Ever yours faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
Jermyn Street, March 17, 1869.
My dear Darwin,
After I had sent my letter to you the other day I thought how stupid I had been not to put in a slip of paper to say it was meant for —'s edification.
I made sure you would understand that I wished it to be sent on, and wrote it (standing on the points of my toes and with my tail up very stiff) with that end in view.
[Sketch of two dogs bristling up.]
I am getting so weary of people writing to propose controversy to me upon one point or another, that I begin to wish the article had never been written. The fighting in itself is not particularly objectionable, but it's the waste of time.
I begin to understand your sufferings over the "Origin." A good book is comparable to a piece of meat, and fools are as flies who swarm to it, each for the purpose of depositing and hatching his own particular maggot of an idea.
Ever yours,