attending to the
effects on the shores of South America of the intermittent elevation of the
land, together with denudation and the deposition of sediment. This
necessarily led me to reflect much on the effects of subsidence, and it was
easy to replace in imagination the continued deposition of sediment by the
upward growth of corals. To do this was to form my theory of the formation
of barrier-reefs and atolls.
Besides my work on coral-reefs, during my residence in London, I read
before the Geological Society papers on the Erratic Boulders of South
America ('Geolog. Soc. Proc.' iii. 1842.), on Earthquakes ('Geolog. Trans. v.
1840.), and on the Formation by the Agency of Earth-worms of Mould.
('Geolog. Soc. Proc. ii. 1838.) I also continued to superintend the
publication of the 'Zoology of the Voyage of the "Beagle".' Nor did I ever
intermit collecting facts bearing on the origin of species; and I could
sometimes do this when I could do nothing else from illness.
In the summer of 1842 I was stronger than I had been for some time, and
took a little tour by myself in North Wales, for the sake of observing the
effects of the old glaciers which formerly filled all the larger valleys. I
published a short account of what I saw in the 'Philosophical Magazine.'
('Philosophical Magazine,' 1842.) This excursion interested me greatly, and

it was the last time I was ever strong enough to climb mountains or to take
long walks such as are necessary for geological work.
During the early part of our life in London, I was strong enough to go
into general society, and saw a good deal of several scientific men, and
other more or less distinguished men. I will give my impressions with
respect to some of them, though I have little to say worth saying.
I saw more of Lyell than of any other man, both before and after my
marriage. His mind was characterised, as it appeared to me, by clearness,
caution, sound judgment, and a good deal of originality. When I made any
remark to him on Geology, he never rested until he saw the whole case
clearly, and often made me see it more clearly than I had done before. He
would advance all possible objections to my suggestion, and even after
these were exhausted would long remain dubious. A second characteristic
was his hearty sympathy with the work of other scientific men. (The slight
repetition here observable is accounted for by the notes on Lyell, etc.,
having been added in April, 1881, a few years after the rest of the
'Recollections' were written.)
On my return from the voyage of the "Beagle", I explained to him my
views on coral-reefs, which differed from his, and I was greatly surprised
and encouraged by the vivid interest which he showed. His delight in
science was ardent, and he felt the keenest interest in the future progress of
mankind. He was very kind-hearted, and thoroughly liberal in his religious
beliefs, or rather disbeliefs; but he was a strong theist. His candour was
highly remarkable. He exhibited this by becoming a convert to the Descent
theory, though he had gained much fame by opposing Lamarck's views, and
this after he had grown old. He reminded me that I had many years before
said to him, when discussing the opposition of the old school of geologists
to his new views, "What a good thing it would be if every scientific man
was to die when sixty years old, as afterwards he would be sure to oppose
all new doctrines." But he hoped that now he might be allowed to live.
The science of Geology is enormously indebted to Lyell—more so, as I
believe, than to any other man who ever lived. When [I was] starting on the
voyage of the "Beagle", the sagacious Henslow, who, like all other
geologists, believed at that time in successive cataclysms, advised me to get
and study the first volume of the 'Principles,' which had then just been
published, but on no account to accept the views therein advocated. How

differently would any one now speak of the 'Principles'! I am proud to
remember that the first place, namely, St. Jago, in the Cape de Verde
archipelago, in which I geologised, convinced me of the infinite superiority
of Lyell's views over those advocated in any other work known to me.
The powerful effects of Lyell's works could formerly be plainly seen in
the different progress of the science in France and England. The present
total oblivion of Elie de Beaumont's wild hypotheses, such as his 'Craters of
Elevation' and 'Lines of Elevation' (which latter hypothesis I heard
Sedgwick at the Geological Society lauding to the skies), may be largely
attributed to Lyell.
I saw a good deal of Robert Brown, "facile Princeps Botanicorum," as he
was called by Humboldt. He seemed to me to be chiefly remarkable for the
minuteness of his observations, and their perfect accuracy. His knowledge
was extraordinarily great, and much died with him, owing to his excessive
fear of ever making a mistake. He poured out his knowledge to me in the
most unreserved manner, yet was strangely jealous on some points. I called
on him two or three times before the voyage of the "Beagle", and on one
occasion he asked me to look through a microscope and describe what I
saw. This I did, and believe now that it was the marvellous currents of
protoplasm in some vegetable cell. I then asked him what I had seen; but he
answered me, "That is my little secret."
He was capable of the most generous actions. When old, much out of
health, and quite unfit for any exertion, he daily visited (as Hooker told me)
an old man-servant, who lived at a distance (and whom he supported), and
read aloud to him. This is enough to make up for any degree of scientific
penuriousness or jealousy.
I may here mention a few other eminent men, whom I have occasionally
seen, but I have little to say about them worth saying. I felt a high reverence
for Sir J. Herschel, and was delighted to dine with him at his charming
house at the Cape of Good Hope, and afterwards at his London house. I saw
him, also, on a few other occasions. He never talked much, but every word
which he uttered was worth listening to.
I once met at breakfast at Sir R. Murchison's house the illustrious
Humboldt, who honoured me by expressing a wish to see me. I was a little
disappointed with the great man, but my anticipations probably were too

high. I can remember nothing distinctly about our interview, except that
Humboldt was very cheerful and talked much.
—reminds me of Buckle whom I once met at Hensleigh Wedgwood's. I
was very glad to learn from him his system of collecting facts. He told me
that he bought all the books which he read, and made a full index, to each,
of the facts which he thought might prove serviceable to him, and that he
could always remember in what book he had read anything, for his memory
was wonderful. I asked him how at first he could judge what facts would be
serviceable, and he answered that he did not know, but that a sort of instinct
guided him. From this habit of making indices, he was enabled to give the
astonishing number of references on all sorts of subjects, which may be
found in his 'History of Civilisation.' This book I thought most interesting,
and read it twice, but I doubt whether his generalisations are worth
anything. Buckle was a great talker, and I listened to him saying hardly a
word, nor indeed could I have done so for he left no gaps. When Mrs. Farrer
began to sing, I jumped up and said that I must listen to her; after I had
moved away he turned around to a friend and said (as was overheard by my
brother), "Well, Mr. Darwin's books are much better than his conversation."
Of other great literary men, I once met Sydney Smith at Dean Milman's
house. There was something inexplicably amusing in every word which he
uttered. Perhaps this was partly due to the expectation of being amused. He
was talking about Lady Cork, who was then extremely old. This was the
lady who, as he said, was once so much affected by one of his charity
sermons, that she BORROWED a guinea from a friend to put in the plate.
He now said "It is generally believed that my dear old friend Lady Cork has
been overlooked," and he said this in such a manner that no one could for a
moment doubt that he meant that his dear old friend had been overlooked
by the devil. How he managed to express this I know not.
I likewise once met Macaulay at Lord Stanhope's (the historian's) house,
and as there was only one other man at dinner, I had a grand opportunity of
hearing him converse, and he was very agreeable. He did not talk at all too
much; nor indeed could such a man talk too much, as long as he allowed
others to turn the stream of his conversation, and this he did allow.
Lord Stanhope once gave me a curious little proof of the accuracy and
fulness of Macaulay's memory: many historians used often to meet at Lord
Stanhope's house, and in discussing various subjects they would sometimes

differ from Macaulay, and formerly they often referred to some book to see
who was right; but latterly, as Lord Stanhope noticed, no historian ever took
this trouble, and whatever Macaulay said was final.
On another occasion I met at Lord Stanhope's house, one of his parties of
historians and other literary men, and amongst them were Motley and
Grote. After luncheon I walked about Chevening Park for nearly an hour
with Grote, and was much interested by his conversation and pleased by the
simplicity and absence of all pretension in his manners.
Long ago I dined occasionally with the old Earl, the father of the
historian; he was a strange man, but what little I knew of him I liked much.
He was frank, genial, and pleasant. He had strongly marked features, with a
brown complexion, and his clothes, when I saw him, were all brown. He
seemed to believe in everything which was to others utterly incredible. He
said one day to me, "Why don't you give up your fiddle-faddle of geology
and zoology, and turn to the occult sciences!" The historian, then Lord
Mahon, seemed shocked at such a speech to me, and his charming wife
much amused.
The last man whom I will mention is Carlyle, seen by me several times at
my brother's house, and two or three times at my own house. His talk was
very racy and interesting, just like his writings, but he sometimes went on
too long on the same subject. I remember a funny dinner at my brother's,
where, amongst a few others, were Babbage and Lyell, both of whom liked
to talk. Carlyle, however, silenced every one by haranguing during the
whole dinner on the advantages of silence. After dinner Babbage, in his
grimmest manner, thanked Carlyle for his very interesting lecture on
silence.
Carlyle sneered at almost every one: one day in my house he called
Grote's 'History' "a fetid quagmire, with nothing spiritual about it." I always
thought, until his 'Reminiscences' appeared, that his sneers were partly
jokes, but this now seems rather doubtful. His expression was that of a
depressed, almost despondent yet benevolent man; and it is notorious how
heartily he laughed. I believe that his benevolence was real, though stained
by not a little jealousy. No one can doubt about his extraordinary power of
drawing pictures of things and men—far more vivid, as it appears to me,
than any drawn by Macaulay. Whether his pictures of men were true ones is
another question.

He has been all-powerful in impressing some grand moral truths on the
minds of men. On the other hand, his views about slavery were revolting. In
his eyes might was right. His mind seemed to me a very narrow one; even if
all branches of science, which he despised, are excluded. It is astonishing to
me that Kingsley should have spoken of him as a man well fitted to advance
science. He laughed to scorn the idea that a mathematician, such as
Whewell, could judge, as I maintained he could, of Goethe's views on light.
He thought it a most ridiculous thing that any one should care whether a
glacier moved a little quicker or a little slower, or moved at all. As far as I
could judge, I never met a man with a mind so ill adapted for scientific
research.
Whilst living in London, I attended as regularly as I could the meetings
of several scientific societies, and acted as secretary to the Geological
Society. But such attendance, and ordinary society, suited my health so
badly that we resolved to live in the country, which we both preferred and
have never repented of.
RESIDENCE AT DOWN FROM SEPTEMBER 14, 1842, TO THE
PRESENT TIME, 1876.
After several fruitless searches in Surrey and elsewhere, we found this
house and purchased it. I was pleased with the diversified appearance of
vegetation proper to a chalk district, and so unlike what I had been
accustomed to in the Midland counties; and still more pleased with the
extreme quietness and rusticity of the place. It is not, however, quite so
retired a place as a writer in a German periodical makes it, who says that
my house can be approached only by a mule-track! Our fixing ourselves
here has answered admirably in one way, which we did not anticipate,
namely, by being very convenient for frequent visits from our children.
Few persons can have lived a more retired life than we have done.
Besides short visits to the houses of relations, and occasionally to the
seaside or elsewhere, we have gone nowhere. During the first part of our
residence we went a little into society, and received a few friends here; but
my health almost always suffered from the excitement, violent shivering
and vomiting attacks being thus brought on. I have therefore been
compelled for many years to give up all dinner-parties; and this has been
somewhat of a deprivation to me, as such parties always put me into high

spirits. From the same cause I have been able to invite here very few
scientific acquaintances.
My chief enjoyment and sole employment throughout life has been
scientific work; and the excitement from such work makes me for the time
forget, or drives quite away, my daily discomfort. I have therefore nothing
to record during the rest of my life, except the publication of my several
books. Perhaps a few details how they arose may be worth giving.
MY SEVERAL PUBLICATIONS.
In the early part of 1844, my observations on the volcanic islands visited
during the voyage of the "Beagle" were published. In 1845, I took much
pains in correcting a new edition of my 'Journal of Researches,' which was
originally published in 1839 as part of Fitz-Roy's work. The success of this,
my first literary child, always tickles my vanity more than that of any of my
other books. Even to this day it sells steadily in England and the United
States, and has been translated for the second time into German, and into
French and other languages. This success of a book of travels, especially of
a scientific one, so many years after its first publication, is surprising. Ten
thousand copies have been sold in England of the second edition. In 1846
my 'Geological Observations on South America' were published. I record in
a little diary, which I have always kept, that my three geological books
('Coral Reefs' included) consumed four and a half years' steady work; "and
now it is ten years since my return to England. How much time have I lost
by illness?" I have nothing to say about these three books except that to my
surprise new editions have lately been called for. ('Geological
Observations,' 2nd Edit.1876. 'Coral Reefs,' 2nd Edit. 1874.)
In October, 1846, I began to work on 'Cirripedia.' When on the coast of
Chile, I found a most curious form, which burrowed into the shells of
Concholepas, and which differed so much from all other Cirripedes that I
had to form a new sub-order for its sole reception. Lately an allied
burrowing genus has been found on the shores of Portugal. To understand
the structure of my new Cirripede I had to examine and dissect many of the
common forms; and this gradually led me on to take up the whole group. I
worked steadily on this subject for the next eight years, and ultimately
published two thick volumes (Published by the Ray Society.), describing all
the known living species, and two thin quartos on the extinct species. I do
not doubt that Sir E. Lytton Bulwer had me in his mind when he introduced

in one of his novels a Professor Long, who had written two huge volumes
on limpets.
Although I was employed during eight years on this work, yet I record in
my diary that about two years out of this time was lost by illness. On this
account I went in 1848 for some months to Malvern for hydropathic
treatment, which did me much good, so that on my return home I was able
to resume work. So much was I out of health that when my dear father died
on November 13th, 1848, I was unable to attend his funeral or to act as one
of his executors.
My work on the Cirripedia possesses, I think, considerable value, as
besides describing several new and remarkable forms, I made out the
homologies of the various parts—I discovered the cementing apparatus,
though I blundered dreadfully about the cement glands—and lastly I proved
the existence in certain genera of minute males complemental to and
parasitic on the hermaphrodites. This latter discovery has at last been fully
confirmed; though at one time a German writer was pleased to attribute the
whole account to my fertile imagination. The Cirripedes form a highly
varying and difficult group of species to class; and my work was of
considerable use to me, when I had to discuss in the 'Origin of Species' the
principles of a natural classification. Nevertheless, I doubt whether the
work was worth the consumption of so much time.
From September 1854 I devoted my whole time to arranging my huge
pile of notes, to observing, and to experimenting in relation to the
transmutation of species. During the voyage of the "Beagle" I had been
deeply impressed by discovering in the Pampean formation great fossil
animals covered with armour like that on the existing armadillos; secondly,
by the manner in which closely allied animals replace one another in
proceeding southwards over the Continent; and thirdly, by the South
American character of most of the productions of the Galapagos
archipelago, and more especially by the manner in which they differ slightly
on each island of the group; none of the islands appearing to be very ancient
in a geological sense.
It was evident that such facts as these, as well as many others, could only
be explained on the supposition that species gradually become modified;
and the subject haunted me. But it was equally evident that neither the
action of the surrounding conditions, nor the will of the organisms

(especially in the case of plants) could account for the innumerable cases in
which organisms of every kind are beautifully adapted to their habits of life
—for instance, a woodpecker or a tree-frog to climb trees, or a seed for
dispersal by hooks or plumes. I had always been much struck by such
adaptations, and until these could be explained it seemed to me almost
useless to endeavour to prove by indirect evidence that species have been
modified.
After my return to England it appeared to me that by following the
example of Lyell in Geology, and by collecting all facts which bore in any
way on the variation of animals and plants under domestication and nature,
some light might perhaps be thrown on the whole subject. My first note-
book was opened in July 1837. I worked on true Baconian principles, and
without any theory collected facts on a wholesale scale, more especially
with respect to domesticated productions, by printed enquiries, by
conversation with skilful breeders and gardeners, and by extensive reading.
When I see the list of books of all kinds which I read and abstracted,
including whole series of Journals and Transactions, I am surprised at my
industry. I soon perceived that selection was the keystone of man's success
in making useful races of animals and plants. But how selection could be
applied to organisms living in a state of nature remained for some time a
mystery to me.
In October 1838, that is, fifteen months after I had begun my systematic
enquiry, I happened to read for amusement 'Malthus on Population,' and
being well prepared to appreciate the struggle for existence which
everywhere goes on from long-continued observation of the habits of
animals and plants, it at once struck me that under these circumstances
favourable variations would tend to be preserved, and unfavourable ones to
be destroyed. The result of this would be the formation of new species.
Here then I had at last got a theory by which to work; but I was so anxious
to avoid prejudice, that I determined not for some time to write even the
briefest sketch of it. In June 1842 I first allowed myself the satisfaction of
writing a very brief abstract of my theory in pencil in 35 pages; and this was
enlarged during the summer of 1844 into one of 230 pages, which I had
fairly copied out and still possess.
But at that time I overlooked one problem of great importance; and it is
astonishing to me, except on the principle of Columbus and his egg, how I

could have overlooked it and its solution. This problem is the tendency in
organic beings descended from the same stock to diverge in character as
they become modified. That they have diverged greatly is obvious from the
manner in which species of all kinds can be classed under genera, genera
under families, families under sub-orders and so forth; and I can remember
the very spot in the road, whilst in my carriage, when to my joy the solution
occurred to me; and this was long after I had come to Down. The solution,
as I believe, is that the modified offspring of all dominant and increasing
forms tend to become adapted to many and highly diversified places in the
economy of nature.
Early in 1856 Lyell advised me to write out my views pretty fully, and I
began at once to do so on a scale three or four times as extensive as that
which was afterwards followed in my 'Origin of Species;' yet it was only an
abstract of the materials which I had collected, and I got through about half
the work on this scale. But my plans were overthrown, for early in the
summer of 1858 Mr. Wallace, who was then in the Malay archipelago, sent
me an essay "On the Tendency of Varieties to depart indefinitely from the
Original Type;" and this essay contained exactly the same theory as mine.
Mr. Wallace expressed the wish that if I thought well of his essay, I should
sent it to Lyell for perusal.
The circumstances under which I consented at the request of Lyell and
Hooker to allow of an abstract from my MS., together with a letter to Asa
Gray, dated September 5, 1857, to be published at the same time with
Wallace's Essay, are given in the 'Journal of the Proceedings of the Linnean
Society,' 1858, page 45. I was at first very unwilling to consent, as I thought
Mr. Wallace might consider my doing so unjustifiable, for I did not then
know how generous and noble was his disposition. The extract from my
MS. and the letter to Asa Gray had neither been intended for publication,
and were badly written. Mr. Wallace's essay, on the other hand, was
admirably expressed and quite clear. Nevertheless, our joint productions
excited very little attention, and the only published notice of them which I
can remember was by Professor Haughton of Dublin, whose verdict was
that all that was new in them was false, and what was true was old. This
shows how necessary it is that any new view should be explained at
considerable length in order to arouse public attention.

In September 1858 I set to work by the strong advice of Lyell and
Hooker to prepare a volume on the transmutation of species, but was often
interrupted by ill-health, and short visits to Dr. Lane's delightful
hydropathic establishment at Moor Park. I abstracted the MS. begun on a
much larger scale in 1856, and completed the volume on the same reduced
scale. It cost me thirteen months and ten days' hard labour. It was published
under the title of the 'Origin of Species,' in November 1859. Though
considerably added to and corrected in the later editions, it has remained
substantially the same book.
It is no doubt the chief work of my life. It was from the first highly
successful. The first small edition of 1250 copies was sold on the day of
publication, and a second edition of 3000 copies soon afterwards. Sixteen
thousand copies have now (1876) been sold in England; and considering
how stiff a book it is, this is a large sale. It has been translated into almost
every European tongue, even into such languages as Spanish, Bohemian,
Polish, and Russian. It has also, according to Miss Bird, been translated into
Japanese (Miss Bird is mistaken, as I learn from Prof. Mitsukuri.—F.D.),
and is there much studied. Even an essay in Hebrew has appeared on it,
showing that the theory is contained in the Old Testament! The reviews
were very numerous; for some time I collected all that appeared on the
'Origin' and on my related books, and these amount (excluding newspaper
reviews) to 265; but after a time I gave up the attempt in despair. Many
separate essays and books on the subject have appeared; and in Germany a
catalogue or bibliography on "Darwinismus" has appeared every year or
two.
The success of the 'Origin' may, I think, be attributed in large part to my
having long before written two condensed sketches, and to my having
finally abstracted a much larger manuscript, which was itself an abstract.
By this means I was enabled to select the more striking facts and
conclusions. I had, also, during many years followed a golden rule, namely,
that whenever a published fact, a new observation or thought came across
me, which was opposed to my general results, to make a memorandum of it
without fail and at once; for I had found by experience that such facts and
thoughts were far more apt to escape from the memory than favourable
ones. Owing to this habit, very few objections were raised against my views
which I had not at least noticed and attempted to answer.

It has sometimes been said that the success of the 'Origin' proved "that
the subject was in the air," or "that men's minds were prepared for it." I do
not think that this is strictly true, for I occasionally sounded not a few
naturalists, and never happened to come across a single one who seemed to
doubt about the permanence of species. Even Lyell and Hooker, though they
would listen with interest to me, never seemed to agree. I tried once or
twice to explain to able men what I meant by Natural Selection, but signally
failed. What I believe was strictly true is that innumerable well-observed
facts were stored in the minds of naturalists ready to take their proper places
as soon as any theory which would receive them was sufficiently explained.
Another element in the success of the book was its moderate size; and this I
owe to the appearance of Mr. Wallace's essay; had I published on the scale
in which I began to write in 1856, the book would have been four or five
times as large as the 'Origin,' and very few would have had the patience to
read it.
I gained much by my delay in publishing from about 1839, when the
theory was clearly conceived, to 1859; and I lost nothing by it, for I cared
very little whether men attributed most originality to me or Wallace; and his
essay no doubt aided in the reception of the theory. I was forestalled in only
one important point, which my vanity has always made me regret, namely,
the explanation by means of the Glacial period of the presence of the same
species of plants and of some few animals on distant mountain summits and
in the arctic regions. This view pleased me so much that I wrote it out in
extenso, and I believe that it was read by Hooker some years before E.
Forbes published his celebrated memoir ('Geolog. Survey Mem.,' 1846.) on
the subject. In the very few points in which we differed, I still think that I
was in the right. I have never, of course, alluded in print to my having
independently worked out this view.
Hardly any point gave me so much satisfaction when I was at work on
the 'Origin,' as the explanation of the wide difference in many classes
between the embryo and the adult animal, and of the close resemblance of
the embryos within the same class. No notice of this point was taken, as far
as I remember, in the early reviews of the 'Origin,' and I recollect
expressing my surprise on this head in a letter to Asa Gray. Within late
years several reviewers have given the whole credit to Fritz Muller and
Hackel, who undoubtedly have worked it out much more fully, and in some
respects more correctly than I did. I had materials for a whole chapter on

the subject, and I ought to have made the discussion longer; for it is clear
that I failed to impress my readers; and he who succeeds in doing so
deserves, in my opinion, all the credit.
This leads me to remark that I have almost always been treated honestly
by my reviewers, passing over those without scientific knowledge as not
worthy of notice. My views have often been grossly misrepresented, bitterly
opposed and ridiculed, but this has been generally done, as I believe, in
good faith. On the whole I do not doubt that my works have been over and
over again greatly overpraised. I rejoice that I have avoided controversies,
and this I owe to Lyell, who many years ago, in reference to my geological
works, strongly advised me never to get entangled in a controversy, as it
rarely did any good and caused a miserable loss of time and temper.
Whenever I have found out that I have blundered, or that my work has
been imperfect, and when I have been contemptuously criticised, and even
when I have been overpraised, so that I have felt mortified, it has been my
greatest comfort to say hundreds of times to myself that "I have worked as
hard and as well as I could, and no man can do more than this." I remember
when in Good Success Bay, in Tierra del Fuego, thinking (and, I believe,
that I wrote home to the effect) that I could not employ my life better than
in adding a little to Natural Science. This I have done to the best of my
abilities, and critics may say what they like, but they cannot destroy this
conviction.
During the two last months of 1859 I was fully occupied in preparing a
second edition of the 'Origin,' and by an enormous correspondence. On
January 1st, 1860, I began arranging my notes for my work on the 'Variation
of Animals and Plants under Domestication;' but it was not published until
the beginning of 1868; the delay having been caused partly by frequent
illnesses, one of which lasted seven months, and partly by being tempted to
publish on other subjects which at the time interested me more.
On May 15th, 1862, my little book on the 'Fertilisation of Orchids,'
which cost me ten months' work, was published: most of the facts had been
slowly accumulated during several previous years. During the summer of
1839, and, I believe, during the previous summer, I was led to attend to the
cross-fertilisation of flowers by the aid of insects, from having come to the
conclusion in my speculations on the origin of species, that crossing played
an important part in keeping specific forms constant. I attended to the

subject more or less during every subsequent summer; and my interest in it
was greatly enhanced by having procured and read in November 1841,
through the advice of Robert Brown, a copy of C.K. Sprengel's wonderful
book, 'Das entdeckte Geheimniss der Natur.' For some years before 1862 I
had specially attended to the fertilisation of our British orchids; and it
seemed to me the best plan to prepare as complete a treatise on this group of
plants as well as I could, rather than to utilise the great mass of matter
which I had slowly collected with respect to other plants.
My resolve proved a wise one; for since the appearance of my book, a
surprising number of papers and separate works on the fertilisation of all
kinds of flowers have appeared: and these are far better done than I could
possibly have effected. The merits of poor old Sprengel, so long
overlooked, are now fully recognised many years after his death.
During the same year I published in the 'Journal of the Linnean Society' a
paper "On the Two Forms, or Dimorphic Condition of Primula," and during
the next five years, five other papers on dimorphic and trimorphic plants. I
do not think anything in my scientific life has given me so much
satisfaction as making out the meaning of the structure of these plants. I had
noticed in 1838 or 1839 the dimorphism of Linum flavum, and had at first
thought that it was merely a case of unmeaning variability. But on
examining the common species of Primula I found that the two forms were
much too regular and constant to be thus viewed. I therefore became almost
convinced that the common cowslip and primrose were on the high road to
become dioecious;—that the short pistil in the one form, and the short
stamens in the other form were tending towards abortion. The plants were
therefore subjected under this point of view to trial; but as soon as the
flowers with short pistils fertilised with pollen from the short stamens, were
found to yield more seeds than any other of the four possible unions, the
abortion-theory was knocked on the head. After some additional
experiment, it became evident that the two forms, though both were perfect
hermaphrodites, bore almost the same relation to one another as do the two
sexes of an ordinary animal. With Lythrum we have the still more
wonderful case of three forms standing in a similar relation to one another. I
afterwards found that the offspring from the union of two plants belonging
to the same forms presented a close and curious analogy with hybrids from
the union of two distinct species.

In the autumn of 1864 I finished a long paper on 'Climbing Plants,' and
sent it to the Linnean Society. The writing of this paper cost me four
months; but I was so unwell when I received the proof-sheets that I was
forced to leave them very badly and often obscurely expressed. The paper
was little noticed, but when in 1875 it was corrected and published as a
separate book it sold well. I was led to take up this subject by reading a
short paper by Asa Gray, published in 1858. He sent me seeds, and on
raising some plants I was so much fascinated and perplexed by the
revolving movements of the tendrils and stems, which movements are really
very simple, though appearing at first sight very complex, that I procured
various other kinds of climbing plants, and studied the whole subject. I was
all the more attracted to it, from not being at all satisfied with the
explanation which Henslow gave us in his lectures, about twining plants,
namely, that they had a natural tendency to grow up in a spire. This
explanation proved quite erroneous. Some of the adaptations displayed by
Climbing Plants are as beautiful as those of Orchids for ensuring cross-
fertilisation.
My 'Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication' was begun, as
already stated, in the beginning of 1860, but was not published until the
beginning of 1868. It was a big book, and cost me four years and two
months' hard labour. It gives all my observations and an immense number
of facts collected from various sources, about our domestic productions. In
the second volume the causes and laws of variation, inheritance, etc., are
discussed as far as our present state of knowledge permits. Towards the end
of the work I give my well-abused hypothesis of Pangenesis. An unverified
hypothesis is of little or no value; but if any one should hereafter be led to
make observations by which some such hypothesis could be established, I
shall have done good service, as an astonishing number of isolated facts can
be thus connected together and rendered intelligible. In 1875 a second and
largely corrected edition, which cost me a good deal of labour, was brought
out.
My 'Descent of Man' was published in February, 1871. As soon as I had
become, in the year 1837 or 1838, convinced that species were mutable
productions, I could not avoid the belief that man must come under the
same law. Accordingly I collected notes on the subject for my own
satisfaction, and not for a long time with any intention of publishing.
Although in the 'Origin of Species' the derivation of any particular species

is never discussed, yet I thought it best, in order that no honourable man
should accuse me of concealing my views, to add that by the work "light
would be thrown on the origin of man and his history." It would have been
useless and injurious to the success of the book to have paraded, without
giving any evidence, my conviction with respect to his origin.
But when I found that many naturalists fully accepted the doctrine of the
evolution of species, it seemed to me advisable to work up such notes as I
possessed, and to publish a special treatise on the origin of man. I was the
more glad to do so, as it gave me an opportunity of fully discussing sexual
selection—a subject which had always greatly interested me. This subject,
and that of the variation of our domestic productions, together with the
causes and laws of variation, inheritance, and the intercrossing of plants, are
the sole subjects which I have been able to write about in full, so as to use
all the materials which I have collected. The 'Descent of Man' took me three
years to write, but then as usual some of this time was lost by ill health, and
some was consumed by preparing new editions and other minor works. A
second and largely corrected edition of the 'Descent' appeared in 1874.
My book on the 'Expression of the Emotions in Men and Animals' was
published in the autumn of 1872. I had intended to give only a chapter on
the subject in the 'Descent of Man,' but as soon as I began to put my notes
together, I saw that it would require a separate treatise.
My first child was born on December 27th, 1839, and I at once
commenced to make notes on the first dawn of the various expressions
which he exhibited, for I felt convinced, even at this early period, that the
most complex and fine shades of expression must all have had a gradual
and natural origin. During the summer of the following year, 1840, I read
Sir C. Bell's admirable work on expression, and this greatly increased the
interest which I felt in the subject, though I could not at all agree with his
belief that various muscles had been specially created for the sake of
expression. From this time forward I occasionally attended to the subject,
both with respect to man and our domesticated animals. My book sold
largely; 5267 copies having been disposed of on the day of publication.
In the summer of 1860 I was idling and resting near Hartfield, where two
species of Drosera abound; and I noticed that numerous insects had been
entrapped by the leaves. I carried home some plants, and on giving them
insects saw the movements of the tentacles, and this made me think it

probable that the insects were caught for some special purpose. Fortunately
a crucial test occurred to me, that of placing a large number of leaves in
various nitrogenous and non-nitrogenous fluids of equal density; and as
soon as I found that the former alone excited energetic movements, it was
obvious that here was a fine new field for investigation.
During subsequent years, whenever I had leisure, I pursued my
experiments, and my book on 'Insectivorous Plants' was published in July
1875—that is, sixteen years after my first observations. The delay in this
case, as with all my other books, has been a great advantage to me; for a
man after a long interval can criticise his own work, almost as well as if it
were that of another person. The fact that a plant should secrete, when
properly excited, a fluid containing an acid and ferment, closely analogous
to the digestive fluid of an animal, was certainly a remarkable discovery.
During this autumn of 1876 I shall publish on the 'Effects of Cross and
Self-Fertilisation in the Vegetable Kingdom.' This book will form a
complement to that on the 'Fertilisation of Orchids,' in which I showed how
perfect were the means for cross-fertilisation, and here I shall show how
important are the results. I was led to make, during eleven years, the
numerous experiments recorded in this volume, by a mere accidental
observation; and indeed it required the accident to be repeated before my
attention was thoroughly aroused to the remarkable fact that seedlings of
self-fertilised parentage are inferior, even in the first generation, in height
and vigour to seedlings of cross-fertilised parentage. I hope also to
republish a revised edition of my book on Orchids, and hereafter my papers
on dimorphic and trimorphic plants, together with some additional
observations on allied points which I never have had time to arrange. My
strength will then probably be exhausted, and I shall be ready to exclaim
"Nunc dimittis."
WRITTEN MAY 1ST, 1881.
'The Effects of Cross and Self-Fertilisation' was published in the autumn
of 1876; and the results there arrived at explain, as I believe, the endless
and wonderful contrivances for the transportal of pollen from one plant to
another of the same species. I now believe, however, chiefly from the
observations of Hermann Muller, that I ought to have insisted more strongly
than I did on the many adaptations for self-fertilisation; though I was well

aware of many such adaptations. A much enlarged edition of my
'Fertilisation of Orchids' was published in 1877.
In this same year 'The Different Forms of Flowers, etc.,' appeared, and in
1880 a second edition. This book consists chiefly of the several papers on
Heterostyled flowers originally published by the Linnean Society,
corrected, with much new matter added, together with observations on
some other cases in which the same plant bears two kinds of flowers. As
before remarked, no little discovery of mine ever gave me so much pleasure
as the making out the meaning of heterostyled flowers. The results of
crossing such flowers in an illegitimate manner, I believe to be very
important, as bearing on the sterility of hybrids; although these results have
been noticed by only a few persons.
In 1879, I had a translation of Dr. Ernst Krause's 'Life of Erasmus
Darwin' published, and I added a sketch of his character and habits from
material in my possession. Many persons have been much interested by this
little life, and I am surprised that only 800 or 900 copies were sold.
In 1880 I published, with [my son] Frank's assistance, our 'Power of
Movement in Plants.' This was a tough piece of work. The book bears
somewhat the same relation to my little book on 'Climbing Plants,' which
'Cross-Fertilisation' did to the 'Fertilisation of Orchids;' for in accordance
with the principle of evolution it was impossible to account for climbing
plants having been developed in so many widely different groups unless all
kinds of plants possess some slight power of movement of an analogous
kind. This I proved to be the case; and I was further led to a rather wide
generalisation, viz. that the great and important classes of movements,
excited by light, the attraction of gravity, etc., are all modified forms of the
fundamental movement of circumnutation. It has always pleased me to exalt
plants in the scale of organised beings; and I therefore felt an especial
pleasure in showing how many and what admirably well adapted
movements the tip of a root possesses.
I have now (May 1, 1881) sent to the printers the MS. of a little book on
'The Formation of Vegetable Mould, through the Action of Worms.' This is
a subject of but small importance; and I know not whether it will interest
any readers (Between November 1881 and February 1884, 8500 copies
have been sold.), but it has interested me. It is the completion of a short

paper read before the Geological Society more than forty years ago, and has
revived old geological thoughts.
I have now mentioned all the books which I have published, and these
have been the milestones in my life, so that little remains to be said. I am
not conscious of any change in my mind during the last thirty years,
excepting in one point presently to be mentioned; nor, indeed, could any
change have been expected unless one of general deterioration. But my
father lived to his eighty-third year with his mind as lively as ever it was,
and all his faculties undimmed; and I hope that I may die before my mind
fails to a sensible extent. I think that I have become a little more skilful in
guessing right explanations and in devising experimental tests; but this may
probably be the result of mere practice, and of a larger store of knowledge. I
have as much difficulty as ever in expressing myself clearly and concisely;
and this difficulty has caused me a very great loss of time; but it has had the
compensating advantage of forcing me to think long and intently about
every sentence, and thus I have been led to see errors in reasoning and in
my own observations or those of others.
There seems to be a sort of fatality in my mind leading me to put at first
my statement or proposition in a wrong or awkward form. Formerly I used
to think about my sentences before writing them down; but for several years
I have found that it saves time to scribble in a vile hand whole pages as
quickly as I possibly can, contracting half the words; and then correct
deliberately. Sentences thus scribbled down are often better ones than I
could have written deliberately.
Having said thus much about my manner of writing, I will add that with
my large books I spend a good deal of time over the general arrangement of
the matter. I first make the rudest outline in two or three pages, and then a
larger one in several pages, a few words or one word standing for a whole
discussion or series of facts. Each one of these headings is again enlarged
and often transferred before I begin to write in extenso. As in several of my
books facts observed by others have been very extensively used, and as I
have always had several quite distinct subjects in hand at the same time, I
may mention that I keep from thirty to forty large portfolios, in cabinets
with labelled shelves, into which I can at once put a detached reference or
memorandum. I have bought many books, and at their ends I make an index
of all the facts that concern my work; or, if the book is not my own, write

out a separate abstract, and of such abstracts I have a large drawer full.
Before beginning on any subject I look to all the short indexes and make a
general and classified index, and by taking the one or more proper
portfolios I have all the information collected during my life ready for use.
I have said that in one respect my mind has changed during the last
twenty or thirty years. Up to the age of thirty, or beyond it, poetry of many
kinds, such as the works of Milton, Gray, Byron, Wordsworth, Coleridge,
and Shelley, gave me great pleasure, and even as a schoolboy I took intense
delight in Shakespeare, especially in the historical plays. I have also said
that formerly pictures gave me considerable, and music very great delight.
But now for many years I cannot endure to read a line of poetry: I have
tried lately to read Shakespeare, and found it so intolerably dull that it
nauseated me. I have also almost lost my taste for pictures or music. Music
generally sets me thinking too energetically on what I have been at work on,
instead of giving me pleasure. I retain some taste for fine scenery, but it
does not cause me the exquisite delight which it formerly did. On the other
hand, novels which are works of the imagination, though not of a very high
order, have been for years a wonderful relief and pleasure to me, and I often
bless all novelists. A surprising number have been read aloud to me, and I
like all if moderately good, and if they do not end unhappily—against
which a law ought to be passed. A novel, according to my taste, does not
come into the first class unless it contains some person whom one can
thoroughly love, and if a pretty woman all the better.
This curious and lamentable loss of the higher aesthetic tastes is all the
odder, as books on history, biographies, and travels (independently of any
scientific facts which they may contain), and essays on all sorts of subjects
interest me as much as ever they did. My mind seems to have become a
kind of machine for grinding general laws out of large collections of facts,
but why this should have caused the atrophy of that part of the brain alone,
on which the higher tastes depend, I cannot conceive. A man with a mind
more highly organised or better constituted than mine, would not, I suppose,
have thus suffered; and if I had to live my life again, I would have made a
rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week;
for perhaps the parts of my brain now atrophied would thus have been kept
active through use. The loss of these tastes is a loss of happiness, and may
possibly be injurious to the intellect, and more probably to the moral
character, by enfeebling the emotional part of our nature.

My books have sold largely in England, have been translated into many
languages, and passed through several editions in foreign countries. I have
heard it said that the success of a work abroad is the best test of its enduring
value. I doubt whether this is at all trustworthy; but judged by this standard
my name ought to last for a few years. Therefore it may be worth while to
try to analyse the mental qualities and the conditions on which my success
has depended; though I am aware that no man can do this correctly.
I have no great quickness of apprehension or wit which is so remarkable
in some clever men, for instance, Huxley. I am therefore a poor critic: a
paper or book, when first read, generally excites my admiration, and it is
only after considerable reflection that I perceive the weak points. My power
to follow a long and purely abstract train of thought is very limited; and
therefore I could never have succeeded with metaphysics or mathematics.
My memory is extensive, yet hazy: it suffices to make me cautious by
vaguely telling me that I have observed or read something opposed to the
conclusion which I am drawing, or on the other hand in favour of it; and
after a time I can generally recollect where to search for my authority. So
poor in one sense is my memory, that I have never been able to remember
for more than a few days a single date or a line of poetry.
Some of my critics have said, "Oh, he is a good observer, but he has no
power of reasoning!" I do not think that this can be true, for the 'Origin of
Species' is one long argument from the beginning to the end, and it has
convinced not a few able men. No one could have written it without having
some power of reasoning. I have a fair share of invention, and of common
sense or judgment, such as every fairly successful lawyer or doctor must
have, but not, I believe, in any higher degree.
On the favourable side of the balance, I think that I am superior to the
common run of men in noticing things which easily escape attention, and in
observing them carefully. My industry has been nearly as great as it could
have been in the observation and collection of facts. What is far more
important, my love of natural science has been steady and ardent.
This pure love has, however, been much aided by the ambition to be
esteemed by my fellow naturalists. From my early youth I have had the
strongest desire to understand or explain whatever I observed,—that is, to
group all facts under some general laws. These causes combined have given
me the patience to reflect or ponder for any number of years over any

unexplained problem. As far as I can judge, I am not apt to follow blindly
the lead of other men. I have steadily endeavoured to keep my mind free so
as to give up any hypothesis, however much beloved (and I cannot resist
forming one on every subject), as soon as facts are shown to be opposed to
it. Indeed, I have had no choice but to act in this manner, for with the
exception of the Coral Reefs, I cannot remember a single first-formed
hypothesis which had not after a time to be given up or greatly modified.
This has naturally led me to distrust greatly deductive reasoning in the
mixed sciences. On the other hand, I am not very sceptical,—a frame of
mind which I believe to be injurious to the progress of science. A good deal
of scepticism in a scientific man is advisable to avoid much loss of time, but
I have met with not a few men, who, I feel sure, have often thus been
deterred from experiment or observations, which would have proved
directly or indirectly serviceable.
In illustration, I will give the oddest case which I have known. A
gentleman (who, as I afterwards heard, is a good local botanist) wrote to me
from the Eastern counties that the seed or beans of the common field-bean
had this year everywhere grown on the wrong side of the pod. I wrote back,
asking for further information, as I did not understand what was meant; but
I did not receive any answer for a very long time. I then saw in two
newspapers, one published in Kent and the other in Yorkshire, paragraphs
stating that it was a most remarkable fact that "the beans this year had all
grown on the wrong side." So I thought there must be some foundation for
so general a statement. Accordingly, I went to my gardener, an old Kentish
man, and asked him whether he had heard anything about it, and he
answered, "Oh, no, sir, it must be a mistake, for the beans grow on the
wrong side only on leap-year, and this is not leap-year." I then asked him
how they grew in common years and how on leap-years, but soon found
that he knew absolutely nothing of how they grew at any time, but he stuck
to his belief.
After a time I heard from my first informant, who, with many apologies,
said that he should not have written to me had he not heard the statement
from several intelligent farmers; but that he had since spoken again to every
one of them, and not one knew in the least what he had himself meant. So
that here a belief—if indeed a statement with no definite idea attached to it
can be called a belief—had spread over almost the whole of England
without any vestige of evidence.

I have known in the course of my life only three intentionally falsified
statements, and one of these may have been a hoax (and there have been
several scientific hoaxes) which, however, took in an American Agricultural
Journal. It related to the formation in Holland of a new breed of oxen by the
crossing of distinct species of Bos (some of which I happen to know are
sterile together), and the author had the impudence to state that he had
corresponded with me, and that I had been deeply impressed with the
importance of his result. The article was sent to me by the editor of an
English Agricultural Journal, asking for my opinion before republishing it.
A second case was an account of several varieties, raised by the author
from several species of Primula, which had spontaneously yielded a full
complement of seed, although the parent plants had been carefully protected
from the access of insects. This account was published before I had
discovered the meaning of heterostylism, and the whole statement must
have been fraudulent, or there was neglect in excluding insects so gross as
to be scarcely credible.
The third case was more curious: Mr. Huth published in his book on
'Consanguineous Marriage' some long extracts from a Belgian author, who
stated that he had interbred rabbits in the closest manner for very many
generations, without the least injurious effects. The account was published
in a most respectable Journal, that of the Royal Society of Belgium; but I
could not avoid feeling doubts—I hardly know why, except that there were
no accidents of any kind, and my experience in breeding animals made me
think this very improbable.
So with much hesitation I wrote to Professor Van Beneden, asking him
whether the author was a trustworthy man. I soon heard in answer that the
Society had been greatly shocked by discovering that the whole account
was a fraud. (The falseness of the published statements on which Mr. Huth
relied has been pointed out by himself in a slip inserted in all the copies of
his book which then remained unsold.) The writer had been publicly
challenged in the Journal to say where he had resided and kept his large
stock of rabbits while carrying on his experiments, which must have
consumed several years, and no answer could be extracted from him.
My habits are methodical, and this has been of not a little use for my
particular line of work. Lastly, I have had ample leisure from not having to

earn my own bread. Even ill-health, though it has annihilated several years
of my life, has saved me from the distractions of society and amusement.
Therefore my success as a man of science, whatever this may have
amounted to, has been determined, as far as I can judge, by complex and
diversified mental qualities and conditions. Of these, the most important
have been—the love of science—unbounded patience in long reflecting
over any subject—industry in observing and collecting facts—and a fair
share of invention as well as of common sense. With such moderate abilities
as I possess, it is truly surprising that I should have influenced to a
considerable extent the belief of scientific men on some important points.

CHAPTER 1.III. — REMINISCENCES OF MY
FATHER'S EVERYDAY LIFE.
It is my wish in the present chapter to give some idea of my father's
everyday life. It has seemed to me that I might carry out this object in the
form of a rough sketch of a day's life at Down, interspersed with such
recollections as are called up by the record. Many of these recollections,
which have a meaning for those who knew my father, will seem colourless
or trifling to strangers. Nevertheless, I give them in the hope that they may
help to preserve that impression of his personality which remains on the
minds of those who knew and loved him—an impression at once so vivid
and so untranslatable into words.
Of his personal appearance (in these days of multiplied photographs) it is
hardly necessary to say much. He was about six feet in height, but scarcely
looked so tall, as he stooped a good deal; in later days he yielded to the
stoop; but I can remember seeing him long ago swinging his arms back to
open out his chest, and holding himself upright with a jerk. He gave one the
idea that he had been active rather than strong; his shoulders were not broad
for his height, though certainly not narrow. As a young man he must have
had much endurance, for on one of the shore excursions from the "Beagle",
when all were suffering from want of water, he was one of the two who
were better able than the rest to struggle on in search of it. As a boy he was
active, and could jump a bar placed at the height of the "Adam's apple" in
his neck.
He walked with a swinging action, using a stick heavily shod with iron,
which he struck loudly against the ground, producing as he went round the
"Sand-walk" at Down, a rhythmical click which is with all of us a very
distinct remembrance. As he returned from the midday walk, often carrying
the waterproof or cloak which had proved too hot, one could see that the
swinging step was kept up by something of an effort. Indoors his step was
often slow and laboured, and as he went upstairs in the afternoon he might
be heard mounting the stairs with a heavy footfall, as if each step were an
effort. When interested in his work he moved about quickly and easily

enough, and often in the middle of dictating he went eagerly into the hall to
get a pinch of snuff, leaving the study door open, and calling out the last
words of his sentence as he went. Indoors he sometimes used an oak stick
like a little alpenstock, and this was a sign that he felt giddiness.
In spite of his strength and activity, I think he must always have had a
clumsiness of movement. He was naturally awkward with his hands, and
was unable to draw at all well. (The figure representing the aggregated cell-
contents in 'Insectivorous Plants' was drawn by him.) This he always
regretted much, and he frequently urged the paramount necessity of a young
naturalist making himself a good draughtsman.
He could dissect well under the simple microscope, but I think it was by
dint of his great patience and carefulness. It was characteristic of him that
he thought many little bits of skilful dissection something almost
superhuman. He used to speak with admiration of the skill with which he
saw Newport dissect a humble bee, getting out the nervous system with a
few cuts of a fine pair of scissors, held, as my father used to show, with the
elbow raised, and in an attitude which certainly would render great
steadiness necessary. He used to consider cutting sections a great feat, and
in the last year of his life, with wonderful energy, took the pains to learn to
cut sections of roots and leaves. His hand was not steady enough to hold the
object to be cut, and he employed a common microtome, in which the pith
for holding the object was clamped, and the razor slid on a glass surface in
making the sections. He used to laugh at himself, and at his own skill in
section-cutting, at which he would say he was "speechless with admiration."
On the other hand, he must have had accuracy of eye and power of co-
ordinating his movements, since he was a good shot with a gun as a young
man, and as a boy was skilful in throwing. He once killed a hare sitting in
the flower-garden at Shrewsbury by throwing a marble at it, and, as a man,
he once killed a cross-beak with a stone. He was so unhappy at having
uselessly killed the cross-beak that he did not mention it for years, and then
explained that he should never have thrown at it if he had not felt sure that
his old skill had gone from him.
When walking he had a fidgetting movement with his fingers, which he
has described in one of his books as the habit of an old man. When he sat
still he often took hold of one wrist with the other hand; he sat with his legs
crossed, and from being so thin they could be crossed very far, as may be

seen in one of the photographs. He had his chair in the study and in the
drawing-room raised so as to be much higher than ordinary chairs; this was
done because sitting on a low or even an ordinary chair caused him some
discomfort. We used to laugh at him for making his tall drawing-room chair
still higher by putting footstools on it, and then neutralising the result by
resting his feet on another chair.
His beard was full and almost untrimmed, the hair being grey and white,
fine rather than coarse, and wavy or frizzled. His moustache was somewhat
disfigured by being cut short and square across. He became very bald,
having only a fringe of dark hair behind.
His face was ruddy in colour, and this perhaps made people think him
less of an invalid than he was. He wrote to Dr. Hooker (June 13, 1849),
"Every one tells me that I look quite blooming and beautiful; and most
think I am shamming, but you have never been one of those." And it must
be remembered that at this time he was miserably ill, far worse than in later
years. His eyes were bluish grey under deep overhanging brows, with thick
bushy projecting eyebrows. His high forehead was much wrinkled, but
otherwise his face was not much marked or lined. His expression showed
no signs of the continual discomfort he suffered.
When he was excited with pleasant talk his whole manner was
wonderfully bright and animated, and his face shared to the full in the
general animation. His laugh was a free and sounding peal, like that of a
man who gives himself sympathetically and with enjoyment to the person
and the thing which have amused him. He often used some sort of gesture
with his laugh, lifting up his hands or bringing one down with a slap. I
think, generally speaking, he was given to gesture, and often used his hands
in explaining anything (e.g. the fertilisation of a flower) in a way that
seemed rather an aid to himself than to the listener. He did this on occasions
when most people would illustrate their explanations by means of a rough
pencil sketch.
He wore dark clothes, of a loose and easy fit. Of late years he gave up the
tall hat even in London, and wore a soft black one in winter, and a big straw
hat in summer. His usual out-of-doors dress was the short cloak in which
Elliot and Fry's photograph represents him leaning against the pillar of the
verandah. Two peculiarities of his indoor dress were that he almost always
wore a shawl over his shoulders, and that he had great loose cloth boots

lined with fur which he could slip on over his indoor shoes. Like most
delicate people he suffered from heat as well as from chilliness; it was as if
he could not hit the balance between too hot and too cold; often a mental
cause would make him too hot, so that he would take off his coat if
anything went wrong in the course of his work.
He rose early, chiefly because he could not lie in bed, and I think he
would have liked to get up earlier than he did. He took a short turn before
breakfast, a habit which began when he went for the first time to a water-
cure establishment. This habit he kept up till almost the end of his life. I
used, as a little boy, to like going out with him, and I have a vague sense of
the red of the winter sunrise, and a recollection of the pleasant
companionship, and a certain honour and glory in it. He used to delight me
as a boy by telling me how, in still earlier walks, on dark winter mornings,
he had once or twice met foxes trotting home at the dawning.
After breakfasting alone about 7.45, he went to work at once, considering
the 1 1/2 hour between 8 and 9.30 one of his best working times. At 9.30 he
came into the drawing-room for his letters—rejoicing if the post was a light
one and being sometimes much worried if it was not. He would then hear
any family letters read aloud as he lay on the sofa.
The reading aloud, which also included part of a novel, lasted till about
half-past ten, when he went back to work till twelve or a quarter past. By
this time he considered his day's work over, and would often say, in a
satisfied voice, "I'VE done a good day's work." He then went out of doors
whether it was wet or fine; Polly, his white terrier, went with him in fair
weather, but in rain she refused or might be seen hesitating in the verandah,
with a mixed expression of disgust and shame at her own want of courage;
generally, however, her conscience carried the day, and as soon as he was
evidently gone she could not bear to stay behind.
My father was always fond of dogs, and as a young man had the power
of stealing away the affections of his sister's pets; at Cambridge, he won the
love of his cousin W.D. Fox's dog, and this may perhaps have been the little
beast which used to creep down inside his bed and sleep at the foot every
night. My father had a surly dog, who was devoted to him, but unfriendly to
every one else, and when he came back from the "Beagle" voyage, the dog
remembered him, but in a curious way, which my father was fond of telling.
He went into the yard and shouted in his old manner; the dog rushed out

and set off with him on his walk, showing no more emotion or excitement
than if the same thing had happened the day before, instead of five years
ago. This story is made use of in the 'Descent of Man,' 2nd Edition, page 74.
In my memory there were only two dogs which had much connection
with my father. One was a large black and white half-bred retriever, called
Bob, to which we, as children, were much devoted. He was the dog of
whom the story of the "hot-house face" is told in the 'Expression of the
Emotions.'
But the dog most closely associated with my father was the above-
mentioned Polly, a rough, white fox-terrier. She was a sharp-witted,
affectionate dog; when her master was going away on a journey, she always
discovered the fact by the signs of packing going on in the study, and
became low-spirited accordingly. She began, too, to be excited by seeing
the study prepared for his return home. She was a cunning little creature,
and used to tremble or put on an air of misery when my father passed, while
she was waiting for dinner, just as if she knew that he would say (as he did
often say) that "she was famishing." My father used to make her catch
biscuits off her nose, and had an affectionate and mock-solemn way of
explaining to her before-hand that she must "be a very good girl." She had a
mark on her back where she had been burnt, and where the hair had re-
grown red instead of white, and my father used to commend her for this tuft
of hair as being in accordance with his theory of pangenesis; her father had
been a red bull-terrier, thus the red hair appearing after the burn showed the
presence of latent red gemmules. He was delightfully tender to Polly, and
never showed any impatience at the attentions she required, such as to be let
in at the door, or out at the verandah window, to bark at "naughty people," a
self-imposed duty she much enjoyed. She died, or rather had to be killed, a
few days after his death. (The basket in which she usually lay curled up
near the fire in his study is faithfully represented in Mr. Parson's drawing,
"The Study at Down.")
My father's midday walk generally began by a call at the greenhouse,
where he looked at any germinating seeds or experimental plants which
required a casual examination, but he hardly ever did any serious observing
at this time. Then he went on for his constitutional—either round the "Sand-
walk," or outside his own grounds in the immediate neighbourhood of the
house. The "Sand-walk" was a narrow strip of land 1 1/2 acres in extent,

with a gravel-walk round it. On one side of it was a broad old shaw with
fair-sized oaks in it, which made a sheltered shady walk; the other side was
separated from a neighbouring grass field by a low quickset hedge, over
which you could look at what view there was, a quiet little valley losing
itself in the upland country towards the edge of the Westerham hill, with
hazel coppice and larch wood, the remnants of what was once a large wood,
stretching away to the Westerham road. I have heard my father say that the
charm of this simple little valley helped to make him settle at Down.
The Sand-walk was planted by my father with a variety of trees, such as
hazel, alder, lime, hornbeam, birch, privet, and dogwood, and with a long
line of hollies all down the exposed side. In earlier times he took a certain
number of turns every day, and used to count them by means of a heap of
flints, one of which he kicked out on the path each time he passed. Of late
years I think he did not keep to any fixed number of turns, but took as many
as he felt strength for. The Sand-walk was our play-ground as children, and
here we continually saw my father as he walked round. He liked to see what
we were doing, and was ever ready to sympathize in any fun that was going
on. It is curious to think how, with regard to the Sand-walk in connection
with my father, my earliest recollections coincide with my latest; it shows
how unvarying his habits have been.
Sometimes when alone he stood still or walked stealthily to observe birds
or beasts. It was on one of these occasions that some young squirrels ran up
his back and legs, while their mother barked at them in an agony from the
tree. He always found birds' nests even up to the last years of his life, and
we, as children, considered that he had a special genius in this direction. In
his quiet prowls he came across the less common birds, but I fancy he used
to conceal it from me, as a little boy, because he observed the agony of
mind which I endured at not having seen the siskin or goldfinch, or
whatever it might have been. He used to tell us how, when he was creeping
noiselessly along in the "Big-Woods," he came upon a fox asleep in the
daytime, which was so much astonished that it took a good stare at him
before it ran off. A Spitz dog which accompanied him showed no sign of
excitement at the fox, and he used to end the story by wondering how the
dog could have been so faint-hearted.
Another favourite place was "Orchis Bank," above the quiet Cudham
valley, where fly- and musk-orchis grew among the junipers, and

Cephalanthera and Neottia under the beech boughs; the little wood
"Hangrove," just above this, he was also fond of, and here I remember his
collecting grasses, when he took a fancy to make out the names of all the
common kinds. He was fond of quoting the saying of one of his little boys,
who, having found a grass that his father had not seen before, had it laid by
his own plate during dinner, remarking, "I are an extraordinary grass-
finder!"
My father much enjoyed wandering slowly in the garden with my mother
or some of his children, or making one of a party, sitting out on a bench on
the lawn; he generally sat, however, on the grass, and I remember him often
lying under one of the big lime-trees, with his head on the green mound at
its foot. In dry summer weather, when we often sat out, the big fly-wheel of
the well was commonly heard spinning round, and so the sound became
associated with those pleasant days. He used to like to watch us playing at
lawn-tennis, and often knocked up a stray ball for us with the curved handle
of his stick. === Though he took no personal share in the management of
the garden, he had great delight in the beauty of flowers—for instance, in
the mass of Azaleas which generally stood in the drawing-room. I think he
sometimes fused together his admiration of the structure of a flower and of
its intrinsic beauty; for instance, in the case of the big pendulous pink and
white flowers of Dielytra. In the same way he had an affection, half-artistic,
half-botanical, for the little blue Lobelia. In admiring flowers, he would
often laugh at the dingy high-art colours, and contrast them with the bright
tints of nature. I used to like to hear him admire the beauty of a flower; it
was a kind of gratitude to the flower itself, and a personal love for its
delicate form and colour. I seem to remember him gently touching a flower
he delighted in; it was the same simple admiration that a child might have.
He could not help personifying natural things. This feeling came out in
abuse as well as in praise—e.g. of some seedlings—"The little beggars are
doing just what I don't want them to." He would speak in a half-provoked,
half-admiring way of the ingenuity of a Mimosa leaf in screwing itself out
of a basin of water in which he had tried to fix it. One must see the same
spirit in his way of speaking of Sundew, earth-worms, etc. (Cf. Leslie
Stephen's 'Swift,' 1882, page 200, where Swift's inspection of the manners
and customs of servants are compared to my father's observations on
worms, "The difference is," says Mr. Stephen, "that Darwin had none but
kindly feelings for worms.")

Within my memory, his only outdoor recreation, besides walking, was
riding, which he took to on the recommendation of Dr. Bence Jones, and we
had the luck to find for him the easiest and quietest cob in the world, named
"Tommy." He enjoyed these rides extremely, and devised a number of short
rounds which brought him home in time for lunch. Our country is good for
this purpose, owing to the number of small valleys which give a variety to
what in a flat country would be a dull loop of road. He was not, I think,
naturally fond of horses, nor had he a high opinion of their intelligence, and
Tommy was often laughed at for the alarm he showed at passing and
repassing the same heap of hedge-clippings as he went round the field. I
think he used to feel surprised at himself, when he remembered how bold a
rider he had been, and how utterly old age and bad health had taken away
his nerve. He would say that riding prevented him thinking much more
effectually than walking—that having to attend to the horse gave him
occupation sufficient to prevent any really hard thinking. And the change of
scene which it gave him was good for spirits and health.
Unluckily, Tommy one day fell heavily with him on Keston common.
This, and an accident with another horse, upset his nerves, and he was
advised to give up riding.
If I go beyond my own experience, and recall what I have heard him say
of his love for sport, etc., I can think of a good deal, but much of it would
be a repetition of what is contained in his 'Recollections.' At school he was
fond of bat-fives, and this was the only game at which he was skilful. He
was fond of his gun as quite a boy, and became a good shot; he used to tell
how in South America he killed twenty-three snipe in twenty-four shots. In
telling the story he was careful to add that he thought they were not quite so
wild as English snipe.
Luncheon at Down came after his midday walk; and here I may say a
word or two about his meals generally. He had a boy-like love of sweets,
unluckily for himself, since he was constantly forbidden to take them. He
was not particularly successful in keeping the "vows," as he called them,
which he made against eating sweets, and never considered them binding
unless he made them aloud.
He drank very little wine, but enjoyed, and was revived by, the little he
did drink. He had a horror of drinking, and constantly warned his boys that
any one might be led into drinking too much. I remember, in my innocence

as a small boy, asking him if he had been ever tipsy; and he answered very
gravely that he was ashamed to say he had once drunk too much at
Cambridge. I was much impressed, so that I know now the place where the
question was asked.
After his lunch, he read the newspaper, lying on the sofa in the drawing-
room. I think the paper was the only non-scientific matter which he read to
himself. Everything else, novels, travels, history, was read aloud to him. He
took so wide an interest in life, that there was much to occupy him in
newspapers, though he laughed at the wordiness of the debates; reading
them, I think, only in abstract. His interest in politics was considerable, but
his opinion on these matters was formed rather by the way than with any
serious amount of thought.
After he read his paper, came his time for writing letters. These, as well
as the MS. of his books, were written by him as he sat in a huge horse-hair
chair by the fire, his paper supported on a board resting on the arms of the
chair. When he had many or long letters to write, he would dictate them
from a rough copy; these rough copies were written on the backs of
manuscript or of proof-sheets, and were almost illegible, sometimes even to
himself. He made a rule of keeping ALL letters that he received; this was a
habit which he learnt from his father, and which he said had been of great
use to him.
He received many letters from foolish, unscrupulous people, and all of
these received replies. He used to say that if he did not answer them, he had
it on his conscience afterwards, and no doubt it was in great measure the
courtesy with which he answered every one, which produced the universal
and widespread sense of his kindness of nature, which was so evident on his
death.
He was considerate to his correspondents in other and lesser things, for
instance when dictating a letter to a foreigner he hardly ever failed to say to
me, "You'd better try and write well, as it's to a foreigner." His letters were
generally written on the assumption that they would be carelessly read;
thus, when he was dictating, he was careful to tell me to make an important
clause begin with an obvious paragraph "to catch his eye," as he often said.
How much he thought of the trouble he gave others by asking questions,
will be well enough shown by his letters. It is difficult to say anything about
the general tone of his letters, they will speak for themselves. The

unvarying courtesy of them is very striking. I had a proof of this quality in
the feeling with which Mr. Hacon, his solicitor, regarded him. He had never
seen my father, yet had a sincere feeling of friendship for him, and spoke
especially of his letters as being such as a man seldom receives in the way
of business:—"Everything I did was right, and everything was profusely
thanked for."
He had a printed form to be used in replying to troublesome
correspondents, but he hardly ever used it; I suppose he never found an
occasion that seemed exactly suitable. I remember an occasion on which it
might have been used with advantage. He received a letter from a stranger
stating that the writer had undertaken to uphold Evolution at a debating
society, and that being a busy young man, without time for reading, he
wished to have a sketch of my father's views. Even this wonderful young
man got a civil answer, though I think he did not get much material for his
speech. His rule was to thank the donors of books, but not of pamphlets. He
sometimes expressed surprise that so few people thanked him for his books
which he gave away liberally; the letters that he did receive gave him much
pleasure, because he habitually formed so humble an estimate of the value
of all his works, that he was generally surprised at the interest which they
excited.
In money and business matters he was remarkably careful and exact. He
kept accounts with great care, classifying them, and balancing at the end of
the year like a merchant. I remember the quick way in which he would
reach out for his account-book to enter each cheque paid, as though he were
in a hurry to get it entered before he had forgotten it. His father must have
allowed him to believe that he would be poorer than he really was, for some
of the difficulty experienced in finding a house in the country must have
arisen from the modest sum he felt prepared to give. Yet he knew, of course,
that he would be in easy circumstances, for in his 'Recollections' he
mentions this as one of the reasons for his not having worked at medicine
with so much zeal as he would have done if he had been obliged to gain his
living.
He had a pet economy in paper, but it was rather a hobby than a real
economy. All the blank sheets of letters received were kept in a portfolio to
be used in making notes; it was his respect for paper that made him write so
much on the backs of his old MS., and in this way, unfortunately, he

destroyed large parts of the original MS. of his books. His feeling about
paper extended to waste paper, and he objected, half in fun, to the careless
custom of throwing a spill into the fire after it had been used for lighting a
candle.
My father was wonderfully liberal and generous to all his children in the
matter of money, and I have special cause to remember his kindness when I
think of the way in which he paid some Cambridge debts of mine—making
it almost seem a virtue in me to have told him of them. In his later years he
had the kind and generous plan of dividing his surplus at the year's end
among his children.
He had a great respect for pure business capacity, and often spoke with
admiration of a relative who had doubled his fortune. And of himself would
often say in fun that what he really WAS proud of was the money he had
saved. He also felt satisfaction in the money he made by his books. His
anxiety to save came in a great measure from his fears that his children
would not have health enough to earn their own livings, a foreboding which
fairly haunted him for many years. And I have a dim recollection of his
saying, "Thank God, you'll have bread and cheese," when I was so young
that I was rather inclined to take it literally.
When letters were finished, about three in the afternoon, he rested in his
bedroom, lying on the sofa and smoking a cigarette, and listening to a novel
or other book not scientific. He only smoked when resting, whereas snuff
was a stimulant, and was taken during working hours. He took snuff for
many years of his life, having learnt the habit at Edinburgh as a student. He
had a nice silver snuff-box given him by Mrs. Wedgwood of Maer, which
he valued much—but he rarely carried it, because it tempted him to take too
many pinches. In one of his early letters he speaks of having given up snuff
for a month, and describes himself as feeling "most lethargic, stupid, and
melancholy." Our former neighbour and clergyman, Mr. Brodie Innes, tells
me that at one time my father made a resolve not to take snuff except away
from home, "a most satisfactory arrangement for me," he adds, "as I kept a
box in my study to which there was access from the garden without
summoning servants, and I had more frequently, than might have been
otherwise the case, the privilege of a few minutes' conversation with my
dear friend." He generally took snuff from a jar on the hall table, because
having to go this distance for a pinch was a slight check; the clink of the lid

of the snuff jar was a very familiar sound. Sometimes when he was in the
drawing-room, it would occur to him that the study fire must be burning
low, and when some of us offered to see after it, it would turn out that he
also wished to get a pinch of snuff.
Smoking he only took to permanently of late years, though on his
Pampas rides he learned to smoke with the Gauchos, and I have heard him
speak of the great comfort of a cup of mate and a cigarette when he halted
after a long ride and was unable to get food for some time.
The reading aloud often sent him to sleep, and he used to regret losing
parts of a novel, for my mother went steadily on lest the cessation of the
sound might wake him. He came down at four o'clock to dress for his walk,
and he was so regular that one might be quite certain it was within a few
minutes of four when his descending steps were heard.
From about half-past four to half-past five he worked; then he came to
the drawing-room, and was idle till it was time (about six) to go up for
another rest with novel-reading and a cigarette.
Latterly he gave up late dinner, and had a simple tea at half-past seven
(while we had dinner), with an egg or a small piece of meat. After dinner he
never stayed in the room, and used to apologise by saying he was an old
woman, who must be allowed to leave with the ladies. This was one of the
many signs and results of his constant weakness and ill-health. Half an hour
more or less conversation would make to him the difference of a sleepless
night, and of the loss perhaps of half the next day's work.
After dinner he played backgammon with my mother, two games being
played every night; for many years a score of the games which each won
was kept, and in this score he took the greatest interest. He became
extremely animated over these games, bitterly lamenting his bad luck and
exploding with exaggerated mock-anger at my mother's good fortune.
After backgammon he read some scientific book to himself, either in the
drawing-room, or, if much talking was going on, in the study.
In the evening, that is, after he had read as much as his strength would
allow, and before the reading aloud began, he would often lie on the sofa
and listen to my mother playing the piano. He had not a good ear, yet in
spite of this he had a true love of fine music. He used to lament that his
enjoyment of music had become dulled with age, yet within my
recollection, his love of a good tune was strong. I never heard him hum

more than one tune, the Welsh song "Ar hyd y nos," which he went through
correctly; he used also, I believe, to hum a little Otaheitan song. From his
want of ear he was unable to recognize a tune when he heard it again, but he
remained constant to what he liked, and would often say, when an old
favourite was played, "That's a fine thing; what is it?" He liked especially
parts of Beethoven's symphonies, and bits of Handel. He made a little list of
all the pieces which he especially liked among those which my mother
played—giving in a few words the impression that each one made on him—
but these notes are unfortunately lost. He was sensitive to differences in
style, and enjoyed the late Mrs. Vernon Lushington's playing intensely, and
in June 1881, when Hans Richter paid a visit at Down, he was roused to
strong enthusiasm by his magnificent performance on the piano. He much
enjoyed good singing, and was moved almost to tears by grand or pathetic
songs. His niece Lady Farrer's singing of Sullivan's "Will he come" was a
never-failing enjoyment to him. He was humble in the extreme about his
own taste, and correspondingly pleased when he found that others agreed
with him.
He became much tired in the evenings, especially of late years, when he
left the drawing-room about ten, going to bed at half-past ten. His nights
were generally bad, and he often lay awake or sat up in bed for hours,
suffering much discomfort. He was troubled at night by the activity of his
thoughts, and would become exhausted by his mind working at some
problem which he would willingly have dismissed. At night, too, anything
which had vexed or troubled him in the day would haunt him, and I think it
was then that he suffered if he had not answered some troublesome person's
letter.
The regular readings, which I have mentioned, continued for so many
years, enabled him to get through a great deal of lighter kinds of literature.
He was extremely fond of novels, and I remember well the way in which he
would anticipate the pleasure of having a novel read to him, as he lay down,
or lighted his cigarette. He took a vivid interest both in plot and characters,
and would on no account know beforehand, how a story finished; he
considered looking at the end of a novel as a feminine vice. He could not
enjoy any story with a tragical end, for this reason he did not keenly
appreciate George Eliot, though he often spoke warmly in praise of 'Silas
Marner.' Walter Scott, Miss Austen, and Mrs. Gaskell, were read and re-read
till they could be read no more. He had two or three books in hand at the

same time—a novel and perhaps a biography and a book of travels. He did
not often read out-of-the-way or old standard books, but generally kept to
the books of the day obtained from a circulating library.
I do not think that his literary tastes and opinions were on a level with the
rest of his mind. He himself, though he was clear as to what he thought
good, considered that in matters of literary taste, he was quite outside the
pale, and often spoke of what those within it liked or disliked, as if they
formed a class to which he had no claim to belong.
In all matters of art he was inclined to laugh at professed critics, and say
that their opinions were formed by fashion. Thus in painting, he would say
how in his day every one admired masters who are now neglected. His love
of pictures as a young man is almost a proof that he must have had an
appreciation of a portrait as a work of art, not as a likeness. Yet he often
talked laughingly of the small worth of portraits, and said that a photograph
was worth any number of pictures, as if he were blind to the artistic quality
in a painted portrait. But this was generally said in his attempts to persuade
us to give up the idea of having his portrait painted, an operation very
irksome to him.
This way of looking at himself as an ignoramus in all matters of art, was
strengthened by the absence of pretence, which was part of his character.
With regard to questions of taste, as well as to more serious things, he
always had the courage of his opinions. I remember, however, an instance
that sounds like a contradiction to this: when he was looking at the Turners
in Mr. Ruskin's bedroom, he did not confess, as he did afterwards, that he
could make out absolutely nothing of what Mr. Ruskin saw in them. But
this little pretence was not for his own sake, but for the sake of courtesy to
his host. He was pleased and amused when subsequently Mr. Ruskin
brought him some photographs of pictures (I think Vandyke portraits), and
courteously seemed to value my father's opinion about them.
Much of his scientific reading was in German, and this was a great labour
to him; in reading a book after him, I was often struck at seeing, from the
pencil-marks made each day where he left off, how little he could read at a
time. He used to call German the "Verdammte," pronounced as if in
English. He was especially indignant with Germans, because he was
convinced that they could write simply if they chose, and often praised Dr.
F. Hildebrand for writing German which was as clear as French. He

sometimes gave a German sentence to a friend, a patriotic German lady, and
used to laugh at her if she did not translate it fluently. He himself learnt
German simply by hammering away with a dictionary; he would say that
his only way was to read a sentence a great many times over, and at last the
meaning occurred to him. When he began German long ago, he boasted of
the fact (as he used to tell) to Sir J. Hooker, who replied, "Ah, my dear
fellow, that's nothing; I've begun it many times."
In spite of his want of grammar, he managed to get on wonderfully with
German, and the sentences that he failed to make out were generally really
difficult ones. He never attempted to speak German correctly, but
pronounced the words as though they were English; and this made it not a
little difficult to help him, when he read out a German sentence and asked
for a translation. He certainly had a bad ear for vocal sounds, so that he
found it impossible to perceive small differences in pronunciation.
His wide interest in branches of science that were not specially his own
was remarkable. In the biological sciences his doctrines make themselves
felt so widely that there was something interesting to him in most
departments of it. He read a good deal of many quite special works, and
large parts of text books, such as Huxley's 'Invertebrate Anatomy,' or such a
book as Balfour's 'Embryology,' where the detail, at any rate, was not
specially in his own line. And in the case of elaborate books of the
monograph type, though he did not make a study of them, yet he felt the
strongest admiration for them.
In the non-biological sciences he felt keen sympathy with work of which
he could not really judge. For instance, he used to read nearly the whole of
'Nature,' though so much of it deals with mathematics and physics. I have
often heard him say that he got a kind of satisfaction in reading articles
which (according to himself) he could not understand. I wish I could
reproduce the manner in which he would laugh at himself for it.
It was remarkable, too, how he kept up his interest in subjects at which
he had formerly worked. This was strikingly the case with geology. In one
of his letters to Mr. Judd he begs him to pay him a visit, saying that since
Lyell's death he hardly ever gets a geological talk. His observations, made
only a few years before his death, on the upright pebbles in the drift at
Southampton, and discussed in a letter to Mr. Geikie, afford another
instance. Again, in the letters to Dr. Dohrn, he shows how his interest in

barnacles remained alive. I think it was all due to the vitality and
persistence of his mind—a quality I have heard him speak of as if he felt
that he was strongly gifted in that respect. Not that he used any such phrases
as these about himself, but he would say that he had the power of keeping a
subject or question more or less before him for a great many years. The
extent to which he possessed this power appears when we consider the
number of different problems which he solved, and the early period at
which some of them began to occupy him.
It was a sure sign that he was not well when he was idle at any times
other than his regular resting hours; for, as long as he remained moderately
well, there was no break in the regularity of his life. Week-days and
Sundays passed by alike, each with their stated intervals of work and rest. It
is almost impossible, except for those who watched his daily life, to realise
how essential to his well-being was the regular routine that I have sketched:
and with what pain and difficulty anything beyond it was attempted. Any
public appearance, even of the most modest kind, was an effort to him. In
1871 he went to the little village church for the wedding of his elder
daughter, but he could hardly bear the fatigue of being present through the
short service. The same may be said of the few other occasions on which he
was present at similar ceremonies.
I remember him many years ago at a christening; a memory which has
remained with me, because to us children it seemed an extraordinary and
abnormal occurrence. I remember his look most distinctly at his brother
Erasmus's funeral, as he stood in the scattering of snow, wrapped in a long
black funeral cloak, with a grave look of sad reverie.
When, after an interval of many years, he again attended a meeting of the
Linnean Society, it was felt to be, and was in fact, a serious undertaking;
one not to be determined on without much sinking of heart, and hardly to be
carried into effect without paying a penalty of subsequent suffering. In the
same way a breakfast-party at Sir James Paget's, with some of the
distinguished visitors to the Medical Congress (1881), was to him a severe
exertion.
The early morning was the only time at which he could make any effort
of the kind, with comparative impunity. Thus it came about that the visits he
paid to his scientific friends in London were by preference made as early as
ten in the morning. For the same reason he started on his journeys by the

earliest possible train, and used to arrive at the houses of relatives in
London when they were beginning their day.
He kept an accurate journal of the days on which he worked and those on
which his ill health prevented him from working, so that it would be
possible to tell how many were idle days in any given year. In this journal—
a little yellow Lett's Diary, which lay open on his mantel-piece, piled on the
diaries of previous years—he also entered the day on which he started for a
holiday and that of his return.
The most frequent holidays were visits of a week to London, either to his
brother's house (6 Queen Anne Street), or to his daughter's (4 Bryanston
Street). He was generally persuaded by my mother to take these short
holidays, when it became clear from the frequency of "bad days," or from
the swimming of his head, that he was being overworked. He went
unwillingly, and tried to drive hard bargains, stipulating, for instance, that
he should come home in five days instead of six. Even if he were leaving
home for no more than a week, the packing had to be begun early on the
previous day, and the chief part of it he would do himself. The discomfort
of a journey to him was, at least latterly, chiefly in the anticipation, and in
the miserable sinking feeling from which he suffered immediately before
the start; even a fairly long journey, such as that to Coniston, tired him
wonderfully little, considering how much an invalid he was; and he
certainly enjoyed it in an almost boyish way, and to a curious extent.
Although, as he has said, some of his aesthetic tastes had suffered a
gradual decay, his love of scenery remained fresh and strong. Every walk at
Coniston was a fresh delight, and he was never tired of praising the beauty
of the broken hilly country at the head of the lake.
One of the happy memories of this time [1879] is that of a delightful visit
to Grasmere: "The perfect day," my sister writes, "and my father's vivid
enjoyment and flow of spirits, form a picture in my mind that I like to think
of. He could hardly sit still in the carriage for turning round and getting up
to admire the view from each fresh point, and even in returning he was full
of the beauty of Rydal Water, though he would not allow that Grasmere at
all equalled his beloved Coniston."
Besides these longer holidays, there were shorter visits to various
relatives—to his brother-in-law's house, close to Leith Hill, and to his son
near Southampton. He always particularly enjoyed rambling over rough

open country, such as the commons near Leith Hill and Southampton, the
heath-covered wastes of Ashdown Forest, or the delightful "Rough" near
the house of his friend Sir Thomas Farrer. He never was quite idle even on
these holidays, and found things to observe. At Hartfield he watched
Drosera catching insects, etc.; at Torquay he observed the fertilisation of an
orchid (Spiranthes), and also made out the relations of the sexes in Thyme.
He was always rejoiced to get home after his holidays; he used greatly to
enjoy the welcome he got from his dog Polly, who would get wild with
excitement, panting, squeaking, rushing round the room, and jumping on
and off the chairs; and he used to stoop down, pressing her face to his,
letting her lick him, and speaking to her with a peculiarly tender, caressing
voice.
My father had the power of giving to these summer holidays a charm
which was strongly felt by all his family. The pressure of his work at home
kept him at the utmost stretch of his powers of endurance, and when
released from it, he entered on a holiday with a youthfulness of enjoyment
that made his companionship delightful; we felt that we saw more of him in
a week's holiday than in a month at home.
Some of these absences from home, however, had a depressing effect on
him; when he had been previously much overworked it seemed as though
the absence of the customary strain allowed him to fall into a peculiar
condition of miserable health.
Besides the holidays which I have mentioned, there were his visits to
water-cure establishments. In 1849, when very ill, suffering from constant
sickness, he was urged by a friend to try the water-cure, and at last agreed to
go to Dr. Gully's establishment at Malvern. His letters to Mr. Fox show how
much good the treatment did him; he seems to have thought that he had
found a cure for his troubles, but, like all other remedies, it had only a
transient effect on him. However, he found it, at first, so good for him that
when he came home he built himself a douche-bath, and the butler learnt to
be his bathman.
He paid many visits to Moor Park, Dr. Lane's water-cure establishment in
Surrey, not far from Aldershot. These visits were pleasant ones, and he
always looked back to them with pleasure. Dr. Lane has given his
recollections of my father in Dr. Richardson's 'Lecture on Charles Darwin,'
October 22, 1882, from which I quote:—

"In a public institution like mine, he was surrounded, of course, by
multifarious types of character, by persons of both sexes, mostly very
different from himself—commonplace people, in short, as the majority are
everywhere, but like to him at least in this, that they were fellow-creatures
and fellow-patients. And never was any one more genial, more considerate,
more friendly, more altogether charming than he universally was."...He
"never aimed, as too often happens with good talkers, at monopolising the
conversation. It was his pleasure rather to give and take, and he was as good
a listener as a speaker. He never preached nor prosed, but his talk, whether
grave or gay (and it was each by turns), was full of life and salt—racy,
bright, and animated."
Some idea of his relation to his family and his friends may be gathered
from what has gone before; it would be impossible to attempt a complete
account of these relationships, but a slightly fuller outline may not be out of
place. Of his married life I cannot speak, save in the briefest manner. In his
relationship towards my mother, his tender and sympathetic nature was
shown in its most beautiful aspect. In her presence he found his happiness,
and through her, his life,—which might have been overshadowed by gloom,
—became one of content and quiet gladness.
The 'Expression of the Emotions' shows how closely he watched his
children; it was characteristic of him that (as I have heard him tell),
although he was so anxious to observe accurately the expression of a crying
child, his sympathy with the grief spoiled his observation. His note-book, in
which are recorded sayings of his young children, shows his pleasure in
them. He seemed to retain a sort of regretful memory of the childhoods
which had faded away, and thus he wrote in his 'Recollections':—"When
you were very young it was my delight to play with you all, and I think with
a sigh that such days can never return."
I may quote, as showing the tenderness of his nature, some sentences
from an account of his little daughter Annie, written a few days after her
death:—
"Our poor child, Annie, was born in Gower Street, on March 2, 1841, and
expired at Malvern at mid-day on the 23rd of April, 1851.
"I write these few pages, as I think in after years, if we live, the
impressions now put down will recall more vividly her chief characteristics.
From whatever point I look back at her, the main feature in her disposition

which at once rises before me, is her buoyant joyousness, tempered by two
other characteristics, namely, her sensitiveness, which might easily have
been overlooked by a stranger, and her strong affection. Her joyousness and
animal spirits radiated from her whole countenance, and rendered every
movement elastic and full of life and vigour. It was delightful and cheerful
to behold her. Her dear face now rises before me, as she used sometimes to
come running downstairs with a stolen pinch of snuff for me her whole
form radiant with the pleasure of giving pleasure. Even when playing with
her cousins, when her joyousness almost passed into boisterousness, a
single glance of my eye, not of displeasure (for I thank God I hardly ever
cast one on her), but of want of sympathy, would for some minutes alter her
whole countenance.
"The other point in her character, which made her joyousness and spirits
so delightful, was her strong affection, which was of a most clinging,
fondling nature. When quite a baby, this showed itself in never being easy
without touching her mother, when in bed with her; and quite lately she
would, when poorly, fondle for any length of time one of her mother's arms.
When very unwell, her mother lying down beside her seemed to soothe her
in a manner quite different from what it would have done to any of our
other children. So, again, she would at almost any time spend half an hour
in arranging my hair, 'making it,' as she called it, 'beautiful,' or in
smoothing, the poor dear darling, my collar or cuffs—in short, in fondling
me.
"Beside her joyousness thus tempered, she was in her manners
remarkably cordial, frank, open, straightforward, natural, and without any
shade of reserve. Her whole mind was pure and transparent. One felt one
knew her thoroughly and could trust her. I always thought, that come what
might, we should have had in our old age at least one loving soul which
nothing could have changed. All her movements were vigorous, active, and
usually graceful. When going round the Sand-walk with me, although I
walked fast, yet she often used to go before, pirouetting in the most elegant
way, her dear face bright all the time with the sweetest smiles. Occasionally
she had a pretty coquettish manner towards me, the memory of which is
charming. She often used exaggerated language, and when I quizzed her by
exaggerating what she had said, how clearly can I now see the little toss of
the head, and exclamation of 'Oh, papa what a shame of you!' In the last
short illness her conduct in simple truth was angelic. She never once

complained; never became fretful; was ever considerate of others, and was
thankful in the most gentle, pathetic manner for everything done for her.
When so exhausted that she could hardly speak, she praised everything that
was given her, and said some tea 'was beautifully good.' When I gave her
some water she said, 'I quite thank you;' and these, I believe, were the last
precious words ever addressed by her dear lips to me.
"We have lost the joy of the household, and the solace of our old age. She
must have known how we loved her. Oh, that she could now know how
deeply, how tenderly, we do still and shall ever love her dear joyous face!
Blessings on her!
"April 30, 1851."
We his children all took especial pleasure in the games he played at with
us, but I do not think he romped much with us; I suppose his health
prevented any rough play. He used sometimes to tell us stories, which were
considered especially delightful, partly on account of their rarity.
The way he brought us up is shown by a little story about my brother
Leonard, which my father was fond of telling. He came into the drawing-
room and found Leonard dancing about on the sofa, which was forbidden,
for the sake of the springs, and said, "Oh, Lenny, Lenny, that's against all
rules," and received for answer, "Then I think you'd better go out of the
room." I do not believe he ever spoke an angry word to any of his children
in his life; but I am certain that it never entered our heads to disobey him. I
well remember one occasion when my father reproved me for a piece of
carelessness; and I can still recall the feeling of depression which came over
me, and the care which he took to disperse it by speaking to me soon
afterwards with especial kindness. He kept up his delightful, affectionate
manner towards us all his life. I sometimes wonder that he could do so, with
such an undemonstrative race as we are; but I hope he knew how much we
delighted in his loving words and manner. How often, when a man, I have
wished when my father was behind my chair, that he would pass his hand
over my hair, as he used to do when I was a boy. He allowed his grown-up
children to laugh with and at him, and was, generally speaking, on terms of
perfect equality with us.
He was always full of interest about each one's plans or successes. We
used to laugh at him, and say he would not believe in his sons, because, for
instance, he would be a little doubtful about their taking some bit of work

for which he did not feel sure that they had knowledge enough. On the other
hand, he was only too much inclined to take a favourable view of our work.
When I thought he had set too high a value on anything that I had done, he
used to be indignant and inclined to explode in mock anger. His doubts
were part of his humility concerning what was in any way connected with
himself; his too favourable view of our work was due to his sympathetic
nature, which made him lenient to every one.
He kept up towards his children his delightful manner of expressing his
thanks; and I never wrote a letter, or read a page aloud to him, without
receiving a few kind words of recognition. His love and goodness towards
his little grandson Bernard were great; and he often spoke of the pleasure it
was to him to see "his little face opposite to him" at luncheon. He and
Bernard used to compare their tastes; e.g., in liking brown sugar better than
white, etc.; the result being, "We always agree, don't we?"
My sister writes:—
"My first remembrances of my father are of the delights of his playing
with us. He was passionately attached to his own children, although he was
not an indiscriminate child-lover. To all of us he was the most delightful
play-fellow, and the most perfect sympathiser. Indeed it is impossible
adequately to describe how delightful a relation his was to his family,
whether as children or in their later life.
"It is a proof of the terms on which we were, and also of how much he
was valued as a play-fellow, that one of his sons when about four years old
tried to bribe him with sixpence to come and play in working hours. We all
knew the sacredness of working-time, but that any one should resist
sixpence seemed an impossibility.
"He must have been the most patient and delightful of nurses. I
remember the haven of peace and comfort it seemed to me when I was
unwell, to be tucked up on the study sofa, idly considering the old
geological map hung on the wall. This must have been in his working
hours, for I always picture him sitting in the horsehair arm-chair by the
corner of the fire.
"Another mark of his unbounded patience was the way in which we were
suffered to make raids into the study when we had an absolute need of
sticking-plaster, string, pins, scissors, stamps, foot-rule, or hammer. These
and other such necessaries were always to be found in the study, and it was

the only place where this was a certainty. We used to feel it wrong to go in
during work-time; still, when the necessity was great we did so. I remember
his patient look when he said once, 'Don't you think you could not come in
again, I have been interrupted very often.' We used to dread going in for
sticking-plaster, because he disliked to see that we had cut ourselves, both
for our sakes and on account of his acute sensitiveness to the sight of blood.
I well remember lurking about the passage till he was safe away, and then
stealing in for the plaster.
"Life seems to me, as I look back upon it, to have been very regular in
those early days, and except relations (and a few intimate friends), I do not
think any one came to the house. After lessons, we were always free to go
where we would, and that was chiefly in the drawing-room and about the
garden, so that we were very much with both my father and mother. We
used to think it most delightful when he told us any stories about the
'Beagle', or about early Shrewsbury days—little bits about school-life and
his boyish tastes. Sometimes too he read aloud to his children such books as
Scott's novels, and I remember a few little lectures on the steam-engine.
"I was more or less ill during the five years between my thirteenth and
eighteenth years, and for a long time (years it seems to me) he used to play
a couple of games of backgammon with me every afternoon. He played
them with the greatest spirit, and I remember we used at one time to keep
account of the games, and as this record came out in favour of him, we kept
a list of the doublets thrown by each, as I was convinced that he threw
better than myself.
"His patience and sympathy were boundless during this weary illness,
and sometimes when most miserable I felt his sympathy to be almost too
keen. When at my worst, we went to my aunt's house at Hartfield, in
Sussex, and as soon as we had made the move safely he went on to Moor
Park for a fortnight's water-cure. I can recall now how on his return I could
hardly bear to have him in the room, the expression of tender sympathy and
emotion in his face was too agitating, coming fresh upon me after his little
absence.
"He cared for all our pursuits and interests, and lived our lives with us in
a way that very few fathers do. But I am certain that none of us felt that this
intimacy interfered the least with our respect or obedience. Whatever he
said was absolute truth and law to us. He always put his whole mind into

answering any of our questions. One trifling instance makes me feel how he
cared for what we cared for. He had no special taste for cats, though he
admired the pretty ways of a kitten. But yet he knew and remembered the
individualities of my many cats, and would talk about the habits and
characters of the more remarkable ones years after they had died.
"Another characteristic of his treatment of his children was his respect
for their liberty, and for their personality. Even as quite a girl, I remember
rejoicing in this sense of freedom. Our father and mother would not even
wish to know what we were doing or thinking unless we wished to tell. He
always made us feel that we were each of us creatures whose opinions and
thoughts were valuable to him, so that whatever there was best in us came
out in the sunshine of his presence.
"I do not think his exaggerated sense of our good qualities, intellectual or
moral, made us conceited, as might perhaps have been expected, but rather
more humble and grateful to him. The reason being no doubt that the
influence of his character, of his sincerity and greatness of nature, had a
much deeper and more lasting effect than any small exaltation which his
praises or admiration may have caused to our vanity."
As head of a household he was much loved and respected; he always
spoke to servants with politeness, using the expression, "would you be so
good," in asking for anything. He was hardly ever angry with his servants;
it shows how seldom this occurred, that when, as a small boy, I overheard a
servant being scolded, and my father speaking angrily, it impressed me as
an appalling circumstance, and I remember running up stairs out of a
general sense of awe. He did not trouble himself about the management of
the garden, cows, etc. He considered the horses so little his concern, that he
used to ask doubtfully whether he might have a horse and cart to send to
Keston for Drosera, or to the Westerham nurseries for plants, or the like.
As a host my father had a peculiar charm: the presence of visitors excited
him, and made him appear to his best advantage. At Shrewsbury, he used to
say, it was his father's wish that the guests should be attended to constantly,
and in one of the letters to Fox he speaks of the impossibility of writing a
letter while the house was full of company. I think he always felt uneasy at
not doing more for the entertainment of his guests, but the result was
successful; and, to make up for any loss, there was the gain that the guests
felt perfectly free to do as they liked. The most usual visitors were those

who stayed from Saturday till Monday; those who remained longer were
generally relatives, and were considered to be rather more my mother's
affair than his.
Besides these visitors, there were foreigners and other strangers, who
came down for luncheon and went away in the afternoon. He used
conscientiously to represent to them the enormous distance of Down from
London, and the labour it would be to come there, unconsciously taking for
granted that they would find the journey as toilsome as he did himself. If,
however, they were not deterred, he used to arrange their journeys for them,
telling them when to come, and practically when to go. It was pleasant to
see the way in which he shook hands with a guest who was being welcomed
for the first time; his hand used to shoot out in a way that gave one the
feeling that it was hastening to meet the guest's hands. With old friends his
hand came down with a hearty swing into the other hand in a way I always
had satisfaction in seeing. His good-bye was chiefly characterised by the
pleasant way in which he thanked his guests, as he stood at the door, for
having come to see him.
These luncheons were very successful entertainments, there was no drag
or flagging about them, my father was bright and excited throughout the
whole visit. Professor De Candolle has described a visit to Down, in his
admirable and sympathetic sketch of my father. ('Darwin considere au point
de vue des causes de son succes.'—Geneva, 1882.) He speaks of his manner
as resembling that of a "savant" of Oxford or Cambridge. This does not
strike me as quite a good comparison; in his ease and naturalness there was
more of the manner of some soldiers; a manner arising from total absence
of pretence or affectation. It was this absence of pose, and the natural and
simple way in which he began talking to his guests, so as to get them on
their own lines, which made him so charming a host to a stranger. His
happy choice of matter for talk seemed to flow out of his sympathetic
nature, and humble, vivid interest in other people's work.
To some, I think, he caused actual pain by his modesty; I have seen the
late Francis Balfour quite discomposed by having knowledge ascribed to
himself on a point about which my father claimed to be utterly ignorant.
It is difficult to seize on the characteristics of my father's conversation.
He had more dread than have most people of repeating his stories, and
continually said, "You must have heard me tell," or "I dare say I've told

you." One peculiarity he had, which gave a curious effect to his
conversation. The first few words of a sentence would often remind him of
some exception to, or some reason against, what he was going to say; and
this again brought up some other point, so that the sentence would become
a system of parenthesis within parenthesis, and it was often impossible to
understand the drift of what he was saying until he came to the end of his
sentence. He used to say of himself that he was not quick enough to hold an
argument with any one, and I think this was true. Unless it was a subject on
which he was just then at work, he could not get the train of argument into
working order quickly enough. This is shown even in his letters; thus, in the
case of two letters to Prof. Semper about the effect of isolation, he did not
recall the series of facts he wanted until some days after the first letter had
been sent off.
When puzzled in talking, he had a peculiar stammer on the first word of a
sentence. I only recall this occurring with words beginning with w; possibly
he had a special difficulty with this letter, for I have heard him say that as a
boy he could not pronounce w, and that sixpence was offered him if he
could say "white wine," which he pronounced "rite rine." Possibly he may
have inherited this tendency from Erasmus Darwin, who stammered. (My
father related a Johnsonian answer of Erasmus Darwin's: "Don't you find it
very inconvenient stammering, Dr. Darwin?" "No, sir, because I have time
to think before I speak, and don't ask impertinent questions.")
He sometimes combined his metaphors in a curious way, using such a
phrase as "holding on like life,"—a mixture of "holding on for his life," and
"holding on like grim death." It came from his eager way of putting
emphasis into what he was saying. This sometimes gave an air of
exaggeration where it was not intended; but it gave, too, a noble air of
strong and generous conviction; as, for instance, when he gave his evidence
before the Royal Commission on vivisection and came out with his words
about cruelty, "It deserves detestation and abhorrence." When he felt
strongly about any similar question, he could hardly trust himself to speak,
as he then easily became angry, a thing which he disliked excessively. He
was conscious that his anger had a tendency to multiply itself in the
utterance, and for this reason dreaded (for example) having to scold a
servant.

It was a great proof of the modesty of his style of talking, that, when, for
instance, a number of visitors came over from Sir John Lubbock's for a
Sunday afternoon call he never seemed to be preaching or lecturing,
although he had so much of the talk to himself. He was particularly
charming when "chaffing" any one, and in high spirits over it. His manner
at such times was light-hearted and boyish, and his refinement of nature
came out most strongly. So, when he was talking to a lady who pleased and
amused him, the combination of raillery and deference in his manner was
delightful to see.
When my father had several guests he managed them well, getting a talk
with each, or bringing two or three together round his chair. In these
conversations there was always a good deal of fun, and, speaking generally,
there was either a humorous turn in his talk, or a sunny geniality which
served instead. Perhaps my recollection of a pervading element of humour
is the more vivid, because the best talks were with Mr. Huxley, in whom
there is the aptness which is akin to humour, even when humour itself is not
there. My father enjoyed Mr. Huxley's humour exceedingly, and would
often say, "What splendid fun Huxley is!" I think he probably had more
scientific argument (of the nature of a fight) with Lyell and Sir Joseph
Hooker.
He used to say that it grieved him to find that for the friends of his later
life he had not the warm affection of his youth. Certainly in his early letters
from Cambridge he gives proofs of very strong friendship for Herbert and
Fox; but no one except himself would have said that his affection for his
friends was not, throughout life, of the warmest possible kind. In serving a
friend he would not spare himself, and precious time and strength were
willingly given. He undoubtedly had, to an unusual degree, the power of
attaching his friends to him. He had many warm friendships, but to Sir
Joseph Hooker he was bound by ties of affection stronger than we often see
among men. He wrote in his 'Recollections,' "I have known hardly any man
more lovable than Hooker."
His relationship to the village people was a pleasant one; he treated them,
one and all, with courtesy, when he came in contact with them, and took an
interest in all relating to their welfare. Some time after he came to live at
Down he helped to found a Friendly Club, and served as treasurer for thirty
years. He took much trouble about the club, keeping its accounts with

minute and scrupulous exactness, and taking pleasure in its prosperous
condition. Every Whit-Monday the club used to march round with band and
banner, and paraded on the lawn in front of the house. There he met them,
and explained to them their financial position in a little speech seasoned
with a few well worn jokes. He was often unwell enough to make even this
little ceremony an exertion, but I think he never failed to meet them.
He was also treasurer of the Coal Club, which gave him some work, and
he acted for some years as a County Magistrate.
With regard to my father's interest in the affairs of the village, Mr. Brodie
Innes has been so good as to give me his recollections:—
"On my becoming Vicar of Down in 1846, we became friends, and so
continued till his death. His conduct towards me and my family was one of
unvarying kindness, and we repaid it by warm affection.
"In all parish matters he was an active assistant; in matters connected
with the schools, charities, and other business, his liberal contribution was
ever ready, and in the differences which at times occurred in that, as in other
parishes, I was always sure of his support. He held that where there was
really no important objection, his assistance should be given to the
clergyman, who ought to know the circumstances best, and was chiefly
responsible."
His intercourse with strangers was marked with scrupulous and rather
formal politeness, but in fact he had few opportunities of meeting strangers.
Dr. Lane has described (Lecture by Dr. B.W. Richardson, in St. George's
Hall, October 22, 1882.) how, on the rare occasion of my father attending a
lecture (Dr. Sanderson's) at the Royal Institution, "the whole assembly...rose
to their feet to welcome him," while he seemed "scarcely conscious that
such an outburst of applause could possibly be intended for himself." The
quiet life he led at Down made him feel confused in a large society; for
instance, at the Royal Society's soirees he felt oppressed by the numbers.
The feeling that he ought to know people, and the difficulty he had in
remembering faces in his latter years, also added to his discomfort on such
occasions. He did not realise that he would be recognised from his
photographs, and I remember his being uneasy at being obviously
recognised by a stranger at the Crystal Palace Aquarium.
I must say something of his manner of working: one characteristic of it
was his respect for time; he never forgot how precious it was. This was

shown, for instance, in the way in which he tried to curtail his holidays;
also, and more clearly, with respect to shorter periods. He would often say,
that saving the minutes was the way to get work done; he showed his love
of saving the minutes in the difference he felt between a quarter of an hour
and ten minutes' work; he never wasted a few spare minutes from thinking
that it was not worth while to set to work. I was often struck by his way of
working up to the very limit of his strength, so that he suddenly stopped in
dictating, with the words, "I believe I mustn't do any more." The same eager
desire not to lose time was seen in his quick movements when at work. I
particularly remember noticing this when he was making an experiment on
the roots of beans, which required some care in manipulation; fastening the
little bits of card upon the roots was done carefully and necessarily slowly,
but the intermediate movements were all quick; taking a fresh bean, seeing
that the root was healthy, impaling it on a pin, fixing it on a cork, and seeing
that it was vertical, etc; all these processes were performed with a kind of
restrained eagerness. He always gave one the impression of working with
pleasure, and not with any drag. I have an image, too, of him as he recorded
the result of some experiment, looking eagerly at each root, etc., and then
writing with equal eagerness. I remember the quick movement of his head
up and down as he looked from the object to the notes.
He saved a great deal of time through not having to do things twice.
Although he would patiently go on repeating experiments where there was
any good to be gained, he could not endure having to repeat an experiment
which ought, if complete care had been taken, to have succeeded the first
time—and this gave him a continual anxiety that the experiment should not
be wasted; he felt the experiment to be sacred, however slight a one it was.
He wished to learn as much as possible from an experiment, so that he did
not confine himself to observing the single point to which the experiment
was directed, and his power of seeing a number of other things was
wonderful. I do not think he cared for preliminary or rough observation
intended to serve as guides and to be repeated. Any experiment done was to
be of some use, and in this connection I remember how strongly he urged
the necessity of keeping the notes of experiments which failed, and to this
rule he always adhered.
In the literary part of his work he had the same horror of losing time, and
the same zeal in what he was doing at the moment, and this made him
careful not to be obliged unnecessarily to read anything a second time.

His natural tendency was to use simple methods and few instruments.
The use of the compound microscope has much increased since his youth,
and this at the expense of the simple one. It strikes us nowadays as
extraordinary that he should have had no compound microscope when he
went his "Beagle" voyage; but in this he followed the advice of Robt.
Brown, who was an authority in such matters. He always had a great liking
for the simple microscope, and maintained that nowadays it was too much
neglected, and that one ought always to see as much as possible with the
simple before taking to the compound microscope. In one of his letters he
speaks on this point, and remarks that he always suspects the work of a man
who never uses the simple microscope.
His dissecting table was a thick board, let into a window of the study; it
was lower than an ordinary table, so that he could not have worked at it
standing; but this, from wishing to save his strength, he would not have
done in any case. He sat at his dissecting-table on a curious low stool which
had belonged to his father, with a seat revolving on a vertical spindle, and
mounted on large castors, so that he could turn easily from side to side. His
ordinary tools, etc., were lying about on the table, but besides these a
number of odds and ends were kept in a round table full of radiating
drawers, and turning on a vertical axis, which stood close by his left side, as
he sat at his microscope-table. The drawers were labelled, "best tools,"
"rough tools," "specimens," "preparations for specimens," etc. The most
marked peculiarity of the contents of these drawers was the care with which
little scraps and almost useless things were preserved; he held the well-
known belief, that if you threw a thing away you were sure to want it
directly—and so things accumulated.
If any one had looked at his tools, etc., lying on the table, he would have
been struck by an air of simpleness, make-shift, and oddness.
At his right hand were shelves, with a number of other odds and ends,
glasses, saucers, tin biscuit boxes for germinating seeds, zinc labels, saucers
full of sand, etc., etc. Considering how tidy and methodical he was in
essential things, it is curious that he bore with so many make-shifts: for
instance, instead of having a box made of a desired shape, and stained black
inside, he would hunt up something like what he wanted and get it darkened
inside with shoe-blacking; he did not care to have glass covers made for
tumblers in which he germinated seeds, but used broken bits of irregular

shape, with perhaps a narrow angle sticking uselessly out on one side. But
so much of his experimenting was of a simple kind, that he had no need for
any elaboration, and I think his habit in this respect was in great measure
due to his desire to husband his strength, and not waste it on inessential
things.
His way of marking objects may here be mentioned. If he had a number
of things to distinguish, such as leaves, flowers, etc., he tied threads of
different colours round them. In particular he used this method when he had
only two classes of objects to distinguish; thus in the case of crossed and
self-fertilised flowers, one set would be marked with black and one with
white thread, tied round the stalk of the flower. I remember well the look of
two sets of capsules, gathered and waiting to be weighed, counted, etc.,
with pieces of black and of white thread to distinguish the trays in which
they lay. When he had to compare two sets of seedlings, sowed in the same
pot, he separated them by a partition of zinc-plate; and the zinc label, which
gave the necessary details about the experiment, was always placed on a
certain side, so that it became instinctive with him to know without reading
the label which were the "crossed" and which were the "self-fertilised."
His love of each particular experiment, and his eager zeal not to lose the
fruit of it, came out markedly in these crossing experiments—in the
elaborate care he took not to make any confusion in putting capsules into
wrong trays, etc., etc. I can recall his appearance as he counted seeds under
the simple microscope with an alertness not usually characterising such
mechanical work as counting. I think he personified each seed as a small
demon trying to elude him by getting into the wrong heap, or jumping away
altogether; and this gave to the work the excitement of a game. He had great
faith in instruments, and I do not think it naturally occurred to him to doubt
the accuracy of a scale or measuring glass, etc. He was astonished when we
found that one of his micrometers differed from the other. He did not
require any great accuracy in most of his measurements, and had not good
scales; he had an old three-foot rule, which was the common property of the
household, and was constantly being borrowed, because it was the only one
which was certain to be in its place—unless, indeed, the last borrower had
forgotten to put it back. For measuring the height of plants he had a seven-
foot deal rod, graduated by the village carpenter. Latterly he took to using
paper scales graduated to millimeters. For small objects he used a pair of
compasses and an ivory protractor. It was characteristic of him that he took

scrupulous pains in making measurements with his somewhat rough scales.
A trifling example of his faith in authority is that he took his "inch in terms
of millimeters" from an old book, in which it turned out to be inaccurately
given. He had a chemical balance which dated from the days when he
worked at chemistry with his brother Erasmus. Measurements of capacity
were made with an apothecary's measuring glass: I remember well its rough
look and bad graduation. With this, too, I remember the great care he took
in getting the fluid-line on to the graduation. I do not mean by this account
of his instruments that any of his experiments suffered from want of
accuracy in measurement, I give them as examples of his simple methods
and faith in others—faith at least in instrument-makers, whose whole trade
was a mystery to him.
A few of his mental characteristics, bearing especially on his mode of
working, occur to me. There was one quality of mind which seemed to be of
special and extreme advantage in leading him to make discoveries. It was
the power of never letting exceptions pass unnoticed. Everybody notices a
fact as an exception when it is striking or frequent, but he had a special
instinct for arresting an exception. A point apparently slight and
unconnected with his present work is passed over by many a man almost
unconsciously with some half-considered explanation, which is in fact no
explanation. It was just these things that he seized on to make a start from.
In a certain sense there is nothing special in this procedure, many
discoveries being made by means of it. I only mention it because, as I
watched him at work, the value of this power to an experimenter was so
strongly impressed upon me.
Another quality which was shown in his experimental works was his
power of sticking to a subject; he used almost to apologise for his patience,
saying that he could not bear to be beaten, as if this were rather a sign of
weakness on his part. He often quoted the saying, "It's dogged as does it;"
and I think doggedness expresses his frame of mind almost better than
perseverance. Perseverance seems hardly to express his almost fierce desire
to force the truth to reveal itself. He often said that it was important that a
man should know the right point at which to give up an inquiry. And I think
it was his tendency to pass this point that inclined him to apologise for his
perseverance, and gave the air of doggedness to his work.

He often said that no one could be a good observer unless he was an
active theoriser. This brings me back to what I said about his instinct for
arresting exceptions: it was as though he were charged with theorising
power ready to flow into any channel on the slightest disturbance, so that no
fact, however small, could avoid releasing a stream of theory, and thus the
fact became magnified into importance. In this way it naturally happened
that many untenable theories occurred to him; but fortunately his richness
of imagination was equalled by his power of judging and condemning the
thoughts that occurred to him. He was just to his theories, and did not
condemn them unheard; and so it happened that he was willing to test what
would seem to most people not at all worth testing. These rather wild trials
he called "fool's experiments," and enjoyed extremely. As an example I may
mention that finding the cotyledons of Biophytum to be highly sensitive to
vibrations of the table, he fancied that they might perceive the vibrations of
sound, and therefore made me play my bassoon close to a plant. (This is not
so much an example of superabundant theorising from a small cause, but
only of his wish to test the most improbable ideas.)
The love of experiment was very strong in him, and I can remember the
way he would say, "I shan't be easy till I have tried it," as if an outside force
were driving him. He enjoyed experimenting much more than work which
only entailed reasoning, and when he was engaged on one of his books
which required argument and the marshalling of facts, he felt experimental
work to be a rest or holiday. Thus, while working upon the 'Variations of
Animals and Plants,' in 1860-61, he made out the fertilisation of Orchids,
and thought himself idle for giving so much time to them. It is interesting to
think that so important a piece of research should have been undertaken and
largely worked out as a pastime in place of more serious work. The letters
to Hooker of this period contain expressions such as, "God forgive me for
being so idle; I am quite sillily interested in this work." The intense pleasure
he took in understanding the adaptations for fertilisation is strongly shown
in these letters. He speaks in one of his letters of his intention of working at
Drosera as a rest from the 'Descent of Man.' He has described in his
'Recollections' the strong satisfaction he felt in solving the problem of
heterostylism. And I have heard him mention that the Geology of South
America gave him almost more pleasure than anything else. It was perhaps
this delight in work requiring keen observation that made him value praise

given to his observing powers almost more than appreciation of his other
qualities.
For books he had no respect, but merely considered them as tools to be
worked with. Thus he did not bind them, and even when a paper book fell
to pieces from use, as happened to Muller's 'Befruchtung,' he preserved it
from complete dissolution by putting a metal clip over its back. In the same
way he would cut a heavy book in half, to make it more convenient to hold.
He used to boast that he made Lyell publish the second edition of one of his
books in two volumes instead of one, by telling him how he had been
obliged to cut it in half. Pamphlets were often treated even more severely
than books, for he would tear out, for the sake of saving room, all the pages
except the one that interested him. The consequence of all this was, that his
library was not ornamental, but was striking from being so evidently a
working collection of books.
He was methodical in his manner of reading books and pamphlets
bearing on his own work. He had one shelf on which were piled up the
books he had not yet read, and another to which they were transferred after
having been read, and before being catalogued. He would often groan over
his unread books, because there were so many which he knew he should
never read. Many a book was at once transferred to the other heap, either
marked with a cypher at the end, to show that it contained no marked
passages, or inscribed, perhaps, "not read," or "only skimmed." The books
accumulated in the "read" heap until the shelves overflowed, and then, with
much lamenting, a day was given up to the cataloguing. He disliked this
work, and as the necessity of undertaking the work became imperative,
would often say, in a voice of despair, "We really must do these books
soon."
In each book, as he read it, he marked passages bearing on his work. In
reading a book or pamphlet, etc., he made pencil-lines at the side of the
page, often adding short remarks, and at the end made a list of the pages
marked. When it was to be catalogued and put away, the marked pages were
looked at, and so a rough abstract of the book was made. This abstract
would perhaps be written under three or four headings on different sheets,
the facts being sorted out and added to the previously collected facts in
different subjects. He had other sets of abstracts arranged, not according to
subject, but according to periodical. When collecting facts on a large scale,

in earlier years, he used to read through, and make abstracts, in this way, of
whole series of periodicals.
In some of his early letters he speaks of filling several note-books with
facts for his book on species; but it was certainly early that he adopted his
plan of using portfolios as described in the 'Recollections.' (The racks on
which the portfolios were placed are shown in the illustration, "The Study
at Down," in the recess at the right-hand side of the fire-place.) My father
and M. de Candolle were mutually pleased to discover that they had
adopted the same plan of classifying facts. De Candolle describes the
method in his 'Phytologie,' and in his sketch of my father mentions the
satisfaction he felt in seeing it in action at Down.
Besides these portfolios, of which there are some dozens full of notes,
there are large bundles of MS. marked "used" and put away. He felt the
value of his notes, and had a horror of their destruction by fire. I remember,
when some alarm of fire had happened, his begging me to be especially
careful, adding very earnestly, that the rest of his life would be miserable if
his notes and books were to be destroyed.
He shows the same feeling in writing about the loss of a manuscript, the
purport of his words being, "I have a copy, or the loss would have killed
me." In writing a book he would spend much time and labour in making a
skeleton or plan of the whole, and in enlarging and sub-classing each
heading, as described in his 'Recollections.' I think this careful arrangement
of the plan was not at all essential to the building up of his argument, but
for its presentment, and for the arrangement of his facts. In his 'Life of
Erasmus Darwin,' as it was first printed in slips, the growth of the book
from a skeleton was plainly visible. The arrangement was altered
afterwards, because it was too formal and categorical, and seemed to give
the character of his grandfather rather by means of a list of qualities than as
a complete picture.
It was only within the last few years that he adopted a plan of writing
which he was convinced suited him best, and which is described in the
'Recollections;' namely, writing a rough copy straight off without the
slightest attention to style. It was characteristic of him that he felt unable to
write with sufficient want of care if he used his best paper, and thus it was
that he wrote on the backs of old proofs or manuscript. The rough copy was
then reconsidered, and a fair copy was made. For this purpose he had

foolscap paper ruled at wide intervals, the lines being needed to prevent him
writing so closely that correction became difficult. The fair copy was then
corrected, and was recopied before being sent to the printers. The copying
was done by Mr. E. Norman, who began this work many years ago when
village schoolmaster at Down. My father became so used to Mr. Norman's
hand-writing, that he could not correct manuscript, even when clearly
written out by one of his children, until it had been recopied by Mr.
Norman. The MS., on returning from Mr. Norman was once more corrected,
and then sent off to the printers. Then came the work of revising and
correcting the proofs, which my father found especially wearisome.
It was at this stage that he first seriously considered the style of what he
had written. When this was going on he usually started some other piece of
work as a relief. The correction of slips consisted in fact of two processes,
for the corrections were first written in pencil, and then re-considered and
written in ink.
When the book was passing through the "slip" stage he was glad to have
corrections and suggestions from others. Thus my mother looked over the
proofs of the 'Origin.' In some of the later works my sister, Mrs. Litchfield,
did much of the correction. After my sister's marriage perhaps most of the
work fell to my share.
My sister, Mrs. Litchfield, writes:—
"This work was very interesting in itself, and it was inexpressibly
exhilarating to work for him. He was always so ready to be convinced that
any suggested alteration was an improvement, and so full of gratitude for
the trouble taken. I do not think that he ever used to forget to tell me what
improvement he thought that I had made, and he used almost to excuse
himself if he did not agree with any correction. I think I felt the singular
modesty and graciousness of his nature through thus working for him in a
way I never should otherwise have done.
"He did not write with ease, and was apt to invert his sentences both in
writing and speaking, putting the qualifying clause before it was clear what
it was to qualify. He corrected a great deal, and was eager to express
himself as well as he possibly could."
Perhaps the commonest corrections needed were of obscurities due to the
omission of a necessary link in the reasoning, something which he had
evidently omitted through familiarity with the subject. Not that there was

any fault in the sequence of the thoughts, but that from familiarity with his
argument he did not notice when the words failed to reproduce his thought.
He also frequently put too much matter into one sentence, so that it had to
be cut up into two.
On the whole, I think the pains which my father took over the literary
part of the work was very remarkable. He often laughed or grumbled at
himself for the difficulty which he found in writing English, saying, for
instance, that if a bad arrangement of a sentence was possible, he should be
sure to adopt it. He once got much amusement and satisfaction out of the
difficulty which one of the family found in writing a short circular. He had
the pleasure of correcting and laughing at obscurities, involved sentences,
and other defects, and thus took his revenge for all the criticism he had
himself to bear with. He used to quote with astonishment Miss Martineau's
advice to young authors, to write straight off and send the MS. to the printer
without correction. But in some cases he acted in a somewhat similar
manner. When a sentence got hopelessly involved, he would ask himself,
"now what DO you want to say?" and his answer written down, would often
disentangle the confusion.
His style has been much praised; on the other hand, at least one good
judge has remarked to me that it is not a good style. It is, above all things,
direct and clear; and it is characteristic of himself in its simplicity,
bordering on naivete, and in its absence of pretence. He had the strongest
disbelief in the common idea that a classical scholar must write good
English; indeed, he thought that the contrary was the case. In writing, he
sometimes showed the same tendency to strong expressions as he did in
conversation. Thus in the 'Origin,' page 440, there is a description of a
larval cirripede, "with six pairs of beautifully constructed natatory legs, a
pair of magnificent compound eyes, and extremely complex antennae." We
used to laugh at him for this sentence, which we compared to an
advertisement. This tendency to give himself up to the enthusiastic turn of
his thought, without fear of being ludicrous, appears elsewhere in his
writings.
His courteous and conciliatory tone towards his reader is remarkable, and
it must be partly this quality which revealed his personal sweetness of
character to so many who had never seen him. I have always felt it to be a
curious fact, that he who had altered the face of Biological Science, and is

in this respect the chief of the moderns, should have written and worked in
so essentially a non-modern spirit and manner. In reading his books one is
reminded of the older naturalists rather than of the modern school of
writers. He was a Naturalist in the old sense of the word, that is, a man who
works at many branches of the science, not merely a specialist in one. Thus
it is, that, though he founded whole new divisions of special subjects—such
as the fertilisation of flowers, insectivorous plants, dimorphism, etc.—yet
even in treating these very subjects he does not strike the reader as a
specialist. The reader feels like a friend who is being talked to by a
courteous gentleman, not like a pupil being lectured by a professor. The
tone of such a book as the 'Origin' is charming, and almost pathetic; it is the
tone of a man who, convinced of the truth of his own views, hardly expects
to convince others; it is just the reverse of the style of a fanatic, who wants
to force people to believe. The reader is never scorned for any amount of
doubt which he may be imagined to feel, and his scepticism is treated with
patient respect. A sceptical reader, or perhaps even an unreasonable reader,
seems to have been generally present to his thoughts. It was in consequence
of this feeling, perhaps, that he took much trouble over points which he
imagined would strike the reader, or save him trouble, and so tempt him to
read.
For the same reason he took much interest in the illustrations of his
books, and I think rated rather too highly their value. The illustrations for
his earlier books were drawn by professional artists. This was the case in
'Animals and Plants,' the 'Descent of Man,' and the 'Expression of the
Emotions.' On the other hand, 'Climbing Plants,' 'Insectivorous Plants,' the
'Movements of Plants,' and 'Forms of Flowers,' were, to a large extent,
illustrated by some of his children—my brother George having drawn by
far the most. It was delightful to draw for him, as he was enthusiastic in his
praise of very moderate performances. I remember well his charming
manner of receiving the drawings of one of his daughters-in-law, and how
he would finish his words of praise by saying, "Tell A—, Michael Angelo is
nothing to it." Though he praised so generously, he always looked closely at
the drawing, and easily detected mistakes or carelessness.
He had a horror of being lengthy, and seems to have been really much
annoyed and distressed when he found how the 'Variations of Animals and
Plants' was growing under his hands. I remember his cordially agreeing

with 'Tristram Shandy's' words, "Let no man say, 'Come, I'll write a
duodecimo.'"
His consideration for other authors was as marked a characteristic as his
tone towards his reader. He speaks of all other authors as persons deserving
of respect. In cases where, as in the case of —'s experiments on Drosera, he
thought lightly of the author, he speaks of him in such a way that no one
would suspect it. In other cases he treats the confused writings of ignorant
persons as though the fault lay with himself for not appreciating or
understanding them. Besides this general tone of respect, he had a pleasant
way of expressing his opinion on the value of a quoted work, or his
obligation for a piece of private information.
His respectful feeling was not only morally beautiful, but was I think of
practical use in making him ready to consider the ideas and observations of
all manner of people. He used almost to apologise for this, and would say
that he was at first inclined to rate everything too highly.
It was a great merit in his mind that, in spite of having so strong a
respectful feeling towards what he read, he had the keenest of instincts as to
whether a man was trustworthy or not. He seemed to form a very definite
opinion as to the accuracy of the men whose books he read; and made use
of this judgment in his choice of facts for use in argument or as illustrations.
I gained the impression that he felt this power of judging of a man's
trustworthiness to be of much value.
He had a keen feeling of the sense of honour that ought to reign among
authors, and had a horror of any kind of laxness in quoting. He had a
contempt for the love of honour and glory, and in his letters often blames
himself for the pleasure he took in the success of his books, as though he
were departing from his ideal—a love of truth and carelessness about fame.
Often, when writing to Sir J. Hooker what he calls a boasting letter, he
laughs at himself for his conceit and want of modesty. There is a
wonderfully interesting letter which he wrote to my mother bequeathing to
her, in case of his death, the care of publishing the manuscript of his first
essay on evolution. This letter seems to me full of the intense desire that his
theory should succeed as a contribution to knowledge, and apart from any
desire for personal fame. He certainly had the healthy desire for success
which a man of strong feelings ought to have. But at the time of the
publication of the 'Origin' it is evident that he was overwhelmingly satisfied

with the adherence of such men as Lyell, Hooker, Huxley, and Asa Gray,
and did not dream of or desire any such wide and general fame as he
attained to.
Connected with his contempt for the undue love of fame, was an equally
strong dislike of all questions of priority. The letters to Lyell, at the time of
the 'Origin,' show the anger he felt with himself for not being able to repress
a feeling of disappointment at what he thought was Mr. Wallace's
forestalling of all his years of work. His sense of literary honour comes out
strongly in these letters; and his feeling about priority is again shown in the
admiration expressed in his 'Recollections' of Mr. Wallace's self-
annihilation.
His feeling about reclamations, including answers to attacks and all kinds
of discussions, was strong. It is simply expressed in a letter to Falconer
(1863?), "If I ever felt angry towards you, for whom I have a sincere
friendship, I should begin to suspect that I was a little mad. I was very sorry
about your reclamation, as I think it is in every case a mistake and should
be left to others. Whether I should so act myself under provocation is a
different question." It was a feeling partly dictated by instinctive delicacy,
and partly by a strong sense of the waste of time, energy, and temper thus
caused. He said that he owed his determination not to get into discussions
(He departed from his rule in his "Note on the Habits of the Pampas
Woodpecker, Colaptes campestris," 'Proc. Zool. Soc.,' 1870, page 705: also
in a letter published in the 'Athenaeum' (1863, page 554), in which case he
afterwards regretted that he had not remained silent. His replies to
criticisms, in the later editions of the 'Origin,' can hardly be classed as
infractions of his rule.) to the advice of Lyell,—advice which he transmitted
to those among his friends who were given to paper warfare.
If the character of my father's working life is to be understood, the
conditions of ill-health, under which he worked, must be constantly borne
in mind. He bore his illness with such uncomplaining patience, that even his
children can hardly, I believe, realise the extent of his habitual suffering. In
their case the difficulty is heightened by the fact that, from the days of their
earliest recollections, they saw him in constant ill-health,—and saw him, in
spite of it, full of pleasure in what pleased them. Thus, in later life, their
perception of what he endured had to be disentangled from the impression
produced in childhood by constant genial kindness under conditions of

unrecognised difficulty. No one indeed, except my mother, knows the full
amount of suffering he endured, or the full amount of his wonderful
patience. For all the latter years of his life she never left him for a night; and
her days were so planned that all his resting hours might be shared with her.
She shielded him from every avoidable annoyance, and omitted nothing that
might save him trouble, or prevent him becoming overtired, or that might
alleviate the many discomforts of his ill-health. I hesitate to speak thus
freely of a thing so sacred as the life-long devotion which prompted all this
constant and tender care. But it is, I repeat, a principal feature of his life,
that for nearly forty years he never knew one day of the health of ordinary
men, and that thus his life was one long struggle against the weariness and
strain of sickness. And this cannot be told without speaking of the one
condition which enabled him to bear the strain and fight out the struggle to
the end.
LETTERS.
The earliest letters to which I have access are those written by my father
when an undergraduate at Cambridge.
The history of his life, as told in his correspondence, must therefore
begin with this period.

CHAPTER 1.IV. — CAMBRIDGE LIFE.
[My father's Cambridge life comprises the time between the Lent Term,
1828, when he came up as a Freshman, and the end of the May Term, 1831,
when he took his degree and left the University.]
It appears from the College books, that my father "admissus est
pensionarius minor sub Magistro Shaw" on October 15, 1827. He did not
come into residence till the Lent Term, 1828, so that, although he passed his
examination in due season, he was unable to take his degree at the usual
time,—the beginning of the Lent Term, 1831. In such a case a man usually
took his degree before Ash-Wednesday, when he was called "Baccalaureus
ad Diem Cinerum," and ranked with the B.A.'s of the year. My father's
name, however, occurs in the list of Bachelors "ad Baptistam," or those
admitted between Ash-Wednesday and St. John Baptist's Day (June 24th);
("On Tuesday last Charles Darwin, of Christ's College, was admitted
B.A."—"Cambridge Chronicle", Friday, April 29, 1831.) he therefore took
rank among the Bachelors of 1832.
He "kept" for a term or two in lodgings, over Bacon the tobacconist's;
not, however, over the shop in the Market Place, now so well known to
Cambridge men, but in Sidney Street. For the rest of his time he had
pleasant rooms on the south side of the first court of Christ's. (The rooms
are on the first floor, on the west side of the middle staircase. A medallion
(given by my brother) has recently been let into the wall of the sitting-
room.)
What determined the choice of this college for his brother Erasmus and
himself I have no means of knowing. Erasmus the elder, their grandfather,
had been at St. John's, and this college might have been reasonably selected
for them, being connected with Shrewsbury School. But the life of an
under-graduate at St. John's seems, in those days, to have been a troubled
one, if I may judge from the fact that a relative of mine migrated thence to
Christ's to escape the harassing discipline of the place. A story told by Mr.
Herbert illustrates the same state of things:—

"In the beginning of the October Term of 1830, an incident occurred
which was attended with somewhat disagreeable, though ludicrous
consequences to myself. Darwin asked me to take a long walk with him in
the Fens, to search for some natural objects he was desirous of having. After
a very long, fatiguing day's work, we dined together, late in the evening, at
his rooms in Christ's College; and as soon as our dinner was over we threw
ourselves into easy chairs and fell sound asleep. I was first to awake, about
three in the morning, when, having looked at my watch, and knowing the
strict rule of St. John's, which required men in statu pupillari to come into
college before midnight, I rushed homeward at the utmost speed, in fear of
the consequences, but hoping that the Dean would accept the excuse as
sufficient when I told him the real facts. He, however, was inexorable, and
refused to receive my explanations, or any evidence I could bring; and
although during my undergraduateship I had never been reported for
coming late into College, now, when I was a hard-working B.A., and had
five or six pupils, he sentenced me to confinement to the College walls for
the rest of the term. Darwin's indignation knew no bounds, and the stupid
injustice and tyranny of the Dean raised not only a perfect ferment among
my friends, but was the subject of expostulation from some of the leading
members of the University."
My father seems to have found no difficulty in living at peace with all
men in and out of office at Lady Margaret's other foundation. The
impression of a contemporary of my father's is that Christ's in their day was
a pleasant, fairly quiet college, with some tendency towards "horsiness";
many of the men made a custom of going to Newmarket during the races,
though betting was not a regular practice. In this they were by no means
discouraged by the Senior Tutor, Mr. Shaw, who was himself generally to
be seen on the Heath on these occasions. There was a somewhat high
proportion of Fellow-Commoners,—eight or nine, to sixty or seventy
Pensioners, and this would indicate that it was not an unpleasant college for
men with money to spend and with no great love of strict discipline.
The way in which the service was conducted in chapel shows that the
Dean, at least, was not over zealous. I have heard my father tell how at
evening chapel the Dean used to read alternate verses of the Psalms,
without making even a pretence of waiting for the congregation to take their
share. And when the Lesson was a lengthy one, he would rise and go on
with the Canticles after the scholar had read fifteen or twenty verses.

It is curious that my father often spoke of his Cambridge life as if it had
been so much time wasted, forgetting that, although the set studies of the
place were barren enough for him, he yet gained in the highest degree the
best advantages of a University life—the contact with men and an
opportunity for his mind to grow vigorously. It is true that he valued at its
highest the advantages which he gained from associating with Professor
Henslow and some others, but he seemed to consider this as a chance
outcome of his life at Cambridge, not an advantage for which Alma Mater
could claim any credit. One of my father's Cambridge friends was the late
Mr. J.M. Herbert, County Court Judge for South Wales, from whom I was
fortunate enough to obtain some notes which help us to gain an idea of how
my father impressed his contemporaries. Mr. Herbert writes: "I think it was
in the spring of 1828 that I first met Darwin, either at my cousin Whitley's
rooms in St. John's, or at the rooms of some other of his old Shrewsbury
schoolfellows, with many of whom I was on terms of great intimacy. But it
certainly was in the summer of that year that our acquaintance ripened into
intimacy, when we happened to be together at Barmouth, for the Long
Vacation, reading with private tutors,—he with Batterton of St. John's, his
Classical and Mathematical Tutor, and I with Yate of St. John's."
The intercourse between them practically ceased in 1831, when my father
said goodbye to Herbert at Cambridge, on starting on his "Beagle" voyage. I
once met Mr. Herbert, then almost an old man, and I was much struck by
the evident warmth and freshness of the affection with which he
remembered my father. The notes from which I quote end with this warm-
hearted eulogium: "It would be idle for me to speak of his vast intellectual
powers...but I cannot end this cursory and rambling sketch without
testifying, and I doubt not all his surviving college friends would concur
with me, that he was the most genial, warm-hearted, generous, and
affectionate of friends; that his sympathies were with all that was good and
true; and that he had a cordial hatred for everything false, or vile, or cruel,
or mean, or dishonourable. He was not only great, but pre-eminently good,
and just, and loveable."
Two anecdotes told by Mr. Herbert show that my father's feeling for
suffering, whether of man or beast, was as strong in him as a young man as
it was in later years: "Before he left Cambridge he told me that he had made
up his mind not to shoot any more; that he had had two days' shooting at his
friend's, Mr. Owen of Woodhouse; and that on the second day, when going

over some of the ground they had beaten on the day before, he picked up a
bird not quite dead, but lingering from a shot it had received on the previous
day; and that it had made and left such a painful impression on his mind,
that he could not reconcile it to his conscience to continue to derive
pleasure from a sport which inflicted such cruel suffering."
To realise the strength of the feeling that led to this resolve, we must
remember how passionate was his love of sport. We must recall the boy
shooting his first snipe ('Recollections.'), and trembling with excitement so
that he could hardly reload his gun. Or think of such a sentence as, "Upon
my soul, it is only about a fortnight to the 'First,' then if there is a bliss on
earth that is it." (Letter from C. Darwin to W.D. Fox.)
Another anecdote told by Mr. Herbert illustrates again his tenderness of
heart:—
"When at Barmouth he and I went to an exhibition of 'learned dogs.' In
the middle of the entertainment one of the dogs failed in performing the
trick his master told him to do. On the man reproving him, the dog put on a
most piteous expression, as if in fear of the whip. Darwin seeing it, asked
me to leave with him, saying, 'Come along, I can't stand this any longer;
how those poor dogs must have been licked.'"
It is curious that the same feeling recurred to my father more than fifty
years afterwards, on seeing some performing dogs at the Westminster
Aquarium; on this occasion he was reassured by the manager telling him
that the dogs were taught more by reward than by punishment. Mr. Herbert
goes on:—"It stirred one's inmost depth of feeling to hear him descant
upon, and groan over, the horrors of the slave-trade, or the cruelties to
which the suffering Poles were subjected at Warsaw...These, and other like
proofs have left on my mind the conviction that a more humane or tender-
hearted man never lived."
His old college friends agree in speaking with affectionate warmth of his
pleasant, genial temper as a young man. From what they have been able to
tell me, I gain the impression of a young man overflowing with animal
spirits—leading a varied healthy life—not over-industrious in the set of
studies of the place, but full of other pursuits, which were followed with a
rejoicing enthusiasm. Entomology, riding, shooting in the fens, suppers and
card-playing, music at King's Chapel, engravings at the Fitzwilliam
Museum, walks with Professor Henslow—all combined to fill up a happy

life. He seems to have infected others with his enthusiasm. Mr. Herbert
relates how, during the same Barmouth summer, he was pressed into the
service of "the science"—as my father called collecting beetles. They took
their daily walks together among the hills behind Barmouth, or boated in
the Mawddach estuary, or sailed to Sarn Badrig to land there at low water,
or went fly-fishing in the Cors-y-gedol lakes. "On these occasions Darwin
entomologized most industriously, picking up creatures as he walked along,
and bagging everything which seemed worthy of being pursued, or of
further examination. And very soon he armed me with a bottle of alcohol, in
which I had to drop any beetle which struck me as not of a common kind. I
performed this duty with some diligence in my constitutional walks; but
alas! my powers of discrimination seldom enabled me to secure a prize—
the usual result, on his examining the contents of my bottle, being an
exclamation, 'Well, old Cherbury' (No doubt in allusion to the title of Lord
Herbert of Cherbury.) (the nickname he gave me, and by which he usually
addressed me), 'none of these will do.'" Again, the Rev. T. Butler, who was
one of the Barmouth reading-party in 1828, says: "He inoculated me with a
taste for Botany which has stuck by me all my life."
Archdeacon Watkins, another old college friend of my father's,
remembers him unearthing beetles in the willows between Cambridge and
Grantchester, and speaks of a certain beetle the remembrance of whose
name is "Crux major." (Panagaeus crux-major.) How enthusiastically must
my father have exulted over this beetle to have impressed its name on a
companion so that he remembers it after half a century! Archdeacon
Watkins goes on: "I do not forget the long and very interesting
conversations that we had about Brazilian scenery and tropical vegetation
of all sorts. Nor do I forget the way and the vehemence with which he
rubbed his chin when he got excited on such subjects, and discoursed
eloquently of lianas, orchids, etc."
He became intimate with Henslow, the Professor of Botany, and through
him with some other older members of the University. "But," Mr. Herbert
writes, "he always kept up the closest connection with the friends of his
own standing; and at our frequent social gatherings—at breakfast, wine or
supper parties—he was ever one of the most cheerful, the most popular, and
the most welcome."

My father formed one of a club for dining once a week, called the
Gourmet (Mr. Herbert mentions the name as 'The Glutton Club.') Club, the
members, besides himself and Mr. Herbert (from whom I quote), being
Whitley of St. John's, now Honorary Canon of Durham (Formerly Reader
in Natural Philosophy at Durham University.); Heaviside of Sidney, now
Canon of Norwich; Lovett Cameron of Trinity, now vicar of Shoreham;
Blane of Trinity, who held a high post during the Crimean war; H. Lowe
(Brother of Lord Sherbrooke.) (Now Sherbrooke) of Trinity Hall; and
Watkins of Emmanuel, now Archdeacon of York. The origin of the club's
name seems already to have become involved in obscurity. Mr. Herbert says
that it was chosen in derision of another "set of men who called themselves
by a long Greek name signifying 'fond of dainties,' but who falsified their
claim to such a designation by their weekly practice of dining at some
roadside inn, six miles from Cambridge, on mutton chops or beans and
bacon." Another old member of the club tells me that the name arose
because the members were given to making experiments on "birds and
beasts which were before unknown to human palate." He says that hawk
and bittern were tried, and that their zeal broke down over an old brown
owl, "which was indescribable." At any rate, the meetings seemed to have
been successful, and to have ended with "a game of mild vingt-et-un."
Mr. Herbert gives an amusing account of the musical examinations
described by my father in his "Recollections." Mr. Herbert speaks strongly
of his love of music, and adds, "What gave him the greatest delight was
some grand symphony or overture of Mozart's or Beethoven's, with their
full harmonies." On one occasion Herbert remembers "accompanying him
to the afternoon service at King's, when we heard a very beautiful anthem.
At the end of one of the parts, which was exceedingly impressive, he turned
round to me and said, with a deep sigh, 'How's your backbone?'" He often
spoke of a feeling of coldness or shivering in his back on hearing beautiful
music.
Besides a love of music, he had certainly at this time a love of fine
literature; and Mr. Cameron tells me that he used to read Shakespeare to my
father in his rooms at Christ's, who took much pleasure in it. He also speaks
of his "great liking for first-class line engravings, especially those of
Raphael Morghen and Muller; and he spent hours in the Fitzwilliam
Museum in looking over the prints in that collection."

My father's letters to Fox show how sorely oppressed he felt by the
reading of an examination: "I am reading very hard, and have spirits for
nothing. I actually have not stuck a beetle this term." His despair over
mathematics must have been profound, when he expressed a hope that Fox's
silence is due to "your being ten fathoms deep in the Mathematics; and if
you are, God help you, for so am I, only with this difference, I stick fast in
the mud at the bottom, and there I shall remain." Mr. Herbert says: "He had,
I imagine, no natural turn for mathematics, and he gave up his mathematical
reading before he had mastered the first part of Algebra, having had a
special quarrel with Surds and the Binomial Theorem."
We get some evidence from his letters to Fox of my father's intention of
going into the Church. "I am glad," he writes (March 18, 1829.), "to hear
that you are reading divinity. I should like to know what books you are
reading, and your opinions about them; you need not be afraid of preaching
to me prematurely." Mr. Herbert's sketch shows how doubts arose in my
father's mind as to the possibility of his taking Orders. He writes, "We had
an earnest conversation about going into Holy Orders; and I remember his
asking me, with reference to the question put by the Bishop in the
ordination service, 'Do you trust that you are inwardly moved by the Holy
Spirit, etc.,' whether I could answer in the affirmative, and on my saying I
could not, he said, 'Neither can I, and therefore I cannot take orders.'" This
conversation appears to have taken place in 1829, and if so, the doubts here
expressed must have been quieted, for in May 1830, he speaks of having
some thoughts of reading divinity with Henslow.
[The greater number of the following letters are addressed by my father
to his cousin, William Darwin Fox. Mr. Fox's relationship to my father is
shown in the pedigree given in Chapter I. The degree of kinship appears to
have remained a problem to my father, as he signs himself in one letter
"cousin/n to the power 2." Their friendship was, in fact, due to their being
undergraduates together. My father's letters show clearly enough how
genuine the friendship was. In after years, distance, large families, and ill-
health on both sides, checked the intercourse; but a warm feeling of
friendship remained. The correspondence was never quite dropped and
continued till Mr. Fox's death in 1880. Mr. Fox took orders, and worked as a
country clergyman until forced by ill-health to leave his living in Delamare
Forest. His love of natural history remained strong, and he became a skilled
fancier of many kinds of birds, etc. The index to 'Animals and Plants,' and

my father's later correspondence, show how much help he received from his
old College friend.]

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.M. HERBERT. Saturday Evening [September
14, 1828]. (The postmark being Derby seems to show that the letter was
written from his cousin, W.D. Fox's house, Osmaston, near Derby.)
My dear old Cherbury,
I am about to fulfil my promise of writing to you, but I am sorry to add
there is a very selfish motive at the bottom. I am going to ask you a great
favour, and you cannot imagine how much you will oblige me by procuring
some more specimens of some insects which I dare say I can describe. In
the first place, I must inform you that I have taken some of the rarest of the
British Insects, and their being found near Barmouth, is quite unknown to
the Entomological world: I think I shall write and inform some of the crack
entomologists.
But now for business. SEVERAL more specimens, if you can procure
them without much trouble, of the following insects:—The violet-black
coloured beetle, found on Craig Storm (The top of the hill immediately
behind Barmouth was called Craig-Storm, a hybrid Cambro-English word.),
under stones, also a large smooth black one very like it; a bluish metallic-
coloured dung-beetle, which is VERY common on the hill-sides; also, if
you WOULD be so very kind as to cross the ferry, and you will find a great
number under the stones on the waste land of a long, smooth, jet-black
beetle (a great many of these); also, in the same situation, a very small
pinkish insect, with black spots, with a curved thorax projecting beyond the
head; also, upon the marshy land over the ferry, near the sea, under old sea-
weed, stones, etc., you will find a small yellowish transparent beetle, with
two or four blackish marks on the back. Under these stones there are two
sorts, one much darker than the other; the lighter-coloured is that which I
want. These last two insects are EXCESSIVELY RARE, and you will really
EXTREMELY oblige me by taking all this trouble pretty soon; remember
me most kindly to Butler, tell him of my success, and I dare say both of you
will easily recognise these insects. I hope his caterpillars go on well. I think
many of the Chrysalises are well worth keeping. I really am quite ashamed

[of] so long a letter all about my own concerns; but do return good for evil,
and send me a long account of all your proceedings.
In the first week I killed seventy-five head of game—a very contemptible
number—but there are very few birds. I killed, however, a brace of black
game. Since then I have been staying at the Fox's, near Derby; it is a very
pleasant house, and the music meeting went off very well. I want to hear
how Yates likes his gun, and what use he has made of it.
If the bottle is not large you can buy another for me, and when you pass
through Shrewsbury you can leave these treasures, and I hope, if you
possibly can, you will stay a day or two with me, as I hope I need not say
how glad I shall be to see you again. Fox remarked what deuced good-
natured fellows your friends at Barmouth must be; and if I did not know
how you and Butler were so, I would not think of giving you so much
trouble.
Believe me, my dear Herbert, Yours, most sincerely, CHARLES
DARWIN. Remember me to all friends.
[In the following January we find him looking forward with pleasure to
the beginning of another year of his Cambridge life: he writes to Fox—
"I waited till to-day for the chance of a letter, but I will wait no longer. I
must most sincerely and cordially congratulate you on having finished all
your labours. I think your place a VERY GOOD one considering by how
much you have beaten many men who had the start of you in reading. I do
so wish I were now in Cambridge (a very selfish wish, however, as I was
not with you in all your troubles and misery), to join in all the glory and
happiness, which dangers gone by can give. How we would talk, walk, and
entomologise! Sappho should be the best of bitches, and Dash, of dogs:
then should be 'peace on earth, good will to men,'—which, by the way, I
always think the most perfect description of happiness that words can
give."]

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. Cambridge, Thursday [February 26,
1829].
My dear Fox,

When I arrived here on Tuesday I found to my great grief and surprise, a
letter on my table which I had written to you about a fortnight ago, the
stupid porter never took the trouble of getting the letter forwarded. I
suppose you have been abusing me for a most ungrateful wretch; but I am
sure you will pity me now, as nothing is so vexatious as having written a
letter in vain.
Last Thursday I left Shrewsbury for London, and stayed there till
Tuesday, on which I came down here by the 'Times.' The first two days I
spent entirely with Mr. Hope (Founder of the Chair of Zoology at Oxford.),
and did little else but talk about and look at insects; his collection is most
magnificent, and he himself is the most generous of entomologists; he has
given me about 160 new species, and actually often wanted to give me the
rarest insects of which he had only two specimens. He made many civil
speeches, and hoped you will call on him some time with me, whenever we
should happen to be in London. He greatly compliments our exertions in
Entomology, and says we have taken a wonderfully great number of good
insects. On Sunday I spent the day with Holland, who lent me a horse to
ride in the Park with.
On Monday evening I drank tea with Stephens (J.F. Stephens, author of
'A Manual of British Coleoptera,' 1839, and other works.); his cabinet is
more magnificent than the most zealous entomologist could dream of; he
appears to be a very good-humoured pleasant little man. Whilst in town I
went to the Royal Institution, Linnean Society, and Zoological Gardens, and
many other places where naturalists are gregarious. If you had been with
me, I think London would be a very delightful place; as things were, it was
much pleasanter than I could have supposed such a dreary wilderness of
houses to be.
I shot whilst in Shrewsbury a Dundiver (female Goosander, as I suppose
you know). Shaw has stuffed it, and when I have an opportunity I will send
it to Osmaston. There have been shot also five Waxen Chatterers, three of
which Shaw has for sale; would you like to purchase a specimen? I have not
yet thanked you for your last very long and agreeable letter. It would have
been still more agreeable had it contained the joyful intelligence that you
were coming up here; my two solitary breakfasts have already made me
aware how very very much I shall miss you.
...

Believe me, My dear old Fox, Most sincerely yours, C. DARWIN.
[Later on in the Lent term he writes to Fox:—
"I am leading a quiet everyday sort of a life; a little of Gibbon's History
in the morning, and a good deal of "Van John" in the evening; this, with an
occasional ride with Simcox and constitutional with Whitley, makes up the
regular routine of my days. I see a good deal both of Herbert and Whitley,
and the more I see of them increases every day the respect I have for their
excellent understandings and dispositions. They have been giving some
very gay parties, nearly sixty men there both evenings."]

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. Christ's College [Cambridge], April 1
[1829].
My dear Fox,
In your letter to Holden you are pleased to observe "that of all the
blackguards you ever met with I am the greatest." Upon this observation I
shall make no remarks, excepting that I must give you all due credit for
acting on it most rigidly. And now I should like to know in what one
particular are you less of a blackguard than I am? You idle old wretch, why
have you not answered my last letter, which I am sure I forwarded to
Clifton nearly three weeks ago? If I was not really very anxious to hear
what you are doing, I should have allowed you to remain till you thought it
worth while to treat me like a gentleman. And now having vented my
spleen in scolding you, and having told you, what you must know, how very
much and how anxiously I want to hear how you and your family are
getting on at Clifton, the purport of this letter is finished. If you did but
know how often I think of you, and how often I regret your absence, I am
sure I should have heard from you long enough ago.
I find Cambridge rather stupid, and as I know scarcely any one that
walks, and this joined with my lips not being quite so well, has reduced me
to a sort of hybernation... I have caught Mr. Harbour letting — have the first
pick of the beetles; accordingly we have made our final adieus, my part in
the affecting scene consisted in telling him he was a d—d rascal, and
signifying I should kick him down the stairs if ever he appeared in my
rooms again. It seemed altogether mightily to surprise the young gentleman.
I have no news to tell you; indeed, when a correspondence has been broken

off like ours has been, it is difficult to make the first start again. Last night
there was a terrible fire at Linton, eleven miles from Cambridge. Seeing the
reflection so plainly in the sky, Hall, Woodyeare, Turner, and myself
thought we would ride and see it. We set out at half-past nine, and rode like
incarnate devils there, and did not return till two in the morning. Altogether
it was a most awful sight. I cannot conclude without telling you, that of all
the blackguards I ever met with, you are the greatest and the best.
C. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. [Cambridge, Thursday, April 23,
1829.]
My dear Fox,
I have delayed answering your last letter for these few days, as I thought
that under such melancholy circumstances my writing to you would be
probably only giving you trouble. This morning I received a letter from
Catherine informing me of that event (The death of Fox's sister, Mrs.
Bristowe.), which, indeed, from your letter, I had hardly dared to hope
would have happened otherwise. I feel most sincerely and deeply for you
and all your family; but at the same time, as far as any one can, by his own
good principles and religion, be supported under such a misfortune, you, I
am assured, will know where to look for such support. And after so pure
and holy a comfort as the Bible affords, I am equally assured how useless
the sympathy of all friends must appear, although it be as heartfelt and
sincere, as I hope you believe me capable of feeling. At such a time of deep
distress I will say nothing more, excepting that I trust your father and Mrs.
Fox bear this blow as well as, under such circumstances, can be hoped for.
I am afraid it will be a long time, my dear Fox, before we meet; till then,
believe me at all times,
Yours most affectionately, CHARLES DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. Shrewsbury, Friday [July 4, 1829].
My dear Fox,

I should have written to you before only that whilst our expedition lasted
I was too much engaged, and the conclusion was so unfortunate, that I was
too unhappy to write to you till this week's quiet at home. The thoughts of
Woodhouse next week has at last given me courage to relate my unfortunate
case.
I started from this place about a fortnight ago to take an entomological
trip with Mr. Hope through all North Wales; and Barmouth was our first
destination. The two first days I went on pretty well, taking several good
insects; but for the rest of that week my lips became suddenly so bad
(Probably with eczema, from which he often suffered.), and I myself not
very well, that I was unable to leave the room, and on the Monday I
retreated with grief and sorrow back again to Shrewsbury. The first two
days I took some good insects...But the days that I was unable to go out,
Mr. Hope did wonders...and to-day I have received another parcel of insects
from him, such Colymbetes, such Carabi, and such magnificent Elaters (two
species of the bright scarlet sort). I am sure you will properly sympathise
with my unfortunate situation: I am determined I will go over the same
ground that he does before autumn comes, and if working hard will procure
insects I will bring home a glorious stock....
My dear Fox, Yours most sincerely, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. Shrewsbury, July 18, 1829.
I am going to Maer next week in order to entomologise, and shall stay
there a week, and for the rest of this summer I intend to lead a perfectly idle
and wandering life...You see I am much in the same state that you are, with
this difference, you make good resolutions and never keep them; I never
make them, so cannot keep them; it is all very well writing in this manner,
but I must read for my Little-go. Graham smiled and bowed so very civilly,
when he told me that he was one of the six appointed to make the
examination stricter, and that they were determined this would make it a
very different thing from any previous examination, that from all this I am
sure it will be the very devil to pay amongst all idle men and entomologists.
Erasmus, we expect home in a few weeks' time: he intends passing next
winter in Paris. Be sure you order the two lists of insects published by

Stephens, one printed on both sides, and the other only on one; you will
find them very useful in many points of view.
Dear old Fox, yours, C. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. Christ's College, Thursday [October
16, 1829].
My dear Fox,
I am afraid you will be very angry with me for not having written during
the Music Meeting, but really I was worked so hard that I had no time; I
arrived here on Monday and found my rooms in dreadful confusion, as they
have been taking up the floor, and you may suppose that I have had plenty
to do for these two days. The Music Meeting (At Birmingham.) was the
most glorious thing I ever experienced; and as for Malibran, words cannot
praise her enough, she is quite the most charming person I ever saw. We had
extracts out of several of the best operas, acted in character, and you cannot
imagine how very superior it made the concerts to any I ever heard before.
J. de Begnis (De Begnis's Christian name was Giuseppe.) acted 'Il Fanatico'
in character; being dressed up an extraordinary figure gives a much greater
effect to his acting. He kept the whole theatre in roars of laughter. I liked
Madame Blasis very much, but nothing will do after Malibran, who sung
some comic songs, and [a] person's heart must have been made of stone not
to have lost it to her. I lodged very near the Wedgwoods, and lived entirely
with them, which was very pleasant, and had you been there it would have
been quite perfect. It knocked me up most dreadfully, and I will never
attempt again to do two things the same day.
...

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. [Cambridge] Thursday [March,
1830].
My dear Fox,
I am through my Little-Go!!! I am too much exalted to humble myself by
apologising for not having written before. But I assure you before I went in,
and when my nerves were in a shattered and weak condition, your injured

person often rose before my eyes and taunted me with my idleness. But I
am through, through, through. I could write the whole sheet full with this
delightful word. I went in yesterday, and have just heard the joyful news. I
shall not know for a week which class I am in. The whole examination is
carried on in a different system. It has one grand advantage—being over in
one day. They are rather strict, and ask a wonderful number of questions.
And now I want to know something about your plans; of course you
intend coming up here: what fun we will have together; what beetles we
will catch; it will do my heart good to go once more together to some of our
old haunts. I have two very promising pupils in Entomology, and we will
make regular campaigns into the Fens. Heaven protect the beetles and Mr.
Jenyns, for we won't leave him a pair in the whole country. My new Cabinet
is come down, and a gay little affair it is.
And now for the time—I think I shall go for a few days to town to hear
an opera and see Mr. Hope; not to mention my brother also, whom I should
have no objection to see. If I go pretty soon, you can come afterwards, but
if you will settle your plans definitely, I will arrange mine, so send me a
letter by return of post. And I charge you let it be favourable—that is to say,
come directly. Holden has been ordained, and drove the Coach out on the
Monday. I do not think he is looking very well. Chapman wants you and
myself to pay him a visit when you come up, and begs to be remembered to
you. You must excuse this short letter, as I have no end more to send off by
this day's post. I long to see you again, and till then,
My dear good old Fox, Yours most sincerely, CHARLES DARWIN.
[In August he was in North Wales and wrote to Fox:—
"I have been intending to write every hour for the last fortnight, but
REALLY have had no time. I left Shrewsbury this day fortnight ago, and
have since that time been working from morning to night in catching fish or
beetles. This is literally the first idle day I have had to myself; for on the
rainy days I go fishing, on the good ones entomologising. You may recollect
that for the fortnight previous to all this, you told me not to write, so that I
hope I have made out some sort of defence for not having sooner answered
your two long and very agreeable letters."]

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. [Cambridge, November 5, 1830.]

My dear Fox,
I have so little time at present, and am so disgusted by reading that I have
not the heart to write to anybody. I have only written once home since I
came up. This must excuse me for not having answered your three letters,
for which I am really very much obliged...
I have not stuck an insect this term, and scarcely opened a case. If I had
time I would have sent you the insects which I have so long promised; but
really I have not spirits or time to do anything. Reading makes me quite
desperate; the plague of getting up all my subjects is next thing to
intolerable. Henslow is my tutor, and a most ADMIRABLE one he makes;
the hour with him is the pleasantest in the whole day. I think he is quite the
most perfect man I ever met with. I have been to some very pleasant parties
there this term. His good-nature is unbounded.
I am sure you will be sorry to hear poor old Whitley's father is dead. In a
worldly point of view it is of great consequence to him, as it will prevent
him going to the Bar for some time.—(Be sure answer this:) What did you
pay for the iron hoop you had made in Shrewsbury? Because I do not mean
to pay the whole of the Cambridge man's bill. You need not trouble yourself
about the Phallus, as I have bought up both species. I have heard men say
that Henslow has some curious religious opinions. I never perceived
anything of it, have you? I am very glad to hear, after all your delays, you
have heard of a curacy where you may read all the commandments without
endangering your throat. I am also still more glad to hear that your mother
continues steadily to improve. I do trust that you will have no further cause
for uneasiness. With every wish for your happiness, my dear old Fox,
Believe me yours most sincerely, CHARLES DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. Cambridge, Sunday, January 23,
1831.
My dear Fox,
I do hope you will excuse my not writing before I took my degree. I felt a
quite inexplicable aversion to write to anybody. But now I do most heartily
congratulate you upon passing your examination, and hope you find your
curacy comfortable. If it is my last shilling (I have not many), I will come
and pay you a visit.

I do not know why the degree should make one so miserable, both before
and afterwards. I recollect you were sufficiently wretched before, and I can
assure [you] I am now, and what makes it the more ridiculous is, I know not
what about. I believe it is a beautiful provision of nature to make one regret
the less leaving so pleasant a place as Cambridge; and amongst all its
pleasures—I say it for once and for all—none so great as my friendship
with you. I sent you a newspaper yesterday, in which you will see what a
good place [10th] I have got in the Poll. As for Christ's, did you ever see
such a college for producing Captains and Apostles? (The "Captain" is at
the head of the "Poll": the "Apostles" are the last twelve in the
Mathematical Tripos.) There are no men either at Emmanuel or Christ's
plucked. Cameron is gulfed, together with other three Trinity scholars! My
plans are not at all settled. I think I shall keep this term, and then go and
economise at Shrewsbury, return and take my degree.
A man may be excused for writing so much about himself when he has
just passed the examination; so you must excuse [me]. And on the same
principle do you write a letter brimful of yourself and plans. I want to know
something about your examination. Tell me about the state of your nerves;
what books you got up, and how perfect. I take an interest about that sort of
thing, as the time will come when I must suffer. Your tutor, Thompson,
begged to be remembered to you, and so does Whitley. If you will answer
this, I will send as many stupid answers as you can desire.
Believe me, dear Fox, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHAPTER 1.V. — THE APPOINTMENT TO
THE 'BEAGLE.'
[In a letter addressed to Captain Fitz-Roy, before the "Beagle" sailed, my
father wrote, "What a glorious day the 4th of November (The "Beagle" did
not however make her final and successful start until December 27.) will be
to me—my second life will then commence, and it shall be as a birthday for
the rest of my life."]
The circumstances which led to this second birth—so much more
important than my father then imagined—are connected with his
Cambridge life, but may be more appropriately told in the present chapter.
Foremost in the chain of circumstances which lead to his appointment to the
"Beagle", was my father's friendship with Professor Henslow. He wrote in a
pocket-book or diary, which contain a brief record of dates, etc., throughout
his life:—
"1831. CHRISTMAS.—Passed my examination for B.A. degree and kept
the two following terms.
"During these months lived much with Professor Henslow, often dining
with him and walking with him; became slightly acquainted with several of
the learned men in Cambridge, which much quickened the zeal which
dinner parties and hunting had not destroyed.
"In the spring paid Mr. Dawes a visit with Ramsay and Kirby, and talked
over an excursion to Teneriffe. In the spring Henslow persuaded me to think
of Geology, and introduced me to Sedgwick. During Midsummer
geologised a little in Shropshire.
"AUGUST.—Went on Geological tour (Mentioned by Sedgwick in his
preface to Salter's 'Catalogue of Cambrian and Silurian Fossils,' 1873.) by
Llangollen, Ruthin, Conway, Bangor, and Capel Curig, where I left
Professor Sedgwick, and crossed the mountain to Barmouth."
In a letter to Fox (May, 1831), my father writes:—"I am very busy...and
see a great deal of Henslow, whom I do not know whether I love or respect
most." His feeling for this admirable man is finely expressed in a letter
which he wrote to Rev. L. Blomefield (then Rev. L. Jenyns), when the latter

was engaged in his 'Memoir of Professor Henslow' (published 1862). The
passage ('Memoir of the Rev. John Stevens Henslow, M.A.,' by the Rev.
Leonard Jenyns. 8vo. London, 1862, page 51.) has been made use of in the
first of the memorial notices written for 'Nature,' and Mr. Romanes points
out that my father, "while describing the character of another, is
unconsciously giving a most accurate description of his own":—
"I went to Cambridge early in the year 1828, and soon became
acquainted, through some of my brother entomologists, with Professor
Henslow, for all who cared for any branch of natural history were equally
encouraged by him. Nothing could be more simple, cordial, and
unpretending than the encouragement which he afforded to all young
naturalists. I soon became intimate with him, for he had a remarkable power
of making the young feel completely at ease with him; though we were all
awe-struck with the amount of his knowledge. Before I saw him, I heard
one young man sum up his attainments by simply saying that he knew
everything. When I reflect how immediately we felt at perfect ease with a
man older, and in every way so immensely our superior, I think it was as
much owing to the transparent sincerity of his character as to his kindness
of heart; and, perhaps, even still more, to a highly remarkable absence in
him of all self-consciousness. One perceived at once that he never thought
of his own varied knowledge or clear intellect, but solely on the subject in
hand. Another charm, which must have struck every one, was that his
manner to old and distinguished persons and to the youngest student was
exactly the same: and to all he showed the same winning courtesy. He
would receive with interest the most trifling observation in any branch of
natural history; and however absurd a blunder one might make, he pointed
it out so clearly and kindly, that one left him no way disheartened, but only
determined to be more accurate the next time. In short, no man could be
better formed to win the entire confidence of the young, and to encourage
them in their pursuits.
"His lectures on Botany were universally popular, and as clear as
daylight. So popular were they, that several of the older members of the
University attended successive courses. Once every week he kept open
house in the evening, and all who cared for natural history attended these
parties, which, by thus favouring inter-communication, did the same good
in Cambridge, in a very pleasant manner, as the Scientific Societies do in
London. At these parties many of the most distinguished members of the

University occasionally attended; and when only a few were present, I have
listened to the great men of those days, conversing on all sorts of subjects,
with the most varied and brilliant powers. This was no small advantage to
some of the younger men, as it stimulated their mental activity and
ambition. Two or three times in each session he took excursions with his
botanical class; either a long walk to the habitat of some rare plant, or in a
barge down the river to the fens, or in coaches to some more distant place,
as to Gamlingay, to see the wild lily of the valley, and to catch on the heath
the rare natter-jack. These excursions have left a delightful impression on
my mind. He was, on such occasions, in as good spirits as a boy, and
laughed as heartily as a boy at the misadventures of those who chased the
splendid swallow-tail butterflies across the broken and treacherous fens. He
used to pause every now and then to lecture on some plant or other object;
and something he could tell us on every insect, shell, or fossil collected, for
he had attended to every branch of natural history. After our day's work we
used to dine at some inn or house, and most jovial we then were. I believe
all who joined these excursions will agree with me that they have left an
enduring impression of delight on our minds.
"As time passed on at Cambridge I became very intimate with Professor
Henslow, and his kindness was unbounded; he continually asked me to his
house, and allowed me to accompany him in his walks. He talked on all
subjects, including his deep sense of religion, and was entirely open. I own
more than I can express to this excellent man...
"During the years when I associated so much with Professor Henslow, I
never once saw his temper even ruffled. He never took an ill-natured view
of any one's character, though very far from blind to the foibles of others. It
always struck me that his mind could not be even touched by any paltry
feeling of vanity, envy, or jealousy. With all this equability of temper and
remarkable benevolence, there was no insipidity of character. A man must
have been blind not to have perceived that beneath this placid exterior there
was a vigorous and determined will. When principle came into play, no
power on earth could have turned him one hair's-breadth...
"Reflecting over his character with gratitude and reverence, his moral
attributes rise, as they should do in the highest character, in pre-eminence
over his intellect."

In a letter to Rev. L. Blomefield (Jenyns), May 24, 1862, my father wrote
with the same feelings that he had expressed in his letters thirty years
before:—
"I thank you most sincerely for your kind present of your Memoir of
Henslow. I have read about half, and it has interested me much. I do not
think that I could have venerated him more than I did; but your book has
even exalted his character in my eyes. From turning over the pages of the
latter half, I should think your account would be invaluable to any
clergyman who wished to follow poor dear Henslow's noble example. What
an admirable man he was."
The geological work mentioned in the quotation from my father's pocket-
book was doubtless of importance as giving him some practical experience,
and perhaps of more importance in helping to give him some confidence in
himself. In July of the same year, 1831, he was "working like a tiger" at
Geology, and trying to make a map of Shropshire, but not finding it "as easy
as I expected."
In writing to Henslow about the same time, he gives some account of his
work:—
"I should have written to you some time ago, only I was determined to
wait for the clinometer, and I am very glad to say I think it will answer
admirably. I put all the tables in my bedroom at every conceivable angle
and direction. I will venture to say I have measured them as accurately as
any geologist going could do...I have been working at so many things that I
have not got on much with geology. I suspect the first expedition I take,
clinometer and hammer in hand, will send me back very little wiser and a
good deal more puzzled than when I started. As yet I have only indulged in
hypotheses, but they are such powerful ones that I suppose, if they were put
into action for but one day, the world would come to an end."
He was evidently most keen to get to work with Sedgwick, for he wrote
to Henslow: "I have not heard from Professor Sedgwick, so I am afraid he
will not pay the Severn formations a visit. I hope and trust you did your best
to urge him."
My father has given in his Recollections some account of this Tour.
There too we read of the projected excursion to the Canaries, of which
slight mention occurs in letters to Fox and Henslow.

In April 1831 he writes to Fox: "At present I talk, think, and dream of a
scheme I have almost hatched of going to the Canary Islands. I have long
had a wish of seeing tropical scenery and vegetation, and, according to
Humboldt, Teneriffe is a very pretty specimen." And again in May: "As for
my Canary scheme, it is rash of you to ask questions; my other friends most
sincerely wish me there, I plague them so with talking about tropical
scenery, etc. Eyton will go next summer, and I am learning Spanish."
Later on in the summer the scheme took more definite form, and the date
seems to have been fixed for June, 1832. He got information in London
about passage-money, and in July was working at Spanish and calling Fox
"un grandisimo lebron," in proof of his knowledge of the language; which,
however, he found "intensely stupid." But even then he seems to have had
some doubts about his companions' zeal, for he writes to Henslow (July 27,
1831): "I hope you continue to fan your Canary ardour. I read and re-read
Humboldt; do you do the same? I am sure nothing will prevent us seeing
the Great Dragon Tree."
Geological work and Teneriffe dreams carried him through the summer,
till on returning from Barmouth for the sacred 1st of September, he received
the offer of appointment as Naturalist to the "Beagle".
The following extract from the pocket-book will be a help in reading the
letters:—
"Returned to Shrewsbury at end of August. Refused offer of voyage.
"September.—Went to Maer, returned with Uncle Jos. to Shrewsbury,
thence to Cambridge. London.
"11th.—Went with Captain Fitz-Roy in steamer to Plymouth to see the
"Beagle".
"22nd.—Returned to Shrewsbury, passing through Cambridge.
"October 2nd.—Took leave of my home. Stayed in London.
"24th—Reached Plymouth.
"October and November.—These months very miserable.
"December 10th.—Sailed, but were obliged to put back.
"21st.—Put to sea again, and were driven back.
"27th.—Sailed from England on our Circumnavigation."

GEORGE PEACOCK (Formerly Dean of Ely, and Lowndean Professor
of Astronomy at Cambridge.) TO J.S. HENSLOW. 7 Suffolk Street, Pall
Mall East. [1831.]
My dear Henslow,
Captain Fitz-Roy is going out to survey the southern coast of Tierra del
Fuego, and afterwards to visit many of the South Sea Islands, and to return
by the Indian Archipelago. The vessel is fitted out expressly for scientific
purposes, combined with the survey; it will furnish, therefore, a rare
opportunity for a naturalist, and it would be a great misfortune that it should
be lost.
An offer has been made to me to recommend a proper person to go out as
a naturalist with this expedition; he will be treated with every consideration.
The Captain is a young man of very pleasing manners (a nephew of the
Duke of Grafton), of great zeal in his profession, and who is very highly
spoken of; if Leonard Jenyns could go, what treasures he might bring home
with him, as the ship would be placed at his disposal whenever his inquiries
made it necessary or desirable. In the absence of so accomplished a
naturalist, is there any person whom you could strongly recommend? he
must be such a person as would do credit to our recommendation. Do think
of this subject, it would be a serious loss to the cause of natural science if
this fine opportunity was lost....
The ship sails about the end of September.
Write immediately, and tell me what can be done.
Believe me, My dear Henslow, Most truly yours, GEORGE PEACOCK.
J.S. HENSLOW TO C. DARWIN. Cambridge, August 24, 1831.
My dear Darwin,
Before I enter upon the immediate business of this letter, let us condole
together upon the loss of our inestimable friend poor Ramsay, of whose
death you have undoubtedly heard long before this.
I will not now dwell upon this painful subject, as I shall hope to see you
shortly, fully expecting that you will eagerly catch at the offer which is
likely to be made you of a trip to Tierra del Fuego, and home by the East
Indies. I have been asked by Peacock, who will read and forward this to you
from London, to recommend him a Naturalist as companion to Captain
Fitz-Roy, employed by Government to survey the southern extremity of

America. I have stated that I consider you to be the best qualified person I
know of who is likely to undertake such a situation. I state this not in the
supposition of your being a FINISHED naturalist, but as amply qualified
for collecting, observing, and noting, anything worthy to be noted in
Natural History. Peacock has the appointment at his disposal, and if he
cannot find a man willing to take the office, the opportunity will probably
be lost. Captain Fitz-Roy wants a man (I understand) more as a companion
than a mere collector, and would not take any one, however good a
naturalist, who was not recommended to him likewise as a GENTLEMAN.
Particulars of salary, etc., I know nothing. The voyage is to last two years,
and if you take plenty of books with you, anything you please may be done.
You will have ample opportunities at command. In short, I suppose there
never was a finer chance for a man of zeal and spirit; Captain Fitz-Roy is a
young man. What I wish you to do is instantly to come and consult with
Peacock (at No. 7 Suffolk Street, Pall Mall East, or else at the University
Club), and learn further particulars. Don't put on any modest doubts or fears
about your disqualifications, for I assure you I think you are the very man
they are in search of; so conceive yourself to be tapped on the shoulder by
your bum-bailiff and affectionate friend,
J.S. HENSLOW.
The expedition is to sail on 25th September (at earliest), so there is no
time to be lost.
G. PEACOCK TO C. DARWIN. [1831.]
My dear Sir,
I received Henslow's letter last night too late to forward it to you by the
post; a circumstance which I do not regret, as it has given me an
opportunity of seeing Captain Beaufort at the Admiralty (the
Hydrographer), and of stating to him the offer which I have to make to you.
He entirely approves of it, and you may consider the situation as at your
absolute disposal. I trust that you will accept it, as it is an opportunity which
should not be lost, and I look forward with great interest to the benefit
which our collections of Natural History may receive from your labours.
The circumstances are these;—
Captain Fitz-Roy (a nephew of the Duke of Grafton) sails at the end of
September, in a ship to survey, in the first instance, the South Coast of
Tierra del Fuego, afterwards to visit the South Sea Islands, and to return by

the Indian Archipelago to England. The expedition is entirely for scientific
purposes, and the ship will generally wait your leisure for researches in
Natural History, etc. Captain Fitz-Roy is a public-spirited and zealous
officer, of delightful manners, and greatly beloved by all his brother
officers. He went with Captain Beechey (For 'Beechey' read 'King.' I do not
find the name Fitz-Roy in the list of Beechey's officers. The Fuegians were
brought back from Captain King's voyage.), and spent 1500 pounds in
bringing over and educating at his own charge three natives of Patagonia.
He engages at his own expense an artist at 200 pounds a year to go with
him. You may be sure, therefore, of having a very pleasant companion, who
will enter heartily into all your views.
The ship sails about the end of September, and you must lose no time in
making known your acceptance to Captain Beaufort, Admiralty
Hydrographer. I have had a good deal of correspondence about this matter
[with Henslow?], who feels, in common with myself, the greatest anxiety
that you should go. I hope that no other arrangements are likely to interfere
with it....
The Admiralty are not disposed to give a salary, though they will furnish
you with an official appointment, and every accommodation. If a salary
should be required, however, I am inclined to think that it would be granted.
Believe me, my dear Sir, Very truly yours, GEORGE PEACOCK.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. Shrewsbury, Tuesday [August
30?, 1831].
My dear Sir,
Mr. Peacock's letter arrived on Saturday, and I received it late yesterday
evening. As far as my own mind is concerned, I should, I think
CERTAINLY, most gladly have accepted the opportunity which you so
kindly have offered me. But my father, although he does not decidedly
refuse me, gives such strong advice against going, that I should not be
comfortable if I did not follow it.
My father's objections are these: the unfitting me to settle down as a
Clergyman, my little habit of seafaring, THE SHORTNESS OF THE TIME,
and the chance of my not suiting Captain Fitz-Roy. It is certainly a very
serious objection, the very short time for all my preparations, as not only

body but mind wants making up for such an undertaking. But if it had not
been for my father I would have taken all risks. What was the reason that a
Naturalist was not long ago fixed upon? I am very much obliged for the
trouble you have had about it; there certainly could not have been a better
opportunity....
My trip with Sedgwick answered most perfectly. I did not hear of poor
Mr. Ramsay's loss till a few days before your letter. I have been lucky
hitherto in never losing any person for whom I had any esteem or affection.
My acquaintance, although very short, was sufficient to give me those
feelings in a great degree. I can hardly make myself believe he is no more.
He was the finest character I ever knew.
Yours most sincerely, My dear Sir, CH. DARWIN.
I have written to Mr. Peacock, and I mentioned that I have asked you to
send one line in the chance of his not getting my letter. I have also asked
him to communicate with Captain Fitz-Roy. Even if I was to go, my father
disliking would take away all energy, and I should want a good stock of
that. Again I must thank you, it adds a little to the heavy but pleasant load
of gratitude which I owe to you.

CHARLES DARWIN TO R.W. DARWIN. [Maer] August 31, [1831].
My dear Father,
I am afraid I am going to make you again very uncomfortable. But, upon
consideration, I think you will excuse me once again, stating my opinions
on the offer of the voyage. My excuse and reason is the different way all the
Wedgwoods view the subject from what you and my sisters do.
I have given Uncle Jos (Josiah Wedgwood.) what I fervently trust is an
accurate and full list of your objections, and he is kind enough to give his
opinions on all. The list and his answers will be enclosed. But may I beg of
you one favour, it will be doing me the greatest kindness, if you will send
me a decided answer, yes or no? If the latter, I should be most ungrateful if I
did not implicitly yield to your better judgment, and to the kindest
indulgence you have shown me all through my life; and you may rely upon
it I will never mention the subject again. If your answer should be yes; I
will go directly to Henslow and consult deliberately with him, and then
come to Shrewsbury.

The danger appears to me and all the Wedgwoods not great. The expense
cannot be serious, and the time I do not think, anyhow, would be more
thrown away then if I stayed at home. But pray do not consider that I am so
bent on going that I would for one SINGLE MOMENT hesitate, if you
thought that after a short period you should continue uncomfortable.
I must again state I cannot think it would unfit me hereafter for a steady
life. I do hope this letter will not give you much uneasiness. I send it by the
car to-morrow morning; if you make up your mind directly will you send
me an answer on the following day by the same means? If this letter should
not find you at home, I hope you will answer as soon as you conveniently
can.
I do not know what to say about Uncle Jos' kindness; I never can forget
how he interests himself about me.
Believe me, my dear father, Your affectionate son, CHARLES DARWIN.
[Here follows the list of objections which are referred to in the following
letter:—
1. Disreputable to my character as a Clergyman hereafter.
2. A wild scheme.
3. That they must have offered to many others before me the place of
Naturalist.
4. And from its not being accepted there must be some serious objection
to the vessel or expedition.
5. That I should never settle down to a steady life hereafter.
6. That my accommodations would be most uncomfortable.
7. That you [i.e. Dr. Darwin] should consider it as again changing my
profession.
8. That it would be a useless undertaking.]
JOSIAH WEDGWOOD TO R.W. DARWIN. Maer, August 31, 1831.
[Read this last.] (In C. Darwin's writing.)
My dear Doctor,
I feel the responsibility of your application to me on the offer that has
been made to Charles as being weighty, but as you have desired Charles to
consult me, I cannot refuse to give the result of such consideration as I have
been able to [give?] it.

Charles has put down what he conceives to be your principal objections,
and I think the best course I can take will be to state what occurs to me
upon each of them.
1. I should not think that it would be in any degree disreputable to his
character as a Clergyman. I should on the contrary think the offer
honourable to him; and the pursuit of Natural History, though certainly not
professional, is very suitable to a clergyman.
2. I hardly know how to meet this objection, but he would have definite
objects upon which to employ himself, and might acquire and strengthen
habits of application, and I should think would be as likely to do so as in
any way in which he is likely to pass the next two years at home.
3. The notion did not occur to me in reading the letters; and on reading
them again with that object in my mind I see no ground for it.
4. I cannot conceive that the Admiralty would send out a bad vessel on
such a service. As to objections to the expedition, they will differ in each
man's case, and nothing would, I think, be inferred in Charles's case, if it
were known that others had objected.
5. You are a much better judge of Charles's character than I can be. If on
comparing this mode of spending the next two years with the way in which
he will probably spend them, if he does not accept this offer, you think him
more likely to be rendered unsteady and unable to settle, it is undoubtedly a
weighty objection. Is it not the case that sailors are prone to settle in
domestic and quiet habits?
6. I can form no opinion on this further than that if appointed by the
Admiralty he will have a claim to be as well accommodated as the vessel
will allow.
7. If I saw Charles now absorbed in professional studies I should
probably think it would not be advisable to interrupt them; but this is not,
and, I think, will not be the case with him. His present pursuit of knowledge
is in the same track as he would have to follow in the expedition.
8. The undertaking would be useless as regards his profession, but
looking upon him as a man of enlarged curiosity, it affords him such an
opportunity of seeing men and things as happens to few.
You will bear in mind that I have had very little time for consideration,
and that you and Charles are the persons who must decide.

I am, My dear Doctor, Affectionately yours, JOSIAH WEDGWOOD.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. Cambridge, Red Lion
[September 2], 1831.
My dear Sir,
I am just arrived; you will guess the reason. My father has changed his
mind. I trust the place is not given away.
I am very much fatigued, and am going to bed.
I dare say you have not yet got my second letter.
How soon shall I come to you in the morning? Send a verbal answer.
Good-night, Yours, C. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS SUSAN DARWIN. Cambridge, Sunday
Morning [September 4].
My dear Susan,
As a letter would not have gone yesterday, I put off writing till to-day. I
had rather a wearisome journey, but got into Cambridge very fresh. The
whole of yesterday I spent with Henslow, thinking of what is to be done,
and that I find is a great deal. By great good luck I know a man of the name
of Wood, nephew of Lord Londonderry. He is a great friend of Captain Fitz-
Roy, and has written to him about me. I heard a part of Captain Fitz-Roy's
letter, dated some time ago, in which he says: "I have a right good set of
officers, and most of my men have been there before." It seems he has been
there for the last few years; he was then second in command with the same
vessel that he has now chosen. He is only twenty-three years old, but [has]
seen a deal of service, and won the gold medal at Portsmouth. The
Admiralty say his maps are most perfect. He had choice of two vessels, and
he chose the smallest. Henslow will give me letters to all travellers in town
whom he thinks may assist me.
Peacock has sole appointment of Naturalist. The first person offered was
Leonard Jenyns, who was so near accepting it that he packed up his clothes.
But having [a] living, he did not think it right to leave it—to the great regret
of all his family. Henslow himself was not very far from accepting it, for

Mrs. Henslow most generously, and without being asked, gave her consent;
but she looked so miserable that Henslow at once settled the point....
I am afraid there will be a good deal of expense at first. Henslow is much
against taking many things; it is [the] mistake all young travellers fall into. I
write as if it was settled, but Henslow tells me BY NO MEANS to make up
my mind till I have had long conversations with Captains Beaufort and Fitz-
Roy. Good-bye. You will hear from me constantly. Direct 17 Spring
Gardens. TELL NOBODY in Shropshire yet. Be sure not.
C. DARWIN.
I was so tired that evening I was in Shrewsbury that I thanked none of
you for your kindness half so much as I felt.
Love to my father.
The reason I don't want people told in Shropshire: in case I should not
go, it will make it more flat.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS S. DARWIN. 17 Spring Gardens, Monday
[September 5, 1831].
I have so little time to spare that I have none to waste in re-writing
letters, so that you must excuse my bringing up the other with me and
altering it. The last letter was written in the morning. In [the] middle of
[the] day, Wood received a letter from Captain Fitz-Roy, which I must say
was MOST straightforward and GENTLEMANLIKE, but so much against
my going, that I immediately gave up the scheme; and Henslow did the
same, saying that he thought Peacock had acted VERY WRONG in
misrepresenting things so much.
I scarcely thought of going to town, but here I am; and now for more
details, and much more promising ones. Captain Fitz-Roy is [in] town, and I
have seen him; it is no use attempting to praise him as much as I feel
inclined to do, for you would not believe me. One thing I am certain,
nothing could be more open and kind than he was to me. It seems he had
promised to take a friend with him, who is in office and cannot go, and he
only received the letter five minutes before I came in; and this makes things
much better for me, as want of room was one of Fitz-Roy's greatest
objections. He offers me to go share in everything in his cabin if I like to

come, and every sort of accommodation that I can have, but they will not be
numerous. He says nothing would be so miserable for him as having me
with him if I was uncomfortable, as in a small vessel we must be thrown
together, and thought it his duty to state everything in the worst point of
view. I think I shall go on Sunday to Plymouth to see the vessel.
There is something most extremely attractive in his manners and way of
coming straight to the point. If I live with him, he says I must live poorly—
no wine, and the plainest dinners. The scheme is not certainly so good as
Peacock describes. Captain Fitz-Roy advises me not [to] make up my mind
quite yet, but that, seriously, he thinks it will have much more pleasure than
pain for me. The vessel does not sail till the 10th of October. It contains
sixty men, five or six officers, etc., but is a small vessel. It will probably be
out nearly three years. I shall pay to the mess the same as [the] Captain does
himself, 30 pounds per annum; and Fitz-Roy says if I spend, including my
outfitting, 500 pounds, it will be beyond the extreme. But now for still
worse news. The round the world is not CERTAIN, but the chance most
excellent. Till that point is decided, I will not be so. And you may believe,
after the many changes I have made, that nothing but my reason shall
decide me.
Fitz-Roy says the stormy sea is exaggerated; that if I do not choose to
remain with them, I can at any time get home to England, so many vessels
sail that way, and that during bad weather (probably two months), if I like I
shall be left in some healthy, safe and nice country; that I shall always have
assistance; that he has many books, all instruments, guns, at my service;
that the fewer and cheaper clothes I take the better. The manner of
proceeding will just suit me. They anchor the ship, and then remain for a
fortnight at a place. I have made Captain Beaufort perfectly understand me.
He says if I start and do not go round the world, I shall have good reason to
think myself deceived. I am to call the day after to-morrow, and, if possible,
to receive more certain instructions. The want of room is decidedly the most
serious objection; but Captain Fitz-Roy (probably owing to Wood's letter)
seems determined to make me [as] comfortable as he possibly can. I like his
manner of proceeding. He asked me at once, "Shall you bear being told that
I want the cabin to myself—when I want to be alone? If we treat each other
this way, I hope we shall suit; if not, probably we should wish each other at
the devil."

We stop a week at [the] Madeira Islands, and shall see most of [the] big
cities in South America. Captain Beaufort is drawing up the track through
the South Sea. I am writing in [a] great hurry; I do not know whether you
take interest enough to excuse treble postage. I hope I am judging
reasonably, and not through prejudice, about Captain Fitz-Roy; if so, I am
sure we shall suit. I dine with him to-day. I could write [a] great deal more
if I thought you liked it, and I had at present time. There is indeed a tide in
the affairs of man, and I have experienced it, and I had ENTIRELY given it
up till one to-day.
Love to my father. Dearest Susan, good-bye.
CH. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. London, Monday, [September
5, 1831].
My dear Sir,
Gloria in excelsis is the most moderate beginning I can think of. Things
are more prosperous than I should have thought possible. Captain Fitz-Roy
is everything that is delightful. If I was to praise half so much as I feel
inclined, you would say it was absurd, only once seeing him. I think he
really wishes to have me. He offers me to mess with him, and he will take
care I have such room as is possible. But about the cases he says I must
limit myself; but then he thinks like a sailor about size. Captain Beaufort
says I shall be upon the Boards, and then it will only cost me like other
officers. Ship sails 10th of October. Spends a week at Madeira Islands; and
then Rio de Janeiro. They all think most extremely probable, home by the
Indian archipelago; but till that is decided, I will not be so.
What has induced Captain Fitz-Roy to take a better view of the case is,
that Mr. Chester, who was going as a friend, cannot go, so that I shall have
his place in every respect.
Captain Fitz-Roy has [a] good stock of books, many of which were in my
list, and rifles, etc., so that the outfit will be much less expensive than I
supposed.
The vessel will be out three years. I do not object so that my father does
not. On Wednesday I have another interview with Captain Beaufort, and on

Sunday most likely go with Captain Fitz-Roy to Plymouth. So I hope you
will keep on thinking on the subject, and just keep memoranda of what may
strike you. I will call most probably on Mr. Burchell and introduce myself. I
am in lodgings at 17 Spring Gardens. You cannot imagine anything more
pleasant, kind, and open than Captain Fitz-Roy's manners were to me. I am
sure it will be my fault if we do not suit.
What changes I have had. Till one to-day I was building castles in the air
about hunting foxes the Shropshire, now llamas in South America.
There is indeed a tide in the affairs of men. If you see Mr. Wood,
remember me very kindly to him.
Good-bye. My dear Henslow, Your most sincere friend, CHAS.
DARWIN.
Excuse this letter in such a hurry.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. 17 Spring Gardens, London,
September 6, 1831....
Your letter gave me great pleasure. You cannot imagine how much your
former letter annoyed and hurt me. (He had misunderstood a letter of Fox's
as implying a charge of falsehood.) But, thank heaven, I firmly believe that
it was my OWN ENTIRE fault in so interpreting your letter. I lost a friend
the other day, and I doubt whether the moral death (as I then wickedly
supposed) of our friendship did not grieve me as much as the real and
sudden death of poor Ramsay. We have known each other too long to need,
I trust, any more explanations. But I will mention just one thing—that on
my death-bed, I think I could say I never uttered one insincere (which at the
time I did not fully feel) expression about my regard for you. One thing
more—the sending IMMEDIATELY the insects, on my honour, was an
unfortunate coincidence. I forgot how you naturally would take them. When
you look at them now, I hope no unkindly feelings will rise in your mind,
and that you will believe that you have always had in me a sincere, and I
will add, an obliged friend. The very many pleasant minutes that we spent
together in Cambridge rose like departed spirits in judgment against me.
May we have many more such, will be one of my last wishes in leaving
England. God bless you, dear old Fox. May you always be happy.
Yours truly, CHAS. DARWIN.

I have left your letter behind, so do not know whether I direct right.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS SUSAN DARWIN. 17 Spring Gardens,
Tuesday, [September 6, 1831.]
My dear Susan,
Again I am going to trouble you. I suspect, if I keep on at this rate, you
will sincerely wish me at Tierra del Fuego, or any other Terra, but England.
First I will give my commissions. Tell Nancy to make me some twelve
instead of eight shirts. Tell Edward to send me up in my carpet-bag (he can
slip the key in the bag tied to some string), my slippers, a pair of lightish
walking-shoes, my Spanish books, my new microscope (about six inches
long and three or four deep), which must have cotton stuffed inside; my
geological compass; my father knows that; a little book, if I have got it in
my bedroom—'Taxidermy.' Ask my father if he thinks there would be any
objection to my taking arsenic for a little time, as my hands are not quite
well, and I have always observed that if I once get them well, and change
my manner of living about the same time, they will generally remain well.
What is the dose? Tell Edward my gun is dirty. What is Erasmus's
direction? Tell me if you think there is time to write and receive an answer
before I start, as I should like particularly to know what he thinks about it. I
suppose you do not know Sir J. Mackintosh's direction?
I write all this as if it was settled, but it is not more than it was, excepting
that from Captain Fitz-Roy wishing me so much to go, and from his
kindness, I feel a predestination I shall start. I spent a very pleasant evening
with him yesterday. He must be more than twenty-three years old; he is of a
slight figure, and a dark but handsome edition of Mr. Kynaston, and,
according to my notions, pre-eminently good manners. He is all for
economy, excepting on one point—viz., fire-arms. He recommends me
strongly to get a case of pistols like his, which cost 60 pounds!! and never
to go on shore anywhere without loaded ones, and he is doubting about a
rifle; he says I cannot appreciate the luxury of fresh meat here. Of course I
shall buy nothing till everything is settled; but I work all day long at my
lists, putting in and striking out articles. This is the first really cheerful day I
have spent since I received the letter, and it all is owing to the sort of
involuntary confidence I place in my beau ideal of a Captain.

We stop at Teneriffe. His object is to stop at as many places as possible.
He takes out twenty chronometers, and it will be a "sin" not to settle the
longitude. He tells me to get it down in writing at the Admiralty that I have
the free choice to leave as soon and whenever I like. I dare say you expect I
shall turn back at the Madeira; if I have a morsel of stomach left, I won't
give up. Excuse my so often troubling and writing: the one is of great
utility, the other a great amusement to me. Most likely I shall write to-
morrow. Answer by return of post. Love to my father, dearest Susan.
C. DARWIN.
As my instruments want altering, send my things by the 'Oxonian' the
same night.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS SUSAN DARWIN. London, Friday
Morning, September 9, 1831.
My dear Susan,
I have just received the parcel. I suppose it was not delivered yesterday
owing to the Coronation. I am very much obliged to my father, and
everybody else. Everything is done quite right. I suppose by this time you
have received my letter written next day, and I hope will send off the things.
My affairs remain in statu quo. Captain Beaufort says I am on the books for
victuals, and he thinks I shall have no difficulty about my collections when
I come home. But he is too deep a fish for me to make him out. The only
thing that now prevents me finally making up my mind, is the want of
certainty about the South Sea Islands; although morally I have no doubt we
should go there whether or no it is put in the instructions. Captain Fitz-Roy
says I do good by plaguing Captain Beaufort, it stirs him up with a long
pole. Captain Fitz-Roy says he is sure he has interest enough (particularly if
this Administration is not everlasting—I shall soon turn Tory!), anyhow,
even when out, to get the ship ordered home by whatever track he likes.
From what Wood says, I presume the Dukes of Grafton and Richmond
interest themselves about him. By the way, Wood has been of the greatest
use to me; and I am sure his personal introduction of me inclined Captain
Fitz-Roy to have me.
To explain things from the very beginning: Captain Fitz-Roy first wished
to have a Naturalist, and then he seems to have taken a sudden horror of the

chances of having somebody he should not like on board the vessel. He
confesses his letter to Cambridge was to throw cold water on the scheme. I
don't think we shall quarrel about politics, although Wood (as might be
expected from a Londonderry) solemnly warned Fitz-Roy that I was a
Whig. Captain Fitz-Roy was before Uncle Jos., he said, "now your friends
will tell you a sea-captain is the greatest brute on the face of the creation. I
do not know how to help you in this case, except by hoping you will give
me a trial." How one does change! I actually now wish the voyage was
longer before we touch land. I feel my blood run cold at the quantity I have
to do. Everybody seems ready to assist me. The Zoological want to make
me a corresponding member. All this I can construct without crossing the
Equator. But one friend is quite invaluable, viz., a Mr. Yarrell, a stationer,
and excellent naturalist. (William Yarrell, well-known for his 'History of
British Birds' and 'History of British Fishes,' was born in 1784. He inherited
from his father a newsagent's business, to which he steadily adhered up to
his death, "in his 73rd year." He was a man of a thoroughly amiable and
honourable character, and was a valued office-bearer of several of the
learned Societies.) He goes to the shops with me and bullies about prices
(not that I yet buy): hang me if I give 60 pounds for pistols.
Yesterday all the shops were shut, so that I could do nothing; and I was
child enough to give 1 pound 1 shilling for an excellent seat to see the
Procession. (The Coronation of William IV.) And it certainly was very well
worth seeing. I was surprised that any quantity of gold could make a long
row of people quite glitter. It was like only what one sees in picture-books
of Eastern processions. The King looked very well, and seemed popular, but
there was very little enthusiasm; so little that I can hardly think there will be
a coronation this time fifty years.
The Life Guards pleased me as much as anything—they are quite
magnificent; and it is beautiful to see them clear a crowd. You think that
they must kill a score at least, and apparently they really hurt nobody, but
most deucedly frighten them. Whenever a crowd was so dense that the
people were forced off the causeway, one of these six-feet gentlemen, on a
black horse, rode straight at the place, making his horse rear very high, and
fall on the thickest spot. You would suppose men were made of sponge to
see them shrink away.

In the evening there was an illumination, and much grander than the one
on the Reform Bill. All the principal streets were crowded just like a race-
ground. Carriages generally being six abreast, and I will venture to say not
going one mile an hour. The Duke of Northumberland learnt a lesson last
time, for his house was very grand; much more so than the other great
nobility, and in much better taste; every window in his house was full of
straight lines of brilliant lights, and from their extreme regularity and
number had a beautiful effect. The paucity of invention was very striking,
crowns, anchors, and "W.R.'s" were repeated in endless succession. The
prettiest were gas-pipes with small holes; they were almost painfully
brilliant. I have written so much about the Coronation, that I think you will
have no occasion to read the "Morning Herald".
For about the first time in my life I find London very pleasant; hurry,
bustle, and noise are all in unison with my feelings. And I have plenty to do
in spare moments. I work at Astronomy, as I suppose it would astound a
sailor if one did not know how to find Latitude and Longitude. I am now
going to Captain Fitz-Roy, and will keep [this] letter open till evening for
anything that may occur. I will give you one proof of Fitz-Roy being a good
officer—all the officers are the same as before; two-thirds of his crew and
[the] eight marines who went before all offered to come again, so the
service cannot be so very bad. The Admiralty have just issued orders for a
large stock of canister-meat and lemon-juice, etc. etc. I have just returned
from spending a long day with Captain Fitz-Roy, driving about in his gig,
and shopping. This letter is too late for to-day's post. You may consider it
settled that I go. Yet there is room for change if any untoward accident
should happen; this I can see no reason to expect. I feel convinced nothing
else will alter my wish of going. I have begun to order things. I have
procured a case of good strong pistols and an excellent rifle for 50 pounds,
there is a saving; a good telescope, with compass, 5 pounds, and these are
nearly the only expensive instruments I shall want. Captain Fitz-Roy has
everything. I never saw so (what I should call, he says not) extravagant a
man, as regards himself, but as economical towards me. How he did order
things! His fire-arms will cost 400 pounds at least. I found the carpet bag
when I arrived all right, and much obliged. I do not think I shall take any
arsenic; shall send partridges to Mr. Yarrell; much obliged. Ask Edward to
BARGAIN WITH Clemson to make for my gun—TWO SPARE hammers
or cocks, two main-springs, two sere-springs, four nipples or plugs—I mean

one for each barrel, except nipples, of which there must be two for each, all
of excellent quality, and set about them immediately; tell Edward to make
inquiries about prices. I go on Sunday per packet to Plymouth, shall stay
one or two days, then return, and hope to find a letter from you; a few days
in London; then Cambridge, Shrewsbury, London, Plymouth, Madeira, is
my route. It is a great bore my writing so much about the Coronation; I
could fill another sheet. I have just been with Captain King, Fitz-Roy's
senior officer last expedition; he thinks that the expedition will suit me.
Unasked, he said Fitz-Roy's temper was perfect. He sends his own son with
him as midshipman. The key of my microscope was forgotten; it is of no
consequence. Love to all.
CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. 17 Spring Gardens (and here I shall
remain till I start) [September 19, 1831].
My dear Fox,
I returned from my expedition to see the "Beagle" at Plymouth on
Saturday, and found your most welcome letter on my table. It is quite
ridiculous what a very long period these last twenty days have appeared to
me, certainly much more than as many weeks on ordinary occasions; this
will account for my not recollecting how much I told you of my plans....
But on the whole it is a grand and fortunate opportunity; there will be so
many things to interest me—fine scenery and an endless occupation and
amusement in the different branches of Natural History; then again
navigation and meteorology will amuse me on the voyage, joined to the
grand requisite of there being a pleasant set of officers, and, as far as I can
judge, this is certain. On the other hand there is very considerable risk to
one's life and health, and the leaving for so very long a time so many people
whom I dearly love, is oftentimes a feeling so painful that it requires all my
resolution to overcome it. But everything is now settled, and before the 20th
of October I trust to be on the broad sea. My objection to the vessel is its
smallness, which cramps one so for room for packing my own body and all
my cases, etc., etc. As to its safety, I hope the Admiralty are the best judges;
to a landsman's eye she looks very small. She is a ten-gun three-masted
brig, but, I believe, an excellent vessel. So much for my future plans, and

now for my present. I go to-night by the mail to Cambridge, and from
thence, after settling my affairs, proceed to Shrewsbury (most likely on
Friday 23rd, or perhaps before); there I shall stay a few days, and be in
London by the 1st of October, and start for Plymouth on the 9th.
And now for the principal part of my letter. I do not know how to tell you
how very kind I feel your offer of coming to see me before I leave England.
Indeed I should like it very much; but I must tell you decidedly that I shall
have very little time to spare, and that little time will be almost spoilt by my
having so much to think about; and secondly, I can hardly think it worth
your while to leave your parish for such a cause. But I shall never forget
such generous kindness. Now I know you will act just as you think right;
but do not come up for my sake. Any time is the same for me. I think from
this letter you will know as much of my plans as I do myself, and will judge
accordingly the where and when to write to me. Every now and then I have
moments of glorious enthusiasm, when I think of the date and cocoa-trees,
the palms and ferns so lofty and beautiful, everything new, everything
sublime. And if I live to see years in after life, how grand must such
recollections be! Do you know Humboldt? (If you don't, do so directly.)
With what intense pleasure he appears always to look back on the days
spent in the tropical countries. I hope when you next write to Osmaston,
[you will] tell them my scheme, and give them my kindest regards and
farewells.
Good-bye, my dear Fox, Yours ever sincerely, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO R. FITZ-ROY. 17 Spring Gardens [October 17?
1831].
Dear Fitz-Roy,
Very many thanks for your letter; it has made me most comfortable, for it
would have been heart-breaking to have left anything quite behind, and I
never should have thought of sending things by some other vessel. This
letter will, I trust, accompany some talc. I read your letter without attending
to the name. But I have now procured some from Jones, which appears very
good, and I will send it this evening by the mail. You will be surprised at
not seeing me propria persona instead of my handwriting. But I had just
found out that the large steam-packet did not intend to sail on Sunday, and I

was picturing to myself a small, dirty cabin, with the proportion of 39-40ths
of the passengers very sick, when Mr. Earl came in and told me the
"Beagle" would not sail till the beginning of November. This, of course,
settled the point; so that I remain in London one week more. I shall then
send heavy goods by steamer and start myself by the coach on Sunday
evening.
Have you a good set of mountain barometers? Several great guns in the
scientific world have told me some points in geology to ascertain which
entirely depend on their relative height. If you have not a good stock, I will
add one more to the list. I ought to be ashamed to trouble you so much, but
will you SEND ONE LINE to inform me? I am daily becoming more
anxious to be off, and, if I am so, you must be in a perfect fever. What a
glorious day the 4th of November will be to me! My second life will then
commence, and it shall be as a birthday for the rest of my life.
Believe me, dear Fitz-Roy, Yours most sincerely, CHAS. DARWIN.
MONDAY.—I hope I have not put you to much inconvenience by
ordering the room in readiness.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. Devonport, November 15,
1831.
My dear Henslow,
The orders are come down from the Admiralty, and everything is finally
settled. We positively sail the last day of this month, and I think before that
time the vessel will be ready. She looks most beautiful, even a landsman
must admire her. WE all think her the most perfect vessel ever turned out of
the Dockyard. One thing is certain, no vessel has been fitted out so
expensively, and with so much care. Everything that can be made so is of
mahogany, and nothing can exceed the neatness and beauty of all the
accommodations. The instructions are very general, and leave a great deal
to the Captain's discretion and judgment, paying a substantial as well as a
verbal compliment to him....
No vessel ever left England with such a set of Chronometers, viz.,
twenty-four, all very good ones. In short, everything is well, and I have only
now to pray for the sickness to moderate its fierceness, and I shall do very
well. Yet I should not call it one of the very best opportunities for natural

history that has ever occurred. The absolute want of room is an evil that
nothing can surmount. I think L. Jenyns did very wisely in not coming, that
is judging from my own feelings, for I am sure if I had left college some
few years, or been those years older, I NEVER could have endured it. The
officers (excepting the Captain) are like the freshest freshmen, that is in
their manners, in everything else widely different. Remember me most
kindly to him, and tell him if ever he dreams in the night of palm-trees, he
may in the morning comfort himself with the assurance that the voyage
would not have suited him.
I am much obliged for your advice, de Mathematicis. I suspect when I am
struggling with a triangle, I shall often wish myself in your room, and as for
those wicked sulky surds, I do not know what I shall do without you to
conjure them. My time passes away very pleasantly. I know one or two
pleasant people, foremost of whom is Mr. Thunder-and-lightning Harris
(William Snow Harris, the Electrician.), whom I dare say you have heard
of. My chief employment is to go on board the "Beagle", and try to look as
much like a sailor as I can. I have no evidence of having taken in man,
woman or child.
I am going to ask you to do one more commission, and I trust it will be
the last. When I was in Cambridge, I wrote to Mr. Ash, asking him to send
my College account to my father, after having subtracted about 30 pounds
for my furniture. This he has forgotten to do, and my father has paid the
bill, and I want to have the furniture-money transmitted to my father.
Perhaps you would be kind enough to speak to Mr. Ash. I have cost my
father so much money, I am quite ashamed of myself.
I will write once again before sailing, and perhaps you will write to me
before then.
Remember me to Professor Sedgwick and Mr. Peacock.
Believe me, yours affectionately, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. Devonport, December 3, 1831.
My dear Henslow,
It is now late in the evening, and to-night I am going to sleep on board.
On Monday we most certainly sail, so you may guess what a desperate state

of confusion we are all in. If you were to hear the various exclamations of
the officers, you would suppose we had scarcely had a week's notice. I am
just in the same way taken all ABACK, and in such a bustle I hardly know
what to do. The number of things to be done is infinite. I look forward even
to sea-sickness with something like satisfaction, anything must be better
than this state of anxiety. I am very much obliged for your last kind and
affectionate letter. I always like advice from you, and no one whom I have
the luck to know is more capable of giving it than yourself. Recollect, when
you write, that I am a sort of protege of yours, and that it is your bounden
duty to lecture me.
I will now give you my direction; it is at first, Rio; but if you will send
me a letter on the first Tuesday (when the packet sails) in February, directed
to Monte Video, it will give me very great pleasure; I shall so much enjoy
hearing a little Cambridge news. Poor dear old Alma Mater! I am a very
worthy son in as far as affection goes. I have little more to write about...I
cannot end this without telling you how cordially I feel grateful for the
kindness you have shown me during my Cambridge life. Much of the
pleasure and utility which I may have derived from it is owing to you. I
long for the time when we shall again meet, and till then believe me, my
dear Henslow,
Your affectionate and obliged friend, CH. DARWIN.
Remember me most kindly to those who take any interest in me.

CHAPTER 1.VI. — THE VOYAGE.
"There is a natural good-humoured energy in his letters just like
himself."—From a letter of Dr. R.W. Darwin's to Prof. Henslow.
[The object of the "Beagle" voyage is briefly described in my father's
'Journal of Researches,' page 1, as being "to complete the Survey of
Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego, commenced under Captain King in 1826 to
1830; to survey the shores of Chile, Peru, and some island in the Pacific;
and to carry a chain of chronometrical measurements round the world."]
The "Beagle" is described as a well-built little vessel, of 235 tons, rigged
as a barque, and carrying six guns. She belonged to the old class of ten-gun
brigs, which were nicknamed "coffins," from their liability to go down in
severe weather. They were very "deep-waisted," that is, their bulwarks were
high in proportion to their size, so that a heavy sea breaking over them
might be highly dangerous. Nevertheless, she lived through the five years'
work, in the most stormy regions in the world, under Commanders Stokes
and Fitz-Roy, without a serious accident. When re-commissioned in 1831
for her second voyage, she was found (as I learn from Admiral Sir James
Sulivan) to be so rotten that she had practically to be rebuilt, and it was this
that caused the long delay in refitting. The upper deck was raised, making
her much safer in heavy weather, and giving her far more comfortable
accommodation below. By these alterations and by the strong sheathing
added to her bottom she was brought up to 242 tons burthen. It is a proof of
the splendid seamanship of Captain Fitz-Roy and his officers that she
returned without having carried away a spar, and that in only one of the
heavy storms that she encountered was she in great danger.
She was fitted out for the expedition with all possible care, being
supplied with carefully chosen spars and ropes, six boats, and a "dinghy;"
lightning conductors, "invented by Mr. Harris, were fixed in all the masts,
the bowsprits, and even in the flying jib-boom." To quote my father's
description, written from Devonport, November 17, 1831: "Everybody, who
can judge, says it is one of the grandest voyages that has almost ever been
sent out. Everything is on a grand scale. Twenty-four chronometers. The

whole ship is fitted up with mahogany; she is the admiration of the whole
place. In short, everything is as prosperous as human means can make it."
Owing to the smallness of the vessel, every one on board was cramped
for room, and my father's accommodation seems to have been small
enough: "I have just room to turn round," he writes to Henslow, "and that is
all." Admiral Sir James Sulivan writes to me: "The narrow space at the end
of the chart-table was his only accommodation for working, dressing, and
sleeping; the hammock being left hanging over his head by day, when the
sea was at all rough, that he might lie on it with a book in his hand when he
could not any longer sit at the table. His only stowage for clothes being
several small drawers in the corner, reaching from deck to deck; the top one
being taken out when the hammock was hung up, without which there was
not length for it, so then the foot-clews took the place of the top drawer. For
specimens he had a very small cabin under the forecastle."
Yet of this narrow room he wrote enthusiastically, September 17, 1831:—
"When I wrote last I was in great alarm about my cabin. The cabins were
not then marked out, but when I left they were, and mine is a capital one,
certainly next best to the Captain's and remarkably light. My companion
most luckily, I think, will turn out to be the officer whom I shall like best.
Captain Fitz-Roy says he will take care that one corner is so fitted up that I
shall be comfortable in it and shall consider it my home, but that also I shall
have the run of his. My cabin is the drawing one; and in the middle is a
large table, on which we two sleep in hammocks. But for the first two
months there will be no drawing to be done, so that it will be quite a
luxurious room, and good deal larger than the Captain's cabin."
My father used to say that it was the absolute necessity of tidiness in the
cramped space of the "Beagle" that helped 'to give him his methodical
habits of working.' On the "Beagle", too, he would say, that he learned what
he considered the golden rule for saving time; i.e., taking care of the
minutes.
Sir James Sulivan tells me that the chief fault in the outfit of the
expedition was the want of a second smaller vessel to act as tender. This
want was so much felt by Captain Fitz-Roy that he hired two decked boats
to survey the coast of Patagonia, at a cost of 1100 pounds, a sum which he
had to supply, although the boats saved several thousand pounds to the
country. He afterwards bought a schooner to act as a tender, thus saving the

country a further large amount. He was ultimately ordered to sell the
schooner, and was compelled to bear the loss himself, and it was only after
his death that some inadequate compensation was made for all the losses
which he suffered through his zeal.
For want of a proper tender, much of the work had to be done in small
open whale boats, which were sent away from the ship for weeks together,
and this in a climate, where the crews were exposed to severe hardships
from the almost constant rains, which sometimes continued for weeks
together. The completeness of the equipment was also in other respects
largely due to the public spirit of Captain Fitz-Roy. He provided at his own
cost an artist, and a skilled instrument-maker to look after the chronometers.
(Either one or both were on the books for victuals.) Captain Fitz-Roy's wish
was to take "some well-educated and scientific person" as his private guest,
but this generous offer was only accepted by my father on condition of
being allowed to pay a fair share of the expense of the Captain's table; he
was, moreover, on the ship's books for victuals.
In a letter to his sister (July 1832) he writes contentedly of his manner of
life at sea:—"I do not think I have ever given you an account of how the
day passes. We breakfast at eight o'clock. The invariable maxim is to throw
away all politeness—that is, never to wait for each other, and bolt off the
minute one has done eating, etc. At sea, when the weather is calm, I work at
marine animals, with which the whole ocean abounds. If there is any sea up
I am either sick or contrive to read some voyage or travels. At one we dine.
You shore-going people are lamentably mistaken about the manner of living
on board. We have never yet (nor shall we) dined off salt meat. Rice and
peas and calavanses are excellent vegetables, and, with good bread, who
could want more? Judge Alderson could not be more temperate, as nothing
but water comes on the table. At five we have tea. The midshipmen's berth
have all their meals an hour before us, and the gun-room an hour
afterwards."
The crew of the "Beagle" consisted of Captain Fitz-Roy, "Commander
and Surveyor," two lieutenants, one of whom (the first lieutenant) was the
late Captain Wickham, Governor of Queensland; the present Admiral Sir
James Sulivan, K.C.B., was the second lieutenant. Besides the master and
two mates, there was an assistant-surveyor, the present Admiral Lort
Stokes. There were also a surgeon, assistant-surgeon, two midshipmen,

master's mate, a volunteer (1st class), purser, carpenter, clerk, boatswain,
eight marines, thirty-four seamen, and six boys.
There are not now (1882) many survivors of my father's old ship-mates.
Admiral Mellersh, Mr. Hammond, and Mr. Philip King, of the Legislative
Council of Sydney, and Mr. Usborne, are among the number. Admiral
Johnson died almost at the same time as my father.
He retained to the last a most pleasant recollection of the voyage of the
"Beagle", and of the friends he made on board her. To his children their
names were familiar, from his many stories of the voyage, and we caught
his feeling of friendship for many who were to us nothing more than names.
It is pleasant to know how affectionately his old companions remembered
him.
Sir James Sulivan remained, throughout my father's lifetime, one of his
best and truest friends. He writes:—"I can confidently express my belief
that during the five years in the "Beagle", he was never known to be out of
temper, or to say one unkind or hasty word OF or TO any one. You will
therefore readily understand how this, combined with the admiration of his
energy and ability, led to our giving him the name of 'the dear old
Philosopher.'" (His other nickname was "The Flycatcher." I have heard my
father tell how he overheard the boatswain of the "Beagle" showing another
boatswain over the ship, and pointing out the officers: "That's our first
lieutenant; that's our doctor; that's our flycatcher.") Admiral Mellersh writes
to me:—"Your father is as vividly in my mind's eye as if it was only a week
ago that I was in the "Beagle" with him; his genial smile and conversation
can never be forgotten by any who saw them and heard them. I was sent on
two or three occasions away in a boat with him on some of his scientific
excursions, and always looked forward to these trips with great pleasure, an
anticipation that, unlike many others, was always realised. I think he was
the only man I ever knew against whom I never heard a word said; and as
people when shut up in a ship for five years are apt to get cross with each
other, that is saying a good deal. Certainly we were always so hard at work,
we had no time to quarrel, but if we had done so, I feel sure your father
would have tried (and have been successful) to throw oil on the troubled
waters."
Admiral Stokes, Mr. King, Mr. Usborne, and Mr. Hamond, all speak of
their friendship with him in the same warm-hearted way.

Of the life on board and on shore his letters give some idea. Captain Fitz-
Roy was a strict officer, and made himself thoroughly respected both by
officers and men. The occasional severity of his manner was borne with
because every one on board knew that his first thought was his duty, and
that he would sacrifice anything to the real welfare of the ship. My father
writes, July 1834, "We all jog on very well together, there is no quarrelling
on board, which is something to say. The Captain keeps all smooth by
rowing every one in turn." The best proof that Fitz-Roy was valued as a
commander is given by the fact that many ('Voyage of the "Adventure" and
"Beagle",' vol. ii. page 21.) of the crew had sailed with him in the
"Beagle's" former voyage, and there were a few officers as well as seamen
and marines, who had served in the "Adventure" or "Beagle" during the
whole of that expedition.
My father speaks of the officers as a fine determined set of men, and
especially of Wickham, the first lieutenant, as a "glorious fellow." The latter
being responsible for the smartness and appearance of the ship strongly
objected to his littering the decks, and spoke of specimens as "d—d beastly
devilment," and used to add, "If I were skipper, I would soon have you and
all your d—d mess out of the place."
A sort of halo of sanctity was given to my father by the fact of his dining
in the Captain's cabin, so that the midshipmen used at first to call him "Sir,"
a formality, however, which did not prevent his becoming fast friends with
the younger officers. He wrote about the year 1861 or 1862 to Mr. P.G.
King, M.L.C., Sydney, who, as before stated, was a midshipman on board
the "Beagle":—"The remembrance of old days, when we used to sit and talk
on the booms of the "Beagle", will always, to the day of my death, make me
glad to hear of your happiness and prosperity." Mr. King describes the
pleasure my father seemed to take "in pointing out to me as a youngster the
delights of the tropical nights, with their balmy breezes eddying out of the
sails above us, and the sea lighted up by the passage of the ship through the
never-ending streams of phosphorescent animalculae."
It has been assumed that his ill-health in later years was due to his having
suffered so much from sea-sickness. This he did not himself believe, but
rather ascribed his bad health to the hereditary fault which came out as gout
in some of the past generations. I am not quite clear as to how much he
actually suffered from sea-sickness; my impression is distinct that,

according to his own memory, he was not actually ill after the first three
weeks, but constantly uncomfortable when the vessel pitched at all heavily.
But, judging from his letters, and from the evidence of some of the officers,
it would seem that in later years he forgot the extent of the discomfort from
which he suffered. Writing June 3, 1836, from the Cape of Good Hope, he
says: "It is a lucky thing for me that the voyage is drawing to its close, for I
positively suffer more from sea-sickness now than three years ago."
Admiral Lort Stokes wrote to the "Times", April 25, 1883:—
"May I beg a corner for my feeble testimony to the marvellous
persevering endurance in the cause of science of that great naturalist, my
old and lost friend, Mr. Charles Darwin, whose remains are so very justly to
be honoured with a resting-place in Westminster Abbey?
"Perhaps no one can better testify to his early and most trying labours
than myself. We worked together for several years at the same table in the
poop cabin of the 'Beagle' during her celebrated voyage, he with his
microscope and myself at the charts. It was often a very lively end of the
little craft, and distressingly so to my old friend, who suffered greatly from
sea-sickness. After perhaps an hour's work he would say to me, 'Old fellow,
I must take the horizontal for it,' that being the best relief position from ship
motion; a stretch out on one side of the table for some time would enable
him to resume his labours for a while, when he had again to lie down.
"It was distressing to witness this early sacrifice of Mr. Darwin's health,
who ever afterwards seriously felt the ill-effects of the 'Beagle's' voyage."
Mr. A.B. Usborne writes, "He was a dreadful sufferer from sea-sickness,
and at times, when I have been officer of the watch, and reduced the sails,
making the ship more easy, and thus relieving him, I have been pronounced
by him to be 'a good officer,' and he would resume his microscopic
observations in the poop cabin." The amount of work that he got through on
the "Beagle" shows that he was habitually in full vigour; he had, however,
one severe illness, in South America, when he was received into the house
of an Englishman, Mr. Corfield, who tended him with careful kindness. I
have heard him say that in this illness every secretion of the body was
affected, and that when he described the symptoms to his father Dr. Darwin
could make no guess as to the nature of the disease. My father was
sometimes inclined to think that the breaking up of his health was to some
extent due to this attack.

The "Beagle" letters give ample proof of his strong love of home, and all
connected with it, from his father down to Nancy, his old nurse, to whom he
sometimes sends his love.
His delight in home-letters is shown in such passages as:—"But if you
knew the glowing, unspeakable delight, which I felt at being certain that my
father and all of you were well, only four months ago, you would not
grudge the labour lost in keeping up the regular series of letters."
Or again—his longing to return in words like these:—"It is too delightful
to think that I shall see the leaves fall and hear the robin sing next autumn at
Shrewsbury. My feelings are those of a schoolboy to the smallest point; I
doubt whether ever boy longed for his holidays as much as I do to see you
all again. I am at present, although nearly half the world is between me and
home, beginning to arrange what I shall do, where I shall go during the first
week."
Another feature in his letters is the surprise and delight with which he
hears of his collections and observations being of some use. It seems only
to have gradually occurred to him that he would ever be more than collector
of specimens and facts, of which the great men were to make use. And even
as to the value of his collections he seems to have had much doubt, for he
wrote to Henslow in 1834:—"I really began to think that my collections
were so poor that you were puzzled what to say; the case is now quite on
the opposite tack, for you are guilty of exciting all my vain feelings to a
most comfortable pitch; if hard work will atone for these thoughts, I vow it
shall not be spared."
After his return and settlement in London, he began to realise the value
of what he had done, and wrote to Captain Fitz-Roy—"However others may
look back to the 'Beagle's' voyage, now that the small disagreeable parts are
well-nigh forgotten, I think it far the MOST FORTUNATE
CIRCUMSTANCE IN MY LIFE that the chance afforded by your offer of
taking a Naturalist fell on me. I often have the most vivid and delightful
pictures of what I saw on board the 'Beagle' pass before my eyes. These
recollections, and what I learnt on Natural History, I would not exchange
for twice ten thousand a year."
[In selecting the following series of letters, I have been guided by the
wish to give as much personal detail as possible. I have given only a few
scientific letters, to illustrate the way in which he worked, and how he

regarded his own results. In his 'Journal of Researches' he gives incidentally
some idea of his personal character; the letters given in the present chapter
serve to amplify in fresher and more spontaneous words that impression of
his personality which the 'Journal' has given to so many readers.]

CHARLES DARWIN TO R.W. DARWIN. Bahia, or San Salvador, Brazils
[February 8, 1832].
I find after the first page I have been writing to my sisters.
My dear Father,
I am writing this on the 8th of February, one day's sail past St. Jago (Cape
de Verd), and intend taking the chance of meeting with a homeward-bound
vessel somewhere about the equator. The date, however, will tell this
whenever the opportunity occurs. I will now begin from the day of leaving
England, and give a short account of our progress. We sailed, as you know,
on the 27th of December, and have been fortunate enough to have had from
that time to the present a fair and moderate breeze. It afterwards proved that
we had escaped a heavy gale in the Channel, another at Madeira, and
another on [the] Coast of Africa. But in escaping the gale, we felt its
consequences—a heavy sea. In the Bay of Biscay there was a long and
continuous swell, and the misery I endured from sea-sickness is far beyond
what I ever guessed at. I believe you are curious about it. I will give you all
my dear-bought experience. Nobody who has only been to sea for twenty-
four hours has a right to say that sea-sickness is even uncomfortable. The
real misery only begins when you are so exhausted that a little exertion
makes a feeling of faintness come on. I found nothing but lying in my
hammock did me any good. I must especially except your receipt of raisins,
which is the only food that the stomach will bear.
On the 4th of January we were not many miles from Madeira, but as
there was a heavy sea running, and the island lay to windward, it was not
thought worth while to beat up to it. It afterwards has turned out it was
lucky we saved ourselves the trouble. I was much too sick even to get up to
see the distant outline. On the 6th, in the evening, we sailed into the harbour
of Santa Cruz. I now first felt even moderately well, and I was picturing to
myself all the delights of fresh fruits growing in beautiful valleys, and
reading Humboldt's descriptions of the island's glorious views, when

perhaps you may nearly guess at our disappointment, when a small pale
man informed us we must perform a strict quarantine of twelve days. There
was a death-like stillness in the ship till the Captain cried "up jib," and we
left this long-wished for place.
We were becalmed for a day between Teneriffe and the Grand Canary,
and here I first experienced any enjoyment. The view was glorious. The
Peak of Teneriffe was seen amongst the clouds like another world. Our only
drawback was the extreme wish of visiting this glorious island. TELL
EYTON NEVER TO FORGET EITHER THE CANARY ISLANDS OR
SOUTH AMERICA; that I am sure it will well repay the necessary trouble,
but that he must make up his mind to find a good deal of the latter. I feel
certain he will regret it if he does not make the attempt. From Teneriffe to
St. Jago the voyage was extremely pleasant. I had a net astern the vessel
which caught great numbers of curious animals, and fully occupied my time
in my cabin, and on deck the weather was so delightful and clear, that the
sky and water together made a picture. On the 16th we arrived at Port
Praya, the capital of the Cape de Verds, and there we remained twenty-three
days, viz., till yesterday, the 7th of February. The time has flown away most
delightfully, indeed nothing can be pleasanter; exceedingly busy, and that
business both a duty and a great delight. I do not believe I have spent one
half-hour idly since leaving Teneriffe. St. Jago has afforded me an
exceedingly rich harvest in several branches of Natural History. I find the
descriptions scarcely worth anything of many of the commoner animals that
inhabit the Tropics. I allude, of course, to those of the lower classes.
Geologising in a volcanic country is most delightful; besides the interest
attached to itself, it leads you into most beautiful and retired spots. Nobody
but a person fond of Natural History can imagine the pleasure of strolling
under cocoa-nuts in a thicket of bananas and coffee-plants, and an endless
number of wild flowers. And this island, that has given me so much
instruction and delight, is reckoned the most uninteresting place that we
perhaps shall touch at during our voyage. It certainly is generally very
barren, but the valleys are more exquisitely beautiful, from the very
contrast. It is utterly useless to say anything about the scenery; it would be
as profitable to explain to a blind man colours, as to a person who has not
been out of Europe, the total dissimilarity of a tropical view. Whenever I
enjoy anything, I always either look forward to writing it down, either in
my log-book (which increases in bulk), or in a letter; so you must excuse

raptures, and those raptures badly expressed. I find my collections are
increasing wonderfully, and from Rio I think I shall be obliged to send a
cargo home.
All the endless delays which we experienced at Plymouth have been most
fortunate, as I verily believe no person ever went out better provided for
collecting and observing in the different branches of Natural History. In a
multitude of counsellors I certainly found good. I find to my great surprise
that a ship is singularly comfortable for all sorts of work. Everything is so
close at hand, and being cramped makes one so methodical, that in the end I
have been a gainer. I already have got to look at going to sea as a regular
quiet place, like going back to home after staying away from it. In short, I
find a ship a very comfortable house, with everything you want, and if it
was not for sea-sickness the whole world would be sailors. I do not think
there is much danger of Erasmus setting the example, but in case there
should be, he may rely upon it he does not know one-tenth of the sufferings
of sea-sickness.
I like the officers much more than I did at first, especially Wickham, and
young King and Stokes, and indeed all of them. The Captain continues
steadily very kind, and does everything in his power to assist me. We see
very little of each other when in harbour, our pursuits lead us in such
different tracks. I never in my life met with a man who could endure nearly
so great a share of fatigue. He works incessantly, and when apparently not
employed, he is thinking. If he does not kill himself, he will during this
voyage do a wonderful quantity of work. I find I am very well, and stand
the little heat we have had as yet as well as anybody. We shall soon have it
in real earnest. We are now sailing for Fernando Noronha, off the coast of
Brazil, where we shall not stay very long, and then examine the shoals
between there and Rio, touching perhaps at Bahia. I will finish this letter
when an opportunity of sending it occurs.
FEBRUARY 26TH.
About 280 miles from Bahia. On the 10th we spoke the packet "Lyra", on
her voyage to Rio. I sent a short letter by her, to be sent to England on [the]
first opportunity. We have been singularly unlucky in not meeting with any
homeward-bound vessels, but I suppose [at] Bahia we certainly shall be
able to write to England. Since writing the first part of [this] letter nothing
has occurred except crossing the Equator, and being shaved. This most

disagreeable operation consists in having your face rubbed with paint and
tar, which forms a lather for a saw which represents the razor, and then
being half drowned in a sail filled with salt water. About 50 miles north of
the line we touched at the rocks of St. Paul; this little speck (about 1/4 of a
mile across) in the Atlantic has seldom been visited. It is totally barren, but
is covered by hosts of birds; they were so unused to men that we found we
could kill plenty with stones and sticks. After remaining some hours on the
island, we returned on board with the boat loaded with our prey. From this
we went to Fernando Noronha, a small island where the [Brazilians] send
their exiles. The landing there was attended with so much difficulty owing
[to] a heavy surf that the Captain determined to sail the next day after
arriving. My one day on shore was exceedingly interesting, the whole island
is one single wood so matted together by creepers that it is very difficult to
move out of the beaten path. I find the Natural History of all these
unfrequented spots most exceedingly interesting, especially the geology. I
have written this much in order to save time at Bahia.
Decidedly the most striking thing in the Tropics is the novelty of the
vegetable forms. Cocoa-nuts could well be imagined from drawings, if you
add to them a graceful lightness which no European tree partakes of.
Bananas and plantains are exactly the same as those in hothouses, the
acacias or tamarinds are striking from the blueness of their foliage; but of
the glorious orange trees, no description, no drawings, will give any just
idea; instead of the sickly green of our oranges, the native ones exceed the
Portugal laurel in the darkness of their tint, and infinitely exceed it in
beauty of form. Cocoa-nuts, papaws, the light green bananas, and oranges,
loaded with fruit, generally surround the more luxuriant villages. Whilst
viewing such scenes, one feels the impossibility that any description would
come near the mark, much less be overdrawn.
MARCH 1ST.
Bahia, or San Salvador. I arrived at this place on the 28th of February,
and am now writing this letter after having in real earnest strolled in the
forests of the new world. No person could imagine anything so beautiful as
the ancient town of Bahia, it is fairly embosomed in a luxuriant wood of
beautiful trees, and situated on a steep bank, and overlooks the calm waters
of the great bay of All Saints. The houses are white and lofty, and, from the
windows being narrow and long, have a very light and elegant appearance.

Convents, porticos, and public buildings, vary the uniformity of the houses;
the bay is scattered over with large ships; in short, and what can be said
more, it is one of the finest views in the Brazils. But the exquisite glorious
pleasure of walking amongst such flowers, and such trees, cannot be
comprehended but by those who have experienced it. Although in so low a
latitude the locality is not disagreeably hot, but at present it is very damp,
for it is the rainy season. I find the climate as yet agrees admirably with me;
it makes me long to live quietly for some time in such a country. If you
really want to have [an idea] of tropical countries, study Humboldt. Skip the
scientific parts, and commence after leaving Teneriffe. My feelings amount
to admiration the more I read him. Tell Eyton (I find I am writing to my
sisters!) how exceedingly I enjoy America, and that I am sure it will be a
great pity if he does not make a start.
This letter will go on the 5th, and I am afraid will be some time before it
reaches you; it must be a warning how in other parts of the world you may
be a long time without hearing. A year might by accident thus pass. About
the 12th we start for Rio, but we remain some time on the way in sounding
the Albrolhos shoals. Tell Eyton as far as my experience goes let him study
Spanish, French, drawing, and Humboldt. I do sincerely hope to hear of (if
not to see him) in South America. I look forward to the letters in Rio—till
each one is acknowledged, mention its date in the next.
We have beat all the ships in manoeuvring, so much so that the
commanding officer says, we need not follow his example; because we do
everything better than his great ship. I begin to take great interest in naval
points, more especially now, as I find they all say we are the No. 1 in South
America. I suppose the Captain is a most excellent officer. It was quite
glorious to-day how we beat the "Samarang" in furling sails. It is quite a
new thing for a "sounding ship" to beat a regular man-of-war; and yet the
"Beagle" is not at all a particular ship. Erasmus will clearly perceive it when
he hears that in the night I have actually sat down in the sacred precincts of
the quarter deck. You must excuse these queer letters, and recollect they are
generally written in the evening after my day's work. I take more pains over
my log-book, so that eventually you will have a good account of all the
places I visit. Hitherto the voyage has answered ADMIRABLY to me, and
yet I am now more fully aware of your wisdom in throwing cold water on
the whole scheme; the chances are so numerous of turning out quite the
reverse; to such an extent do I feel this, that if my advice was asked by any

person on a similar occasion, I should be very cautious in encouraging him.
I have not time to write to anybody else, so send to Maer to let them know,
that in the midst of the glorious tropical scenery, I do not forget how
instrumental they were in placing me there. I will not rapturise again, but I
give myself great credit in not being crazy out of pure delight.
Give my love to every soul at home, and to the Owens.
I think one's affections, like other good things, flourish and increase in
these tropical regions.
The conviction that I am walking in the New World is even yet
marvellous in my own eyes, and I dare say it is little less so to you, the
receiving a letter from a son of yours in such a quarter.
Believe me, my dear Father, Your most affectionate son, CHARLES
DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. Botofogo Bay, near Rio de Janeiro,
May, 1832.
My dear Fox,
I have delayed writing to you and all my other friends till I arrived here
and had some little spare time. My mind has been, since leaving England, in
a perfect HURRICANE of delight and astonishment, and to this hour
scarcely a minute has passed in idleness...
At St. Jago my natural history and most delightful labours commenced.
During the three weeks I collected a host of marine animals, and enjoyed
many a good geological walk. Touching at some islands, we sailed to Bahia,
and from thence to Rio, where I have already been some weeks. My
collections go on admirably in almost every branch. As for insects, I trust I
shall send a host of undescribed species to England. I believe they have no
small ones in the collections, and here this morning I have taken minute
Hydropori, Noterus, Colymbetes, Hydrophilus, Hydrobius, Gromius, etc.,
etc., as specimens of fresh-water beetles. I am entirely occupied with land
animals, as the beach is only sand. Spiders and the adjoining tribes have
perhaps given me, from their novelty, the most pleasure. I think I have
already taken several new genera.

But Geology carries the day: it is like the pleasure of gambling.
Speculating, on first arriving, what the rocks may be, I often mentally cry
out 3 to 1 tertiary against primitive; but the latter have hitherto won all the
bets. So much for the grand end of my voyage; in other respects things are
equally flourishing. My life, when at sea, is so quiet, that to a person who
can employ himself, nothing can be pleasanter; the beauty of the sky and
brilliancy of the ocean together make a picture. But when on shore, and
wandering in the sublime forests, surrounded by views more gorgeous than
even Claude ever imagined, I enjoy a delight which none but those who
have experienced it can understand. If it is to be done, it must be by
studying Humboldt. At our ancient snug breakfasts, at Cambridge, I little
thought that the wide Atlantic would ever separate us; but it is a rare
privilege that with the body, the feelings and memory are not divided. On
the contrary, the pleasantest scenes in my life, many of which have been in
Cambridge, rise from the contrast of the present, the more vividly in my
imagination. Do you think any diamond beetle will ever give me so much
pleasure as our old friend crux major?... It is one of my most constant
amusements to draw pictures of the past; and in them I often see you and
poor little Fran. Oh, Lord, and then old Dash, poor thing! Do you recollect
how you all tormented me about his beautiful tail?
...Think when you are picking insects off a hawthorn-hedge on a fine
May day (wretchedly cold, I have no doubt), think of me collecting
amongst pine-apples and orange-trees; whilst staining your fingers with
dirty blackberries, think and be envious of ripe oranges. This is a proper
piece of bravado, for I would walk through many a mile of sleet, snow, or
rain to shake you by the hand. My dear old Fox, God bless you. Believe me,
Yours affectionately, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. Rio de Janeiro, May 18, 1832.
My dear Henslow,...
Till arriving at Teneriffe (we did not touch at Madeira) I was scarcely out
of my hammock, and really suffered more than you can well imagine from
such a cause. At Santa Cruz, whilst looking amongst the clouds for the
Peak, and repeating to myself Humboldt's sublime descriptions, it was
announced we must perform twelve days' strict quarantine. We had made a

short passage, so "Up jib," and away for St. Jago. You will say all this
sounds very bad, and so it was; but from that to the present time it has been
nearly one scene of continual enjoyment. A net over the stern kept me at full
work till we arrived at St. Jago. Here we spent three most delightful weeks.
The geology was pre-eminently interesting, and I believe quite new; there
are some facts on a large scale of upraised coast (which is an excellent
epoch for all the volcanic rocks to date from), that would interest Mr. Lyell.
One great source of perplexity to me is an utter ignorance whether I note
the right facts, and whether they are of sufficient importance to interest
others. In the one thing collecting I cannot go wrong. St. Jago is singularly
barren, and produces few plants or insects, so that my hammer was my
usual companion, and in its company most delightful hours I spent. On the
coast I collected many marine animals, chiefly gasteropodous (I think some
new). I examined pretty accurately a Caryopyllia, and, if my eyes are not
bewitched, former descriptions have not the slightest resemblance to the
animal. I took several specimens of an Octopus which possessed a most
marvellous power of changing its colours, equalling any chameleon, and
evidently accommodating the changes to the colour of the ground which it
passed over. Yellowish green, dark brown, and red, were the prevailing
colours; this fact appears to be new, as far as I can find out. Geology and
the invertebrate animals will be my chief object of pursuit through the
whole voyage.
We then sailed for Bahia, and touched at the rock of St. Paul. This is a
serpentine formation. Is it not the only island in the Atlantic which is not
volcanic? We likewise stayed a few hours at Fernando Noronha; a
tremendous surf was running so that a boat was swamped, and the Captain
would not wait. I find my life on board when we are on blue water most
delightful, so very comfortable and quiet—it is almost impossible to be idle,
and that for me is saying a good deal. Nobody could possibly be better
fitted in every respect for collecting than I am; many cooks have not spoiled
the broth this time. Mr. Brown's little hints about microscopes, etc., have
been invaluable. I am well off in books, the 'Dictionnaire Classique' IS
MOST USEFUL. If you should think of any thing or book that would be
useful to me, if you would write one line, E. Darwin, Wyndham Club, St.
James's Street, he will procure them, and send them with some other things
to Monte Video, which for the next year will be my headquarters.

Touching at the Abrolhos, we arrived here on April 4th, when amongst
others I received your most kind letter. You may rely on it during the
evening I thought of the many most happy hours I have spent with you in
Cambridge. I am now living at Botofogo, a village about a league from the
city, and shall be able to remain a month longer. The "Beagle" has gone
back to Bahia, and will pick me up on its return. There is a most important
error in the longitude of South America, to settle which this second trip has
been undertaken. Our chronometers, at least sixteen of them, are going
superbly; none on record have ever gone at all like them.
A few days after arriving I started on an expedition of 150 miles to Rio
Macao, which lasted eighteen days. Here I first saw a tropical forest in all
its sublime grander—nothing but the reality can give any idea how
wonderful, how magnificent the scene is. If I was to specify any one thing I
should give the pre-eminence to the host of parasitical plants. Your
engraving is exactly true, but underrates rather than exaggerates the
luxuriance. I never experienced such intense delight. I formerly admired
Humboldt, I now almost adore him; he alone gives any notion of the
feelings which are raised in the mind on first entering the Tropics. I am now
collecting fresh-water and land animals; if what was told me in London is
true, viz., that there are no small insects in the collections from the Tropics,
I tell Entomologists to look out and have their pens ready for describing. I
have taken as minute (if not more so) as in England, Hydropori, Hygroti,
Hydrobii, Pselaphi, Staphylini, Curculio, etc. etc. It is exceedingly
interesting observing the difference of genera and species from those which
I know, it is however much less than I had expected. I am at present red-hot
with spiders; they are very interesting, and if I am not mistaken I have
already taken some new genera. I shall have a large box to send very soon
to Cambridge, and with that I will mention some more natural history
particulars.
The Captain does everything in his power to assist me, and we get on
very well, but I thank my better fortune he has not made me a renegade to
Whig principles. I would not be a Tory, if it was merely on account of their
cold hearts about that scandal to Christian nations—Slavery. I am very good
friends with all the officers.
I have just returned from a walk, and as a specimen, how little the insects
are known. Noterus, according to the 'Dictionary Classique,' contains solely

three European species. I in one haul of my net took five distinct species; is
this not quite extraordinary?...
Tell Professor Sedgwick he does not know how much I am indebted to
him for the Welsh Expedition; it has given me an interest in Geology which
I would not give up for any consideration. I do not think I ever spent a more
delightful three weeks than pounding the North-west Mountains. I look
forward to the geology about Monte Video as I hear there are slates there,
so I presume in that district I shall find the junctions of the Pampas, and the
enormous granite formation of Brazils. At Bahia the pegmatite and gneiss in
beds had the same direction, as observed by Humboldt, prevailing over
Columbia, distant 1300 miles—is it not wonderful? Monte Video will be for
a long time my direction. I hope you will write again to me, there is nobody
from whom I like receiving advice so much as from you...Excuse this
almost unintelligible letter, and believe me, my dear Henslow, with the
warmest feelings of respect and friendship,
Yours affectionately, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.M. HERBERT. Botofogo Bay, Rio de Janeiro,
June 1832.
My dear old Herbert,
Your letter arrived here when I had given up all hopes of receiving
another, it gave me, therefore, an additional degree of pleasure. At such an
interval of time and space one does learn to feel truly obliged to those who
do not forget one. The memory when recalling scenes past by, affords to us
EXILES one of the greatest pleasures. Often and often whilst wandering
amongst these hills do I think of Barmouth, and, I may add, as often wish
for such a companion. What a contrast does a walk in these two places
afford; here abrupt and stony peaks are to the very summit enclosed by
luxuriant woods; the whole surface of the country, excepting where cleared
by man, is one impenetrable forest. How different from Wales, with its
sloping hills covered with turf, and its open valleys. I was not previously
aware how intimately what may be called the moral part is connected with
the enjoyment of scenery. I mean such ideas, as the history of the country,
the utility of the produce, and more especially the happiness of the people
living with them. Change the English labourer into a poor slave, working

for another, and you will hardly recognise the same view. I am sure you will
be glad to hear how very well every part (Heaven forefend, except sea-
sickness) of the expedition has answered. We have already seen Teneriffe
and the Great Canary; St. Jago where I spent three most delightful weeks,
revelling in the delights of first naturalising a tropical volcanic island, and
besides other islands, the two celebrated ports in the Brazils, viz. Bahia and
Rio.
I was in my hammock till we arrived at the Canaries, and I shall never
forget the sublime impression the first view of Teneriffe made on my mind.
The first arriving into warm weather was most luxuriously pleasant; the
clear blue sky of the Tropics was no common change after those accursed
south-west gales at Plymouth. About the Line it became weltering hot. We
spent one day at St. Paul's, a little group of rocks about a quarter of a mile
in circumference, peeping up in the midst of the Atlantic. There was such a
scene here. Wickham (1st Lieutenant) and I were the only two who landed
with guns and geological hammers, etc. The birds by myriads were too
close to shoot; we then tried stones, but at last, proh pudor! my geological
hammer was the instrument of death. We soon loaded the boat with birds
and eggs. Whilst we were so engaged, the men in the boat were fairly
fighting with the sharks for such magnificent fish as you could not see in
the London market. Our boat would have made a fine subject for Snyders,
such a medley of game it contained. We have been here ten weeks, and shall
now start for Monte Video, when I look forward to many a gallop over the
Pampas. I am ashamed of sending such a scrambling letter, but if you were
to see the heap of letters on my table you would understand the reason...
I am glad to hear music flourishes so well in Cambridge; but it [is] as
barbarous to talk to me of "celestial concerts" as to a person in Arabia of
cold water. In a voyage of this sort, if one gains many new and great
pleasures, on the other side the loss is not inconsiderable. How should you
like to be suddenly debarred from seeing every person and place, which you
have ever known and loved, for five years? I do assure you I am
occasionally "taken aback" by this reflection; and then for man or ship it is
not so easy to right again. Remember me most sincerely to the remnant of
most excellent fellows whom I have the good luck to know in Cambridge—
I mean Whitley and Watkins. Tell Lowe I am even beneath his contempt. I
can eat salt beef and musty biscuits for dinner. See what a fall man may
come to!

My direction for the next year and a half will be Monte Video.
God bless you, my very dear old Herbert. May you always be happy and
prosperous is my most cordial wish.
Yours affectionately, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO F. WATKINS. Monte Video, River Plata, August
18, 1832.
My dear Watkins,
I do not feel very sure you will think a letter from one so far distant will
be worth having; I write therefore on the selfish principle of getting an
answer. In the different countries we visit the entire newness and difference
from England only serves to make more keen the recollection of its scenes
and delights. In consequence the pleasure of thinking of, and hearing from
one's former friends, does indeed become great. Recollect this, and some
long winter's evening sit down and send me a long account of yourself and
our friends; both what you have, and what [you] intend doing; otherwise in
three or four more years when I return you will be all strangers to me.
Considering how many months have passed, we have not in the "Beagle"
made much way round the world. Hitherto everything has well repaid the
necessary trouble and loss of comfort. We stayed three weeks at the Cape de
Verds; it was no ordinary pleasure rambling over the plains of lava under a
tropical sun, but when I first entered on and beheld the luxuriant vegetation
in Brazil, it was realizing the visions in the 'Arabian Nights.' The brilliancy
of the scenery throws one into a delirium of delight, and a beetle hunter is
not likely soon to awaken from it, when whichever way he turns fresh
treasures meet his eye. At Rio de Janeiro three months passed away like so
many weeks. I made a most delightful excursion during this time of 150
miles into the country. I stayed at an estate which is the last of the cleared
ground, behind is one vast impenetrable forest. It is almost impossible to
imagine the quietude of such a life. Not a human being within some miles
interrupts the solitude. To seat oneself amidst the gloom of such a forest on
a decaying trunk, and then think of home, is a pleasure worth taking some
trouble for.
We are at present in a much less interesting country. One single walk
over the undulatory turf plain shows everything which is to be seen. It is not

at all unlike Cambridgeshire, only that every hedge, tree and hill must be
leveled, and arable land turned into pasture. All South America is in such an
unsettled state that we have not entered one port without some sort of
disturbance. At Buenos Ayres a shot came whistling over our heads; it is a
noise I had never before heard, but I found I had an instinctive knowledge
of what it meant. The other day we landed our men here, and took
possession, at the request of the inhabitants, of the central fort. We
philosophers do not bargain for this sort of work, and I hope there will be
no more. We sail in the course of a day or two to survey the coast of
Patagonia; as it is entirely unknown, I expect a good deal of interest. But
already do I perceive the grievous difference between sailing on these seas
and the Equinoctial ocean. In the "Ladies' Gulf," as the Spaniard's call it, it
is so luxurious to sit on deck and enjoy the coolness of the night, and
admire the new constellations of the South...I wonder when we shall ever
meet again; but be it when it may, few things will give me greater pleasure
than to see you again, and talk over the long time we have passed together.
If you were to meet me at present I certainly should be looked at like a
wild beast, a great grizzly beard and flushing jacket would disfigure an
angel. Believe me, my dear Watkins, with the warmest feelings of
friendship.
Ever yours, CHARLES DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. April 11, 1833.
My dear Henslow,
We are now running up from the Falkland Islands to the Rio Negro (or
Colorado). The "Beagle" will proceed to Monte Video; but if it can be
managed I intend staying at the former place. It is now some months since
we have been at a civilised port; nearly all this time has been spent in the
most southern part of Tierra del Fuego. It is a detestable place; gales
succeed gales with such short intervals that it is difficult to do anything. We
were twenty-three days off Cape Horn, and could by no means get to the
westward. The last and final gale before we gave up the attempt was
unusually severe. A sea stove one of the boats, and there was so much water
on the decks that every place was afloat; nearly all the paper for drying
plants is spoiled, and half of this curious collection.
We at last ran into harbour, and in the boats got to the west by the inland
channels. As I was one of this party I was very glad of it. With two boats we
went about 300 miles, and thus I had an excellent opportunity of
geologising and seeing much of the savages. The Fuegians are in a more
miserable state of barbarism than I had expected ever to have seen a human
being. In this inclement country they are absolutely naked, and their
temporary houses are like what children make in summer with boughs of
trees. I do not think any spectacle can be more interesting than the first sight
of man in his primitive wildness. It is an interest which cannot well be
imagined until it is experienced. I shall never forget this when entering
Good Success Bay—the yell with which a party received us. They were
seated on a rocky point, surrounded by the dark forest of beech; as they
threw their arms wildly round their heads, and their long hair streaming,
they seemed the troubled spirits of another world. The climate in some
respects is a curious mixture of severity and mildness; as far as regards the
animal kingdom, the former character prevails; I have in consequence not
added much to my collections.
The Geology of this part of Tierra del Fuego was, as indeed every place
is, to me very interesting. The country is non-fossiliferous, and a common-
place succession of granitic rocks and slates; attempting to make out the
relation of cleavage, strata, etc., etc., was my chief amusement. The

mineralogy, however, of some of the rocks will, I think, be curious from
their resemblance to those of volcanic origin....
After leaving Tierra del Fuego we sailed to the Falklands. I forgot to
mention the fate of the Fuegians whom we took back to their country. They
had become entirely European in their habits and wishes, so much so that
the younger one had forgotten his own language, and their countrymen paid
but very little attention to them. We built houses for them and planted
gardens, but by the time we return again on our passage round the Horn, I
think it will be very doubtful how much of their property will be left
unstolen.
...When I am sea-sick and miserable, it is one of my highest consolations
to picture the future when we again shall be pacing together the roads round
Cambridge. That day is a weary long way off. We have another cruise to
make to Tierra del Fuego next summer, and then our voyage round the
world will really commence. Captain Fitz-Roy has purchased a large
schooner of 170 tons. In many respects it will be a great advantage having a
consort—perhaps it may somewhat shorten our cruise, which I most
cordially hope it may. I trust, however, that the Coral Reefs and various
animals of the Pacific may keep up my resolution. Remember me most
kindly to Mrs. Henslow and all other friends; I am a true lover of Alma
Mater and all its inhabitants.
Believe me, my dear Henslow, Your affectionate and most obliged friend,
CHARLES DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS C. DARWIN. Maldonado, Rio Plata, May
22, 1833.
...The following business piece is to my father. Having a servant of my
own would be a really great addition to my comfort. For these two reasons:
as at present the Captain has appointed one of the men always to be with
me, but I do not think it just thus to take a seaman out of the ship; and,
secondly, when at sea I am rather badly off for any one to wait on me. The
man is willing to be my servant, and all the expenses would be under 60
pounds per annum. I have taught him to shoot and skin birds, so that in my
main object he is very useful. I have now left England nearly a year and a
half, and I find my expenses are not above 200 pounds per annum; so that,

it being hopeless (from time) to write for permission, I have come to the
conclusion that you would allow me this expense. But I have not yet
resolved to ask the Captain, and the chances are even that he would not be
willing to have an additional man in the ship. I have mentioned this because
for a long time I have been thinking about it.
JUNE.
I have just received a bundle more letters. I do not know how to thank
you all sufficiently. One from Catherine, February 8th, another from Susan,
March 3rd, together with notes from Caroline and from my father; give my
best love to my father. I almost cried for pleasure at receiving it; it was very
kind thinking of writing to me. My letters are both few, short, and stupid in
return for all yours; but I always ease my conscience by considering the
Journal as a long letter. If I can manage it, I will, before doubling the Horn,
send the rest. I am quite delighted to find the hide of the Megatherium has
given you all some little interest in my employments. These fragments are
not, however, by any means the most valuable of the geological relics. I
trust and believe that the time spent in this voyage, if thrown away for all
other respects, will produce its full worth in Natural History; and it appears
to me the doing what LITTLE we can to increase the general stock of
knowledge is as respectable an object of life as one can in any likelihood
pursue. It is more the result of such reflections (as I have already said) than
much immediate pleasure which now makes me continue the voyage,
together with the glorious prospect of the future, when passing the Straits of
Magellan, we have in truth the world before us. Think of the Andes, the
luxuriant forest of Guayaquil, the islands of the South Sea, and New South
Wales. How many magnificent and characteristic views, how many and
curious tribes of men we shall see! What fine opportunities for geology and
for studying the infinite host of living beings! Is not this a prospect to keep
up the most flagging spirit? If I was to throw it away, I don't think I should
ever rest quiet in my grave. I certainly should be a ghost and haunt the
British Museum.
How famously the Ministers appear to be going on. I always much enjoy
political gossip and what you at home think will, etc., etc., take place. I
steadily read up the weekly paper, but it is not sufficient to guide one's
opinion; and I find it a very painful state not to be as obstinate as a pig in
politics. I have watched how steadily the general feeling, as shown at

elections, has been rising against Slavery. What a proud thing for England if
she is the first European nation which utterly abolishes it! I was told before
leaving England that after living in slave countries all my opinions would
be altered; the only alteration I am aware of is forming a much higher
estimate of the negro character. It is impossible to see a negro and not feel
kindly towards him; such cheerful, open, honest expressions and such fine
muscular bodies. I never saw any of the diminutive Portuguese, with their
murderous countenances, without almost wishing for Brazil to follow the
example of Hayti; and, considering the enormous healthy-looking black
population, it will be wonderful if, at some future day, it does not take
place. There is at Rio a man (I know not his title) who has a large salary to
prevent (I believe) the landing of slaves; he lives at Botofogo, and yet that
was the bay where, during my residence, the greater number of smuggled
slaves were landed. Some of the Anti-Slavery people ought to question
about his office; it was the subject of conversation at Rio amongst the lower
English...

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.M. HERBERT. Maldonado, Rio Plata, June 2,
1833.
My dear Herbert,
I have been confined for the last three days to a miserable dark room, in
an old Spanish house, from the torrents of rain; I am not, therefore, in very
good trim for writing; but, defying the blue devils, I will send you a few
lines, if it is merely to thank you very sincerely for writing to me. I received
your letter, dated December 1st, a short time since. We are now passing part
of the winter in the Rio Plata, after having had a hard summer's work to the
south. Tierra del Fuego is indeed a miserable place; the ceaseless fury of the
gales is quite tremendous. One evening we saw old Cape Horn, and three
weeks afterwards we were only thirty miles to windward of it. It is a grand
spectacle to see all nature thus raging; but Heaven knows every one in the
"Beagle" has seen enough in this one summer to last them their natural
lives.
The first place we landed at was Good Success Bay. It was here Banks
and Solander met such disasters on ascending one of the mountains. The
weather was tolerably fine, and I enjoyed some walks in a wild country, like

that behind Barmouth. The valleys are impenetrable from the entangled
woods, but the higher parts, near the limits of perpetual snow, are bare.
From some of these hills the scenery, from its savage, solitary character,
was most sublime. The only inhabitant of these heights is the guanaco, and
with its shrill neighing it often breaks the stillness. The consciousness that
no European foot had ever trod much of this ground added to the delight of
these rambles. How often and how vividly have many of the hours spent at
Barmouth come before my mind! I look back to that time with no common
pleasure; at this moment I can see you seated on the hill behind the inn,
almost as plainly as if you were really there. It is necessary to be separated
from all which one has been accustomed to, to know how properly to
treasure up such recollections, and at this distance, I may add, how properly
to esteem such as yourself, my dear old Herbert. I wonder when I shall ever
see you again. I hope it may be, as you say, surrounded with heaps of
parchment; but then there must be, sooner or later, a dear little lady to take
care of you and your house. Such a delightful vision makes me quite
envious. This is a curious life for a regular shore-going person such as
myself; the worst part of it is its extreme length. There is certainly a great
deal of high enjoyment, and on the contrary a tolerable share of vexation of
spirit. Everything, however, shall bend to the pleasure of grubbing up old
bones, and captivating new animals. By the way, you rank my Natural
History labours far too high. I am nothing more than a lions' provider: I do
not feel at all sure that they will not growl and finally destroy me.
It does one's heart good to hear how things are going on in England.
Hurrah for the honest Whigs! I trust they will soon attack that monstrous
stain on our boasted liberty, Colonial Slavery. I have seen enough of
Slavery and the dispositions of the negroes, to be thoroughly disgusted with
the lies and nonsense one hears on the subject in England. Thank God, the
cold-hearted Tories, who, as J. Mackintosh used to say, have no enthusiasm,
except against enthusiasm, have for the present run their race. I am sorry, by
your letter, to hear you have not been well, and that you partly attribute it to
want of exercise. I wish you were here amongst the green plains; we would
take walks which would rival the Dolgelly ones, and you should tell stories,
which I would believe, even to a CUBIC FATHOM OF PUDDING. Instead
I must take my solitary ramble, think of Cambridge days, and pick up
snakes, beetles and toads. Excuse this short letter (you know I never studied
'The Complete Letter-writer'), and believe me, my dear Herbert,

Your affectionate friend, CHARLES DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. East Falkland Island, March,
1834.
...I am quite charmed with Geology, but like the wise animal between
two bundles of hay, I do not know which to like the best; the old crystalline
group of rocks, or the softer and fossiliferous beds. When puzzling about
stratifications, etc., I feel inclined to cry "a fig for your big oysters, and
your bigger megatheriums." But then when digging out some fine bones, I
wonder how any man can tire his arms with hammering granite. By the way
I have not one clear idea about cleavage, stratification, lines of upheaval. I
have no books which tell me much, and what they do I cannot apply to what
I see. In consequence I draw my own conclusions, and most gloriously
ridiculous ones they are, I sometimes fancy...Can you throw any light into
my mind by telling me what relation cleavage and planes of deposition bear
to each other?
And now for my second SECTION, Zoology. I have chiefly been
employed in preparing myself for the South Sea by examining the polypi of
the smaller Corallines in these latitudes. Many in themselves are very
curious, and I think are quite undescribed; there was one appalling one,
allied to a Flustra, which I dare say I mentioned having found to the
northward, where the cells have a movable organ (like a vulture's head, with
a dilatable beak), fixed on the edge. But what is of more general interest is
the unquestionable (as it appears to me) existence of another species of
ostrich, besides the Struthio rhea. All the Gauchos and Indians state it is the
case, and I place the greatest faith in their observations. I have the head,
neck, piece of skin, feathers, and legs of one. The differences are chiefly in
the colour of the feathers and scales on legs, being feathered below the
knees, nidification, and geographical distribution. So much for what I have
lately done; the prospect before me is full of sunshine, fine weather,
glorious scenery, the geology of the Andes, plains abounding with organic
remains (which perhaps I may have the good luck to catch in the very act of
moving), and lastly, an ocean, its shores abounding with life, so that, if
nothing unforeseen happens, I will stick to the voyage, although for what I
can see this may last till we return a fine set of white-headed old gentlemen.

I have to thank you most cordially for sending me the books. I am now
reading the Oxford 'Report' (The second meeting of the British Association
was held at Oxford in 1832, the following year it was at Cambridge.); the
whole account of your proceedings is most glorious; you remaining in
England cannot well imagine how excessively interesting I find the reports.
I am sure from my own thrilling sensations when reading them, that they
cannot fail to have an excellent effect upon all those residing in distant
colonies, and who have little opportunity of seeing the periodicals. My
hammer has flown with redoubled force on the devoted blocks; as I thought
over the eloquence of the Cambridge President, I hit harder and harder
blows. I hope to give my arms strength for the Cordilleras. You will send
me through Capt. Beaufort a copy of the Cambridge 'Report.'
I have forgotten to mention that for some time past, and for the future, I
will put a pencil cross on the pill-boxes containing insects, as these alone
will require being kept particularly dry; it may perhaps save you some
trouble. When this letter will go I do not know, as this little seat of discord
has lately been embroiled by a dreadful scene of murder, and at present
there are more prisoners than inhabitants. If a merchant vessel is chartered
to take them to Rio, I will send some specimens (especially my few plants
and seeds). Remember me to all my Cambridge friends. I love and treasure
up every recollection of dear old Cambridge. I am much obliged to you for
putting my name down to poor Ramsay's monument; I never think of him
without the warmest admiration. Farewell, my dear Henslow.
Believe me your most obliged and affectionate friend, CHARLES
DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS C. DARWIN. East Falkland Island, April
6, 1834.
My dear Catherine,
When this letter will reach you I know not, but probably some man-of-
war will call here before, in the common course of events, I should have
another opportunity of writing....
After visiting some of the southern islands, we beat up through the
magnificent scenery of the Beagle Channel to Jemmy Button's country.
(Jemmy Button, York Minster, and Fuegia Basket, were natives of Tierra

del Fuego, brought to England by Captain Fitz-Roy in his former voyage,
and restored to their country by him in 1832.) We could hardly recognise
poor Jemmy. Instead of the clean, well-dressed stout lad we left him, we
found him a naked, thin, squalid savage. York and Fuegia had moved to
their own country some months ago, the former having stolen all Jemmy's
clothes. Now he had nothing except a bit of blanket round his waist. Poor
Jemmy was very glad to see us, and, with his usual good feeling, brought
several presents (otter-skins, which are most valuable to themselves) for his
old friends. The Captain offered to take him to England, but this, to our
surprise, he at once refused. In the evening his young wife came alongside
and showed us the reason. He was quite contented. Last year, in the height
of his indignation, he said "his country people no sabe nothing—damned
fools"—now they were very good people, with TOO much to eat, and all
the luxuries of life. Jemmy and his wife paddled away in their canoe loaded
with presents, and very happy. The most curious thing is, that Jemmy,
instead of recovering his own language, has taught all his friends a little
English. "J. Button's canoe" and "Jemmy's wife come," "Give me knife,"
etc., was said by several of them.
We then bore away for this island—this little miserable seat of discord.
We found that the Gauchos, under pretence of a revolution, had murdered
and plundered all the Englishmen whom they could catch, and some of their
own countrymen. All the economy at home makes the foreign movements
of England most contemptible. How different from old Spain. Here we,
dog-in-the-manger fashion, seize an island, and leave to protect it a Union
Jack; the possessor has, of course, been murdered; we now send a lieutenant
with four sailors, without authority or instructions. A man-of-war, however,
ventured to leave a party of marines, and by their assistance, and the
treachery of some of the party, the murderers have all been taken, there
being now as many prisoners as inhabitants. This island must some day
become a very important halting-place in the most turbulent sea in the
world. It is mid-way between Australia and the South Sea to England;
between Chili, Peru, etc., and the Rio Plata and the Rio de Janeiro. There
are fine harbours, plenty of fresh water, and good beef. It would doubtless
produce the coarser vegetables. In other respects it is a wretched place. A
little time since, I rode across the island, and returned in four days. My
excursion would have been longer, but during the whole time it blew a gale
of wind, with hail and snow. There is no firewood bigger than heath, and

the whole country is, more or less an elastic peat-bog. Sleeping out at night
was too miserable work to endure it for all the rocks in South America.
We shall leave this scene of iniquity in two or three days, and go to the
Rio de la Sta. Cruz. One of the objects is to look at the ship's bottom. We
struck heavily on an unknown rock off Port Desire, and some of her copper
is torn off. After this is repaired the Captain has a glorious scheme; it is to
go to the very head of this river, that is probably to the Andes. It is quite
unknown; the Indians tell us it is two or three hundred yards broad, and
horses can nowhere ford it. I cannot imagine anything more interesting. Our
plans then are to go to Fort Famine, and there we meet the "Adventure",
who is employed in making the Chart of the Falklands. This will be in the
middle of winter, so I shall see Tierra del Fuego in her white drapery. We
leave the straits to enter the Pacific by the Barbara Channel, one very little
known, and which passes close to the foot of Mount Sarmiento (the highest
mountain in the south, excepting Mt.!! Darwin!!). We then shall scud away
for Concepcion in Chili. I believe the ship must once again steer southward,
but if any one catches me there again, I will give him leave to hang me up
as a scarecrow for all future naturalists. I long to be at work in the
Cordilleras, the geology of this side, which I understand pretty well is so
intimately connected with periods of violence in that great chain of
mountains. The future is, indeed, to me a brilliant prospect. You say its very
brilliancy frightens you; but really I am very careful; I may mention as a
proof, in all my rambles I have never had any one accident or
scrape...Continue in your good custom of writing plenty of gossip; I much
like hearing all about all things. Remember me most kindly to Uncle Jos,
and to all the Wedgwoods. Tell Charlotte (their married names sound
downright unnatural) I should like to have written to her, to have told her
how well everything is going on; but it would only have been a transcript of
this letter, and I have a host of animals at this minute surrounding me which
all require embalming and numbering. I have not forgotten the comfort I
received that day at Maer, when my mind was like a swinging pendulum.
Give my best love to my father. I hope he will forgive all my extravagance,
but not as a Christian, for then I suppose he would send me no more money.
Good-bye, dear, to you, and all your goodly sisterhood.
Your affectionate brother, CHAS. DARWIN.

My love to Nancy (His old nurse.); tell her, if she was now to see me
with my great beard, she would think I was some worthy Solomon, come to
sell the trinkets.

CHARLES DARWIN TO C. WHITLEY. Valparaiso, July 23, 1834.
My dear Whitley,
I have long intended writing, just to put you in mind that there is a certain
hunter of beetles, and pounder of rocks still in existence. Why I have not
done so before I know not, but it will serve me right if you have quite
forgotten me. It is a very long time since I have heard any Cambridge news;
I neither know where you are living or what you are doing. I saw your name
down as one of the indefatigable guardians of the eighteen hundred
philosophers. I was delighted to see this, for when we last left Cambridge
you were at sad variance with poor science; you seemed to think her a
public prostitute working for popularity. If your opinions are the same as
formerly, you would agree most admirably with Captain Fitz-Roy,—the
object of his most devout abhorrence is one of the d—d scientific Whigs. As
captains of men-of-war are the greatest men going, far greater than kings or
schoolmasters, I am obliged to tell him everything in my own favour. I have
often said I once had a very good friend, an out-and-out Tory, and we
managed to get on very well together. But he is very much inclined to doubt
if ever I really was so much honoured; at present we hear scarcely anything
about politics; this saves a great deal of trouble, for we all stick to our
former opinions rather more obstinately than before, and can give rather
fewer reasons for doing so.
I do hope you will write to me: ('H.M.S. "Beagle", S. American Station'
will find me). I should much like to hear in what state you are both in body
and mind. ?Quien Sabe? as the people say here (and God knows they well
may, for they do know little enough), if you are not a married man, and may
be nursing, as Miss Austen says, little olive branches, little pledges of
mutual affection. Eheu! Eheu! this puts me in mind of former visions of
glimpses into futurity, where I fancied I saw retirement, green cottages, and
white petticoats. What will become of me hereafter I know not; I feel like a
ruined man, who does not see or care how to extricate himself. That this
voyage must come to a conclusion my reason tells me, but otherwise I see

no end to it. It is impossible not bitterly to regret the friends and other
sources of pleasure one leaves behind in England; in place of it there is
much solid enjoyment, some present, but more in anticipation, when the
ideas gained during the voyage can be compared to fresh ones. I find in
Geology a never-failing interest, as it has been remarked, it creates the same
grand ideas respecting this world which Astronomy does for the universe.
We have seen much fine scenery; that of the Tropics in its glory and
luxuriance exceeds even the language of Humboldt to describe. A Persian
writer could alone do justice to it, and if he succeeded he would in England
be called the 'Grandfather of all liars.'
But I have seen nothing which more completely astonished me than the
first sight of a savage. It was a naked Fuegian, his long hair blowing about,
his face besmeared with paint. There is in their countenances an expression
which I believe, to those who have not seen it, must be inconceivably wild.
Standing on a rock he uttered tones and made gesticulations, than which the
cries of domestic animals are far more intelligible.
When I return to England, you must take me in hand with respect to the
fine arts. I yet recollect there was a man called Raffaelle Sanctus. How
delightful it will be once again to see, in the Fitzwilliam, Titian's Venus.
How much more than delightful to go to some good concert or fine opera.
These recollections will not do. I shall not be able to-morrow to pick out the
entrails of some small animal with half my usual gusto. Pray tell me some
news about Cameron, Watkins, Marindin, the two Thompsons of Trinity,
Lowe, Heaviside, Matthew. Herbert I have heard from. How is Henslow
getting on? and all other good friends of dear Cambridge? Often and often
do I think over those past hours, so many of which have been passed in
your company. Such can never return, but their recollection can never die
away.
God bless you, my dear Whitley, Believe me, your most sincere friend,
CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS C. DARWIN. Valparaiso, November 8,
1834.
My dear Catherine,

My last letter was rather a gloomy one, for I was not very well when I
wrote it. Now everything is as bright as sunshine. I am quite well again
after being a second time in bed for a fortnight. Captain Fitz-Roy very
generously has delayed the ship ten days on my account, and without at the
time telling me for what reason.
We have had some strange proceedings on board the "Beagle", but which
have ended most capitally for all hands. Captain Fitz-Roy has for the last
two months been working EXTREMELY hard, and at the same time
constantly annoyed by interruptions from officers of other ships; the selling
the schooner and its consequences were very vexatious; the cold manner the
Admiralty (solely I believe because he is a Tory) have treated him, and a
thousand other, etc. etc.'s, has made him very thin and unwell. This was
accompanied by a morbid depression of spirits, and a loss of all decision
and resolution... All that Bynoe [the Surgeon] could say, that it was merely
the effect of bodily health and exhaustion after such application, would not
do; he invalided, and Wickham was appointed to the command. By the
instructions Wickham could only finish the survey of the southern part, and
would then have been obliged to return direct to England. The grief on
board the "Beagle" about the Captain's decision was universal and deeply
felt; one great source of his annoyment was the feeling it impossible to
fulfil the whole instructions; from his state of mind it never occurred to him
that the very instructions ordered him to do as much of the West coast AS
HE HAS TIME FOR, and then proceed across the Pacific.
Wickham (very disinterestedly giving up his own promotion) urged this
most strongly, stated that when he took the command nothing should induce
him to go to Tierra del Fuego again; and then asked the Captain what would
be gained by his resignation? why not do the more useful part, and return as
commanded by the Pacific. The Captain at last, to every one's joy,
consented, and the resignation was withdrawn.
Hurrah! hurrah! it is fixed the "Beagle" shall not go one mile south of
Cape Tres Montes (about 200 miles south of Chiloe), and from that point to
Valparaiso will be finished in about five months. We shall examine the
Chonos Archipelago, entirely unknown, and the curious inland sea behind
Chiloe. For me it is glorious. Cape Tres Montes is the most southern point
where there is much geological interest, as there the modern beds end. The
Captain then talks of crossing the Pacific; but I think we shall persuade him

to finish the Coast of Peru, where the climate is delightful, the country
hideously sterile, but abounding with the highest interest to a geologist. For
the first time since leaving England I now see a clear and not so distant
prospect of returning to you all: crossing the Pacific, and from Sydney
home, will not take much time.
As soon as the Captain invalided I at once determined to leave the
"Beagle", but it was quite absurd what a revolution in five minutes was
effected in all my feelings. I have long been grieved and most sorry at the
interminable length of the voyage (although I never would have quitted it);
but the minute it was all over, I could not make up my mind to return. I
could not give up all the geological castles in the air which I had been
building up for the last two years. One whole night I tried to think over the
pleasure of seeing Shrewsbury again, but the barren plains of Peru gained
the day. I made the following scheme (I know you will abuse me, and
perhaps if I had put it in execution, my father would have sent a mandamus
after me); it was to examine the Cordilleras of Chili during this summer,
and in winter go from port to port on the coast of Peru to Lima, returning
this time next year to Valparaiso, cross the Cordilleras to Buenos Ayres, and
take ship to England. Would not this have been a fine excursion, and in
sixteen months I should have been with you all? To have endured Tierra del
Fuego and not seen the Pacific would have been miserable...
I go on board to-morrow; I have been for the last six weeks in Corfield's
house. You cannot imagine what a kind friend I have found him. He is
universally liked, and respected by the natives and foreigners. Several
Chileno Signoritas are very obligingly anxious to become the signoras of
this house. Tell my father I have kept my promise of being extravagant in
Chili. I have drawn a bill of 100 pounds (had it not better be notified to
Messrs. Robarts & Co.); 50 pounds goes to the Captain for the ensuing year,
and 30 pounds I take to sea for the small ports; so that bona fide I have not
spent 180 pounds during these last four months. I hope not to draw another
bill for six months. All the foregoing particulars were only settled yesterday.
It has done me more good than a pint of medicine, and I have not been so
happy for the last year. If it had not been for my illness, these four months
in Chili would have been very pleasant. I have had ill luck, however, in only
one little earthquake having happened. I was lying in bed when there was a
party at dinner in the house; on a sudden I heard such a hubbub in the
dining-room; without a word being spoken, it was devil take the hindmost

who should get out first; at the same moment I felt my bed SLIGHTLY
vibrate in a lateral direction. The party were old stagers, and heard the noise
which always precedes a shock; and no old stager looks at an earthquake
with philosophical eyes...
Good-bye to you all; you will not have another letter for some time.
My dear Catherine, Yours affectionately, CHAS. DARWIN.
My best love to my father, and all of you. Love to Nancy.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS S. DARWIN. Valparaiso, April 23, 1835.
My dear Susan,
I received, a few days since, your letter of November; the three letters
which I before mentioned are yet missing, but I do not doubt they will come
to life. I returned a week ago from my excursion across the Andes to
Mendoza. Since leaving England I have never made so successful a
journey; it has, however, been very expensive. I am sure my father would
not regret it, if he could know how deeply I have enjoyed it: it was
something more than enjoyment; I cannot express the delight which I felt at
such a famous winding-up of all my geology in South America. I literally
could hardly sleep at nights for thinking over my day's work. The scenery
was so new, and so majestic; everything at an elevation of 12,000 feet bears
so different an aspect from that in a lower country. I have seen many views
more beautiful, but none with so strongly marked a character. To a
geologist, also, there are such manifest proofs of excessive violence; the
strata of the highest pinnacles are tossed about like the crust of a broken pie.
I crossed by the Portillo Pass, which at this time of the year is apt to be
dangerous, so could not afford to delay there. After staying a day in the
stupid town of Mendoza, I began my return by Uspallate, which I did very
leisurely. My whole trip only took up twenty-two days. I travelled with, for
me, uncommon comfort, as I carried a BED! My party consisted of two
Peons and ten mules, two of which were with baggage, or rather food, in
case of being snowed up. Everything, however, favoured me; not even a
speck of this year's snow had fallen on the road. I do not suppose any of you
can be much interested in geological details, but I will just mention my
principal results:—Besides understanding to a certain extent the description
and manner of the force which has elevated this great line of mountains, I

can clearly demonstrate that one part of the double line is of an age long
posterior to the other. In the more ancient line, which is the true chain of the
Andes, I can describe the sort and order of the rocks which compose it.
These are chiefly remarkable by containing a bed of gypsum nearly 2000
feet thick—a quantity of this substance I should think unparalleled in the
world. What is of much greater consequence, I have procured fossil shells
(from an elevation of 12,000 feet). I think an examination of these will give
an approximate age to these mountains, as compared to the strata of Europe.
In the other line of the Cordilleras there is a strong presumption (in my own
mind, conviction) that the enormous mass of mountains, the peaks of which
rise to 13,000 and 14,000 feet, are so very modern as to be
contemporaneous with the plains of Patagonia (or about with the UPPER
strata of the Isle of Wight). If this result shall be considered as proved (The
importance of these results has been fully recognised by geologists.), it is a
very important fact in the theory of the formation of the world; because, if
such wonderful changes have taken place so recently in the crust of the
globe, there can be no reason for supposing former epochs of excessive
violence. These modern strata are very remarkable by being threaded with
metallic veins of silver, gold, copper, etc.; hitherto these have been
considered as appertaining to older formations. In these same beds, and
close to a goldmine, I found a clump of petrified trees, standing up right,
with layers of fine sandstone deposited round them, bearing the impression
of their bark. These trees are covered by other sandstones and streams of
lava to the thickness of several thousand feet. These rocks have been
deposited beneath water; yet it is clear the spot where the trees grew must
once have been above the level of the sea, so that it is certain the land must
have been depressed by at least as many thousand feet as the
superincumbent subaqueous deposits are thick. But I am afraid you will tell
me I am prosy with my geological descriptions and theories...
Your account of Erasmus' visit to Cambridge has made me long to be
back there. I cannot fancy anything more delightful than his Sunday round
of King's, Trinity, and those talking giants, Whewell and Sedgwick; I hope
your musical tastes continue in due force. I shall be ravenous for the
pianoforte...
I have not quite determined whether I will sleep at the 'Lion' the first
night when I arrive per 'Wonder,' or disturb you all in the dead of night;
everything short of that is absolutely planned. Everything about Shrewsbury

is growing in my mind bigger and more beautiful; I am certain the acacia
and copper beech are two superb trees; I shall know every bush, and I will
trouble you young ladies, when each of you cut down your tree, to spare a
few. As for the view behind the house, I have seen nothing like it. It is the
same with North Wales; Snowdon, to my mind, looks much higher and
much more beautiful than any peak in the Cordilleras. So you will say, with
my benighted faculties, it is time to return, and so it is, and I long to be with
you. Whatever the trees are, I know what I shall find all you. I am writing
nonsense, so farewell. My most affectionate love to all, and I pray
forgiveness from my father.
Yours most affectionately, CHARLES DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. Lima, July, 1835.
My dear Fox,
I have lately received two of your letters, one dated June and the other
November, 1834 (they reached me, however, in an inverted order). I was
very glad to receive a history of this most important year in your life.
Previously I had only heard the plain fact that you were married. You are a
true Christian and return good for evil, to send two such letters to so bad a
correspondent as I have been. God bless you for writing so kindly and
affectionately; if it is a pleasure to have friends in England, it is doubly so
to think and know that one is not forgotten because absent. This voyage is
terribly long. I do so earnestly desire to return, yet I dare hardly look
forward to the future, for I do not know what will become of me. Your
situation is above envy: I do not venture even to frame such happy visions.
To a person fit to take the office, the life of a clergyman is a type of all that
is respectable and happy. You tempt me by talking of your fireside, whereas
it is a sort of scene I never ought to think about. I saw the other day a vessel
sail for England; it was quite dangerous to know how easily I might turn
deserter. As for an English lady, I have almost forgotten what she is—
something very angelic and good. As for the women in these countries, they
wear caps and petticoats, and a very few have pretty faces, and then all is
said. But if we are not wrecked on some unlucky reef, I will sit by that same
fireside in Vale Cottage and tell some of the wonderful stories, which you

seem to anticipate and, I presume, are not very ready to believe. Gracias a
dios, the prospect of such times is rather shorter than formerly.
From this most wretched 'City of the Kings' we sail in a fortnight, from
thence to Guayaquil, Galapagos, Marquesas, Society Islands, etc., etc. I
look forward to the Galapagos with more interest than any other part of the
voyage. They abound with active volcanoes, and, I should hope, contain
Tertiary strata. I am glad to hear you have some thoughts of beginning
Geology. I hope you will; there is so much larger a field for thought than in
the other branches of Natural History. I am become a zealous disciple of
Mr. Lyell's views, as known in his admirable book. Geologising in South
America, I am tempted to carry parts to a greater extent even than he does.
Geology is a capital science to begin, as it requires nothing but a little
reading, thinking, and hammering. I have a considerable body of notes
together; but it is a constant subject of perplexity to me, whether they are of
sufficient value for all the time I have spent about them, or whether animals
would not have been of more certain value.
I shall indeed be glad once again to see you and tell you how grateful I
feel for your steady friendship. God bless you, my very dear Fox.
Believe me, Yours affectionately, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. Sydney, January, 1836.
My dear Henslow,
This is the last opportunity of communicating with you before that joyful
day when I shall reach Cambridge. I have very little to say: but I must write
if it is only to express my joy that the last year is concluded, and that the
present one, in which the "Beagle" will return, is gliding onwards. We have
all been disappointed here in not finding even a single letter; we are, indeed,
rather before our expected time, otherwise, I dare say, I should have seen
your handwriting. I must feed upon the future, and it is beyond bounds
delightful to feel the certainty that within eight months I shall be residing
once again most quietly in Cambridge. Certainly, I never was intended for a
traveller; my thoughts are always rambling over past or future scenes; I
cannot enjoy the present happiness for anticipating the future, which is
about as foolish as the dog who dropped the real bone for its shadow....

In our passage across the Pacific we only touched at Tahiti and New
Zealand; at neither of these places or at sea had I much opportunity of
working. Tahiti is a most charming spot. Everything which former
navigators have written is true. 'A new Cytheraea has risen from the ocean.'
Delicious scenery, climate, manners of the people are all in harmony. It is,
moreover, admirable to behold what the missionaries both here and at New
Zealand have effected. I firmly believe they are good men working for the
sake of a good cause. I much suspect that those who have abused or sneered
at the missionaries have generally been such as were not very anxious to
find the natives moral and intelligent beings. During the remainder of our
voyage we shall only visit places generally acknowledged as civilised, and
nearly all under the British flag. These will be a poor field for Natural
History, and without it I have lately discovered that the pleasure of seeing
new places is as nothing. I must return to my old resource and think of the
future, but that I may not become more prosy, I will say farewell till the day
arrives, when I shall see my Master in Natural History, and can tell him
how grateful I feel for his kindness and friendship.
Believe me, dear Henslow, Ever yours, most faithfully, CHAS.
DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO MISS S. DARWIN. Bahia, Brazil, August 4
[1836].
My dear Susan,
I will just write a few lines to explain the cause of this letter being dated
on the coast of South America. Some singular disagreements in the
longitudes made Captain Fitz-Roy anxious to complete the circle in the
southern hemisphere, and then retrace our steps by our first line to England.
This zigzag manner of proceeding is very grievous; it has put the finishing
stroke to my feelings. I loathe, I abhor the sea and all ships which sail on it.
But I yet believe we shall reach England in the latter half of October. At
Ascension I received Catherine's letter of October, and yours of November;
the letter at the Cape was of a later date, but letters of all sorts are
inestimable treasures, and I thank you both for them. The desert, volcanic
rocks, and wild sea of Ascension, as soon as I knew there was news from
home, suddenly wore a pleasing aspect, and I set to work with a good-will

at my old work of Geology. You would be surprised to know how entirely
the pleasure in arriving at a new place depends on letters. We only stayed
four days at Ascension, and then made a very good passage to Bahia.
I little thought to have put my foot on South American coast again. It has
been almost painful to find how much good enthusiasm has been
evaporated during the last four years. I can now walk soberly through a
Brazilian forest; not but what it is exquisitely beautiful, but now, instead of
seeking for splendid contrasts, I compare the stately mango trees with the
horse-chestnuts of England. Although this zigzag has lost us at least a
fortnight, in some respects I am glad of it. I think I shall be able to carry
away one vivid picture of inter-tropical scenery. We go from hence to the
Cape de Verds; that is, if the winds or the Equatorial calms will allow us. I
have some faint hopes that a steady foul wind might induce the Captain to
proceed direct to the Azores. For which most untoward event I heartily
pray.
Both your letters were full of good news; especially the expressions
which you tell me Professor Sedgwick used about my collections. I confess
they are deeply gratifying—I trust one part at least will turn out true, and
that I shall act as I now think—as a man who dares to waste one hour of
time has not discovered the value of life. Professor Sedgwick mentioning
my name at all gives me hopes that he will assist me with his advice, of
which, in my geological questions, I stand much in need. It is useless to tell
you from the shameful state of this scribble that I am writing against time,
having been out all morning, and now there are some strangers on board to
whom I must go down and talk civility. Moreover, as this letter goes by a
foreign ship, it is doubtful whether it will ever arrive. Farewell, my very
dear Susan and all of you. Good-bye.
C. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. St. Helena, July 9, 1836.
My dear Henslow,
I am going to ask you to do me a favour. I am very anxious to belong to
the Geological Society. I do not know, but I suppose it is necessary to be
proposed some time before being ballotted for; if such is the case, would
you be good enough to take the proper preparatory steps? Professor

Sedgwick very kindly offered to propose me before leaving England, if he
should happen to be in London. I dare say he would yet do so.
I have very little to write about. We have neither seen, done, or heard of
anything particular for a long time past; and indeed if at present the
wonders of another planet could be displayed before us, I believe we should
unanimously exclaim, what a consummate plague. No schoolboys ever sung
the half sentimental and half jovial strain of 'dulce domum' with more
fervour, than we all feel inclined to do. But the whole subject of 'dulce
domum,' and the delight of seeing one's friends, is most dangerous, it must
infallibly make one very prosy or very boisterous. Oh, the degree to which I
long to be once again living quietly with not one single novel object near
me! No one can imagine it till he has been whirled round the world during
five long years in a ten-gun-brig. I am at present living in a small house
(amongst the clouds) in the centre of the island, and within stone's throw of
Napoleon's tomb. It is blowing a gale of wind with heavy rain and
wretchedly cold; if Napoleon's ghost haunts his dreary place of
confinement, this would be a most excellent night for such wandering
spirits. If the weather chooses to permit me, I hope to see a little of the
Geology (so often partially described) of the island. I suspect that
differently from most volcanic islands its structure is rather complicated. It
seems strange that this little centre of a distinct creation should, as is
asserted, bear marks of recent elevation.
The "Beagle" proceeds from this place to Ascension, then to the Cape de
Verds (what miserable places!) to the Azores to Plymouth, and then to
home. That most glorious of all days in my life will not, however, arrive till
the middle of October. Some time in that month you will see me at
Cambridge, where I must directly come to report myself to you, as my first
Lord of the Admiralty. At the Cape of Good Hope we all on board suffered
a bitter disappointment in missing nine months' letters, which are chasing us
from one side of the globe to the other. I dare say amongst them there was a
letter from you; it is long since I have seen your handwriting, but I shall
soon see you yourself, which is far better. As I am your pupil, you are
bound to undertake the task of criticising and scolding me for all the things
ill done and not done at all, which I fear I shall need much; but I hope for
the best, and I am sure I have a good if not too easy taskmaster.

At the Cape Captain Fitz-Roy and myself enjoyed a memorable piece of
good fortune in meeting Sir J. Herschel. We dined at his house and saw him
a few times besides. He was exceedingly good natured, but his manners at
first appeared to me rather awful. He is living in a very comfortable country
house, surrounded by fir and oak trees, which alone in so open a country,
give a most charming air of seclusion and comfort. He appears to find time
for everything; he showed us a pretty garden full of Cape bulbs of his own
collecting, and I afterwards understood that everything was the work of his
own hands...I am very stupid, and I have nothing more to say; the wind is
whistling so mournfully over the bleak hills, that I shall go to bed and
dream of England.
Goodnight, my dear Henslow, Yours most truly obliged and
affectionately, CHAS. DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. Shrewsbury, Thursday, October
6, [1836].
My dear Henslow,
I am sure you will congratulate me on the delight of once again being
home. The "Beagle" arrived at Falmouth on Sunday evening, and I reached
Shrewsbury yesterday morning. I am exceedingly anxious to see you, and
as it will be necessary in four or five days to return to London to get my
goods and chattels out of the "Beagle", it appears to me my best plan to pass
through Cambridge. I want your advice on many points; indeed I am in the
clouds, and neither know what to do or where to go. My chief puzzle is
about the geological specimens—who will have the charity to help me in
describing their mineralogical nature? Will you be kind enough to write to
me one line by RETURN OF POST, saying whether you are now at
Cambridge? I am doubtful till I hear from Captain Fitz-Roy whether I shall
not be obliged to start before the answer can arrive, but pray try the chance.
My dear Henslow, I do long to see you; you have been the kindest friend to
me that ever man possessed. I can write no more, for I am giddy with joy
and confusion.
Farewell for the present, Yours most truly obliged, CHARLES DARWIN.

CHARLES DARWIN TO R. FITZ-ROY. Shrewsbury, Thursday morning,
October 6, [1836].
My dear Fitz-Roy,
I arrived here yesterday morning at breakfast time, and, thank God, found
all my dear good sisters and father quite well. My father appears more
cheerful and very little older than when I left. My sisters assure me I do not
look the least different, and I am able to return the compliment. Indeed, all
England appears changed excepting the good old town of Shrewsbury and
its inhabitants, which, for all I can see to the contrary, may go on as they
now are to Doomsday. I wish with all my heart I was writing to you
amongst your friends instead of at that horrid Plymouth. But the day will
soon come, and you will be as happy as I now am. I do assure you I am a
very great man at home; the five years' voyage has certainly raised me a
hundred per cent. I fear such greatness must experience a fall.
I am thoroughly ashamed of myself in what a dead-and-half-alive state I
spent the few last days on board; my only excuse is that certainly I was not
quite well. The first day in the mail tired me, but as I drew nearer to
Shrewsbury everything looked more beautiful and cheerful. In passing
Gloucestershire and Worcestershire I wished much for you to admire the
fields, woods, and orchards. The stupid people on the coach did not seem to
think the fields one bit greener than usual; but I am sure we should have
thoroughly agreed that the wide world does not contain so happy a prospect
as the rich cultivated land of England.
I hope you will not forget to send me a note telling me how you go on. I
do indeed hope all your vexations and trouble with respect to our voyage,
which we now know HAS an end, have come to a close. If you do not
receive much satisfaction for all the mental and bodily energy you have
expended in His Majesty's service, you will be most hardly treated. I put my
radical sisters into an uproar at some of the prudent (if they were not honest
Whigs, I would say shabby) proceedings of our Government. By the way, I
must tell you for the honour and glory of the family that my father has a
large engraving of King George IV. put up in his sitting-room. But I am no
renegade, and by the time we meet my politics will be as firmly fixed and
as wisely founded as ever they were.
I thought when I began this letter I would convince you what a steady
and sober frame of mind I was in. But I find I am writing most precious

nonsense. Two or three of our labourers yesterday immediately set to work
and got most excessively drunk in honour of the arrival of Master Charles.
Who then shall gainsay if Master Charles himself chooses to make himself
a fool. Good-bye. God bless you! I hope you are as happy, but much wiser,
than your most sincere but unworthy philosopher,
CHAS. DARWIN.

CHAPTER 1.VII. — LONDON AND
CAMBRIDGE.
1836-1842.

[The period illustrated by the following letters includes the years between
my father's return from the voyage of the "Beagle" and his settling at Down.
It is marked by the gradual appearance of that weakness of health which
ultimately forced him to leave London and take up his abode for the rest of
his life in a quiet country house.]
In June, 1841, he writes to Lyell: "My father scarcely seems to expect
that I shall become strong for some years; it has been a bitter mortification
for me to digest the conclusion that the 'race is for the strong,' and that I
shall probably do little more but be content to admire the strides others
make in science."
There is no evidence of any intention of entering a profession after his
return from the voyage, and early in 1840 he wrote to Fitz-Roy: "I have
nothing to wish for, excepting stronger health to go on with the subjects to
which I have joyfully determined to devote my life."
These two conditions—permanent ill-health and a passionate love of
scientific work for its own sake—determined thus early in his career, the
character of his whole future life. They impelled him to lead a retired life of
constant labour, carried on to the utmost limits of his physical power, a life
which signally falsified his melancholy prophecy.
The end of the last chapter saw my father safely arrived at Shrewsbury on
October 4, 1836, "after an absence of five years and two days." He wrote to
Fox: "You cannot imagine how gloriously delightful my first visit was at
home; it was worth the banishment." But it was a pleasure that he could not
long enjoy, for in the last days of October he was at Greenwich unpacking
specimens from the "Beagle". As to the destination of the collections he
writes, somewhat despondingly, to Henslow:—
"I have not made much progress with the great men. I find, as you told
me, that they are all overwhelmed with their own business. Mr. Lyell has

entered, in the MOST good-natured manner, and almost without being
asked, into all my plans. He tells me, however, the same story, that I must
do all myself. Mr. Owen seems anxious to dissect some of the animals in
spirits, and, besides these two, I have scarcely met any one who seems to
wish to possess any of my specimens. I must except Dr. Grant, who is
willing to examine some of the corallines. I see it is quite unreasonable to
hope for a minute that any man will undertake the examination of a whole
order. It is clear the collectors so much outnumber the real naturalists that
the latter have no time to spare.
"I do not even find that the Collections care for receiving the unnamed
specimens. The Zoological Museum (The Museum of the Zoological
Society, then at 33 Bruton Street. The collection was some years later
broken up and dispersed.) is nearly full, and upwards of a thousand
specimens remain unmounted. I dare say the British Museum would receive
them, but I cannot feel, from all I hear, any great respect even for the
present state of that establishment. Your plan will be not only the best, but
the only one, namely, to come down to Cambridge, arrange and group
together the different families, and then wait till people, who are already
working in different branches, may want specimens. But it appears to me
[that] to do this it will be almost necessary to reside in London. As far as I
can yet see my best plan will be to spend several months in Cambridge, and
then when, by your assistance, I know on what ground I stand, to emigrate
to London, where I can complete my Geology and try to push on the
Zoology. I assure you I grieve to find how many things make me see the
necessity of living for some time in this dirty, odious London. For even in
Geology I suspect much assistance and communication will be necessary in
this quarter, for instance, in fossil bones, of which none excepting the
fragments of Megatherium have been looked at, and I clearly see that
without my presence they never would be....
"I only wish I had known the Botanists cared so much for specimens (A
passage in a subsequent letter shows that his plants also gave him some
anxiety. "I met Mr. Brown a few days after you had called on him; he asked
me in rather an ominous manner what I meant to do with my plants. In the
course of conversation Mr. Broderip, who was present, remarked to him,
'You forget how long it is since Captain King's expedition.' He answered,
'Indeed, I have something in the shape of Captain King's undescribed plants
to make me recollect it.' Could a better reason be given, if I had been asked,

by me, for not giving the plants to the British Museum?") and the
Zoologists so little; the proportional number of specimens in the two
branches should have had a very different appearance. I am out of patience
with the Zoologists, not because they are overworked, but for their mean,
quarrelsome spirit. I went the other evening to the Zoological Society,
where the speakers were snarling at each other in a manner anything but
like that of gentlemen. Thank Heavens! as long as I remain in Cambridge
there will not be any danger of falling into any such contemptible quarrels,
whilst in London I do not see how it is to be avoided. Of the Naturalists, F.
Hope is out of London; Westwood I have not seen, so about my insects I
know nothing. I have seen Mr. Yarrell twice, but he is so evidently
oppressed with business that it is too selfish to plague him with my
concerns. He has asked me to dine with the Linnean on Tuesday, and on
Wednesday I dine with the Geological, so that I shall see all the great men.
Mr. Bell, I hear, is so much occupied that there is no chance of his wishing
for specimens of reptiles. I have forgotten to mention Mr. Lonsdale
(William Lonsdale, 1794-1871, was originally in the army, and served at the
battles of Salamanca and Waterloo. After the war he left the service and
gave himself up to science. He acted as assistant secretary to the Geological
Society from 1829-42, when he resigned, owing to ill health.), who gave me
a most cordial reception, and with whom I had much most interesting
conversation. If I was not much more inclined for geology than the other
branches of Natural History, I am sure Mr. Lyell's and Lonsdale's kindness
ought to fix me. You cannot conceive anything more thoroughly good-
natured than the heart-and-soul manner in which he put himself in my place
and thought what would be best to do. At first he was all for London versus
Cambridge, but at last I made him confess that, for some time at least, the
latter would be for me much the best. There is not another soul whom I
could ask, excepting yourself, to wade through and criticise some of those
papers which I have left with you. Mr. Lyell owned that, second to London,
there was no place in England so good for a Naturalist as Cambridge. Upon
my word I am ashamed of writing so many foolish details, no young lady
ever described her first ball with more particularity."
A few days later he writes more cheerfully: "I became acquainted with
Mr. Bell (T. Bell, F.R.S., formerly Prof. of Zoology in King's College,
London, and some time secretary to the Royal Society. He afterwards
described the reptiles for the zoology of the voyage of the "Beagle".) who to

my surprise expressed a good deal of interest about my crustacea and
reptiles, and seems willing to work at them. I also heard that Mr. Broderip
would be glad to look over the South American shells, so that things
flourish well with me."
About his plants he writes with characteristic openness as to his own
ignorance: "You have made me known amongst the botanists, but I felt very
foolish when Mr. Don remarked on the beautiful appearance of some plant
with an astounding long name, and asked me about its habitation. Some one
else seemed quite surprised that I knew nothing about a Carex from I do not
know where. I was at last forced to plead most entire innocence, and that I
knew no more about the plants which I had collected than the man in the
moon."
As to part of his Geological Collection he was soon able to write: "I
[have] disposed of the most important part [of] my collections, by giving all
the fossil bones to the College of Surgeons, casts of them will be
distributed, and descriptions published. They are very curious and valuable;
one head belonged to some gnawing animal, but of the size of a
Hippopotamus! Another to an ant-eater of the size of a horse!"
It is worth noting that at this time the only extinct mammalia from South
America, which had been described, were Mastodon (three species) and
Megatherium. The remains of the other extinct Edentata from Sir Woodbine
Parish's collection had not been described. My father's specimens included
(besides the above-mentioned Toxodon and Scelidotherium) the remains of
Mylodon, Glossotherium, another gigantic animal allied to the ant-eater,
and Macrauchenia. His discovery of these remains is a matter of interest in
itself, but it has a special importance as a point in his own life, since it was
the vivid impression produced by excavating them with his own hands (I
have often heard him speak of the despair with which he had to break off
the projecting extremity of a huge, partly excavated bone, when the boat
waiting for him would wait no longer.) that formed one of the chief starting-
points of his speculation on the origin of species. This is shown in the
following extract from his Pocket Book for this year (1837): "In July
opened first note-book on Transmutation of Species. Had been greatly
struck from about the month of previous March on character of South
American fossils, and species on Galapagos Archipelago. These facts
(especially latter), origin of all my views."]

1836-1837.

CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. 43 Great Marlborough Street,
November 6th [1836].
My dear Fox,
I have taken a shamefully long time in answering your letter. But the
busiest time of the whole voyage has been tranquillity itself to this last
month. After paying Henslow a short but very pleasant visit, I came up to
town to wait for the "Beagle's" arrival. At last I have removed all my
property from on board, and sent the specimens of Natural History to
Cambridge, so that I am now a free man. My London visit has been quite
idle as far as Natural History goes, but has been passed in most exciting
dissipation amongst the Dons in science. All my affairs, indeed, are most
prosperous; I find there are plenty who will undertake the description of
whole tribes of animals, of which I know nothing. So that about this day
month I hope to set to work tooth and nail at the Geology, which I shall
publish by itself.
It is quite ridiculous what an immensely long period it appears to me
since landing at Falmouth. The fact is I have talked and laughed enough for
years instead of weeks, so [that] my memory is quite confounded with the
noise. I am delighted to hear you are turned geologist: when I pay the Isle
of Wight a visit, which I am determined shall somehow come to pass, you
will be a capital cicerone to the famous line of dislocation. I really suppose
there are few parts of the world more interesting to a geologist than your
island. Amongst the great scientific men, no one has been nearly so friendly
and kind as Lyell. I have seen him several times, and feel inclined to like
him much. You cannot imagine how good-naturedly he entered into all my
plans. I speak now only of the London men, for Henslow was just like his
former self, and therefore a most cordial and affectionate friend. When you
pay London a visit I shall be very proud to take you to the Geological
Society, for be it known, I was proposed to be a F.G.S. last Tuesday. It is,
however, a great pity that these and the other letters, especially F.R.S., are
so very expensive.
I do not scruple to ask you to write to me in a week's time in Shrewsbury,
for you are a good letter writer, and if people will have such good characters

they must pay the penalty. Good-bye, dear Fox.
Yours, C.D.
[His affairs being thus so far prosperously managed he was able to put
into execution his plan of living at Cambridge, where he settled on
December 10th, 1836. He was at first a guest in the comfortable home of
the Henslows, but afterwards, for the sake of undisturbed work, he moved
into lodgings.]
He thus writes to Fox, March 13th, 1837, from London:—
"My residence at Cambridge was rather longer than I expected, owing to
a job which I determined to finish there, namely, looking over all my
geological specimens. Cambridge yet continues a very pleasant, but not half
so merry a place as before. To walk through the courts of Christ's College,
and not know an inhabitant of a single room, gave one a feeling half
melancholy. The only evil I found in Cambridge was its being too pleasant:
there was some agreeable party or another every evening, and one cannot
say one is engaged with so much impunity there as in this great city."
A trifling record of my father's presence in Cambridge occurs in the book
kept in Christ's College combination-room, where fines and bets were
recorded, the earlier entries giving a curious impression of the after-dinner
frame of mind of the fellows. The bets were not allowed to be made in
money, but were, like the fines, paid in wine. The bet which my father made
and lost is thus recorded:—
"FEBRUARY 23, 1837."
Mr. Darwin v. Mr. Baines, that the combination-room measures from the
ceiling to the floor more than (x) feet. 1 Bottle paid same day.
"N.B. Mr. Darwin may measure at any part of the room he pleases."
Besides arranging the geological and mineralogical specimens, he had his
'Journal of Researches' to work at, which occupied his evenings at
Cambridge. He also read a short paper at the Zoological Society ("Notes
upon Rhea Americana," 'Zool. Soc. Proc.' v. 1837, pages 35, 36.), and
another at the Geological Society ('Geol. Soc. Proc.' ii. 1838, pages 446-
449.), on the recent elevation of the coast of Chile.
Early in the spring of 1837 (March 6th) he left Cambridge for London,
and a week later he was settled in lodgings at 36 Great Marlborough Street;
and except for a "short visit to Shrewsbury" in June, he worked on till

September, being almost entirely employed on his 'Journal.' He found time,
however, for two papers at the Geological Society. ("A sketch of the
deposits containing extinct mammalia in the neighbourhood of the Plata,"
'Geol. Soc. Proc.' ii. 1838, pages 542-544; and "On certain areas of
elevation and subsidence in the Pacific and Indian oceans, as deduced from
the study of coral formations." 'Geol. Soc. Proc' ii. 1838, pages 552- 554.)
He writes of his work to Fox (March, 1837):—
"In your last letter you urge me to get ready THE book. I am now hard at
work and give up everything else for it. Our plan is as follows: Captain
Fitz-Roy writes two volumes out of the materials collected during the last
voyage under Capt. King to Tierra del Fuego, and during our
circumnavigation. I am to have the third volume, in which I intend giving a
kind of journal of a naturalist, not following, however, always the order of
time, but rather the order of position. The habits of animals will occupy a
large portion, sketches of the geology, the appearance of the country, and
personal details will make the hodge-podge complete. Afterwards I shall
write an account of the geology in detail, and draw up some zoological
papers. So that I have plenty of work for the next year or two, and till that is
finished I will have no holidays."
Another letter to Fox (July) gives an account of the progress of his work:
—
"I gave myself a holiday and a visit to Shrewsbury [in June], as I had
finished my Journal. I shall now be very busy in filling up gaps and getting
it quite ready for the press by the first of August. I shall always feel respect
for every one who has written a book, let it be what it may, for I had no idea
of the trouble which trying to write common English could cost one. And,
alas, there yet remains the worst part of all, correcting the press. As soon as
ever that is done I must put my shoulder to the wheel and commence at the
Geology. I have read some short papers to the Geological Society, and they
were favourably received by the great guns, and this gives me much
confidence, and I hope not a very great deal of vanity, though I confess I
feel too often like a peacock admiring his tail. I never expected that my
Geology would ever have been worth the consideration of such men as
Lyell, who has been to me, since my return, a most active friend. My life is
a very busy one at present, and I hope may ever remain so; though Heaven
knows there are many serious drawbacks to such a life, and chief amongst

them is the little time it allows one for seeing one's natural friends. For the
last three years, I have been longing and longing to be living at Shrewsbury,
and after all now in the course of several months, I see my dear good people
at Shrewsbury for a week. Susan and Catherine have, however, been staying
with my brother here for some weeks, but they had returned home before
my visit."
[Besides the work already mentioned he had much to busy him in making
arrangements for the publication of the 'Zoology of the Voyage of the
"Beagle".' The following letters illustrate this subject.]

CHARLES DARWIN TO L. JENYNS. (Now Rev L. Blomefield.) 36 Great
Marlborough Street, April 10th, 1837.
Dear Jenyns,
During the last week several of the zoologists of this place have been
urging me to consider the possibility of publishing the 'Zoology of the
"Beagle's" Voyage' on some uniform plan. Mr. Macleay (William Sharp
Macleay was the son of Alexander Macleay, formerly Colonial Secretary of
New South Wales, and for many years Secretary of the Linnean Society.)
The son, who was a most zealous Naturalist, and had inherited from his
father a very large general collection of insects, made Entomology his chief
study, and gained great notoriety by his now forgotten "Quinary System",
set forth in the Second Part of his 'Horae Entomologicae,' published in
1821.—[I am indebted to Rev. L. Blomefield for the foregoing note.] has
taken a great deal of interest in the subject, and maintains that such a
publication is very desirable, because it keeps together a series of
observations made respecting animals inhabiting the same part of the world,
and allows any future traveller taking them with him. How far this facility
of reference is of any consequence I am very doubtful; but if such is the
case, it would be more satisfactory to myself to see the gleanings of my
hands, after having passed through the brains of other naturalists, collected
together in one work. But such considerations ought not to have much
weight. The whole scheme is at present merely floating in the air; but I was
determined to let you know, as I should much like to know what you think
about it, and whether you would object to supply descriptions of the fish to
such a work instead of to 'Transactions.' I apprehend the whole will be

impracticable, without Government will aid in engraving the plates, and this
I fear is a mere chance, only I think I can put in a strong claim, and get
myself well backed by the naturalists of this place, who nearly all take a
good deal of interest in my collections. I mean to-morrow to see Mr.
Yarrell; if he approves, I shall begin and take more active steps; for I hear
he is most prudent and most wise. It is scarcely any use speculating about
any plan, but I thought of getting subscribers and publishing the work in
parts (as long as funds would last, for I myself will not lose money by it). In
such case, whoever had his own part ready on any order might publish it
separately (and ultimately the parts might be sold separately), so that no one
should be delayed by the other. The plan would resemble, on a humble
scale, Ruppel's 'Atlas,' or Humboldt's 'Zoologie,' where Latreille, Cuvier,
etc., wrote different parts. I myself should have little to do with it; excepting
in some orders adding habits and ranges, etc., and geographical sketches,
and perhaps afterwards some descriptions of invertebrate animals...
I am working at my Journal; it gets on slowly, though I am not idle. I
thought Cambridge a bad place from good dinners and other temptations,
but I find London no better, and I fear it may grow worse. I have a capital
friend in Lyell, and see a great deal of him, which is very advantageous to
me in discussing much South American geology. I miss a walk in the
country very much; this London is a vile smoky place, where a man loses a
great part of the best enjoyments in life. But I see no chance of escaping,
even for a week, from this prison for a long time to come. I fear it will be
some time before we shall meet; for I suppose you will not come up here
during the spring, and I do not think I shall be able to go down to
Cambridge. How I should like to have a good walk along the Newmarket
road to-morrow, but Oxford Street must do instead. I do hate the streets of
London. Will you tell Henslow to be careful with the EDIBLE fungi from
Tierra del Fuego, for I shall want some specimens for Mr. Brown, who
seems PARTICULARLY interested about them. Tell Henslow, I think my
silicified wood has unflintified Mr. Brown's heart, for he was very gracious
to me, and talked about the Galapagos plants; but before he never would
say a word. It is just striking twelve o'clock; so I will wish you a very good
night.
My dear Jenyns, Yours most truly, CHARLES DARWIN.

[A few weeks later the plan seems to have been matured, and the idea of
seeking Government aid to have been adopted.]

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. 36 Great Marlborough Street,
[18th May, 1837].
My dear Henslow,
I was very glad to receive your letter. I wanted much to hear how you
were getting on with your manifold labours. Indeed I do not wonder your
head began to ache; it is almost a wonder you have any head left. Your
account of the Gamlingay expedition was cruelly tempting, but I cannot
anyhow leave London. I wanted to pay my good, dear people at Shrewsbury
a visit of a few days, but I found I could not manage it; at present I am
waiting for the signatures of the Duke of Somerset, as President of the
Linnean, and of Lord Derby and Whewell, to a statement of the value of my
collection; the instant I get this I shall apply to Government for assistance in
engraving, and so publish the 'Zoology' on some uniform plan. It is quite
ridiculous the time any operation requires which depends on many people.
I have been working very steadily, but have only got two-thirds through
the Journal part alone. I find, though I remain daily many hours at work, the
progress is very slow: it is an awful thing to say to oneself, every fool and
every clever man in England, if he chooses, may make as many ill-natured
remarks as he likes on this unfortunate sentence....
In August he writes to Henslow to announce the success of the scheme
for the publication of the 'Zoology of the Voyage of the "Beagle",' through
the promise of a grant of 1000 pounds from the Treasury: "I have delayed
writing to you, to thank you most sincerely for having so effectually
managed my affair. I waited till I had an interview with the Chancellor of
the Exchequer (T. Spring Rice.). He appointed to see me this morning, and I
had a long conversation with him, Mr. Peacock being present. Nothing
could be more thoroughly obliging and kind than his whole manner. He
made no sort of restriction, but only told me to make the most of [the]
money, which of course I am right willing to do.
"I expected rather an awful interview, but I never found anything less so
in my life. It will be my fault if I do not make a good work; but I sometimes
take an awful fright that I have not materials enough. It will be excessively

satisfactory at the end of some two years to find all materials made the most
they were capable of."
Later in the autumn he wrote to Henslow: "I have not been very well of
late, with an uncomfortable palpitation of the heart, and my doctors urge me
STRONGLY to knock off all work, and go and live in the country for a few
weeks." He accordingly took a holiday of about a month at Shrewsbury and
Maer, and paid a visit in the Isle of Wight. It was, I believe, during this visit,
at Mr. Wedgwood's house at Maer, that he made his first observations on the
work done by earthworms, and late in the autumn he read a paper on the
subject at the Geological Society. ("On the formation of mould," 'Geol. Soc.
Proc.' ii. 1838, pages 574-576.) During these two months he was also busy
preparing the scheme of the 'Zoology of the Voyage of the "Beagle",' and in
beginning to put together the Geological results of his travels.
The following letter refers to the proposal that he should take the
Secretaryship of the Geological Society.]

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. October 14th, [1837].
My dear Henslow,
...I am much obliged to you for your message about the Secretaryship. I
am exceedingly anxious for you to hear my side of the question, and will
you be so kind as afterwards to give me your fair judgment. The subject has
haunted me all summer. I am unwilling to undertake the office for the
following reasons: First, my entire ignorance of English Geology, a
knowledge of which would be almost necessary in order to shorten many of
the papers before reading them before the Society, or rather to know what
parts to skip. Again, my ignorance of all languages, and not knowing how
to pronounce a SINGLE word of French—a language so perpetually
quoted. It would be disgraceful to the Society to have a Secretary who
could not read French. Secondly, the loss of time; pray consider that I
should have to look after the artists, superintend and furnish materials for
the Government work, which will come out in parts, and which must appear
regularly. All my Geological notes are in a very rough state; none of my
fossil shells worked up; and I have much to read. I have had hopes, by
giving up society and not wasting an hour, that I should finish my Geology
in a year and a half, by which time the description of the higher animals by

others would be completed, and my whole time would then necessarily be
required to complete myself the description of the invertebrate ones. If this
plan fails, as the Government work must go on, the Geology would
necessarily be deferred till probably at least three years from this time. In
the present state of the science, a great part of the utility of the little I have
done would be lost, and all freshness and pleasure quite taken from me.
I know from experience the time required to make abstracts EVEN of my
own papers for the 'Proceedings.' If I was Secretary, and had to make double
abstracts of each paper, studying them before reading, and attendance
would AT LEAST cost me three days (and often more) in the fortnight.
There are likewise other accidental and contingent losses of time; I know
Dr. Royle found the office consumed much of his time. If by merely giving
up any amusement, or by working harder than I have done, I could save
time, I would undertake the Secretaryship; but I appeal to you whether, with
my slow manner of writing, with two works in hand, and with the certainty,
if I cannot complete the Geological part within a fixed period, that its
publication must be retarded for a very long time,—whether any Society
whatever has any claim on me for three days' disagreeable work every
fortnight. I cannot agree that it is a duty on my part, as a follower of
science, as long as I devote myself to the completion of the work I have in
hand, to delay that, by undertaking what may be done by any person who
happens to have more spare time than I have at present. Moreover, so early
in my scientific life, with so very much as I have to learn, the office, though
no doubt a great honour, etc., for me, would be the more burdensome. Mr.
Whewell (I know very well), judging from himself, will think I exaggerate
the time the Secretaryship would require; but I absolutely know the time
which with me the simplest writing consumes. I do not at all like appearing
so selfish as to refuse Mr. Whewell, more especially as he has always
shown, in the kindest manner, an interest in my affairs. But I cannot look
forward with even tolerable comfort to undertaking an office without
entering on it heart and soul, and that would be impossible with the
Government work and the Geology in hand.
My last objection is, that I doubt how far my health will stand the
confinement of what I have to do, without any additional work. I merely
repeat, that you may know I am not speaking idly, that when I consulted Dr.
Clark in town, he at first urged me to give up entirely all writing and even
correcting press for some weeks. Of late anything which flurries me

completely knocks me up afterwards, and brings on a violent palpitation of
the heart. Now the Secretaryship would be a periodical source of more
annoying trouble to me than all the rest of the fortnight put together. In fact,
till I return to town, and see how I get on, if I wished the office ever so
much, I COULD not say I would positively undertake it. I beg of you to
excuse this very long prose all about myself, but the point is one of great
interest. I can neither bear to think myself very selfish and sulky, nor can I
see the possibility of my taking the Secretaryship without making a
sacrifice of all my plans and a good deal of comfort.
If you see Whewell, would you tell him the substance of this letter; or, if
he will take the trouble, he may read it. My dear Henslow, I appeal to you in
loco parentis. Pray tell me what you think? But do not judge me by the
activity of mind which you and a few others possess, for in that case the
more difficult things in hand the pleasanter the work; but, though I hope I
never shall be idle, such is not the case with me.
Ever, dear Henslow, Yours most truly, C. DARWIN.
[He ultimately accepted the post, and held it for three years—from
February 16, 1838, to February 19, 1841.
After being assured of the Grant for the publication of the 'Zoology of the
Voyage of the "Beagle",' there was much to be done in arranging the
scheme of publication, and this occupied him during part of October and
November.]

CHARLES DARWIN TO J.S. HENSLOW. [4th November, 1837.]
My dear Henslow,
...Pray tell Leonard (Rev. L. Jenyns.) that my Government work is going
on smoothly, and I hope will be prosperous. He will see in the Prospectus
his name attached to the fish; I set my shoulders to the work with a good
heart. I am very much better than I was during the last month before my
Shrewsbury visit. I fear the Geology will take me a great deal of time; I was
looking over one set of notes, and the quantity I found I had to read, for that
one place was frightful. If I live till I am eighty years old I shall not cease to
marvel at finding myself an author; in the summer before I started, if any
one had told me that I should have been an angel by this time, I should have

thought it an equal impossibility. This marvellous transformation is all
owing to you.
I am sorry to find that a good many errata are left in the part of my
volume, which is printed. During my absence Mr. Colburn employed some
goose to revise, and he has multiplied, instead of diminishing my
oversights; but for all that, the smooth paper and clear type has a charming
appearance, and I sat the other evening gazing in silent admiration at the
first page of my own volume, when I received it from the printers!
Good-bye, my dear Henslow, C. DARWIN.
1838.
[From the beginning of this year to nearly the end of June, he was busily
employed on the zoological and geological results of his voyage. This spell
of work was interrupted only by a visit of three days to Cambridge, in May;
and even this short holiday was taken in consequence of failing health, as
we may assume from the entry in his diary: "May 1st, unwell," and from a
letter to his sister (May 16, 1838), when he wrote:—
"My trip of three days to Cambridge has done me such wonderful good,
and filled my limbs with such elasticity, that I must get a little work out of
my body before another holiday." This holiday seems to have been
thoroughly enjoyed; he wrote to his sister:—
"Now for Cambridge: I stayed at Henslow's house and enjoyed my visit
extremely. My friends gave me a most cordial welcome. Indeed, I was quite
a lion there. Mrs. Henslow unfortunately was obliged to go on Friday for a
visit in the country. That evening we had at Henslow's a brilliant party of all
the geniuses in Cambridge, and a most remarkable set of men they most
assuredly are. On Saturday I rode over to L. Jenyns', and spent the morning
with him. I found him very cheerful, but bitterly complaining of his
solitude. On Saturday evening dined at one of the Colleges, played at bowls
on the College Green after dinner, and was deafened with nightingales
singing. Sunday, dined in Trinity; capital dinner, and was very glad to sit by
Professor Lee (Samuel Lee, of Queens', was Professor of Arabic from 1819
to 1831, and Regius Professor of Hebrew from 1831 to 1848.)...; I find him
a very pleasant chatting man, and in high spirits like a boy, at having lately
returned from a living or a curacy, for seven years in Somersetshire, to
civilised society and oriental manuscripts. He had exchanged his living to
one within fourteen miles of Cambridge, and seemed perfectly happy. In the

evening attended Trinity Chapel, and heard 'The Heavens are telling the
Glory of God,' in magnificent style; the last chorus seemed to shake the
very walls of the College. After chapel a large party in Sedgwick's rooms.
So much for my Annals."
He started, towards the end of June, on his expedition to Glen Roy, of
which he writes to Fox: "I have not been very well of late, which has
suddenly determined me to leave London earlier than I had anticipated. I go
by the steam-packet to Edinburgh,—take a solitary walk on Salisbury
Craigs, and call up old thoughts of former times, then go on to Glasgow and
the great valley of Inverness, near which I intend stopping a week to
geologise the parallel roads of Glen Roy, thence to Shrewsbury, Maer for
one day, and London for smoke, ill-health and hard work."
He spent "eight good days" over the Parallel Roads. His Essay on this
subject was written out during the same summer, and published by the
Royal Society. ('Phil. Trans.' 1839, pages 39-82.) He wrote in his Pocket
Book: "September 6 [1838]. Finished the paper on 'Glen Roy,' one of the
most difficult and instructive tasks I was ever engaged on." It will be
remembered that in his 'Recollections' he speaks of this paper as a failure,
of which he was ashamed.
At the time at which he wrote, the latest theory of the formation of the
Parallel Roads was that of Sir Lauder Dick and Dr. Macculloch, who
believed that lakes had anciently existed in Glen Roy, caused by dams of
rock or alluvium. In arguing against this theory he conceived that he had
disproved the admissibility of any lake theory, but in this point he was
mistaken. He wrote (Glen Roy paper, page 49) "the conclusion is inevitable,
that no hypothesis founded on the supposed existence of a sheet of water
confined by BARRIERS, that is a lake, can be admitted as solving the
problematical origin of the parallel roads of Lochaber."
Mr. Archibald Geikie has been so good as to allow me to quote a passage
from a letter addressed to me (November 19, 1884) in compliance with my
request for his opinion on the character of my father's Glen Roy work:—
"Mr. Darwin's 'Glen Roy' paper, I need not say, is marked by all his
characteristic acuteness of observation and determination to consider all
possible objections. It is a curious example, however, of the danger of
reasoning by a method of exclusion in Natural Science. Finding that the
waters which formed the terraces in the Glen Roy region could not possibly

have been dammed back by barriers of rock or of detritus, he saw no
alternative but to regard them as the work of the sea. Had the idea of
transient barriers of glacier-ice occurred to him, he would have found the
difficulties vanish from the lake-theory which he opposed, and he would not
have been unconsciously led to minimise the altogether overwhelming
objections to the supposition that the terraces are of marine origin."
It may be added that the idea of the barriers being formed by glaciers
could hardly have occurred to him, considering what was the state of
knowledge at the time, and bearing in mind his want of opportunities of
observing glacial action on a large scale.
The latter half of July was passed at Shrewsbury and Maer. The only
entry of any interest is one of being "very idle" at Shrewsbury, and of
opening "a note-book connected with metaphysical inquiries." In August he
records that he read "a good deal of various amusing books, and paid some
attention to metaphysical subjects."
The work done during the remainder of the year comprises the book on
coral reefs (begun in October), and some work on the phenomena of
elevation in S. America.]

CHARLES DARWIN TO C. LYELL. 36 Great Marlborough Street, August
9th [1838].
My dear Lyell,
I do not write to you at Norwich, for I thought I should have more to say,
if I waited a few more days. Very many thanks for the present of your
'Elements,' which I received (and I believe the VERY FIRST copy
distributed) together with your note. I have read it through every word, and
am full of admiration of it, and, as I now see no geologist, I must talk to you
about it. There is no pleasure in reading a book if one cannot have a good
talk over it; I repeat, I am full of admiration of it, it is as clear as daylight, in
fact I felt in many parts some mortification at thinking how geologists have
laboured and struggled at proving what seems, as you have put it, so
evidently probable. I read with much interest your sketch of the secondary
deposits; you have contrived to make it quite "juicy," as we used to say as
children of a good story. There was also much new to me, and I have to
copy out some fifty notes and references. It must do good, the heretics