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 ends with the following note:--"Aug. 3, 1876. This
sketch of my life was begun about May 28th at Hopedene,[5] 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
deathbed, 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[6] my taste for natural history,
and more especially for collecting, was well developed. I tried to make
out the names of plants, 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,[7] 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.[8]
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[9] 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.[10]
In the summer of 1818 I went to Dr. Butler's great school in Shrewsbury,
and remained there for seven years till 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
(the father of Francis Galton) gave me 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 practice 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 (Zygoena), 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 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 (October 1825) to
Edinburgh[11] 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 effort 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.
Munro 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.[12] 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[13] 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 worm-like
_Pontobdella muricata_.
The Plinian Society[14] 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 [late] 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 Jameson'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 trap-dyke, 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 Jameson'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,[15] 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 gamekeeper 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, &c.,"[16] come in.
_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 great 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 formally 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 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 [Greek: 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.[17]
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.[18]
But I am glad to think that I had many other friends of a widely
different nature. I was very intimate with Whitley,[19] 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,[20] 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,[21] 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 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[22] when all
under-graduates 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,[23] who afterwards
published some good essays in Natural History, 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 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.[24] 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 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 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_,[25] 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[26]
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 [my uncle] 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,[27] 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,[28] 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 wore 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[29] 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 Chili to the Geological Society.[30]
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_.[31] 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 in 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:]