My dear King

I can hardly tell you how pleased I was, about a week ago, to receive your letter dated the 26^th. of October.¹ I lead a rather solitary life, & in my walks very often think over old days in the Beagle, & no days rise pleasanter before me, than sitting with you on the Booms, running before the trade wind across the Beagle, & no days rise pleasanter before me, than sitting with you on the Booms, running before the trade wind across the Atlantic. Often & often have I wished to hear a little news of you. How changed we are since those days, you with three childred, & I with seven, of which the oldest is above 14, & will soon be a young man.—² Your life, in having so much of the managemt of the A. Agricult. Co^y. must be almost that of a Gaucho. In very many respects, I envy you; though having, owing to my Father’s long life of professional exertion, a very fair income, yet when I think of the extreme difficulty of finding professions for my five sons, I often think that it would be wise to emigrate.³ But I have neither energy or strength for such an awful undertaking; & really for a quiet settler, the Australian Colonies seem ruined.

I have been much interested by your account of the Gold Companies &c &c. How fortunate it is that Sulivan did not accept the offer to go out made by some one of the many Companies. If I am not mistaken, the Co^y. to which you allude, as so very badly managed, is that presided over by Strezlecki,⁴ & I am very sorry for it, for he is a capital fellow. I sometimes hear news of Australia from Syms Covington (my old servant in the Beagle) who is settled at Twofold Bay, & writes to me every year. He has had an attempt at the diggings, but ended by selling at a large profit a 6-month stock of provisions. I also hear news from our neigbours the Normans; for M^rs. Norman’s sister is M^rs. Macarthur, (M^rs. King’s cousin I fancy)⁵ I was dining there two or three days ago, & I heard that the Macarthurs complain of the Colony much as your Father does.— I was so sorry not to have seen your Father when last in England;⁶ but my health was then miserable & I actually did not hear of his having been in England till he had left it. His friend, (when I first saw your Father) poor old M^r. Stokes has lately had a very suffering ending to his life.—⁷ My health is now much better, but I fear I shall never be strong again;—a walk for instance of 4 miles would quite annihilate me.— I live in the country about 16 miles from London, in a good large house, in a very solitary part of the country: we do not see much company, excepting relations; & I work very steadily at Natural History.—

I have lately published one volume, & am now preparing a second, on Cirripedes or Barnacles.⁸ They have turned out very curious, & were very little known. I have been at the work so many years that I am wearied of the subject: but there is one single species, which I believe is in your Father’s collection, namely Scalpellum papillosum of King from Patagonia, which I sh^d. like extremely to examine, if your Father has a duplicate & if he ever looks over his collections & could lay his hands on it.⁹ The species of this genus present a quite new case in the animal kingdom, & have associated with them minute parasitical beings of the same species; & which I have called Complemental Males.—¹⁰

I can tell you hardly any news of our old ship-mates; I saw FitzRoy rather lately, & he looked very well & was very cordial to me. Poor fellow, I fear besides his other misfortunes, he is rather poor; at least he has given up House-keeping.¹¹ Stokes I have not seen or heard of for an age: I tried several times to get him to come down here, but with no success. I hear he is to have the offer of the command of the Northern exploring expedition into the interior.¹² I saw Sulivan in the summer, & he was hearty & merry as ever: we went together & saw the grand reviews at Chobham,¹³ where 10,000 men were encamped.— Talking of soldiers, makes me think what a dreadful misfortune, the near imminence of war is.—¹⁴

Farewell my dear Philip King, I shall ever think of our old days of friendship with great pleasure; and I hope that your sons may turn out half as nice Boys as you were when you joined the Beagle, & then any parent might be satisfied.

Your affectionate friend | C. Darwin

Should you ever be inclined to write again, I sh^d. very much like to hear all about you, & how you pass your days & to what you mean to bring up your sons to.— &c &c &c—