Such, however, was my admiration of Mill, I did
not feel sure that I might not say too much in his favour;
and mindful of the standish incident, I knew, that if I did
so, it would embarrass and annoy him.
Under these circumstances I declined the honour.
When Owen was delivering a course of lectures at Norwich, my
brother invited him to Holkham. I was there, and we took
several long walks together. Nothing seemed to escape his
observation. My brother had just completed the recovery of
many hundred acres of tidal marsh by embankments. Owen, who
was greatly interested, explained what would be the effect
upon the sandiest portion of this, in years to come; what the
chemical action of the rain would be, how the sand would
eventually become soil, how vegetation would cover it, and
how manure render it cultivable. The splendid crops now
grown there bear testimony to his foresight. He had always
something instructive to impart, stopping to contemplate
trifles which only a Zadig would have noticed.
'I observe,' said he one day, 'that your prevailing wind here
is north-west.'
'How do you know?' I asked.
'Look at the roots of all these trees; the large roots are
invariably on the north-west side. This means that the
strain comes on this side. The roots which have to bear it
loosen the soil, and the loosened soil favours the extension
and the growth of the roots. Nature is beautifully
scientific.'
Some years after this, I published a book called 'Creeds of
the Day.' My purpose was to show, in a popular form, the
bearings of science and speculative thought upon the
religious creeds of the time. I sent Owen a copy of the
work. He wrote me one of the most interesting letters I ever
received. He had bought the book, and had read it. But the
important content of the letter was the confession of his own
faith. I have purposely excluded all correspondence from
these Memoirs, but had it not been that a forgotten collector
of autographs had captured it, I should have been tempted to
make an exception in its favour. The tone was agnostic; but
timidly agnostic. He had never freed himself from the
shackles of early prepossessions. He had not the necessary
daring to clear up his doubts. Sometimes I fancy that it was
this difference in the two men that lay at the bottom of the
unfortunate antagonism between Owen and Huxley. There is in
Owen's writing, where he is not purely scientific, a touch of
the apologist. He cannot quite make up his mind to follow
evolution to its logical conclusions.
