The best position for me would be to be asked to second the resolution for the statue--then the proposer would have the field of personal fiction and butter-boat all to himself. To Sir W.H. Flower. December 28, 1892. I think you are quite right in taking an active share in the movement for the memorial. When a man is dead and can do no more harm, one must do a sum in subtraction:-- merits, deserts over x+x+x and if the x's are not all minus quantities, give him credit accordingly. But I think that in your appeal, for which the Committee will be responsible, it is this balance of solid scientific merit--a good big one in Owen's case after all deductions--which should be alone referred to. If you follow the example of "Vanity Fair" and call him "a simple-minded man, who had he been otherwise, would long ago have adorned a title," some of us may choke. Gladstone, Samuel of Oxford, and Owen belong to a very curious type of humanity, with many excellent and even great qualities and one fatal defect--utter untrustworthiness. Peace be with two of them, and may the political death of the third be speedy and painless! With our united best wishes, ever yours very faithfully, T.H. Huxley. [And on January 22, 1893, he writes of the meeting:--] My dear Hooker, ...What queer corners one gets into if one only lives long enough! The grim humour of the situation when I was seconding the proposal for a statue to Owen yesterday tickled me a good deal. I do not know how they will report me in the "Times", but if they do it properly I think you will see that I said no word upon which I could not stand cross-examination. I chose the office of seconder in order that I might clearly define my position and stop the mouths of blasphemers--who would have ascribed silence or absence to all sorts of bad motives. Whatever the man might be, he did a lot of first-rate work, and now that he can do no more mischief he has a right to his wages for it. If I only live another ten years I expect to be made a saint of myself. "Many a better man has been made a saint of," as old Davie Hume said to his housekeeper when they chalked up "St. David's Street" on his wall. We have been jogging along pretty well, but wife has been creaky, and I got done up in a brutal London fog struggling with the worse fog of the New University. I am very glad you like my poetical adventure. Ever yours affectionately, T.H. Huxley. [This speech had an unexpected sequel. Owen's grandson was so much struck by it that he wrote asking Huxley to undertake a critical account of his anatomical work for his biography,--another most unexpected turn of events. It is not often that a conspicuous opponent of a man's speculations is asked to pass judgment upon his entire work. [See below.]