i88o LETTERS ij 



in mere knowledge getting and giving and for six weeks not 

 an hour for real edification with a wholesome story. 



But this Sunday afternoon being, by the blessing of God, as 

 beastly a November day as you shall see, I have attended to 

 my spiritual side and been visited by a blessing in the shape of 

 some very pretty and unexpected words anent mysel'.* 



In truth, it is a right excellent story, though, distinctly in love 

 with Eppie, I can only wonder how you had the heart to treat 

 her so ill. A girl like that should have had two husbands one 

 ' wisely ranged for show " and t'other de par amours. 



Don't ruin me with Mrs. Skelton by repeating this, but 

 please remember me very kindly to her. Ever yours very faith- 

 fully, T. H. HUXLEY. 



The following letter to Tyndall was called forth by an 

 incident in connection with the starting of the Nineteenth 

 Century. Huxley had promised to help the editor by look- 

 ing over the proofs of a monthly article on contemporary 

 science. But his advertised position as merely adviser in 

 this to the editor was overlooked by some who resented 

 what they supposed to be his assumption of the role of 

 critic in general to his fellow-workers in science. At a 

 meeting of the .v Club, Tyndall made a jesting allusion 

 to this ; Huxley, however, thought the mere suggestion too 

 grave for a joke, and replied with all seriousness to clear 

 himself from the possibility of such misconception. And 

 the same evening he wrote to Tyndall : 



* The passage referred to stands on p. 72 of The Crookit Meg, and 

 describes the village naturalist and philosopher, Adam Meldrum, 

 " who in his working hours cobbled old boats, and knew by heart the 

 plays of Shakespeare and the Pseudodoxia Epidemica of Sir Thomas 

 Browne." 



" For the rest it will be enough to add that this long, gaunt, bony 

 cobbler of old boats was was (may I take the liberty, Mr. Pro- 

 fessor?) a village Huxley of the year One. The colourless brilliancy 

 of the great teacher's style, the easy facility with which the drop of 

 light forms itself into a perfect sphere as it falls from his pen, belong 

 indeed to a consummate master of the art of expression, which Adam 

 of course was not ; but the mental lucidity, justice, and balance, as 

 well as the reserve of power, and the Shakespearian gaiety of touch, 

 which made the old man one of the most delightful companions in the 

 world, were essentially Huxleian." 

 38 



