My dear Darwin,

It was awfully kind in you to write me such a nice long letter. In re wasps, I assure you I did not intend a savage criticism, but to tell a small fact, which I thought might possibly be new to you.¹ If you had observed it I am sure you would walk straight and not “wriggle out of it”. I told some folk at our Bishops² lately I was quite positive that if you met with, and had verified, any facts, which upset the Darwinian theory you would not rest till you published them. All the same I have full faith in the facts as observed by you, but do not yet accept the inferences. Returning to wasps, I do not think you have a commenced nest, before an egg is hatched, and I have packed one up, and am going to take it to the post office today or tomorrow, as a safer conveyance than the bag of the post runner. I am doubtful if it will reach you any more than pulvis exigua,³ but I have done my best in this way— The nest is glued on to a card and put into a cap box;⁴ the card is fastened with thread to the bottom of the box and cotton wool put about it; the top of the nest is nearly level with the top of the box and the commenced cells in the hollow   So when you take off the lid and gently lift the cotton in little bits you will see what you will see; and if indeed it is preserved you can take it out of the box by cutting the strings at the bottom. Wasps are most clever architects, but by no means substantial builders—

It is odd that since the Queen season, about June, there have been hardly any wasps here. At that time, round my bee hives, I caught above a hundred queens, but lately have seen none attacking the ripe fruit either under glass or on the walls. The only persecution of them was about the hives, and as they stand in one corner of a walled garden of two acres it seems unlikely that nearly all in the garden, much more in the neighbourhood, should have fallen victims. I rather think something in the season has prevented their usual breeding. Curious that this should be the case with you, who have been over hot, and with us, who have been unusually cold.⁵

I shall be much interested in the Earth worms, especially as you will send me a copy, which I shall prize.⁶ D^r. Gordon, a naturalist neighbour, told me the other day that you had found they had much more sense, ?brains, than they had credit for.⁷ I wish I knew a little of Natural history. A lady friend sometimes stealthily uses them for a bait, in defiance of all sporting rules, when Salmon refuse to rise to her fly; and having been caught flagrante delicto, is now met with question when she sends home a 20lb one “did you use the Queen of Sheba”? by which name her ignoble lure has come to be designated, as on the occasion of her first conviction she suggested that as the fortunate fly—⁸

I saw a notice of your Brother’s death, and regretted it for your sake.⁹ I am glad to hear he was spared severe suffering   I well remember seeing him at your house, long long ago on a cold day, and think it was he who said that if he had to live in Downe he should sit in room with a German stove, wear a fur cloak and never go out.

It is well for Parslow that before he lost his good wife his son should have married comfortably.¹⁰ Will you remember me to him, and assure him of our sympathy in his loss. The wife and Jack¹¹ unite with me in kindest regards | Believe me My dear Darwin | Faithfully Yours J Brodie Innes