i88i DEATH OF DEAN STANLEY 



33 



Life is like walking along a crowded street — there always 

 seem to be fewer obstacles to getting along on the opposite pave- 

 ment — and yet, if one crosses over, matters are rarely mended. 



I assure you it is a great comfort to me to think that you 

 will stay in London and help in keeping things straight in this 

 world of crookedness. 



I have thought a good deal about , but it would never do. 



No one could value his excellent qualities of all kinds, and real 

 genius in some directions, more than I do; but, in my judgment, 

 nobody could be less fitted to do the work which ought to be 



done in Oxford I mean to give biological science a status in 



the eyes of the Dons, and to force them to acknowledge it as a 

 part of general education. Moreover, his knowledge, vast and 

 minute as it is in some directions, is very imperfect in others, 

 and the attempt to qualify himself for the post would take him 

 away from the investigations, which are his delight and for 

 which he is specially fitted. . . . 



I was very much interested in your account of the poor dear 

 Dean's illness. I called on Thursday morning, meeting Jowett 

 and Grove at the door, and we went in and heard such an 

 account of his state that I had hopes he might pull through. 

 We shall not see his like again. 



The last time I had a long talk with him was about the 

 proposal to bury George Eliot in the Abbey, and a curious reve- 

 lation of the extraordinary catholicity and undaunted courage 

 of the man it was. He would have done it had it been pressed 

 upon him by a strong representation. 



I see he is to be buried on Monday, and I suppose and hope 

 I shall have the opportunity of attending. — Ever yours very 

 faithfully, T. H. Huxley. 



This letter refers to the death of his old friend Dean 

 Stanley. The Dean had long kept in touch with the leaders 

 of scientific thought, and it is deeply interesting to know 

 that on her death-bed, five years before, his wife said to him 

 as one of her parting counsels, " Do not lose sight of the 

 men of science, and do not let them lose sight of you." 

 " And then," writes Stanley to Tyndall, " she named yourself 

 and Huxley.'' 



Strangely enough, the death of the Dean involved an- 

 other invitation to Huxley to quit London for Oxford. By 

 the appointment of Dean Bradley to Westminster, the Mas- 

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