And, indeed, with many thanks to you, Sir, for the amount of valuable space which you have allowed me to occupy, I now propose to leave the whole subject. My sole purpose in embarking upon an enterprise which was extremely distasteful to me was to prevent the skilful "General," or rather "Generals," who devised the plan of campaign from sweeping all before them with a rush. I found the pass already held by such stout defenders as Mr. Loch and the Dean [292] of Wells, and, with your powerful help, we have given time for the reinforcements, sure to be sent by the abundant, though somewhat slowly acting, common sense of our countrymen, to come up. I can no longer be useful, and I return to more congenial occupations. I am, Sir, your obedient servant, T. H. Huxley. The following letter appeared in the "Times" of January 2nd, 1891:-- "Dear Mr. Tillett,--I have not had patience to read Professor Huxley's letters. The existence of hunger, nakedness, misery, 'death from insufficient food,' even of starvation, is certain, and no agency as yet reaches it. How can any man hinder or discourage the giving of food or help? Why is the house called a workhouse? Because it is for those who cannot work? No, because it was the house to give work or bread. The very name is an argument. I am very sure what Our Lord and His Apostles would do if they were in London. Let us be thankful even to have a will to do the same. "Yours faithfully, Henry E. Card. Manning." [293] X. The "Times," January 3rd, 1891 SIR,--In my old favourite, "The Arabian Nights," the motive of the whole series of delightful narratives is that the sultan, who refuses to attend to reason, can be got to listen to a story. May I try whether Cardinal Manning is to be reached in the same way? When I was attending the meeting of the British Association in Belfast nearly forty years ago, I had promised to breakfast with the eminent scholar Dr. Hincks. Having been up very late the previous night, I was behind time; so, hailing an outside car, I said to the driver as I jumped on, "Now drive fast, I am in a hurry." Whereupon he whipped up his horse and set off at a hand-gallop. Nearly jerked off my seat, I shouted, "My good friend, do you know where I want to go?" "No, yer honner," said the driver, "but, any way, I am driving fast." I have never forgotten this object-lesson in the dangers of ill-regulated enthusiasm. We are all invited to jump on to the Salvation Army car, which Mr. Booth is undoubtedly driving very fast. Some of us have a firm conviction, not only that he is taking a very different direction from that in which we wish to go, but that, before long, car and driver will come to grief. Are we to accept [294] the invitation, even at the bidding of the eminent person who appears to think himself entitled to pledge the credit of "Our Lord and His Apostles" in favour of Boothism?