There is indeed a tide in the affairs of men. If you see Mr. Wood, remember me very kindly to him.
Good-bye. My dear Henslow, Your most sincere friend, CHAS. DARWIN.
Excuse this letter in such a hurry.
CHARLES DARWIN TO W.D. FOX. 17 Spring Gardens, London, September 6, 1831....
Your letter gave me great pleasure. You cannot imagine how much your former letter annoyed and hurt me. (He had misunderstood a letter of Fox's as implying a charge of falsehood.) But, thank heaven, I firmly believe that it was my OWN ENTIRE fault in so interpreting your letter. I lost a friend the other day, and I doubt whether the moral death (as I then wickedly supposed) of our friendship did not grieve me as much as the real and sudden death of poor Ramsay. We have known each other too long to need, I trust, any more explanations. But I will mention just one thing—that on my death-bed, I think I could say I never uttered one insincere (which at the time I did not fully feel) expression about my regard for you. One thing more—the sending IMMEDIATELY the insects, on my honour, was an unfortunate coincidence. I forgot how you naturally would take them. When you look at them now, I hope no unkindly feelings will rise in your mind, and that you will believe that you have always had in me a sincere, and I will add, an obliged friend. The very many pleasant minutes that we spent together in Cambridge rose like departed spirits in judgment against me. May we have many more such, will be one of my last wishes in leaving England. God bless you, dear old Fox. May you always be happy.
Yours truly, CHAS. DARWIN.
I have left your letter behind, so do not know whether I direct right.