the world will form an interesting chapter in the future history of the doctrine of development." Describing a visit which he paid to the late Mr. Darwin in 1866, Professor Haeckel says: "In Darwin's own carriage, which he had thoughtfully sent for my convenience to the railway station, I drove one sunny morning in October through the graceful, hilly landscape of Kent, which, with the checkered foliage of its woods, with its stretches of purple heath, yellow broom, and evergreen oaks, was arrayed in the fairest autumnal dress. As the carriage drew up in front of Darwin's pleasant country-house, clad in a vesture of ivy and embowered in elms, there stepped out to meet me from the shady porch, overgrown with creeping plants, the great naturalist himself, a tall and venerable figure with the broad shoulders of an Atlas supporting a world of thoughts, his Jupiter-like forehead highly and broadly arched, as in the case of Goethe, and deeply furrowed by the plow of mental labor: his kindly, mild eyes looking forth under the shadow of prominent brows; his amiable mouth surrounded by a copious silver-white beard. The cordial, prepossessing expression of the whole face, the gentle, mild voice, the slow, deliberate utterance, the natural and _naive_ train of ideas which marked his conversation, captivated my whole heart in the first hour of our meeting, just as his great work had formerly, on my first reading it, taken my whole understanding by storm. I fancied a lofty world sage out of Hellenic antiquity--a Socrates or Aristotle--stood alive before me. Our conversation, of course, turned principally on the subject which lay nearest the hearts of both--on the progress and prospects of the history of development. Those prospects at that time--16 years ago--were bad enough, for the highest authorities had for the most part set themselves against the new doctrines. With touching modesty, Darwin said that his whole work was but a weak attempt to explain in a natural way the origin of animal and vegetable species, and that he should not live to see any noteworthy success following the experiment, the mountain of opposing prejudice being so high. He thought I had greatly overestimated his small merit, and that the high praise I had bestowed on it in my 'General Morphology' was far too exaggerated.