In 1928, Lewis Mumford, best known then and now for his writings on architecture and cities, penned a book review for The New Republic on a quite different subject -- on the life of Charles Darwin. The review included the following rather over-the top praise: Darwin, the man, is one of the most loveable characters in the annals of the nineteenth century: when he is breeding pigeons or meeting with pigeon fanciers, when he is watching orchids or barnacles or experimenting, with the aid of a tender young lady, upon the emotions of an infant, he is like some great earth-god mingling with his own creations: his patience, his single-minded devotion, his tireless communion with nature, put him at the head of that great company of naturalists who have made man at home in a world so long foreign; and have increased the sympathy of human beings with the whole lineage of organic creation. I love it. It almost makes me want to get a copy of Darwin's book on the emotions so I can learn...