My dear M^r Cupples

As you are a literary man & live in the north you may perhaps know who has given me & others such a dreadful scolding in the last Edinburgh Review.¹

I have no motive except mere curiosity in wishing to know who the (old?) gentleman is with so very rough a tongue.— If you know nothing, do not trouble yourself to answer. If I was forced to lay a wager I would wager that D^r Stirling was the Reviewer.²

I think there is a good deal of truth in some of his criticisms, such as on my ignorance of literature & art, but temper has led him into occasional curious unfairnesses; as when he copies Mivart in the Quarterly & says I quote in my Expression book only those who hold similar opinions with my own; for H. Spencer is the sole Evolutionist who has written on Expression & I quote copiously many other authors.³ I hope that this explosion of wrath & contempt has done the poor gentleman, whoever he may be, some good, but I felt it rather hard after wading through so much abuse not to find myself one whit the wiser on any point; for I knew my own ignorance before hand.

Generally a long review does teach one something. If you write, I beg you to tell me how you are in health.— I hope that M^rs. Cupples⁴ is as bright & active as ever.

Yours sincerely | Ch. Darwin

Bran is very happy, lazy & handsome.—⁵