portunity of commending the
book to the public. The reviewer of the _Times_, knowing nothing about
the subject, was advised to entrust the work to him, adding only the
opening paragraphs himself. But it was his retort to the Bishop of
Oxford six months later which publicly proclaimed how boldly the
challenge of authority was to be taken up. The story is well known;
how the Bishop came down on the last day of the Association meeting to
"smash Darwin." Crowds gathered to hear the great orator, who was also
reputed to carry scientific weight as having taken a high mathematical
degree. He knew nothing directly of the subject, but apparently
had been coached up, somewhat inadequately, by Owen, his guest at
Cuddesdon, who did not put in an appearance at the meeting that day,
but whose hand was also apparent in the Bishop's _Quarterly_ article
that was published a few days later.

After several merely rhetorical speakers had been cut short by the
chairman, Henslow, who ruled that scientific discussion alone was in
order, the Bishop rose in response to calls from the audience, and
"spoke for full half-an-hour with inimitable spirit, emptiness, and
unfairness," wrote Hooker.

He ridiculed Darwin badly and Huxley savagely; but all in such
dulcet tones, so persuasive a manner, and in such well-turned
periods, that I, who had been inclined to blame the President
for allowing a discussion that could serve no scientific
purpose, now forgave him from the bottom of my heart.... In a
light, scoffing tone, florid and fluent, he assured us there
was nothing in the idea of evolution; rock-pigeons were what
rock-pigeons had always been. Then, turning to his antagonist
with a smiling insolence, he begged to know was it through
his grandfather or his grandmother that he claimed his descent
from a monkey.

Here the Bishop left the vantage ground of any pretence to scientific
discussion, and descended to tasteless personalities. Here was the
opportunity for an equally personal retort, which would show an
audience, for the most part neither of a mind nor of a mood to follow
closely argued reasonings, that personalities were not argument, and
that ridicule is a two-edged weapon. As he spoke these words
Huxley turned to Sir Benjamin Brodie, who was sitting next him, and
whispered: "The Lord hath delivered him into mine hands."

The Bishop sat down; but Huxley, though directly attacked, did
not rise