My dear Charles Darwin

If I was to try & express to you, the extreme pleasure your letter had given me, to say nothing of the Book that accompanied it, I might be accused of flattery, or “soft Sawder”—² Still, I may, (& I will) with truth declare that few letters, & few gifts have afforded me the gratification of yours yesterday— To know that I was still remembered by you, after such a lapse of years, is in itself a satisfaction

That remembrance has indeed been reciprocal, & often & often have I lamented that I never had a chance of seeing you— I have made enquiries from various friends of your’s, & have always been told, that even the excitement of meeting an old friend, was usually more than you could bear— Spite of this, I will still indulge the hope of once more shaking hands with one of the best & most valued friends of my youth—

How many sad changes have befallen us both, since we met, & how many of those we most loved, have been taken from us,—to me, especially Life is but a shadow, a remembrance, of happy bygone days—

I have, like you, a most vivid remembrance of the bright old Woodhouse times, in which you stand first & foremost³   I can recall the Beetle, & the Fungus hunting, & above all, the glee with which “Charles Darwin” used to be descried, cantering up to the house, it being a received opinion, that any frowns of the poor governor⁴ would be at once dispelled, you being always the most influential favourite— I have now in my possession a letter you wrote to me from “Terra del Fuego”, at my particular request, & I can often laugh at your boyish assertion, that the highest pitch of your ambition would be to be favourably alluded to, in Eddowe’s Journal!—⁵ I think that ambition has been attained, & something more—

I live a very quiet, solitary life, only associating with a few old, & kind friends, my house is pretty enough, actually on Richmond Bridge, with small garden sloping down to the River— My old passion for Animals still continues, but alas, I have no room for Poultry here, I have tried Pigeons, but they & the Cats were incompatible, so my live stock is now reduced to two tiny Maltese dogs, two very large persian Cats, & an old Cockatoo that I have had since 1848— I am certain your book will very much interest & amuse me— When one lives as I do, alone with Animals, their habits & manners become doubly interesting & familiar— My health is but indifferent, I fancy there is something amiss with my heart & the famed “Owen Constitution” is not what it was, in days of Yore. Time, & Sorrow, have much tried me—

You ask after the Family, poor Fanny, as you perhaps know, became a Widow 6 months ago, & now lives in London, with two unmarried daughters—⁶ Caroline Lister is settled in Yorkshire, Sobie lives alone at Cirencester, Arthur now reigns at poor old Woodhouse, Francis lives on his small property near Overton, & Charles is Chief Constable of Oxfordshire,⁷ with a Wife & 5 Children— Of your Children, I have from time to time heard, that many of them inherit the Family talents, & I think you have one Daughter married,⁸ if not more—

When Summer returns, if we live till then, may I look forward to our meeting somehow & somewhere, I often go to London, & would meet you anywhere you might appoint though I must not run the risk of affecting your health—

Once more, thanking you from my heart, for the pleasure you have given me, believe me, always, most truly & affectionately Yours | S. H. Haliburton

Why did you address me so formally?—