It's been twenty-something years since Darwin and I journeyed on
The HMS Beagle. I am graying at the temples and my knees are not as soft as they once were when I climbed tropical trees in Argentina and Brazil. Mother is still alive - sometimes I want to write that the longevity of her life is a curse, but that would be exaggerating the situation. In reality, she is quite lovely and spends the rest of her days playing with my two children, who are turning out to have a strong interest in the natural sciences.
The reason I am writing is because of this little thing I received with my post:
I had started to believe that Darwin was never going to publish his theories. Rumors had flown that Mr. Darwin had discovered the studies of a Mr. Alfred Wallace, who had also reached the conclusion of natural selection and was intent on releasing his work. To give credit where it was due, Uncle Darwin decided to hurry up the printing of his beloved book.
I had not cried for a long time, but when I held the book in my hand, a tear began to slip down my cheek. Surely theologists would argue, and surely the public would be alarmed - but surely still was the fact that Darwin's theories would influence us for years and decades and centuries to come, a scientifically sound discovery written by one of the most intelligent people I've ever met.
And so, the adventure commences yet again.
We have seen that man by selection can certainly produce great results, and can adapt organic beings to his own uses ... But Natural Selection ... is a power incessantly ready for action, and is as immeasurably superior to man's feeble efforts, as the works of Nature are to those of Art. -The Origin of Species
