ased as it came over the people that while the Bishop had made a
great speech, he had gone a trifle too far in ridiculing a member who up
to this time had been silent. The good English spirit of fair play was
at work. Still Huxley sat silent. Then the enemy, thinking he was
completely vanquished, took up the cry with intent to add to his
discomfiture: "Huxley! Huxley!"

Slowly Huxley arose. He stood still until the last buzzing whisper had
died away. When he spoke it was in so low a tone that people leaned
forward to catch his words.

Huxley knew his business: his slowness to speak created an atmosphere.
There was no jest in his voice or manner. The air grew tense.

His quiet reserve played itself off against the florid exuberance of the
Bishop. The Bishop was not a man given to exact statements: his
knowledge of science was general, not specific.

Huxley demolished his card house point by point, correcting the gross
misstatements, and ending by saying that since a question of personal
preferences had been brought into the discussion of a great scientific
theme, he would confess that if the alternatives were a descent on the
one hand from a respectable monkey, or on the other from a Bishop of the
Church of England who could stoop to misrepresentation and sophistry and
who had attempted in that presence to throw discredit upon a man who had
given his life to the cause of science, then if forced to decide he
would declare in favor of the monkey.

When Huxley took his seat, there was a silence that could be felt.
Several ladies fainted. There were fears that the Bishop would reply,
and to keep down such a possible unpleasant move the audience now
applauded Huxley roundly, and amid the din the chairman declared the
meeting adjourned.

From that time forward Huxley was famous throughout England as a man to
let alone in public debate.

* * * * *

It is a fine thing to be a great scientist, but it is a yet finer thing
to be a great man. The one element in Huxley's life that makes his
character stand out clear, sharp and well defined was his steadfast
devotion to truth. The only thing he feared was self-deception. When he
uttered his classic cry in defense of Darwin, there was no ulterior
motive in it; no thought that he was attaching himself to a popular
success; no idea that he was linking his name with greatness.

What he felt was true, he uttered; and the strongest desire of his soul