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THE

POPULAR SCIENCE

MONTHLY.

CONDUCTED BY E, L. YOUMANS.

VOL. IV.

NOVEMBER, 1873, TO APRIL, 1874.

NEW YORK :
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,

549 & 551 BROADWAY.

1874.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1874,

By D. APPLETON & CO.,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at "Washington.

JOSEPH NORMAN LOCKYER.

THE

POPULAR SCIENCE
MONTHLY.

NOVEMBER, 1873.

LIBERAL EDUCATION OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 1

Br Prof. WILLIAM P. ATKINSON",

OB" THE MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE Off TECHNOLOGY.

THE collapse of that classical system of liberal education which
has held almost undisputed sway since the revival of learning in
the sixteenth century, and the now generally recognized insufficiency
of the theory which makes the study of the languages of Greece and
Rome the sole foundation of the higher education, are leading, as all
familiar with the educational thought of the present day are aware, to
the greatest variety of speculations as to the system which is destined
to supersede it. That a theory of liberal education as well adapted
to the wants of the nineteenth — or, shall we not rather say the
twentieth — century, as was the classical theory to the wants of the
sixteenth, has yet been elaborated, would be quite too much to affirm.
We are living in the midst of a chaos of conflicting opinions, and it
seems to be the duty of all who think at all on a subject on which the
vital interests of the future so much depend, and especially incum-
bent on all practical teachers to make such contribution as they are
able, from their studies and reflection or their experience, toward the
right solution of the problem. It is to such a contribution that I now
ask your attention.

I begin with a definition of Liberal Education, in regard to which
I presume we shall not be much at variance. The term liberal is op-
posed to the term servile. A liberal education is that education which
makes a man an intellectual freeman, as opposed to that which makes
a man a tool, an instrument for the accomplishment of some ulterior
aim or object. The aim of the liberal education of any period is the
right use of the realized capital of extant knowledge of that period,
for the training of the whole, or only of some privileged part of the

1 A paper read in the Department of Higher Instruction at the annual meeting of the
National Teachers' Association at Elmira, N. Y., August, 1873.

VOL. IV. — 1

2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

rising generation, to act the part and perform the duties of free intel-
lectual, and moral "beings. So far as the nature of the human mind
and the foundations of human knowledge remain the same from ao-e to
age and generation to generation, a liberal education is the same thing
in every age and generation ; so far as the condition of society varies
from age to age, and as the accumulated capital of extant knowledge
increases, the liberal education of one generation will differ from that
of another. There are, therefore, both constant and variable factors
in our problem. It is with the variable factors, as modifying our con-
ception of the liberal education of the nineteenth century, that I have
here chiefly to do.

I reckon five leading influences which are acting powerfully to
modify all our old theories, and slowly working out a new ideal of
liberal education : 1. A truer psychology, giving us for the first time
a true theory of elementary teaching. 2. Progress in the science of
philology, enabling us to assign their right position to the classical
languages as elements in liberal culture, and giving us, in modern
philological science, an improved and more powerful teaching instru-
ment. 3. The first real attempt to combine republican ideas with the
theory of liberal education — in other words, to make the education of
the whole people liberal, instead of merely the education of certain
privileged classes and protected professions. And when I say the
whole people, I mean men and women. Nothing, I will say in pass-
ing, to my mind so marks us. as still educational barbarians, so stamps
all our boasted culture with illiberality, as an exclusion of the other
sex from all share in its privileges. ~No education can be truly liberal
which is not equally applicable to one sex as to the other. 4. As the
influence more profoundly modifying our conceptions of liberal educa-
tion than any other, I reckon the advent of modern physical science.
5. I count among those influences the growing perception that art and
aesthetic culture are equally necessary as an element in all education
worthy of the name. Let me give the few words, which are all the
time will allow me, to each of these influences.

And, first, the advance we have been making toward a truer edu-
cation-philosophy, based upon truer conceptions in regard to the
growth and early development of the human mind, is pretty well dis-
posing of what, perhaps, I may be permitted to call the old-fashioned,
grindstone-theory of elementary education ; the doctrine, namely, that,-
as preparation for higher culture, all youthful minds require a certain
preliminary process of sharpening upon certain studies, valueless or
next to valueless in themselves, at least so far as regards the vast ma-
jority of their recipients, but quite as needful, nevertheless, to them as
to all others who are hereafter to be considered as liberally educated,
for the indirect benefit their pursuit was supposed to confer. The ac-
cepted theory of liberal education has heretofore been, that it was a
certain very special kind of training which required this peculiar pre-

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 3

liminary sharpening process, and that, as the instruments for it, there
were certain almost divinely-appointed studies exclusively set apart, to
wit, the grammars of two dead languages, and the elementary por-
tions of abstract mathematics. It was not and could not be main-
tained that these studies would ever be the natural choice of the
youthful mind in the beginning of its scholastic career ; rather, it was
thought to be a prime recommendation that they were as remote as
possible from any thing the youthful mind would of itself appropriate
as intellectual nutriment. Like medicine, the value of such disciplinary
studies was supposed to be in direct proportion to their disgustfulness ;
for they were not food to nourish the mind withal, but tonics, where-
with artificially to strengthen it. They were rods for the spiritual part,
the counterparts of those material ones which the strong right arm of
the ancient pedagogue wielded with such efficiency on the bodies of
his youthful charge, and the benefit of both alike was not utilitarian,
but disciplinary.

That I may not be suspected of caricaturing, I will make two quo-
tations, the first from a lecture by Prof. Sellar, Professor of Greek in
the University of Edinburgh : " The one extreme theory," he says, 1 " is
that education is purely a discipline of the understanding ; that the
form of the subject is every thing, the content little or nothing. A
severe study, such as classics or mathematics, is the thing wanted to
train or brace the faculties ; it does not matter whether it is in itself
interesting or not. The student will find sufficient interest in the
sense of power which he has to put forth in training for the great race
withhis competitors. 'It is not knowledge,' they say, 'but the exer-
cise you are forced to incur in acquiring knowledge that we care about.
Read and learn the classics simply for the discipline they afford to the
understanding. You may, if it comes in your way and does not inter-
fere with your training, combine a literary pleasure with this mode of
study, but this is no part of your education. As teachers, we do not
care to encourage it ; we do not care to interpret for you the thought
or feeling of your author. All such teaching is weak and rhetorical :
we do not profess to examine into your capacity of receiving pleasure.
Accurate and accomplished translation,' effective composition in the
style of the ancient authors, thorough grammatical and philological
knowledge — these are our requirements. The training in exactness, in
concentration, in logical habits, and in discernment of the niceties of
expression, is the one thing with which we start you in life. Whether
you have thought at all, or care to think about the questions which
occupy and move the highest minds, is no affair of ours.'

" This theory is, I think, a purely English theory of education. It
has grown up within the last half-century, and it is in the University
of Cambridge that it has been, and still is, most fully realized."

My other extract shall be from an essay by the Public Orator of the

1 " Theories of Classical Teaching : A Lecture," p. 10.

4 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

University of Cambridge : " I conclude, then," says Mr. W. G. Clark
"that the first subject of study must be the same for all, and that it is
no valid objection to any subject to affirm that it is dry and distaste-
ful, but, on the contrary, a strong recommendation. It cannot be de-
nied that this condition is amply satisfied by the Latin accidence, as
exhibited in our time-honored and much-abused text-books. . . . The
question arises where, besides the Latin grammar, we can find any other
subject equally dry, and by consequence as powerfully tonic to the
juvenile mind, which recommends itself as deserving in lieu thereof
to form the basis of education by its general applicability and greater
fertility of after-results. Except the Greek language, which, from its
intimate connection with the Latin in structure and literature, is a
necessary complement to it, and not a possible substitute for it, I know
of none."

Here we have the very essence of what I have denominated the
grindstone-theory. I think that a truer philosophy has exploded
these fallacies, and wellnigh obliterated that artificial line of dis-
tinction between studies for use and studies for discipline. True
education remains and must remain forever a discipline ; but juster
views in regard to the nature of the youthful mind are beginning to
show us that that discipline is of the nature of a nutritive rather
than a curative process, and that the disgust felt by the recipient for
the means employed is no measure of their disciplinary value. We
are discovering that the idea of discipline inheres not in the nature
of certain particular subjects, distinguishing them from all others
which are non-disciplinary and merely utilitarian, but in the right
method of teaching all subjects ; and the question, whether at any
particular period or stage of progress a subject is to be used for
purposes of mental discipline, depends not at all upon the question
whether it belongs to one or the other of two imaginary classes, the
disciplinary and the non-disciplinary, but upon the quite different
questions whether the study is valuable in itself, and whether it is
suited to that particular stage of the pupil's mental progress. If so,
and if rightly taught, it will then be sure to be the right discipline.

This change in our education-philosophy has brought with it a cor-
responding change in our scale and estimate of the relative value of
various studies as the instruments and materials of education ; and, I
think, we have almost heard the last of the doctrine that abstract
grammar and abstract mathematics are the divinely-appointed whet-
stones and sharpeners of the youthful mind, and hence of the system
which makes a compulsory study of the Greek and Latin languages
the only gate of admission to the privileges of the higher education.
In place of that very simple but most unphilosophical doctrine, I trust
that a truer psychology is providing us with a course of liberal study,
based upon corrector notions in regard to the laws of mental develop-

1 " Cambridge Essays," for 1855.

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 5

ment. That we have such a completed practical psychology, or any
such logical and symmetrical course or courses of study based upon it,
is more than can be asserted, for education, as a science, is still in its
infancy ; but we certainly have attained to certain general principles
which are fundamental as regards the elementary education of the
future ; and the most important of these, which is even now revolu-
tionizing all our methods of elementary teaching, is the direct result
of the progress of modern physical science. It is, that education be-
gins with the concrete, and not with the abstract, and that the right
method for the teaching even of language itself is the right training
and development of the child's senses. The Latin grammar, there-
fore, as the right instrument for training the youthful mind, is fast dis-
appearing, along with that birch which was its material symbol and
needful complement, and a striking witness to the absurdity of the use
we put it to. Mequiescat in pace I The lovers of the noble science
of classical philology may well be congratulated on its emancipation
from such degrading servitude.

In place of this rude and crude, and now happily obsolescent the-
ory, a deeper philosophy is leading us to inquire into the nature of the
undeveloped mind, and the true order of the development of its facul-
ties, and is, at the same time, guiding us to the right choice of means
for stimulating their natural and healthful growth and unfolding.
And here I will say that the answer which psychology gives to these
questions seems to me a little in danger of being misinterpreted for
the time being by one class of educational reformers. In their re-
action against the premature and unnatural stimulus given to the
powers of abstraction by the old system, they are in danger of run-
ning into the opposite extreme of paying a too exclusive attention
to the development of the observing powers in the new — a tendency
which the influence of modern physical science on our educational
ideas, especially, tends to foster. I doubt whether one extreme
will prove any better than the other, for both are equally one-sided.
The true lesson we are to learn is, above all things, to have regard to
balance and proportion. The youthful mind is not a different thing
from the same mind in its maturity. The germs of all faculties exist
in it, and their development is in no linear order, but rather like rays
diverging from one centre ; and the true conception of the different
stages of education is, as being divided by concentric circles, cutting
those rays at equal distances from the centre. The child's observing
powers should furnish him with intellectual material no faster than his
powers of abstraction can work it up into intellectual products, or than
the development of his powers of expression can give form to them.
On the other hand, his powers of expression should never be developed
in empty words, beyond the limits of his acquisition of the ideas words
stand for, as is now the case with so much of our word-mongering edu-
cation. Again, his imagination should never outrun his reason on the

6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

one hand, nor his memory overload it on the other, in accordance with
that preposterous doctrine we sometimes hear propounded, which ad-
vocates the employment of the youthful memory in laying up stores
of unintelligible knowledge, in anticipation of an after-time, when it
will become intelligible — as if there could be such a thing as not-
understood knowledge, in any other sense than as we speak of undi-
gested food — turning to poison in the system. The child is a philoso-
pher, a moralist, a poet in little, quite as much as he is an observer or
a rememberer, and his whole moral and intellectual growth will be
warped and stunted so long as you insist upon looking on him as a
mere observing or a mere memorizing machine, a mere receptacle for
facts or for words either.

If I am right in this view of the true character of elementary edu-
cation, it follows that the great departments, into which it should from
the very first be divided, correspond exactly with the primary divis-
ions of knowledge itself, as they will continue for the pupil forever
after. Let me, for the purposes of this discussion, make a triple divis-
ion of knowledge into physical, ethical, and sesthetical, according as
our thought is concerned with the world of matter, the world of mind,
and the world of art or beauty. I am concerned here less for strict-
ness of philosophical accuracy than for the practical convenience of
this division. Now, as, in accordance with our fundamental concep-
tion of liberal education, the question as to a choice between these de-
partments of liberal learning is a futile one, because all are essential
elements in our conception of liberal education — so, if I am right, no
conception of elementary education can be a correct one that does not
provide for them all from the very beginning.

I need hardly point out what a change in all our methods this
change in our philosophy implies ; for it involves the doctrine that
the true place to begin the teaching of all art, all science, all knowl-
edge, is the primary school ; and I am not in the least afraid of the
seeming paradox. Rather I would earnestly maintain that, unless we
treat the child in the primary school as the germ and embryo of all
he is destined afterward to become, our education will be doomed to
ignominious failure. Whatever, therefore, enters into our conception
of liberal education — and we have already seen that nothing less than
all extant knowledge should enter into it — that should enter into it
from the beginning. Language and literature should be the subjects
of elementary teaching ; science should be the subject of elementary
teaching ; art should be the subject of elementary teaching. What-
ever is to enter into the higher stages of education is to have its seed
planted there, or it never will be planted. The true distinction, there-
fore, between disciplinary and non-disciplinary, is not a distinction be-
tween one set of studies begun early and another set of studies begun
late, one set of studies pursued for training, and another set of studies
mastered for use : it is a distinction between the earlier and the later

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 7

stages of all studies whatever. The child, as well as the man, is linguist,
student of science, artist, philosopher, moralist, poet, though his philol-
ogy, science, art, philosophy, will be childish, not manly, germs and in-
tuitions, not results of developed reason. Is it not obvious that in this
view elementary schools become something far more than places for
drilling the youthful mind in the use of the mere tools of knowledge ?
Is it not obvious, moreover, that, looked at from this point of view, a
man's profession is only the outgrowth and fruitful consummation of
his whole training ; a divergence, when the time arrives that the whole
of knowledge becomes too wide a field to cultivate, into some special
fruit-bearing direction, which, whatever it may be, will lead to a truly
liberal profession, inasmuch as by a man so trained his calling cannot
but be followed in a liberal spirit ?

We have in England and America no conception of what may be
accomplished in the early stages of education, because we have been,
to so great an extent, adherents of the grindstone-theory. " No-
where," says Mr. Joseph Payne, commenting on the lamentable, almost
ludicrous, failure of that embodiment of the grindstone-theory, applied
to popular teaching through the medium, not of the Latin grammar,
but of the three R's — I mean the so-called English " Revised Code " —
" nowhere have I ever met, in the course of long practice and study
in teaching, with a more striking illustration of the great truth that,
just in proportion as you substitute mechanical routine for intelligent
and sympathetic development of the child's powers, you shall fail in
the object you are aiming at." ' I think that the insignificant results
of our present elementary schools, as compared with the amount of
time, thought, and money, expended on them, and their want of real
vitality, are to be mainly traced to this fundamentally false concep-
tion of elementary teaching as concerned only with the acquisition of
the mere tools of knowledge. 2 By its fruits, or rather by its barren-

1 " Of four-fifths of the scholars about to leave school, either no account, or an unsat-
isfactory one, is given by an examination of the most strictly elementary kind " (Report
for 1869-"70). " We have never yet passed 20,000 in a population of 20,000,000 to the
sixth standard ; whereas old Prussia, without her recent aggrandizement, passed nearly
380,000 every year" (speech of Mr. Mundella, in the House of Commons, March 18,
18*70). " What we call education in the inspected schools of England is the mere seed
used in other countries, but with us that seed, as soon as it has sprouted, withers and
dies, and never grows up into a crop for the feeding of the nations " (speech of Dr.
Lyon Playfair, in the House of Commons, June 20, 1870). See the Fortnightly Review
for August, 1873, and Payne in Social Science Transactions for 1872. If we should ever
need — which God forbid ! — a warning against the folly of substituting a sectarian for a
national system of popular education, we may find it in the wretched perversion of Eng-
lish popular education in the hands of her Established Church.

2 " What wonder if very recently an appeal has been made to statistics for the pro-
foundly foolish purpose of showing that education is of no good — that it diminishes
neither misery nor crime among the masses of mankind ? I reply, Why should the thing
which has been called education do either the one or the other ? If I am a knave or a
fool, teaching me to read and write won't make me less of either one or the other —

8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

ness, we may know it ; and I may add that it is because in our com-
mon schools we are completely outgrowing it, that day by day we see
in them so much new life.

So much in regard to the debt which a liberal education is des-
tined soon to owe to the progress of psychology, giving prevalence to
truer views in regard to its rudimentary processes. Let me pass to
the second influence, which is acting powerfully to modify all our
previous conceptions of the subject ; I mean the progress of modern
linguistic science. I take this next in order because, contrary to the
current of thought prevailing at the present moment, I believe the
old doctrine will still be found to hold true, even after physical science
shall have at last found its true place in the new education, that the
study of that wonderful world of matter, which is the stage on which
man plays his earthly part, wonderful as it is, is yet inferior in dignity
and importance to the study of the being and doing of the actor who
plays his part thereon. Scientific studies, though for the time being
in the ascendant, yet, even when all their rights shall be accorded to
them, will, in a well-balanced system, take their place a little below
ethical studies. This, I say, as not believing in the current material-
istic philosophy in any of its forms, but as being an immaterialist, as
I must phrase it, since we have been robbed by unworthy and de-
grading associations of the word spiritualist. But, without raising
any question of precedence between branches of study which are both
essential to any true conception of a complete education, let me pro-
ceed to point out that the progress of linguistic science and of modern
literature has totally transformed the educational character and posi-
tion of the ethical studies of which they are the instrument and the
embodiment. When the Revival of Learning gave birth to the present
classical system of literary, or, as I have termed it, ethical liberal study,
it did so by putting into the hands of scholars not merely two gram-
mars as instruments of youthful mental discipline, as the advocates of
the grindstone-system would fain have us believe, but two languages

unless somebody shows me how to put my reading and writing to wise and good
purposes.

" Suppose any one were to argue that medicine is of no use, because it could be proved
statistically that the percentage of deaths was just the same among people who had been
taught how to open a medicine-chest, and among those who did not so much as know
the key by sight. The argument is absurd ; but it is not more preposterous than that
against which I am contending. The only medicine for suffering, crime, and all the
other woes of mankind, is wisdom. Teach a man to read and write, and you have put
into his hands the great keys of the wisdom-box. But it is quite another matter whether
he ever opens the box or not. And he is as likely to poison as to cure himself, if, with-
out guidance, he swallows the first drug that comes to hand. In these times a man may
as well be purblind as unable to read — lame, as unable to write. But I protest, that if
I thought the alternative were a necessary one, I would rather that the children of the
poor should grow up ignorant of both these mighty arts than that they should remain
ignorant of that knowledge to which these arts are means." — (Huxley, " Lay Sermons"
p. 43.)

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 9

that unlocked the stores of a whole new world of ethical thought, in
the shape of the philosophy, the history, and the poetry contained in
Greek and Roman literature. How assiduously those literatures were
studied, how they leavened the whole thought of Europe, and mightily
contributed to disperse the intellectual darkness and break the bonds
of the spiritual despotism of the mediaeval Church, we all know. Clas-
sical philosophy, history, poety, and art, nourished the European mind,
and were almost the sole foundation of its culture, through all the
period during which the Latin and Teutonic races of Western Europe
were slowly elaborating languages and literatures of their own. They
were thus of necessity the main instrument of culture of the schools
during the period when, save the obsolete scholastic philosophy, no
other instrument was forthcoming ; and I do not think it possible to
overrate the debt which Western Europe owes to them. But grad-
ually their educating influence has been absorbed, and in great meas-
ure exhausted, while partially, but by no means wholly, out of the
nutriment they furnished have sprung the national languages and
literatures which, as more and not less powerful educating instru-
mentalities, are to supersede them. It is to ignore the vast progress
of the human mind since the days of Erasmus to try any longer to
make classical learning stand in the same relation to the modern stu-
dent that it stood in to Erasmus : and Erasmus, if he were alive to-
day, would be the first to abandon the dead pedantries of the past for
the fountains of new thought he would see flowing all round him.

When I say, then, that I think the languages and literatures of
Greece and Rome are soon to be abandoned, as the sole or main in-
struments of that side of liberal culture which I have preferred to call
ethical rather than literary, it is not that I do not fully recognize their
value and beauty, or the vast service they have done in emancipating
and training the mind of Western Europe : it is not that I do not
recognize their value as among the specialties of liberal culture now.
It is only as the sole or chief instruments of literary school training
that I believe them to be superseded. So far from believing that they
will be abandoned, I believe they will be more diligently and success-
fully studied in the future, when they will be left as a specialty in the
hands of that small number of students who, at any time, in this mod-
ern world of ours, will of their own free choice x pursue them. As a

1 The advocates of the classical theory sometimes point triumphantly to the number of
students who, in colleges where the elective system prevails, freely, as they say, elect the
classics ; but it should be remembered that at present their whole previous school training
has been by compulsion classical. Of science they are absolutely ignorant ; and it is not
strange that they should prefer to go on in studies whose elementary difficulties they have
partially overcome, rather than engage in a belated encounter with new difficulties, of a sort
for which their minds have been by their very previous training unfitted. The present
system at some of our colleges of giving an election between science and literature, after
admission, and no similar election in regard to preparatory studies, seems to me to be the
very reductio ad absurdum of the grindstone-theory.

io THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

specialty for the few, classical studies still have a future before them,
and we can ill afford to lose the elevating and refining influence exer-
cised by their real votaries on those who do not directly pursue them ;
but as the main instruments of liberal culture their day seems to me to
be nearly over.

In England, the very stronghold of the classical theory, classical
study seems to be declining, in spite of, or rather through, the very
means taken for keeping it alive. " I fear," says the late Earl of Der
by, in the preface to his translation of the Iliad, " that the faste for and
appreciation of classical literature are greatly on the decline." " The
study of classical literature is probably on the decline," says Matthew
Arnold, in his essay on translating Homer. " I cannot help thinking,"
says Mr. Sidgwick, of Cambridge, "that classical literature, in spite
of its enormous prestige, has very little attraction for the mass even
of cultivated persons at the present day. I wish statistics could be
obtained of the amount of Latin and Greek read in any year, except
for professional purposes, even by those who have gone through a
complete classical curriculum. From the information that I have been
able privately to obtain, I incline to think that such statistics, when
compared with the fervent admiration with which we all speak of the
classics, upon every opportunity, would be found rather startling. 1
And the truth is that the classical system of liberal education in Eng-
land maintains its place, so far as it does maintain it, solely from the
fact of its being a strictly protected system, through the enormous pe-
cuniary prizes to which it is the sole means of access." 2

Our own attempts to establish a liberal education seem to me to
have thus far proved little less than abortive, because, following as
we have in the steps of the mother-country, we cannot bring our-
selves to abandon the old shadow for the new substance. For
classical study has really dwindled into a shadow. Once it did
mean the study of philosophy, of ethics, politics, history, poetry;
now, for ninety-nine in a hundred of its students, it means none of
these, but the mere dry study of grammar. The scholars of the Re-
naissance read their Plato in the original, and compassed sea and
land to find a teacher who could unlock for them his treasure-house,
but it was the treasure-house of his thought, not his grammar. The

1 "Essays on a Liberal Education, ed. Farrar," p. 106.

2 " The prizes proposed," says Dr. Donaldson (" Classical Scholarship and Classical
Learning," p. 154), " are of enormous value. It is estimated that the first place in either
Tripos (classics or mathematics) is worth, in present value and contingent advantages,
about £10,000. ... In classics, the majority of successful candidates for high honors
have been under tuition in Greek and Latin for at least ten years."

The number of college fellowships at Oxford is somewhat over 300, and their average
value £300 per annum. There are 400 scholarships, of an average value of £80, tenable
for five years. The incomes of nineteen heads of houses are estimated at £23,000 a year.
— (Heywood, in Social Science Transactions for 1871.) The sole access to all these pecu-
niary prizes has heretofore been through classical study.

LIBERAL EDUCATION. n

scholars of the Revival, without Shakespeare or Milton, had to master
Homer and iEschylus, or go without poetry altogether. With no
wealth of modern literature, such as lies all round us, they were per-
force classical students in order to be scholars. We cannot put back
the wheels of time, and reproduce their circumstances. The mind of
the generation refuses to be bound within antiquated limits : it will
seek the new world of thought which lies before it. Try, therefore,
to make classical scholars now of all liberally-educated boys, and
you make nine-tenths of them into dunces or pedants. How many
of the regiments of young men of this generation who have gone
through, as it is well called, our older colleges, are real classical
scholars ? But the liberally-educated men of the times of the revival
of learning were real classical scholars.

The Rev. Mark Pattison, Rector of Lincoln College, gives the
following account of the present state of classical study even at Ox-
ford : " We must not close our eyes to the fact that the honor-stu-
dents " (that is to say, the students who have any expectation of win-
ning the pecuniary prizes) " are the only students who are undergoing
any educational process which it can be considered as the function
of a university either to impart or to exact; the only students who
are at all within the scope of the scientific apparatus and arrangements
of an academical body. This class of students cannot be estimated
at more than thirty per cent, of the whole number frequenting the
university. The remaining seventy per cent, not only furnish from
among them all the idleness and extravagance which are become a
byword throughout the country, but cannot be considered to be even
nominally pursuing any course of university studies at all." *

If the treasurer of a great manufacturing corporation were to re-
port to his stockholders that, of all the raw material furnished, their
machinery was capable of making only thirty per cent, into cloth, and
that of a very peculiar and unsalable pattern ; that the remaining sev-
enty per cent, was not only not manufactured into any kind of cloth,
but was much of it disseminated over the country, in the shape of
deadly, poisonous rags, we should think there was something wrong
in the machinery of that mill.

Thus it is that, classical education having dwindled into a shadow, 2

1 " Suggestions on Academical Organization," p. 230.

2 " I think it incontestably true," says Prof. Sidgwick, " that for the last fifty years
our classical studies (with much to demand our undivided praise) have been too critical
and formal ; and that we have sometimes been taught, while straining after an accu-
racy beyond our reach, to value the husk more than the fruit of ancient learning.
.... This, at least, is true, that he who forgets that language is but the sign and vehi-
cle of thought, and while studying the word knows little of the sentiment-— who learns
the measure, the garb and fashion of ancient song without looking to its living soul or
feeling its inspiration, is not one jot better than a traveler in a classic land who sees its
crumbling temples, and numbers, with arithmetical precision, their steps and pillars, but
thinks not of their beauty, their design, or the living sculptures on their walls, or who

12 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

our colleges are looking about for a remedy, and a class of thinkers,
just now, as we know, very influential, and looking to the substitution
of the study of science as the sole remedy. Gentlemen, I have been
long enough attached to a school of science to have been convinced, if
I had ever doubted it, that science by itself is no remedy ; that as there
can never again be a liberal education, or the pretense of one, without
the scientific element, so, on the other hand, scientific studies alone can
never constitute a liberal education — scientific can never supersede
ethical studies as its foundation. What, then, is the true remedy ? I
think it is evident. It is, along with scientific study, of whose true
place I shall have more to say presently, to accept ethical studies in
their new form, in the form of modern literatures and modern languages,
and with classical studies as the special and subordinate, and not, as
heretofore, the main and primary instrument. This is the great change
which liberal education is silently undergoing, far more than it is a
change from a literary to a scientific basis.

I know of no educational fallacy more common and more mischiev-
ous than that of enormously overrating the educating value of the
process of acquiring the mere form of foreign languages, whether dead
or living ; yet it is in this barren study that we waste the precious time
that should be employed, from the very beginning of school-life, in
acquiring the substance of real knowledge. Languages, other than our
own, are the useful, sometimes the necessary tools for acquiring knowl-
edge ; in the literatures of other tongues there reside elements of cult-
ure not to be found, or not to be found in the same perfection in our
own, which may well repay the student who has time and perseverance
sufficient really to attain them without too great a sacrifice. But to
sacrifice an attainable education in not attaining them, what is it but
to sow the barren sea-shore, to travel half a journey, to possess one's self
of half an instrument useless without the other half. Languages alone
are knowledge only to the professed philologist ; we sacrifice a real
education attainable through an instrument we already possess in the
fruitless labor of giving our boys other instruments they will never
make use of.

counts the stones in the Appian Way, instead of gazing on the monuments of the ' Eternal
City.' " — (" Discourse on the Studies of the University of Cambridge," fifth edition, p. 37.)
I find a corroboration of this view of the present state of classical study on this side
of the water coming from a quarter where there can be no suspicion of too great leaning
toward modern studies. Prof. Tayler Lewis is reported to have expressed himself in a
recent pamphlet as follows : " He thinks it undeniable that there is danger that classi-
cal studies may be driven from our colleges ; and, in looking for a reason for this, he
seems to himself to have discovered it in the fact that we nowadays busy the undergrad-
uate too much with grammar and too little with literature. ... He illustrates his posi-
tion by a comparison of the school of critical students even so great as Porson and
Elmsley with the earlier schools. . . . The one school, admirable as it is, and deep as
is our obligation to them, he regards as reading Homer for the sake of knowing Greek ;
the other as knowing Greek for the sake of reading Homer."— {New-York Nation, August
V, 1873.)

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 13

I think that we monstrously overrate the educating value of the
mere process of learning other languages ; but with the mother-tongue
the case is altogether different. Here the mastery of form and substance
can proceed pari passu. The mother-tongue is the only one which
can stand to our modern liberal education in the relation in which the
classical tongues stood to the scholars of the revival of learning. It
mio-ht be said that Greek and Latin were mother-tongues to them as
scholars, because it was through them alone that they reached the
thoughts which really educated them. They were not brought up on
empty words and barren syntax ; they studied no grammars, for gram-
mars were non-existent. Their minds were really nourished on the
philosophy of Plato, and Cicero's eloquence, and Homer's poetry, and
the lessons not the words they found in Tacitus and Thucydides. Now,
when we have a philosophy, a history, a poetry, a law, an ethics, which
embody all that is valuable in classical literature, together with all the
progress of thought has produced through these later centuries, we not
only fail to use them as those older scholars used their older instru-
ments, really and efficiently, but we equally fail in using the older
ones. We abandon both to feed our boys on a husk without a kernel.
What wonder that our higher education is struck with barrenness ?

When, therefore, I propose modern language-study instead of an-
cient, as a chief instrument of school education, I mean much more than
the mere substitution of the study of some modern language as lan-
guage, for some ancient language as language — German, for instance,
instead of Greek, as has sometimes been suggested. This would be
the mere semblance of a remedy, for the difficulty consists in the enor-
mous overrating, by what I have called the grindstone-theory, of the
educating value of the study of the mere structure and vocabulary of
any strange language whatever. It has sometimes been doubted if
we can ever really know more than one tongue, and certainly all our
deeper mental processes go on in that one we know best. If that is a
foreign one, it is because we have lost a mother to gain a step-mother;
and a stepmother she will ever remain. What is very certain is, that
too many of the recipients of our present education, in seeking to pos-
sess themselves of more than one language, end with having none
whatever. Neglecting to develop their minds through the instrumen-
tality of their mother-tongue, and never, therefore, really knowing it,
they equally fail in providing themselves with any substitute ; with
Shakspeare's pedants, " they have been at a great feast of languages,
and stolen the scraps."

My position, therefore, is that, so far as language-study shall form
a part of the elementary discipline of the liberal education of the
future, the centre and pivot of it all will hereafter be the scientific
study of the mother-tongue. I anticipate something almost like ridi-
cule for this proposition on the part of those — and they are many — who
undervalue our native language so far as to believe it to be incapable

i 4 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

of becoming an instrument of disciplinary education. Time would fail
me to go into a defense of this proposition. I will only say that I "be-
lieve that it is precisely the change which the progress of modern
philology is bringing about ; that it is fitting modern languages, and
preeminently our own, to become the instrument of a true mental dis-
cipline, so far as language-study can serve as such an instrument. On
the one hand it is giving a scientific form to the study of the Teutonic
element, and on the other there remains the still needful study of the
Latin language — a study which certainly need not lose in force and
vitality because it may no longer be pursued as the basis of a super-
structure never to be erected, but shall have a definite object and be
pursued for a practical end.

But far above and beyond its uses as language-study comes the
advantage of the direct and immediate entrance it gives to those re-
gions of thought in which the higher mental discipline really lies.
Through the direct road of the real study of the mother-tongue, and
that rhetorical and, above all, that real logical study which accompa-
nies and forms a part of it, can the study of what we vaguely denomi-
nate literature, and that which we are beginning still more vaguely to
denominate social science, but which yet, between them, contain the
substance of all we most need to know of man as distinct from Nature,
be made real portions of general knowledge — be transferred from being
a possession in the hands of the few, to be reached only by an abstruse
and difficult preparatory training, secrets unlocked by a key out of
reach of the hands of the many, to being a part of the general inheri-
tance of all men. For, to be so, they must be made primary and not
secondary ; in other words, that time and strength must be devoted
to a fruitful study of modern thought and modern literature, which
have heretofore been wasted in school and college on the futile attempt
to master ancient thought and ancient literature. The rudiments of
all those studies must be reckoned as the most valuable of all the
elements of general elementary training, which, in their higher depart-
ments, and after liberal culture, diverging in various directions, form
the substance of professional knowledge, both that of those professions
now reckoned, and of all those hereafter to be reckoned liberal. For,
what should liberal education be but the preparatory general stage for
that work of life which all honest callings and professions carry on in
diverse directions afterward ? What is a professional education but
a liberal education taking a special direction ?

Can it now be said, with any truth, that our nominally-educated
young men go out into the world equipped with that general knowl-
edge of the sciences of law and government, and political economy,
with that knowledge of ethics and philosophy, with that acquaint-
ance with modern history and of the condition of the world they
live in, and with that real taste for modern literature, which should
form the equipments of every man calling himself educated? We

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 15

shall have to give a negative answer, just so long as we do not look
upon all these as the truly disciplinary studies, and the elements of
all these as the true elementary studies, the very school-studies fitted,
above all others, for maturing the youthful mind, and filling it with
true wisdom. So long as we insist upon approaching them through
the operose and roundabout method of dead-language studies, school-
days will flee away, and the object will not be accomplished. The
great vice of our education, as has been well said, is its indirectness.

Combining the ideas which I have thus presented — 1. That the
study of foreign languages as languages, whether dead or living, holds
a place in our present education-philosophy quite out of proportion to
its real value and importance, and that it is the discipline of philoso-
phy which we are indirectly aiming at, behind and through the disci-
pline of language ; 2. That it is through one tongue and not many
that that discipline can best be imparted, inasmuch as that is the only
one that can or will ever, by the majority of men, be really mastered ;
and, 3. That now, for the first time, there is the possibility, through
the progress of modern linguistic science, of a scientific and systematic
study of the mother-tongue — I arrive at the conclusion that we are
presently to have, as a substitute for the exclusive or almost exclusive
use of classical languages and literatures, as the main disciplinary ele-
ment in liberal education, a systematic study of the English language
and a recognition of its literature as primary, not secondary. And
surely it is a strange phenomenon, if it be true, as a foreign scholar
has recently maintained, 1 that the sovereignty of the world is hereafter
to belong to the English language ; and if it be true, as I think may
well be maintained, that with this conquering language we possess the
world's foremost literature, it is a strange phenomenon that we think
them so little worthy of systematic study, give them a place so sub-
ordinate as instruments of our own liberal culture, that to-day we must
go to the Germans for a good English grammar ; to the French for
the best, if a very defective, history of our literature. To my mind,
no more striking illustration could be given of our want of a true edu-
cation-philosophy.

How has it happened that we still lack such a philosophy ? The
answer to that question brings me to my next point, and the third new
ingredient in the liberal education of the future, the element contributed
by republicanism. I have said that the science of education was still
in its infancy ; I believe that it is only as a part of republican institu-
tions that it can reach maturity. For the only true liberal education
is the education of man as man ; the only truly liberal system is that
which can be applied to a whole nation, and such a system is only
possible as a part of republican institutions. And, when we consider
how short a time we have been living under them, and how crude and
imperfect they still are, it is not strange that they have not yet pro-

1 De Candolle.

16 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

duced what will be rather one of their maturest than one of their ear-
liest fruits, a truly liberal education-system.

The history of our errors in regard to liberal education is a very
plain one. They are the legacy of the mother-country from which we
came, a mother-country which is just beginning to correct her own errors,
even by the light of our limited experience. I wish to point out and
emphasize the fact that republicanism revolutionizes our very concep-
tion of liberal education. All forms of liberal education of the past,
and preeminently the one we borrowed from England, were forms of
exclusive class-education. The idea of caste was involved in their very
conception, to such a degree that the phrase, the liberal education of
the people, was a contradiction in terms. The antithesis was, popular
versus liberal education. There was the illiberal or servile education
of the masses, designed to fit them for the humble station in which it
had pleased Providence to place them, and to content them therewith ;
there was the liberal education of the exclusive learned professions,
and the exclusive aristocratic class, which was liberal by virtue of its
being the education of the rulers and not the ruled. 1 Now, republican-
ism, by converting the people into rulers, transfers to them the claim
to a liberal education, which shall be universal. A transfer of the
power alone, without a transfer of the privilege and the opportunity
necessary to prepare for the exercise of it, cannot but be disastrous.
If republicanism is to remain republicanism, and not degenerate into oli-
garchy or plutocracy, or end in anarchy, there must be one homoge-
neous education-system for all, and that one the highest attainable.
The line of demarcation between liberal and illiberal must be obliter-
ated, and what cannot be called liberal will be seen to be no education
at all, but only a miserable counterfeit, by which privileged classes
strive to perpetuate obsolete distinctions and indefensible abuses. For
a republic, there can be but one system, and one set of schools ; its
education, begun on the lowest benches of its national primary
schools, will one day be completed in the halls of its national uni-
versities. There will be no question as to the relative dignity of pro-
tected and unprotected professions, or callings, or classes, but all will

3 " Religious teaching, from Episcopal charges down to the lessons of the Sunday-
school, was, for a long time, as most of us can remember, in the habit of assuming that
true religion was identified with government by the upper classes. . . . We may safely
say that neither from Catholic nor from Protestant theology could we extract any formal
witness in favor of the acquisition of political power by the humbler and more numerous
classes. . But the lower classes have not been content to stay in their places. Whatever
the Church has taught, democracy has advanced irresistibly. Privilege after privilege has
been wrenched out of the grasp of the favored classes, power has gradually descended,
by the steps of the social stairs, until it has joined hands with the last class at the bottom.
At the present time, it is a confessed fact, whether we like it or not, that the working-
class, if it had peculiar interests, and were unanimously resolved to promote them, might
dictate the policy of the empire."— (Rev. J. Llwellyn Davies, " Theology and Morality," pp.
10, 12.)

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 17

be reckoned liberal which train and educate the faculties of man as
man. 1

Now, the only conception of a liberal education that will satisfy
these new conditions, the only conception of an education capable of
becoming national and universal, at the same time that it is liberal,
is that of a training of the national mind through the mother-tongue
as the chief, and other tongues as the subordinate instruments, in
the elements of all those branches of knowledge which, used in their
rudiments as elements of general training, will develop, in their higher
stages, into the objects of professional pursuits. Is there any other
distinction than this between general and professional? In the in-
fancy of knowledge, all callings, trades, and professions, are mysteries,
whose secrets are carefully guarded from the uninitiated. Every me-
chanic belongs to his trade-guild, and has his trade-secrets. When
Philip of Burgundy destroyed the little town of Dinant, in the
Low Countries, the art of making copper vessels became, for the
time being, a lost art. With the progress of general intelligence
mystery falls away from simpler occupations, but still attaches to

1 Nothing seems to me more thoroughly unrepublican and illiberal than the ground
taken, by some who profess to be preeminently the advocates of liberal learning, against
the promotion of higher education by grants from the state. Let the state promote the
advancement of elementary education, they say, but for higher institutions to handle gov-
ernment moneys is only to touch pitch, and therewith be denied. The distinction repre-
sents a remnant of aristocratic feeling, and springs from the idea that it is the duty of
the educated, as a higher class, to take a paternal care for the masses ; not the duty of
the people, as a self-governing community, to give itself a liberal education. One cannot
well see a higher function to be performed by the people, acting as a body, than to pro-
mote, by public action, its own higher education. If a line is to be drawn, beyond which
its action should not reach, where shall it be drawn ? Shall the people be allowed to pro-
mote the teaching of the three R's, and the four rules of arithmetic, but be forbidden to
meddle with any thing beyond them ? And in whose hands is the higher education to
remain, in a country which has no established church ? Is its progress forever to remain
at the fitful mercy of an unenlightened and unsystematic private charity ? The question
as to the right means and methods of governmental action is undoubtedly a grave one,
but no educational waste of state or national resources is ever likely to equal the waste
arising from the capricious absurdity of. private endowments. We have, indeed, of late,
been startled by revelations of government corruption, but they have but a poor notion
of the capacities of republicanism who are scared by them into that meanest of all politi-
cal theories, the doctrine that the sole function of a government is merely to enact the
part of head constable.

A far juster view is that propounded by one of the best of England's teachers. " As
the condition of social, and, to some extent, political independence," says the Rev. Mark
Pattison, " is necessary to prevent material interests from stifling and absorbing studies,
so the condition of sympathy with the general mind is necessary both to sustain the
required activity and to make the university a proper seminary for the education of the
national youth. The nation does not hire a number of learned men to teach its children :
it itself educates them, through an organ into which its own best intellect, its scientific
genius, is regularly drafted. This education is, in short, nothing but the free action of
life and society, localized, economized, and brought to bear." — (" Oxford Essays for 1855,"
p. 259.)

VOL. IV. — 2

18 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

what are called the learned professions. The layman has nothing to
do with the study of the science of theology : that must be expounded
to him by his priest. The layman has nothing to do with the science
of medicine : he must be cured, or, more probably, killed, secundum
artem, by his physician. The layman has nothing to do with the
science of the law : it is his business to get into lawsuits, and it is
the lawyer's secret how to extricate him. But these superstitions,
the relics of an age of popular ignorance, are in their turn disappear-
ing, as just ideas of what constitutes real knowledge begin to penetrate
the minds of the whole people. It is seen that, so far from being mys-
terious, such knowledge is the very substance and material of sound
education for all men ; and the layman will no longer allow himself
to be led blindfold by priest, or lawyer, or physician, for there is no
longer any magical sacredness in their callings. And thus it comes
about that a knowledge of physiology, which will help save the pa-
tient from any need of a physician ; a knowledge of law, that shall
obviate the necessity for lawsuits ; a knowledge of political science
and history worthy of men who have become their own rulers; a
knowledge of political economy, that shall raise the honorable calling
of the merchant to the dignity of a liberal profession ; a knowledge of
theology that shall save us the degrading spectacle of the unchristian
quarrels of bigoted and superstitious sects — are reckoned more and
more to be essential elements in all education. It is only on sound,
general knowledge, disseminated through the whole people by a lib-
eral education of the whole people, that we shall ever build up pro-
fessions, in regard to which we are not forced to entertain a doubt as
to whether they are not on the whole more of a curse to us than a
blessing. 1 And an education of this sort must be begun in the primary
school, must have for its instrument the mother-tongue. It cannot be
based on the study of Greek particles, or any amount of skill, either in
the reading or the manufacture of Latin verses.

It is sometimes said that we, who have received this liberal educa-
tion we decry, are ungrateful in thus decrying it, and unconscious of,
and insensible to, all the benefits we derive from it. I am conscious of
no ingratitude in agreeing with an eminent Scotchman who discusses
these subjects, when he says, in speaking of knowledge and studies such
as I have been enumerating : " I am sure no one seriously applies him-
self to such studies without wishing that he had given to them many
hours in his youth which he fooled away, in obedience to his ' £>astors

1 " We need diffused knowledge in the community to sustain soundness of public
opinion, and prevent the perversion of separate sciences into black arts and professional
secrets." — (Prof. Newman, on the Relations of Free Knowledge to Modern Sentiments.)

The affirmation of Prof. Seeley is destined, I fear, to find an illustration in the expe-
rience of this country, " that a people will never have a supply of competent politicians
until political science ... is made a prominent part of the higher education." — Inaugu-
ral Address on the Teaching of Politics.

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 19

and masters,' in learning what he has now forgotten, and to recall
which he would not now take the trouble to raise his little finger." ■
I was the docile and diligent receiver of such training as, in my youth,
a " classical school " and our oldest New-England college had to give,
and surely it is from no vanity that I say that I was also a recipient
of their honors ; and it is from the melancholy feeling that my formal
education was so barren and empty when looked at from the stand-
point of real life, and real thought, and real mental training, that I am
so earnest an advocate of changes that I believe will give to future
generations the reality instead of the pretense of an education.

I come now to the study of Physical Science, as from this time for-
ward destined to play a wholly new part in our system of liberal edu-
cation. Nowhere, save in that astonishing document, the Syllabus of
his holiness Pope Pius IX., can any education-philosophy be found
so benighted as not to recognize its value and importance. Yet I am
far from believing that its true place, as a factor in the new education,
has yet been determined. While, on the one hand, among the old
high-and-dry advocates of the grindstone-system, certain merits and a
subordinate place are beginning to be grudgingly allowed it, we are
in danger, on the other hand, in this new country of ours, whose vast
material resources are waiting for development through its instrumen-
tality, rather of overrating than underrating its purely educational
function. It is not as an economical instrument for the development
of material wealth that I have here to deal with it, though that is a
very important aspect, but considered as a factor in a system of edu-
cation, and, as such, I claim for it no monopoly, but only a place as
the indispensable complement to those ethical and linguistic studies
which have heretofore monopolized the title of a liberal education,
and which, from the absence of science from that form of education,
have been reduced to their present effete and impotent condition. It
is to the incorporation into it of the study of science that we are to
look as the source of new life-blood.

You will not expect me to attempt to deal here with the great sub-
ject which forever occupies the minds of speculative thinkers, and
never more than at the present moment — the true relations of the world
of matter and the world of mind. That is too large a subject to be
dealt with, though upon right views regarding it will greatly depend
the correctness even of our educational theories. I will only say, that
though I am as far as possible from being an adherent of any form of
materialism, yet I believe that physical science is destined to be the
great instrument of these modern days to give new forms to our phi-
losophy and our theology — to give new forms to the same everlasting
problems, but not to give us new philosophy or new theology. It
will but cast old truths in new moulds, while it explodes old super-

1 Mountstuart, E. Grant Duff, Inaugural Address as Hector of the University of Aber-
deen, p. 22.

20 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

stitions by adding new truths to the old ones. Our conservatives may-
spare their anxieties. Not a truth the world gains is ever lost again ;
but they who, blindly believing they have all truth, oppose the new
form which science is giving to all knowledge, will soon find them-
selves side by side with those old Dunsemen who could not believe in
the last revival of learning. 1

Now, if the study of physical science is to play a vastly more im-
portant part than it has hitherto done in all future schemes of liberal
education, the first and most obvious consideration is that room must
be found for it. Bearing in mind, as we must constantly do, that the
word education stands for a strictly limited quantity, a limited amount
of time, a definite amount of mental effort, if that time and mental
effort have been wholly absorbed in one set of studies, it is very ob-
vious that these must undergo modification and curtailment in order
to make room for another set. And yet no error is at present more
common or more disastrous than the attempt to introduce the new,
without any disturbance of the older studies. Either the older curricu-
lum did not absorb, as it professed to do, the whole of the student's
mental energies, and was not therefore a complete education, or its
requisitions must be diminished to make room for another set of solid,
important, and disciplinary studies ; or else it must be maintained
that the new studies are not solid, important, and disciplinary, but
only fitted to be the amusement of idle hours, and the lighter tasks
with which gaps and intervals may be filled between the more solid,
older ones. That this latter is really the view of the more thorough-
going adherents of the classical system is pretty obvious. Thus the
Rev. S. Hawtrey, one of the masters of Eton, says, in a recently-
printed lecture : " It is for the masses that I fear, when I hear the cry
that boys should be freed from the severer labor of studying language
if it is distasteful, and therefore it is said unprofitable, and should
learn, instead, something about the wonders which science has achieved
m the present century." a It is very obvious that a writer who speaks

1 " There is no reason for thinking that philosophy, which is only a just and perfect
judgment on the bearings and relations of knowledge, should not be as generally attain-
able as a wise judgment in practical matters is. And should our universities, ceasing to
be schools of grammar and mathematics, resume their proper functions, it will be found
that a far larger proportion of minds than we now suspect are capable of arriving at this
stage of progress. For, be it again repeated, it it not a knowledge, but a discipline that
is required ; not science, but the scientific habit ; not erudition, but scholarship. And
those who have not leisure to amass stores of knowledge to master in detail the facts of
science, may yet acquire the power of scientific insight, if opportunity is afforded them.
It is the want of this discernment and the absence of the proper cultivation of it which
produce that deluge of crude speculation and vague mysticism which pervades the
philosophical and religious literature of the day, and which is sometimes wrongly as-
cribed to the importation of philosophy itself and its recent unreasonable intrusion on
our practical good sense. The business of the highest education is not to check, but to
regulate this movement ; not to prohibit speculation, but to supply the discipline which
alone can safely wield it."— (Pattison, in " Oxford Essays for 1855," p. 258.)

8 "A Narrative-Essay on a Liberal Education," p. 29.

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 21

of the severer study of language has very little comprehension of the
true nature of the study of science, or else, like the public orator of
Cambridge, in his " tonic " theory, confounds together the ideas of
severity and distastefulness. And Mr. Hawtrey's very childish con-
ceptions in regard to the teaching of science are further exemplified
when he goes on to ask : " Would there not be great danger of boys
becoming less vigorous*minded than they are ? . . . Will their becom-
ing acquainted with a string of scientific results stand them instead
of the mental training they now get ? "

Thus we see that the highest conception a master of Eton has of
the study of science is that it is " becoming acquainted with a string
of scientific results." I need not pause before this audience to refute
such a notion. If the study of modern science did not call for the ex-
ercise of all the highest faculties of man ; if it did not give an exercise
such as no other study gives to his reasoning as well as his observing
powers ; if without it the very study of language itself did not become
empty and barren ; if a knowledge of it were not necessary to the
solution of all the profoundest philosophical problems with which the
mind of man in these generations is occupied — then, indeed, a question
might be raised as to the propriety of its introduction into the curricu-
lum of liberal study. But if it is this, and more than all this, then
it claims more than a subordinate place ; it is no toy for idle hours,
no subject to fill up gaps and intervals of time. It claims a right to
no less than a full half of all available time and power ; of time for
training the student's senses — all left by our older training in worse
than Egyptian darkness — of power to be employed in training the
reasoning faculties, by processes as rigorous as any the older studies
can boast of. Nothing less than this will satisfy the demands of sci-
ence as an element in modern liberal education.

I have already indicated what seems to me to be the only way by
which room can be found for the real introduction of science into our
scheme of studies. By removing Greek wholly from the list of gen-
eral studies to that list of specialties which make up our completed
conception of the higher education, after it diverges in different direc-
tions ; by relegating Latin to a subordinate instead of a primary place
in language-training, we shall find room to place science on an equal
footing with literature as an. instrument of general liberal culture ;
and I see no other way. And this scheme will have this further ad-
vantage, that, for all who carry their education beyond its rudimen-
tary stages, it will afford ample time and opportunity for the real mas-
tery of at least two of the leading modern languages besides our own :
for French, the modern daughter of the Latin — for German, a kindred
Teutonic dialect closely related to our own. I am aware that such a
scheme for the teaching of modern languages, including our own, so
systematically and scientifically, as that the mental discipline de-
rived from it shall not be inferior to that derived from the teaching

22 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

of the classics, implies an adaptation of the results of modern philology
to the purposes of elementary instruction such as has hardly yet been
realized ; implies a body of teachers of modern linguistic science such
as hardly yet exist — teachers whose instruction shall not be inferior in
philosophic breadth and thoroughness to the very best of classical
teaching. If we have few such books or teachers yet, there are indi-
cations on every hand that we very soon shall have them in the great-
est abundance, and that modern language-teaching and English lan-
guage-teaching are very soon to be relieved of the reproach of empiri-
cism which has heretofore prevented them from taking the leading
place which, as educating instrumentalities, rightfully belongs to them.
And, finally, time will also be gained by utilizing the at present
barren and empty study of mathematics. If there is any thing more
preposterous than the abuse of grammar, in our present grindstone-
system, it is the abuse of mathematical study. Rightly viewed, the
mathematics are the key to scientific, as language is the key to ethical
study. At present, both are used as mental tread-mills, unprofitable
mental gymnastics, keys to unlock empty chambers never destined to
be filled ; for their sole value is thought to lie in the mental exercise
they give. Robbed thus of all living connection with other knowledge,
they become the most disgustful, and therefore the most valueless, of
mental exercise. Put into vital connection from the very outset with
those great sciences, of whose laws they are only the symbolic lan-
guage, the mathematics spring into life. By themselves, they are to
most minds a series of barren puzzles, hardly rising in dignity or edu-
cational value above the game of chess, and so remote from all those
paths in which the human mind naturally travels, that it is only one
peculiarly-constituted mind in ten thousand that, in their abstract
form, can pursue them with either pleasure or profit. 1 Looked at as
the language of the laws which govern the world of matter, and used
as the instruments to unlock so many of its secrets, they lose their dis-
gustfulness, and become a necessary, if a narrow and partial instru-

1 Since •writing the above, I have met with an unexpected corroboration of this view-
in the writings of an eminent mathematician. " I am not likely," says Mr. Todhunter,
the distinguished mathematical teacher of English Cambridge, " to underrate the special
ability which is thus cherished (by competitive examinations), but I cannot feel that I
esteem it so highly as the practice of the university really suggests. It seems to me at
least partially to resemble the chess-playing power which we find marvel ously developed
in some persons. The feats which we see or know to be performed by adepts at this
game are very striking, but the utility of them may be doubted, whether we regard the
chess-player as an end to himself or to his country." — (" The Conflict of Studies," p. 19.)
What the teaching of the higher mathematics appears to have become at Cambridge,
that the teaching of their elements, divorced from their natural connection with the
teaching of physical science, becomes in our schools and colleges.

On the fallacy that it was the mathematical studies at Cambridge of certain eminent
graduates of Cambridge that was the cause of their eminence, and for some wholesome
common-sense, in regard to the general subject, see a recently -published pamphlet, " The
Mathematical Tripos," by the Rev. H. A. Morgan, Fellow of Jesus College, Cambridge.

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 23

ment of training — one which performs certain disciplinary functions
which no other instrument can perform so well ; but it is only live
mathematics, not dead mathematics, mathematical in vital connection
with physical science, not prematurely thrust as an ugly skeleton alone
upon the youthful mind, upon the pretense that its sole object is their
mental discipline. And, on the other hand, it is only for the study of
physical science, pursued by vigorous scientific methods, and in rigor-
ous, logical, and mathematical ways, that we can claim for it a place
as a disciplinary, that is, a real study. As the mere becoming ac-
quainted with a string of scientific results, it may well be left to the
contempt of the Rev. Mr. Hawtrey.

But the chief influence of modern science upon liberal education
will be its ethical influence. Its discoveries are transforming man's
conception of the earth he lives on, and of his history and his work
upon it. Before man acquires the control of matter, through ascer-
tainment of the laws that govern it, his life on earth is poor, narrow,
and full of hardship, and his earthly relations full of pain. So long as
that state continues, life on earth must seem to him a small matter,
and its opportunities for growth not much worth considering ; it is
only here and there that a philosopher in his closet attains to some
realization of the capacities that lie hidden in it. War and savage
occupations consume the days of the mass of men, and no culture is
possible save the perverted culture of the cloister. But the advent
of physical science means the emancipation of the masses into the
privileges of intellectual life. From a battle-ground, the earth is trans-
formed into a school-room, written all over with hieroglyphics, no
longer mysterious, but to which mankind have found the key : and,
with the right use of the secrets thus unfolded, will come to the mass
of men that accession of material wealth which will give the leisure
and opportunities that have heretofore been the monopoly of privi-
leged classes.

It is not wonderful that men, at first, are carried away with the con-
templation of its lower uses, even sometimes to the making them the
sole end of education. It is but a reaction from the opposite extreme,
only a dazzling of eyes with a flood of new light. Presently we
shall look about us, and find the old relations of things not greatly
altered. Matter is not going to supplant mind because we are learn-
ing so much more about it ; whether we understand or do not under-
stand the laws that govern it, matter remains the servant of mind, to
educate it and do its bidding. The higher uses of science will still
be spiritual uses. It has not come into the world merely to carry us
faster through space, merely that we may sleep more softly and eat and
drink more luxuriously, nor will education become the mere teaching
how to do these things. It is with the spiritual educating function
alone that we have to deal when we consider it as an element in lib-
eral education.

24 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

And thus one great result of the new form into which modern
science is casting all our conceptions of education will be a vastly
higher estimate of the educating value of those pursuits in life which
are concerned with material things, and a distinct recognition of them
as included among the liberal professions. It is interesting to observe
how the list of liberal professions enlarges with the advance of civiliza-
tion. At first the priest is the divinely-appointed monopolist of all
higher knowledge ; by degrees he is joined by the lawyer, as the in-
terpreter still of a divinely-established code ; it is much later and only
after a certain amount of progress has been made in physical knowl-
edge that the importance of his function raises the physician's art to
the dignity of a liberal profession ; and that more at first through a
superstitious belief in the power of his spells and his magic than from
respect to the small reality of his science. Now that science has so
far entered into other callings as to make them worthy fields for the
exercise of the highest faculties, all those pursuits which have for their
aim the improvement of man's earthly condition will take their due
rank in the list of liberal professions, and the chemist, the engineer,
the architect, and the merchant, will have their appropriate liberal
educations as much as this clergyman, the lawyer, or the physician. It
may safely be affirmed that that view of earthly life of mediaeval as-
cetics which has left its traces so deeply imprinted in much of our sec-
tarian theology is fast vanishing like an ugly dream forever. The
intellectual and moral aspect of material pursuits is fast gaining,
through the significance given to them by modern science, a predomi-
nance over their mere material aspect. The worker in material things
is more and more, as the days go by, compelled to be an intellectual
being even in order to be a worker, and it is because the study of and
working in material things now give scope for the energies of great
intellects, that they more and more absorb them. Whoever continues
to believe in the antithesis between matter and spirit, and insists upon
looking on the world of material things as of necessity the world of
the devil, must see in this tendency only disaster to all our higher in-
terests ; but whoever sees that it is the true function of modern science
to spiritualize material things by enabling us to put them to higher
uses, will see in science not the great antagonist but the great hope of
the religion and the philosophy of the future. 1

The advocates of the classical theory are never weary of reproach-
ing their opponents with opinions which, as they say, degrade the dig-
nity of true learning, by making it subservient to mere utilitarian

1 The spirit of the older education is well represented in the following extract from a
work of that learned and arrogant pedant, the late Dr. Donaldson. He says : " If, then,
the education of the whole community is so dependent on that of the upper classes, and
if these owe their normal influence to the circumstances which enable them to escape the
trammels of material interests, it must follow that the liberal education which is the pecul-
iar attribute of the highest order ought to consist in the literature which humanizes and
generalizes our views, and not in the science which provides for the increase of opulence

LIBERAL EDUCATION. 25

aims. If to try by knowledge to make this world a better place to
live in, and to teach men how to make the highest and best use of it
be utilitarianism, then I make bold to say that any knowledge that
cannot make good its claim to such usefulness is worse than utilita-
rian, for it is useless knowledge. The charge that is meant to be
brought is this, that none but the advocates of classical learning have
or can have the higher ends of life in view in planning schemes of edu-
cation ; that all other systems look solely to the stomach or the pocket.
I do not know whether such charges are not too hackneyed to waste
words on ; certainly I can conceive of no lower form of utilitarian abuse
of education than the pursuit of fellowships by the cramming of Greek
and mathematics for the competitive examinations of an English
university. On the other hand, the truly liberal learning of England
is to be found more than anywhere else at this moment with that noble
band of students of science who are virtually excluded from all such
preferments. 1 It is not a difference in studies that constitutes them
liberal or illiberal ; it is a difference in the spirit in which all studies
may be pursued. The study of chemistry and the study of Greek
particles may be equally base or equally noble, according as they are
pursued worthily or unworthily, with a selfish eye to the loaves and
fishes, or with an aim at the higher rewards of true culture, and the
higher advancement of man's estate. But I think we may well leave
aside this stupid charge of utilitarianism. It comes nowadays only
from those benighted pedants who are wholly ignorant of the true
spirit of modern science.

I have left myself no room, even if I were competent, to speak of
the last ingredient in any just scheme of modern liberal education — the
study of art, aesthetic culture. I fear there will be abundance of time
to develop that side of the question in this country before it is in any

and comfort. The higher training of our youth must not be that of a polytechnic school.
We want such institutions, no doubt, for we need observers and surveyors, engineers and
artillerymen to do the work, which can best be performed by such intelligent automatons."
— (" Classical Scholarship and Classical Learning," p. 90.)

1 " I believe there can be no doubt that the foreigner, who should wish to become ac-
quainted with the scientific or the literary activity of modern England, would simply lose
his time and his pains if he visited our universities with that object. . . . England can
show now, as she has been able to show in every generation since civilization spread over
the West, individual men who hold their own against the world, and keep alive the old
tradition of her intellectual eminence. But in the majority of cases these men are what
they are in virtue of their native intellectual force, and of a strength of character which
will not recognize impediments. They are not trained in the courts of the temple of
science, but storm the walls of that edifice in all sorts of irregular ways, and with much
loss of time and power, in order to obtain their legitimate positions. Our universities not
only do not encourage such men, do not offer them positions in which it should be their
highest duty to do thoroughly that which they are most capable of doing ; but, as far as
possible, university training shuts out of the minds of those among them who are sub-
jected to it the prospect that there is any thing in the world for which they are specially
fitted."— (Huxley, "Lay Sermons," p. 55.)

z6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

danger of becoming a practical one. Yet, in the shape of elementary
drawing, the rudiments of art are beginning to take their proper place
in our schools as a necessary and indispensable element of all real
education, and the art galleries and the foreign musicians of a few of
our older cities are beginning to exert their influence, if a slight one,
in introducing higher ideas of the importance of art into our new coun-
try. They will have but a limited influence, however, till the study
of the fine arts takes its proper place among us as a necessary element
in every conception of true education.

There is one form of art-study, and that, perhaps, the highest,
which is open to all, even to the humblest student, and the most ele-
mentary school, and that is, the study of poetry. It is a prime element
in any conception of a liberal education, which shall take as its chief
instrument of language-training the mother-tongue, that the real study
of English poetry will take the place of the pretended study of classi-
cal poetry. When that time comes, we may expect to see the great
poets of our native tongue exerting the same influence in the culture
and training of our children that Homer and iEschylus really exercised
over that of the Greeks. We shall not know what that influence is
capable of becoming till we have a real study of English, in place of a
sham study of classical literature. The great Greek philosopher says
that poetry is truer than history. Sure I am that we s*hall one day
come to see that in neglecting to train and cultivate the imagination,
we are neglecting the most powerful of all the faculties.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have thus given you, very feebly and im-
perfectly, an outline of a scheme of liberal education, applicable to a
whole free people, which shall use that people's own language on the
one hand, and the great instrument of modern science on the other, as
its chief disciplinary instruments, in lieu of the obsolescent scheme for
a liberal class education, based upon the study of dead languages as
its chief educating instrument. As a means for realizing that scheme
for the liberal education of the whole people, I believe that we must
sooner or later have in this our republic one homogeneous system of
free schools, from the lowest to the highest. The first step of that
education will be taken from the benches of the primary school, its
last lessons learned in the lecture-rooms and laboratories of universities,
free from all trammels of sectarian narrowness or class distinctions.
It will be from first to last a homogeneous, logically compacted, con-
sistent training in all available knowledge, to all attainable wisdom,
free to all men and all women to pursue, to the extent the faculties God
has endowed them with will carry them. It is a Utopian vision, you
will say, this of popular liberal education. Say rather it is the neces-
sary safeguard and supplement of free institutions ; to despair of it is
to despair of the republic.

THE GROWTH OF SALMON. 27

THE GKOWTH OF SALMON.

By C. E. FEYEE.

SINCE the time of Magna Charta it has been an object, directly or
indirectly, on the part of the Legislature, to protect the supplies
of salmon with which our rivers used to be so abundantly stocked : but,
notwithstanding the laws which have at various times been enacted,
this fish gradually became scarcer till, in 1861, all the old laws were
repealed, and fresh and more stringent regulations made for protecting
and increasing our salmon-supplies. In addition to the fostering care
which is bestowed, under the Salmon Fishery Acts of 1861 and 1865,
on the fish in the rivers, means have been adopted to artificially rear
salmon, so as to increase their numbers more rapidly than could be
done in the ordinary course of Nature. Mr. Frank Buckland has been
the pioneer of this system of artificial breeding of salmon and trout,
and the experiments and operations which have been carried on during
the last few years have thrown great light on the hitherto unknown
habits of this " king of fish."

Any one who looks into the fishmongers' shops just now can see
what a clean, fresh-run salmon, ready for cooking, is like — a silvery,
plump creature, whose " lines " are made for speed in water, and whose
graceful curves give the completest idea of vigor and strength in
stemming a rapid current of water.

But very few people, probably, know w T hat sort of an appearance
this beautiful fish presents in its infancy. Hidden away during that
period in the upper waters of our salmon rivers, and ultimately in the
depths of the sea, it is lost to sight till it grows large enough to be
taken by the salmon-nets ; and, until lately, very little was known of
its natural history, or of its habits, though the experience of the last
few years has revealed many interesting facts concerning the develop-
ment of this fish, through the egg, fry, smolt, and grilse stages, till it
becomes a full-grown salmon.

Fig. 1. Fig. 2.

New-laid Salmon Egg. Egg afteb about 35 Days.

Fig. 1 represents the egg — natural size— of a salmon just laid.
Each female salmon carries, on an average, 800 to 900 of such eggs to
every pound of her weight. They are generally of a pinky opal color,
elastic to the touch, covered with a soft, horny membrane, with a mi-

28 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

nute opening through which a particle of the spawn — the soft roe — of
the male fish enters, and the egg is fertilized. From this moment the
young fish gradually develops, under the influence of the cold running
water. At the end of about thirty-five days — more or less, according
to the temperature, which should be about 40° — two little black specks
can be seen, as at Fig. 2, which are the eyes of the embryo fish ; the
vertebras may be discerned in the form of a faint red line, and a small
red globule, which shortly afterward appears, represents the vital or-
gans of the embryo fish.

At the end of about 80 to 100 days from the deposition of the egg
the fish has so increased in size that it bursts the " shell " and makes
its debut in the form represented at Fig. 3. The sac or umbilical vesi-

Fig. 3.

Fish coming out of Egg.

cle attached to the under part of the fish contains a secretion re-
sembling albumen, which affords nourishment to the infant fish for
the first six weeks or so of its existence. By that time it is quite
absorbed, and for the first time we see a perfect fish, Fig. 4, with
its fins, gills, and scales, which have hitherto been present, but im-
perceptible except under the microscope, fully formed : and now the
young salmon begins to feed. His growth is not very rapid for some
months, the lines a, b, c, representing the average length of a salmon at
two, three, and four months old. At two years old the fish is about
nine to twelve inches long.

As soon as they are large enough and strong enough, the " smolts,"
as they are now called, descend to the sea ; here they are lost sight
of until they return up the river as " grilse." The actual duration of
their stay in the sea is not yet known, from one to three years being
variously estimated as the probable length of time. The object of this
migration to the sea is to find the food which is necessary for the
secretion of the fat of the fish, who lives on the Infusoria, smaller
fish and crustaceans, and the spawn of sea-fish, which abound in our
seas. The length of their stay in salt-water is regulated, no doubt,
by various circumstances, and is not the same in every case. When
the salmon has laid up a sufficient supply of fat in its body and on
its pyloric appendages, which are a wonderful provision of Nature for
the secretion of an amount of fat sufficient to supply it during its so-

THE GROWTH OF SALMON. 29

journ in fresh waters, it ascends the river, its roe or spawn develop-
ing as it ascends ; till, about Christmas-time, or sometimes earlier, it
reaches the shallow head-streams of the river, in the gravelly beds of
which it deposits its eggs, returning immediately afterward to the sea,
no longer in the bright, plump, muscular condition in which it ascended,
but a lean, lank, ugly, wounded beast, which one would hardly recog-
nize as Salmo salar. Fig. 5 represents the head of a " kelt," as those
salmon are called which have newly spawned. The curved projection,
or hook, on the lower jaw, is a cartilaginous membrane, the use of
which nobody knows. The fish is in a very weakly condition, as his
fat is gone, and he perhaps assumes this appearance to frighten other
animals, which might otherwise be tempted to attack him. The
drawing is taken from the photograph of a salmon, weighing twenty
pounds, which was found dead on the banks of one of our Welsh rivers.

Fig. 4.

a

Young Salmon Sis Weeks old.
a, Z>, c, size of salmon at two, three, and four months respectively.

This fish, had it survived, would have returned to sea, recovered
its fat, and presently come back worth £2 or £3, whereas, by dying
in this condition, it was worth nothing. It had, however, done its
duty by depositing perhaps 16,000 eggs. Only a very small percent-
age, however, of the eggs laid ever become adult fish. Floods wash
them out of their gravel nests ; ducks, and other birds, eat them ;
beetles and various insects attack them ; they are smothered with
mud, or left high and dry on the shore ; the young fish are poisoned
by pollutions, or diverted into mill-leats and canals, and so lost ; trout
eat them wholesale ; in fact, the whole of their earliest existence is a
very living death, and it is a wonder, with all the ordeals they have
to pass through, that we have any salmon left. To kill them legiti-
mately for food for ourselves is bad enough, and we ought to do all
we can to protect them when young.

In the artificial system of breeding salmon the adult fish are caught
just as they are on the spawning-beds, and the eggs taken from them ;
the ova and milt are properly mixed together, and the eggs placed in

3 o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

troughs of water so arranged as to imitate as closely as possible the
natural conditions necessary for the development and growth of the
fish. Properly managed, ninety per cent, of the eggs will hatch out :
the young fish are turned into the river when they are about a year
old ; if they can be kept two years in tanks large enough, with plenty
of running water, so much the better for the prospect of their reach-
ing the sea in safety.

Fig. 5.

Head of a Kelt.

When we can make up our minds to keep all our pollutions out of
our rivers, and build " salmon-ladders " over all the wears, so as to
give the fish a fair field, and enable them to run up-stream unimpeded,
then, and then only, shall we see salmon as plentiful throughout the
country as it is said to have been in the North a century ago, when
apprentices are reputed to have stipulated in their indentures that
they should be fed on salmon not more than three days a week.
Without this, all our efforts to stock our barren rivers with artificially-
bred fry will prove comparatively unavailing. — Nature.

-+*o~-

O

PSYCHOLOGY OF THE SEXES. 1

By HERBERT SPENCER.

,NE further instance of the need for psychological inquiries as
Vy guides to sociological conclusions may be named — an instance of
quite a different kind, but one no less relevant to questions of the time.
I refer to the comparative psychology of the sexes. Women, as well as
men, are units in a society, and tend by their natures to give that so-
ciety certain traits of structure and action. Hence the question, Are
the mental natures of men and women the same ? is an important one
to the sociologist. If they are, an increase of feminine influence is
not likely to affect the social type in a marked manner. If they are

1 Conclusion of chapter on Mental Science and Sociology.

PSYCHOLOGY OF THE SEXES. 31

not, the social type will inevitably be changed by increase of feminine
influence.

That men and women are mentally alike, is as untrue as that they
are alike bodily. Just as certainly as they have physical differences
which are related to the respective parts they play in the maintenance
of the race, so certainly have they psychical differences, similarly re-
lated to their respective shares in the rearing and protection of off-
spring. To suppose that along with the unlikenesses between their
parental activities there do not go unlikenesses of mental faculties, is
to suppose that here alone in all Nature there is no adjustment of spe-
cial powers to special functions. 1

Two classes of differences exist between the psychical, as between
the physical, structures of men and women, which are both deter-
mined by this same fundamental need — adaptation to the paternal and
maternal duties. The first set of differences is that which results

1 The comparisons ordinarily made between the minds of men and women are faulty
in many ways, of which these are the chief:

Instead of comparing either the average of women with the average of men, or the
elite of women with the elite of men, the common course is to compare the elite of women
with the average of men. Much the same erroneous impression results as would result
if the relative statures of men and women were judged by putting very tall women side
by side with ordinary men.

Sundry manifestations of nature in men and women are greatly perverted by existing
social conventions upheld by both. There are feelings which, under our predatory regime,
with its adapted standard of propriety, it is not considered manly to show ; but which,
contrariwise, are considered admirable in women. Hence, repressed manifestations in
the one case, and exaggerated manifestations in the other; leading to mistaken esti-
mates.

The sexual sentiment comes into play to modify the behavior of men and women to
one another. Eespecting certain parts of their general characters, the only evidence
which can be trusted is that furnished by the conduct of men to men, and of women to
women, when placed in relations which exclude the personal affections.

In comparing the intellectual powers of men and women, no proper distinction is
made between receptive faculty and originative faculty. The two are scarcely commen-
surable ; and the receptivity may, and frequently does, exist in high degree where there is
but a low degree of originality, or entire absence of it.

Perhaps, however, the most serious error usually made in drawing these comparisons
is, that of overlooking the limit of normal mental power. Either sex under special stimu-
lations is capable of manifesting powers ordinarily shown only by the other ; but we are
not to consider the deviations so caused as affording proper measures. Thus, to take an
extreme case, the mammae of men will, under special excitation, yield milk : there are
various cases of gynecomasty on record, and in families, infants whose mothers have
died have been thus saved. But this ability to yield milk, which, when exercised, must
be at the cost of masculine strength, we do not count among masculine attributes. Simi-
larly, under special discipline, the feminine intellect will yield products higher than the
intellects of most men can yield. But we are not to count this as truly feminine if it
entails decreased fulfillment of the maternal functions. Only that mental energy is nor-
mally feminine which can coexist with the production and nursing of the due number of
healthy children. Obviously a power of mind which, if general among the women of a
society, would entail disappearance of the society, is a power not to be included in an
estimate of the feminine nature as a social factor.

32 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

from a somewhat earlier arrest of individual evolution in women than
in men, necessitated by the reservation of vital power to meet the cost
of reproduction. Whereas, in man, individual evolution continues
until the physiological cost of self-maintenance very nearly balances
what nutrition supplies, in woman, an arrest of individual development
takes place while there is yet a considerable margin of nutrition :
otherwise there could be no offspring. Hence the fact that girls come
earlier to maturity than boys. Hence, too, the chief contrasts in bodily
form : the masculine figure being distinguished from the feminine by
the greater relative sizes of the parts which carry on external actions
and entail physiological cost — the limbs, and those thoracic viscera
which their activity immediately taxes. And hence, too, the physio-
logical truth that, throughout their lives, but especially during the
child-bearing age, women exhale smaller quantities of carbonic acid,
relatively to their weights, than men do ; showing that the evolution
of energy is relatively less as well as absolutely less. This rather
earlier cessation of individual evolution thus necessitated, showing
itself in a rather smaller growth of the nervo-muscular system, so that
both the limbs which act and the brain which makes them act are
somewhat less, has two results on the mind. The mental manifesta-
tions have somewhat less of general power or massiveness ; and be-
yond this there is a perceptible falling short in those two faculties, in-
tellectual and emotional, which are the latest products of human evo-
lution — the power of abstract reasoning and that most abstract of the
emotions, the sentiment of justice — the sentiment which regulates con-
duct irrespective of personal attachments and the likes or dislikes felt
for individuals. 1

After this quantitative mental distinction, which becomes incident-
ally qualitative by telling most upon the most recent and most com-
plex faculties, there come the qualitative mental distinctions conse-
quent on the relations of men and women to their children and to one
another. Though the parental instinct, which, considered in its essen-
tial nature, is a love of the helpless, is common to the two ; yet it is
obviously not identical in the two. That the particular form of it
which responds to infantine helplessness is more dominant in women
than in men, cannot be questioned. In man the instinct is not so
habitually excited by the very helpless, but has a more generalized re-
lation to all the relatively weak who are dependent upon him. Doubt-
less, along w T ith this more specialized instinct in women, there go spe-
cial aptitudes for dealing with infantine life — an adapted power of in-
tuition and a fit adjustment of behavior. That there is here a mental
specialization, joined with the bodily specialization, is undeniable ;

1 Of course it is to be understood that in this, and in the succeeding statements, ref-
erence is made to men and women of the same society, in the same age. If women of a
more-evolved race are compared with men of a less-evolved race, the statement will not
be true.

PSYCHOLOGY OF THE SEXES. 33

and this mental specialization, though primarily related to the rearing
of offspring, affects in some degree the conduct at large.

The remaining qualitative distinctions between the minds of men
and women are those which have grown out of their mutual relation
as stronger and weaker. If we trace the genesis of human character,
by considering the conditions of existence through which the human
race passed in early barbaric times and during civilization, we shall
see that the weaker sex has naturally acquired certain mental traits by
its dealings with the stronger. In the course of the struggles for ex-
istence among wild tribes, those tribes survived in which the men
were not only powerful and courageous, but aggressive, unscrupulous,
intensely egoistic. Necessarily, then, the men of the conquering races
which gave origin to the civilized races, were men in whom the brutal
characteristics were dominant; and necessarily the women of such
races, having to deal with brutal men, prospered in proportion as they
possessed, or acquired, fit adjustments of nature. How were women,
unable by strength to hold their own, otherwise enabled to hold their
own ? Several mental traits helped them to do this.

We may set down, first, the ability to please, and the concomitant
love of approbation. Clearly, other things equal, among women living
at the mercy of men, those who succeeded most in pleasing would be the
most likely to survive and leave posterity. And (recognizing the pre-
dominant descent of qualities on the same side) this, acting on succes-
sive generations, tended to establish, as a feminine trait, a special so-
licitude to be approved, and an aptitude of manner to this end.

Similarly, the wives of merciless savages must, other things equal,
have prospered in proportion to their powers of disguising their feel-
ings. Women who betrayed the state of antagonism produced in
them by ill-treatment would be less likely to survive and leave off-
spring than those who concealed their antagonism ; and hence, by in-
heritance and selection, a growth of this trait proportionate to the re-
quirement. In some cases, again, the arts of persuasion enabled
women to protect themselves, and by implication their offspring,
where, in the absence of such arts, they would have disappeared early,
or would have reared fewer children. One further ability may be
named as likely to be cultivated and established — the ability to dis-
tinguish quickly the passing feelings of those around. In barbarous
times, a woman who could, from a movement, tone of voice, or expres-
sion of face, instantly detect in her savage husband the passion that
was rising, would be likely to escape dangers run into by a woman
less skilled in interpreting the natural language of feeling. Hence,
from the perpetual exercise of this power, and the survival of those
having most of it, we may infer its establishment as a feminine faculty.
Ordinarily, this feminine faculty, showing itself in an aptitude for
guessing the state of mind through the external signs, ends simply in
intuitions formed without assignable reasons ; but when, as happens in

VOL. IV. — 3

34 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

rare cases, there is joined with it skill in psychological analysis, there
results an extremely remarkable ability to interpret the mental states
of others. Of this ability we have a living example never hitherto
paralleled among women, and in but few, if any, cases exceeded among
men.

Of course, it is not asserted that the specialties of mind here de-
scribed as having been developed in women, by the necessities of de-
fense in their dealings with men, are peculiar to them : in men also
they have been developed as aids to defense in their dealings with one
another. But the difference is, that, whereas, in their dealings with
one another, men depended on these aids only in some measure, women
in their dealings with men depended upon them almost wholly —
within the domestic circle as well as without it. Hence, in virtue of
that partial limitation of heredity by sex, which many facts through-
out Nature show us, they have come to be more marked in women
than in men. 1

One further distinctive mental trait in women springs out of the
relation of the sexes as adjusted to the welfare of the race. I refer to
the effect which the manifestation of power of every kind in men has
in determining the attachments of women. That this is a trait in-
evitably produced will be manifest, on asking what would have hap-
pened if women had by preference attached themselves to the weaker
men. If the weaker men had habitually left posterity when the
stronger did not, a progressive deterioration of the race would have
resulted. Clearly, therefore, it has happened (at least since the cessa-
tion of marriage by capture or by purchase has allowed feminine
choice to play an important part) that, among women unlike in their

1 As the validity of this group of inferences depends on the occurrence of that partial
limitation of heredity of sex here assumed, it may be said that I should furnish proof of
its occurrence. Were the place fit, this might be done. I might detail evidence that
has been collected showing the much greater liability there is for a parent to bequeath
malformations and diseases to children of the same sex, than to those of the opposite sex.
I might cite the multitudinous instances of sexual distinctions, as of plumage in birds and
coloring in insects, and especially those marvelous ones of dimorphism and polymor-
phism among females of certain species of Lepidoptera, as necessarily implying (to those
who accept the Hypothesis of Evolution) the predominant transmission of traits to de-
scendants of the same sex. It will suffice, however, to instance, as more especially rele-
vant, the cases of sexual distinctions within the human race itself, which have arisen in
some varieties and not in others. That in some varieties the men are bearded, and in
others not, may be taken as strong evidence of this partial limitation of heredity ; and,
perhaps, still stronger evidence is yielded by that peculiarity of feminine form found in
some of the negro races, and especially the Hottentots, which does not distinguish to any
such extent the women of other races from the men. There is also the fact, to which
Agassiz draws attention, that, among the South American Indians, males and females
differ less than they do among the negroes and the higher races ; and this reminds us
that among European and Eastern nations the men and women differ, both bodily and
mentally, not quite in the same ways and to the same degrees, but in somewhat different
ways and degrees — a fact which would be inexplicable were there no partial limitation
of heredity by sex.

PSYCHOLOGY OF THE SEXES. 35

tastes, those who were fascinated by power, bodily or mental, and who
married men able to protect them and their children, were more likely
to survive in posterity than women to whom weaker men were pleas-
ing, and whose children were both less efficiently guarded and less ca-
pable of self-preservation if they reached maturity. To this admiration
for power, caused thus inevitably, is ascribable the fact sometimes com-
mented upon as strange, that women will continue attached to men who
use them ill, but whose brutality goes along with power, more than they
will continue attached to weaker men who use them well. With this ad-
miration of power, primarily having this function, there goes the admira-
tion of power in general, which is more marked in women than in men,
and shows itself both theologically and politically. That the emotion
of awe aroused by contemplating whatever suggests transcendent force
or capacity, which constitutes religious feeling, is strongest in women,
is proved in many ways. We read that among the Greeks the women
were more religiously excitable than the men. Sir Rutherford Alcock
tells us of the Japanese that " in the temples it is very rare to see any
congregation except women and children ; the men, at any time, are
very few, and those generally of the lower classes." Of the pilgrims
to the temple of Juggernaut, it is stated that " at least five-sixths, and
often nine-tenths, of them are females." And we are also told of the
Sikhs, that the women believe in more gods than the men do. Which
facts, coming from different races and times, sufficiently show us that
the like fact, familiar to us in Roman Catholic countries, and to some
extent at home, is not, as many think, due to the education of women,
but has a deeper cause in natural character. And to this same cause
is in like manner to be ascribed the greater respect felt by women for
all embodiments and symbols of authority, governmental and social.

Thus the a priori inference, that fitness for their respective paren-
tal functions implies mental differences between the sexes, as it im-
plies bodily differences, is justified ; as is also the kindred inference
that secondary differences are necessitated by their relations to one
another. Those unlikenesses of mind between men and women, which,
under the conditions, were to be expected, are the unlikenesses we
actually find. That they are fixed in degree, by no means follows :
indeed, the contrary follows. Determined as we see they some of
them are by adaptation of primitive women's natures to the natures
of primitive men, it is inferable that as civilization readjusts men's na-
tures to higher social requirements, there goes on a corresponding re-
adjustment between the natures of men and women, tending in sundry
respects to diminish their differences. Especially may we anticipate
that those mental peculiarities developed in women, as aids to defense
against men in barbarous times, will diminish. It is probable, too,
that, though all kinds of power will continue to be attractive to them,
the attractiveness of physical strength and the mental attributes that
commonly go along with it will decline, while the attributes which

3 6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

conduce to social influence will become more attractive. Further, it
is to be anticipated that the higher culture of women, carried on
within such limits as shall not unduly tax the physique (and here, by
higher culture, I do not mean mere language-learning and an exten-
sion of the detestable cramming-system at present in use), will in other
ways reduce the contrast. Slowly leading to the result everywhere
seen throughout the organic world, of a self-preserving power inversely
proportionate to the race-preserving power, it will entail a less early
arrest of individual evolution, and a diminution of those mental dif-
ferences between men and women which the early arrest produces.

Admitting such to be changes which the future will probably see
wrought out, we have meanwhile to bear in mind these traits of intel-
lect and feeling which distinguish women, and to take note of them
as factors in social phenomena — much more important factors than we
commonly suppose. Considering them in the above order, we may
note, first, that the love of the helpless, which in her maternal capacity
woman displays in a more special form than man, inevitably affects all
her thoughts and sentiments ; and, this being joined in her with a less
developed sentiment of abstract justice, she responds more readily
when appeals to pity are made than when appeals are made to equity.
In foregoing chapters we have seen how much our social policy disre-
gards the claims of individuals to whatever their efforts purchase, so
long as no obvious misery is brought on them by the disregard ; but,
when individuals suffer in ways conspicuous enough to excite com-
miseration, they get aid, and often as much aid if their sufferings are
caused by themselves as if they are caused by others — often greater
aid, indeed. This social policy, to which men tend in an injurious de-
gree, women tend to still more. The maternal instinct delights in
yielding benefits apart from deserts ; and, being partially excited by
whatever shows a feebleness that appeals for help (supposing antago-
nism has not been aroused), carries into social action this preference
of generosity to justice, even more than men do. A further tendency,
having the same general direction, results from the aptitude which
the feminine intellect has to dwell on the concrete and proximate
rather than on the abstract and remote. The representative faculty
in women deals quickly and clearly with the personal, the special,
and the immediate ; but less readily grasps the general and the im-
personal. A vivid imagination of simple direct consequences mostly
shuts out from her mind the imagination of consequences that are
complex and indirect. The respective behaviors of mothers and
fathers to children sufficiently exemplify this difference : mothers
thinking chiefly of present effects on the conduct of children, and re-
garding less the distant effects on their characters; while fathers
often repress the promptings of their sympathies with a view to ul-
timate benefits. And this difference between their ways of estimat-
ing consequences, affecting their judgments on social affairs as on

PSYCHOLOGY OF THE SEXES. 37

domestic affairs, makes women err still more than men do in seeking
what seems an immediate public good without thought of distant pub-
lic evils. Once more, we have in women the predominant awe of
power and authority, swaying their ideas and sentiments about all
institutions. This tends toward the strengthening of governments,
political and ecclesiastical. Faith in whatever presents itself with im-
posing accompaniments is, for the reason above assigned, especially
strong in women. Doubt, or criticism, or calling in question of things
that are established, is rare among them. Hence in public affairs
their influence goes toward the maintenance of controlling agencies,
and does not resist the extension of such agencies ; rather, in pursuit
of immediate promised benefits, it urges on that extension ; since the
concrete good in view excludes from their thoughts the remote evils
of multiplied restraints. Reverencing power more than men do,
women, by implication, respect freedom less — freedom, that is, not of
the nominal kind, but of that real kind which consists in the ability
of each to carry on his own life without hindrance from others, so long
as he does not hinder them.

As factors in social phenomena, these distinctive mental traits of
women have ever to be remembered. Women have in all times played
a part, and, in modern days, a very notable part, in determining so-
cial arrangements. They act both directly and indirectly. Directly,
they take a large, if not the larger, share in that ceremonial govern-
ment which supplements the political and ecclesiastical governments ;
and as supporters of these other governments, especially the ecclesi-
astical, their direct aid is by no means unimportant. Indirectly,
they act by modifying the opinions and sentiments of men — first,
in education, when the expression of maternal thoughts and feel-
ings affects the thoughts and feelings of boys, and afterward in
domestic and social intercourse, during which the feminine sen-
timents sway men's public acts, both consciously and unconsciously.
Whether it is desirable that the share already taken by women
in determining social arrangements and actions should be in-
creased, is a question we will leave undiscussed. Here I am concerned
merely to point out that, in the course of a psychological preparation
for the study of Sociology, we must include the comparative psychol-
ogy of the sexes ; so that, if any change is made, we may make it
knowing what we are doing.

Assent to the general proposition set forth in this chapter does
not depend on assent to the particular propositions unfolded in illus-
trating it. Those who, while pressing forward education, are so cer-
tain they know what good education is, that, in an essentially Papal
spirit, they wish to force children through their existing school-courses
under penalty on parents who resist, will not have their views modi-
fied by what has been said. I do not look, either, for any appre-

38 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

ciable effect on those who shut out from consideration the reactive in-
fluence on moral nature, entailed by the action of a system of intel-
lectual culture which habituates parents to make the public responsible
for their children's minds. Nor do I think it likely that many of
those who wish to change fundamentally the political status of women
will be influenced by the considerations above set forth on the com-
parative psychology of the sexes. But, without acceptance of these
illustrative conclusions, there may be acceptance of the general con-
clusion, that psychological truths underlie sociological truths, and
must therefore be sought by the sociologist. For whether discipline
of the intellect does or does not change the emotions ; whether na-
tional character is or is not progressively adapted to social conditions ;
whether the minds of men and women are or are not alike — are ob-
viously psychological questions ; and either answer to any one of
them implies a psychological conclusion. Hence, whoever, on any of
these questions, has a conviction to which he would give legislative
expression, is basing a sociological belief upon a psychological belief ;
and cannot deny that the one is true only if the other is true. Hav-
ing admitted this, he must admit that without preparation in Mental
Science there can be no Social Science. For, otherwise, he must assert
that the randomly-made and carelessly-grouped observations on Mind,
common to all people, are better as guides than observations cau-
tiously collected, critically examined, and generalized in a systematic
way.

No one, indeed, who is once led to dwell on the matter, can fail to
see how absurd is the supposition that there can be a rational inter-
pretation of men's combined actions, without a previous rational in-
terpretation of those thoughts and feelings by which their individual
actions are prompted. Nothing comes out of a society but what
originates in the motive of an individual, or in the united similar mo-
tives of many individuals, or in the conflict of the united similar mo-
tives of some having certain interests with the diverse motives of
others whose interests are different. Always the power which initiates
a change is feeling, separate or aggregated, guided to its ends by in-
tellect ; and not even an approach to an explanation of social phe-
nomena can be made, without the thoughts and sentiments of citizens
being recognized as factors. How, then, can there be a true account
of social actions without a true account of these thoughts and senti-
ments ? Manifestly, those who ignore Psychology as a preparation
for Sociology, can defend their position only by proving that while
other groups of phenomena require special study, the phenomena of
Mind, in all their variety and intricacy, are best understood without
special study ; and that knowledge of human nature gained hap-hazard
becomes obscure and misleading in proportion as there is added to it
knowledge deliberately sought and carefully put together.

THE RINGED PLANET 39

THE KINGED PLANET.

DURING the months of September, October, and November, Mars
and Saturn are companions as evening-stars. It will not be dif-
ficult to recognize them, though the ruddy glories of Mars have been
greatly reduced since July and August, when he shared with Jupiter
the dominion over the western skies after sunset. The dull-yellow
lustre of Saturn differs markedly from the red but more star-like light
of Mars ; and, as the two planets draw near to each other late in No-
vember (making their nearest approach on the 20th), it will be inter-
esting to observe the contrast between the red and yellow planets of
the solar system. Striking, however, as this contrast will be found to
be, it is insignificant compared with the real contrast which exists be-
tween the two planets. Mars is the least but one of the primary mem-
bers of the solar family, and, although he pursues a course outside the
earth's, he is unlike all the other superior planets in being unaccom-
panied by any moon ; his small orb, also, appears to have but a shal-
low atmospheric envelope, while in physical constitution he apparently
occupies a position between the earth and the moon. Saturn, on the
other hand, is inferior only to Jupiter in dimensions and mass, while
he is superior to Jupiter not only in the astronomical sense that he
travels on a wider orbit, but in the extent and importance of the scheme
over which he bears sway ; his orb, moreover, like that of Jupiter, ap-
pears to be the scene of marvelous processes of change, implying a
condition altogether unlike that of the earth on which we live.

We propose to give a brief sketch of what has been ascertained
respecting this wonderful planet, the most beautiful telescopic object
in the whole heavens, and the one which throws the clearest light upon
the nature of the solar system, and particularly of those giant planets
which circle outside the zone of asteroids.

We would at the outset impress upon the reader the necessity of
raising his thoughts above those feeble conceptions respecting Saturn
and his system which are suggested by the ordinary pictures of the
planet. When we see Saturn presented as a ball within a ring, or
more carefully pictured as a striped globe within a system of rings,
we are apt to regard the ideas suggested by such drawings as affording
a true estimate of the planet's nature. In fact, many believe that the
planet and its rings are really like what is presented in these pictures.
It should be understood that what has been actually seen of Saturn by
telescopic means cannot, in the nature of things, afford any true pict-
ure of the planet and its ring system. The picture must be filled in,
not by the imagination, but by the aid of reason ; and then, though
much will still remain unknown, we shall have at least a far juster
conception of the glories of the ringed world than when we simply

4°

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

contemplate drawings which show how the planet looks under tele-
scopic scrutiny. This will at once appear when we consider that Sat-
urn never lies at a less distance than 732,000,000 miles from the earth.
With the most powerful telescope we see him no better (taking atmos-
pheric effects into account) than we should if this distance were re-
duced to about a million miles. It is manifest that at this enormous
distance all save the general features of his globe and of his rings
must be indistinguishable. Where we seem to see a smooth, solid
globe striped with belts, there may be an orb no part of which is solid,

Fig. 1.

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A

llife^^

'''^mW&F

^

mw

Mm

M

w

m

jdSir j&&

w

r

mm m .^^8

^gF^dSr

^r '%

4
f

«

W

Telescopic Aspect of Saturn, and Size compared -with the Earth.

girt round by masses of matter lying many miles above its seeming
surface. Where we seem to see solid, flat rings, neatly divided one
from the other either by dark spaces or by difference of tint, there may
be no continuous rings at all; the apparent spaces maybe no real
gaps ; the difference of tint may imply no difference of material. On
these and other points, the known facts afford important evidence,
and, by reasoning upon them, we are. carried far beyond the results
directly conveyed to us by telescopic researches.

Saturn is distinguished, in the first place, by the enormous range
of his orbit, not merely in distance from the sun, but in the distances
which separate it from the orbits of his neighbor planets. His mean
distance from the sun is about 872,000,000 miles, his actual range of
distance lying between 921,000,000 and 823,000,000. These figures are
imposing, but they are, in fact, meaningless save by comparison with

THE RINGED PLANET. 41

other distances of the same class. Let it be noticed, then, that Saturn's
mean distance from the sun exceeds the earth's more than nine and a
half times. Now, Jupiter's distance exceeds the earth's rather more
than five times (five and a fifth is very nearly the true proportion) ; so
that between Jupiter's path and Saturn's there lies everywhere a span
fully equal to four times the earth's distance from the sun. So much
for Saturn's nearest neighbor on that side. But on the farthest side
lies Uranus, more than nineteen times as far away from the sun as our
earth is ; so that between the paths of Saturn and Uranus there lies
everywhere a span equal to Saturn's own distance from the sun. Now,
all this is not intended as a mere display of wonderful distances. So
far as mere dimensions are concerned, these arrays of figures are
more imposing than impressive. But, so soon as we take into account
the circumstance that a planet is in some sense ruler over the spaces
through which its course carries it, those spaces being by no means
tenantless, we see that, cceteris paribus, the dignity of a planet is en-
hanced by the extent of the space separating its orbit from the orbits
of its neighbors on either side. Now, the space between the paths of
Saturn and Jupiter exceeds the space inclosed by the earth's orbit no
less than 63 times, while the space between the paths of Saturn
and Uranus exceeds the space inclosed by the earth's orbit 270 times !
Assuming (as we seem compelled to do by continually-growing evi-
dence) that Saturn and his system were formed by the gathering in of
matter from the region over which Saturn now bears sway, we cannot
wonder that the planet is a giant, and his system wonderful in extent
and complexity of structure. It is true that Jupiter on one side, and
Uranus on the other, share Saturn's rule over the vast space, 330 times
the whole space circled round by the earth, which lies between the or-
bits of his neighbor planets. But Saturn's rule is almost supreme over
the greater part of that enormous space. Combining the vastness of
the space with its position — not so near to the sun that solar influence
can greatly interfere with Saturn's, nor so far away as to approach the
relatively-barren outskirts of the solar system — we seem to find a suffi-
cient explanation of Saturn's high position in the scheme of the planets
as respects volume and mass, and his foremost position as respects the
complexity of the system over which he bears sway.

Briefly, then, to indicate his proportions, and the dimensions of his
system :

Saturn has a globe considerably flattened, his equatorial diameter
being about 70,000 miles, while his polar axis is nearly 7,000 miles
shorter. Thus in volume he exceeds the earth nearly 700 times, and
all the four terrestrial planets — Mercury, Yenus, the Earth, and Mars
— taken together, more than 336 times. In mass he does not exceed
the earth and these other smaller planets so enormously, because his
density (regarding him as a whole) is much less than the earth's. In
fact, his density is less than that of any other known body (comets,

4 2

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

of course, excepted) in the solar system. The reader is doubtless
aware that the sun's mean density is almost exactly one-fourth of the
earth's ; Jupiter's is almost exactly the same as the sun's ; but Saturn's
is little more than half the sun's, being represented by the number
13 only, where 100 represents the earth's. Thus, instead of exceeding
the earth nearly 700 times in mass, as he would if he were of the same
density, he exceeds her but about 90 times. But this disproportion
must still be regarded as enormous, especially when it is added that
the combined mass of the four terrestrial planets amounts to little more
than the forty-fourth part of Saturn's mass. The combined mass of
Uranus and Neptune, though these are members of the family of
major planets, falls short of one-third of Saturn's mass ; yet, by com-
parison with Jupiter, whose mass exceeds his more than threefold,
Saturn appears almost dwarfed. And it may be noted as a striking
circumstance — one that is not sufficiently recognized in our astronomical
treatises — that, while Jupiter's mass exceeds the combined mass of all
the other planets (including Saturn) about two and a half times, Saturn
exceeds all the remaining planets in mass about two and three-quarter
times. So unequally is the material of the planetary system dis-
tributed.

Fig. 2.

Saturn and his Moons.

The mighty globe of Saturn rotates on its axis in about nine hours
and a half, the most rapid rotation in the solar system so far as is yet
known.

But what shall we say to indicate adequately the dimensions of
that enormous ring-system which circles around Saturn? Here we
have no unit of comparison, and scarcely any mode of presenting the
facts except the mere statement of numerical relations. Thus the full
span of the rings, measured across the centre of the planet, amounts
to 167,000 miles ; the full breadth of the ring-system amounts to
35,600 miles. But these numbers convey only imperfect ideas. Per-
haps the best way of indicating the enormous extent of the ring-sys-
tem is to mention that circumnavigation of the world by a ship sail-
ing from England to New Zealand by the Cape of Good Hope, and
from New Zealand to England by Cape Horn, would have to be re-
peated 21 times to give a distance equaling the outer circumference of

THE RINGED PLANET. 43

the ring-system. The same double journey amounts in distance to but
about two-thirds the breadth of the ring-system.

As to the scale on which Saturn's system of satellites is con-
structed, we shall merely remark that the span of the outermost satel-
lite's orbit exceeds nearly twofold the complete span of the Jovian
system of satellites, and exceeds the span of our moon's orbit nearly
tenfold.

And now let us consider what is the probable nature of the vast
orb which travels — girt round always by its mighty ring-system — at
so enormous a distance from the sun that his disk has but the nine-
tieth part of the size of the solar disk we see. Have we in Saturn, as
has been so long the ordinary teaching of astronomy, a world like our
own, though larger — the abode of millions on millions of living creat-
ures — or must we adopt a totally different view of the planet, regard-
ing it as differing as much from our earth as our earth differs from the
moon, or as Saturn and Jupiter differ from the sun ?

We must confess that, if we set on one side altogether the ideas
received from books on astronomy, endeavoring to view these ques-
tions independently of all preconceived opinions, it appears antece-
dently improbable that Saturn or Jupiter can resemble the earth
either in attributes or purpose. We conceive that, if a being capable
of traversing at will the interstellar spaces were to approach the neigh-
borhood of our solar system, and to form his opinion respecting it
from what he had observed in other parts of the sidereal universe, he
would regard Jupiter and Saturn, the brother giants of our system, as
resembling rather those companion orbs which, are seen in the case of
certain unequal double stars, than small dependent worlds like our
earth and Venus. There are, perhaps, no instances known to our
telescopists in which the disparity of light, as distinguished from real
magnitude, is quite so great as that which exists in the case of the sun
and the two chief planets of the solar system. 1 But we see in the heaven
of the fixed stars all orders of disproportion between double stars, from
the closest approach to equality down to such extreme inequality, that,
while the larger star of the pair is one of the leading brilliants of the
heavens, the smaller can only just be discerned with the largest tele-
scopes yet made, used on the darkest and clearest nights. We have no

1 Even this is not certain. Jupiter, seen in full illumination from a stand-point so
distant that both Jupiter and the sun might be regarded as equally distant from it,
would appear to shine with rather more than the 3,000th part of the sun's light. This
would correspond to the difference of apparent brightness between two stars of equal real
magnitude and splendor, whereof one was about 54 times as far away as the other. There
can be no doubt that the larger reflectors of the Herschels, Rosse, and Lassell, and the
great refractors of Greenwich, Pulkowa, and Cambridge (United States), would bring the
farther of two such stars into view if the nearer were of the first or second magnitude ;
and it is not at all unlikely that some of the exceedingly minute companions to bright
stars, disclosed by these instruments, may be planets shining with reflected, not with in-
herent lustre.

44 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

reason to believe that the series stops just where our power of tracing
it ceases ; on the contrary, since the series is continuous as far as it
goes, and since our own solar system is constituted as if it belonged
to the series prolonged far beyond the limits which telescopic scrutiny
has reached, we have reason for believing that such is indeed the in-
terpretation of the observed facts. In other words, we may not un-
reasonably regard our solar system as a multiple system, a double star
at certain ranges of distance, whence only the sun and Jupiter could
be seen ; a triple star at distances whence Saturn could be seen ; and
a quintuple star where Uranus and Neptune would come into view.
To show what excellent reason exists for regarding Mercury, Yenus,
the Earth, and Mars, as not to be included in this view, it is only ne-
cessary to remark that not one of these planets could be seen until the
limits of the solar system had been crossed. To eyesight such as ours,
not one of the four terrestrial planets could be seen from Saturn, and
still less, of course, from Uranus or Neptune. It would be as unrea-
sonable to hold the ring of asteroids, or even the myriads of systems
of meteorolites and aerolites, to be bodies resembling the earth and her
fellow-terrestrial planets, as it is to hold these terrestrial planets to be
bodies resembling Jupiter and his fellow-giants.

In all characteristics yet recognized by astronomers, Jupiter and
Saturn differ most markedly from the earth and her fellow-planets.
In bulk and mass they belong manifestly to a different order of cre-
ated things ; in density they differ more from the earth than the sun
does ; they rotate much more swiftly on their axes ; they receive much
less light and heat from the sun ; the lengths of their year exceed the
length of the earth's year as remarkably as their day falls short of
hers ; the atmospheric envelope of each is divided into variable belts,
utterly unlike any thing existing in the earth's atmosphere ; and, last-
ly, each is the centre of an important subsidiary scheme of bodies
quite unlike the moon (the only secondary planet in the terrestrial
family) as respects their relations to the primary around which they
travel.

Notwithstanding all these circumstances in evidence of utter dis-
similarity, and the fact that not one circumstance in the condition of
the major planets suggests resemblance to the terrestrial planets, as-
tronomy continues to treat of the planets of the solar system as though
they formed a single family. It would appear as though the teach-
ings of the astronomers who lived before the telescope was invented
had so strong an inherent vitality, that more than two centuries and
a half of discoveries adverse to those teachings are powerless to dis-
possess them of their authority. For no other reason can be sug-
gested, as it appears to me,, for the complete disregard with which the
most striking characteristics of the major planets have been treated
by modern astronomers.

If we consider one feature alone of those which have been just

THE RINGED PLANET. 45

mentioned — the small mean density of the giant planets — we have at
once the strongest possible evidence to show that the condition of
these bodies must be unlike that of the earth. Of course, if we as-
sume that Saturn's substance (to limit our attention to this planet) is
composed of materials altogether unlike any which exist on earth, a
way out of our difficulty is found, though not an easy one. In that
case, however, we are only substituting one form of complete dissimi-
larity for another. And all the results of spectroscopic analysis, as
applied to the celestial bodies, tend to show the improbability that
such differences of elementary constitution exist — we will not say in
the solar system only, but in the sidereal universe itself. If, however,
we admit that Saturn is in the main constituted of elements such as
we are familiar with, we find it extremely difficult, or rather it is ab-
solutely impossible, to suppose that the condition of his substance is
like that of the earth's. There are certain unmistakable facts to be
accounted for. There is the mighty mass of Saturn, exceeding that
of the earth ninety-fold. That mass is endued with gravitating en-
ergy, precisely in the same way as the earth's mass. There must be
from the surface toward the centre a continually increasing pressure.
This pressure is calculable, 1 and enormously exceeds the internal
pressures existing within the earth's interior. There is no possibility
of cavities, as Brewster and others have opined ; for there is no known
material, not the strongest known to us, iron, or platinum, or adamant,
which could resist the pressures produced by Saturn's internal gravi-
tation. Steel would be as yielding as water under these pressures.
There must be compression with its consequent increase of density,
such compression exceeding many million-fold the greatest with which
terrestrial experimenters have dealt. That, with these enormous forces
at work, the actual density of Saturn as a whole should be far less than
that of water is utterly inexplicable, unless Saturn's condition be re-
garded as altogether unlike that of the earth. We see in the sun an
orb which, notwithstanding its enormous mass, has a mean density
much less than the earth's, and little greater than that of water ; but
we have no difficulty in understanding this circumstance, because we

1 It is a misfortune for science that Newton never published the reasoning which led
him to the conclusion that the earth's mean density is equal to between five and six
times the density of water. This, as every one knows, has been confirmed by several
experimental methods ; and, so far as appears, the problem is a purely experimental
one. Newton, however, made no experiments ; at least, none have been heard of as
effected by him, and it is scarcely probable that he had any instruments of sufficient
delicacy for a task so difficult. Prof. Grant ascribes Newton's conclusion to a happy
intuition; yet it is very unlike Newton to make a guess on such a matter. It is more
probable that he guessed the elements of the problem than the result. He probably
assumed that the earth's mass is composed of a substance like granite, and, adopting
some law of compression for such a substance (based on experiment, perhaps), calculated
thence 'the compression at different depths, and so obtained the mean destiny of the
whole mass.

46 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

see that the sun is in a state of intense heat, and we know that this
heat produces effects antagonistic, as it were, to those produced by the
attraction of his mass as a whole upon every portion of his substance.
But, if we make no similar assumption in Saturn's case, we find his
small density inexplicable.

Another circumstance associated with the question of Saturn's den-
sity introduces new difficulties of the most perplexing nature if it be
regarded according to the ordinary view, while it seems not only ex-
plicable, but manifestly to be expected, on the theory that Saturn's
whole orb is in an intensely heated condition. Saturn certainly has
an atmosphere of considerable depth. The belts which surround his
globe are evidently produced by clouds in his atmosphere, though
what the nature of these clouds may be is not as yet known. The
brighter belts are the cloud-belts, while the darker either show his
real surface, or, far more probably, belong simply to lower cloud-
layers. These belts are variable in appearance and position, some-
times changing with great rapidity. Their real extent is enormous,
exceeding the whole surface of our earth, even in the case of the nar-
rowest belts yet seen. No one who has viewed them through tele-
scopes of great power can refuse to adopt the conclusion that the at-
mosphere in which these great cloud-zones are suspended must be of
great depth, certainly far deeper than our atmosphere. But such an
atmosphere, subjected to the attractions of Saturn's mass, would be
enormously compressed underneath those manifestly thick cloud-lay-
ers. A very moderate assumption as to the depth of the atmosphere
would lead to the conclusion that at its base it must be denser than
water — that is, denser than Saturn himself. No gas could exist as
gas at this density. Apart from this, we are here arriving at the
very theory which the ordinary view of Saturn teaches us to avoid —
viz., the theory that he is utterly unlike our earth in physical condi-
tion. We may much more conveniently arrive at the same general
conclusion, while avoiding other difficulties, by simply adopting the
same explanation in this case which serves to account also for the
small density of Saturn's mass — viz., the theory that Saturn's globe is
in a state of intense heat.

But now let it be noticed how perfectly this view of Saturn's con
dition accords with the theories which are beginning to be established
respecting the genesis of the solar system. Whether we regard the
planets as formed from the condensation of enormous nebulous masses,
or whether we assume that they were produced by the gathering to-
gether of matter originally traveling in dense meteoric flights around
the central aggregation whence the sun was one day to be formed, we
see that the larger the planet the greater must have been its origiual
heat. The heat generated during the condensation of a nebulous mass
must depend upon the magnitude of the mass, since in fact the ac-
cepted theory of heat teaches us that the original heat of a globe so

THE RINGED PLANET. 47

formed is measurable by the actual difference in dimensions between
the globe and its parent cloud-mass, and of course the larger the
cloud-mass the greater this difference would necessarily be. It is
equally certain that the heat generated by the gathering-in of me-
teoric matter would be so much the greater according as the quantity
of matter gathered and gathering was greater ; for the heat is pro-
duced by the downfall of such matter on the globe it helps to form,
and the greater the mass of that globe the greater is its attracting
might, the greater the velocity it generates in the falling meteors,
and therefore the greater the heat produced when they are brought
to rest.

Saturn, then, would originally be much hotter than our earth, on
any theory of the evolution of our solar system — and there are few as-
tronomers who doubt that the solar system was wrought by processes
of evolution to its present condition. But not only would Saturn be
much hotter than the earth, but, owing to his enormous size, he would
part with his heat at a much slower rate. On both accounts we should
infer that at this present time Saturn is much hotter than the earth —
in other words, since our earth still retains no inconsiderable propor-
tion of its original heat, Saturn may be assumed to be in a state of
intense heat. What his actual heat may be is not so easily deter-
mined. We shall presently show reasons for believing that an inferior
limit, below which his heat does not lie, is indicated by the fact that
he still possesses inherent luminosity. On the other hand, a superior
limit is indicated by the fact that his inherent luminosity is not great,
and that, in all probability, the thicker cloud-zones of Saturn prevent
the passage of the greater part of his light. 1

We should infer, then, that Saturn in some respects resembles the
sun, though of course the very same reasoning which teaches us to
believe that Saturn is very much hotter than the earth, leads us also
to the conclusion that it is not nearly so hot as the sun. Now, thus
viewing Saturn, we should be led to expect, apart from all telescopic
evidence to that effect, that he would resemble the sun in certain gen-
eral features. For instance, we might expect that he would have spot-
zones, while his equatorial zone would be free from spots ; or, if it
were thought that so close a resemblance was not to be looked for,
then we might still expect that his equatorial zone, like the sun's,
would be distinguished from the rest of his surface by some well-
marked peculiarity. This is the case. The equatorial zone of Saturn
is distinguished by a peculiar brightness from the rest of his surface,
insomuch that the late Prof. Nichol was led to regard this zone as the

1 To prevent misapprehension, it may be as well to remind the reader that the ap-
parent continuity of Saturn's cloud-belts by no means implies that they are really con-
tinuous, and it is on a priori grounds highly improbable that they are so ; openings in
his cloud-zones two or three hundred miles in length and breadth would be quite undis-
cernible at Saturn's enormous distance.

4 3 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

scene of a constant precipitation of meteoric matter from the inside of
the ring-system.

Now, there is one important peculiarity which distinguishes the
equatorial bright zone of Saturn from that of Jupiter. Jupiter's axis
is almost square to the level of the path in which he travels around
the sun ; so that his equatorial zone lies nearly in that level, and is
therefore directly illuminated by the sun. The aspect of Jupiter in
fact, as seen from the sun, is always that which our earth presents in
spring and autumn. But Saturn has an axis very considerably sloped
to the level of the path in which he travels. It is more sloped even
than our earth's axis. So that in the course of his long year of 10,759
days (29^ of our years) Saturn's globe presents toward the sun all the
varying aspects which our earth presents, only with a somewhat greater
range of variation. At one time he is placed as our earth is in spring,
and then his equatorial belt, as seen from the sun, appears to lie straight
across the middle of his disk. Rather more than seven years later he
is posed as our earth is posed at midsummer, his northern pole is
bowed toward the sun, and his equator is seen as a half-oval, curving
far south of the middle point of his disk. He passes on from this po-
sition, and in seven more years he is placed as our earth is in autumn,
with his equator again lying straight across his disk. Then, seven years
or so later, he presents the aspect of our earth at midwinter, his equa-
tor curved into a half-oval passing far to the north of the middle point
of his disk. And, finally, at the end of yet seven years more (or, more
exactly, of one complete Saturnian year from the commencement of
these changes), he is again as at first. Now, it seems manifest that, if
the great cloud-zone which surrounds Saturn, appearing as a nearly
white ring, were due to solar action, it would fluctuate in position as
these changes proceeded. The very length of the Saturnian year
should insure the occurrence of such fluctuations. We have only to
inquire what takes place on our own earth, where, though we have
nothing comparable with the belt systems of Jupiter and Saturn, we
have, nevertheless, over ocean-regions, a sun-raised tropical cloud-band
in the middle of the day. This cloud-band follows the sun, being equa-
torial in spring, passing far north of the equator, even to the very limit
of the torrid zone, in summer, returning to the equator in autumn,
passing to the southern limit of the torrid zone in winter, and returning
again to the equator in spring. In fact, this cloud-band as seen from
the sun would always cross the middle of the earth's face as a straight
line in spring and autumn, and as considerably more than a half-oval,
agreeing in position with the tropics of Cancer and Capricorn, at mid-
summer and midwinter. But nothing of the sort happens in Saturn's
case. His equatorial w T hite ring is really equatorial at all times, in-
stead of being drawn to his tropics at his midsummer and midwinter
seasons. This, in our opinion, is decisive of the origin of this great
band. If it were sun-raised, it would obey the sun ; but, being raised

THE RINGED PLANET. 49

by Saturnian action, its position is solely determined by Saturn's rota-
tion, and it therefore remains constantly equatorial.

But next a very strange and, at a first view, incredible circum-
stance has to be considered in immediate connection with the relations
we have been dealing with.

It sounds startling to suggest that Saturn probably changes at
times in size and shape. Yet the evidence in favor of the suggestion
is very weighty. It may briefly be presented as follows :

In April, 1§05, Sir William Herschel, who had hitherto always seen
the planet of an oval figure^ found that it presented a strangely dis-
torted appearance. It was flattened as usual at the poles, but also at
the equator; accordingly, it had a quadrangular or oblong figure
(with rounded corners, of course), its longest diameters being the two
which (crossing each other in the middle of the disk) passed from north
latitude 43° on Saturn to the same southerly latitude. Or we may
otherwise describe the appearances presented, by saying that Saturn
seemed swollen in both the temperate zones. Herschel found that the
same appearance was presented, no matter what telescope he employed,
and he tried many, some seven feet, some ten, one twenty, and one
forty feet in length. With these telescopes Jupiter presented his or-
dinary oval aspect. But Herschel is not the only astronomer by whom
such appearances have been noticed. On August 5, 1805, SchrSter
found that Saturn's figure was distorted. Dr. Kitchener says that in
the autumn of 1818 he found Saturn to have the figure described by
Herschel. The present Astronomer Royal has seen Saturn similarly
distorted, and on another occasion flattened in the temperate zones.
In January, 1855, Coolidge, with the splendid refractor of the Cam-
bridge (U. S.) Observatory noticed a swollen appearance in Saturnian
latitude 20° ; yet on the 9th the planet had resumed its usual aspect.
In the report of the Greenwich Observatory for 1860-'61, it is stated
that " Saturn has sometimes appeared to exhibit the square-shouldered
aspect." The two Bonds, of America, surpassed by few in observing
skill, have seen Saturn square-shouldered and have noticed variations
of shape. It seems impossible to reject such testimony as this. Nor
can it be disposed of by showing that ordinarily Saturn presents a per-
fectly elliptical figure. It is the essential point of the circumstances
we are considering, that they are unusual.

Now, we do not pretend to explain how such changes of shape are
brought about. But we would invite special attention to the circum-
stance that if these changes be admitted as having occasionally oc-
curred (and we do not see how they can be called in question), then the
result is only startling in connection with that theory of Saturn's con-
dition which, we are here opposing. If Saturn be a globe resembling
our earth, then sinkings and upheavals, such as these appearances in-
dicate, must be regarded as involving amazing and most stupendous
throes — as in fact absolutely incredible, no matter what evidence may
vol. iv. — 1

5 o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

be found in their favor. But, so soon as we regard Saturn's whole
globe as in a state of intense heat, and his belt-system as indicating
the continual action of forces of enormous activity, we no longer find
any difficulty in understanding the possibility of changes such as Sir
W. Herschel, Sir G. Airy, the Bonds, and others of like observing
skill, have seen with some of the finest reflecting and refracting tele-
scopes ever constructed by man. Nay, we may even go further, and
find in solar phenomena certain reasons for believing that Saturn's
globe would be subjected to precisely such changes.* It appears to
have been rendered extremely probable by Secchi and others, that our
sun's globe varies in dimensions under the varying influences to which
he is subjected. At the height of the spot-period the sun seems to be
reduced in diameter, w^hile his colored sierra is deeper, and the red
prominences are larger than usual, the reverse holding at the time
when the sun has no spots or few. Of course this is not understood
as implying a real change in the quantity of solar matter, but only as
indicating the varying level at which the solar cloud-envelope lies. We
may safely assume that these changes, which correspond to the great
spot-period, affect chiefly the spot-zones which lie in the parts of the
sun's globe corresponding to our temperate zones ; but, for the same
reasons that the sun's globe is perfectly spherical so far as measure-
ments can be depended upon, namely, because of its relatively slow
rotation — such differences would be too slight to be measurable. Re-
garding Saturn, then, as we have already been compelled to do for
other reasons, as resembling the sun so far that he is in an intensely
heated condition, we see grounds for believing that his temperate zones
would be exposed to variations of level (cloud-level), which at times
might be very considerable, and thus discernible from our earth. For,
owing to his rapid rotation on his axis, all such effects would be rela-
tively greater than on a slowly rotating orb like the sun ; and in fact
we recognize this distinction in the great compression of Saturn's globe.
Moreover, if we regard the waxing and waning of the solar spots as
associated with the motions of the members of the sun's family, we
can well understand that the members of Saturn's family, which lie so
much nearer to him compared with his own dimensions, should produce
more remarkable effects. 1 But, whether this be so or not, it is certain

1 It must not be understood that in thus speaking we countenance the theory that
either the planets produce the sun-spots, or the satellites of Saturn effect the remark-
able changes we have been dealing with. The real causes of all solar phenomena must
be sought in the sun's own globe ; and Saturnian phenomena are in the main, we have
little doubt, produced by Saturnian action. But even as our moon (probably) exerts an
influence on the occurrence of earthquakes and volcanoes, not by her own attraction
directly, but by affecting the balance between terrestrial forces, so it may well be that
the planets indirectly affect the sun's condition, and that the Saturnian satellites even
more effectually act upon Saturn. It would be extremely interesting to inquire whether
any connection can be traced between the changes of the Saturnian belts and the mo-
tions of his satellites. Or the inquiry might be more readily and quite as effectually
applied to Jupiter and his system.

THE RINGED PLANET. 51

that, whereas there is nothing inexplicable or even very surprising in
supposing that Saturnian cloud-layers, resulting from the action of
intense Saturnian heat, alter greatly at times in level, the observations
we have described become altogether inexplicable, and cannot, in fact,
be rejected, if we adopt the theory that Saturn resembles the earth on
which we live.

It may be asked whether Jupiter, to which planet the same rea-
soning may be applied, has ever shown signs of similar changes. To
this it may first be replied, that we should not expect Jupiter to be
affected to the same degree, simply because the chief disturbing causes —
his satellites and the sun — are always nearly in the same level, owing
to the peculiarity in Jupiter's pose to which attention has already been
directed. But, secondly, such briefly-lasting changes as we might ex-
pect to detect have occasionally been suspected by observers of con-
siderable skill; and among others by the well-known Schrftter, of Lili-
enthal. Such changes have consisted, for the most part, merely in a
slight flattening of a part of Jupiter's outline. But on one occasion a
very remarkable phenomenon, only (but very readily) explicable in
this way, was witnessed by three practised observers — Admiral Smyth,
Prof. Pearson, and Sir T. Maclear — at three different stations. Ad-
miral Smyth thus describes what he saw : " On Thursday, June 26,
1828, the evening being extremely fine, I was watching the second
satellite of Jupiter as it gradually approached to transit Jupiter's disk.
It appeared in contact at about half-past ten, and for some minutes
remained on the edge of the disk, presenting an appearance not unlike
that of the lunar mountains coming into view during the moon's first
quarter, until it finally disappeared on the body of the planet. At
least twelve or thirteen minutes must have elapsed, when, accidentally
turning to Jupiter again, to my astonishment I perceived the same
satellite outside the dish ! It remained distinctly visible for at least
four minutes, and then suddenly vanished ! " For our own part, we
can conceive of no possible explanation of this remarkable phenomenon,
unless it be admitted that the change was in the apparent outline of
Jupiter. Of course, to suppose that even a cloud-layer rose or fell, in
a few minutes, several thousand miles (about 8,000, if the stated times
be correct), is as inadmissible as to suppose the solid crust of a globe
to undergo so vast a change of level ; but nothing of this sensational
description is required. All that would be necessary would be, that
an upper cloud-layer should for a few minutes be dissipated into vapor,
either by warm currents, or more probably by a temporary increase
of the heat supplied by Jupiter's fiery globe within the cloud-envelopes,
and that a few minutes later the clouds should form again by the
condensation of the vaporized matter. The changes in the aspect of
the Jovian belts are often sufficiently rapid to indicate the operation
of precisely such processes.

Associated with such phenomena as we have mentioned is the evi-

52 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

dence we have as to the brightness of Saturn and Jupiter. If these
planets were perfectly cloud-encompassed, we should expect them to
shine much more brightly than earthy or rocky globes of equal size,
similarly placed, and surrounded only with a tenuous atmosphere. In
fact, we should expect the planets, if cloud-encompassed, to shine about
four times as brightly as though they were constituted like our moon.
They would in that case, however, be white planets, not only as seen
by the naked eye, but when examined with the telescope. In point
of fact, they shine, according to the very careful measurements of
Zollner, about as brightly as though they were perfectly cloud-envel-
oped ; but they are neither of them found to be white under telescopic
scrutiny. Bond, of America, says, indeed, that Jupiter shines four-
teen times as brightly as he would if constituted like the moon ; and
though this is a surprising result, and would imply that some portion
of Jupiter's light is certainly inherent, it is well to notice that it is
confirmed by De La Rue's photographic researches ; for he found that
a photographic image of the moon can be taken in about two-thirds of
the time required in Jupiter's case, whereas the moon should require
but a twenty-fifth of the time required by Jupiter, if her reflecting
power were equal to his, since Jupiter is five times as far away from
the sun. It would follow from this that Jupiter shines nearly seven-
teen times as brightly as he would if he were constituted like the
moon. Taking the lowest estimate, however, we find that both Saturn
and Jupiter shine much more brightly than planets of equal size and
similarly placed, but having a surface formed of any kind of earth or
rock known to us. And, taking into account the well-marked colors
of these planets, it follows as an almost demonstrated fact that each
shines with no inconsiderable portion of inherent light. 1

So soon as we view Saturn as a globe intensely heated, and the
scene of forces of enormous energy, we are compelled to dismiss the
idea that he is the abode of life. But, singularly enough, this conclu-
sion, which was rejected by Brewster as rendering apparently unin-
telligible the existence of so large and massive an orb, girt about by a
system so complex and beautiful, does in reality at once present, in an
explicable aspect, not merely the vast bulk of Saturn himself, but the
scheme over which he bears sway ; for, as it seems to us, not the least
of the objections against the theory that Saturn is an inhabited
world, is found in the useless wealth of material exhibited, on that

1 I might take, as equally convincing proof of the intensely heated condition of these
giant planets, the fact that the shadows of the nearer satellites, which theoretically should
be black, have sometimes been seen to be gray, and never appear to be much darker than
the fourth satellite in transit. And, as sufficient proof of the great depth of Jupiter's at-
mosphere, I could take the fact that sometimes two shadows have been seen, both belong-
ing to the same satellite. However, it would require more space than can here be spared
to show the force of these facts. I remind the reader that whatever is proved respecting
the condition of Jupiter, may be regarded as rendered probable of his brother giant,
Saturn.

THE RINGED PLANET. 53

supposition, in his ring-system and family of satellites. It is very
well to grow rapturous, as many besides Brewster and Chalmers
have done, over the beauty of the Saturnian skies, illuminated by so
many satellites and by the glorious rings; and it is very proper,
no doubt, for those who so view Saturn's system, to dwell admiringly
on the beneficence with which all this abundance of reflected light
has been provided, to make up to the Saturnians for the small amount
of light and heat which they receive from the sun. But, unfortu-
nately for this way of viewing the matter, the satellites and rings
do not by any means subserve the purposes thus ascribed to them.
Even if all the satellites could be full together, they would not sup-
ply a sixteenth part of the light which we receive from our full
moon ; and they cannot even appear very beautiful when we consider
that the apparent brightness of their surface can be but about one-
ninetieth of the brightness of our moon's. As for the rings, so far
from appearing to be contrived specially for the advantage of Satur-
nian beings, these rings, if Saturn were inhabited, would be the most
mischievous and inconvenient appendages possible. They would give
light during the summer nights, indeed, when light was little wanted,
though even this service would be counteracted by the circumstance
that at midnight the enormous shadow of the planet would hide the
greater part of the rings. But it is in winter that the rings would
act most inconveniently; for then, just at the season when the Satur-
nians would most require an additional supply of light and heat,
the rings would cut off for extensive regions on Saturn the whole of
the solar light and heat which would otherwise be received. Dr.
Lardner was quite mistaken in supposing (after a cursory examination
of the mathematical relations involved) that the eclipses so produced
would be but partial. His object was excellent, since he sought to
show that " the infinite skill of the Great Architect of the universe has
not permitted that the stupendous annular appendage, the uses of
which still remain undiscovered, should be the cause of such darkness
and desolation to the inhabitants of the planet, and such an aggrava-
tion of the rigors of their fifteen years' winter," as would result from
eclipses lasting many months or even years in succession. But we
must not endeavor to strengthen faith in the wisdom of the Almighty
by means of false mathematics. So soon as the subject is rigorously
treated, we find that Sir John Herschel was quite right in his original
statements on this subject. The present writer published, in 1865, a
tabular statement of the length of time during which (according to
rigid mathematical calculations) the eclipses produced by the rings
last in different Saturnian latitudes. The following quotation from
the work in which this table appeared will serve to show that the
partial daily eclipses conceived by Lardner are very far from the
truth, or rather are only a part, and a very small part, of the truth :
"In latitude 40° (north or south), the eclipses begin when nearly three

54 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

years have elapsed from the time of the autumnal equinox. The
morning and evening eclipses continue for more than a year, gradu-
ally extending until the sun is eclipsed during the whole day. These
total eclipses continue to the winter solstice, and for a corresponding
period after the winter solstice ; in all, for six years, 236 days, or 5,543
Saturnian days. This period is followed by more than a year of morn-
ing and evening eclipses. The total period during which eclipses of
one kind or another take place is no less than eight years, 293 days.
If we remember that latitude 40° on Saturn corresponds with the lati-
tude of Madrid on our earth, it will be seen how largely the rings
must influence the conditions of habitability of Saturn's globe, con-
sidered with reference to the wants of beings constituted like the in-
habitants of our earth." * In the presence of such facts as these, we
may follow Sir John Herschel in saying that " we should do wrong to
judge of the fitness or unfitness of the arrangements described, from
what we see around us, when perhaps the very combinations which
convey to our minds only images of horror may be in reality theatres
of the most striking and glorious displays of beneficent contrivance."
But we do well to exercise our minds in inquiring how this may be ;
and, as it appears to us, the views which have been advocated in this
essay at once afford an answer to this inquiry. We are taught to see
in the Saturnian satellites a family of worlds dependent on him, in the
same way that the members of the solar family are dependent on the
sun. We see that, though the satellites can supply Saturn with very
little light, he can supply them, whether by reflection or by inherent
luminosity, with much. And, lastly, we see that the ring-system
(which has been shown to consist of a multitude of small bodies, each
traveling in its own course), while causing no inconvenience by eclips-
ing parts of Saturn, may not improbably serve highly-important pur-
poses by maintaining an incessant downfall of meteoric matter upon
his surface, and thus sustaining the Saturnian heat, in a manner not
unlike that in which it is now generally believed that a portion at
least of the sun's heat-supply is maintained by the fall of interplanetary
meteors. In fine, we see in Saturn and his system a miniature, and a
singularly truthful miniature, of the solar system. In one system, as
in the other, there is a central orb, far surpassing all the members of
the system in bulk and mass ; in each system there are eight orbs
circling around the central body; and, lastly, each system exhibits,
close by the central orb, a multitude of discrete bodies — the zodiacal
light in the solar system, and the scheme of rings in the Saturnian
system — doubtless subserving important though as yet unexplained
purposes in the economy of the systems to which they belong. — Corn-
hill Magazine.

1 As this passage has been quoted nearly verbatim, and without any sort of acknowl-
edgment, in a compilation on " Elementary Astronomy," recently published, the present
writer, that he may not be suspected of plagiarism, ventures to point out that it is not he
who is the borrower.

THE PHENOMENA OF HEREDITY. 55

THE PHENOMENA OF HEREDITY.

By FEKNAND PAPILLON.

TRANSLATED BY J. FITZGERALD, A. M.

IN human science there is many a ground of self-satisfaction and of
pride for the mind, but there are at the same time reasons for
humility and bitter disappointment. Notwithstanding the strenuous
efforts and the protracted meditations of the legions of investigators
who have gone before us, Nature still has abysses dark and deep be-
fore which the keenest sight becomes blindness, courage changes into
fear, and assurance into despondency. When we strive to throw
some light into these mysterious gulfs, the light does but reveal to us
the spectres of our own ignorance, and all that we carry away from
th^ vain attempt is a renewed consciousness of our weakness and
indigence. It were wise for us to carry away something more, viz.,
a useful lesson. Indeed, there is nothing that is better fitted to
teach us modesty and patience, to cool down presumptuous ardor, and
to put to shame overweening temerity, than the study of those phe-
nomena which Providence would seem to have devised for the express
purpose of baffling man's curiosity. And yet many there are who pre-
tend to ignore the wonderful and complex phenomena which occur in re-
gions inaccessible to sight or sense, and who stubbornly question the
existence of invisible activities and insensible forces. Such is the fatal
skepticism against which we must cite the testimony of the sphinxes
that occupy our attention now. The lesson is all the # more impressive,
inasmuch as, by strange contrast, these questions, so refractory to all
manner of theoretic explanation, are precisely the ones with which
our empirical acquaintance is fullest. Here a knowledge of effects
seems in no wise to pave the way to a knowledge of causes.

These remarks have a special application to the subject of heredity.
It is an ascertained fact that the ovum contains in its seemingly homo-
geneous substance not only the anatomical structure of the individual
that is to spring from it, but also, his temperament, character, apti-
tudes, sentiments, and thoughts. The parents place in this molecule
the future of an existence which is nearly always the counterpart of
themselves physiologically, oftentimes pathologically, and in many
instances psychologically. Such are the results of the latest studies
into this amazing vital economy ; and these we purpose laying before
our readers.

Heredity is that biological law in virtue of which living beings
tend to transmit to their descendants a certain number of their own
characteristic traits. It is a very nice question to decide whether we
must class under heredity the transmission of the anatomical forms

5 6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

and physiological functions which constitute the species. At all
events, it is plain that in this case the parents are completely and
absolutely repeated in the children. Were this not so, there would
be no species, but only successions of beings without any relations
between them save that of generation. Within the historic limits
of experience, the continuous reproduction of specific characters, al-
ways identical, or, in other words, the permanent integrity of spe-
cies, is a fact almost beyond question. The distinctive characters of
races and of varieties are transmitted with less regularity and fixity,
and it is precisely on the various transformations that these may un-
dergo from one generation to another that a famous school of natural-
ists rest when they would prove, in a more or less extended sense, the
transformation of organisms in time. But more irregular still and
more variable is the repetition of those characters which, as being
less general than those of a species or a race, may be regarded as be-
longing to the individual. Thus, in proportion as the characters be-
come more particular and more special, the more are they released
from the law of heredity, and the greater is the probability that the
children will differ from the parents. Still, observation — an observa-
tion as ancient as the human race itself — shows that these characters,
though personal, may be transmitted by generation. But within what
limits, and under what conditions ? This we have to inquire into with
all circumspection, for there is no other subject in which one is so
much in danger of making missteps, and of slipping on dangerous in-
clines.

Heredity is especially noticeable in the continuity of physiological
and pathological conditions. It is very clearly evident in the expres-
sion and features, of the physiognomy. This was observed by the an-
cients ; hence the Romans had their Nasones, Labeones, Buccones,
Capitones, etc. (Big-nosed, Thick-lipped, Swollen-cheeked, Big-headed).
Of all the features, probably the nose is best preserved by hered-
ity : the Bourbon nose is famous. Heredity also manifests itself
by fecundity and longevity. In the old French noblesse there
were several families which possessed high procreative vigor. Anne
de Montmorency, who, at the age of over sixty-five years, could still,
at the battle of St. Denis, smash with his sword the teeth of a Scotch
soldier who was giving him the death-blow, was the father of twelve
children. Three of his ancestors, Matthew I., Matthew II., and
Matthew III., taken all together, had eighteen, and of these fifteen were
boys. The son and grandson of the great Conde had nineteen between
them, and their great-grandfather, who lost his life at Jarnac, had ten.
The first four Guises reckoned in all forty-three children, of whom thirty
were boys. Achille de Harley had nine children, his father ten, and his
great-grandfather eighteen. In some families this fecundity endured
through five or six generations. The average length of life depends
on locality, diet, stage of civilization, but individual longevity appears

THE PHENOMENA OF HEREDITY. 57

to be completely freed from these conditions. It is observed among
those who lead the most laborious lives, as well as among those who
take the greatest care of their health, and it seems to be connected
with some inner power of vitality transmitted to individuals from
their forefathers. So well known is this fact that, in England, life-as-
surance companies receive from their agents statements as to the lon-
gevity of the applicants' ancestors. In Turgot's family, the age of
fifty-nine was very rarely exceeded, and the man who made that family
illustrious had a presentiment, so soon as he had reached fifty, that
the close of his life was not distant. Albeit he had all the appear-
ances of good health and of great vigor of temperament, still from
that time forward he held himself ready for death, and, in fact, did die
at the age of fifty-three.

Heredity often transmits muscular strength and sundry other motor
activities. In ancient times there were families of athletes, and the
English have families of boxers. The recent researches of Mr. Galton,
as to wrestlers and oarsnJen, show that the winners in the contests in
which these men engage generally belong to a few families in which
agility and dexterity are hereditary. Suppleness and grace in dancing
are also transmitted, as is shown in the case of the celebrated Vestris
family. The same is to be said with regard to various peculiarities
of voice, such as stammering, nasality, and lisping. There are several
families who are naturally singers. Children born of babbling parents
are themselves babblers by birthright. Dr. Lucas cites the case of a
servant-maid whose loquacity knew no bounds. She would talk to
people till they were ready to faint ; but she would also talk to ani-
mals and to inanimate things. Even when she was quite alone she
talked to herself aloud. She had to be discharged ; " but," said she
to her master, " I am not to blame ; it all comes from my father. He
had the same fault, and it drove my mother to distraction ; and his
father was just as I am."

The heredity of anomalies of organization has been demonstrated
in several instances. One of the most singular of these is the case of
Edward Lambert, whose whole body, except the face, the palms of
the hands, and the soles of the feet, was covered with a sort of shell,
consisting of horny excrescences. He was the father of six children,
all of whom presented the same anomaly at the age of six weeks. The
only one of them who lived transmitted the peculiarity to all his sons,
and this transmission, passing from male to male, persisted^through five
generations. Mention is also made of the Colburn family, where the
parents for four generations transmitted to the children what is called
sexdigitism, i. e., hands and feet with six digits each. Albinism, halt-
ing, hare-lip, and other anomalies, are in like manner reproduced in
the progeny. It has been observed that purely individual habits have
a like tendency to repeat themselves. Girou de Buzareingues informs
us that he knew a man who, when abed, was wont to lie on his back

S 3 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

with the right leg crossed on the left. One of his daughters had the
same habit from birth ; she constantly assumed that position in the
cradle, notwithstanding the resistance offered by the swaddling-bands.
The same author assures us that he has oftentimes noticed in children
other habits no less extraordinary, which they must have received
from their parents, and which cannot be attributed either to imitation
or to education. Darwin gives another instance : A child had the
odd habit of setting its fingers in rapid motion whenever it was par-
ticularly pleased with any thing. When greatly excited, the same
child would raise the hands on both sides as high as the eyes, with the
fingers in rapid motion, as before. Even in old age he experienced a
difficulty in refraining from these gestures. He had eight children,
one of whom, a little girl, when four years of age, used to set her lin-
gers going and to lift up her hands after the manner of her father.
Finally, heredity has been observed in handwriting. There are fami-
lies in which the special use of the left hand is hereditary. Various
peculiarities of sensorial conditions are transmitted in a similar way.
Nearly all the members of the Montmorency family were affected with
an incomplete strabismus, which used to be called the Montmorency
look. The incapacity to distinguish between different colors is no-
toriously hereditary. The distinguished English chemist, Dalton, and
two of his brothers, were thus affected, and hence the affection itself
received the name of Daltonism. Deafness and blindness are some-
times hereditary, though not often, and deaf-muteness still more rare-
ly. Some curious instances are given of the transmission of certain
perverse tastes. Lucas, according to Zimmermann, relates the follow-
ing : A man in Scotland was possessed of an irresistible desire of eat-
ing human flesh. He had a daughter. Although removed away from
her father and mother, who were sent to the stake before she was one
year old, and although brought up among respectable people, this girl,
like her father, succumbed before her strange craving for human flesh.
This is clearly a case allied to insanity.

Insanity is, beyond all doubt, transmitted by heredity. Among
1,375 lunatics Esquirol found 337 cases of hereditary transmission.
Guislain and other physicians, on a rough estimate, represent the pa-
tients affected with hereditary insanity as one-fourth of the total num-
ber of the insane. Moreau, of Tours, and others, hold that the propor-
tion of the former is still greater. The heredity of insanity does not
imply merely direct transmission of insanity (alienation), properly so
called; hysteria, epilepsy, chorea, idiocy, hypochondria, may result
from insanity, and, vice versa, they may produce insanity. In passing
from one generation to another, these various neuroses (nervous affec-
tions) are in some way transformed into one another. 1 Herpin, of Ge-

1 Simple alcoholic intoxication may pass into profound neuroses. Children conceived
during an acute attack of intoxication are often epileptic, insane, idiots, etc. These facts
were observed long ago. A law of Carthage forbade all beverages except water on the

THE PHENOMENA OF HEREDITY. 59

neva, lias found, in the ancestry of 243 epileptics, seven epileptics, 21
insane, and 27 individuals who had suffered from cerebro-spinal affec-
tions. GeoTget, from numerous observations made at the Salpetriere,
came to the conclusion that hysterical women have always near rela-
tions who are hysterical, epileptical, hypochondriac, or insane. Moreau
calls attention to the "prodigious quantity" of morbid nervous con-
ditions to be found in the ancestry of idiots and imbeciles. A single
fact will give the means of judging of the varied and odd complica-
tions occurring in the hereditary transmission of neuroses. Dr. Morel
attended four brothers belonging to one family. The grandfather of
these children had died insane, their father had never been able to
continue long at any thing, their uncle, a man of great intellect, and a
distinguished physician, was noted for his eccentricities. Now, these
four children, sprung from one stock, presented very different forms
of physical disorder. One of them was a maniac, whose wild par-
oxysms recurred periodically ; the disorder of the second was melan-
choly madness ; he was reduced by his stupor to a merely automatic
condition. The third was characterized by an extreme irascibility
and suicidal disposition. The fourth manifested a strong liking for
art, but he was of a timorous and suspecting nature.

Scrofula, cancer, tubercular consumption, syphilis, gout, arthritis,
tetter, and, in general, all those chronic constitutional affections which
are called diatheses or cachexias, are very often transmitted from
parent to child. The heredity of these morbid states is almost as fre-
quent and as well defined as that of the neuroses. We may also affirm
the heredity of skin-diseases, and especially of psoriasis, although in
this case heredity is of rarer occurrence.

The evolution of these hereditary maladies is extremely interesting
and dramatic. Planted in the children's system as germs, or as mere
predispositions, they are sometimes destroyed, beyond the possibility
of returning, by a multitude of favorable conditions and precautions :
in other instances, they begin at once their fatal work of destruction ;
or, again, they lie hidden for years, reappearing at length, remorseless
and terrible, under the influence of sundry exciting causes. Thus age,
sex, temperament, practices, habits, hygiene, surrounding conditions,
act a part in the development of hereditary morbid activities. Insanity
is rare in childhood, and epilepsy most commonly makes its appearance
in youth. Hysteria, scrofula, rachitism, and tubercle, appear in child-
hood and in youth, while gout, gravel, calculus, alopecia, and cancer,
are hereditary states of the adult. Women are more liable to insanity,
epilepsy, and hysteria, than men ; but men, on the other hand, are far
oftener than women attacked by gout, gravel, and calculus. The ner-

day of marital cohabitation, and Amyot says that " drunkenness genders naught that is
sound." Recent accurate observations have shown that the child that is conceived in a
fit of alcoholic delirium, though the latter be only transitory, carries forever the inefface-
able marks of a more or less profound degeneracy.

60 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

vous temperament favors neuroses ; the lymphatico-sanguine, arthritis
and tetter ; and the lymphatic, scrofula. The changes occurring in the
physiological equilibrium of an individual have a very definite action
on the movements and aspects of constitutional affections. Thus, in-
sanity oftentimes appears following menstruation, pregnancy, or child-
birth ; and, in like manner, epilepsy and hysteria manifest themselves
at the first appearance of the signs of puberty. Education and habits
exercise a similar influence. Harsh usage and excessive severity, as
also complete lack of discipline and watchfulness, have often deplo-
rable effects on the brain of children. Alcoholic excesses and high
living are extremely injurious to those whose parents had the gout or
the gravel, just as squalor and bad air decimate those who have in
themselves the germs of consumption.

This much at least is certain, that the fatal character of hereditary
disease is a great and mournful fact, of which they alone are fully and
sadly conscious who have daily to witness its consequences. One must
see the premature infirmity, the long-continued suffering, the irrepara-
ble catastrophes, the slow, cruel agonies, to which parents oftentimes
condemn their children, to form a judgment of the power possessed by
the demon of disease which lurks in the depths of their being. We
must read the authors who have treated these questions, and especially
the great alienists of France, if we would learn w^hat a mysterious and
baleful energy is oftentimes brought into the world by the babe as it
opens its eyes to the light of day — the poor, innocent, puny creature,
which, for this brief moment of illusion, is the object of unbounded
joys and blessings, and bright hopes !

In short, we may say that the hereditary transmission, whether of
individual peculiarities of anatomical structure and of temperament, or
of liability to such and such a morbid condition — and the same holds
good for certain bodily aptitudes — is a very frequent, though not con-
stant, phenomenon in animals and in man.

Hereditary transmission of individual peculiarities of the mental or
affectional kind, and of aptitudes for such and such speculative or
moral activities, is also a phenomenon which may be observed, though
more rarely than that just mentioned. When we go through the se-
ries of instances and authorities got together and cited by certain
writers, we are struck, it is true, by the apparent force of their argu-
ments, and one is ready to assign to heredity a large share in the de-
velopment of intellect and character, in the genesis of the thinking
individual. We do not see, we forget, the immense number of facts
which stand on the other side. The illusions of these mirages have
not been useless, seeing that they have led to researches of great in-
terest ; but they would be dangerous if they were to be taken by the
public as demonstrating the conclusions drawn by some writers. We
will state, in brief, the substantial benefits accruing from the researches,
and we will then try to refute the conclusions.

THE PHENOMENA OF HEREDITY. 61

According to Galton, the memory was so notable a faculty in the
family of the celebrated English Hellenist, Porson, as to have % passed
into a by-word, the Porson memory. Lady Hester Stanhope, she whose
life was so full of adventure, gives, as one among many points of re-
semblance between herself and her grandfather, her retentive memory.
" I have my grandfather's gray eyes," said she, " and his memory of
places. If he saw a stone on the road, he remembered it : it is the
same with myself. His eye, Avhich was ordinarily dull and lustreless,
was lighted up, like my own, with a wild gleam whenever he was
seized with passion.'' The imaginative and creative faculties, those
which play the chief part in art and in poetry, are sometimes trans-
mitted from father to son. Galton, in the work he published four
years ago (" Hereditary Genius "), and Bibot, in his recent book, give
long lists of painters, poets, and # musicians, in order to show the part
played by heredity in the genesis of these artists' talents. There are
in these lists many instances in which this influence of heredity is in-
dubitable, but there are far more in which it is very questionable
indeed. Thus, these authors see the influence of heredity in the po-
etic genius of Byron, Goethe, and Schiller, because they find in the
ancestors of these poets certain passions, vices, or qualities — just as
though these peculiarities of character could determine poetic genius.
The fact is, these lists do not show us any great poet who received
his faculties from his ancestors. We do there find that a great poet
is sometimes the father of mediocre poets — which is a different thing.
The heredity of aptitudes for painting is better established : in a list
of 42 celebrated painters, Italians, Spaniards, and Flemings, Galton
shows that 21 had illustrious ancestors. The names of Bellini, Caracci,
Teniers, Van Ostade, Mieris, Vandervelde, and Vernet, will suffice to
prove that there are families of painters. In the family of Titian we
find nine painters of merit. The history of music presents instances
still more striking. The Bach family took its rise in 1550, and became
extinct in 1800. Its head was Veit Bach, a baker at Presburg, who
used to seek for relaxation from labor in music and song. He had two
sons, who commenced that unbroken series of musicians of the same
name, who, for nearly two centuries, overran Thuringia, Saxony, and
Franconia. They were all organists, church singers, or what is called
in Germany city musicians. When they became too numerous to live
all together, and the members of this family were scattered abroad,
they resolved to meet once a year, on a stated day, with a view to
keep up a sort of patriarchal bond of union. This custom was kept up
until nearly the middle of the eighteenth century, and oftentimes more
than 100 persons bearing the name of Bach, men, women, and children,
were to be seen assembled. In this family are reckoned 29 eminent
musicians, and 28 of a lower grade. Mozart's father was second ca-
pellmeister to the prince-bishop of Salzburg. Beethoven's father was
tenor in the chapel of the Elector of Cologne : his grandfather had

62 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

been chanter, and then master in the same chapel. Rossini's parents
played music at fairs.

We find almost as effectual and continuous an intervention of
heredity in the transmission of passions and sentiments of a very dif-
ferent order — those which incline to vice. The liking for strong drink,
habits of debauch, a passion for gambling, acquire in some persons a
degree of force which can be accounted for only by some fatal organic
predisposition derived from their ancestors. " A lady with whom I
was acquainted," says Gama Machado, " and who possessed a large
fortune, was possessed of a passion for gambling, and passed whole
nights at play : she died young, of a pulmonary complaint. Her eldest
son, who was in appearance the image of his mother, had the same
passion for play. He died of consumption, like his mother, and about
the same age. His daughter, who resembled him, inherited the same
tastes, and died young." The heredity of a disposition for theft, rape,
murder, and suicide, has been proved in several instances.

In proportion as you rise above the purely physiological and patho-
logical regions to those where the mind's activity takes a larger part,
heredity is found to lose force and constancy of action. There have
been families of scientists — the Cassinis, Jussieus, Bernouillis, Dar-
wins, Saussures, Geoffroys, Pictets. In literature and erudition, the
names of Estienne and Grotius, and others, occur. The Mortemarts
were famous for their wit. A genius for statesmanship or for gen-
eralship has sometimes been perpetuated for several generations in
certain families. On the whole, these cases of the transmission of
psychical qualities are not frequent. Their being so carefully noted
and so set in relief is apparently due to the fact that they are not of
common occurrence ; and besides, in many of these cases, education
had probably more to do than heredity.

Some years ago there appeared a book entitled " Phrenyogenie,"
in which is to be found, side by side with many chimerical and para-
doxical statements, one reflection worthy of attention, and this all the
more because it takes account of a peculiarity which appears to have
escaped the physiologists hitherto. The author of that book, M. Ber-
nard Moulin, strives to prove that children are living p h otographs of
their parents, as they were at the moment of conception. According
to him, the parents transmit to the children the tastes and aptitudes,
the spontaneous or the elicited exercise of which was then at the maxi-
mum. The broad conclusions which Moulin draws from his researches,
as to the art of procreating superior children, may perhaps call forth
a smile, but the facts cited by him in support of his views are curious.
Here are a few of them: Nine months before the birth of Napoleon I.,
Corsica was all in confusion. The celebrated Paoli, at the head of an
army of citizens which he himself had raised, was endeavoring to put
an end to the civil war, and to prevent an invasion by foreigners.
Charles Bonaparte, his aid-de-camp and secretary, displayed great

THE PHENOMENA OF HEREDITY. 63

courage at the side of his commander. The young officer had with
him his wife, Letitia Ramolino, a woman of Roman beauty, and of a
strong and masculine character. Napoleon was conceived in his tent,
on the eve of a battle, at the distance of two paces from the batteries
which faced the enemy. Robespierre was born in 1758, the year
which saw Damiens tortured and dragged about the Place de Greve,
a year of war, of famine, and of discontent. His father was an attor-
ney, and an insatiable reader of the " Contrat Social" Peter the Cruel,
King of Castile, was the son of Alfonso XL, who was ever at variance
with his wife. Scandalous scenes of anger, jealousy, and rage, con-
tinually disturbed the royal household, and the fruit of the commerce
of this wedded pair was Peter the Cruel, a monster of ugliness, physi-
cal and moral. History shows to us the parents of Raffaelle both de-
voted to the art of painting. The wife, a true Madonna, delighted in
subjects where grace and piety prevailed ; the husband, a great dauber,
preferred strength for his part.

M. Ribot, in the remarkable work which he has just written on the
subject of heredity, investigates the laws of this mysterious influence,
which he regards as a sort of habit, an eternal memory. These laws
are little more than a statement of the habitual directions of heredi-
tary impulsion. Sometimes heredity passes from the father to the
daughter, from the mother to the son ; again the child inherits from
both parents. Finally, it often happens that the child, instead of re-
sembling his immediate parents, resembles one of his grandparents,
or some remote member of a collateral branch of the family. This is
called atavism. This fact was well known to the ancients. Mon-
taigne regarded it with wonder. " Is it not astonishing," says he,
" that this drop of seed from which we are produced should bear the
impression not only of the bodily form, but also of the thoughts and
the inclinations of our fathers ? Where does this drop of water keep
this infinite number of forms ? and how does it bear these likenesses
through a progress so hap-hazard and so irregular that the great-
grandson shall resemble the great-grandfather, the nephew the uncle ? "
Montaigne's wonder has good ground ; nor do we to-day know any
better than those of the sixteenth century the causes of these strange
transmissions.

Such are the facts. In vain would we multiply them, or comment
upon them, to change their character. Cases of heredity will never be,
in the domain of physiology, any thing more than exceptions, as com-
pared with the cases which make against heredity. But now, if these
are only exceptions, by what right shall any man set up heredity as
the general law of the development of intellectual activity, or affirm
that heredity is here the law, non-heredity the exception ? Ribot ac-
cumulates the subtlest of arguments to strengthen this singular propo-
sition, but he is wasting his time, wasting his talent. Explain as you
will how the heredity of intellectual aptitudes is almost ever overcome

64 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

by antagonistic or disturbing causes, the fact remains that heredity-
has not the upper hand. With what ingenious reasons soever you
console yourself on seeing the ideal sovereignty of heredity brought
down, in matter of fact, to a very low grade of authority, still heredity
is not helped. In a word, if non-heredity has in fact a far wider em-
pire than heredity, the question arises, Why does M. Ribot adopt a
formula which implies the contrary ?

Besides, does not the history of the development of civilization
itself show existing in man the preponderant force of an eternal ten-
dency to metamorphosis, to innovation, and to change ? Fixedness
of thoughts and immobility of habits were, it is true, the law of primi-
tive peoples, as they still are of savage tribes ; but then there is noth-
ing to show that this is owing to heredity. This more or less pro-
tracted repetition of identical societies should rather, we think, be at-
tributed to the strong and irresistible instinct of imitation and to the
profound respect entertained for rites and customs established by re-
ligion. Among such peoples the future is like the present, and the
present like the past, because the same inflexible rule, the same author-
ity, and the same tyrannical superstition are imposed on them all.
Nothing possesses strength or obtains respect except through tradi-
tion, and tradition among such people is only the revered memory of
the will of the mysterious powers, manifested in days of yore. When
the English would have the Hindoos take a part in road-building and
the hygienic improvement of their country, they have still to show
that the usefulness of such enterprises was understood by the most
ancient Brahmans — so hard is it for this old race to conceive of a law
which should be obligatory without being traditional.

However that may be, and whatever part heredity may act here,
certain it is that this part is not important, since this singular homo-
geneity of primitive races, instead of being maintained and growing
stronger, does, sooner or later, give place to diversity. Every people
is in turn invaded by a force at once capable of acting counter to its
hereditary influences, and of releasing it from the iron yoke of antique
customs. It was in Greece that about 3,000 years ago the first move-
ment of this force brought about what Goethe calls " the liberation of
humanity." Since that day the crossings of distinct races, the many
new wants, and the various inventions to which they have given rise,
and the ideas which men, owing to their more and more intimate con-
tact with Nature, have conceived, have set in the place of primitive
simplicity a multiple and irresistible variability, as the present state
of the world clearly shows.

T

THE SHOVEL-NOSED SHARK. 65

THE SHOVEL-NOSED SHAKE.

By Lady VEENEY.

IHE following sketch from Nature (Fig. 1) represents the jaw of a
young shark — a tender innocent, indeed, for, if his life had not
been cut short by cruel Fate, he would have attained to the dignity of
nine rows of teeth, instead of the poor five which, as you may see in-
side the mouth, this little victim had been obliged to put up with. A
shark's age is counted by the number of rows— and his jaws are the
most awful engine of destruction which exists in the animal world :
the best possible means that could be devised to seize, to cut and tear,
and finally to hold fast any slippery subject, though of no use to chew
or masticate.

Still there seems a superfluity of naughtiness in this array of edges
and serrated points, set thus, one range following up another, as shown
in Fig. 2. What could he want with five rows of teeth ? It is almost
dangerous to run one's finger over them ; the points are like knives,
the jagged edges along the finely-modulated curves of each three-
cornered tooth are so keenly sharp.

There is a sort of hinge in the middle of both upper and lower jaw,
and from this centre the teeth point different ways, gradually dimin-
ishing to a mere root. Each is a brightly polished piece of ivory, and
each little jag of the graduated saws is exquisitely finished, and varies
according to its position. The mouth in question only measures nine
and eleven inches across, and is about two feet round, but in a full-
grown monster the jaws are wide enough to pass over a man's shoul-
ders without touching them. The snout is rounded, with very small
eyes almost at the top of his head.

The shark is the scavenger of the sea, the equivalent of the hyena
on land, and he swallows whole whatever offal is flung overboard from
the ships — bolting it without any action of the teeth, unless when
his prey is too large to go conveniently down his throat, and he breaks
it up as it passes.

The stomach-coats are extremely strong, and some action seems to
go on in it to prepare the food for the gastric juice, as a substitute for
the mastication with which other warm-blooded animals reduce it to a
pulp in their mouth.

He is so fearless in his voracity, and follows a ship so pertinaciously,
that his habits are better known than most of the sea-denizens, and
familiarity does not certainly in this instance breed either respect or
affection.

With the passengers on board the merchant-vessels to and from
Australia, shark-fishing is a favorite pastime. One of these, lately
VOL. it. — 5

66

TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

caught, was twenty feet long. " Our ship was at anchor, and I was
holding a line over the side, when the rope began to quiver. I felt
that I had hooked a large fish, and, pulling it cautiously, a large shark
came to the surface. I called out loudly, when all the passengers
came to my help. He struggled, however, so violently, lashing the
water with his tail, and trying to bite the hook asunder, that we were
obliged to keep dipping his head under water, and then haul him up
two or three feet so that the water ran down into his stomach. We
went on repeating this till he was nearly drowned, then sending a
running bowline down the rope by which he was caught, and making
it taut under his hindermost fin, we clapped the line round the
steam-winch, and turned the steam on. Some then hauled his tail
up, while all available hands dragged at the other line which held his

Fig. 1.

The Jaw of the Infant Shark.

head. As soon as we got him on board, he sent about three feet of the
ship's bulwarks out by a lash of his tremendous tail — which was cut
off by the boatswain with a hatchet, while a dozen of us with bowie-
knives finished him and opened his maw. Inside we found six large
snakes, two dozen lobsters, two empty quart-bottles, a sheepskin and
horns, and the shank-bones of beef which the cook had thrown over-
board two days before. The liver filled two large wash-deck tubs,
and when the cook melted it down we got ten gallons of oil, which
sold at Brisbane at 4s. Qd. a gallon." When his remains were thrown

THE SHOVEL-NOSED SHARK. 6j

over the side, they were as usual very soon disposed of by his affec-
tionate friends and relations, waiting near, and delighted to profit by
the good fortune. The flesh is not bad eating when young.

The shark is always attended by a small blue pilot-fish, which
swims about five yards in front of him, and evidently guides him and
warns him of danger, his unwieldy size and length making it difficult
for him to turn. The pilot-fish appears to do his kindly offices from
pure friendship, with no filthy lucre of gain ; but he probably benefits
in some way by the leavings of his great ally, or the small fry which
gather round a dead prey. There is another (strictly speaking) par-
asite which attends the shark — the sucker-fish, about sixteen inches
long, which fastens itself on to him by a curious patch at the back of
its head, not unlike the sole of an India-rubber shoe : this adheres with
such force that a strong man can hardly drag the fish away when it
has thus fastened itself to the deck. Sometimes twelve or fifteen of
them may be seen hanging on to one shark. Probably they find it
convenient to seek their food, thus traveling, as it were, on their own
carriage, free of cost or trouble, and rushing through the water at a
rate which their unassisted exertions would certainly never attain.

Fig. 2.

Sharks' Teeth.

But, on the other hand, they must endure some very hard quarters
of an hour, when their great friend gets into trouble, helplessly hang-
ing on to his fortunes as they are.

The perils of the sea are certainly doubled in the regions where
these dreadful jaws are to be found. And the certainty of such a
death was one of the most touching parts of the simple heroism shown
by the soldiers on board the Birkenhead. As is well known, she
was a transport-vessel employed to take out detachments to various
regiments in South Africa, with the wives and children. She struck
on a pointed rock near Simon's Bay, and it was soon found impossible
to save her. The men were drawn up on deck by their commanding
officer, and not a man stirred from his place as the women and children
were put into the few boats and sent off in safety to the land. Then,
standing as firmly as if on parade, with the sharks swimming around,
the whole body of men, with their officers, went down in the ill-fated
ship, very few of them being able to reach the shore.

There are more gallant things done in quiet, unobserved moments,
and obscure corners of the earth, even than before the enemy. It

68 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

was far more difficult thus in cold blood to face a dreadful death, with
no excitement or sympathy from without, than to fight a whole array
of cannon in a Balaklava charge.

A young engineer-officer, some years back, was stationed in New
Zealand, in a very out-of-the-way district, far from the settled coun-
try. He was a gallant fellow, full of high aims and objects ; besides
which he rode well, shot well, could manage a boat, and swim admira-
bly, and had attained a twofold influence over the natives by his fear-
less courage and his noble nature.

One stormy winter's afternoon, the sea running excessively high,
and a tremendous surf over the bar, a ship was seen laboring into the
roadstead of the small village near which he lived ; she was hoisting
signals of distress, and was believed to be an expected immigrant-ves-
sel, and therefore with women and children on board.

The weather was so bad that there seemed no chance of her out-
living the gale, and not a sailor on the shore would lend a hand to
help, when Captain Symonds proposed to man a boat. Perhaps it
may be said that they knew the perils to be encountered better than a
landsman, however expert. Captain Symonds then called upon the
Maories to join him, and they immediately followed him into a risk of
life which the Englishmen refused to encounter, and for the sake of
sufferers not of their own race or country.

The boat pushed off; the wind was on the shore, the surf running
in violently, and a cross-sea made it more dangerous ; the bay, too,
was known to be full of sharks. Still, however, the little boat held on
till within a few cables' lengths of the distressed vessel, which was
watching them anxiously, when the tremendous heave of a wave struck
her side and she was capsized. Captain Symonds was seen swimming
undauntedly toward the shore, holding on by an oar, but he was swal-
lowed up by the sharks before he had made any way. Two of the
gallant black fellows escaped. The vessel perished in the gale.

It required a far higher kind of courage to face such a death, on
that dark stormy winter's evening, in the attempt to rescue unknown
passengers on board an unknown ship, than to storm the worst breach
ever surmounted in war, surrounded by one's comrades in the heat of
a battle raging in one's sight. The simple doing of God's work at the
moment when it was required, with no interior bargaining as to the
" worth while " of the sacrifice, in this obscure corner of the earth (as
it then was), by this young fellow, with his aspirations, his love of life,
his healthy longing after distinction, and the distinguished career open
to him, made his death as gallant an act as can be found even in the
long record of such deeds to be told of our English soldiers and sailors,
the largest portion of which are scarcely heard of at the time, and are
forgotten quickly afterward.

The sharks are certainly not heroic themselves, but they are the
cause of a great deal of heroism in others. — Good Things.

HEALTH AND COMFORT IN HOUSE-BUILDING. 69
HEALTH AND COMFORT IN" HO USE -BUILDING. 1

By Db. JOHN W. HAYWARD.

AS implied in the title, my subject is not house-building itself, as such,
but only certain arrangements for health and comfort therein.
House-building has at least two aspects — architectural and sanitary.
The former belongs exclusively to your own profession, but the latter
comes within the sphere of the medical profession also. It is the archi-
tect's province to provide dwellings for the people, and to see that
they are made protective and safe ; and it is part of the medical man's
province to help to make them healthy and comfortable. In this re-
spect the medical profession has lately been very forcibly reminded of
its duty by Mr. George Atchison, who said : " No greater benefit could
be conferred on mankind than the teaching them the necessity of ven-
tilation, but that lesson is more likely to be learned if it come from
the doctor than from the architect. . . . Until the faculty can convince
the people that their life is shortened and serious diseases are brought
on by want of ventilation, architects have no chance."

House-building being the point in which the duties of the architect
and the physician meet, it becomes necessary that architects and medi-
cal men should occasionally discuss together the requirements involved
in this art. Much public and much mutual benefit would, I am sure,
result from such a practice. The object I have now in view is to in-
vite your consideration of a few conditions of house-building that I
deem of particular importance in a sanitary and medical point of view.

In building a dwelling-house, the conditions I deem of essential im-
portance are the following :

1. That the house shall be so placed as to be as much as possible
exposed to the fresh air and sunlight ; because fresh air and sunlight
are essential to the health, and growth, and life of the occupants. The
site, therefore, should be rather elevated, if not absolutely, at all events
in comparison with the surrounding objects.

2. That it shall be absolutely free from damp; because a damp
house is a most potent, and active, and ever-present cause of disease,
especially of rheumatism, neuralgia, colds, coughs, consumption, and
such like. The site, therefore, if not naturally dry, must be rendered
so by means of asphalt or cement, throughout the foundation, and
the roof, and gutters, and drainage must be perfect. All the house-
drains should terminate outside the house on an open grid or trap ;
that is, they should be cut off from the street drain, and they should
be ventilated by having a pipe run up from every soil-pipe and every

bend in the house.

1

1 From a paper read at the Royal Institute of British Architects, Liverpool.

7 o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

3. That it shall be so placed that the direct rays of the sun shall
have free admission into the living apartments ; because the sun's rays
impart a healthy and invigorating quality to the air, and stimulate the
vitality of human beings as they do those of plants, and without
sunlight human beings, as well as plants, would sicken and die. The
aspect, therefore, should be southeast.

4. That the lookout from the living apartments shall be cheerful,
lively, and interesting ; because much of the time of the family must
be spent indoors, and a cheerful lookout is as necessary to render in-
doors attractive and even endurable in the daytime as society is in the
evening. The prospect, therefore, should be as extensive and varied
as possible.

5. The apartments should admit into themselves a great quantity
of light ; because light is essential to the health and vigor of the in-
mates. The window openings should, therefore, be large ; but, as the
greater the surface of glass, the colder the rooms in winter, and the
hotter in summer,

6. The window-openings should be well splayed, as well outside as
inside, so as to do with as little glass as possible.

7. The windows should be so arranged as to admit the direct rays
of the sun at the times when the apartments are in use ; because it is
when the apartments are occupied that they require the cheering and
invigorating influence of the sun's rays. For instance, the breakfast-
room window should admit the early morning rays ; the dining-room
windows, one should admit the morning rays for breakfast-time, and
the other the noon rays for dinner-time ; and the drawing-room win-
dows, one should admit the morning rays for callers, and another the
evening rays for company ; and the bedroom windows should, if pos-
sible, admit the early morning rays.

8. The interior of the apartments should provide wall-space for
the arrangement of furniture ; because, without wall-space no manner
of furnishing a room can make it either handsome, elegant, or comfort-
able. The windows, therefore, should be few, and they and the door
and fireplace should be so arranged as to provide as much wall-space
as possible.

9. In the bedrooms, the window, door, and fireplace, should be so
arranged that the bed can be fixed entirely out of the draught, and
not have to be placed between the window and door, the window and
fireplace, or the door and fireplace ; because a cold draught playing on
persons while sleeping is often dangerous to life, and always destruc-
tive of comfort.

10. The doors of the apartments, besides not admitting cold air
when shut, ought not to admit cold air when open ; because the draught
thus produced not only destroys the comfort of the apartment, but
produces lumbago, rheumatism, neuralgia, etc., in the occupants. The
doors should, therefore, open out of a warmed lobby or corridor.

HEALTH AND COMFORT IN HOUSE-BUILDING. 71

11. The apartments should provide a large cubic space for air;
because plenty of air is essential to the health and comfort of the in-
mates. The apartments should therefore be as large and lofty as pos-
sible.

12. The apartments, besides providing a large cubic space for air,
should also provide for the escape of the foul and admission of fresh
air ; because, however large an apartment is, the air is sure to become
deteriorated and contaminated when the apartment is occupied by
living beings. There should, therefore, be two special openings to
each apartment, one for the escape of the foul air, and another for the
admission of fresh air. There must be two openings, an outlet and an
inlet. It is useless to make one without the other; it is useless to
make an outlet unless there is also an inlet, for no air can go out if
none comes in. This is a self-evident fact ; still it is very frequently
disregarded in attemping to ventilate apartments. There will, for in-
stance, be a perforated or louvered pane in the window, a perforated
brick or grating in the wall, an Arnott's ventilator in the chimney-
breast, an opening above the gas, with a tube leading to a grating
in the wall or into the chimney smoke-flue, or some other contrivance
for the escape of the foul air, while there is no opening at all for the
admission of fresh air; and the doors and windows are made to fit as
tightly as possible, and even list put round them to prevent any pos-
sibility of air getting in by them, as though that could go out which
never got in ! In these cases, if the outlet act at all as an outlet, it
must obtain its supply down the chimney — hence a smoking chimney ;
but generally, instead of acting as an outlet, it becomes an inlet to
supply the current up the chimney, and always so when the fire is
burning — hence the cold draught so generally complained of from the
ordinary ventilators, and hence the reason that ordinary ventilators
are so generally closed up in disappointment and disgust, and ventila-
tion decried as a nuisance, failure, and farce.

13. These openings providing for the escape of foul air and the ad-
mission of fresh air should, both of them, be special and permanent,
and altogether independent of every other arrangement of the house ;
such as opening the windows, doors, chimneys, etou ; because the
escape of foul air and the admission of fresh air are most needed when,
in consequence of the coldness of the external air, we close the doors
and shut the windows. Special ventilation is most needed in winter,
in cold, frosty weather, with an east wind blowing, and when we are
very careful to shut the doors and windows, and adopt every other
means we can to exclude the out-of-doors air, particularly of sitting at
table for meals, or round the fire for evening entertainment.

14. The outlet should take the foul air from the upper part of the
room ; because the foul air, being more heated, is specifically lighter
than the fresh air, and so rises to the upper part of the room. The
outlet should, therefore, be in or near the ceiling.

72 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

15. The outlet should be effectually protected against any possibil-
ity of back-draught — indeed, it should have a considerable amount of
suction ; because any liability to back-draught is quite incompatible
with an efficient outlet. The outlet, therefore, should not communi-
cate directly with the out-of-doors air, but, by means of a tube or flue,
should pass through some permanently heated contrivance. If the
outlet go directly to the out-of-doors air — as, for instance, a tube from
over the gas to a grating in the outer wall — there will certainly be
back-draught ; and so also will there be if the tube lead to an opening
into the chimney-flue ; at any rate, when the fire is not burning, and
particularly if the room-door be also open, and most certainly if there
be also a strong draught up the chimney of another room opening out
of the same lobby, as, for instance, a dining-room or a kitchen. To
prevent any possibility of back-draught the outlet should be provided
with some means of constant suction, and, the more thoroughly to re-
move the foul air, the more suction the better, provided there is also
an ample inlet for fresh air : if not ample, the suction would produce
a smoking chimney and draughts from around the windows and doors,
and perhaps draw in air from foundation and drains. The necessity
for this suction is generally acknowledged, and it is sometimes at-
tempted to be gained by carrying the tube before mentioned up a
little way in the smoke-flue, and even by bending it down and round
the fireplace. But a fatal objection to this plan is, that it is quite in-
operative for the greater part of the year, and is of no use whatever
unless the fire is burning ; when the fire is not burning it may, indeed,
become an inlet, and then an additional objection is, that a back-
draught down the smoke-flue carries the soot into the room, to the
spoiling of the ceiling, paper, and furniture. And, to be really effect-
ual, the suction referred to must be constant and permanent, and oper-
ative both winter and summer, and day and night ; and whether the
apartment is occupied or not, and whether the fire is burning or not.
The outlet must, therefore, pass through some contrivance for keeping
it constantly and permanently heated.

16. The inlet should admit only warmed air ; because the admis-
sion of cold air would produce dangerous draughts, and these special-
ly directed toward the part of the room occupied by the inmates in
cold weather, viz., the neighborhood of the fireplace. The inlet should,
therefore, open out of a warm lobby or corridor.

17. The outlet should be sufficiently large to carry off all the foul
air at the time when the apartment is being put to its maximum of
use ; because it is just at that time the outlet is most needed, its ca-
pacity for other times could be regulated by a valve. The outlet for
a dining-room, for instance, should be calculated for a dinner or supper
party, and that of a drawing-room for a ball, conversazione, or soiree,
and should be sufficiently capacious to carry off, at the very least,
fifteen cubic feet per minute for each occupant. The outlet should,

HEALTH AND COMFORT IN HOUSE-BUILDING. 73

however, be considerably less than the inlet, or it will produce
draughts.

18. The inlet, on the contrary, should be as capacious as possible ;
because it has to provide not only for the outlet in the ceiling, but
also for the chimney, and that when the fire is burning and requiring
for its supply alone from 600 to 1,000 cubic feet per minute. Indeed,
the inlet should be able to admit more air than can possibly find its
way out by both these outlets, otherwise it will produce draughts.
When the air can get out of an apartment more rapidly than it can
come in, there are sure to be currents ; but when more air can come
in than can get out — when the air has to go out under pressure, so to
speak — there will be little or no current. And the inlet should be
through the wall of the opposite side of the room to the fireplace ;
because the fire will then draw the air into and across the room, and
thus cause it to circulate throughout the whole of the apartment. If
the fireplace be on the same side as the inlet, it will not only not as-
sist to circulate the air throughout the apartment, but it will prevent
it from so circulating by drawing it directly up the smoke-flue ; and
it should, moreover, be split up into as many divisions as possible, so
as to distribute the supply along the whole side of the room, and thus
assist to prevent any perceptible current ; and this will be further
helped by having the openings through the cornice instead of through
the skirting, because then the fresh air will be the warmest that is in
the corridor, and it will also have to descend through the warmer air
of the room before it can come in contact with the persons therein.
When through the skirting, it is the coldest air of the corridor ; it
comes through the coldest air of the room, and it comes first to the
part of the body where it can least be borne, viz., the feet.

In this country (England) it is necessary to provide specially for
ventilation. In consequence of the nature of our climate, the doors or
windows can very seldom be left open, even in the day, and never in
the night, without risk. Indeed, no direct admission of the external
air into the apartments of the house can be endured during at least
eight or nine months of the year — in fact, the great prevalence of cold,
searching, and shriveling east wind renders such an admission abso-
lutely dangerous ; so that no kind of arrangement of openings directly
to the out-of-doors air, such as drawing down the window-sash, per-
forated bricks or gratings in the wall, perforated or louvered square in
the window, the wire-gauze at the top of the window-sash, patent ven-
tilators, or any other contrivance that communicates directly with the
out-of-doors air, can possibly answer for ventilation in a country like
ours. In this country, where eight or nine out of the twelve months
in the year are cold, windy, and winterly, houses should be built with
reference to winter, and not with reference to summer; and they
should be planned and built with the object of keeping out the cold
air and not with the object of letting it in ; ventilation should be pro-

74 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

vided for specially ; and in making this provision it should be borne
in mind that we are living at the bottom of an ocean of air, and that
the same manipulation is required as though we were living at the
bottom of an ocean of water, and were endeavoring to make it come
in at the bottom of the house and go out at the top in a continuous
stream.

From the foregoing remarks it will be seen that I maintain that
ventilation is the great and main necessity of house-building; and
that, whatever else may be left undone, this should be attended to ;
and, whatever else may be left imperfect, this should be made perfect
and complete ; and that it should include the whole house ; and should
be self-acting and inexpensive. It should, I repeat, be perfect and
complete, include the whole house, and be self-acting and inexpen-
sive.

Ventilation is the point for discussion between the architectural
and medical professions, for it is here in particular that their duties
meet and combine ; the education, knowledge, and experience of both
professions are wanted here. However much the medical man may
be impressed with the absolute necessity of rooms and houses being
ventilated, he cannot himself provide it — this must be done by the
architect ; and, on the other hand, the architect cannot be expected
to provide flues and tubes, which involve extra expense, except under
the certainty that they are absolutely necessary and required arrange-
ments involved in the plan of every house. But there is a third party
interested in this subject, namely, the public. The public are, after
all, the " yea " and " nay " in this matter ; it is, indeed, for them that
these arrangements are to be made, and they are the paymasters.
Whatever extra cost is involved, it is the public that will have to pay
it ; and it is of little use for a doctor to prove the necessity, or for an
architect to design the arrangements, unless the public be persuaded
to adopt them, and pay the cost involved. That the public can be
thus persuaded I have no doubt, but that this will take some time I
am equally ready to admit. It will take some time thoroughly to edu-
cate the public into the absolute necessity for special provisions for
ventilation, because they have hitherto been left under the impression
that special arrangements for ventilation are unnecessary and super-
fluous, or that they are impracticable, or at least incompatible with
warmth and comfort ; and I am sorry to have to add that they have
been encouraged in this impression by many architects and engineers,
and that medical men have not protested with sufficient force and in-
telligence. Medical men have gone on from generation to generation
silently mourning the resulting evils of the want of efficient and prac-
ticable means of ventilation, and architects have continued to design
houses with very little regard to these absolutely necessary provi-
sions ; while the public have submitted, and, if they have not thought
it was all right, have at least thought that the evil was quite beyond

HYPNOTISM IN ANIMALS. 75

their remedying, because every amateur (if not every professional) at-
tempt hitherto made had only ended in failure, disappointment, and
loss of money. — The Builder.

-**♦-

HYPNOTISM IN ANIMALS.

By Pbof. JOSEPH CZERMAK.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN, BY CLARA N. HAMMOND.

Lecture Second.

YESTERDAY we proceeded far enough in our study of Kircher's
experiment, relative to the imagination of the hen, to establish
the fact of the usefulness of the string and chalk-line as necessary parts
of the procedure. Indeed, the stretching out of the neck and the de-
pression of the head are the only circumstances left which make any
decided impression on us. And, so far as we can see, the gentle ex-
tension of certain parts of the brain and spinal cord which is produced,
appears to be the cause of the remarkable effect which ensues. Never-
theless, we must not be too hasty in forming our conclusions ; we must
not, as the unlearned do, remain standing at an " event viewed un-
equally." 1 For, however apparently useless the string and chalk-line
may be, it is yet possible that they are not entirely without influence ;
and, on the other hand, the extension of the neck and depression of
the head are by no means established as necessary circumstances to
the perfection of the result. So, to-day, as already announced, we will
resume and complete our investigations, and, at the close, I will en-
deavor to show what relation the whole subject has to natural science,
to " spiritualism," etc.

And I must request you to dismiss from your minds the hypothesis
that the extension of the neck and depression of the head have any
especial significance, for I have been entirely unable to produce in
pigeons the hypnotic effect which so readily ensues in hens, although I
proceeded in as nearly as possible a similar manner. On the contrary,
repeated experiments have shown that the unavoidable pressure ex-
erted upon the animal, as it is held, is of primary importance, and
that the apparently insignificant chalk-line is undoubtedly of some
moment. It is frequently the case that a hen, which, for a minute, has
been in a motionless state, caused by simply extending the neck and
depressing the head, awakes and flies away, but, on being caught
again immediately, can be placed once more in that condition of leth-
argy, if we place the animal in a squatting position, and overcome with

1 By this phrase Prof. Czermak (pronounced Tshermak) means those cases of obser-
vation in which the eyes and ears perform correctly, but the perception is at fault. The
reporter tells the truth, but what he reports never actually took place. An event viewed
unequally is one that has not been thoroughly tested.

76 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

gentle force the resistance of the muscles, by firmly placing the hand
upon its back. During the slow and measured suppression one often
perceives an extremely remarkable position of the head and neck,
which are left entirely free. The head remains as if held by an invis-
ible hand in its proper place, while the neck is stretched out of pro-
portion, and the body by degrees is pushed downward.

If the animal is left thus entirely free, it remains for a minute or
so in this peculiar condition, with wide-open, staring eyes. (The lect-
urer here caused a hen to be brought, which he placed in this remark-
able position by simply stretching out the neck and pressing down
the head ; the bird, having awakened, gave signs of returning to the
same state when it was placed in a squatting position, without moving
head or neck.) Here the actual circumstance is only the consequence
of the emotion which the nerves of the skin excite, and the gentle force
which overcomes the animal's resistance. Certainly, the creature a
short time before had been in this condition of immobility, and might
have retained some special inclination to fall back into the same, al-
though the awakening, flight, and recapture, together with the refresh-
ment given to the nervous system, are intermediate circumstances.
Similar experiments, where the influence and effect of the pressure
which is placed on the animal's muscles are manifested upon the cuta-
neous nerves, are best made upon small birds.

To bird-fanciers, it has been a long-known fact that one can rob
gold-finches, canary-birds, etc., of the powers of their nervous systems,
so that they remain motionless for a short time, by simply holding
them firmly for a moment, and then letting them go.

These experiments, which I will endeavor to perform before you,
are particularly striking, on account of the vivacity of the timid ani-
mals. Yet I must remind you of a possible failure, due to the unusual
circumstances of noise and numbers which may have a disturbing in-
fluence on these excitable little creatures.

Here in my hand is a timid bird, just brought from market. If I
place it on its back, and hold its head with my left hand, keeping it
still for a few seconds, it will lie perfectly motionless after I have re-
moved my hands, as if charmed, breathing heavily, and without making
any attempt to change its position or to fly away. (Two of the birds
were treated in this manner, without effect, but the third, a siskin, fell
into a sleeping condition, and remained completely immovable on
its back, until pushed with a glass tube, when it awoke and flew ac-
tively around the room.)

Also, in a sitting position, with the head held a little to the back,
the birds fall into this sleeping condition, in spite of their open eyes ;
indeed, I have often noticed that the birds under these circumstances
close their eyes for a few minutes, and even a quarter of an hour, and
are more or less fast asleep.

I cannot omit to notice, with many thanks, that our assiduous nat-

HYPNOTISM IN ANIMALS. 77

uralist, Herr Geupel-White, has most kindly placed at our disposal the
rich material his zoological garden affords, to assist us in these experi-
ments.

My former experiment with the swan was also performed in Herr
Geupel-White' s garden. In the experiments with the small birds, the
condition of immobility, which can change to actual sleep, is only
caused by the effect of the impression made in the animals, through
touching the skin and overpowering the resisting muscles. You will
see this in the continuation of our experiment. That, however, the ex-
citing of certain cutaneous nerves alone changes the normal functional
capacities, and calls forth a singular state of stupidity, is proved by
the following highly-interesting experiment with a frog, which Dr.
Lewissohn, in Berlin, has suggested, and most thoroughly investigated :

If one places a frog on its back, it does not remain in this unnatural
position for an instant, but, on the contrary, turns itself over and
escapes. This you may see yourselves, when I endeavor to place this
frog on its back. But please notice the astonishing result if we tie its
two fore-legs with a string. (The lecturer tied threads around each
of the frog's fore-legs, drew the threads tightly, and laid the animal,
as before, on its back.) You see that the frog, breathing heavily but
otherwise quite motionless, now lies on its back, and does not make
the slightest attempt to escape, even when I endeavor to move it. It is
as though its small amount of reasoning power had been charmed
away, or else that it slept with open eyes ; an analogous condition to
that which we saw in the crabs, hens, and little birds. The only dif-
ference is, that the actual connection of the phenomena is much clearer.
Now, I press upon the cutaneous nerves of the frog, while I loosen
and remove the threads on the fore-legs. Still the animal remains
motionless upon its back, in consequence of some remaining after-effect ;
at last, however, it returns to itself, turns over, and quickly escapes.

That it is here a matter of restraint upon the nervous centres, in
consequence of the pressure on the sensitive cutaneous nerves, Lewis-
sohn has already proved. In this experiment, the impulse of motion
on the nervous fibres, which proceeds from the so-called motory centre
of the brain and spinal cord, remains quite capable of action on one
side, while, as regards the other side, the remarkable condition of stu-
pidity will no longer happen, if we have divided the cutaneous nerves
before tightening the threads.

Sometimes it is possible to make the frog lie motionless on its back
without the threads ; but this proves nothing against the soundness
of Dr. Lewissohn's results.

But let us return to our old experimentum mirabile 1 of the hen.
According to the analogy of the last experiments with the frog, the
tying together of the hen's feet, although not necessary, may con-
tribute something to the effect in Kircher's experiment, not only by

1 Admirable experiment.

7 8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

keeping the animal firm and quiet, but also by pressing upon the cuta-
neous nerves. In order to understand the whole subject, we must go
further and adduce other facts which bear upon it.

The most interesting part of our investigation still remains, which,
as I remarked beforehand, will lead us to the doubtful regions of
mesmerism and somnambulism. And the question arises again : Has
the apparently unnecessary chalk-line in Kircher's experiment any sig-
nificance ; and, if so, what ?

I have already mentioned that I did not succeed in placing pigeons
in this motionless state by holding them firmly in my hand, and press-
ing their heads and necks gently upon the table, as I did the hens.

I therefore endeavored to treat the pigeons as I did the little birds,
that is, I held them with a thumb placed on each side of the head,
which I bent over a little, while the other hand held the body gently
pressed down upon the table.

Even this treatment, which has such an effect on little birds, did
not seem to succeed at first with the pigeons. Almost always they
flew away as soon as I liberated them and entirely removed my hands.
I remarked, however, that the short time, during which the pigeons
remained quietly in my fingers, increased visibly, and lengthened sev-
eral minutes, when I removed the finger of the hand which held the
head, only removing the hand very little, or else not at all. The hand
holding the body could have been removed much sooner without doing
any harm.

While I zealously pursued this trace of new events, I found, to my
astonishment, that it led me to the observation of the pigeon's atten-
tion, and the fixing of its look upon my finger placed before its eyes.
It is this movement which, until now, has not been taken into our
consideration, and is the critical period which is of such great im-
portance as a link between the phenomena we have noticed and others
to which we are gradually approaching. In order to determine the
matter still more clearly, I tried the experiment on a pigeon which
I had clasped firmly by the body in my left hand, but whose neck
and head were perfectly free, and held one finger of my right hand
firmly before the top of its beak — and what did I see ? The first
pigeon with which I made this attempt remained rigid and motion-
less, as if bound, for several minutes, before the outstretched fore-
finger of my right hand !

Yes, I could take my left hand, with which I had held the bird, and
again touch the pigeon without waking it up ; the animal remained in
the same position while I held my outstretched finger still pointing
toward the beak. (The lecturer demonstrated this experiment in the
most successful manner with a pigeon which was brought to him.)

I have repeated this striking experiment on a number of pigeons,
yet I do not know whether suitable animals are frequently found, for,
of course, it is to be understood that the experiment cannot always

HYPNOTISM IN ANIMALS. 79

entirely succeed, as it concerns essentially the concentration of the
pigeon's attention, and the fixing of its look. Individual, inward re-
lations, as well as outward conditions, must necessarily exercise some
disturbing influence, whether the animal will give itself up to the re-
quisite exertions of certain parts of its brain with more or less inclina-
tion, or otherwise. You then understand why apparently little cir-
cumstances may be responsible for the result of an experiment in
which this critical moment plays a part.

We often see, for example, how a pigeon endeavors to escape
from confinement by a quick turning of its head from side to side. In
following these singular and characteristic movements of the head
and neck, with the finger held before the bird, one either gains his
point, or else makes the pigeon so perplexed and excited that it at
last becomes quiet, so that, if it is held firmly by the body and head,
it can be forced gently down upon the table. It is as Schopenhauer
says of sleeping, " The brain must bite." I will also mention here, by-
the-way, that a tame parrot, which I have in my house, can be placed
in this sleeping condition by simply holding the finger steadily before
the top of its beak.

But let me hasten, gentlemen, to say to you that, in the remarkable
and singular influence which the holding of the finger exercises on
pigeons, the influence of the mythical agents may not be removed ;
agents which may come from the organization of the experimenter,
and, perhaps, spring from the outstretched finger. Nevertheless, a
glass tube, a cork, a small wax-candle, or any other equally lifeless
substance, placed directly on the top of the pigeon's bill, has the same
magical effect as when the human finger is used. We must only be
careful that the animal be placed so that its attention is fixed for some
time on the object. I have seen pigeons sit motionless for some min-
utes, with open eyes, after I had placed a lucifer-match, or a wax-light,
on the top of their bills.

Often, with hens, these experiments succeed in the most astonish-
ing manner. I have repeatedly seized hens with both hands by the
body so that their heads and necks were quite free, and forced them
gently against a pedestal on which a glass tube was placed, so that it
just touched the top of the bill. The animal, when left perfectly free,
remained gazing fixedly at the glass tube for more than a minute.
The same thing happened when a cork stopper was used, instead of
the glass tube.

Finally, I will mention that with the hens I often hung a piece of
twine, or a small piece of wood, directly over their crests, so that the
end fell before the eyes. I mention this experiment especially, be-
cause, when performed, the hens not only remained perfectly motion-
less, but closed their eyes, and slept with their heads sinking until
they came in contact with the table. Before falling asleep, the hens'
heads can be either pressed down or raised up, and they will remain in

80 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

this position as if they were pieces of wax. That is, however, a symp-
tom of a cataleptic condition, such as is seen in human beings under
pathological conditions of the nervous system.

After I had discovered the events which I have just communicated
to you concerning the hens and pigeons, two things were clear to me ;
1. That the drawing of the chalk-line in Kircher's experiment was of
some significance. The hand which draws the line, and the line itself,
are transferred to an object in which the animal's look and attention
are placed, through which a marvelous condition of certain parts of its
nervous system is called forth, accompanied by cataleptic phenomena,
and which can change to sleep.

2. That it produces soporific phenomena in animals, as has long
been conjectured, but, until now, never investigated or proved ; a pe-
culiar and mysterious state, resembling sleep, accompanied by cata-
leptic appearances and a change in the nervous system. This can
be produced in many men by a simple fixing of the look on some small
object, and through a concentration of the will.

It is well known that, in the year 1851, Mr. Braid, a Scotch surgeon,
established in Manchester, who was present at the mesmeric exhibi-
tions of Lafontaine, was first struck with the idea that these phenom-
ena, proclaimed as the effect of a magnetic fluid, were only a natural
consequence of the fixed look and entire abstraction of the attention,
which present themselves under the monotonous manipulation of the
magnetizer. Mr. Braid proved in his experiments the entire dispensa-
bleness of a so-called magnetizer, and his supposed secret agents, or
fluids, produced through certain manipulations ; he taught the sub-
jects of the experiments to place themselves in this sleeping con-
dition, by simply making them gaze fixedly at some object for a long
time with strict attention and unmoved gaze. It is therefore clear
that this condition of the nerves, caused by the steady look and at-
traction of attention, in one part of the brain, brings the other parts
into action with it and changes the functions, to whose normal activity
the phenomena of the will are united. This is the actual, natural,
physiological connection of this mysterious appearance. It only re-
mains to us now to ascertain which portions of the brain first and
secondly become altered, and in what these changes consist.

According to Braid, for example, on one occasion, in the presence of
800 persons, ten out of fourteen full-grown men were placed in a sleep-
ing condition in this way. All began the experiment at the same time ;
the former with their eyes fixed upon a projecting cork, placed secure-
ly on their foreheads ; the others, at their own will, gazed steadily at
certain points in the direction of the audience. In the course of ten
minutes the eyelids of these ten persons had involuntarily closed.
With some, consciousness remained ; others were in catalepsy, and
entirely insensible to being stuck with needles, and others, on awaken-
ing, knew absolutely nothing of what had taken place during their

HYPNOTISM IN ANIMALS. 81

sleep. Even more ; three persons of the audience fell asleep without
Braid's knowledge, after following the given direction of fixing their
eyes steadily on some point.

Braid's experiments, which are designated as the beginning of a
scientific investigation of extremely complicated nervous phenomena,
did not find at first the esteem and homage due to them, and grad-
ually sank into oblivion. This is explained by the fact that they were
associated with mesmerism ; and Lafontaine, whose " magnetic " exhi-
bitions were the first cause of Braid's investigations, protested, not
without some animosity, that " hypnotism," or " Braidism," was iden-
tical with his " mesmerism." Braid himself, in the course of his ex-
periments, seems to have lost his former scientific force as an investi-
gator. Then, in 1848, Mr. Grimes, the American, with his "Electro-
Biology," appeared, and took up the intellectual epidemic of mediums
and spiritual apparitions, which we witnessed in astonishment, and
saw the whole world more or less impressed by it. It was, naturally,
then, not at all surprising that hypnotism, or Braidism, remained al-
most unknown to science. Only once it attracted scientific attention
and interest, and then only for a short time. This was in 1859, in
December, after Yelpeau and Broca, two well-known French surgeons
of La Societe de Chirurgie, in Paris, caused the most immense sensa-
tion by placing twenty-four women in a sleeping condition by Braid's
method, and then performing surgical operations without causing them
the slightest pain.

Then much was said in the journals about "hypnotism" in hens,
the description of which had already been found in one of Father
Kircher's works. Although characteristic enough for those days, yet,
to my knowledge, no one has been much impressed by the investiga-
tion of Kircher's experimentum mirabile, for it treats of a real state
of hypnotism ; and, with animals, every one feels safe from all thoughts
of deception, but yet can bring into application all physiological means
of investigation, in order to penetrate the mysteries of the phenomena.
This proof of the actual appearance of hypnotism in animals is the
scientific result of my above-communicated observations and experi-
ments, which I intend to continue upon mammals, on which I have
not yet experimented.

These, however, have still another interest for us. They have
strikingly demonstrated how difficult it is to obtain actual facts from
" events viewed unequally." They have still further shown us what
insight, what strength of demonstration, and sharpness of criticism,
scientific investigations demand ; and, finally, they have made known
to every discerning person how little weight should be attached to the
reports of the most honorable and upright people, when these people
are not entirely penetrated with the idea of the exact nature of the
investigation.

This never-to-be-neglected foresight, in the estimation of reports
VOL. iv. — 6

82 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

and testimonies relative to such actual phenomena as appear to ex-
ceed the usual events of Nature, is especially justified when, in the
sleeping condition of the animal, every trace of visible deception is
removed; how much more so are doubt, reserve, and refusal, an irre-
fragable law and duty, when it treats of phenomena which, on one
hand, are a scorn to science, and, on the other, not only give rise to
suspicion, but are an actual visible deception ! This last double char-
acter marks thousands of phenomena which eyes and ears have con-
sidered real in mesmerism, clairvoyance, spiritualism, etc.

In the mean while, strict natural science never decides a priori,
and the indicated character would never prevent science from drawing
phenomena of such a character into the range of its investigation
and trial. And yet, the science of our day is placed, in every respect,
opposite to spiritualism and its relations. Are not the passionate
complaints and reproaches to which the representatives of science,
and even science itself, are exposed, from the countless fanatics and
believers of this mysterious faith, quite unjustifiable?

By no means ! It will be easy, after all you have seen and heard
here, to justify the bearing of science. I considered myself unable to
withdraw from this ungrateful task, because it is a duty of my especial
profession to prepare a true explanation, and because my previous
scientific research has led me to the region where superstition, preju-
dice, credulity, and even worse, absolutely rule. I called the task
" ungrateful," because one finds powers in opposition against which,
as Schiller says, " the gods themselves struggle in vain."

They who are occupied with the questionable regions, which are
made attractive and ensnaring through wonderful and mysterious
things, are divided into two classes. The first is formed of persons
who care nothing about the confirmation and investigation of remark-
able events, but, on the contrary, occupy themselves with those events
through sordid but harmless motives. To this class belong the friv-
olous, and those professionless people who are influenced by vanity,
and endeavor to kill time with apparently great industry. Of this
class it is not necessary to speak further.

The other class is composed of upright people, who mean honestly ;
and these have a right to be looked after, and set properly on their
course, even if teaching and advice find deaf ears.

In this class are two distinct groups : 1. Good people, but bad
investigators ; that is, the scientific know-nothings, who have never
occupied themselves particularly with natural researches, and their
results and methods ; 2. Scientific people by reputation, who have
performed, for their own special departments, real services for science.

Of those who belong to the first group of this class, and who,
without profession or special education, undertake to explore such
complicated and puzzling events, we can simply say : If these true-
hearted people only had an idea of the requirements and difficulties

HYPNOTISM IN ANIMALS. 83

of an exact natural investigation, a slight comprehension of the
strength of the proof which science must absolutely command, if
it treats of the confirmation of events, and the connection of the
simplest circumstances, they would entirely cease from their sense-
less and fruitless endeavors, and seek to acquaint themselves with
the valuable acquisitions of to-day's teachings, without which man
— comparable to a ship without a compass or rudder — tossed about
on the sea of error and deception — can be perplexed to imbecility !
The excellent advice to keep at a distance all mysterious and super-
natural manifestations, in spite of their charms and attractions, has
already been communicated to you. An instructive maxim says,
" There is a virtuous spirit of relinquishment in intellectual as well
as in moral power." And here, in order not to be led into temptation,
men must carry this relinquishment to the extreme of intellectual " tee-
totalism." It is more difficult to deal with the second group of this
class. It is clear that if the few natural investigators who compose
this group were not entirely divested of the spirit of strict research
which they may once have possessed, they would have found ways
and means to confirm, in a scientific manner, the " events viewed un-
equally " which they are not ashamed to testify to as though they were
actual circumstances, so as to win the confidence and esteem of all
natural investigators. As they have by no means succeeded in this,
the weight of their testimony sinks, in spite of its truth, to the level
of that of the unlearned persons mentioned in the first group of this
class.

In reference to the perception and knowledge of natural events
one cannot vote, per major a, as in human laws. The votes here
must be weighed. However, to give no opportunity for misconstruc-
tion, I will say, beforehand, that the natural investigators of whom I
speak have not lost all their weight and respectability in science be-
cause they vouched for the reality of unheard-of and absolutely in-
credible events, but because of the foundation on which they placed
this testimony.

They refer us triumphantly to the " scientific " investigation of a
Hare, a Crookes, a Butterow, and other well-known " natural investi-
gators ! " However, he who examines this startling literature, will
only become more confirmed in his ideas. The way alone in which
these " investigators " perform their experiments, and the manner
in which they make their reports, prove very clearly that they
are really no investigators at all. To give one striking example,
Crookes announces earnestly to the scientific society of London, of
which he is a member, that he has discovered a new feature in Na-
ture, which he calls " psychic force." Through the influence of this
force, according to Crookes, the weight of a body can be increased or
diminished several pounds, without visible interference !

And how do you think Crookes has investigated and estab-

84 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

lished this marvelous circumstance ? You will hardly deem it pos-
sible, when I tell you he did it simply by noticing, in the presence of
certain people, that a spring-balance, of the same kind as one uses to
weigh letters, gave movements the causes of which were not apparent.
I will here show you a small drawing, so that you may understand

it better, which illustrates the principle of an apparatus used by
Crookes. J3 is the strong mahogany board, several feet long, one end
of which rests on the table, 1\ by means of a sharp point placed in the
under side, while the other end is fastened to the balance, W, which
hangs suspended from a rest, 6r. The index of the balance shows how
great the weight is which it has to bear. Every movement backward
or forward, any shaking or pushing which is communicated to the
board, must be made perceptible through a rising or falling of the in-
dex. And now, Crookes assures us that he has perceived such mo-
tions of the index, in the presence of others, when Mr. Home, the prin-
cipal medium, did not move the apparatus at all, but was held firmly
by the hands and feet, some distance from it ! And that is all !
Crookes ventures his monstrous assertion on the ground that the bal-
ance made motions which appeared to have no cause whatever !
Whoever is satisfied with the general assertions of Crookes, in this
respect, manifests such incapability of judgment concerning science,
that he has simply no right to speak about such things.

That a balance makes motions is a circumstance very easy to estab-
lish. We can accept it, as an actual event in Crookes's evidence, that
the balance has really made some motions in the presence of the so-called
mediums ; but when Crookes represents as an actual event that it was
the " psychic force " of the medium which caused this motion, and
altered considerably the weight of the body, it is, in spite of all
persuasion, no real circumstance, but a well-meant assertion of an
" event viewed unequally ; " a statement which does not deserve the

HYPNOTISM IN ANIMALS. 85

slightest belief nor the smallest amount of consideration. This asser-
tion does not deserve the latter, simply because it concerns an " event
viewed unequally " (for there are many events in this category which
deserve the highest esteem), but because the admissible part of
Crookes's statement is in itself worthy of no notice, and because not
the slightest proof is furnished that the motions only proceeded from
the so-called medium, and that they could partake of no heretofore
well-known natural cause !

Had such a proof been undertaken in an exact manner, Crookes's
assertions would probably have deserved some notice, which would
have led to a repetition of his experiment, in order to test more thor-
oughly his " event viewed unequally ; " if this proof had been strictly
enforced, Crookes would have discovered one of the most remarkable
known events, and his assertions would have at once commanded the
utmost respect and consideration from all natural investigators ; as,
perhaps, with Volta, when he built his pile, which presented no less
incredible appearances ! But, as the events stand, Crookes's state-
ments, as with hundreds and thousands of " events viewed unequally,"
concerning moving tables, flying guitars, self-playing pianos, etc.,
have been regarded with exactly the same claim to science as the best
and most astonishing sleight-of-hand performances, which no one can
admit to be real natural investigations, although in a psychological re-
spect the real cause of the deception may be very interesting.

Little as it may affect a reasonable man, not to be able to inves-
tigate some pretty and striking conjuring trick, so also no one ought
to disquiet himself on account of events which hundreds of people
have testified to, even when the slightest proof is unproduced, so that
every thought relating to the possibility of such an interesting natural
phenomenon is removed.

Only through* the idea that the phenomena are not visible do these
latter present a most remarkable significance in the eyes of the un-
learned. But, in this significance, they make no difference between it
and conjuring, which is often much more interesting and not less in-
explicable. But do they make a distinction in any other respect ?
As to that we will ask, at first, a little information from the " spirit-
ualists," " natural investigators," and " savants" such as Yarley, Wal-
lace, Crookes, Butterow, and others, before we allow them the right to
make the slightest reproof concerning science, and the dependence of
these things upon it.

These gentlemen have not the shadow of a right to complain of
any thing save their own incapability, nor have they the right to make
a reproach to any one except themselves, that they did not succeed
in establishing their " spiritual manifestations."

I will expressly emphasize the fact that I did not say that one
must regard all phenomena, which occur daily, and which are of the
greatest significance and importance, as mere conjuring-tricks, al-

86 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

though numbers of them could be proved to be such. Remember
the Davenport scandal ! For me, the first " manifestations " are
entitled to as little consideration as the latter, and I selected the
best authenticated of them when I communicated Crookes's experi-
ments as a characteristic example of " spiritual " literature to the
well-known English savant, the deserving scholar, our great chem-
ist Hoffman, of Berlin, formerly of London. And has any one of the
gentlemen who are " investigators " in this department said any thing
to the credit of the deceased American chemist and " spiritualist," Dr.
Hare ? Does not one find in the literature which they have the as-
surance to refer us to, accompanied by brainless chattering and fan-
ciful effusions, nothing, nothing at all, but childish or idiotic ar-
rangements, supposed to represent a psychological apparatus, and more
or less creditable reports as to the reality of " events viewed un-
equally ? "

In the mean while, you may properly ask if these events, which
have been witnessed by hundreds of worthy people, are needful
of scientific examination and proof, and whether they are worth it ?
Oh, yes ; but not all, and not in a very high degree. Science and its
followers have the right to consult their own time and opportunity,
They have something more to do than to occupy themselves in answer-
ing every question put to them. You all know the old saying relating
to the fool and the seven wise men. That which is worthy of no earnest
investigation, and which, nevertheless, can awaken esteem and con-
fidence, in spite of all singularity, should raise no claim to considera-
tion on the part of science. In this case, however, the moving tables,
flying guitars, mysterious rappings, of course take no part.

The clamors of hundreds and thousands of eye and ear witnesses
who triumphantly hint at " scientific investigations," but who are in-
capable of giving any proof of the experiments, do not change the mat-
ter in the least. Whether one or another investigator may consider
these things, is entirely dependent on his personal opinion, and on
casual circumstances. Whoever has no opinion on the matter, and
holds aloof from it, cannot meet with the slightest reproach. My
highly-esteemed friend Prof. Sharpey, who formerly was secretary
for many years of the Royal Society of London, was perfectly right
when he refused Mr. Crookes's invitation to be present at his experi-
ments with Mr. Home ; indeed, he acted with great wisdom, for
spiritualists and fanatics are very much inclined to trumpet forth men
of science as important witnesses on such occasions. The letter of the
celebrated astronomer Huggins, written on the 9th of June, 1871, to
Mr. Crookes, is nothing but a polite though decided denial of his
opinion relative to different phenomena which had taken place in
Crookes's house in Huggins's presence. And yet, this letter is quoted
triumphantly, and Huggins, probably much against his will, is con-
sidered, from all sides, as one of the " scientific authorities " who

HYPNOTISM IN ANIMALS. 87

had delivered their testimony as to the reality of spiritual writings,
supernatural manifestations, etc. Judge for yourselves ! For the
preservation of Huggins's honor, and as a striking example of these
gentlemen's proceedings, I feel necessitated to communicate this
doubtful letter to you :

Mb. CROOKES : Uppee Sulbe Hill, June 9, 1871.

Dear Sir : The proof-sheets which you sent me seem to contain a correct
representation of what took place in your house in my presence. My position
at the table did not allow me to witness the removal of Mr. Home's hand from
the piano ; hut this is considered by you, as well as the person sitting on the
other side of Mr. Home, to have taken place. The experiments show me the
importance of further investigation. I, however, wish it distinctly understood,
that I express no decided opinion in regard to the phenomena.

Your obedient servant, William Huggins.

Yet, as we have said, whether one or another scientific investigator
examines these things, his personal opinion is entirely dependent on
the circumstances. But, in regard to strict science, they simply
do not exist at all. Science neither recognizes nor denies them ; it
simply ignores, and it has a perfect right to do this, because time and
work are too precious to be wasted on phenomena which can offer
no higher interest than that their causes are not apparent — ex-
actly in the same way as with conjuring. In these days, no one is
accused of possessing supernatural power, otherwise we might again
begin to burn people for heresy and witchcraft. Heretofore, nothing
has compelled us to suppose spiritual manifestations and dubious phe-
nomena to be supernatural, and therefore the whole thing is probably
not worth any consideration whatever, except perhaps in a psychologi-
cal point of view.

The absolute opposition of science to spiritualism, etc., is entirely
justifiable, as you, gentlemen, must admit, little as you may be sat-
isfied with our views, or much as you have been deceived in your
expectations. I can only say that, possibly in consequence of the
long reserve of science, much, perhaps, to the harm of mankind, re-
mained, and still remains, undiscovered ; for one, with the modesty
to which a natural investigator, more than any other else, is forced,
can say with Hamlet : " There are more things in Heaven and earth,
Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy ! " In the mean while
this must be borne with. The right time will come for every dis-
covery and every step of progress.

88 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

THE SURVIVAL OF INSTINCTS.

By ELI AS LEWIS, Jk.

ANIMAL life has its episodes, and apparently abnormal habits.
A gentleman, residing near this city (Brooklyn), had recently
a turkey tethered with a cord in a field during the early life of her
brood. He had also several other turkeys with which this one had a
long time associated, apparently on the most friendly terms, find which,
during her temporary confinement, strolled and fed quietly around
her. But it happened one day that she became entangled with the
cord, so that her feet were drawn together, and, being unable to walk,
lay struggling on the ground. While thus helpless her associates
attacked her, evidently for the purpose of killing her outright. They
made no onset as when fighting, but deliberately and in the coolest
manner possible commenced their butchery by picking the head of the
unfortunate bird.

So intent were they that they scarcely heeded the approach of our
friend, who, from a distance, saw what was going on. Before he
reached the spot, the assailants had destroyed one eye and laid bare
the skull, inflicting injuries so great upon the creature that she soon
died. A similar act was repeated shortly afterward in the same flock,
and the phenomenon — certainly a curious one — is, we believe, not un-
usual.

Observation and inquiry have shown that a like disposition appears
not among turkeys only, but in several species of animals, exciting
them, when aroused, to attack and worry those of their kind if weak,
sick, or disabled. It has been noticed with cattle, swine, dogs, and,
as has been suggested by observers, may occur with all domesticated
or partly domesticated species in which it had existed in their wild
state. We are informed by drovers, of whom we have made careful
inquiry, that when herds of cattle are hurriedly driven, and especially
when they become excited or alarmed, one having fallen, or showing
signs of weakness, is sometimes set upon and gored by its associates.

Two gentlemen, who have been drovers forty years, and during
many years were themselves collectors and drivers of herds, assure us
that they have often witnessed such attacks, and have interfered to
prevent injury. They also state that the habit appears to be more
frequent with animals which have run at large without much care or
restraint, than with those well domesticated.

Such occurrences, however, are well known among domesticated
cattle. A gentleman residing on Long Island had, a few years since,
a herd of cattle, one of which was taken suddenly sick, but was turned,
as usual, into the field with the others. In a short time he noticed
great disturbance among them, and, on hurrying to the spot, found

THE SURVIVAL OF INSTINCTS. 89

the sick one on the ground bellowing, and being gored by her asso-
ciates. An acute observer, also residing on Long Island, near this city,
Mr. J. D. Hicks, writes as follows : " In answer to thy inquiries, J. H.
and S. R. inform me that the fact has been noticed in their own ex-
perience that the well ones of a herd do sometimes seek to gore and
destroy a sick or maimed one. A cry of distress, instead of exciting
sympathy, seems to invite attack, and the first movement by one is a
signal for attack by others. Thee may rest perfectly assured of this.
I have myself more than once witnessed it."

The gentlemen whose initials are given are large owners of cattle,
and have for nearly half a century been familiar with their habits,
and with the habits of those brought in droves from distant parts of
the country. Of the habits of entirely wild cattle we know but
little. The wild herds of the pampas have descended from tame
stock, and it is not easy to show by instances the habits of the original
wild stock in this particular. A breed of cattle formerly common in
Southern Scotland, noted for their untamed and savage disposition, is
spoken of by Cuvier, under the name of white urus, and he says :
" When one of this breed happens to be wounded, or is enfeebled by
age or sickness, the others set upon it and gore it to death."

With swine a similar habit has been observed. We are in-
formed that it is sometimes necessary to separate disabled ones, for
safety, from the general herd. The drovers already referred to state
that, in the driving and transportation of swine, those which become
sick and faint are often objects of attack. Drooping of the ears, and
other evidences of exhaustion, seem to excite the propensity, and may
occur while being driven, or in pens in course of transportation. In
cars, where they are probably much excited, weak and fallen ones are
often torn to pieces, and sometimes devoured.

On one occasion, after a sick pig was thus disposed of, a dead
dog was thrown among the excited animals, but no notice was taken
of it. We will mention, in this connection, that we have not learned
of any instance of an animal, strong and vigorous, being thus attacked,
nor where a sick or feeble one was defended by its associates when
such an attack was made ; and it is certain that with hogs, as with
cattle, the more untamed they are, the more violent and savage is
their disposition, and the more frequent the peculiar habit we have
under consideration.

Audubon observes that, with the wild-turkey, the old males, on
their marches, frequently destroy, by picking the head, those which
are immature, but it does not appear that full-grown and vigorous
birds are attacked. The old, sick, and disabled, are continually left
to their fate by moving herds of the American bison, and are fed
upon by wolves. That they are expelled by violence is probable, but,
so far as we know, there is no positive proof of the fact. It is known
that wolves, if wounded, are attacked and killed by their comrades ;

9 o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

and the arctic fox, if disabled, is sometimes not only destroyed, but
eaten by its companions. One of a school of porpoises at play around
a vessel, as we once witnessed, was injured by a pole hurled at it,
when it was instantly pursued by dozens of others with a celerity of
movement that was astonishing.

Darwin, commenting on this trait in animals, says : " It is almost
the blackest fact in natural history that animals should expel a
wounded one from the herd, or gore or worry it to death."

That the helpless and suffering should be thus destroyed does in-
deed seem to indicate an absence of sympathy in strange contrast
with the kindness and affection shown in innumerable instances be-
tween animals of the same species. But the kind-hearted author al-
ready cited remarks that " instinct or reason may suggest the expelling
an injured companion, lest beasts of prey, including man, should be
tempted to follow the troop. In this case their conduct is not much
worse than that of the North American Indians, who leave their feeble
comrades to perish on the plains, or the Feejeeans, who, when their
parents get old or fall ill, bury them alive."

If the view of Darwin be correct, it is evident that the habit ori-
ginated in the wild and undomesticated state of the species, and that,
in destroying their disabled or wounded ones, they simply act out
their instinct of self-preservation.

They get rid of those which might delay their flight or allure pur-
suit ; and we may conclude that love of life and fear of danger, rather
than any primal ferocity, develop and fix a habit which at first sight
appears singular and unaccountably savage.

Animals in their wild state live in perpetual danger, and, we may
add, in perpetual fear. Sir John Richardson observes that wolves con-
tinually haunt the track of the buffalo, and the weak are often seized.
The peccary, says Cuvier, if it falls in the rear of the flock, is seized by
the jaguar, and the feeble, straggling ones of every herd become a prey
to its enemies, and incite pursuit. It would be strange, indeed, if this
source of danger, so obvious and persistent, should escape the sagacity
of animals, or be disregarded by their prudence. We know that ani-
mals of many kinds defend each other, and thus protect themselves.
The habit referred to is merely a method of defense. The courageous
and strong stand guard over the herd or flock in time of danger, and
the intelligence or instinct which prompts this also prompts the re-
moval of an element of weakness.

Nor do animals differ in this respect from man. Does history fur-
nish no instances where commanders of armies have sacrificed the
wounded, and destroyed by poison or otherwise the weak and helpless
that the strong might escape destruction ? Equally with animals and
with man, danger may suggest and put in execution means for secur-
ing safety, which show a strange absence of sympathy in the one case,
and of humanity in the other.

THE SURVIVAL OF INSTINCTS. .91

It is not probable that animals possess savage qualities other than
such as are or were originally of service to them and their kind. We
cannot understand that any quality or habit should be developed in
an animal which was not serviceable to it ; but it is certain that both
may arise from the wants and necessities incident to its condition.

If strength and fleetness are essential in pursuit, so also is sagacity
in eluding it. An element of danger is detected and removed. A fox
will use every precaution that the hound may not be allured by his
odor, and the white urus destroys its weak comrade which falls in the
rear unable to maintain its place in the flight. The habit with some
animals of destroying their weak companions is. only one of many
which by repetition becomes at last common to the kind. With the
repetition of the act grows a disposition or tendency to repeat it as
the exciting cause or condition recurs. It becomes thus in the creat-
ure a tendency which we may term instinctive, and that such tenden-
cies are transmissible and are inherited needs no illustration here.
Perhaps there is no fact in biology more clearly established and more
fearfully significant than this, and it is true equally in man and in the
lower animals.

Habits thus developed do not readily disappear, but the old dispo-
sition or instinct may remain after the habit has been discontinued,
and long after it has ceased to be of service to the creature. This is
shown by the fact that former habits frequently reappear when sug-
gested by former predisposing conditions, although these may have
been long overlooked or forgotten.

Under domestication many habits indispensable to animals in their
wild state become useless, and slowly but surely disappear, while
others are developed, and the animal undergoes a physical and mental
change ; but the time is very long before old instincts die out beyond
the possibility of resuscitation. They appear to continue in animals
under domestication as do those of the savage, in civilized life, despite
culture and education. We will illustrate by a single instance :

With the savage, hunting is the occupation of life. He hunts from
necessity, and his mental, moral, and physical being, are attuned to its
conditions. His hunting habits and hunting dispositions are thor-
oughly instinctive, but in civilized communities the necessity for hunt-
ing has chiefly disappeared. Still, the field and forest are hunting-
grounds. The savage is not there, but who will say that the old in-
stincts have not survived in the cunning of pursuit, the thoughtless
cruelty of destruction, and indifference to suffering ? It is true our
modern hunter has grown gentle, humane, and tender, in a thousand
directions, but the enjoyment of him who hunts merely for sport
cannot be in that spirit which has developed with his culture — which
weeps at the sight of agony, and is tender to the " mournful eloquence
of pain."

We refer to this only to illustrate the persistence of instinctive

92 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

tendencies, and of the habits with which mental states seem directly
associated.

It is, we believe, probable, perhaps certain, that the disposition in
some animals to destroy their weak associates has come down from a
former undomesticated condition of their kind, in which its correlative
habits were essential to safety and life.

If this view be correct, our friend's birds may not be obnoxious to
the charge of being specially cruel ; and, seeing how persistent in-
stinctive habits may become in some of the higher animals and in
man, it is not strange that they continue in the turkey, a species re-
cently domesticated, and by no means remarkable for intelligence.

•♦•»-

THE PEIMAKY CONCEPTS OF MODERN PHYSICAL

SCIENCE.

By J. B. STALLO.
II. — The Atomic Constitution of Matter as a Postulate of Thought.

MY inquiry thus far has touched the assertion according to which
the atomic hypothesis is the necessary basis of the theories
which constitute the sciences of physics and chemistry. I propose
now to consider the claim that this hypothesis is an essential pre-
requisite of the realization of material existence in thought.

To show how pointedly this claim is made, it will be sufficient to
extract a passage from a recent lecture of Prof. John Tyndall, before
the British Association at Liverpool, " On the Scientific Use of the
Imagination" ("Fragments of Science," American edition, p. 135).
The words of Prof. Tyndall, whose opinions, by reason of his eminence
among physicists, may be taken instar omnium, are these :

" Many chemists of the present day refuse to speak of atoms and
molecules as real things. Their caution leads them to stop short of
the clear, sharp, mechanically-intelligible atomic theory enunciated
by Dalton, or any form of that theory, and to make the doctrine of
multiple proportions their intellectual bourn. I respect the caution,
though I think it is here misplaced. The chemists who recoil from
these notions of atoms and molecules, accept without hesitation the
undulatory theory of light. Like you and me, they one and all be-
lieve in an ether and its light-producing waves. Let us consider what
this belief involves. Bring your imagination once more into play,
and figure a series of sound-waves passing through air. Follow them
up to their origin, and what do you there find ? A definite, tangible,
vibrating body. It maybe the vocal chords of a human being, it may
be an organ-pipe, or it may be a stretched string. Follow in the same

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 93

manner a train of ether-waves to their source; remembering at the
same time that your ether is matter, dense, elastic, and capable of mo-
tions subject to and determined by mechanical laws. What, then, do
you expect to find as the source of a series of ether-waves ? Ask your
imagination if it will accept a vibrating multiple proportion — a nu-
merical ratio in a state of oscillation ? I do not think it will. You
cannot crown the edifice by this abstraction. The scientific imagina-
tion, which is here authoritative, demands as the origin and cause of a
series of ether-waves a particle of vibrating matter quite as definite,
though it may be excessively minute, as that which gives origin to a
musical sound. Such a particle we name an atom, or a molecule. I
think the seeking intellect, when focussed so as to give definition with-
out penumbral haze, is sure to realize this image at the last."

The import of these sentences is plain. It is that an ethereal or
other atom, or a molecule, is related to its vibratory motion just as
any ordinary body is related to its movements of translation — as a
stellar or planetary body, for instance, is related to its movements of
rotation or revolution ; and that, just as the conception of the stellar or
planetary body of necessity precedes the conception of its rotary or
revolutionary motion, so also the conception of the atom or molecule
of necessity precedes the conception of the vibratory motion whereof
light, heat, electricity, chemical action, etc., are known or supposed to
be modes. In other words : to make the existence of matter, such as
we deal with in action and in thought, conceivable, we are constrained,
according to Tyndall, to assume ultimate material particles as pre-
existing to those motions or manifestations of force which are appre-
hended as light, heat, electricity, chemical action, etc.

In order to preclude all possibility of misunderstanding, it is per-
haps well to call attention to the fact that, while Tyndall speaks in terms
only of the relation of the ether to its vibratory motion, it is evident
from his own language that this is meant as an illustration or exem-
plification of the relation of all matter to any or all motion whatever.

Now, let us for a moment contemplate an ultimate particle of mat-
ter in this state of existence in advance of all its motion. It is with-
out color, and neither light nor dark ; for color, lightness, darkness,
etc., are luminar affections, and, according to the received mechanical
theory of " imponderables," of which Prof. Tyndall is a distinguished
champion, simply modes of motion. It is similarly without tempera-
ture — neither hot nor cold ; for heat also is a mode of motion. For
the same reason it is without electrical or chemical properties — in
short, it is utterly destitute of all those properties in virtue of which,
irrespective of its magnitude, it could be an appreciable object of
sense, unless we except the properties of weight and extension. But
weight is a mere play of attractive forces ; and extension, too, is known
to us only as resistance, which in turn is a manifestation of force, and
thus a phase of motion. Extension per se, abstract extension, cannot

94 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

be realized in thought, whatever ground there may be for dissenting
from the opinion of Sir W. Hamilton (" Lectures on Metaphysics,"
Boston edition, p. 385), that "we cannot represent extension to the
mind except as colored."

Thus the solid, tangible reality, craved by Prof. Tyndall's " scien-
tific imagination," wholly vanishes from the " seeking intellect " the
moment this intellect attempts to grasp it apart from the notion which
is said to presuppose it as its necessary substratum. If the deliver-
ances of the scientific imagination are authoritative in science, the no-
tion of the primordial atom must be relegated to the regions beyond
the bounds of scientific thought.

There is another and very obtrusive aspect of the atomic theory in
which its utter inability to satisfy the demands of the " scientific im-
agination " has long since been recognized. As I have already shown,
the atomic theory, in whatever form it is held, presupposes the separa-
tion of the atoms by void, interstitial spaces. The only difference of
opinion respecting these spaces is as to their magnitude, the emergen-
cies of the modern theories of heat and light having led to the suppo-
sition that even in the case of the purely hypothetical " ether " (which
is nothing but a clothes-horse for all the insoluble difficulties presented
by the phenomena of sensible material existence — a fagot of occult
qualities and principia expressiva, whose role in the material world at
large is analogous to the part formerly played by the aura vitalis,
and similar phantasms, in the organic world) the interspaces are
very great in comparison with the dimensions of the atoms, so that a
group of these atoms is not infrequently compared with a stellar or
planetary system. Nevertheless, their motions are construed as effects
of their mutual attractions and repulsions. But how is the mutual
action of atoms existing by themselves in complete insulation and
wholly without contact to be realized in* thought ? We are here in
the presence of the old difficulties respecting the possibility of actio
in distans which presented themselves to the minds of the physicists
in Newton's time, and constituted one of the topics of the famous dis-
cussion between Leibnitz and Clarke, in the course of which Clarke
made the remarkable admission (Fourth Letter of Clarke, § 45, "Leib-
nitii Opera," ed. Erdmann, p. 762) that, " if one body attracted an-
other without an intervening body, that would be, not a miracle, but
a contradiction ; for it would be to suppose that a body acts where it
is not " — otherwise expressed : inasmuch as action is but a mode of
being, the assertion that a body can act where it is not would be tanta-
mount to the assertion that a body can be where it is not. This ad-
mission was entirely in consonance with Newton's own opinion ; in-
deed, Clarke's words are but a paraphrase of the celebrated passage in
one of Newton's letters to Bentley, cited by John Stuart Mill in his
" System of Logic," which runs as follows :

" It is inconceivable that inanimate brute matter should, without

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 95

the mediation of something else, which is not material, operate upon
and affect other matter without mutual contact. . . . That gravity
should be innate, inherent, and essential to matter, so that one body
may act on another, at a distance, through a vacuum, without the
mediation of any thing else by and through which their action and
force may be conveyed from one to the other,, is to me so great an ab-
surdity that I believe no man, who in philosophical matters has a com-
petent faculty of thinking, can ever fall into it."

The thesis of the impossibility of actio in distans has been a
standing dogma among physicists ever since the revival of physical
science, three centuries ago. Twenty-five years before the publication
of Descartes's li Discours" it found expression in the axiom of Barthol-
omew Keckermann (" Systema Physicum," Hanau, 1612) : " Omnis al-
teratio fit per contactum ; " and Descartes's whole physical system had
its root in the proposition that " a body can no more act where it is
not than it can act when it has ceased to be, the principle, cessante
causa cessat effectus, holding good in either case." It was this " pat-
ent absurdity " of material action through empty space which led the
greatest mathematicians of Continental Europe (the elder Bernouillis,
Huyghens, etc.) to reject the doctrines of Newton's " Principia," and
induced Leibnitz to construct his system of " cosmic circulations," in
which the old Cartesian vortices reappeared in a new dress, and under
another name.

The conflict between the theory of distant attraction and the au-
thority of the " scientific imagination " is one of the instances adduced
by John Stuart Mill (" System of Logic," book ii., chap, v., § 6) in
support of his proposition that conceivability is no test of truth, be-
cause it is the simple result of familiarity of thought or experience ;
and he expresses the opinion that "the majority of scientific men have
at last learned to conceive tlfe sun attracting the earth without an in-
tervening fluid, and that " the ancient maxim, that a thing cannot act
where it is not, probably is not now believed by any educated person
in Europe" ("Logic," book v., chap, iii., § 3). But Herbert Spencer
(" Principles of Psychology," ii., 409) justly doubts the truth of this
opinion, expressing the belief that " the most that can be said is that
they " (the scientific men) " have given up attempting to conceive how
gravitation results." How formidable the difficulty under discussion
still appears to the minds of physicists at the present day, and how
completely the mental predicament of the nineteenth century is iden-
tical with that of the seventeenth, is evident from the many recent
renewals of the attempt to construe the action of gravity as a case of
ethereal pressure or impact. I content myself with the citation of a
very characteristic paragraph, written long after the sentences quoted
from Mill, in a late article of Prof. Challis " On the Fundamental
Ideas of Matter and Force in Theoretical Physics" (Philosophical
Magazine, § 4, vol. xxxi., p. 467). " There is no other kind of force,"

96 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

says Prof. Challis, " than pressure by contact of one body with an-
other. This hypothesis is made on the principle of admitting no fun-
damental ideas that are not referable to sensation and experience. It
is true that we see bodies obeying the influence of an external force,
as when a body descends toward the earth by the action of gravity ;
and, so far as the sense of sight informs us, we do not in such cases
perceive either the contact or the pressure of another body. But we
have also the sense of touch or of pressure by contact — for instance,
of the hand with another body — and we feel in ourselves the power
of causing motion by such pressure. The consciousness of this power
and the sense of touch give a distinct idea, such as all the world un-
derstands and acts upon, as to how a body may be moved ; and the
rule of philosophy which makes personal sensation and experience the
basis of scientific knowledge, as they are the basis of the knowledge
that regulates the common transactions of life, forbids recognizing any
other mode of moving a body than this. When, therefore, a body is
caused to move without apparent contact and pressure of another
body, it must still be concluded that the pressing body, although in-
visible, exists, unless we are prepared to admit that there are physical
operations which are and ever will be incomprehensible by us. This
admission is incompatible with the principles of the philosophy I am
advocating, which assume that the information of the senses is ade-
quate, with the aid of mathematical reasoning, to explain phenomena
of all kinds. . . . All physical force being pressure, there must be a
medium by which the pressure is exerted."

It is not my purpose, of course, to question the Newtonian doc-
trine of gravitation, or to urge the adoption of the views of Prof.
Challis and others, who seek to show that what seems to be attraction
is in reality a propulsion of solid bodies in immediate contact. That
the transfer of motion from one body to another by impact is no less
incomprehensible than actio in distans becomes apparent on a mo-
ment's reflection ; and that the hypothesis of an intervening " ether "
— itself composed of atoms, the interspaces between which are larger
in proportion to these atoms than the interstellar spaces — is simply a
new presentation of the old perplexity in a worse form, and in no wise
helps to remove the difficulties involved in the phenomenon of the cor-
respondence between the movements of two bodies without contact, is
equally clear, and has been sufficiently pointed out by Herbert Spencer
(" First Principles," p. 59). My object is merely to show that, if the
validity of every theory of the constitution of matter is to be tested
by our ability to realize it in thought — to bring it clearly before the
scientific imagination, to represent it mentally as a distinct image, or
whatever may be the form of words in which this requirement is ex-
pressed — the atomic theory fails as completely as any other theory of
the nature of matter which has ever been propounded.

But what ground is there for the assumption that conceivability is

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 97

a test of reality ? This question has been the subject of a famous
controversy between Dr. Whewell and John Stuart Mill, and of a
more recent discussion between Mill and Herbert Spencer. Mill
broadly denies that "our capacity or incapacity of conceiving a thing
has any thing to do with the possibility of the thing in itself," while
Spencer deems it to be a universal postulate of all thought that an in-
conceivable proposition, i. e., a proposition "of which the terms can-
not, by any effort, be brought before consciousness in that relation
which the proposition asserts between them — a proposition of which
the subject and predicate offer an insurmountable resistance to union
in thought " — must necessarily be held to be untrue. My present pur-
pose does not, in strictness, call for a thorough examination of this
question ; nevertheless, it is desirable that the confusion into which (as
is usual in such cases) it has been thrown by the emergencies of the
debate should be partially cleared up.

Here, at the outset, it appears to me to be unfortunate that Mill
repudiates, and Spencer does not insist upon, a distinction suggested
by Coleridge between the Inconceivable and the Unimaginable, though
we may find reason for dissenting from Coleridge's proposition, that
" the Unimaginable may possibly be true, but the Inconceivable can-
not." It is true, as has been observed by Reid (and after him by
Stewart), that " conceiving, imagining, and apprehending, are com-
monly used as synonyms in our language;" but the distinction above
referred to is, nevertheless, both real and important. Mill, indeed, de-
clines to recognize this distinction, not from any deference to the
usages of ordinary speech, but by reason of his antagonism to a
philosophical system. He is a strict scholastic nominalist, and denies
that there are any objects corresponding to concepts in the mind any
more than in Nature, for the reason that concepts, being the results
of abstraction, are general, while objects can be represented or imaged
in thought only as particular. And, having pointed out (" Examina-
tion of Sir W. Hamilton's Philosophy," chap, xvii.) that in reasoning
we rarely attend to all the attributes of which a concept is said to be
the complement, but deal exclusively with more or less of these attri-
butes which we are able to bring separately before the mind by means
of names that suggest them, on the principle of the association of
ideas, he claims that our reasoning is carried on by means, not of con-
cepts, but of names.

At the first blush, the remark of Sir W. Hamilton, that the war be-
tween the conceptualists and nominalists is a mere war of words,
would appear to be just. Surely the most inveterate nominalist must
admit that the material of our reasoning processes consists, not of the
sounds or written symbols composing words, but of the meanings
which underlie them. And, roughly stated, concepts are nothing but
these meanings. If a concept be, in the language of Sir W. Hamilton,
a " bundle of attributes " — as for purposes of discursive reasoning it
tol. iv. — 7

98 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

undoubtedly is — then every increase or diminution of this bundle is in
effect the formation of a new concept ; and Mill's objection that we
cannot think by means of concepts, because in reasoning we bring
before the mind a varying number of the attributes composing them,
is seen to be founded on the mistaken assumption that for every object
there is but'one corresponding concept, the truth being that an object
may be represented in thought by concepts without number. For
every object is the first link in innumerable chains of abstractions
varying in kind and diverging in direction with the comparisons insti-
tuted between it and other objects; and each of the links beyond the
first is a concept under which the object may, in scholastic phrase, be
subsumed. A horse, for example, may be considered mechanically
as a system of levers and strings, a self-regulating locomotive, a
machine, etc., or as a thousand pounds moving at the rate of 2.40
per mile, a heavy body, etc. ; or, chemically, as a congeries of cal-
cium and magnesium phosphates, carbonates, and fluorids, with albu-
mine, fibrine, and similar substances, as a compound of oxygen, hy-
drogen, carbon, nitrogen, sulphur, phosphorus, calcium, magnesium,
silicon, etc. ; or, zoologically, as a solipede, an ungulate, a mammal, an
animal, etc. ; or, economically, as a beast of burden, a domestic ani-
mal — and so on, indefinitely. The formation of concepts like these is
incident to all productive reasoning about individual things, and their
fixation by means of language (speaking of language in the compre-
hensive sense of all symbols by which forms of thought may be rep-
resented) an indispensable condition of the progress of scientific
knowledge, or, indeed, knowledge of any sort.

On the other hand, the most obstinate conceptualist will not deny
that, before any one of these concepts can stand as the representative
of an actual, concrete object, it must be supplemented with all those
circumstances of singularity or particularity which were left behind in
the progress of abstraction.

On closer examination, however, the war of words between Mill
and his antagonists proves to be a real contest of principles. The
elaboration of the data of experience into concepts implies an estab-
lishment of relations between these data in conformitv to laws not imme-
diately derivable from this experience itself — a mental digestion of the
crude material of sense ; and this is, in Mill's opinion, inadmissible in
view of the purely sensational origin of all knowledge. Mill has an
instinctive horror of every thing which purports to be something else
than a deliverance of sense, and contends that in our thought we are
at all times conversant, not with abstractions, but with facts. Whether
this be true or not, depends upon the meaning of the word " facts,"
irrespective of the necessary reservation that all the facts about which
we know any thing at all are the facts of consciousness. A satisfac-
tory discussion of this topic (to which very valuable contributions
have been made by Mr. Ferrier) is beyond the scope of my inquiry;

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 99

it is sufficient for my purpose to have it conceded that in thought
properly so called, i. e., in those intellectual operations in which the
deliverances of sense are digested into that system of ideal forms and
relations which we call knowledge, or (what is the same thing) science,
we never deal with things as they exist, or are represented as existing,
objectively — that we have not, nor can we have, present to our minds
the whole complement of phenomena which are the constituents of a
material object, but always some one or more of them selected or
" abstracted " from the rest ; that being so, not only for the reason
that all our thought is, in the language of Leibnitz (adopted by Her-
bert Spencer in the first chapter of his " First Principles "), symbolical,
the attributes even of the simplest material object being too numerous
to be represented in consciousness at the same time, but for the far
weightier reason that our knowledge of the attributes of a material
object is never complete. I may say here, incidentally, that, in assert-
ing the abstract nature of thought, I am not taking sides in the inter-
minable controversy between Realism and Idealism, or Presentationism
and Representationism ; a controversy which would be speedily ended
if it came to be thoroughly understood that the phenomena of vision,
which, ever since the time of Plato, have furnished nearly all the meta-
phors for the description of intellectual operations, present but distant
analogies of the phenomena of perception, and that the puzzle about
mediate and immediate perception is but the common case of the ob-
scuration of a subject by a series of figures meant to illustrate it. In
my discussion, I am only generally concerned with the fundamental
relation which all our thought about objective reality bears to that
reality itself.

There is, of course, no agreement among thinkers as to the nature
or even the number of successive steps which lead to the formation of
the elements of distinct thought. The terms most commonly employed
of late (by those, at least, whose authority commands the most respect,
viz., the comparative philologists, who are constrained, by the methods
of their own science, to treat psychological questions inductively), to
designate those steps, are Sensation, Perception, Representation, and
Conception. The first two of these I shall, for the moment, leave wholly
out of the account, as not relevant to the present inquiry, it being
admitted on all hands that the materials of distinct thought are either
representations or concepts. A representation may be generally de-
fined as an exhibition to the mind of the deliverances of sense (if the
object be real, or of the phantasy if the object be imaginary), in their
empirical order and form — in other words, as a mere mental image of
the object ; while, in the concept, these deliverances are reduced to
unity by the establishment of relations between them other than the
relation of their fortuitous concurrence, the concept, at the same time,
being made distinct by the establishment of relations between it and
the previous concepts of the mind. If I were writing a treatise on

ioo THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

logic, or psychology, these definitions would have to be reduced to
forms far more precise ; but I purposely refrain from an attempt at
exact definition, because I wish to remain on ground common to all who
have made the matter in hand the subject of their investigation. For
my purpose, it is of little consequence whether or not the distinction
here indicated between representations and concepts is accurate and
clear ; nor is it necessary to determine the exact nature of the relations
established in conception between the constituents of a concept, or
between the various concepts themselves ; it is sufficient to know that
both in the representation and in the concept we have in some form
a complex of attributes which are ultimately, in the case of material
objects at least, traceable to sensible experience, and that the elabora-
tion of representations into concepts involves the establishment of
some sort of mental relations between their elements, as well as be-
tween the several concepts themselves.

At this point, it is important to guard against a confusion which
naturally arises from the fact that logicians and psychologists habit-
ually illustrate the evolution of concepts by examples taken from the
abstract sciences. There is a very wide distinction between the rela-
tion of a concept to the object of thought in mathematics, for instance,
and the corresponding relation between a representation, or concept
of a material object, to that object itself. In mathematics, as in all the
sciences which are conversant with single relations or groups of rela-
tions established (and, within the limits of the constitutive laws of the
mind, arbitrarily established) by the mind itself, all concepts are ex-
haustive in the sense that they imply, if they do not explicitly state, all
the properties belonging to the object of thought. Not only the con-
stituents of such an object, but also the laws of their interdependence,
being determined by the intellect, they may be strictly deduced, each
from the other. 1 Thus, a parabola is a line, every point in which is
equidistant from a fixed point and a given straight line : that is one

1 The truth of the proposition that the system of forms and relations, whose discus-
sion constitutes the science of mathematics, is of purely subjective determination, does
not involve the assumption (erroneously attributed to Kant, who, on the very first page
of his " Critique of Pure Reason," expressly draws the distinction between the " begin-
ning of all knowledge with experience," and " the derivation of all knowledge from expe-
rience "), that the mind is furnished a priori with ready-made ideas or concepts ; nor is
it affected by the circumstance that these forms and relations are ultimately referable to
the facts of sensible experience. Mill's refusal to recognize this has betrayed him into
writing the extraordinary fifth chapter of the second book of his " System of Logic,"
in which he questions — albeit falteringly — the necessary truth of the propositions of
geometry. The inevitable outcome of this is seen in the writings of Mr. Buckle, who not
only boldly asserts that there are no lines without breadth (he strangely forgets the thick-
ness), but also that the neglect of this breadth by the geometrician vitiates his conclu-
sions. His comfort is that the error, after all, is not very considerable. " Since, how-
ever," is his language (" History of Civilization in England," ii., 342, Appletons' edition),
" the breadth of the faintest line is so slight as to be incapable of measurement, except
by an instrument used under the microscope, it follows that the assumption, that there

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 101

of its concepts. And in this all the properties of the parabola — that
it is a conic section formed by cutting a cone parallel to its sides, that
the area of any of its segments is equal to two-thirds of its circum-
scribed rectangle, etc. — are implied, and from it they may be deduced.
Each one of its attributes is an implication of all the others. Our con-
cepts of material objects, on the contrary, are never exhaustive, for
their complement of attributes varies with our experience concerning
them. These attributes are expressive of the relations between the
object and other objects ; and, the number of objects being unlimited,
the synthesis of attributes is, of necessity, incomplete. And the inter-
dependence of these attributes, as well as the connection between the
objects themselves, or their representative images and concepts, has
its origin in laws, of which the laws of the intellect are but a partial
reflex. It is true that the concept of a material object contains ele-
ments whose interdependence is subjective (every intellectual opera-
tion, or rather its result, being in some form a synthesis of subjective
and objective data) ; but even these are liable to determination by
undigested empirical elements which are present along with them.
Moreover, our knowledge of the attributes of a material body is not
only imperfect, but these attributes are variable. This is obvious
enough in the case of those properties which are usually designated
as secondary qualities ; every one knows that the thermic, optic, elec-
tric, or magnetic conditions of a body change at every moment. But,
in fact, there is no property whatever, of a material body, w T hich is
strictly invariable, or the law of whose variation is fully known. For
this reason, also, the concept of a material object can never expressly,
or by implication, be a full complement of its attributes. 1

can be lines without breadth, is so nearly true, that our senses, when unassisted by art,
cannot detect the error. Formerly, and until the invention of the micrometer, in the
seventeenth century, it was impossible to detect it at all. Hence, the conclusions of the
geometrician approximate so closely to truth, that we are justified in accepting them
as true. The flaw is too minute to be perceived. But that there is a flaw, appears to
roe certain. It appears certain that, whenever something is kept back in the premises,
something must be wanting in the conclusion. In all such cases, the field of inquiry has
not been entirely covered ; and, part of the preliminary facts being suppressed, it must, I
think, be admitted that complete truth is unattainable, and that no problem in geometry
has yet been exhaustively solved."

Whether Buckle was able to think of a line as the limit between two surfaces, and
whether, in his opinion, such a limit has breadth (i. e., is itself a surface, so that we are
driven from limit to limit ad infinitum), he does not tell us. Nor does he say whether or
not, in view of the fact that the breadth of a line depends upon the material out of
which it is constructed, or upon which it is drawn, there ought to be a pasteboard geome-
try, a wooden geometry, a stone geometry, and so on, as distinct sciences.

1 1 do not enter into the question whether or not the use of the word " concept," in
reference to material objects, can in all cases be justified, and whether the distinction be-
tween representations and concepts is not, in many cases, including the case of " singular
concepts," so called, very shadowy. In this connection, it is significant that the Germans
use the expression "empirical concept" (Erfahrungsbegriff),^ equivalent to "repre-
sentation " ( Vorstettung).

102 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

Bearing this in mind, we shall experience little difficulty in de-
termining the conditions under which the representation and concep-
tion of a material object as real are possible. A representation of such
an object being an exhibition of the deliverances of sense respecting
it, it is plain that nothing can be represented as objectively real, ex-
cept in terms of experience. And, since our experience is only of the
singular and particular, it is also evident that a concept cannot be
represented in the mind as objectively real. Thus, matter as such is
not a real thing, but a concept ; it cannot be " realized " in thought.
We can realize, or imagine, or represent as actual, only some one par-
ticular thing, with all its accidents of particularity — as of particular
dimensions, of a particular color, of a particular temperature, and as
being either at rest (i. e., in a state of tension) or in motion. All
attempts mentally to represent the reality, in and by itself, of any of
the elements into which an individual object is analyzed by the pro-
cess of abstraction are necessarily futile. The history of speculation is
full of attempts of this sort — of attempts to grasp the " thing " as dis-
tinct from its properties, the substance apart from its attributes, or,
conversely, the attributes apart from their unity, the substance. It is
this old error which lies hid in the reasoning of Prof. Tyndall in the
passage quoted at the beginning of this article. And the same error
lurks in Faraday's endeavor to represent matter as a mere complex of
forces. In the one case the properties are imagined to be added to the
thing, or the attributes are supposed to be implanted in the substance,
as the plums are stuck into the pudding, so that the substance will
remain after the attributes are removed ; in the other case the sub-
stance is looked upon as a mere sum of the attributes — the pudding is
thought to be all plums, which not only have a reality by themselves,
but which are alone real. That this apparently trivial illustration is
entirely apposite, is readily shown by a reference to the grounds upon
which Faraday rejects the hypothesis of corpuscular atoms. While
the advocates of this hypothesis seek to remove the plums and to re-
tain the pudding, Faraday, on the contrary, takes the plums, and then
asks, " Where is the pudding ? " " What do we know," he says (Tyn-
dall, " Faraday as a Discoverer," p. 123, American ed.) " of the atom
apart from its force ? You imagine a nucleus which may be called
a, and surround it by forces which may be called m ; to my mind, the
a or nucleus vanishes, and the substance consists in the powers of m.
And, indeed, what notion can we form of the nucleus independent of
its powers ? What thought remains on which to hang the imagina-
tion of an a independent of the acknowledged forces ? "

The true root of all these errors is a total misconception of the na-
ture of reality. All the reality we know is not only spatially finite,
but limited in all its aspects ; its whole existence lies in relation and
contrast, as I shall show more at length in the next article. We know
nothing of force, except by its contrast with mass, or (what is the same

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 103

thing) inertia ; and conversely, as I have already pointed out in my
first article, we know nothing of mass, except by its relation to force.
Mass, inertia (or, as it is sometimes, though inaccurately, called, mat-
ter per se), is indistinguishable from absolute nothingness ; for matter
reveals its presence, or evinces its reality, only by its action, its force,
its tension or motion. But, on the other hand, mere force is equally
nothing ; for, if we reduce the mass upon which a given force, however
small, acts until it vanishes — or, mathematically expressed, until it
becomes infinitely small — the consequence is that the velocity of the
resulting motion is infinitely great, and that the " thing " (if under
these circumstances a thing can still be spoken of) is at any given mo-
ment neither here nor there, but everywhere — that there is no real
presence. It is impossible, therefore, to construct matter by a mere
synthesis of forces. And it is incorrect to say, with Bain (" Logic," ii.,
225), that " matter, force, and inertia, are three names for substan-
tially the same fact," or that " force and matter are not two things,
but one thing," or (ib., p. 389) that " force, inertia, momentum, mat-
ter, are all one fact " — the truth being that force and inertia are con-
ceptual constituents of matter, and neither is in any proper sense a fact.
Nor is the ordinary analysis of physical reality into matter + force cor-
rect, inasmuch as force is already implied in the term matter. It is
an analysis of a thing into two elements, one of which is the thing it-
self. The true formula of matter is mass x force, or inertia x force.

We now have before us, in full view, one of the fundamental falla-
cies of the atomic theory. This fallacy consists in the delusion that
the conceptual constituents of matter can be grasped as separate and
real entities. The corpuscular atomists take the element of inertia
and treat it as real by itself, while Boscovich, Faraday, and all those
who define atoms as " centres of force," seek to realize the correspond-
ing element, force, as an entity by itself. In both cases elements of
reality are mistaken for kinds of reality. It is, therefore, sheer non-
sense to speak, with Papillon (see the article on the Constitution of
Matter in the September number of this journal, p. 553), of a " bare
energy, stripped of its material dress ;" of a " force in its purest essence,
upon which we look as on the marble of the antique, in splendid
nakedness, which is radiant beauty too." 1

This disposes, in my judgment, of the authority of the " scientific
imagination," in all cases where an attempt is made to determine the
constitution of matter. In respect to the general question, however,
whether our ability to imagine a thing is decisive of its possible reality,

1 The translation of the passage from which the above is taken, though on the whole
admirable, fails to do justice to the magniloquence of the original, which reads thus :
" Toutes ces energies n'apparaissent a nous a de rares exceptions pres que revetues de
cet uniforme qu'on appelle la matiere. Une seule de ces energies se montre depouillee
de ce vetemeut et nue. . . . Comment la definir autrement que la force en sa plus pure
essence, puisque nous la contemplons comme un marbre antique dans une superbe nudite
qui est aussi une beaute radieuse."

104 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

it is necessary to add, that this question must be answered in the nega-
tive. Whether or not we can imagine, or mentally represent, a thing
as real, depends upon the question whether our past experience has
furnished us the data for such a representation ; and our experience is
constantly furnishing us new data.

That the impossibility or difficulty of imagining a thing (which,
however, must be carefully distinguished from the absolute impossi-
bility of forming certain concepts, of which I shall presently speak) is
no evidence for or against its reality, is a truth of the greatest moment
to the student of natural science. Liebig expressed it long ago (Ann.
JPharm., x., 179), in the words: "The secret of all those who make
discoveries is, that they regard nothing as impossible."

I come now to the conditions of conceivability, strictly and prop-
erly so called. These conditions are readily deduced from the inci-
dents in the act of conception to which I have referred. These inci-
dents are : The reduction of the elements of a representation to con-
sistent unity by bringing them into relation, and the establishment
of relations between the unit thus evolved and the previous concepts
of the mind. A concept can, therefore, be formed, if a, its elements,
can be united in thought by the establishment of relations between
them by which they are reduced to a unit — in other words, if the con-
stituent attributes are consistent with each other — and if b, the re-
sulting concept, can be brought into relation, so as to be consistent
with the previously-formed concepts of the mind.

Consistency of the constituent attributes with each other, there-
fore, is the first, and consistency of the concept with other concepts
the second, condition of its successful formation. The first of these is
what is known in logic as the law of non-contradiction, or the law of
consistency, and is the fundamental condition of all thought. It re-
quires that what is expressly or by implication asserted in the sub-
ject shall not expressly or by implication be denied in the predicate
of any proposition into which the concept may be resolved, or, in plain
words, that what is asserted in one form of words shall not be denied
in another.

Now, it is evident that, whenever the formation of a concept in-
volves a violation of the first condition, we have before us a case of
absolute inconceivability, and therefore of impossibility. For this
condition, as I have said, is the first constitutive law of all intelli-
gence, without which the whole system of relations, in which both sub-
jective and objective realities have their only warrant and support,
instantly collapses into the nothingness in which alone all things are
identical, and disappears in the night of absolute confusion. ~No one,
not even John Stuart Mill, ever seriously doubted the absolute impos-
sibility of the conception or existence of a round square, or of a straight
line which is not the shortest distance between two points. When-
ever such a doubt has been expressed, it has arisen from a mental con-

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 105

fusion as to the import of the terms employed in the propositions, as
we shall see presently in the case of Mill.

But it is otherwise with the second condition of conceivability :
that the concept, when framed, shall b£ consistent with other concepts
previously formed. For these latter concepts may be spurious or in-
valid. Inconceivability arising from non-compliance with the second
condition is therefore purely relative, depending on the validity of the
concepts with which the concept in question appears to be incompat-
ible. For example, until the discovery of the composition of water,
of the true theory of combustion, and of the relative affinities of potas-
sium and hydrogen for oxygen, it was impossible to conceive a sub-
stance which would ignite on contact with water, it being one of the
recognized attributes of water — in other words, a part of the concept
water — that it antagonized fire. This previous concept was spurious,
and, when it had been destroyed, the inconceivability of a substance
like potassium disappeared. Similarly, we are now unable to conceive
a warm-blooded animal without a respiratory system, because we con-
ceive the idiothermic condition of an animal organism to depend main-
ly on the chemical changes taking place within it, chief among which
is the oxidation of the blood, which requires some form of contact be-
tween the blood and the air, and therefore some form of respiration.
If, however, future researches should destroy this latter concept — if it
should be shown that the heat of a living body may be produced in
sufficient quantity by mechanical agencies, such as friction — a non-
respiring warm-blooded animal would at once become conceivable.

Mill not only refuses to recognize the distinction between what
maybe conceived and what maybe represented in imagination, but
he also ignores the distinction between the cases of inconceivability
from the one or the other of the two causes just mentioned ; and he
maintains that all conceivability whatever is relative. The examples
which he discusses at length are all cases of inconceivability, and not
of unimaginability, and I propose to notice the more important of
them in passing. The most noteworthy of these examples is the in-
conceivability of a round square. In order not to do Mill injustice, it
will be best to quote his own language (" Examination of the Philoso-
phy of Sir W. Hamilton," vol. i., p. 88, et seq., American edition) :

" We cannot conceive a round square," says Mill, " not merely be-
cause no such object has ever presented itself in our experience, for
that would not be enough. Neither, for any thing we know, are the
two ideas in themselves incompatible. To conceive a round square,
or to conceive a body all black and yet all white, would only be to
conceive two different sensations as produced in us simultaneously by
the same object — a conception familiar to our experience — and we
should probably be as well able to conceive a round square as a hard
square, or a heavy square, if it were not that in our uniform experience,
at the instant when a thing begins to be round, it ceases to be square,

io6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

so that the beginning of the one impression is inseparably associated
with the departure or cessation of the other. Thus our inability to
form a conception always arises from our being compelled to form
another contradictory to it."

Our inability to conceive a round square due to the fact " that in
our uniform experience, at the instant when a thing begins to be
round, it ceases to be square," and to the inseparable association be-
tween incipient roundness and departing squareness ! Whether any
one has ever had such experience as is here described, I do not know ;
but, if he has, I am confident that, even after being reenforced by a
large inheritance of ancestral experience in the light of the modern
theory of evolution, it will prove insufficient to account for the insep-
arable association which Mill brings into play. The simple truth is,
that a round square is an absurdity, a contradiction in terms. A
square is a figure bounded by four equal straight lines intersecting at
right angles ; a round figure is a figure bounded by a curve ; and the
oldest definition of a curve is that of " a line which is neither a straight
line, nor made up of straight lines."

It ought to be said that there are expressions in the same chapter
of Mill's book, from which I have just quoted, which show that the
author was very ill at ease in the presence of his own theory. For in-
stance, he says (ib., p. 88) : " These things are literally inconceivable
to us, our minds and our experience being what they are. Whether
they would be inconceivable if our minds were the same, but our ex-
perience different, is open to discussion. A distinction may be made
which, I think, will be found pertinent to the question. That the
same thing should at once be and not be — that identically the same
statement should be both true and false — is not only inconceivable to
us, but we cannot conceive that it could be made conceivable"

That so clear and vigorous a thinker* as Mill should have been
capable (especially when he was grappling with the thoughts of a
man like Sir W. Hamilton) of writing these sentences, is indeed won-
derful. First, he denies that inconceivability is, in any sense or in any
case, a test of truth or reality ; but then he says it may be otherwise,
if the inconceivability itself is inconceivable ! That is to say : a wit-
ness is utterly untrustworthy ; but, when he makes a declaration re-
specting his own trustworthiness, he ought to be believed !

That the whole theory of inseparable association, as here advanced
and applied by Mill, is without foundation, it being impossible, under
his theory, to know what the experience of his numerous readers has
been, except again by experience which he cannot have had, since
most of these readers were utterly unknown to him — that all attempts
to argue questions with any one on such a basis are supremely foolish,
Mill being bound, by his own doctrine, to accept the answer, " My
experience has been otherwise," as conclusive — that this theory is
suicidal and subversive of itself, and that every earnest sentence Mill

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 107

has ever written is its practical refutation — is too obvious, almost, to
require pointing out.

While the example just discussed was a case of absolute incon-
ceivability, the other instances given by Mill are cases of true relative
inconceivability. The first is that of antipodes which were long held
to be impossible, and are now not only readily conceived as possible,
but known to be real. This is true enough, but it finds its explana-
tion, not in the law of inseparable association to which it is referred
by Mill, bat in the fact that our ancestors held an erroneous concept
of the action of gravity. They supposed that the direction in which
gravity acted was an absolute direction in space ; they did not realize
that it was a direction toward the earth's centre of gravity ; down-
ward to them meant something very different from the sense we at-
tach to that word. With this erroneous concept they could not recon-
cile the fact that the force of gravity held our antipodes in position
as well as ourselves ; nor can we. But we have a juster concept of
gravity, and the mode and direction of its action ; the spurious notion
with which the notion of antipodes was inconsistent, has been re-
moved, and the inconceivability of antipodes is at an end.

Similar observations apply to Mill's remaining example (which is
to us the most interesting, and that for the sake of which I have car-
ried the discussion of this dry subject to this length) of the incon-
ceivability of actio in distans, to which I have already alluded. The
true source of our inability to conceive actio in distans is, I trust, now
apparent. This inability results from the inconsistency of this con-
cept with the prevailing concepts respecting material presence. If
we reverse the proposition, that a body acts where it is, and say that
a body is where it acts, the inconceivability disappears at once. One
of the wisest utterances ever made on this subject is the saying of
Thomas Carlyle (quoted by Mill himself in his " System of Logic," in
another connection) : " You say a body cannot act where it is not ?
With all my heart ; but, pray, where is it ? " Of course, a reconstitu-
tion of our concepts of material presence, in the sense here indicated,
would be in utter conflict with the theory of the mechanical construc-
tion of matter from elements which are absolutely limited, hard, un-
changeable, and separated from each other by absolutely void spaces.
It is significant that nearly all the efficient laborers in the quarries
of physical science vaguely feel, if they do not distinctly see, that such
a reconstitution is necessary. Such a feeling was at the bottom of
Faraday's attempt to construct matter out of the convergence and
intersection of mere lines of force, so as to secure to each point of
intersection (or, in the language of Faraday, to each centre of force)
a virtual omnipresence, the extent of the lines of force being infinite.

I may be permitted to say, at the end of this long but unavoidable
excursion into the regions of logic and psychology, that the doctrine,
according to which there is no warrant for the deliverances of our

108 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

consciousness except the cumulation of purely sensational experience,
which not only may but must vary with the position of the intellects
interpreting it — that truth, therefore, is nothing but the inveteracy
of error— is the dreariest creed ever promulgated ; and its association
with the many noble truths of which John Stuart Mill has been the
discoverer or the champion, is the most unfortunate " inseparable
association" established in recent times. And it is deplorable that
Herbert Spencer, who has the merit of being one of the most energetic
fumigators of the intellectual atmosphere of our time, should evince a
disposition to make concessions to such a creed, and endeavor to eke
out its shortcomings by the doctrine (in itself, no doubt, both sound
and fertile) of the inheritance of ancestral tendencies of the mind.
His own theory leads to conclusions utterly subversive of Mill's doc-
trine ; for, if organic life (including the life of the mind) has been
continuously evolved from inorganic matter, then the lines of our
ancestry run into all the phenomena of the material world, and the
order of these phenomena must be ingrained, not only in the structure
of our bodies, but also in the constitution of our minds. Or, to express
it in the language of modern comparative psychology : the ancestral
inheritance of our intellects must embrace, not only the associations
established by experience between the phenomena of consciousness in
the minds of our progenitors, but also the regularity in the evolution
of the natural events which gave rise to these phenomena — the laws
of Nature. These laws must, therefore, in a certain sense, be prefigu-
rations of the forms of our intellect, so that, after all, there is truth in
the sentence of Protagoras, that man is the measure of all things, and
sense in the words of Goethe (almost identical with a passage in Plo-
tinus), that the eye sees the light, because it is of solar nature. I do
not, of course, mean to stand committed to this argument in the form
in which it is here presented, not entertaining the notions respecting
the relations between organic and inorganic forms which underlie it,
and doubting that the continuity of the evolution of these forms is
truly represented by current beliefs. But, with the proper modifica-
tion of its premisses (which, however, cannot be affected by a few ver-
bal definitions), I believe the argument in favor of the a priori sanity
of the human intellect to be valid, in spite of certain structural falla-
cies resulting from the laws of its growth, which I shall have occasion
to discuss in my next article ; and I further believe the primordial
correspondence between the intellect and its objects to be entirely
consistent with the theory of evolution, Max Miiller to the contrary
notwithstanding.

SKETCH OF MR. J. N. LOCKYER, F.R. S. 109

SKETCH OF ME. J. N. LOCKYEE, F. E. S.

THE subject of this notice, Mr. Joseph Norman Lockyer, is a
young astronomer who has cultivated his science assiduously,
and made his mark as an investigator in the field of solar physics.
He was born on the 17th of May, 1836, at Eugby, in Warwickshire,
England. He inherited from his father a predilection for scientific
studies ; for, if the elder Lockyer had not the honor of being the first,
he was one of the first who contrived methods of telegraphing by elec-
tricity.

At a very early age, young Lockyer was deprived of his parents, and,
after attending one or two private schools in England, where he picked
up the first rudiments of his education, the orphan boy went abroad,
and there continued his studies for several years. Upon his return to
England, he obtained a position under government, in the War-office,
the duties of which have occupied him regularly for the past sixteen
years ; his astronomical and literary work having been performed in
the intervals of time snatched from the government service. In 1858,
he married an accomplished and intelligent lady, who not only sym-
pathized with him in his scientific pursuits, but has also shared his
work and rendered the most valuable assistance in various of his un-
dertakings.

In 1862, he contributed a very important paper to the me-
moirs of the Eoyal Astronomical Society, on the planet Mars, giving
the results of his telescopic observations on the physical conditions
and configuration of its surface. In 1865, in conjunction with Thomas
Hughes, the popular author of " Tom Brown at Eugby," he was appoint-
ed editor of the army regulations, and placed upon an improved basis
the system of War-office legislation. In 1865, in recognition of his
services as an astronomical observer, he was elected a Fellow of the
Eoyal Astronomical Society.

Solar observations had for some time attracted much of Mr. Lock-
yer's attention, and in that year he propounded his method for ob-
serving the grand solar phenomena of the red flames with the spectro-
scope at any time when the sun is visible, whereas previously it had
been impossible to see them except under the obscuration of a total
or annular eclipse. A more powerful spectroscope than any then
available was needed to solve this problem, and, at Mr. Lockyer's
solicitation, the Eoyal Society made a grant for this purpose. Vexa-
tious delays occurred in the construction of the instrument, and he did
not get it until two years later. The idea, however, proved successful,
and Mr. Lockyer made the brilliant discovery in which he had been
so long baffled for lack of means. He sent the account of it to the
French Academy, and his note had been hardly read, when news came

no THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

that the French astronomer Janssen, then in India, had made the same
observation two months before. The independence of these discov-
eries was recognized, and the French Academy struck a joint medal
in honor of them.

Mr. Lockyer has prosecuted his spectroscopic researches on the sun
with great industry and fruitful results, and, in conjunction with Prof.
Frankland of the Royal School of Chemistry, has made a series of in-
teresting experiments on the relation of gases under pressure to the
spectrum lines, thus throwing important light on the changes taking
place in the solar atmosphere.

Mr. Lockyer's contributions to scientific literature, as an author of
books, a periodical writer, and a scientific editor, have been numerous.
In 1862, he had editorial charge of the scientific department of The
Reader, and subsequently edited the English edition of " The Heav-
ens," by Guillemin. In 1868, he published his excellent school treatise
on " Elementary Astronomy," and in 1869 became the editor of Nature,
when that able scientific paper was established by Macmillan & Co.
Last year " The Forces of Nature," an elaborate work, by the author
of " The Heavens," appeared, with amendments and additions from his
pen. He has published, during the present year, an excellent little
volume on " Spectrum Analysis," being a course of lectures delivered
in 1869, and revised to date. It is beautifully illustrated, and forms
the first of Macmillan's " Nature Series."

In 1870, he was appointed by the English Government chief of the
expedition sent out to Sicily for the purpose of observing the solar
eclipse, and, in addition to his other work, accepted the secretaryship
of the Royal Commission on Scientific Institutions and the Advance-
ment of Science. In 1871, having been named assistant commissioner,
he was requested to draw up a report on science-teaching in English
and Continental schools, and the same year he received the honorable
appointment of Rede Lecturer at Cambridge.

Mr. Lockyer is a gentleman of courteous and affable manners, a vi-
vacious conversationist, and a ready and fluent public speaker. Like
many other scientific Englishmen, he recognizes that he owes a duty
to this country, and hopes to be able to discharge it when he can get
release from his multifarious engagements. He has been invited by
the Lowell Institute to give a course of astronomical lectures in Bos-
ton, and, when he comes to deliver them, he will probably repeat the
series in some of the other cities of the country.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

111

EDITOR'S TABLE.

TILE RELATIONS OF BODY AND MIND.

THE question of the relation of the
mental and the corporeal powers
has always had a deep speculative in-
terest; but, as science is gradually
working it out, it is found to have also
a profound practical interest. It is
strange that a subject of such fascina-
tion, aud concerning which so much
has been said in all ages, should be so
late in its rational elucidation. But,
besides the difficulties which spring
from its extreme complexity, the in-
quiry has been perpetually hindered by
prejudice and passion. Singular as it
may appear, the acquisition of the most
important of all knowledge, that of the
human constitution by dissection, has
been held as a crime until the present
generation. The prejudice that led to
this result led also to the further result
that the most important part of the
human system, that which is specially
devoted to psychical ends, has been
considered last. The early anatomists
refrained from dissecting the head for
fear of committing impiety, and there
remained, long after, a kindred feeling
against the analysis and study of the
brain. Even when it had been demon-
strated, and was admitted by all physi-
ologists, that the brain was the organ
of the mind, there still lingered with
many a belief that it was a sort of un-
accountable, half-superfluous append-
age to the body, with no such reason
for its existence as was obvious in the
case of other anatomical parts. Physi-
ologists might show that it had special
relations with the mind, but the stu-
dents of mental philosophy denied that
it was of any importance to them, and
proceeded with their inquiries as if it
had no existence at all. Buffon de-
scribed the brain as consisting of a
kind of " ignorant mucilage," and the

Rev. F. "W". Robertson expressed the
general metaphysical and theological
contempt for it by ridiculing the idea
of accounting for mental effects " by a
few ounces more or less of the hasty-
pudding contained within the skull."
We are indebted to the phrenological
school for having made a vigorous
fight in behalf of the claims of the
head upon the students of mind, and,
whatever may be the imperfections
of their scheme, they have certainly
cleared away a vast amount of preju-
dice in the popular mind, and prepared
for the consideration of the material
apparatus in connection with mental
phenomena.

It is now well established that, in
the study of mind and character, the
physiological organism is not only to
be taken into account, but is to be
made the basis of investigation. Meta-
physical treatises open with a descrip-
tion of the nervous system, even if it
plays no part in the subsequent exposi-
tion. But, wherever mind is studied
with a view to practical ends, it is
found necessary not only to admit in a
general way the intimate dependence
and close interaction of the mental and
corporeal systems, but the relations
have to be worked out with the utmost
detail on both sides. In dealing with
abnormal mental manifestations, as in
the numerous forms of insanity and
the various grades of feeble-minded-
ness, or with the psychological effects
of stimulants and narcotics, or with
the development and decline of the
mental powers, or with the effects of
mental overwork and exhaustion, it is
now admitted to be indispensable to
start from the nervous system, and to
regard men,tal manifestations as con-
ditioned by its properties and laws.
Thus far it is only physicians, compelled

112

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

by the exigencies of practice, and pre-
pared with the requisite physiological
knowledge, who thoroughly accept this
point of view, but it is the point of view
that must yet be taken by all who deal
with the phenomena of human nature
on the basis of real and applicable
knowledge. Especially in that pro-
fession which aims to direct the devel-
opment of the mind and character of
the young, must the corporeal side of
their nature be thoroughly and syste-
matically studied. "We lately heard of
a professor, high in honor and reputa-
tion as a teacher of teachers, whose
text-books of mind are the metaphysi-
cal treatises of Stewart and Hamilton,
and who strenuously denies that cor-
poreal considerations have any right to
be imported into the question : happily,
the class to which he belongs is fast
passing away. He who aspires to the
noble work of developing a human
being must take the whole nature of
that being into account. He has no
right to cleave it asunder and throw
away one part of it, especially that part
which is the organism of life, and brings
the individual into relation with the
universe. The teacher who has only
attained an intellectual comprehension
of certain branches in which he is to
give instruction, has hardly entered
upon his preparation. As we have else-
where written : " Education is an affair
of the laws of our being, involving a
wide range of considerations — an affair
of the air respired, its moisture, tem-
perature, density, purity, and electrical
state in their physiological effects ; an
affair of food, digestion, and nutrition ;
of the quantity, quality, and speed of
the blood sent to the brain ; of clothing
and exercise, fatigue and repose; health
and disease, or variable volition and
automatic nerve-action ; of fluctuating
feeling, redundancy and exhaustion of
nerve-power, sensuous impressibility,
temperament, family history, constitu-
tional predisposition, and unconscious
influence ; of material surroundings,

and a host of agencies which stamp
themselves upon the plastic organism
and reappear in character."

The latest contribution to the litera-
ture of this subject is a little book
entit]ed " Mind and Body : the Theories
of their Relation, 1 ' 1 by Prof. Alexander
Bain, author of "The Senses and the
Intellect," and "The Emotions and the
"Will." The volume that now appears
represents the leading facts of the ques-
tion, and their latest theoretical inter-
pretations, and closes with an interest-
ing review of the course of past specu-
lation upon the subject.

It being now established that the
brain is the material instrument of the
mind, the questions are inevitable, "What
do we actually know, and how much
is it possible to know, of the conditions
of this union ? It is not enough to rec-
ognize that when the circulation of the
blood in the brain is arrested, as in faint-
ing, consciousness ceases, nor that alco-
hol in its influence upon the nervous
system modifies mental action in one
way, and opium and hashish in other
ways ; that which we require to under-
stand is, in what manner the mechan-
ism and action of the brain are specially
related to the mechanism and action of
the mind. Nor is the question as to the
ultimate nature of mind and matter, or
how they can exist together, for this is
beyond the province of science to deter-
mine. "What are the essence of mind and
the essence of matter, and whether they
are at bottom two things or one thing,
are beyond ascertainment, and will prob-

1 This is number IV. of " The International
Scientific Series." In arranging the works of this
series, which aims to represent the latest result of
thought, it was deemed important that the new
psychology should be fully treated, and by the most
competent men. Prof. Bain was accordingly en-
gaged to deal with the more general and philosophi-
cal aspects of the subject, while the volume of Dr.
William B. Carpenter, in the same series, will be a
regular practical text-book of mental philosophy
from the physiological point of view. It will be
issued in January, under the title of " The Princi-
ples of Mental Physiology : with their Applications
to the Training and Discipline of the Mind, and the
Study of its Morbid Conditions."

EDITOR'S TABLE.

113

ably ever remain so. The nature of the
union is a mystery, just as the nature
of the union between gravity and mat-
ter is a mystery ; in both cases we in-
vestigate only the laws of the phenom-
ena. As the problem is one of the con-
nection between two systems of action,
the first step toward its solution must
be to resolve these two systems into
their simplest elements. The structural
elements of the nervous system are mar-
velously simple ; they consist of micro-
scopic cells and fibres, the former being
seats or centres of force, and the latter
being the means of transmitting it.

Cells and fibres are the instruments
of mental action, and, exactly as we
rise in the scale of intelligence in ani-
mated creatures, there is an increase
in the mass of the nervous centres —
that is, a multiplication of the nerves
and fibres which constitute them. In
man, the most intelligent of the animal
series, the organ of intelligence is rela-
tively very large, and attains the high-
est degree of complexity.

Prof. Bain represents the nervous
elements of the human brain as fol-
lows: "The thin cake of gray sub-
stance surrounding the hemispheres
of the brain, and extended into many
doublings by the furrowed or convo-
luted structure, is somewhat difficult to
measure. It has been estimated at
upward of 300 square inches, or as
nearly equal to a square surface of 18
inches in the side. Its thickness is va-
riable, but, on an average, it may be
stated at one-tenth of an inch. It
is the largest accumulation of gray
matter in the body. It is made
up of several layers of gray sub-
stance divided by layers of white sub-
stance. The gray substance is a near-
ly compact mass of corpuscles of va-
riable size. The large caudate nerve-
cells are mingled with very small
corpuscles less than the thousandth
of an inch in diameter. Allowing for
intervals, we may suppose that a linear
row of 500 cells occupies an inch, thus
VOL. iv. — 8

giving 250,000 to the square inch for
300 inches. If one-half of the thick-
ness of the layer is made up of fibres,
the corpuscles or cells, taken by them-
selves, would be a mass one-twentieth
of an inch thick, say 16 cells in the
depth. Multiplying these numbers to-
gether, we should reach a total of
1,200,000,000 cells in the gray covering
of the hemispheres. As every cell is
united with at least two fibres, often
many more, we may multiply this num-
ber by four for the number of connect-
ing fibres attached to the mass, which
gives 4,800,000,000 fibres."

Now, in saying that such a wonder-
ful organism as this is the seat and em-
bodiment of the mind, we require to
give distinctness to our conceptions,
and are compelled to regard the con-
nected cells and fibres as the simple in-
struments of simple mental processes
as the whole fabric is the organ and
measure of the whole mind. The cor-
poreal elements are cells and fibres —
what are the psychical elements in their
lowest analysis ? The old division of
of the mind into faculties — as reason,
judgment, memory, and imagination
— is insufficient, for these are far from
being ultimate elementary processes,
but are rather the most complex actions
of the collective forces of the intelli-
gence in different modes of exercise.
The later psychology resolves all these
so-called faculties into a few constitu-
ents which form, if we may so speak,
the contexture of the intellect. As
Prof. Bain remarks : " We have no
power of memory in radical separation
from the power of reason or the pow-
er of imagination. The classification
is tainted with the fault called in logic
1 cross - division.' The really funda-
mental separation of the powers of the
intellect is into three facts, called : 1.
Discrimination, the sense, feeling, or
consciousness, of difference ; 2. Simi-
larity, the sense, feeling, or conscious-
ness, of agreement ; and, 3. Retentive-
ness, or the power of memory or ac-

114

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

quisition. These three functions, how-
ever much they are mingled in our
mental operations, are yet totally dis-
tinct properties, and each the ground-
work of a different superstructure. As
an ultimate analysis of the mental
powers, their number cannot be in-
creased or diminished; fewer would
not explain the facts, more are unne-
cessary. They are the intellect, the
whole intellect, and nothing but the in-
tellect."

This resolution of the intellect into
ultimate discriminations of likenesses
and differences among things recog-
nized, remembered, and thought about,
and, as a consequence, the growth or
development of the intellect as a suc-
cessive combination and recompound-
ing of these relations of discrimina-
tion, is an immense step forward in the
progress of scientific psychology, be-
cause it first brings into close corre-
spondence the two orders of activity.
Instead of merely wondering at the
brain as an inexplicable mass of muci-
lage, we now regard it as an organism
built up with exquisite delicacy out of
thousands of millions of cells and fibres,
with myriads of intimate connections,
all guarded most securely and put into
multiplied and marvelous relations with
the external universe. It is impossible
here to go into the details of the sub-
ject, and we have aimed only to state
the present attitude and tendency of
psychological inquiry, which is briefly
this : Our feelings and volitions, apti-
tudes and acquisitions, are elements of
mind having their corporeal side which
it is both indispensable and possible
to understand — great progress having
been recently made in the investiga-
tion. Much in the relations of the
cerebral structures to mental action is
still profoundly obscure, but much is
also already known which is of the
highest service for useful guidance.
Metaphysics has been hitherto pro-
verbially barren, because it. has in-
sisted upon considering mind as an

isolated abstraction ; while modern
psychology, by regarding the whole
nature as a unity, promises, on the
other hand, to be eminently produc-
tive of practical results.

MEETING OF THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION.

The British Association for the Ad-
vancement of Science commenced its
forty-third session September 17th, in
the town of Bradford. Dr. Carpenter
resigned the presidency, and, as the
health of Dr. J. P. Joule, his successor-
elect, did not allow him to assume the
duties of the chair, it was taken by
Prof. "Williamson, the eminent English
chemist, who devoted his inaugural ad-
dress to the discussion of his own de-
partment of science. After a hand-
some tribute to the memory of Liebig,
Prof. "Williamson entered into an ex-
position of the present conditions of
chemical science, the directions of its
greatest activity, the present state of
chemical theory, and the general rela-
tions of scientific education to the ad-
vancement of knowledge. The whole
paper is able, but it did not arrive in
time for publication in the present
number of the Monthly.

The chairman of the biological sec-
tion was Prof. Allman, the distin-
guished zoologist of the Edinburgh
University, and his address, upon tak-
ing the chair, seems to us a very able
and instructive scientific discussion.
But what is the British Association for
the Advancement of Science about, in
putting at the head of its biological
branch a man who favors Darwinian
notions, and is consequently a sham
scientist ? Do they not know that from
the Yankee Vatican has gone forth
a bull which excommunicates them
and their seed to the end of time ? In
his lively address before the Free Eeli-
gious Association, in Boston, last May,
Colonel Higginson apologized for the
extent of theological disagreement by

EDITOR'S TABLE.

ll 5

pointing out the diversities of scientific
opinion, and remarked : " I heard one
of the greatest scientific men in Amer-
ica reply, when somebody said, ' You
must at least admit that there is a di-
vision of opinion among scientific men
in regard to the doctrines of Darwin,'
* No, there is no difference of opinion
among scientific men.' ' Why not ? '
4 Because,' said he, ' no man who sup-
ports the doctrines of Darwin is en-
titled to be called a scientific man.' "
As to who the great man was who
made this destructive remark, nobody
will need to guess twice ; but it
squelches Prof. Allman, and turns the
British Association out-of-doors as a
lot of mere scientific pretenders, for
their representative biologist aired his
vagaries as follows : " I have thus
dwelt at some length on the doctrine
of evolution, because it has given a
new direction to biological study, and
must powerfully influence all future re-
searches."

Prof. Allman regards the doctrine
of evolution as a great and actual truth
of Nature, still obscured and embar-
rassed by many difficulties, and in this
he is at one with its oldest and strong-
est adherents ; but he insists that it
harmonizes and explains so extensive a
range of facts, which are without ex-
planation on any other view, as to be-
come invaluable as an instrument of
scientific research. On this point he
says:

"The hypothesis of evolution may
not, it is true, be yet established on so
sure a basis as to command instanta-
neous acceptance, and for a generaliza-
tion of such wide significance no one
can be blamed for demanding for it a
broad and indisputable foundation of
facts. Whether, however, we do or
do not accept it as firmly established,
it is, at all events, certain that it em-
braces a greater number of phenomena,
and suggests a more satisfactory expla-
nation of them, than any other hypoth-
esis which has yet been proposed. . . .

Or, finally, is the doctrine of evolution
only a' working hypothesis which, like
an algebraic fiction, may yet be of in-
estimable value as an instrument of re-
search ? For, as the higher calculus
becomes to the physical inquirer a
power by which he unfolds the laws
of the inorganic world, so may the hy-
pothesis of evolution, though only an
hypothesis, furnish the biologist with
a key to the order and hidden forces of
the world of life. And what Leibnitz
and Newton and Hamilton have been
to the physicist, is it not that which.
Darwin has been to the biologist?"
Only to think of it ! Would it not
have been well if those British sci-
entists had got some American to
teach them what science is, and how
to preserve it from perversion and deg-
radation ?

PROFESSOR CZERMAK.

Our readers will recall an impor-
tant lecture on " Hypnotism in Ani-
mals," a translation of which, by Miss
Hammond, appeared in The Popular
Science Monthly for September. It
gave some of the results of a very in-
teresting research in com parative psy-
chology; and, in a second lecture upon
the same subject, in the present num-
ber, the results of the investigation are
continued, with some strictures on the
so-called experimental investigations
of " spiritualism." The originality of
this, inquiry, and the practical lesson
that is drawn from it, will be sufficient
to secure a careful perusal of these dis-
courses, but the reader's interest in
them will be increased by the painful
announcement of the recent death of
their distinguished author, which oc-
curred September 15th. Prof. Czer-
mak was the head, and in fact the pro-
prietor, of the famous Physiological
Laboratory in Leipsic, where he lived.
He was the inventor of the laryngo-
scope, and his treatise upon it waa
translated and published by the Eng-

n6

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

lish Sydenham Society. He was a man
of large wealth, which he liberally de-
voted to the work of science by main-
taining his physiological school ; and,
besides being a skillful and able inves-
tigator, he was a man of enlarged cult-
ure and earnestly sympathetic with all
measures and movements for the diffu-
sion of valuable knowledge among the
people. He was warmly interested in
carrying out the project of the " Inter-
national Scientific Series," being a
member of the German committee to
decide upon the contributions from that
country ; and, had he lived, he would
have prepared a volume for the series
himself. He wrote and spoke the Eng-
lish language with ease and elegance,
and his wife conversed in it so fluently
and perfectly that the writer felt sure
she must be an American, lady, if not
English, until he learned that she had
never been out of Germany. Prof.
Ozermak died of a lingering disease
from which he had long suffered.

MR. PROCTORS LECTURES.

Me. Richaed A. Peootoe, the emi-
nent English astronomer, is to lecture
in this country during the ensuing sea-
son. "We need hardly say that he is a
first-class man, and stands among the
ablest in his chosen department of sci-
ence. Nor is he a mere recipient and
reporter of other men's ideas ; he has
views of his own, and has made his in-
dependent contributions to the exten-
sion of astronomical science. But it is
as a lucid and attractive writer on as-
tronomical themes that Mr. Proctor is
chiefly known. He has written an
elaborate work on " The Sun," and has
just published a corresponding volume
on "The Moon; " these, with "Other
"Worlds than Ours," and his numerous
and excellent papers in the reviews on
stellar astronomy, show his thorough
familiarity with the whole field of celes-
tial phenomena. Mr. Proctor is said
to be a clear, rapid, and forcible speak-

er, which, with his illustrations, will
make his lectures the leading scientific
entertainment of the season.

LITERARY NOTICES.

The Philosophy op Evolution. (An Ac-
tonian Prize Essay.) By B. Thompson
Lowne, M. R. C. S., F. L. S. London,
John Van Voorst.

Hannah Acton, relict of Samuel, had
opinions. In this there was certainly nothing
remarkable, but she had also that which
gives dignity and power to opinion, that is,
money to back it. Ideas amount to very
little until incarnated, and then they acquire
an immense and lasting influence. A nar-
row-minded blockhead may cherish views
that nobody regards as worth listening to,
but if he puts a few hundred thousand dol-
lars behind them, and founds a college for
carrying them out, they suddenly rise into
respectability, and are made potential for
generations. Our friend Hannah had a no-
tion that there prevails a very low estimate
of the wisdom and goodness of the Creator
of the universe, and she was willing to spend
money to raise the standard, so she placed
a thousand pounds of good solid investments
in the hands of a committee of the Royal
Institution of Great Britain, to appropri-
ate the interest, every seven years, in the
shape of a prize of one hundred guineas,
for the best essay, " illustrative of the wis-
dom and beneficence of the Almighty, in
such department of science as the committee
should select," leaving it to their discretion
to withhold the reward if none of the essays
produced were thought worthy of it. Seven
years ago, the solar radiations — certainly a
magnificent subject — was proposed for a
prize ; but, as nothing appeared upon that
theme which would to any extent promote
the donor's intention, the money was not
granted. So the funds accumulated, and this
year two prizes were offered, one of them
for the best essay on the " Law of Evolution,
as illustrating the Wisdom and Beneficence
of the Almighty," and B. Thompson Lowne
got the golden prize for writing the little
book before us. The fact is notable as
showing the advance of thought, for no
transformation suggested by the evolution-
ists as taking place among the lower animals

LITERARY NOTICES.

117

is more surprising than that transformation
of opinion in the scientific world that has
made such an award as this possible ; and,
if Aunt Hannah had been as prophetic as she
was devout, and scented afar the use that
would be made of her money, it is question-
able if the Royal Institution would ever have
got a shilling of it. As for the book itself, it
is but a sorry performance. It has been sagely
remarked, concerning prize sheep and prize
essays, that the former are useful only for
making candles, and the latter for lighting
them ; and the observation is as true of Mr.
Lowne's book as of the class to which it be-
longs, for it is certainly the poorest piece of
work upon the subject that we have yet seen.
Most contributions to this question are in-
spired by such an interest in it as to enforce
study and secure some merit ; but this contri-
bution has obviously been made for a hundred
guineas. Literary labor need not be neces-
sarily bad because it is paid for, but prize
essays are an open appeal to mercenary
motives, and are apt to attract those who
are mainly influenced by them. Mr. Lowne
undoubtedly knows something of his sub-
ject, but he neither contributes any thing
to its original thought, nor, what was equal-
ly needed, has he given us a clear and full
popular representation of it. The book
which shall perform that office remains yet
to be written.

Elements of Physical Manipulation. By
Edward C. Pickering, Thayer Professor
of Physics in the Massachusetts Insti-
tute of Technology. 8vo. 225 pages,
price, $3.00. New York : Hurd &
Houghton.

There are hopeful signs that the des-
potic rule of the verbal system in education
has had its day, and must lose its suprem-
acy in future exactly in the ratio of the
advance of thorough scientific education.
Nothing can be more futile than the mere
verbal teaching of physical laws, when it is
possible, by the performance of simple ex-
periments, to bring their operation directly
before the student's mind. It is quite as
preposterous as the prevailing habit of
learning the descriptive and observational
sciences by memorizing the statements of
books rather than by the direct study of
the objects themselves. That nine-tenths of
the school-study of science is at present

an unmitigated educational sham but few
will deny, and what is now wanted is less
an increase in the amount of scientific study
than a radical amendment of its method.
This want is widely felt, and is beginning
to be efficiently supplied. Botanical and
zoological text-books are becoming more
and more guides to Nature, and there is
springing up a separate literature of work-
ing processes in the experimental sciences.
Treatises on manipulation have long been
standard necessities in chemical labora-
tories, and they are now recognized as of
equal importance in laboratories devoted
to other departments of experimental sci-
ence. The admirable volume of Drs. Bur-
den - Sanderson and Michael Poster, on
" The Processes and Manipulations of the
Physiological Laboratory," is a recent Eng-
lish contribution in this direction ; and the
" Introduction to Physical Measurements,"
by Dr. F. Kohlrausch, of Darmstadt, the
translation of which has just been issued
by Churchill, of London, is a valuable vol-
ume of the same kind. Prof. Pickering's
new book, however, is now by far the best
guide that we have for the practical teach-
ing of natural philosophy. Assuming that
the instruments are in the hands of the stu-
dent, it shows him precisely how to use
them, what precautions to take, and what
errors to avoid. " It is intended as a
hand-book for teachers, for the large class
of amateurs who devote their leisure to
some branch of physical inquiry, and more
particularly as a text -book for the physical
laboratories now introduced so generally
in all our larger colleges and scientific
schools.

" It is hoped that it may also aid the
introduction of the laboratory system into
the high-schools and academies, as many
of the experiments are simple enough to
be performed there, and, at the same time,
the kind of apparatus described is such
that it can be made at very small expense."

The preliminary chapter is devoted to
general methods of investigation and the
more common applications of the mathe-
matics to the discussion of results, and a
short description is also given of the vari-
ous methods of measuring distances, time,
and weights, which, in fact, form the basis
of all physical investigation. The remain-

Ii8

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

der of the volume is occupied with a series
of experiments upon the following general
topics : the mechanics of solids, the me-
chanics of liquids and gases, and the phe-
nomena of sound and light. The work is
written in a clear style, is neatly and fully
illustrated, and is the result of four years'
practical experience in the physical labora-
tory of the Massachusetts Institute of Tech-
nology. It is gracefully dedicated to Prof.
William B. Rogers, the founder of that in-
stitution, " as the first to propose a physi-
cal laboratory." The rapid spread of the
laboratory system of teaching physics in
the higher schools of this country will open
a wide field of usefulness for Prof. Picker-
ing's excellent text-book.

Civilization considered as a Science.
By George Harris, F. S. A. 382 pages.
Price, $1.50. D. Appleton & Co.

Although the author of this volume is
a lawyer, and is disposed to consider his
subject very much in the light of his pro-
fessional studies, that is, from the stand-
point of the moral sciences, yet he accepts
the broader view which regards civilization
as part of the order of Nature, and as, there-
fore, dependent upon many sciences for its
interpretation. His aim, however, is not
purely scientific, that is, to analyze and
generalize the phenomena of civilization ;
but, recognizing the government of natural
law, he rather attempts a practical discus-
sion of those agencies of civil and social
advancement which are most perfectly un-
der public control. He writes with a view
to the improvement of society, rather than
to the understanding or explanation of it,
and his book would have been more com-
pletely described by the title " Civilization
considered as a Science and an Art." Mr.
Harris first inquires into the essential con-
stitution of civilization, to determine what
are its factors or the various forces and in-
strumentalities that have cooperated in its
development. Individual enterprise, scien-
tific discoveries and inventions, education,
legislation, internal and external inter-
course, religious institutions, language and
literature, and racial, climatic, and geo-
graphical conditions, are all enumerated as
elements of the grand result, while the
various values of these several elements
are considered in the successive chapters

of the book. The present work is a new
and revised edition of a volume that ap-
peared several years ago. The result of
his progressive studies has been, material-
ly to modify the author's opinions on points
at first held to be all-important. He at first
considered that legislative measures, ex-
pressly adapted for the purpose, are the
main means by which civilization has been
promoted ; but a careful examination of
the subject soon sufficed to correct this
error. The subtler and more pervasive in-
fluence of education was next fixed upon as
" constituting the real efficient caase, if not
the actual essence of civilization." But fur-
ther inquiry convinced the author that here
also he was so profoundly wrong that he
regards the refutation of this fallacy as the
main purpose of his work. He says : " Upon
taking a comprehensive view of the whole
matter, in all its different bearings, and
with regard to all its varied requirements,
the ultimate conclusion which I arrived at
was, that which is not only really needed,
but what is, in fact, in many cases, actually
intended in the demands for the intellectual
and moral improvement and advancement
of the nation, is not education merely, but
civilization generally. This principle, which
has not been adopted without the fullest
deliberation and the sincerest conviction
of its truth, is the basis of the doctrine pro-
pounded in the following pages, and its
recognition is deemed of the utmost conse-
quence to the well-being of society. Edu-
cation is, in fact, so to speak, one only out
of several of the chains by which the car
of civilization is drawn onward. By apply-
ing to this one alone, not only is the ma-
chine moved very feebly and very slowly,
but there is considerable danger incurred
of snapping the single chain."

Mr. Harris puts forth no claim to the
discovery or extension of the scientific
theory of civilization, but his book con-
tains much information and many impor-
tant suggestions upon the subject.

The Logic of Accounts ; a New Exposition
of the Theory and Practice of Double-
Entry Book-keeping. By E. G. Folsom,
A. M. Price $2.00. A. S. Barnes & Co.

There are two kinds of school-books
upon the same subjects. One is written
from the art point of view, and the other

LITERARY NOTICES.

119

from that of science; one deals with rules
and rote, and the other with principles ; one
narrows, the other widens ; one makes of a
student a good machine, the other an edu-
cated thinker. Mr. Folsom's book-keeping
is to be commended on broad educational
grounds, as it presents the subject in its
logical and scientific form, suitable for lib-
eral mental training. The difficulty with
book-keeping, as with arithmetic, is that,
under pressure of the utilitarian spirit, they
are degraded into mere blind mechanical
operations, acquired as a kind of dexterity,
and solely with a view to business. Book-
keeping is commonly learned in much the
same way as the management of the sewing-
machine, and to little better purpose, so far
as mental cultivation is concerned. Mr.
Folsom aims to redeem the study to its
higher uses by treating it as a science of
values and exchanges, which depends upon
reasons and laws. While making due pro-
vision for the practice of the art, his con-
stant method is to keep in view the prin-
ciples which should guide the student's
thinking. A work like this, pursued thought-
fully and thoroughly, in its philosophic
spirit, will afford the most valuable prepa-
ration for studying the science of political
economy, which treats of the laws of value
and exchange as affecting communities and
nations on the largest scale.

Antiquities op the Southern Indians, par-
ticularly of the Georgia Tribes. By
Charles C. Jones, Jr. Large octavo,
532 pages, illustrated with Thirty-one
Plates, and several Woodcuts. Price
$6.00. New York : D. Appleton & Co.,
1873.

We have before briefly noticed this val-
uable contribution to American archaeology,
and now proceed to give our readers a fur-
ther account of it, as, since the publication
of the " Ancient Monuments of the Mississip-
pi Valley," no work has been written upon
this subject so minute in its details, so care-
ful in statement, and so extended in its ob-
servations. Although the antiquities of
Georgia claim the author's particular atten-
tion, he presents an intelligent and compre-
hensive view of the ancient monuments and
aboriginal relics of that portion of the ter-
ritory of the United States which is bounded
on the north by Kentucky and the upper

limits of Virginia, on the east by the Atlan-
tic Ocean, on the south by the Gulf of Mex-
ico, and on the west by the Mississippi
River. The field of research — which is
manifestly one of great interest, abounding
with relics of unusual variety, symmetry,
and beauty — has hitherto been but feebly
explored. Here, in ancient times, dwelt
peoples who apparently occupied a middle
position in the scale of semi-civilization ;
influenced, on the one hand, to a greater or
less degree, by those ideas which in Mexico
and Central America culminated in such
complex and elaborate developments, and,
on the other, sympathizing with and sharing
in those ruder expressions characteristic of
Western hunter tribes and their more north-
ern neighbors.

" Our object has been," says the author
in his preface, "from the earliest and most
authentic sources of information at com-
mand, to convey a correct impression of the
location, characteristics, form of govern-
ment, social relations, manufactures, domes-
tic economy, diversions, and customs of the
Southern Indians, at the time of primal con-
tact between them and the Europeans. This
introductory part of the work is followed by
an examination of tumuli, earthworks, and
various relics, obtained from burial-mounds,
gathered amid refuse-piles, found in ancient
graves, and picked up in cultivated fields
and on the sites of old villages and fishing-
resorts. Whenever these could be inter-
preted in the light of early-recorded obser-
vations, or were capable of explanation by
customs not obsolete at the dawn of the his-
toric period, the authorities relied upon have
been carefully noted."

In the first four chapters we are made
acquainted with the political, social, and in-
dustrial status of the Southern Indians, as
disclosed by the narratives of the Spanish
expeditions, and portrayed in the accounts
of the early voyagers. The five succeeding
chapters are devoted to a history of mound-
building, and to a description of various
groups of mounds with their attendant in-
closures and fish-preserves. Among these
ancient tumuli, antedating the period of
European colonization, are mentioned and
classified temple-mounds, terraced mounds,
truncated pyramids, mounds of observation
and retreat, chieftain - mounds, family or

120

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

tribal mounds, shell mounds, stone tumuli,
and single graves. In this region there is a
remarkable absence of megalithic monu-
ments and animal-shaped mounds. The
presence of rock-walls, embankments, and
defensive inclosures, is noted ; and, in con-
nection with the grave-mounds, cremation
and sundry funeral customs are alluded to
and discussed. The plans of these promi-
nent indications of early constructive skill
are based upon original surveys, and the im-
pressions conveyed of the monuments them-
selves are derived from the personal obser-
vations of the writer. The author does not
concur in the opinion, so often expressed,
that " the mound-builders were a race dis-
tinct from, and superior in art, government,
and religion to, the Southern Indians of the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries." His
reasons are fairly and cogently stated, and
it is shown that the practice of sepulchral
mound-building, and the construction of ele-
vated spaces for chieftain-lodges and coun-
cil-houses, were perpetuated within the his-
toric period. In accounting for the marked
decadence in industry, combined labor, craft
and power which characterized these peo-
ples in the eighteenth century, when their
condition is contrasted with that of their
ancestors, two centuries before, it is sug-
gested that " the inroads of the Spaniards
violently shocked this primitive population,
imparting new ideas, interrupting established
customs, overturning acknowledged govern-
ment, impoverishing whole districts, engen-
dering a sense of insecurity until that time
unknown, causing marked changes, and en-
tailing losses and demoralizations perhaps
far more potent than we are inclined, at
first thought, to believe."

Extended reference is made to the loca-
tion and contents of refuse-piles and shell-
heaps — objects which have of late attracted
so much attention in many parts of the
world, indicating, as they do, the resorts of
primitive peoples, furnishing evidence of the
food upon which they subsisted, and reveal-
ing the implements and utensils upon which
they relied for daily use.

Stone-graves and the use of copper are
treated of in the tenth chapter. Plate VI.
— in which are figured the relics found in a
stone-grave in Nacoochee Valley — possesses
unusual beauty, and conveys an emphatic

idea of the commercial relations existing
among the North American tribes. From
this grave were taken a laminated copper
axe, which had probably been obtained from
the shores of Lake Superior, a cassio flam-
med, from the Gulf of Mexico or the Atlan-
tic coast, the remnant of a basket made of
a reed not native to the valley, and stone
implements laboriously constructed of ma-
terials brought from a distance. All these
were once the property of a single indi-
vidual.

In the chapters upon arrow and spear
heads — grooved, wedge-shaped, perforated,
and ceremonial axes — cutting, piercing,
smoothing, scraping, and agricultural im-
plements — the author enters upon a well-
considered analysis of the characteristics
of the prevailing types, and accompanies
his illustrations with descriptions and sug-
gestions indicative of extensive research
and accurate archaeological knowledge.

In the fourteenth chapter we are made
acquainted with the different methods
adopted by the Southern Indians for the
capture of fish. Grooved, notched, and per-
forated net-sinkers and plummets are figured.
The chung-kee game — that famous game of
the North American Indians, to which they
were so passionately addicted that, when
all private property had been gambled
away, the desperate players hazarded even
their personal liberty upon the final throw —
is next considered ; and, in this connection,
numerous discoidal stones are shown. The
limits of this review do not permit us to
dwell upon the use of stone tubes in con-
nection with the arts of the medicine-man
and the conjurer, as explained by the au-
thor, or to enumerate seriatim the matters
treated of in this entertaining and instruc-
tive volume. We commend, as worthy of
careful study, the chapters upon pipes
(which are considered under the three
classes of idol-pipes, calumets, and com-
mon pipes), on idols and image-worship,
and upon pottery. The Etowah idol, figured
at page 432, is perhaps the most notable
ancient stone image which has yet been
found in association with Indian relics north
and east of Mexico. Much historical infor-
mation has been collected concerning the
primitive uses of tobacco and the office of the
peace-pipe. In plate XXIII the typical forms

LITERARY NOTICES.

121

of the calumets and bird-shaped pipes are
given. The manufacture of ancient pottery
is fully considered ; and, in the accompa-
nying plates, the prevailing forms of terra-
cotta vessels, and the different styles of
ornamentation, are beautifully portrayed.
The use of pearls as ornaments is made the
subject of an independent chapter. It is
curious to observe what an important part
these little glistening beads played among
the ornament-loving peoples of this semi-
tropical region. The work concludes with
an examination of the primitive employ-
ment of shells as ornaments, implements,
and as a recognized medium of exchange.

It will be observed that nearly every
chapter in this work forms an independent
essay, complete in itself, and elaborate of
its kind. The originality of the work, both
as regards its general plan and the manner
of its execution, will be at once remarked.
The freshness and vigor of the illustrations
are admirable. The typical objects repre-
sented have never been figured before, the
originals, or nearly all of them, forming part
of the author's collection, and most of them
having been obtained by him in situ. Accu-
rate pen-drawings were first made under his
personal supervision and then these were
reproduced by the photo-lithographic pro-
cess — all errors of transfer by an engraver
being thus avoided. As a necessary conse-
quence, these illustrations are unusually cor-
rect. They possess an individuality which
is very attractive. In grouping the objects
selected for illustration, marked taste has
been displayed. The plan of the work we
regard as natural and judicious. In that
portion of North America constituting the
field of these archaeological researches we
have only a stone age. Here and there cop-
per implements and ornaments appear, but
that material in its manufacture was re-
garded and treated by the primitive work-
men not as a metal capable of being mould-
ed under the influence of heat, but simply
as a malleable stone. Chipped and ground
stone implements are found in juxtapo-
sition ; and, in their uses, are seemingly of
equal antiquity. Any attempt, therefore, in
the present state of the inquiry, to pursue
the classifications usually adopted by Euro-
pean archaeologists appeared both unneces-
sary and improper. Realizing this fact, the

author has grouped and described the an-
tiquities of the Southern Indians principally
with respect to their uses. Monuments, im-
plements, manufactures, and ornaments, are
invested with such explanations as are sug-
gested by the early narratives, by peculiar
characteristics, by intelligent comparison,
and by the special circumstances under
which they were found. The classification
adopted has been, in many instances, gen-
eral, and the author has sought to avoid an
error into which writers on kindred subjects
are prone to fall, namely, a too rigid classi-
fication, and an attempt to refer each relic
to some definite use. So uncertain is the
boundary line which separates well-recog-
nized types ; so varied are the modifications
of established forms ; so great was the pov-
erty of the manufacturers ; and so various
the purposes to which the same rude tool
may have been applied in conducting early
mechanical operations, that the candid ob-
server may often confess himself at a loss
to determine the positive object for which
a given specimen may have been intended.

In his concluding observations the au-
thor says : " Upon a careful comparison of
the antiquities of the Southern nations with
those of the Northern tribes, we think a
greater variety and excellence of manufac-
ture, a more diversified expression of fancy
in ornamentation, a more careful selection
of beautiful material, a superior delicacy
and finish in the fabrication of implements,
both chipped and polished, a more pro-
nounced exhibition of combined labor in
the erection of tumuli, a more despotic form
of government, a greater permanency of
seats, a more liberal expenditure of care and
attention in the cultivation of the soil, a
more decided system of worship, and a more
dignified observance of the significant festi-
vals and funeral-customs, may fairly be
claimed for the former. "We are acquainted
with no region north and east of the Rio
Grande in which the earliest exhibitions of
skill and taste in the manufacture of imple-
ments and ornaments of stone, shell, and
bone, are more varied and attractive, where
pipe-making claimed such special attention,
and where the antique pottery is indicative
of such diversity of form and ornamenta-
tion, and possessed of such homogeneous-
ness of composition and durability."

122

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

Workshop Appliances ; including Descrip-
tions of the Gauging and Measuring
Instruments, the Hand Cutting-tools,
Lathes, Drilling, Planing, and other "Ma-
chine-tools used by Engineers. By C.
P. B. Shelley, Civil Engineer. 209 Il-
lustrations, 312 pages. Price, $1.50.
D. Appleton & Co.

This is a hand-book of tools and their
uses, compendious in form, and copiously
illustrated, which will be of great value to
young artisans and mechanics, whether
working in wood or metal. There is no end
to machines for reshaping the materials of
Nature, and inventors are constantly adding
to them ; but the fundamental tools for pro-
ducing mechanical effects, with their re-
sources of variation, fall into a few classes,
and their modes of action are capable of
explanation within a narrow space. It is
the variation and recombination of com-
paratively a few implements that are con-
stantly coming before us in the form of com-
plex and obscurely - acting contrivances.
Two objects are to be gained by the use of
tools : 1. The production of given mechani-
cal effects ; and, 2. Accuracy in the pro-
cesses. Both of these objects are now at-
tained by mechanics with a remarkable de-
gree of perfection. Mr. Shelley describes
these in clear and simple language, which,
with his excellent illustrations, makes the
subject quite intelligible to ordinary readers.
Besides its value as a practical hand-book
to the working mechanic, this little volume
will have great interest for those who wish
to understand how the wonders of modern
construction are executed.

MISCELLANY.

Yosemite Valley of Glacial Origin.— In

the summer of 1872, Prof. Joseph Le Conte,
of the University of California, with several
students of the institution, visited the Yo-
semite and the mountains contiguous, and
carefully examined the results of the gla-
cial action which were everywhere appar-
ent. His conclusion's were stated in an able
paper, published in the American Journal
of Science for May. The Yosemite Valley,
he thinks, was once filled to the brim with
a great glacier. In this he differs from
Prof. "Whitney, who in his guide-book ex-

i presses the opinion that there is no evi-
dence that such a glacier existed.

Prof. Le Conte observes that glaciated
forms are unmistakably observable at many
points on the walls of the valley, and in
some places even to the brim. In the con-
tour of the walls of the valley, their round-
ed form, where the rock is hard, standing
unbroken and without debris at the base,
he finds proofs of glacial erosion. On the
north side of the valley, every projecting
shoulder is thus rounded, and in some cases
the smoothness is so complete, even at a
considerable height, that the rocks glisten
in the sunshine. Where the rocks are soft,
and on the southern side of the valley, which
is in shadow, frost and other agencies have
done their work of disintegration. The sur-
faces are broken, and the debris lies at the
base.

The bed-rock of the valley is covered
with mounds of bowlders and sand, which
are terminal moraines of glaciers, and by
stratified lake-deposits, the lakes having been
formed by the glacial mounds obstructing
the flow of waters.

But it was from the higher elevations
that the wonderful features of the glacial
erosion were most distinctly observed.
" From the edge of the rim of Little Yose-
mite," says the author, " we had a magnifi-
cent bird's-eye view of the wonderful dome-
like form of nearly all the prominent points
about this valley, and their striking resem-
blance to glaciated forms cannot be over-
looked. The whole surface of the country
is rnoutonne on a huge scale. If so, then
the greater domes about the Yosemite have
been formed in a similar manner. If so,
then the whole surface of this region, with
its greater and smaller domes, has been
moulded beneath a universal ice -sheet,
which moved on with steady current, care-
less of domes."

This great ice-sheet preceded the sep-
arate glaciers which completed the erosion
of the valleys of which Yosemite is one,
and the scattered snow-fields which were
discovered by Mr. Muir, of the expedition,
are feeble remains of the old glaciers. In
the opinion of Prof. Whitney, the Yosemite
was formed by a sudden engulfment of a
portion of the sierras, but Prof. Le Conte
observes that Yosemite is not unique in

MISCELLANY.

123

form, and probably not in origin. There
are many Yosernites. Many of the great
glacial valleys become deep, narrow canons,
with precipitous walls near the junction of
the granites with the slates. This is the
position of Yosemite. It occurs in the val-
ley of the American River and the valley
of Hetch Hetchy, which, says the author,
almost rivals the Yosemite in grandeur,
and, in his opinion, all these deep, perpen-
dicular slots have been sawed out by the
action of glaciers, the verticality of the
walls having been determined by the per-
pendicular cleavage of the rocks.

Origin of the Potato-Disease. — Messrs.
T. & E. Brice, of Plymtree, England, claim
to have discovered the cause of the potato
and the foot and mouth diseases, which they
assert to be nothing else but the employ-
ment of chemical manures. It is remark-
able, say they, that both of these diseases
made their appearance about the same pe-
riod. It is some 250 years since the potato
was introduced into Britain, and there is
no record that the disease ever existed
until the year 1845, when, subsequently to
a continued rain for some days together,
the potato was found to be diseased gen-
erally throughout the kingdom. Previous
to that time the chemical manures had
been introduced, and they were used in
great abundance the same season that the
potato - disease first -appeared. Messrs.
Brice were then of opinion that the manure
was the cause, and, having since investi-
gated its principles and action, they find
that it contains a very active poison — sul-
phuric acid : " Its particles readily attract
the particles of water, producing fermenta-
tion, and sometimes causing putrefaction
of the compound they adhere to. If the
chemical manures are distributed over the
land in a dry season, and there is not
enough rain to cause fermentation, the sul-
phuric acid remains fixed on the earth ; if
it is applied in a wet season, the rain causes
fermentation ; the effluvium ascends in the
atmosphere, and, mixing with the vapors,
helps to constitute clouds, when there is a
return in poisoned rain and dew on the po-
tatoes, and other bodies as well. Putre-
faction of the potato is the consequence,
and it has a very offensive smell." The

authors have made some experiments with
a mixture of water and sulphuric acid.
Fermentation and poisoning of the water
were the result, and an application of the
mixture to the potato caused disease.

But the question naturally arises, Why
should the sulphuric acid cause disease
only in the potato and not in other
plants ? and on this point the Messrs.
Brice leave us in the dark. Here we
may mention another theory which has
been proposed to account for this potato-
blight. It has been observed that the
electrical state of the atmosphere has
something to do with the matter, and in
Ireland the potato-crop is described as
wearing a blighted appearance after a pro-
tracted thunder-storm. The theory is, that
the electrical condition of the atmosphere
causes the conversion of the starch into
dextrine, sugar, etc., and the tuber then
melts away. But again we ask, Why did
not the same causes produce the same ef-
fects previous to 1845 ?

As regards the foot and mouth disease,
the cattle and other animals travel and
browse where the poison has fallen, and it
is taken in with their food. The active
particles adhere to their feet, lips, and
mouth, destroying the scarf-skin and mu-
cous membrane of the mouth and throat.
The symptoms are such as might be pro-
duced by sulphuric and other corrosive
acids.

A Substitute for Parchment. — Parch-
ment-paper has several properties in com-
mon with animal membrane. It is obtained
by the action of sulphuric acid or chloride-
of-zinc solution on unsized paper. When
sulphuric acid is employed, the best solu-
tion is one kilogramme (2.20485 pounds)
English concentrated sulphuric acid to 125
grammes (about 4.4 ounces) of water. The
paper is dipped into the acid so as to
moisten both sides uniformly. The length
of time it is to remain in the bath depends
on its own thickness and density. The
minimum time for the ordinary unsized pa-
per of commerce is 5 seconds, the maximum
20. When the acid has acted a sufficient
length of time, the paper is first dipped in
cold water, then in dilute ammonia, again
in water, to remove the acid, and finally it

124

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

is dried. When it is left to itself to dry, it
becomes shriveled, and has a bad appear-
ance. To guard against this, the following
process is adopted : An endless strip of pa-
per is passed by machinery first through a
vat of sulphuric acid, and then through
water, ammonia, and water again ; next a
cloth-covered roller deprives it of a portion
of the water, and finally it is pressed and
smoothed out by means of polished heated
cylinders.

When properly manufactured, parch-
ment-paper has the same color and translu-
cency as animal parchment, its structure hav-
ing undergone a change from fibrous to cor-
neous. In point of cohesion and hygroscopi-
city, it is very much like common parchment.
When dipped in water, it becomes soft and
flaccid. It is impermeable to liquids, except
by dialysis. These qualities render parch-
ment-paper specially suitable for diplomas,
important papers, and in general for docu-
ments which it is desirable to preserve. As
compared with ordinary parchment, this
paper possesses the advantage that it is
very little liable to be attacked by insects.
Then, too, the characters inscribed on it
cannot be effaced without difficulty, and,
when effaced, cannot be replaced by oth-
ers — a perfect guarantee against all kinds
of falsification. By reason of its firm-
ness and durability, it is specially suited
for plans and drawings, particularly archi-
tectural drawings, which are much exposed
to moisture. Further, it might be used for
covering books ; or books, maps, etc., for
use in schools, could be printed on it, and
would be very durable. In place of animal
membrane, it is well suited for covering
jars of fruit, extracts, etc., as also for con-
necting the parts of distilling and other
apparatus. It furnishes excellent casings
for sausages. In surgery it is employed in-
stead of linen, oiled cloth, and gutta-percha,
for dressing wounds.

Improvements in Street - Sprinkling.—

An improved method of sprinkling streets
has been patented in England, by means of
which almost five-sixths of the expense of
watering may be saved. It appears that
the cost for labor in watering the streets of
London averages about $675,000 per an-
num, the cost of water being additional ;

and it is contended that this work can be
done in a far more effectual and advanta-
geous manner, by a system of permanent
pipes, for an expenditure of less than
$15,000 per annum, while the interest upon
the plant necessary for the purpose would
not exceed $100,000. An experiment made
in Hyde Park warrants the conclusion that,
with the permanent system referred to, the
services of one man would be amply suffi-
cient for laying the dust over the whole of
the drives and rides in that park — a task
which at present engages twenty men, with
as many horses and carts. This area may
be taken as a seventy-fifth part of the total
road-way in London to be % watered ; and
hence we may conclude that about seventy-
five men, without either horses or carts,
could water the whole metropolis at the
cost for labor above stated. The city gov-
ernment of London is giving the matter
serious consideration ; and, if water is to
continue in use for the purpose of laying
dust on thoroughfares, the plan will doubt-
less be generally adopted on being proved
practicable. It is to be hoped, however,
that before long deliquescent salts will be
employed for this purpose rather than wa-
ter. The use of water in summer hastens
the decay of organic matter, and thus is
objectionable from a sanitary point of view.
Deliquescent salts will not alone lay the
dust, but will also disinfect the streets by
checking decomposition.

French Association for the Advance-
ment of Science. — The French Association
met at Lyons, on August 21st, the opening
address being made by the president, Qua-
trefages. He traced the history of scien-
tific progress during the past hundred years,
and advocated the claims of science as an
important branch of general education. The
reports of the secretary and treasurer show
that the Association is in a flourishing state,
and that it has already, in its second year,
commenced to give material encouragement
to original investigators of science. The
most notable of the papers read in the gen-
eral meetings were the following : Dr. H.
Blanc, Surgeon-Major of the British Army,
on " The Means of guarding against Chol-
era : an Essay based on Practical Knowl-
edge of the Causes and Mode of Propaga-

MISCELLANY.

125

tion of that Disease ; " Fernand Papillon,
on " The Relations between Science and
Metaphysics ; " the Abbe" Ducrost, on " The
Prehistoric Station of Solutre ; " and Dr.
Bertillon on " The Population of France."

One of the sections of the French Asso-
ciation is devoted to the medical sciences.
In this department, the most remarkable
papers were those of M. Oilier, on " The
Surgical Means of favoring the Growth of
the Bones in Man ; " M. Chauveau, on " The
Transmission of Tuberculosis through the
Digestive Organs ; " M. J. Gayet, on " The
Regeneration of the Crystalline Lens ; " and
M. Diday, on " A Physiological Theory of
the Passion of Love."

In anthropology, we may mention M.
Lagneau's " Ethnological Researches on the
Basin of the Saone and Other Affluents of the
Rhone ; " M. Chauvet's " Observations on
the Bone-Caves of Charente," Gabriel Mor-
tillet and Abel Hovelacque on "The Pre-
cursor of Man in the Tertiary Period."

The chemical section presents matter of
special interest only for chemists. In that
of botany, M. Merget read a paper on " The
role of the Stomata in the Exchange of Gases
between the Plant and the Atmosphere."

The Cryptograph. — A very ingenious
instrument, the cryptograph, was recently
described by its inventor, Pelegrin, in a
note communicated to the French Academy
of Sciences. The cryptograph is a con-
trivance intended for noting down on the
spot and converting into mathematical ex-
pressions, so that they may be sent directly
and secretly by telegraph, the polar co-
ordinates of the points which determine a
given figure. By means of this instrument,
one may — at New York, for instance —
trace out figures seen and noted down by a
correspondent at any point in telegraphic
communication with him. The cryptograph
consists of a graduated arc of a circle, and
an alidade, or index, also graduated and
movable over the entire arc. The alidade
has attached to it a small, thin plate of
mica, which may slide up and down its en-
tire length. On the mica is a black point,
and this, it is plain, may occupy every pos-
sible position within the arc. A sight is
fixed in front of the instrument. In order,
now, to note down the outlines of a given

figure, the observer places his eye at the
sight, and brings the black speck on the
mica over all the chief points, and marks
their polar coordinates, as shown by the
positions of the alidade and the sliding-
point. These numbers may then be trans-
mitted by telegraph anywhere. With the
assistance of another cryptograph, in which
the mica is replaced by a style or pen, the
points noted by the first instrument are at
once found and copied on paper.

Localization of the Faculty of Speech. —

In a recent memoir on the localization of
the faculty of speech in the anterior lobes
of the brain, the eminent physiologist Bouil-
laud communicates to the French Academy
of Sciences the results of his protracted re-
searches on that subject. Some of the cases
cited by him in the course of the memoir
are extremely curious. In some instances,
says he, the inability to speak is restricted
to a certain class of words — certain proper
names, for instance ; in others, it extends to
all past events ; in others, again, only promi-
nent circumstances are involved ; and so
on. Cuvier tells of a man who had lost the
recollection of all nouns-substantive, and who
would construct his phrases perfectly and
regularly, the places of the nouns being
always left vacant. Some years ago, M.
Bouillaud visited a patient whose vocabu-
lary did not contain a single verb, but who,
notwithstanding, talked with remarkable
volubility : his language was, of course, per-
fectly unintelligible. Others are unable, of
their own accord, to write some particular
word — house, for instance — though they can
copy it when it is placed before them. A
lady, forty-three years of age, was suddenly
deprived of the power of speech, and entered
the Cochin Hospital ; she heard and under-
stood perfectly every thing that was said
to her, but could not speak. She could
express herself in writing, however, and
thus it was learned that she suffered pain
in the forehead. From these cases, it fol-
lows that aphasia is produced by an inca-
pacity to execute the coordinate movements
requisite for pronunciation, and that it has
nothing to do with loss of memory as to the
meaning of words.

According to M. Bouillaud, these phe-
nomena are produced by lesions of the an-

126

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

terror cerebral lobes. He claims that his
theory is confirmed by the results of several
autopsies, and asserts that, wherever he has
had an opportunity to examine the brain of
patients affected in this way, he always found
the anterior lobes softened, inflamed, and
more or less profoundly disorganized. These
views gave rise to a warm discussion when
they were first published to the Academy,
and Flourens contributed an important me-
moir on the subject, in which he took the
ground that while the cerebral lobes possess
the faculties of will and perception, they do
not coordinate movements, the latter func-
tion appertaining, according to him, to the
cerebellum.

M. Bouillaud sums up as follows the
conclusions to which he has been led in the
course of his studies : 1. All lesions of the
faculty of speech have their origin in affec-
tions of the frontal lobes. In some instances,
this lesion to the faculty of speech is owing
to the fact that the coordinated movements
requisite for the pronunciation of words can-
not be executed. Therefore, there exists in
these anterior lobes a coordinating .centre
for this description of voluntary movements.
In other instances, lesions of the faculty of
speech have a bearing on the words them-
selves, and not on the act of pronouncing
them. Therefore, there exists in the same
lobes another centre, without the coopera-
tion of which speech is impossible.

2. When either or both of these condi-
tions exist, the faculty of speech may be
injured or utterly lost, while all the other
special intellectual faculties remain intact,
and vice versa.

The Rebuilding of Antioch. — In the re-
building of the city of Antioch, destroyed
by earthquake last year, the chief engineer
of the province of Aleppo, Mr. Haddan, an
Englishman, did his best to induce the peo-
ple to profit by the experience of the past,
and to construct their houses and lay out
their streets in such a manner that the
recurrence of earthquake might not again
prove so destructive. But immobility is
the law of the East, and the people will not
quit the ancient paths. It is a significant
fact, says the Builder^ that many of the vic-
tims on the occasion of the last earthquake
might have escaped, if the houses had been

built with lime or bound with wood, and if
the streets had not been so narrow that the
rows of falling buildings met as they crum-
bled down, to form one destructive heap
over the crowds of people. Mr. Haddan
proposed that skeleton houses should be
erected with timber battens, well tied to-
gether with iron bands, on which overhang-
ing roofs would rest. Stone-walls, cemented
with lime, were then to be run up around
the wooden frames, in order to afford pro-
tection from sun and rain. A shock of
earthquake (which is a matter of frequent
occurrence at Antioch), how formidable
soever it might be, could then do no more
than throw the stone-walls outward, while
none of the falling stones could injure those
in the houses. The new plan of the town,
by straightening and widening the labyrinth
of tortuous lanes which previously existed,
would save the inhabitants from much of
the danger after escaping from their houses.
But, as has been already said, these sugges-
tions have been disregarded, and the town
is beginning to rise again on its old founda-
tions, built with mud instead of lime, and
likely to destroy its future population in
even greater proportion than it did last
year, for increased poverty makes the new
houses weaker than even the old ones were.

Intelligence of the Toad. — At the re-
cent meeting of the American Association
for the Advancement of Science, held at
Portland, Mr. Thomas Hill read a note on
the intelligence of toads, giving, among other
interesting examples of their sagacity, a de-
scription of the means by which the creature
contrives to force down inconvenient forms
of food. " When our toad," says Mr.
Hill, "gets into his mouth part of an in-
sect too large for his tongue to thrust down
his throat (and I have known of their at-
tempting a wounded humming-bird), he re-
sorts to the nearest stone," and uses it as a
piece de resistance in a very literal sense.
This can be observed at any time, con-
tinues the author, by tying a locust's hind-
legs together, and throwing it before a
small toad.

On one occasion Mr. Hill gave a small
locust to a little toad in its second summer.
At once the locust's head was down the
creature's throat, the hinder parts protrud-

NOTES.

127

ing. The toad then sought for a stone or
clod ; but, as none was to be found, he
lowered his head and crept along, pushing
the locust against the ground. But the
ground was too smooth (a rolled path) and
the angle at which the locust lay to the
ground too small, and thus no progress was
made. " To increase the angle, he straight-
ened up his hind-legs, but in vain. At
length he threw up his hind-quarters, and
actually stood on his head, or rather on the
locust sticking out of his mouth, and, after
repeating this once or twice, succeeded in
getting himself outside his dinner."

On another occasion the author saw an
American toad disposing of an earthworm
in the following way. The worm was so
long that it had to be swallowed by sec-
tions. But, while one end was in the toad's
stomach, the other end was coiled about
his head. "He waited until the worm's
writhings gave him a chance, and swallowed
half an inch ; then, taking a nip with his jaws,
waited for a chance to draw in another half-
inch. But there were so many half-inches
to dispose of that at length his jaws grew
tired, lost their firmness of grip, and the
worm crawled out five-eighths of an inch
between each half-inch swallowing. The
toad, perceiving this, brought his right hand
to his jaws, grasping his abdomen with his
foot, and, by a little effort getting hold of
the worm in his stomach from the outside,
he thus, by his foot, held fast to what he
had gained by each swallow, and presently
succeeded in getting the worm entirely
down."

The Son's Envelope. — Prof. Charles A.
Young's paper, read at the American As-
sociation, on a liquid solar crust, led to a
very animated discussion. The author is
inclined to hold, with Faye, Secchi, and oth-
ers, that the sun is mainly gaseous. At the
same time, the eruptions which are continu-
ally occurring on its surface almost compel
the supposition that there is a crust of some
kind which retains the imprisoned gases,
and through which they force their way in
jets with great violence. According to the
author, this crust may consist of a more or
less continuous sheet of descending rain —
that is, a downfall of the condensed vapors
of those materials which we know from the

spectroscope exist in the sun. The con-
tinuous efflux of the solar heat is equiva-
lent to the supply that would be developed
by the condensation from steam to water
of a layer of about five feet thick over the
whole surface of the sun every minute of
time. As this tremendous rain descends,
the velocity of the falling drops would be
retarded by the resistance of the denser gases
underneath ; the drops would coalesce until
a continuous sheet would be formed ; and
these sheets would unite and form a sort of
bottomless ocean resting on the compressed
vapors beneath, and pierced by innumerable
ascending jets and bubbles. It would have
an approximately constant depth, because
it would turn to vapor at the bottom as
rapidly as it grew at the surface, though
probably the thickness of this crust would
continually increase at a slow rate, and its
whole diameter grow less.

In other words, Dr. Young would re-
gard the sun as an enormous bubble whose
walls are steadily thickening, and its di-
ameter ever lessening, in proportion to the
loss of heat. The hypothesis offers no pe-
culiar explanation of the sun-spot?, but will
agree with any of the current explanations
of that phenomenon.

NOTES.

Prof. Strong, of the Drew Theological
Seminary, Madison, N". J., is organizing an
expedition to Egypt and the Holy Land.
It will start about Christmas, and will em-
brace in its personnel, engineers, artists,
scientists, and a select party of tourists, all
under charge of Prof. Strong, assisted by
Prof. T. Norman and Mr. George May
Powell.

The Boston Medical and Surgical Jour-
nal reports a case of semi-asphyxiation from
the inhalation of coal-gas, which was very
successfully treated by the administration
of oxygen. Four men sleeping in one room
had inhaled coal-gas. Of these one died
before medical aid arrived ; the other three
were taken to the hospital. Here fresh air
and stimulants were resorted to, but the
most marked effects followed the adminis-
tration of oxygen gas. The inhalation of
this agent was followed by an almost in-
stantaneous improvement in the condition
of the patients. It was found that the sup-
ply of oxygen had to be kept up for some
time after the appearance of improved
respiration, for, when the administration

128

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

of the gas was discontinued, a relapse oc-
curred. Soon, however, the improvement
became permanent, and the patients were
discharged well.

A writer in a French scientific periodi-
cal states that by feeding silk-worms on vine-
leaves he has obtained cocoons of a mag-
nificent red, and, by feeding them on lettuce,
others of a very deep emerald green. An-
other silk-grower has obtained cocoons of a
beautiful yellow, others of a fine green, and
others again of violet, by feeding the silk-
worms on lettuce, or on white nettle. He
says that the silk-worms must be fed on
mulberry-leaves when young, and supplied
with the vine, lettuce, or nettle leaves, dur-
ing the last twenty days of the larva stage
of their life.

A London Times correspondent bestows
merited praise upon the ventilation of the
opera-house at Vienna. On the occasion of
the shah's visit, though the house was filled
in every part, and though the temperature
outside was no less than 85° after sunset,
still in the overcrowded house the tempera-
ture was just agreeable. The thermom-
eters in the house were under continual
inspection, and the temperature regulated
according to their indications. What facil-
itates this regulation is that the gas-lights
are under glass globes, which are so ar-
ranged that the smoke and-heat are carried
out by the flue which is above every flame.
This arrangement has, besides, the advan-
tage that, even when the house is fully
illuminated, the light is never glaring.

Carbolic-acid paper is now much used
for packing fresh meats for the purpose
of preserving them against spoiling. The
paper is prepared by melting five parts of
stearine at a gentle heat, and then stirring
in thoroughly two parts of carbolic acid,
after which five parts of melted paraffine
are added. The whole is to be well stirred
together till it cools, after which it is melted
and applied with a brush to the paper, in
quires, in the same way as in preparing the
waxed paper so much used in Europe for
wrapping various articles.

From the official report of Captain G. A.
Stover, British political agent at Mandalay,
it would appear that Upper Burmah is richer
in metals and minerals than any other coun-
try in the known world. Gold exists in
profusion in the rivers and streams, and in
many districts the gold quartz is found in
abundance ; but the localities are generally
malarious, and the mines are not developed.
Silver, too, is found in considerable quanti-
ties. Rich deposits of copper exist, but
are unutilized. Iron abounds in the Shan
states and the districts south of Mandalay.
Lead is plentiful, and, though tin exists in
the Shan states, the mines have never been

worked. Coal equal to the best English
coal has been discovered in many parts
of the interior.

A Berlin correspondent of the London
Times gives an account of the extraordinary
performance of the new Prussian infantry
arm, the Mauser gun. The writer says :
" On a distance of 1,500 metres (1,640
yards), out of 480 shots, 399 hits were
effected in five targets placed behind each
other ; and on 1,400 metres (1,564 yards),
out of 480 shots, 460 hits are reported.
To attack a line in a good position, de-
fended by disciplined soldiers armed with
the Mauser, would be the greatest blunder."

O. Feistmantel, of the Austrian Geolo-
gical Institute, lately read before that body
an essay on " The Fossil Plants of Ger-
many and Austria," which will attract the
earnest attention of the students of paleon-
tological botany. The author first visited
and thoroughly studied all the chief collec-
tions of botanical fossils existing in the two
countries, and then set about a revision of
the species described. He shows that at
present the science of phytopaleontology
is in a state of confusion, the same species
being often described under different names.
Different portions of one plant too often
figure under sundry names, being some-
times referred to widely diverse genera.
Thus we find in some cases the fruit of a
plant attributed to one species, while its
leaf, trunk, etc., are attributed to others.

The performance of the " Woolwich in-
fants," or 35-ton English guns, will proba-
bly bring about a revolution in the art of
naval construction. Experiment has shown
that, with the service-charge of powder and
the 700-pound shot, these enormous engines
can send the projectile through 15 inches
of iron at 200 yards, through 14 inches at
300 yards, through 12 inches at 1,700
yards, through 11 inches at 2,600 yards,
through 9 inches at 4,000 yards, through 8
inches at 4,500 yards. In each case the
usual backing of hard wood has to be added
to the thickness of the iron target. Thus,
at a range of nearly three miles, a shell
one-third of a ton in weight can be made to
pierce the sides of some of the heaviest
iron-clads, which, a few years ago, were
thought to be well protected by 8 or 9
inches of iron.

His excellency Cherif Pasha, Minister of
Foreign Affairs, has made an order, in be-
half of his government, on R. Habersham,
Son & Co., Savannah, Georgia, through R.
Beardsley, Esq., consul-general of the Uni-
ted States at Alexandria, Egypt, for fifteen
tons of Sea-Island cotton-seed for culture in
Egypt, under the express direction of the
ruler of that country, Ismail Pasha.

DR. JOSEPH DALTON HOOKER.

THE

POPULAR SCIENCE
MONTHLY.

DECEMBER, 1873.

KADICALISM, CONSEKYATISM, AND THE TRANSI-
TION OF INSTITUTIONS. 1

By HERBERT SPENCER.

OF readers who have accompanied me thus far, probably some think
that the contents of these papers go beyond the limits implied
by their title. Under the head Study of Sociology, so many sociolo-
gical questions have been incidentally discussed, that the science itself
has been in a measure dealt with while dealing with the study of it.
Admitting this criticism, my excuse must be that the fault, if it is one,
has been scarcely avoidable. Nothing to much purpose can be said
about the study of any science without saying a good deal about the
general and special truths it includes, or what the expositor holds to
be truths. To write an essay on the study of astronomy, in which
there should be no direct or implied conviction respecting the Coper-
nican theory of the solar system, nor any such recognition of the law
of gravitation as involved acceptance or rejection of it, would be a
task difficult to execute, and, when executed, probably of little value.
Similarly with Sociology — it is next to impossible for the writer who
points out the way toward its truths to exclude all tacit or avowed
expressions of opinion about those truths, and, were it possible to ex-
clude such expressions of opinion, it would be at the cost of those illus-
trations needed to make his exposition effective.

Such must be, in part, my defense for having set down many
thoughts which the title of this work does not cover. Especially have
I found myself obliged thus to transgress, by representing the study
of sociology as the study of evolution in its most complex form. It is
clear that, to one who considers the facts societies exhibit as having
had their origin in supernatural interpositions, or in the wills of
individual ruling men, the study of these facts will have an aspect
wholly unlike that which it has to one who contemplates them as gen-

1 Concluding article of the series on the " Study of Sociology."
vol. iv. — 9

i 3 o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

erated by processes of growth and development continuing through
centuries. Ignoring, as the first view tacitly does, that conformity to
law, in the scientific sense of the word, which the second view tacitly
asserts, there can be but little community between the methods of in-
quiry proper to them respectively. Continuous causation, which in
the one case there is little or no tendency to trace, becomes, in the
other case, the chief object of attention ; whence it follows that there
must be formed wholly different ideas of the appropriate modes of in-
vestigation. A foregone conclusion respecting the nature of social
phenomena is thus inevitably implied in any suggestions for the study
of them.

While, however, it must be admitted that throughout these articles
there runs the assumption that the facts, simultaneous and successive,
which societies present, have a genesis no less natural than the genesis
of facts of all other classes, it is not admitted that this assumption
was made unawares, or without warrant. At the outset, the grounds
for it were examined. The notion, widely accepted in name, though
not consistently acted upon, that social phenomena differ from phenom-
ena of most other kinds, as being under special providence, we found
to be entirely discredited by its expositors ; nor, when closely looked
into, did the great-man-theory of social affairs prove to be more tenable.
Besides finding that. both these views, rooted as they are in the ways
of thinking natural to primitive men, would not bear criticism, we
found that even their defenders continually betrayed their beliefs in
the production of social changes by natural causes — tacitly admitted
that after certain antecedents certain consequents are to be expected —
tacitly admitted, therefore, that some prevision is possible, and there-
fore some subject-matter for science.

From these negative justifications for the belief that sociology is a
science, we turned to the positive justifications. We found that every
aggregate of units, of any order, has certain traits necessarily deter-
mined by the properties of its units. Hence it was inferable, a priori,
that, given the natures of the men who are their units, and certain
characters in the societies formed are predetermined — other characters
being determined by the cooperation of surrounding conditions. The
current assertion, that sociology is not possible, implies a misconcep-
tion of its nature. Using the analogy supplied by a human life, we
saw that just as bodily development, and structure, and function, fur-
nish subject-matter for biological science, though the events set forth
by the biographer go beyond its range, so, social growth, and the rise
of structures and functions accompanying it, furnish subject-matter for
a science of society, though the facts with which historians fill their
pages mostly yield no material for science. Thus conceiving the scope
of the science, we saw, on comparing rudimentary societies with one
another, and with societies in different stages of progress, that they do
present certain common traits of structure and of function, as well

THE TRANSITION OF INSTITUTIONS. 131

as certain common traits of development. Further comparisons, simi-
larly made, opened large questions, such as that of the relation be-
tween social growth and organization, which form parts of this same
science — questions of transcendent importance, compared with those
occupying the minds of politicians and writers of history.

The difficulties of the Social Science next drew our attention. We
saw that in this case, though in no other case, the facts to be ob-
served and generalized by the student are exhibited by an aggregate
of which he forms a part. In his capacity of inquirer, he should have
no inclination toward one or other conclusion respecting the phenom-
ena to be generalized ; but, in his capacity of citizen, helped to live
by the life of his society, embedded in its structures, sharing in its
activities, breathing its atmosphere of thought and sentiment, he is
partially coerced into such views as favor harmonious cooperation
with his fellow-citizens. Hence immense obstacles to the social sci-
ence, unparalleled by those standing in the way of any other science.

From considering thus generally these causes of error, we turned
to consider them specially. Under the head of Objective Difficulties,
we glanced at those many ways in which evidence collected by the
sociological inquirer is vitiated. That extreme untrustworthiness of
witnesses which results from carelessness, or fanaticism, or self-inter-
est, was illustrated ; and we saw that, in addition to the perversions
of statement hence arising, there are others which arise from the ten-
dency there is for some kinds of evidence to draw attention, while
evidence of opposite kinds, much larger in quantity, draws no atten-
tion. Further, it was shown that the nature of sociological facts,
each of which is not observable in a single object or act, but is reached
only through registration and comparison of many objects and acts,
makes the perception of them harder than that of other facts. It was
pointed out that the wide distribution of social phenomena in space
greatly hinders true apprehensions of them ; and it was also pointed
out that another impediment, even still greater, is consequent on their
distribution in time — a distribution such that many of the facts to be
dealt with take centuries to unfold, and can be grasped only by com-
bining in thought multitudinous changes that are slow, involved, and
not easy to trace.

Beyond these difficulties which we grouped as distinguishing the
science itself, objectively considered, we saw that there are other diffi-
culties, conveniently to be grouped as subjective, which are also great.
For the interpretation of human conduct as socially displayed, every
one is compelled to use, as a key, his own nature — ascribing to others
thoughts and feelings like his own ; and yet, while this automorphic
interpretation is indispensable, it is necessarily more or less mislead-
ing. Very generally, too, a subjective difficulty arises from the lack
of intellectual faculty complex enough to grasp these social phenom-

132 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

ena, which are so extremely involved. And, again, very few have by
culture gained that plasticity of faculty requisite for conceiving and
accepting those immensely-varied actualities which societies in differ-
ent times and places display, and those multitudinous possibilities to be
inferred from them.

Nor, of subjective difficulties, did these exhaust the list. From the
emotional as well as from the intellectual part of the nature, we saw
that there arise obstacles. The ways in which beliefs about social
affairs are perverted, by intense fears and excited hopes, were pointed
out. We noted the feeling of impatience, as another common cause
of misjudgment. A contrast was drawn showing, too, what perverse
estimates of public events men are led to make by their sympathies
and antipathies — how, where their hate has been aroused, they utter
unqualified condemnations of ill-deeds for which there was much excuse,
while, if their admiration is excited by vast successes, they condone
inexcusable ill-deeds immeasurably greater in amount. And we also
saw that, among the distortions of judgment caused by the emotions,
have to be included those immense ones generated by the sentiment of
loyalty to a personal ruler, or to a ruling power otherwise embodied.

These distortions of judgment caused by the emotions, thus indi-
cated generally, we went on to consider specially — treating of them as
different forms of bias. Though, during education, understood in a
wide sense, many kinds of bias are commenced or given, there is one
which our educational system makes especially strong — the double
bias in favor of the religions of enmity and of amity. Needful as we
found both of these to be, we perceived that among the beliefs about
social affairs, prompted now by the one and now by the other, there
are glaring incongruities ; and that scientific conceptions can be formed
only when there is a compromise between the dictates of pure egoism
and the dictates of pure altruism, for which they respectively stand.

We observed, next, the warping of opinion which the bias of patri-
otism causes. Recognizing the truth that the preservation of a
society is made possible only by a due amount of patriotic feeling in
citizens, we saw that this feeling inevitably disturbs the judgment
when comparisons between societies are made, and that the data re-
quired for Social Science are thus vitiated ; and we saw that the effort
to escape this bias, leading as it does to an opposite bias, is apt to
vitiate the data in another way. While finding the class-bias to be no
less essentia], we found that it no less inevitably causes one-sidedness
in the conceptions of social affairs. Noting how the various sub-classes
have their specialties of prejudice corresponding to their class-interests,
we noted, at greater length, how the more general prejudices of the
larger and more widely-distinguished classes prevent them from form-
ing balanced judgments. That in politics the bias of party interferes
with those calm examinations by which alone the conclusions of Social
Science can be reached, scarcely needed pointing out. We observed,

THE TRANSITION OF INSTITUTIONS. 133

however, that, beyond the political bias under its party-form, there is a
more general political bias — the bias toward an exclusively-political
view of social affairs, and a corresponding faith in political instrumen-
talities. As affecting the study of Social Science, this bias was shown
to be detrimental as directing the attention too much to the phe-
nomena of social regulation, and excluding from thought the activities
regulated, constituting an aggregate of phenomena far more important.

Lastly, we came to the theological bias, which, under its general
form and under its special forms, disturbs in various ways our judg-
ments on social questions. Obedience to a supposed divine command
being its standard of rectitude, it does not ask concerning any social
arrangement whether it conduces to social welfare, so much as whether
it conforms to the creed locally established. Hence, in each place and
time, those conceptions about public affairs which the theological bias
fosters, tend to diverge from the truth in so far as the creed then and
there accepted diverges from the truth. And besides the positive evil
thus produced, there is a negative evil, due to discouragement of the
habit of estimating actions by the results they eventually cause — a
habit which the study of Social Science demands.

Having thus contemplated in general and in detail the difficulties
of the Social Science, we turned our attention to the preliminary dis-
cipline required. Of the conclusions reached so recently, the reader
scarcely needs reminding. Study of the sciences in general having
been pointed out as the proper means of generating fit habits of
thought, it was shown that the sciences especially to be attended to
are those treating of Life and of Mind. There can be no understand-
ing of social actions without some knowledge of human nature ; there
can be no deep knowledge of human nature without some knowledge
of the laws of Mind ; there can be no adequate knowledge of the laws
of Mind without knowledge of the laws of Life. And, that knowledge
of the laws of Life, as exhibited in Man, may be properly grasped, at-
tention must be given to the laws of Life in general.

What is to be hoped from such a presentation of difficulties and
such a programme of preparatory studies ? Who, in drawing his con-
clusions about public policies, will be made to hesitate by remembering
the many obstacles that stand in the way of right judgments ? Who
will think it needful to fit himself by inquiries so various and so ex-
tensive ? Who, in short, will be led to doubt any of the inferences he
has drawn, or be induced to pause before he draws others, by con-
sciousness of these many liabilities to error arising from want of
knowledge, want of discipline, and want of duly-balanced sentiments ?

To these questions there can be but the obvious reply — a reply
which the foregoing chapters themselves involve — that very little is to
be expected. The implication throughout the argument has been that
for every society, and for each stage in its evolution, there is an appro-

134 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

priate mode of feeling and thinking ; and that no mode of feeling and
thiuking not adapted to its degree of evolution, and to its surround-
ings, can be permanently established. Though not exactly, still ap-
proximately, the average opinion in any age and country is a function
of the social structure in that age and country. There may be, as we
see during times of revolution, a considerable incongruity between the
ideas that become current and the social arrangements which exist,
and are, in great measure, appropriate ; though even then the incon-
gruity does but mark the need for a readjustment of institutions to
character. While, however, those successive compromises, which,
during social evolution, have to be made between the changed natures
of citizens and the institutions evolved by ancestral citizens, imply
disagreements, yet these are but partial and temporary — in those so-
cieties, at least, which are developing and not in course of dissolution.
For a society to hold together, the institutions that are needed and the
conceptions that are generally current must be in tolerable harmony.
Hence, it is not to be expected that modes of thinking on social affairs
are to be in any considerable degree changed by whatever may be
said respecting the Social Science, its difficulties, and the required
preparations for studying it. «

The only reasonable hope is, that here and there one may be led,
in calmer moments, to remember how largely his beliefs about public
matters have been made for him by circumstances, and how probable
it is that they are either untrue or but partially true. When he re-
flects on the doubtfulness of the evidence which he generalizes, col-
lected hap-hazard from a narrow area — when he counts up the per-
verting sentiments fostered in him by education, country, class, party,
creed — when, observing those around, he sees that, from other evi-
dence selected to gratify sentiments partially unlike his own, there re-
sult unlike views — he may occasionally recollect how largely mere ac-
cidents have determined his convictions. Recollecting this, he may
be induced to hold these convictions not quite so strongly ; may see
the need for criticism of them with a view to revision; and, above all,
may be somewhat less eager to act in pursuance of them.

While the few to whom a Social Science is conceivable may, to
some degree, be thus influenced by what is said concerning the study
of it, there can, of course, be no effect on the many to whom such a
science seems an absurdity, or an impiety, or both. The feeling or-
dinarily excited, by the proposal to deal scientifically with these most
complex phenomena, is like that which was excited in ancient times by
the proposal to deal scientifically with phenomena of simpler kinds.
As Mr. Grote writes of Socrates :

" Physics and astronomy, in his opinion, belonged to the divine class of
phenomena, in which human research was insane, fruitless, and impious." l

" History of Greece," vol. i., p. 498.

THE TRANSITION OF INSTITUTIONS. 135

And as he elsewhere writes respecting the attitude of the Greek mind
in general :

41 In his " (the early Greek's) " view, the description of the sun, as given in
a modern astronomical treatise, would have appeared not merely absurd, but
repulsive and impious: even in later times, when the positive spirit of inquiry
had made considerable progress, Anaxagoras and other astronomers incurred
the charge of blasphemy for dispersonifying Helios, and trying to assign in-
variable laws to the solar phenomena." 1

That a likeness exists between the feeling then displayed respect-
ing phenomena of inorganic Nature and the feeling now displayed re-
specting phenomena of Life and Society, is manifest. The ascription
of social actions and political events entirely to natural causes, thus
leaving out Providence as a factor, seems, to the religious mind of our
day, as seemed to the mind of the pious Greek the dis personification
of Helios and the interpretation of the celestial motions otherwise
than by immediate divine agency. As was said by Mr. Gladstone, in
a speech made shortly after the publication of the second chapter of
this volume :

44 1 lately read a discussion on the manner in which the raising up of par-
ticular individuals occasionally occurs in great crises of human history, as if
some sacred, invisible power had raised them up and placed them in particular
positions for special purposes. The writer says that they are not uniform, but
admits that they are common — so common and so remarkable that men would
be liable to term them providential in a pre-scientific age. And this was said
without the smallest notion apparently in the writer's mind that he was giving
utterance to anything that could startle or alarm — it was said as a kind of com-
monplace. It would seem that in his view there was a time when mankind,
lost in ignorance, might, without forfeiting entirely their title to the name of
rational creatures, believe in a Providence, but that since that period another
and greater power has arisen under the name of science, and this power has
gone to war with Providence, and Providence is driven from the field — and we
have now the happiness of living in the scientific age, when Providence is no
longer to be treated as otherwise than an idle dream." a

Of the mental attitude, very general beyond the limits of the sci-
entific world, which these utterances of Mr. Gladstone exemplify, he
has since given further illustration ; and, in his anxiety to check a
movement he thinks mischievous, has so conspicuously made himself
the exponent of the anti-scientific view, that we may fitly regard his
thoughts on the matter as typical. In an address delivered by him at
the Liverpool College, and since republished with additions, he says :

"Upon the ground of what is termed evolution, God is relieved of the labor
of creation ; in the name of unchangeable laws, He is discharged from govern-
ing the world."

This passage proves the kinship between Mr. Gladstone's conception

of things and that entertained by the Greeks to be even closer than

1 "History of Greece," vol. i., p. 406. 3 Morning Post, May 15, 1872.

136 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

above alleged ; for its implication is, not simply that the scientific in-
terpretation of vital and social phenomena as conforming to fixed laws
is repugnant to him, but that the like interpretation of inorganic phe-
nomena is repugnant. In common with the ancient Greek, he regards
as irreligious any explanation of Nature which dispenses with imme-
diate divine superintendence. He appears to overlook the fact that
the doctrine of gravitation, with the entire science of physical as-
tronomy, is open to the same charge as this which he makes against
the doctrine of evolution ; and he seems not to have remembered that
throughout the past each further step made by Science has been de-
nounced for reasons like those which he assigns. 1

It is instructive to observe, however, that, in these prevailing con-
ceptions expressed by Mr. Gladstone, which we have here to note as
excluding the conception of a Social Science, there is to be traced a
healthful process of compromise between old and new. For, as, in the
current conceptions about the order of events in the lives of persons,
there is a partnership, wholly illogical though temporarily conven-
ient, between the ideas of natural causation and of providential in-
terference, so, in the current political conceptions, the belief in di-
vine interpositions goes along with, and by no means excludes, the
belief in a natural production of effects on society by natural agencies
set to work. In relation to the occurrences of individual life, we dis-
played our national aptitude for thus entertaining mutually-destructive
ideas, when an unpopular prince suddenly gained popularity by out-
living certain abnormal changes in his blood, and when, on the occa-
sion of his recovery, providential aid and natural causation were unit-
edly recognized by a thanksgiving to God and a baronetcy to the doc-
tor. And, similarly, we see that, throughout all our public actions,
the theory which Mr. Gladstone represents, that great men are provi-
dentially raised up to do things God has decided upon, and that the
course of affairs is supernaturally ordered thus or thus, does not in the
least interfere with the passings of measures calculated to achieve de-
sired ends in ways classed as natural, and nowise modifies the discus-
sion of such measures on their merits, as estimated in terms of cause
and consequence. While the prayers with w 7 hich each legislative sit-

1 In the appendix to his republished address, Mr. Gladstone, in illustration of the
views he condemns, refers to that part of " First Principles " which, treating of the recon-
ciliation of Science and Religion, contends that this consists in a united recognition of
an Ultimate Cause which, though ever present to consciousness, transcends knowledge.
Commenting on this view, he says : " Still it vividly recalls to mind an old story of the
man who, wishing to be rid of one who was in his house, said : ' Sir, there are two sides
to my house, and we will divide them ; you shall take the outside.' " This seems to me
by no means a happily-chosen simile, since it admits of an interpretation exactly oppo-
site to the one Mr. Gladstone intends. The doctrine he combats is that Science, unable
to go beyond the outsides of things, is forever debarred from reaching, and even from
conceiving, the power within them ; and, this being so, the relative positions of Religion
and Science may be well represented by inverting the application of his figure.

THE TRANSITION OF INSTITUTIONS. 157

ting commences show a nominal belief in an immediate divine guid-
ance, the votes with which the sitting ends, given in pursuance of rea-
sons which the speeches assign, show us a real belief that the effects
will be determined by the agencies set to work.

Still it is clear that the old conception, while it qualifies the new
but little in the regulating of actions, qualifies it very much in the for-
mation of theories. There can be no complete acceptance of Sociology
as a science so long as the belief in a social order not conforming to
natural law survives. Hence, as already said, considerations touching
the study of Sociology, not very influential even over the few who rec-
ognize a Social Science, can have scarcely any effects on the great
mass to whom a Social Science is an incredibility.

I do not mean that this prevailing imperviousness to scientific con-
ceptions of social phenomena is to be regretted. As implied in a fore-
going paragraph, it is part of the required adjustment between existing
opinions and the forms of social life at present requisite. With a given
phase of human character there must, to maintain equilibrium, go an
adapted class of institutions, and a set of thoughts and sentiments in
tolerable harmony with those institutions. Hence, it is not to be
wished that, with the average human nature we now have, there should
be a wide acceptance of views natural only to a more highly-developed
social state, and to the improved type of citizen accompanying such a
state. The desirable thing is, that a growth of ideas and feelings tend-
ing to produce modification shall be joined with a continuance of ideas
and feelings tending to preserve stability. And it is one of our satis-
factory social traits, exhibited in a degree never before paralleled, that
along with a mental progress which brings about considerable changes,
there is a devotion of thought and energy to the maintenance of exist-
ing arrangements, and creeds, and sentiments — an energy suflicient
even to reinvigorate some of the old forms and beliefs that were de-
caying. When, therefore, a distinguished statesman, anxious for hu-
man welfare as he ever shows himself to be, and holding that the de-
fense of established beliefs must not be left exclusively to its "standing
army " of " priests and ministers of religion," undertakes to combat
opinions at variance with a creed he thinks essential, the occurrence
may be taken as adding another to the many signs of a healthful con-
dition of society. That, in our day, one in Mr. Gladstone's position
should think as he does, seems to me very desirable. That we should
have for our working-king one in whom a purely-scientific conception
of things had become dominant, and who was thus out of harmony
with our present social state, would probably be detrimental, and
might be disastrous.

For it cannot be too emphatically asserted that this policy of com-
promise, alike in institutions, in actions, and in beliefs, which especial-
ly characterizes English life, is a policy essential to a society going

138 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

through the transitions caused by continued growth and development.
The illogicalities and the absurdities to be found so abundantly in cur-
rent opinions and existing arrangements are those which inevitably
arise in the course of perpetual readjustments to circumstances per-
petually changing. Ideas and institutions proper to a past social
state, but incongruous with the new social state that has grown out
of it, surviving into this new social state they have made possible, and
disappearing only as this new social state establishes its own ideas and
institutions, are necessarily, during their survival, in conflict with
these new ideas and institutions — necessarily furnish elements of con-
tradiction in men's thoughts and deeds. And yet, as, for the carrying
on of social life, the old must continue so long as the new is not ready,
this perpetual compromise is an indispensable accompaniment of a
normal development. Its essentialness we may see on remembering
that it equally holds throughout the evolution of an individual organ-
ism. The structural and functional arrangements during growth are
never quite right: always the old adjustment for a smaller size is
made wrong by the larger size it has been instrumental in producing —
always the transition-structure is a compromise between the require-
ments of past and future, fulfilling in an imperfect way the require-
ments of the present. And this, which is shown clearly enough where
there is simple growth, is shown still more clearly where there are
metamorphoses. A creature which leads at two periods of its exist-
ence two different kinds of life, and which, in adaptation to its second
period, has to develop structures that were not fitted for its first, passes
through a stage during which it possesses both partially — during which
the old dwindles while the new grows : as happens, for instance, in
creatures that continue to breathe water by external branchiae during
the time they are developing the lungs that enable them to breathe
air. And thus it is with the changes produced by growth in socie-
ties, as well as with those metamorphoses accompanying change in
the mode of life — especially those accompanying change from the
predatory to the industrial life. Here, too, there must be transitional
stages during which incongruous organizations coexist : the first re-
maining indispensable until the second has grown up to its work.
Just as injurious as it would be to an amphibian to cut off its branchiae
before its lungs were well developed, so injurious must it be to a so-
ciety to destroy its old institutions before the new have become well-
organized enough to take their places.

Non-recognition of this truth characterizes too much the reformers,
political, religious, and social, of our own time ; as it has characterized
those of past times. On the part of men eager to rectify wrongs and
expel errors, there is still, as there ever has been, so absorbing a con-
sciousness of the evils caused by old forms and old ideas, as to permit
no consciousness of the benefits these old forms and old ideas have
yielded. This partiality of view is, in a sense, necessary. There must

THE TRANSITION OF INSTITUTIONS. 139

be division of labor here as elsewhere : some who have the function of
attacking, and who, that they may attack effectually, must feel strong-
ly the viciousness of that which they attack ; some who have the func-
tion of defending, and who, that they may be good defenders, must
over-value the things they defend. But while this one-sidedness has
to be tolerated, as in great measure unavoidable, it is in some respects
to be regretted. Though, with grievances less serious and animosities
less intense than those which existed here in the past, and which exist
still abroad, there go mitigated tendencies to a rash destructiveness on
the one side, and an unreasoning bigotry on the other, yet even in
our country and age there are dangers from the want of a due both-
sidedness. In the speeches and writings of those who advocate vari-
ous political and social changes, there is so continuous a presentation
of injustices, and abuses, and mischiefs, and corruptions, as to leave
the impression that, for securing a wholesome state of things, there
needs nothing but to set aside present arrangements. The implica-
tion seems ever to be that all who occupy places of power, and form
the regulative organization, are alone to blame for whatever is not as
it should be, and that the classes regulated are blameless. " See the
injuries which these institutions inflict on you," says the energetic re-
former. " Consider how selfish must be the men who maintain them
to their own advantage and your detriment," he adds ; and then he
leaves to be drawn the manifest inference that, were these selfish men
got rid of, all would be well. Neither he nor his audience recognizes
the facts that regulative arrangements are essential ; that the arrange-
ments in question, along with their many vices, have some virtues ;
that such vices as they have do not result from an egoism peculiar to
those who uphold and work them, but result from a general egoism —
an egoism no less decided in those who complain than in those com-
plained of. Inequitable government can be upheld only by the aid
of a people correspondingly inequitable, in its sentiments and acts.
Injustice cannot reign, if the community does not furnish a due supply
of unjust agents. No tyrant can tyrannize over a people save on con-
dition that the people is bad enough to supply him with soldiers who
will fight for his tyranny and keep their brethren in slavery. Class-
supremacy cannot be maintained by the corrupt buying of votes, un-
less there are multitudes of voters venal enough to sell their votes. It
is thus everywhere and in all degrees — misconduct among those in
power is the correlative of misconduct among those over whom they
exercise power.

And, while, in the men who urge on changes, there is an uncon-
sciousness that the evils they denounce are rooted in the nature com-
mon to themselves and other men, there is also an unconsciousness
that amid the things they would throw away there is much worth
preserving. This holds of beliefs more especially. Along with the
destructive tendency there goes but little constructive tendency. The

140 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

criticisms made, imply that it is requisite only to dissipate errors, and
that it is needless to insist on truths. It is forgotten that, along with
forms which are bad, there is a large amount of substance which is
good. And those to whom there are addressed condemnations of the
forms, unaccompanied by the caution that there is a substance to be pre-
served in higher forms, are left, not only without any coherent system
of guiding beliefs, but without any consciousness that one is requisite.
Hence the need, above admitted, for an active defense of that
which exists, carried on by men convinced of its entire worth ; so that
those who attack may not destroy the good along with the bad.

And here let me point out, specifically, the truth already implied,
that studying Sociology scientifically leads to fairer appreciations of
different parties, political, religious, and other. The conception ini-
tiated and developed by Social Science is at the same time radical
and conservative — radical to a degree beyond any thing which current
radicalism conceives ; conservative to a degree beyond any thing con-
ceived by present conservatism. When there has been adequately
seized the truth that societies are products of evolution, assuming, in
their various times and places, their various modifications of struct-
ure and function, there follows the conviction that what, relatively
to our thoughts and sentiments, were arrangements of extreme bad-
ness, had fitnesses to conditions which made better arrangements im-
practicable : whence comes a tolerant interpretation of past tyrannies
at which even the bitterest Tory of our own days would be indignant.
On the other hand, after observing how the processes that have
brought things to their present stage are still going on, not with a
decreasing rapidity indicating approach to cessation, but with an in-
creasing rapidity that implies long continuance and immense trans-
formations, there follows the conviction that the remote future has in
store forms of social life higher than any we have imagined: there
comes a faith transcending that of the radical, whose aim is some re-
organization admitting of comparison to organizations which, exist.
And while this conception of societies as naturally evolved, beginning
with small and simple types which have their short existences and dis-
appear, advancing to higher types that are larger, more complex, and
longer-lived, coming to still higher types like our own, great in size,
complexity, and duration, and promising types transcending these in
times after existing societies have died away — while this conception
of societies implies that in the slow course of things changes almost
immeasurable in amount are possible, it also implies that but small
amounts of such changes are possible within short periods.

Thus, the theory of progress disclosed by the study of Sociology
as science is one which greatly moderates the hopes and the fears
of extreme parties. After clearly seeing that the structures and ac-
tions throughout a society are determined by the properties of its

THE TRANSITION OF INSTITUTIONS. 141

units, and that (external disturbances apart) the society cannot be
substantially and permanently changed, it becomes easy to see that
great alterations cannot suddenly be made to much purpose. And
when both the party of progress and the party of resistance perceive
that the institutions which at any time exist are more deeply rooted
than they supposed — when the one party perceives that these institu-
tions, imperfect as they are, have a temporary fitness, while the other
party perceives that the maintenance of them, in so far as it is desira-
ble, is in great measure guaranteed by the human nature they have
grown out of — there must come a diminishing violence of attack on
one side, and a diminishing perversity of defense on the other. Evi-
dently, so far as a doctrine can influence general conduct (which it
can do, however, in but a comparatively small degree), the doctrine
of evolution, in its social applications, is calculated to produce a steady-
ing effect, alike on thought and action.

If, as seems likely, some should propose to draw the seemingly
awkward corollary that, it matters not what we believe or what we
teach, since the process of social evolution will take its own course in
spite of us, I reply that, while this corollary is in one sense true, it is
in another sense untrue. Doubtless, from all that has been said, it fol-
lows that, supposing surrounding conditions continue the same, the
evolution of a society cannot be in any essential way diverted from its
general course ; though it also follows (and here the corollary is at
fault) that the thoughts and actions of individuals, being natural fac-
tors that arise in the course of the evolution itself, and aid in further
advancing it, cannot be dispensed with, but must be severally valued
as increments of the aggregate force producing change. But, while
the corollary is even here partially misleading, it is, in another direc-
tion, far more seriously misleading. For, though the process of social
evolution is, in its general character, so far predetermined that its suc-
cessive stages cannot be antedated, and that hence no teaching or
policy can advance it beyond a certain normal rate, which is limited
by the rate of organic modification in human beings, yet it is quite
possible to perturb, to retard, or to disorder the process. The analogy
of individual development again serves us. The unfolding of an or-
ganism, after its special type, has its approximately uniform course,
taking its tolerably definite time ; and no treatment that may be de-
vised will fundamentally change or greatly accelerate these : the best
that can be done is to maintain the required favorable conditions. But
it is quite easy to adopt a treatment which shall dwarf, or deform, or
otherwise injure: the processes of growth and development maybe,
and very often are, hindered or deranged, though they cannot be ar-
tificially bettered. Similarly with the social organism. Though by
maintaining favorable conditions there cannot be more good done than
that of letting social progress go on unhindered, yet an immensity of
mischief may be done in the way of disturbing and distorting and re-

142 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

pressing, by policies carried out in pursuance of erroneous conceptions.
And thus, notwithstanding first appearances to the contrary, there is
a very important part to be played by a true theory of social phe-
nomena.

A few words to those who think these general conclusions discour-
aging, may be added. Probably the more enthusiastic, hopeful of
great ameliorations in the state of mankind, to be brought about rap-
idly by propagating this belief or initiating that reform, will feel that
a doctrine negativing their sanguine anticipations takes away much of
the stimulus to exertion. If large advances in human welfare can come
only in the slow process of things, which will inevitably bring them,
why should we trouble ourselves ?

Doubtless it is true that, on visionary hopes, rational criticisms have
a depressing influence. It is better to recognize the truth, however.
As, between infancy and maturity, there is no short cut by which there
may be avoided the tedious process of growth and development through
insensible increments, so there is no way from the lower forms of so-
cial life to the higher, but one passing through small successive modi-
fications. If we contemplate the order of Nature, we see that every-
where vast results are brought about by accumulations of minute ac-
tions. The surface of the earth has been sculptured by forces which
in the course of a year produce alterations scarcely anywhere visible.
Its multitudes of different organic forms have arisen by processes so
slow, that, during the periods our observations extend over, the results
are in most cases inappreciable. We must be content to recognize
these truths and conform our hopes to them. Light falling upon a
crystal is capable of altering its molecular arrangements, but it can
do this only by a repetition of impulses almost innumerable : before a
unit of ponderable matter can have its rhythmical movements so in-
creased by successive ethereal waves as to be detached from its com-
bination and in another way arranged, millions of such ethereal waves
must successively make infinitesimal additions to its motion. Simi-
larly, before there arise, in human nature and human institutions,
changes having that permanence which makes them an acquired in-
heritance for the human race, there must go innumerable recurrences
of the thoughts, and feelings, and actions, conducive to such changes.
The process cannot be abridged, and must be gone through with due
patience.

Thus, admitting that for the fanatic some wild anticipation is need-
ful as a stimulus, and recognizing the usefulness of his delusion as
adapted to his particular nature and his particular function, yet the
man of higher type must be content with greatly-moderated expecta-
tions, while he perseveres with undiminished efforts. He has to see
how comparatively little can be done, and yet to find it worth while to
do that little : so uniting philanthropic energy with philosophic calm.

FUBS AND THEIR WEARERS.

HZ

FURS AND THEIE WEAEEES.

By JAMES H. PARTKIDGE.

THE skins used for fancy furs and robes are mostly obtained from
the carnivorous or flesh-eating animals ; as the sable, marten,
mink, ermine, seal, otter, bear, etc. : some are obtained from the ro-
dents or gnawers ; as the beaver, coypou, or nutria, muskrat, rabbit,
etc. : and a few are obtained from the ruminants, or those that chew
the end ; as the bison, that supplies our buffalo-robes ; and the paseng
or wild-goat of Persia and the Caucasus, and the Assyrian or Siberian
sheep, from whose young kids and lambs we obtain the much-used
Astrakhan. We give illustrations of the principal fur-bearing ani-
mals, several of which are taken from Tenney's excellent "Manual of
Zoology."

Fio. 1.

American Buffalo. (Tenney.)

As furs are generally worn by those who consult taste rather than
necessity, their use depends very much upon fashion and caprice.
Hence their price varies much at different times, and is not always
regulated by their intrinsic value. As it is natural to prefer articles
that are rare and far-fetched, and as furs can be easily carried to any
part of the world, most prefer foreign to domestic furs of the same
quality. Thus we export much of our fox, marten, fisher, otter, bea-
ver, and muskrat fur, while we import Astrakhan, Eussian sable, er-
mine, Siberian squirrel, French rabbit, or cony, chinchilla, and nu-
tria fur.

At the present time, much of the fur worn is colored. In some
cases, the hair, fur, and skin, are all colored ; as the Astrakhan : but in
most cases the end of the hair or fur only is tinted, while the skin re-

i 4 4

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

mains untouched. The object of the tinting appears to be, to make
all parts of. the fur on a skin of the same color ; to make an inferior
fur appear like a superior one of the same kind ; or to make the fur of
one animal pass lor that of another ; as, for instance, the marten for
the sable. Dyed furs are generally not durable — soon fade, and ap-

Fig. 2.

Sable.

pear as if old and worn. Hair and fur frequently grow together on
fur-bearing animals ; and. if the fur alone be wanted, the hair, which is
usually longer than the fur, must be plucked or otherwise removed.
During the spring and summer the fur of many land animals fades, and
is shed for the season ; leaving nothing but hair remaining, or perhaps

Pine Marten.

fur inferior in color and fineness. In the autumn, a new coat of the
animal's finest fur is grown, which has comparative freshness and brill-
iancy of color. Furs, taken in the best season in the higher latitudes,

FURS AND THEIR WEARERS.

H5

are called prime ; those taken out of season are, in common parlance,
said to be stagy.

Other things being the same, the colder the climate the better the
fur. Hence our best furs are generally obtained in the higher lati-
tudes, or in cool mountain-regions, during the prevalence of snow and
the severity of winter. Thus the hunter is exposed to much labor,
fatigue, privation, and danger. They who, in the inhospitable clime
of Siberia, hunt the sable, in the most inclement season of the year,
undergo intense suffering and hardship.

Fig. 4.

Sables are three or four times as large as the common weasel, to
which family they belong. They are usually taken between Novem-
ber and February, in snares, traps, or pitfalls, baited with flesh or fish.
They are then of a beautiful black color, but are brownish in summer.
The fur of the Russian sable, by its richness and elegance, maintains
its preeminence. It may be distinguished from all other furs, by the
hairs turning and lying with equal ease in either direction ; which
may be shown by blowing it. It is limited in quantity, only about
15,000 being caught yearly, and the price of the best is almost fabu-
lous : a furrier suggests from $20 to $150 per skin. Fresh furs have
what dealers call a bloomy appearance. Dyed sables generally lose
their gloss, whether the lower hair has taken the dye or not ; and the
hairs are twisted or crisped. Some smoke the skins to blacken them,
but the smell and crisped hairs betray the cheat. To detect dyeing
or smoking, rub the fur with a moist linen cloth, which will then be
blackened. The Chinese, however, dye the sables so that the color
lasts, and the fur keeps its gloss ; then, the fraud can be detected only
by the crisped hairs.

VOL. IT. — 10

146

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

The fur of the pine marten is nearly equal to that of the sable. Its
color is a lustrous brown, and it is frequently tinted so as to resemble
the real sable ; and efforts are said to have been sometimes made to
palm it upon buyers as the genuine Russian. That which is obtained in
America, some 200,000 skins annually, which is somewhat better than
the European, is usually called, by dealers, Hudson Bay sable. It is
an excellent and valuable fur, very full and soft, and, like the Russian
sable, is much used for muffs, capes, collars, boas, and other kinds of
fancy furs. The fur of the beech or stone marten is much inferior to
that of the sable or pine marten. It is of a yellowish brown, and,
though often colored to represent pine marten or sable, the practised
eye can easily distinguish it from them. The best specimens of the
fur are obtained in Europe, where it is much used ; but in this coun-
try, at the present time, it is not used at all. The skins of the fisher
or pennant's marten, whose fur is quite valuable, are also exported.
Less than 10,000 are caught yearly.

Fig. 5.

Ermine, or Stoat.

The mink is constantly found in almost every part of North Amer-
ica, some 250,000 being taken annually ; yet, contrary to the general
rule, it has been a very fashionable fur here for several years, for muffs,
collars, etc. The color of the finest is chestnut-brown, glossed with
black. The lighter colored is of less value, but it is often dyed so as
to deceive the ignorant or unobserving. Dealers sometimes call it
American sable. We occasionally hear of attempts to tame the mink,
and raise it on a large scale in a minkery or suitable place of confine-
ment. The present high price of the fur presents a strong inducement,
but I do not know that there is any prospect of success.

FURS AND THEIR WEARERS. 147

The ermine is abundant in the northern parts of Asia, Europe, and
America, about 400,000 being taken yearly. It is much smaller than
the sable. In summer it is of a yellowish brown, and is then called
a stoat ; and its fur is known among furriers by the name of roselet.
In winter, at the north, it becomes a pure white, and extremely beauti-
ful. Farther south, the change from brown to white is less perfect.
The end of the tail remains black during the year. It was formerly
very valuable, and was much used in England to line the official robes
of judges and magistrates. It is still considered a choice fur. The
color of the Canada lynx is light gray, waved with black. Its fur is
long, fine, and very thick, and furnishes a most beautiful material for
robes, ladies' sets, trimmings, etc. Some 50,000 skins are sent to mar-
ket each year. The Siberian squirrel is a neat, lively, active little
animal. Its fur in winter is short and silky, and of a pretty gray
color. The skins are used quite extensively for making ladies' sets
and children's furs ; several millions being taken annually.

Fig. 6.

Canada Lynx. (Tenney.)

The seal is a quadruped which spends the larger portion of its time
in the water, and whose shape very much resembles that of a fish. Its
neck is short, its body is tapering from the shoulders, and its legs or
flippers very much resemble fins. It can stay a long time under water
without breathing, at which time it can close its nostrils and ears.
The species are numerous, difler greatly in size, and are found in almost
every part of the world, but abound mostly in the higher latitudes.
They live upon fish and other aquatic animals, eat their food in the
water, but in fine weather they prefer the ice, or the rocks and sand on
shore, on which to sleep, to bask in the sun, or to play. The harp
seal furnishes the Esquimaux and Greenlanders with food, clothing,
light, covering for their boats, and other articles of convenience. The
eyes of seals are dark and lustrous, their sense of hearing acute, and
they delight in musical sounds. Their heads so much resemble the
human form, and their movements are so graceful, that the ancient

148

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

poets found no difficulty in transforming them, in imagination into
tritons, sirens, nereids, etc., and making them the companions of Nep-
tune. The tales of mermaids and mermen, by modern sailors, are usu-
ally caused by them, though the manatus may sometimes be the cause
of the illusion. Several species have a fine, close fur. Others, like the
common seal, have only coarse hair. The skins of these, when dressed
with the hair on, are used to cover trunks, to make gloves, soldiers'
caps, etc. The skins of the sea-bear, or fur-seal, are extensively used
for gentlemen's and ladies' sets, and for various other purposes. The

Fig. 7.

Esquimaux speaking Seals.

FURS AND THEIR WEARERS.

149

original color of the fur varies from black, through brownish red to
ash-colored ; and the dyer gives it whatever tint the market requires.
The skins have long hairs, black, brown, or gray, which are taken out
before the fur is in a condition to use. The number of seals of all
kinds, now taken yearly, is not far from 1,000,000.

Fig. 8.

Otteb. (Tenney.)

A few years ago, a large number of skins, of what was then called
in Britain the common fur-seal of commerce, was obtained from the
islands of the Southern Ocean. Instead of taking a moderate number,
and allowing the supply to be kept up, those engaged in the business
made an indiscriminate slaughter of the animals, and in a few years

Fig. 9.

Beaver. (Tenney.)

nearly exterminated them. In South Shetland, it was estimated that
they killed 320,000 ; in the Island of Desolation, or Kerguelen, more
than 1,000,000 ; and in South Georgia 1,200,000. The fur of this seal is

ISO

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

of a uniform brownish-white color above, and of a somewhat deep
brown beneath. The fur-skin of this valuable animal is prepared in a
peculiar manner. The long hair which conceals the fur is first re-
moved, by heating the skin, and then carding it with a large wooden
knife. The fur then appears in all its perfection, and was formerly-
much used in Europe for linings and borders of cloaks and mantles, for
caps, etc.

Fig. 10.

Indians catching Musk -Rats.

But by far the most valuable fur that passes under the name of
seal is that of the sea otter, or Alaska seal, which, while it has the
habits of the seal, forms a connecting link between it and the otter.
A large portion of this fur is obtained from two islands, St. Paul and
St. George, in latitude about 56|° north, in the Sea of Behring or
Kamtchatka, about 250 miles northwest of the peninsula of Alaska.
These islands were sold by Russia to the United States as a part of

FURS AND THEIR WEARERS.

151

the Alaska territory. When, in 1869, General George H. Thomas
was sent by our government to examine and report upon the country,
he estimated the fur-bearing seals, or sea-otters, seen each summer on
these islands, at from 5,000,000 to 15,000,000, lying in the rookeries,
and covering hundreds of acres. For the last fifty or sixty years, the
Russian Government had limited the number of skins to be taken
yearly to some 80,000 or less. As General Thomas recommended that
the hunting and killing of these animals should be regulated by law,
Congress, in 1870, adopted substantially the Russian system; and in
a few weeks the Alaska Company, of which Hon. Henry P. Haven,

Fig. 11.

Chinchilla.

of New London, Connecticut, is a prominent owner and influential
officer, leased from the United States the islands of St. Paul and St.
George. The company contracted to pay a rent of $55,000 per an-
num, and a revenue tax of 82.62-J- on each fur-seal taken and shipped
from the islands. Two United States officials are stationed on each
of these islands to see that the company complies with the conditions
of the lease, and to count the skins as they are shipped to San Fran-
cisco, where they are again counted by the custom-house officers. The
number taken annually must not exceed 100,000. The catch in 1872
amounted to 96,069 skins. The sea-otter is the boldest swimmer of
the amphibious tribe, for troops of them are met with 300 miles from
land. When holding a fore- paw over their eyes, in order to look
about them with more distinctness, they are called sea-apes. They
are exclusively found in the North Pacific Ocean and on its borders,
between the 49th and 60th degrees of latitude; and, although living
mostly in the water, they are occasionally found on land very far from

152

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

the sea. Their fur is exceedingly fine, close, soft, and velvety, per-
fectly black in full season, but at other times of a shining, deep sepia,
or of a rich chestnut-brown. The longer hairs are silky and glossy,
but not very numerous, and are easily removed. The Chinese prize
the fur of the sea-otter so highly that formerly they paid for the skins
from sixty to seventy-five dollars each ; but they value them somewhat
less now. It still remains the choicest, most expensive, and most
fashionable, fur of its kind in the market for gentlemen's sets, ladies'
sacques, turbans, boas, mufis, etc., and consequently all inferior furs
that resemble it are made to imitate it.

Otters are fierce, wild, and shy, nocturnal in their habits, live much
in the water, and feed upon fish, which they catch with great dex-
terity. They love to sport by sliding down a bank of snow in winter,

Fig. 12.

Abctic Fox.

or clay in summer, especially when they can, at the bottom, plunge
into water. The Canadian otter has long, glossy hair, of a dark color,
and an inner fur, close, fine, and soft, of a deep, rich liver-brown. If
the fur on any part of the skin lacks the right color, it is brought to
the requisite tint by dyeing. The fur is much esteemed, and is used
for caps, collars, gloves, etc., though much of it is exported to Europe.
The number of otters taken yearly is supposed to be about 40,000.

Beavers have a broad, horizontally-flattened, and scaly tail, a
webbed hind-foot, and a general form which is admirable for swim-
ming. They live mostly in and near the water, in large companies,

FURS AND THEIR WEARERS,

153

and their chief food is bark and aquatic plants, which they collect in
large heaps for the winter. Their powerful teeth enable them to gnaw
down trees, even of the hardest wood. To obtain a proper depth of
running water, with a surface varying little in height, they build a
dam on a stream to make a pond, in which to build houses for winter,
using trees and branches mixed with stones and mud. They cut their
wood up-stream, and float it down. The houses are built where the

Fig. 13.

Kaccoon. (Tenney.)

water is several feet deep, and their only entrance is at the bottom.
They are continued so much above the water as to admit of an upper,
dry apartment, approached from the lower, and usually occupied by
two or three families. The fur of the American beaver is of a uniform
reddish brown, fine, thick, and of the best quality. It was formerly
almost wholly used for making hats. It is used for that now ; also for
gentlemen's caps, mufflers, and gloves. A large portion of it is ex-
ported to England.

Fig. 14.

■•■•K3J5

Badger. (Tenney.)

Nutria fur is obtained from the coypou, or couia, a South American
animal resembling the beaver in size and habits, but having a long,
round tail. Its similarity, or that of its fur, to the otter and muskrat,
may be inferred from its names : nutria meaning otter, and myopota-
mus river-mouse. In fact, Molina speaks of the coypou as a species
of water-rat, of the size and color of the otter. In the workshops it
is called the South American monkey. It has long, ruddy hair, and a

154 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

short, brownish, ash-colored fur, of considerable value, which has been
largely exported to Europe for making hats. It has also been much
used here for hats, gentlemen's sets, and other purposes. The fur
somewhat resembles that of the beaver, as well as the otter. It is
estimated that 3,000,000 are caught annually.

The muskrat, or musquash, is a native of North America, much
smaller than the beaver, but with habits and appearance somewhat
similar. Muskrats feed upon mussels, aquatic plants, and roots of
grasses, and build winter-huts of sticks, grass, and mud, with an en-
trance under water, leading to a dry apartment above. In summer
they dwell in extensive burrows along the banks of the rivers. The
trapper, walking on the bank, hears the muskrat run from his hole into
the water, observes where he stirs the mud, and puts the trap quietly
down there. The number of skins taken yearly by trap and gun is
immense ; over 3,000,000. Many are manufactured into hats on both
sides of the Atlantic, more than a million being exported annually to
England for that purpose. Besides hats, they are used here largely for
men's gloves, ladies' sets, robes, etc. They are frequently dyed to imi-
tate mink, and are then called Alaska mink. They are also plucked
and dyed to imitate seal and similar furs.

F:g. 15.

Wolf. (Tenney.)

The chinchilla is scarcely larger than a rat, and inhabits the cold
mountain-regions of Chili and Peru. It is chiefly remarkable for its
exquisitely fine fur, which is very soft, and of a pearly gray. It is
used for ladies' and children's sets, but more especially for lining and
trimming cloaks, pelisses, and other articles of clothing. Not more
than 100,000 are taken yearly.

The fur of the northern hare, which is white in winter and brown
in summer, is mostly used in the manufacture of hats. The skins of
the common European rabbit or French cony are used for ladies' sets
and children's furs. The fur is also used for hats. Several millions
are taken each year.

The fur of the skunk is used, under the name of Alaska sable, for

FURS AND THEIR WEARERS,

155

ladies' sets, sacque-trimmings, etc., of an inferior quality. The black
portions of the skin are sometimes carefully selected, completely de-
odorized, made into sets of furs of the natural color, and sold under
the name of black marten. The pole-cat, or fitchet weasel, has long,
coarse, dark-brown hair, and an under-coat of short, silky, pale-yellow
fur. This fur, though inferior, is imported and used for ladies' sets,
etc., and is sold under the name of fitch. The Virginia opossum has
the habit of feigning itself dead if slightly struck or wounded, but, if
seriously attacked and badly hurt, it will fight bravely. Its fur is a
long, woolly down, which is of a dingy white. Though of little value,
the fur is colored so as to resemble fitch, and is sold under that name.
The color of the arctic fox during winter is a pure white ; in sum-
mer, brown, gray, or bluish. It is then called a cross or pied fox.
The fur is long, fine, and woolly, and is occasionally used here for
ladies' sets and other purposes, but it is mostly exported to Europe ;

Fig. 16.

Wolverine. (Tenney.)

as are also the skins of the red fox and its varieties, the cross fox and
the silver or black fox. The color of an adult silver fox when in
prime fur is a deep, glossy black, with a silvery grizzle on the fore-
head and flanks. This variety is extremely rare, and its rich fur is
more valuable than that of any other quadruped. The skin of the sil-
very fox of Labrador has been sold in London for $500.

The panda, or wah, of the Himalaya Mountains, is about the size
of a large cat. It is covered with a soft, thickly-set fur, which, above,
is of the richest cinnamon red; behind, of a fawn color; and, beneath,
of a deep black — while its head is whitish, and its tail like a lady's
boa, and banded with red and yellow. Fred. Cuvier calls this the
most beautiful of known quadrupeds.

The color of the raccoon is light gray overlaid with black-tipped
hairs. The outer hair is long and coarse, the inner softer and more
like wool. The fur is mostly used for making hats. It is sometimes

156 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

used for robes, as linings for garments, etc. About 500,000 skins are
taken yearly. The hair of the badger is fine, silky, and very long,
especially behind. At the roots it is of a yellowish gray, black in the
middle, and white at the tip. The skins were formerly made into
pouches by the Highlanders. The dressed skins make the best pistol-
furniture, and the hair is much used to make artists' brushes for spread-
ing the colors and softening the shades in painting. Some 50,000 skins
are sent to market annually.

The white or polar bear is an enormous animal, weighing sometimes
1,000 or 1,500 pounds ; is wholly carnivorous, and feeds upon seals
and other animals. The fur is long, fine, soft, woolly, and of a silvery-
white color tinged with yellow. Its skin makes a magnificent robe.
In the northern regions the skins of bears furnish the most useful and
comfortable winter apparel. They are made into beds, coverlets, caps,
gloves, and other articles of clothing. The black bear has hair com-
paratively soft and glossy. Its skin is used for hammer-cloths of
carriages, pistol-holsters, rugs, caps, etc. The cinnamon bear of the
Rocky Mountains has a more valuable fur than that of the black bear,
of which it appears to be a variety.

There are various other animals that furnish robes of different
quality and appearance, such as the wolverine, or glutton, the wild-cat,
the coyote, or prairie-wolf, the different varieties of the white wolf,
which is sometimes called the mountain or timber wolf. The growing
scarcity of wild animals, and the resources of modern art, are gradu-
ally introducing into use various fabrics as artificial robes, many of
them convenient and comfortable, and some of them even elegant and
very desirable.

. 4*+

CORRELATION OF VITAL WITH CHEMICAL AND

PHYSICAL FORCES. 1

By JOSEPH LE CONTE,

PBOFESSOB OF GEOLOGY AND NATUBAL HISTOBY IN" THE UNIVEESITY OF CAUFOBNIA.

VITAL force ; whence is it derived ? What is its relation to the
other forces of Nature ? The answer of modern science to these
questions is : It is derived from the lower forces of Nature ; it is re-
lated to other forces much as these are related to each other — it is cor-
related with chemical and physical forces.

At one time matter was supposed to be destructible. By combus-
tion or by evaporation matter seemed to be consumed — to pass out of
existence ; but now we know it only changes its form from the solid

1 An abstract of two Lectures given to the class in Comparative Physiology in the
Unirersity of California.

CORRELATION OF VITAL AND PHYSICAL FORCES. 157

or liquid to the gaseous condition — from the visible to the invisible —
and that amid all these changes the same quantity of matter remains.
Creation or destruction of matter, increase or diminution of matter,
lies beyond the domain of Science ; her domain is confined entirely to
the changes of matter. Now, it is the doctrine of modern science that
the same is true of force. Force seems often to be annihilated. Two
cannon-balls of equal size and velocity meet each other and fall mo-
tionless. The immense energy of these moving bodies seems to pass
out of existence. But not so ; it is changed into heat, and the exact
amount of heat may be calculated ; moreover, an equal amount of heat
may be changed back again into an equal amount of momentum.
Here, therefore, force is not lost, but is changed from a visible to an
invisible form. Motion is changed from bodily motion into molecular
motion. Thus heat, light, electricity, magnetism, chemical affinity,
and mechanical force, are transmutable into each other, back and forth ;
but, amid all these changes, the amount of force remains unchanged.
Force is incapable of destruction, except by the same power which
created it. The domain of Science lies- within the limits of these
changes — creation and annihilation lie outside of her domain.

The mutual convertibility of forces into each other is called corre-
lation of forces ; the persistence of the same amount, amid all these
protean forms, is called conservation of force.

The correlation of physical forces with each other and with chemi-
cal force is now universally acknowledged and somewhat clearly con-
ceived. The correlation of vital force with these is not universally
acknowledged, and, where acknowledged, is only imperfectly conceived.
In 1859 I published a paper 1 in which I attempted to put the idea of
correlation of vital force with chemical and physical forces in a more
definite and scientific form. The views expressed in that paper have
been generally adopted by physiologists. Since the publication of the
paper referred to, the subject has lain in my mind, and grown at least
somewhat. I propose, therefore, now to reembody my views in a more
popular form, with such additions as have occurred to me since.

There are four planes of material existence, which may be repre-
sented as raised one above another. These are : 1. The plane of ele-
mentary existence ; 2. The plane of chemical compounds, or mineral
kingdom ; 3. The plane of vegetable existence ; and, 4. The plane of
animal existence. Their relations to each other are truly expressed by
writing them one above the other, thus :

4. Animal Kingdom.
3. Vegetable Kingdom.
2. Mineral Kingdom.
1. Elements.

1 American Journal of Science, November, 1859. Philadelphia Magazine, vol. xix.,
p. 133.

158 HIE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

Now, it is a remarkable fact that there is a special force, whose
function it is to raise matter from each plane to the plane above, and
to execute movements on the latter. Thus, it is the function of chemi-
cal affinity alone to raise matter from No. 1 to No. 2, as well as to
execute all the movements, back and forth, by action and reaction ;
in a word, to produce all the phenomena on No. 2 which together
constitute the science of chemistry. It is the prerogative of vegetable
life-force alone to lift matter from No. 2 to No. 3, as well as to execute
all the movements on that plane, which together constitute the science
of vegetable physiology. It is the prerogative of animal life-force
alone to lift matter from No. 3 to No. 4, and to preside over the move-
ments on this plane, which together constitute the science of animal
physiology. But there is no force in Nature capable of raising matter
at once from No. 1 to No. 3, or from No. 2 to No. 4, without stopping
and receiving an accession of force, of a different kind, on the interme-
diate plane. Plants cannot feed upon elements, but only on chemical
compounds : animals cannot feed on minerals, but only on vegetables.
We will see in the sequel that this is the necessary result of the prin-
ciple of conservation of force in vital phenomena.

It is well known that atoms, in a nascent state, i. e., at the moment
of their separation from previous combination, are endowed with pecul-
iar and powerful affinity. Oxygen and nitrogen, nitrogen and hydro-
gen, hydrogen and carbon, which show no affinity for each other under
ordinary circumstances, readily unite when one or both are in a nascent
condition. The reason seems to be that, when the elements of a com-
pound are torn asunder, the chemical affinity which previously bound
them together is set free, ready and eager to unite the nascent ele-
ments with whatever they come in contact with. This state of exalted
chemical energy is retained but a little while, because it is liable to be
changed into some other form of force, probably heat, and is therefore
no longer chemical energy. To illustrate by the planes : matter fall-
ing down from No. 2 to No. 1 generates force by which matter is
lifted from No. 1 to No. 2. Decomposition generates the force by
which combination is effected. This principle underlies every thing I
shall further say.

There are, therefore, two ideas or principles underlying this paper:
1. The correlation of vital with physical and chemical forces ; 2. That
in all cases vital force is produced by decomposition — is transformed
by nascent affinity. Neither of these is new. Grove, many years
ago, brought out, in a vague manner, the idea that vital force was
correlated with chemical and physical forces. 1 In 1848 Dr. Freke,
M. R. I. A., of Dublin, first advanced the idea that vital force of ani-
mal life was generated by decomposition. In 1851 the same idea was
brought out again by Dr. Walters, of St. Louis. These papers were un-

1 In 1845 Dr. J. R. Mayer published a paper on " Organic Motion and Nutrition." I
have not seen it.

CORRELATION OF VITAL AND PHYSICAL FORCES. 159

known to me when I wrote my article. They have been sent to me in
the last few years by their respective authors. Neither of these au-
thors, however, extends this principle to vegetation, the most funda-
mental and most important phenomenon of life. In 1857 the same idea
was again brought out by Prof. Henry, of the Smithsonian Institution,
and by him extended to vegetation. I do not, therefore, now claim to
have first advanced this idea, but I do claim to have in some measure
rescued it from vagueness, and given it a clearer and more scientific
form.

I wish now to apply these principles in the explanation of the most
important phenomena of vegetable and animal life :

1. Vegetation. — The niost important phenomenon in the life-his-
tory of a plant — in fact, the starting-point of all life, both vegetable
and animal — is the formation of organic matter in the leaves. The
necessary conditions for this wonderful change of mineral into organic
matter seem to be, sunlight, chlorophyl, and living protoplasm, or bio-
plasm. This is the phenomenon I wish now to discuss.

The plastic matters of which vegetable structure is built are of two
kinds — amyloids and albuminoids. The amyloids, or starch and sugar
groups, consist of C, H, and O ; the albuminoids of C, H, O, N, and
SP. The quantity of sulphur and phosphorus is very small, and we
will neglect them in this discussion. The food out of which these
substances are elaborated are, C0 2 , H 2 0, and H 3 N — carbonic acid,
water, and ammonia. Now, by the agency of sunlight in the presence
of chlorophyl and bioplasm, these chemical compounds (C0 2 , H 2 0, H 3 N)
are torn asunder, or shaken asunder, or decomposed ; the excess of O,
or of O and H, is rejected, and the remaining elements in a nascent
condition combine to form organic matter. To form the amyloids,
starch, dextrine, sugar, cellulose, only C0 2 and H 2 are decomposed,
and excess of O rejected. To form albuminoids or protoplasm, C0 2 ,
H 2 0, and H 3 N, are decomposed, and excess of O and H rejected.

It would seem in this case, therefore, that physical force (light) is
changed into nascent chemical force, and this nascent chemical energy,
under the peculiar conditions present, forms organic matter and reap-
pears as vital force. Light falling on living green leaves is destroyed
or consumed in doing the work of decomposition ; disappears as light,
to reappear as nascent chemical energy ; and this in its turn disappears
in forming organic matter, to reappear as the vital force of the organic
matter thus formed. The light which disappears is proportioned to
the O, or the O and H rejected; is proportioned also to the quantity
of organic matter formed, and also to the amount of vital force result-
ing. To illustrate : In the case of amyloids, oxygen-excess falling
or running down from plane No. 2 to plane No. 1 generates force to
raise C, H, and O, from plane No. 2 to plane No. 3. In the case of
albuminoids, oxygen-excess and hydrogen-excess running down from
No. 2 to No. 1 generate force to raise C, H, O, and N, from No. 2 to

160 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

No. 3. To illustrate again : As sun-heat falling upon water disappears
as heat, to reappear as mechanical power, raising the water into the
clouds, so sunlight falling upon green leaves disappears as light, to re-
appear as vital force lifting matter from the mineral into the organic
kingdom.

2. Germination. — Growing plants, it is seen, take their life-force
from the sun ; but seeds germinate and commence to grow in the dark.
Evidently there must be some other source from which they draw their
supply of force. They cannot draw force from the sun. This fact is
intimately connected with another fact, viz., that they do not draw
their food from the mineral kingdom. The seed in germination feeds
entirely upon a supply of organic matter laid up for it by the mother-
plant. It is the decomposition of this organic matter which supplies
the force of germination. Chemical compounds are comparatively
stable — it requires sunlight to tear them asunder ; but organic matter
is more easily decomposed — it is almost spontaneously decomposed. It
may be that heat (a necessary condition of germination) is the force
which determines the decomposition. However this may be, it is cer-
tain that a portion of the organic matter laid up in the seed is decom-
posed, burned up, to form C0 2 and H 2 0, and that this combustion
furnishes the force by which the mason-work of tissue-making is ac-
complished. In other words, of the food laid up in the form of starch,
dextrine, protoplasm, a portion is decomposed to furnish the force by
which the remainder is organized. Hence the seed always loses weight
in germination ; it cannot develop unless it is in part consumed; "it
is not quickened except it die." This self-consumption continues until
the leaves and roots are formed ; then it begins to draw force from the
sun, and food from the mineral kingdom.

To illustrate : In germination, matter running down from plane
No. 3 to plane No. 2 generates force by which other similar matter is
moved about and raised to a somewhat higher position on plane No. 3.
As water raised by the sun may be stored in reservoirs, and in run-
ning down from these may do work, so matter raised by sun-force into
the organic kingdom by one generation is stored as force to do the
work of germination of the next generation. Again, as, in water run-
ning through an hydraulic ram, a portion runs to waste, in order to
generate force to lift the remainder to a higher level, so, of organic
matter stored in the seed, a portion runs to waste to create force to
organize the remainder.

Thus, then, it will be seen, that three things, viz., the absence of
sunlight, the use of organic food, and the loss of weight, are indis-
solubly connected in germination, and all explained by the principle
of conservation of force.

3. Starting of Buds. — Deciduous trees are entirely destitute of
leaves during the winter. The buds must start to grow in the spring
without leaves, and therefore without drawing force from the sun.

CORRELATION OF VITAL AND PHYSICAL FORCES. 161

Hence, also, food in the organic form must be, and is, laid up from the
previous year in the body of the tree. A portion of this is consumed
with the formation of CO a and H a O, in order to create force for the
development of the buds. So soon as by this means the leaves are
formed, the plant begins to draw force from the sun, and food from
the mineral kingdom.

4. Pale Plants. — Fungi and etiolated plants have no chloro-
phyl, therefore cannot draw their force from the sun, nor make or-
ganic matters from inorganic. Hence these also must feed on organic
matter : not, indeed, on starch, dextrine, and protoplasm, but on decay-
ing organic matter. In these plants the organic matter is taken up in
some form intermediate between the planes No. 3 and No. 2. The
matter thus taken up is, a portion of it, consumed with the formation
of CO a and HO, in order to create force necessary to organize the re-
mainder. To illustrate : Matter falling from some intermediate point
between No. 2 and No. 3 to No. 2, produces force sufficient to raise
matter from the same intermediate point to No. 3 ; a portion runs to
waste downward, and creates force to push the remainder upward.

5. Growth of Green Plants at Night. — It is well known that
almost all plants grow at night as well as in the day. It is also known
that plants at night exhale CO a . These two facts have not, however,
as far as I know, been connected with one another, and with the prin-
ciple of conservation of force. It is usually supposed that in the night
the decomposition of CO a and exhalation of oxygen are checked by
withdrawal of sunlight, and some of the CO a in the ascending sap is
exhaled by a physical law. But this does not account for the growth.
It is evident that, in the absence of sunlight, the force required for the
work of tissue-building can be derived only from the decomposition
and combustion of organic matter. There are two views as to the
source of this organic matter, either or both of which may be correct :
First. There seems to be no doubt that most plants, especially those
grown in soils rich in humus, take up a portion of their food in the
form of semi-organic matter, or soluble humus. The combustion of a
portion of this in every part of the plant, by means of oxygen also ab-
sorbed by the roots, and the formation of CO a , undoubtedly creates a
supply of force night and day, independently of sunlight. The force
thus produced by the combustion of a portion might be used to raise
the remainder into starch, dextrine, etc., or might be used in tissue-
building. During the day, the CO a thus produced would be again
decomposed in the leaves by sunlight, and thus create an additional
supply of force. During the night, the CO a would be exhaled. 1

Again : It is possible that more organic matter is made by sun-
light during the day than is used up in tissue-building. Some of this
excess is again consumed, and forms CO a and H a O, in order to con-

1 For more full account, see my paper, American Journal of Science^ November, 1859,
sixth and seventh heads.
vol. iv. — 11

162 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

tinue the tissue-building process during the night. Thus the plant
during the day stores up sun-force sufficient to do its work during the
night. It has been suggested by Dr. J. C. Draper, 1 though not proved,
or even rendered probable, that the force of tissue-building {forceplas-
tique) is always derived from decomposition, or combustion of organic
matter. In that case, the force of organic-matter formation is derived
from the sun, while the force of tissue-building (which is relatively
small) is derived from the combustion of organic matter thus previous-
ly formed.

6. Fermentation". — The plastic matters out of which vegetable
tissue is built, and which are formed by sunlight in the leaves, are of
two kinds, viz., amyloids (dextrine, sugar, starch, cellulose), and albu-
minoids, or protoplasm. Now, the amyloids are comparatively stable,
and do not spontaneously decompose ; but the albuminoids not only
decompose spontaneously themselves, but drag down the amyloids
with which they are associated into concurrent decomposition — not
only change themselves, but propagate a change into amyloids. Al-
buminoids, in various stages and kinds of decomposition, are called
ferments. The propagated change in amyloids is called fermentation.
By various kinds of ferments, amyloids are thus dragged down step
by step to the mineral kingdom, viz., to C0 2 and H 2 0. The accom-
panying table exhibits the various stages of the descent of starch, and
the ferments by which they are effected : a

1. Starch J

2. Dextrine V Diastase.

3. Sugar )

4. Alcohol and CO* Yeast.

5. Acetic acid Mother of vinegar.

6. CO a and HO Mould.

By appropriate means, the process of descent may be stopped on
any one of these planes. By far too much is, unfortunately, stopped on
the fourth plane. The manufacturer and chemist may determine the
downward change through all the planes, and the chemist has recently
succeeded in ascending again to No. 4 ; but the plant ascends and de-
scends the scale at pleasure (avoiding, however, the fourth and fifth),
and even passes at one step from the lowest to the highest.

Now, it will be seen by the table that, connected with each of these
descensive changes, there is a peculiar ferment associated. Diastase
determines the change from starch to dextrine and sugar — saccharifica-
tion ; yeast, the change from sugar to alcohol — fermentation ; mother
of vinegar, the change from alcohol to acetic acid — acetification ; and a
peculiar mould, the change from acetic acid to CO a and water. But

1 American Journal of Science, November, 1872. The experiments of Dr. Draper are
inconclusive, because they are made on seedlings, which, until their supply of organic
food is exhausted, are independent of sunlight.

8 J. C. Draper, American Journal of Science, November, 1872

CORRELATION OF VITAL AND PHYSICAL FORCES. 163

what is far more wonderful and significant is, that, associated with
each of these ferments, except diastase, and therefore with each of
these descensive changes, except the change from starch to sugar, or
saccharification, there is a peculiar form of life. Associated with alco-
holic fermentation, there is the yeast-plant ; with acetification, the
vinegar-plant; and, with the decomposition of vinegar, a peculiar
kind of mould. We w^ill take the one which is best understood, viz.,
yeast-plant (saccharomyce), and its relation to alcoholic fermentation.

It is well known that, in connection with alcoholic fermentation,
there is a peculiar unicelled plant which grows and multiplies. Fer-
mentation never takes place without the presence of this plant ; this
plant never grows without producing fermentation, and the rapidity
of the fermentation is in exact proportion to the rapidity of the growth
of the plant. But, as far as I know, the fact has not been distinctly
brought out that the decomposition of the sugar into alcohol and car-
bonic acid furnishes the force by which the plant grows and multi-
plies. If the growing cells of the yeast-plant be observed under the
microscope, it will be seen that the carbonic-acid bubbles form, and
therefore probably the decomposition of sugar takes place only in con-
tact with the surface of the yeast-cells. The yeast-plant not only
assimilates matter, but also force. It decomposes the sugar, in order
that it may assimilate the chemical force set free.

We have already said that the change from starch to sugar, deter-
mined by diastase (saccharification), is the only one in connection with
which there is no life. Now, it is a most significant fact, in this con-
nection, that this is also the only change which is not, in a proper
sense, descensive, or, at least, where there is no decomposition.

We now pass from the phenomena of vegetable to the phenomena
of animal life.

7. Development op the Egg in Incubation. — The development
of the egg in incubation is very similar to the germination of a seed.
An egg consists of albuminous and fatty matters, so inclosed that,
while oxygen of the air is admitted, nutrient matters are excluded.
During incubation the egg changes into an embryo ; it passes from an
almost unorganized to a highly-organized condition, from a lower to a
higher condition. There is work done : there must be expenditure of
force ; but, as we have already seen, vital force is always derived from
decomposition. But, as the matters to be decomposed are not taken
ab extra, the egg must consume itself ; that it does so, is proved by
the fact that in incubation the egg absorbs oxygen, eliminates C0 2 and
probably H 3 0, and loses weight. As in the seed, a portion of the mat-
ters contained in the egg is consumed in order to create force to or-
ganize the remainder. Matter runs down from plane No. 4 to plane
No. 2, and generates force to do the work of organization on plane
No. 4. The amount of CO, and H 2 formed, and therefore the loss
of weight, is a measure of the amount of plastic work done.

164 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

8. Development within the Chrysalis Shell. — It is well
known that many insects emerge from the egg not in their final form,
but in a wormlike form, called a larva. After this they pass into a
second passive state, in which they are again covered with a kind of
shell — a sort of second egg-state, called the chrysalis. From this
they again emerge as the perfect insect. The butterfly is the most
familiar, as well as the best illustrated, of these changes. The larva
or caterpillar eats with enormous voracity, and grows very rapidly.
When its growth is complete, it covers itself with a shell, and remains
perfectly passive and almost immovable for many days or weeks.
During this period of quiescence of animal functions there are, how-
ever, the most important changes going on within. The wings and
legs are formed, the muscles are aggregated in bundles for moving
these appendages, the nervous system is more highly developed, the
mouth, organs, and alimentary canal, are greatly changed and more
highly organized, the simple eyes are changed into compound eyes.
Now, all this requires expenditure of force, and therefore decomposition
of matter ; but no food is taken, therefore the chrysalis must consume
its own substance, and therefore lose weight. It does so ; the weight
of the emerging butterfly is in many cases not one-tenth that of the
caterpillar. Force is stored up in the form of organic matter only to
be consumed in doing plastic work.

9. Mature Animals. — Whence do animals derive their vital
force ? I answer, from the decomposition of their food and the de-
composition of their tissues.

Plants, as we have seen, derive their vital force from the decom-
position of their mineral food. But the chemical compounds on which
plants feed are very stable. Their decomposition requires a peculiar
and complex contrivance for the reception and utilization of sunlight.
These conditions are wanting in animals. Animals, therefore, cannot
feed on chemical compounds of the mineral kingdom ; they must have
organic food, which easily runs into decomposition ; they must feed on
the vegetable kingdom.

Animals are distinguished from vegetables by incessant decay in
every tissue — a decay which is proportional to animal activity. This
incessant decay necessitates incessant repair, so that the animal body
has been likened to a temple on which two opposite forces are at work
in every part, the one tearing down, the other repairing the breach as
fast as made. In vegetables no such incessant decay has ever been
made out. If it exists, it must be very trifling in comparison. Proto-
plasm, it is true, is taken up from the older parts of vegetables, and
these parts die ; but the protoplasm does not seem to decompose, but
is used again for tissue-building. Thus the internal activity of ani-
mals is of two kinds, tissue-destroying and tissue-building ; while that
of plants seems to be, principally, at least, of one kind, tissue-building.
Animals use food for force and repair and growth, and in the mature

CORRELATION OF VITAL AND PHYSICAL FORCES. 165

animal only for force and repair. Plants use food for force and growth
—they never stop growing.

Now, the food of animals is of two kinds, amyloids and albumi-
noids. The carnivora feed entirely on albuminoids ; the herbivora on
both amyloids and albuminoids. All this food comes from the vege-
table kingdom directly in the case of herbivora, indirectly in the case
of carnivora. Animals cannot make organic matter. Now, the tissues
of animals are wholly albuminoid. It is obvious, therefore, that for
the repair of the tissues the food must be albuminoid. The amyloid
food, therefore (and, as we shall see in carnivora, much of the albumi-
noid), must be used wholly for force. As coal or wood, burned in a
steam-engine, changes chemical into mechanical energy, so food, in
excess of what is used for repair, is burned up to produce animal ac-
tivity. Let us trace more accurately the origin of animal force by
examples.

10. Carnivora. — The food of carnivora is entirely albuminoid.
The idea of the older physiologists, in regard to the use of this food,
seems to have been as follows : Albuminoid matter is exceedingly un-
stable ; it is matter raised, with much difficulty and against chemical
forces, high, and delicately balanced on a pinnacle, in a state of unsta-
ble equilibrium, for a brief time, and then rushes down again into the
mineral kingdom. The animal tissues, being formed of albuminoid
matter, are short-lived ; the parts are constantly dying and decom-
posing ; the law of death necessitates the law of reproduction ; decom-
position necessitates repair, and therefore food for repair. But the
force by which repair is effected was for them, and for many physiol-
ogists now, underived, innate. But, the doctrine maintained by me in
the paper referred to is, that the decomposition of the tissues creates
not only the necessity, but also the force, of repair.

Suppose, in the first place, a carnivorous animal uses just enough
food to repair the tissues, and no more — say an ounce. Then I say the
ounce of tissue decayed not only necessitates the ounce of albuminous
food for repair, but the decomposition sets free the force by which the
repair is effected. But it will be perhaps objected that the force would
all be consumed in repair, and none left for animal activity of all kinds.
I answer : it would not all be used up in repair, for, the food being al-
ready albuminoid, there is probably little expenditure of force necessary
to change it into tissue; while, on the other hand, the force generated
by the decomposition of tissue into C0 2 , H 2 0, and urea, is very great —
the ascensive change is small, the descensive change is great. The de-
composition of one ounce of albuminous tissue into CO a , H a O, and urea,
would therefore create force sufficient not only to change one ounce
of albuminous matter into tissue, but also leave a considerable amount
for animal activities of all kinds. A certain quantity of matter, run-
ning down from plane No. 4 to plane No. 2, creates force enough not
only to move the same quantity of matter about on plane No. 2, but

i66 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

also to do much other work besides. It is probable, however, that the
wants of animal activity are so immediate and urgent that, under
these conditions, much food would be burned for this purpose, and
would not reach the tissues, and the tissues would be imperfectly re-
paired, and would therefore waste.

Take next the carnivorous animal full fed. In this case there can
be no doubt that, while a portion of the food goes to repair the tissues,
by far the larger portion is consumed in the blood, and passes away
partly as CO a and H a O through the lungs, and partly as urea through
the kidneys. This part is used, and can be of use only, to create force.
The food of carnivora, therefore, goes partly to tissue-building, and
partly to create heat and force. The force of carnivorous animals is
derived partly from decomposing tissues and partly from food-excess
consumed in the blood.

11. Herbivora. — The food of herbivora and of man is mixed —
partly albuminoid and partly amyloid. In man, doubtless, the albu-
minoids are usually in excess of what is required for tissue-building ;
but in herbivora, probably, the albuminoids are not in excess of the
requirements of the decomposing tissues. In this case, therefore, the
whole of the albuminoids is used for tissue-making, and the whole of
the amyloids for force-making. In this class, therefore, these two classes
of food may be called tissue-food and force-food. The force of these
animals, therefore, is derived partly from the decomposition of the tis-
sues, but principally from the decomposition and combustion of the
amyloids and fats.

Some physiologists speak of the amyloid and fat food as being
burned to keep up the animal heat ; but it is evident that the prime
object in the body, as in the steam-engine, is not heat, but force. Heat
is a mere condition and perhaps a necessary concomitant of the change,
but evidently not the prime object. In tropical regions the heat is
not wanted. In the steam-engine, chemical energy is first changed
into heat and heat into mechanical energy ; in the body the change is,
probably, much of it direct and not through the intermediation of heat.

12. We see at once, from the above, why it is that plants cannot
feed on elements, viz., because their food must be decomposed in order
to create the organic matter out of which all organisms are built.
This elevation of matter, which takes place in the green leaves, of
plants, is the starting-point of life ; upon it alone is based the possi-
bility of the existence of the organic kingdom. The running down
of the matter there raised determines the vital phenomena of germina-
tion of pale plants, and even of some of the vital phenomena of green
plants, and all the vital phenomena of the animal kingdom. The sta-
bility of chemical compounds, usable as food, is such that a peculiar
contrivance and peculiar conditions found only in the green leaves of
plants are necessary for their decomposition. We see, therefore, also,
why animals as well as pale plants cannot feed on mineral matter.

CORRELATION OF VITAL AND PHYSICAL FORCES. 167

We easily see also why the animal activity of carnivora is greater
than that of herbivora, for the amount of force necessary for the as-
similation of their albuminoid food is small, and therefore a larger
amount is left over for animal activity. Their food is already on plane
~No. 4 ; assimilation, therefore, is little more than a shifting on the
plane ~No. 4 from a liquid to a solid condition — from liquid albuminoid
of the blood to solid albuminoid of the tissues.

We see also why the internal activity of plants may conceivably
be only of one kind ; for, drawing their force from the sun, tissue-
making is not necessarily dependent on tissue-decay. While, on the
other hand, the internal activity of animals must be of two kinds,
decay and repair ; for animals always draw a portion of their force,
and starving animals the whole of their force, from decaying tissue.

13. There are several general thoughts suggested by this subject,
which I wish to present in conclusion :

a. We have said there are four planes of matter raised one above
the other : 1. Elements ; 2. Chemical compounds ; 3. Vegetables ; 4.
Animals. Now, there are also four planes of force similarly related
to each other, viz., physical force, chemical force, vitality, and will.

4. Animals.

3. Plants.

2. Chemical compounds.

1. Elements.

On the first plane of matter operates physical force only ; for chemical
force immediately raises matter into the second plane. On the second
plane operates, in addition to physical, also chemical force. On the
third plane operates, in addition to physical and chemical, also vital
force. On the fourth plane, in addition to physical, chemical, and vital,
also the force characteristic of animals, viz., will. 1 With each eleva-
tion there is a peculiar force added to the already existing, and a pe-
culiar group of phenomena is the result. As matter only rises step
by step from plane to plane, and never two steps at a time, so also
force, in its transformation into higher forms of force, rises only step
by step. Physical force does not become vital except through chemi-
cal force, and chemical force does not become will except through
vital force.

Again, we have compared the various grades of matter, not to a
gradually rising inclined plane, but to successive planes raised one
above the other. There are, no doubt, some intermediate conditions ;
but, as a broad, general fact, the changes from plane to plane are sud-
den. Now, the same is true also of the forces operating on these
planes — of the different grades of force, and their corresponding
groups of phenomena. The change from one grade to another, as

1 I might add still another plane and another force, viz., the human plane, on which
operate, in addition to all the lower forces, also free-will and reason. I do not speak
of these, only because they lie beyond the present ken of inductive science.

168 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

from physical to chemical, or from chemical to vital, is not, as far as
we can see, by sliding scale, but suddenly. The groups of phenomena
which we call physical, chemical, vital, animal, rational, and moral, do
not merge into each other by insensible gradations. In the ascension
scale in the evolution of the higher forces there are places of rapid
paroxysmal change.

b. Vital force is transformed into physical and chemical forces ; but
it is not on that account identical with physical and chemical force, and
therefore we ought not, as some would have us, discard the term vital
force. There are two opposite errors on this subject : one is the old
error of regarding vital force as something innate, underived, having
no relation to the other forces of Nature ; the other is the new error
of regarding the forces of the living body as nothing but ordinary
physical and chemical forces, and therefore insisting that the use of the
term vital force is absurd and injurious to science. The old error is
still prevalent in the popular mind, and still haunts the minds of many
physiologists ; the new error is apparently a revelation from the other,
and is therefore common among the most advanced scientific minds.
There are many of the best scientists who ridicule the use of the term
vital force, or vitality, as a remnant of superstition ; and yet the same
men use the words gravity, magnetic force, chemical force, physical
force, etc. Vital force is not underived — is not unrelated to other
forces — is, in fact, correlated with them ; but it is nevertheless a dis-
tinct form of force, far more distinct than any other form, unless it be
still higher forms, and therefore better entitled to a distinct name
than any lower form. Each form of force gives rise to a peculiar
group of phenomena, and the study of these to a peculiar department
of science. Now, the group of phenomena called vital is more pecul-
iar, and different from other groups, than these are from each other ;
and the science of physiology is a more distinct department than either
physics or chemistry ; and therefore the form of force which deter-
mines these phenomena is more distinct, and better entitled to a dis-
tinct name, than either physical or chemical forces. De Candolle, in
a recent paper, 1 suggests the term vital movement instead of vital
force ; but can we conceive of movement without force ? And, if the
movement is peculiar, so also is the form of force.

c. Vital is transformed physical and chemical forces ; true, but the
necessary and very peculiar condition of this transformation is the
previous existence then and there of living matter. There is some-
thing so wonderful in this peculiarity of vital force that I must dwell
on it a little.

Elements brought in contact with each other under certain physi-
cal conditions — perhaps heat or electricity — unite and rise into the
second plane, i. e., of chemical compounds ; so also several elements,
C, H, O and 1ST, etc., brought in contact with each other under certain
1 Archives des Sciences, vol. xlv., p. 345, December, 1872

CORRELATION OF VITAL AND PHYSICAL FORCES. 169

physical or chemical conditions, such as light, nascency, etc., unite
and rise into plane No. 3, i. e., form organic matter. In both cases
there is chemical union under certain physical conditions ; but in the
latter there is one unique condition, viz., the previous existence then
and there of organic matter, under the guidance of which apparently
the transformation of matter takes place. In a word, organic matter
is necessary to produce organic matter ; there is here a law of like
producing like — there is an assimilation of matter.

Again, physical force changes into other forms of physical force,
or into chemical force, under certain physical conditions ; so also
physical and chemical forces are changed into vital force under cer-
tain physical conditions. But, in addition, there is one altogether
unique condition of the latter change, viz., the previous existence then
and there of vital force. Here, again, like produces like — here, again,
there is assimilation of force.

This law of like producing like — this law of assimilation of matter
and force — runs throughout all vital phenomena, runs to the minutest
details. It is a universal law of generation, and determines the ex-
istence of species ; it is the law of formation of organic matter and
organic force ; it determines all the varieties of organic matter which
we call tissues and organs, and all the varieties of organic force which
we call functions. The same nutrient pabulum, endowed with the
same properties and powers, carried to all parts of a complex organ-
ism by this wonderful law of like producing like, is changed into the
most various forms and endowed with the most various powers. There
are certainly limits and exceptions to this law, however ; otherwise dif-
ferentiation of tissues, organs, and functions, could not take place in
embryonic development ; but the limits and exceptions are themselves
subject to a law even more wonderful than the law of like producing
like itself, viz., the law of evolution. There is in all organic nature,
whether organic kingdom, organic individual, or organic tissues, a law
of variation, strongest in the early stages, limited very strictly by an-
other law — the law of inheritance, of like producing like.

d. We have seen that all development takes place at the expense
of decay — all elevation of one thing, in one place, at the expense of
corresponding running down of something else in another place.
Force is only transferred and transformed. The plant draws its force
from the sun, and therefore what the plant gains the sun loses. Ani-
mals draw from plants, and therefore what the animal kingdom gains
the vegetable kingdom loses. Again, an egg, a seed, or a chrysalis,
developing to a higher condition, and yet taking nothing ab extra,
must lose weight. Some part must run down, in order that the re-
mainder should be raised to a higher condition. The amount of evo-
lution is measured by the loss of weight. By the law of conservation
of force, it is inconceivable that it should be otherwise. Evidently,
therefore, in the universe, evolution of one part must be at the ex-

1 7 o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

pense of some other part. The evolution or development of the whole
cosmos — of the whole universe of matter — as a unit, according to the
doctrine of conservation of force, is inconceivable. It could only-
take place by a constant increase of the whole sum of energy, i. e., by
a constant influx of divine energy.

e. Finally, as organic matter is so much matter taken from the
common fund of matter of earth and air, embodied for a brief space, to
be again by death and decomposition returned to that common fund,
so also it would seem that the organic forces of the living bodies of
plants and animals may be regarded as so much force drawn from the
common fund of physical and chemical forces, to be again all refunded
by death and decomposition. Yes, by decomposition ; we can under-
stand this. But death ! can we detect any thing returned by simple
death ? What is the nature of the difference between the living or-
ganism and a dead organism ? We can detect none, physical or chem-
ical. All the physical and chemical forces withdrawn from the com-
mon fund of Nature, and embodied in the living organism, seem to be
still embodied in the dead until little by little it is returned by decom-
position. Yet the difference is immense, is inconceivably great. What
is the nature of this difference expressed in the formula of material
science ? What is it that is gone, and whither is it gone ? There is
something here which science cannot yet understand. Yet it is just
this loss which takes place in death, and before decomposition, which
is in the highest sense vital force.

Let no one from the above views, or from similar views expressed
by others, draw hasty conclusions in favor of a pure materialism.
Force and matter, or spirit and matter, or God and Nature, these are
the opposite poles of philosophy — they are the opposite poles of
thought. There is no clear thinking without them. Not only reli-
gion and virtue, but science and philosophy, cannot even exist with-
out them. The belief in sj)irit, like the belief in matter, rests on its
own basis of phenomena. The true domain of philosophy is to recon-
cile these with each other.

■♦•♦■

HEEEDITY AND BACE-IMPEOYEMENT.

By FEKNAND PAPILLON.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY J. FITZGERALD, A. M.

II.

O far we have been giving the historical refutation. A more direct
and scientific refutation will prove still more decisive and in-
structive. Having shown that heredity does not exert an exclusive
and continuous influence, we must now indicate the causes which act
simultaneously with it and in a contrary direction. We have to de-

s

HEREDITY AND RACE-IMPROVEMENT. 171

monstrate the constant and powerful influence of those forces which,
as we have said, tend to modify, transform, and complicate man's
thoughts, feelings, passions, manners, customs.

The special aim of education is to transmit to the child the sum of
those habits to which be is to conform the course of his life, and of
those branches of knowledge which are indispensable for him in the
pursuit of his calling ; and it must begin by developing in the pupil
the faculties which will enable him to make these habits and this
knowledge his own. It teaches the child to speak, to move about, to
look, to use his senses, to hear, to understand, to judge, to love. But
now the influence of education, opposed as it is to that of heredity, is
so great, that in most cases it is of itself alone capable of producing
a moral and psychological likeness between children and parents. If
heredity determined irresistibly and infallibly in the descendants the
essential characters of their ancestors' personality, education would be
superfluous. When once it is admitted that education, a long, watch-
ful, laborious training, is indispensable in order to call forth and per-
fect in the child the development of aptitudes and of mental qualities,
we must conclude that heredity acts only a secondary part in the won-
derful genesis of the moral individual. The argument is unassailable.
That hereditary influences make their mark in predispositions, in fixed
tendencies, it were unscientific to deny ; but yet it would be inexact
to pretend that they implicitly contain the future states of the psy-
chical being, and determine its evolution.

There is nothing more complex than education, nor must we think
here of studying its general economy, which has been the theme of so
many books. The importance which is generally attributed to works
on pedagogy is of itself a protest against the abuse of hereditarian
theories. Some fresh details as to one of the chief agencies in educa-
tion, viz., the instinct of imitation, and the part it plays in the de-
velopment of individuals and of races, will suffice to demonstrate the
energy of certain influences which have nothing to do with heredity.

An accomplished English historian, Bagehot, recently published
some excellent observations, which go to show what great influence is
exerted in the formation of customs and of tastes, and also how their
periodic revolutions are explained, by the unconscious imitation of a
favorite character or type, and by the general favor accorded to the
same. According to him, a national character is only a local character
which has been favored by fortune, precisely as a national language is
only the definitive extension of a local dialect. There is nothing more
undoubted than the force of this tendency to imitation. It is in vir-
tue of this that certain processes in manufacture, art, literature, man-
ners, discovered under peculiar circumstances, attain a general ascen-
dency, and are rapidly imposed, first upon the docile and unthinking
multitude, and then on those who possess all the means of inquiry and
resistance. Here it may be observed that the 'elite are almost always

1 72 TEE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

constrained to follow the tastes and the judgments of the masses,
under penalty of being ignored or contemned. A writer devises a
style which the public receive with enthusiasm : he has struck a vein.
He accustoms those who read his books, or who witness his plays, to
this style, be it good or bad, and the result is that, for some time, all
authors are compelled more or less to imitate the fortunate innovator,
if they wish to succeed. Hence, though one were not led to imitate,
by instinct or by nature, still he would do so from necessity or from
self-interest. The founder of the London Times was once asked how
he contrived to have all the articles in that journal appear as though
written by one hand. " Oh," said he, " there is always one editor who
is superior to all the rest, and they imitate him."

The history of religions from beginning to end is full of facts show-
ing how men are guided, not by arguments but by exemplars, and ex-
hibiting the tendency they have to reproduce what they have seen or
heard, and to regulate their lives according to the bright and trium-
phant examples that stand before their eyes. Many victories, esteemed
by apostles to be the effects of persuasion, are rather to be attributed
to that recondite influence which leads men irresistibly to imitate their
fellows. And does not this same agency of imitation appear in the
body politic, transforming little by little, but yet radically, the habits,
the opinions, and even the beliefs of men ? Nothing is easier, than,
for a man who has acquired an influence over the populace, to bring
them over to his own sentiments, ideas, and chimeras. And the ob-
servation is confirmed by daily experience in the education of chil-
dren. In a school we often find the external characteristics — the tone,
the gait, the games, changing from year to year. The reason of this
is that some dominant spirits — two or three pupils who used to have
an ascendency over the rest, have left ; others are now in their place,
and every thing wears a different face. As the models change, so do
the copies. The pupils no longer applaud or jeer at the same things
as before.

This instinct of imitation is specially developed in persons of de-
fective education or civilization. Savages copy quicker and better
than Europeans. Like children, they have a natural faculty for mimi-
cry, and cannot refrain from imitating every thing they see. There is
in their minds nothing to offset this tendency to imitation. Every
well-instructed man has within himself a considerable reserve of ideas
upon which to fall back ; this resource is wanting in the savage and
in the child : they live in all the occurrences which take place before
them ; their life is bound up in what they see and hear ; they are the
playthings of external influences. In civilized nations persons with-
out culture are in the like situation. Send a chambermaid and a phi-
losopher into a country, the language of which neither of them is ac-
quainted with, and it is likely that the chambermaid will learn it before
the philosopher. He has something else to do : he can live with his

HEREDITY AND RACE-IMPROVEMENT. 173

own thoughts ; as for her, if she cannot talk, she is undone. The in-
stinct of imitation is in an inverse ratio to the power of mental ab-
straction.

From these details it will be seen that this strong instinctive force
of imitation, which plays so important a part in the education of in-
dividuals and of races, is a very different thing from heredity. It
may and it does ttct in concert with hereditary impulsions ; but far
more frequently it works independently and even in a direction coun-
ter to them. And the same is to be said of another force — a more
determined rival still, and a more puissant antagonist of heredity,
viz., personality, whose functions we have next to consider.

The individual personality of the soul, which is preeminently the
instrument of free inventiveness and the unfailing spring of the in-
novative faculty, might, in contrast with heredity, be called spontane-
ity. 1 To give a notion of the power of spontaneity, as compared
with that of heredity, we might draw up lists exhibiting cases in
which the manifestation of various passions or talents does not come
from ancestry, and in which the individual is born different from his
parentage, or distinguishes himself from them by the reaction of his
own will. Such lists would be endless ; for, the opinion of the parti-
sans of absolute heredity to the contrary notwithstanding, sponta-
neity and personal activity are the rule in the development of the
mind. In short (and this is the main point), heredity has its root in
spontaneity ; for, after all, those aptitudes, those qualities, which par-
ents transmit to their children, must necessarily have originated, at
some time, from the spontaneous action of a more or less independent
will. "We hear of idiots, and of hysterical and epileptical subjects,
or, on the other hand, of painters, musicians, and poets, who derive
from their parentage the sinister or the beneficent activities which
characterize them. True enough ; but the question for us is, Whence
did the parents themselves derive this activity ? In taking a retrospec-
tive view of the ascendants, we must reach the point where spontaneity
is preeminent ; and this preeminence is all the less questionable in pro-
portion as it reappears in the descendants. The effects of heredity ap-
pear and disappear ; at first, they overmaster spontaneity, suspending its
influence; then they are exhausted, and spontaneity again reclaims its
rights. Thus spontaneity is a continuous, persisting force, while he-
redity is intermittent and transitory. Human nature, considered in its
progress from age to age, is a succession of independent minds, all the
more independent in proportion as they have less need of the concur-
rence of mechanical or organic powers in willing and acting. Where
they require such concurrence, a portion of their innate independence
is surrendered to the blind influences of heredity. And yet, even as
regards the origin of aesthetic aptitudes, spontaneity is the stronger
of the two.

1 Spontaneous. Produced without being planted. — (Webster.) Native, innate.

174 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

In studying the history of illustrious men, how often do we find
brilliant imagination and extraordinary capacity for art, poetry, and
literary composition, which are by no means the result of heredity.
We have not far to go for instances of this. Lamartine, Alfred de
Musset, Meyerbeer, Ingres, Delacroix, Merimee, displayed talents for
which they were in no wise indebted to their parentage. The history
of men of science exhibits the part played by heredity still farther
cut down. We are told of families of savants. How many of these
might be enumerated ? A dozen at the most. On the other hand,
how many illustrious savants there are, among whose ascendants are
found only people of very common stamp, or else distinguished for
talents of a very different order from those which characterize the
man of science ! What hereditary influences fashioned a Cuvier, a Biot,
a Fresnel, a Gay-Lussac, an Ampere, a Blainville ? It is plain that in
these instances spontaneity and education enacted the chief part. Nor
does the history of authors agree any better with the pretensions
made by the thorough partisans of heredity.

It is especially among philosophers that spontaneity appears to be
supreme. Our authors present no lists of philosophers who have in-
herited from their ancestors the talent for speculation. Here we have
a series of facts which make against heredity ; these its advocates say
nothing about, nor indeed are they made sufficient account of by either
party. Metaphysicians, precisely because in them the mental element
alone is active, are exempt from all the influences of heredity. In
proportion as the characters it tends to transmit are less of a physio-
logical and more of a psychological nature, the less is the influence of
heredity. But there is nothing more purely psychological, or more
free from sense-elements and mechanical factors, than the mind of the
speculative philosopher. In point of fact, the great metaphysicians
had no progenitors, nor did they leave any posterity. The philosophic
genius has ever been absolutely individual, inalienable, and intrans-
missible. There is not a single great thinker, in whose line, whether
ascending or descending, we discover either the promise or the per-
petuation of the high capacities which made him illustrious. Descartes
and Newton, Leibnitz and Spinoza, Diderot and Hume, Kant and
Maine de Biran, Cousin and Jouffroy, had neither ancestors nor pos-
terity.

Such is spontaneity. To form a precise idea of the part it plays,
we should have to determine, in a general way, and also in relation to
temperament, education, social and other conditions, etc., the genesis
and development of those faculties by which a given man of superior
power is distinguished from his progenitors ; we must group together
and classify the characteristic elements which make up the very es-
sence of the personality and individuality — those marvelous elements
of free initiative and of total independence which stamp a man as a
genius. It would then be seen that most commonly superior abilities

HEREDITY AND RACE-IMPROVEMENT. i 75

are so native to those who display them, so deep seated and endowed
with a life of their own, that education and training, instead of call-
ing them forth, serve rather to check their development. In a man of
genius we should discern self-reliant precocity, a passion for enter-
prise, a strong belief in his mission, a pride lifting him above sect-
prejudice or party ambitions, and attaching him exclusively to the
object of his meditations, for which alone he values life. Even when
temporal necessities compel him to take part in the transactions of
men, the world is for him only a peopled wilderness, where his soul
lives in solitude.

The materials for such a study exist in part ; they are to be found
in biographies written during the last two hundred years, by the sec-
retaries of the great academies, and in the autobiographic memoirs
left by several illustrious men. An ingenious and learned Russian
writer, Wechniakof, has lately published sundry works, in which he
considers, from this point of view, the anthropological and sociological
peculiarities which have had an influence in the individual development
of original genuises. Unfortunately, these opuscles do not form a
complete treatise, and yet a treatise on spontaneity would be a very
curious and very useful work.

The aggregate of all the causes of diversity, heterogeneity, and
innovation, which in man act in opposition to the principles of sim-
plicity, homogeneity, and conservation, we may designate by one
name, viz., evolution or progress. Regarded within the limits of
positive observation, blind Nature has been ever the same. It is to-
day, on the whole, what it was in Homer's time : the same sky, oceans,
mountains, forests, flowers. Man, on the other hand, is ever under-
going transformation. Generations succeed one another, but are un-
like. They are in a state of constant and rapid metamorphosis in
their faiths, their knowledge, their arts, their wants. Nation s, like
individuals, grow up and decay. But the face of Nature is un-
changed : as Byron says of Greece :

" Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild ;

Sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields,

Thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled,

And still his honeyed wealth Hyraettus yields ;

There the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds,

The free-born wanderer of thy mountain air;

Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds,

Still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare ;
Art, glory, freedom fail, but Nature still is fair."

We might multiply ad infinitum these historic contrasts between
the immutability of the universal fatalism which reigns in Nature,
and the incessant movement of liberty and invention in man, together
with the ceaseless striving of the soul to free itself from the grip of
Fate. History is but the record of what has resulted during ages

176 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

from this movement, from this striving. It is a protracted drama,
where the good genius of liberty contests the throne with the evil
genius of brute force, and where, under the eye of God, and with his
assistance, is won, slowly and laboriously, the victory of mind, which
searches, discovers, invents, creates, loves, adores !

III.

In the first part of this essay we established the facts of heredity,
and showed the part it plays in reproducing physiological and psycho-
logical characteristics. In the second we pointed out and examined
the causes which run counter to the more or less tyrannical impulsions
of Nature, and to mechanical necessities. We have now to state some
practical conclusions as to the use that may be made of this knowl-
edge in perfecting the race.

The heroic combatants of Homer's epic invoked the names of their
fathers and ancestors, and were proud of their noble blood. It was a
high instinct, and they who can justly boast of their forefathers will
always be in a position to earn for themselves the respect of their
children. In short, the phenomena of heredity authorize the belief
that parents of well-constituted body and mind are most likely to
transmit to their posterity their own likeness.

What measures are to be taken, then, to bring about happy alli-
ances, such as will produce offspring of high excellence in a physical
and moral point of view ? This is a very delicate question, and we can
give only a summary reply to it, based chiefly on an unpublished work
by the eminent surgeon, M. Sedillot, flvho devotes the leisure time of
his honorable retirement to studying the means of perfecting the race.
First of all, M. Sedillot thinks that we may obtain valuable informa-
tion as to an individual's real value by consulting his genealogy : the
history of his ascendants for four or five generations, with special
reference to intellect, morality, vigor, health, longevity, social status,
virtually contains a portion of his own history. Long before Gall the
fact was established (nor was it overturned by Gall's exaggerations)
that the form of the head is, in some measure, an index of a man's
mental calibre. From the remotest antiquity, the popular mind has
observed the relation which subsists between great size of head and
superior abilities ; and language is full of expressions which witness
to the correctness of this relation. Pericles excited the astonishment
of the Athenians by the extraordinary volume of his head. Cromwell,
Descartes, Leibnitz, Voltaire, Byron, Goethe, Talleyrand, Napoleon,
Cuvier, etc., had very large heads. Cuvier's brain weighed 1,829
grammes, the average weight of Europeans' brains being, according
to Broca, from 1,350 to 1,400 grammes. M. Sedillot regrets that we
do not possess measurements of the various cranial dimensions of
men distinguished for certain capacities, so that we might ascertain
the important relations which subsist between these dimensions and

HEREDITY AND RACE-IMPROVEMENT, 177

these capacities ; and he expresses the wish that such measurements
should be taken. But at least we know, in a general way, what char-
acters and what cranial dimensions correspond with the various de-
grees of cerebral activity. Most anthropologists hold that the man
whose head has not an horizontal circumference of 50 centimetres
(19.685 inches) is almost inevitably a person of only mediocre ability,
and that the one in whom this circumference attains or surpasses
58 centimetres (22.8346 inches) is likely to be a very superior man.
Instances are cited, it is true, of celebrated personages with small
heads ; but in such case the individuals gained distinction in some
very narrow specialty. It must not be forgotten that these dimen-
sions constitute but one of the external indices which enable us to de-
termine approximately the intellectual value of an individual. We
have also to take account of the general form and relative proportions
of the various regions of the cranium, i. e., of that harmony which is
called beauty. An easy means, according to M. Sedillot, of studying
the conformation of the head, is by taking a side or profile view of it,
a little back of the forehead. One then instantly perceives the ratio
between the height and breadth of the forehead and temples and the
face, and a clear perception is got of the relative proportions of the
anterior or frontal, and the posterior or occipital contours of the head.
The individual who has the superciliary arches prominent, the temples
bare, nearly vertical and high, with broad, high forehead, and features
expressive neither of an unbalanced nor of a torpid mind, may in gen-
eral be regarded as a truly human type, and as possessed of a mind
that is fitted to do honor to the race. The story goes, that once a
certain Englishman sent his groom to the ale-house in search of his
friend Shakespeare. " How shall I know him ? " quoth the groom.
" The easiest thing in the world," replied his master ; " everybody,
more or less, resembles some animal ; but, when you lay eyes on
Shakespeare, you will at once say, ' There is a man ! ' " Man in the
fullness of his harmonious beauty, such is the ideal toward which all
the efforts of our present imperfect humanity ought to be directed,
and it is full time that we should strive, by a wise use of the principle
of heredity, i. e., by healthy procreation, to develop a human race in
which the last traces of animality shall have disappeared, and in which
the Man shall be less rare.

What is it that constitutes the superiority of the English aristoc-
racy ? Their constant study to endow their descendants with the best
bodily, intellectual, and moral qualities. The Englishman does not
marry from caprice or from passion ; he marries under the conditions
which are best fitted to insure the welfare of his children, for he knows
that on their welfare his own happiness, his honor, and his name depend.
The respect shown to young Englishwomen, the honorable liberty
they enjoy, the secondary importance that is attached to their fortune,
and the stress that is laid on their personal worth, are all so many
vol. iv. — 12

178 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

causes increasing among that people the number of happy marriages,
and consequently giving vigor to the population. This is one of the
grand secrets of race-improvement by heredity. Instead of looking
for wealth, men must look for beauty, character, and virtue. So long
as they persist in forming alliances with women of feeble constitution,
or lacking essential qualifications, the race will decline and degenerate.
And, of course, the same deplorable consequences follow from the mar-
riage of noble and well- organized women with men of inferior type.
Fortunately, the tact and the instinctive dignity of women, and their
natural liking for what is exalted, usually prevent their descending
to debasing or dangerous alliances, and nearly always guard them
against ill-assorted matches. " In place of giving way to sympathetic
emotions," says M. Sedillotj " which disorder the judgment, let one
put himself the question, on seeing a person that pleases him, if he
wants to have sons and daughters of that same type ; and it is curious
to note how often the reply will be in the negative. It were unreason-
able, no doubt, to forego present advantage for the sake of some un-
certain advantage in the future ; still, wisdom requires us to bring the
two into harmony, and to remember how swiftly time passes away,
and how little is the value of the passing hour, as compared with the
hopes and the enjoyments of the future." M. Sedillot adds that, in ordi-
nary times, hygiene, the moral evidence of the advantages of health and
intelligence, would suffice for the regeneration of a people. France,
unfortunately, has need of stronger and more efficacious agencies ; she
must go back to the very fountain-head of regeneration and of life,
that is to say, must discover the speediest means of insuring to the
coming generations a future of virtue and mettle. In other times it
may have appeared difficult or ill-advised to import, into questions
touching the reproduction of man, figures and estimates not unlike
those employed in zootechny, where selection has long been practised.
But now such scruples must give way before the dictates of necessity,
which tells us in the most unmistakable way that we cannot afford to
commit one blunder more.

Here we have to point out the means of staying or of reducing as
far as possible the fatal heredity of disease, which is so powerful an
obstacle to the improvement of the race. The preventive or prophy-
lactic agencies which are to be employed to counteract the evolution
of disease-germs depend, of course, on the nature of these latter. A
consumptive mother must not suckle her infant ; she ought to intrust
it to the care of a good nurse. Those whose parents were affected
with chest-diseases thrive but ill on an excessively animal diet : a
regimen of white meats and light foods is best suited for them. As
regards occupation, they should carefully avoid all such as would
expose them to inhale dust, or to undergo alternations of heat and
cold, or to use the voice habitually. Residence by the sea-side, in
the south, and in localities where consumption is of rare occurrence,

HEREDITY AND RACE-IMPROVEMENT. 179

is the best prophylactic against this fearful disease. Individuals pre-
disposed to scrofula require pure air, substantial tonic diet, and an atmos-
phere like that on the sea-coast of Northwestern Europe. Those who
are threatened with gout or gravel must oblige themselves to the
strictest temperance and take abundant exercise. Regularity and
uniformity of life are the rule for those predisposed to cancer. Per-
sons who reckon epileptics among their ascendants require the utmost
care. All their functions must be tranquillized ; they must allow them-
selves no excesses ; must avoid fatigue ; must guard against emo-
tional excitement — in a word, they must be always surrounded with
tranquillizing influences. Those predisposed to insanity are to be
treated in a similar manner, that is to say, with great gentleness ; and
their passions are to be stilled. The course of life best suited to them
is one which does not call for much intellectual activity, and which
holds out no visions of fame or fortune. Preventing or checking in
the individuals themselves the development of disease-germs is, how-
ever, but a secondary consideration ; the chief point is, to prevent the
migration of these germs into new generations. But, to attain this
result, we must not only multiply and facilitate marriages which shall
be in conformity with hygienic and moral laws, we have furthermore
to discourage alliances the fruits of which can only be of blighted
constitution in body and soul. Physicians ought to use all their in-
fluence to prevent the intermarriage of persons evidently predisposed
to the various forms of neurosis, to tubercle, scrofula, etc. When the
ascendants of one of the parties are hereditarily of a morbid consti-
tution, the physician should at least insist on the importance of hav-
ing the other party perfectly healthy, possessed of great vigor, and,
above all, of a temperament the reverse of that of his or her partner.
In this way the danger of hereditary taint is diminished, though it
were better not to incur such danger at all. But this is a point
of so delicate a nature that we cannot dwell upon it here. We must,
however, say something about consanguineous marriages, a subject
which has given rise to much warm controversy during the past few
years. Some physicians, and among them Broca and Bertillon, hold
that races which are least mixed, which are purest, are better fitted
than crossed races to withstand the causes of degeneracy. According
to them, the evil consequences charged on consanguinity are the re-
sult of very different agencies, especially the hereditary affections of
the ascendants. Trousseau and Boudin, on the other hand, say that
marriages between individuals of the same stock oftentimes yield un-
healthy fruits — lunatics and idiots. The balance would appear to have
been struck in favor of the first opinion. It was but the other day,
that Auguste Yoisin, in making inquiries of the relatives of more
than 1,500 patients in the Bicetre and the Salpetriere, found that in
none of these cases could the disease be attributed to consanguin-
ity. If the latter had been so infallible a cause of degeneracy,

180 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

its effects would have been seen in that large number of madmen
and idiots.

Although theorizers have exaggerated the influence of heredity, it
cannot be denied that it plays a part in the genesis of temperament
and character, and here we have a warrant for the employment of
every means that will favor the transmission of the most desirable
aptitudes. In ancient Rome, women of the highest distinction, who
were respected by all, imported into another family, with their hus-
bands' consent, their superiority of blood. Quintus Hortensius, the
friend and admirer of Cato, having failed to win his daughter Portia,
asked for his wife Marcia, and Cato gave her to him. The grossness
of such customs shocks our finer sense, but its explanation is to be
found in the anxiety of a Roman head of a family to insure for his
descendants the highest grade of masculine vigor, and the most solid
virtues.

Under the old constitution of society in France, the tenure of high
offices and trusts, and the following of some special profession by one
family from generation to generation, had their rise and bases in the
unconscious observation that aptitudes are hereditary ; and M. Sedillot
regrets that the revolutions of modern society have done away with
this wholesome tradition, which, in every grade of the social scale,
morally constrained the son to follow in his father's steps. This point
must not be overlooked by races which care for self-improvement.

Another point for such races to bear in mind, and one of readier
application, is the necessity of a sound and enlightened system of edu-
cation. On this topic, those who have the future of France at heart,
have but one opinion, viz., that the coming generations must be in-
vigorated by giving more prominence to bodily exercise, and by ex-
empting children from employments injurious to health. They have no
thought of interfering with classical studies or the humanities, which
will continue to be the chief element in moral culture ; the only ques-
tion is, whether the young could not acquire the treasures of Latinity
and Hellenism in less time, and bestow some little study on matters
of modern interest. There are sundry branches in which they now
obtain no instruction, but which they might study much to the advan-
tage of their intellectual development. This is not the place to enforce
this argument ; but it does seem unquestionable that, by means of a
thorough system of education, proceeding on new principles, we might
be able, if not exactly to change the whole character of a people, as
Leibnitz thought, at least to do away with most of the influences
which, for want of suitable training, cause them to fall into decay.

The conviction that it is possible to counteract the dangerous im-
pulsions of heredity and to triumph over the tyrannies of Fate — at least
to acquire a moral superiority over them — is a most wholesome one to
spread abroad and to bring into acceptance. A strong will is in itself
a power. Even though it were not so easy a thing as it is, to prevail

BACKEVS M ONERS. 181

over the blind forces of Nature, simply by the overmastering power
of a resolute and sagacious will, there would still exist abundant
grounds for believing that man has the power of modifying and
amending his own conduct ; that he is not the plaything of inflexible
Destiny; and that he may not give way, without resistance or re-
morse, to his evil instincts. Let us believe in heredity, in so far as it
may be made a means of improvement and of free perfectionment.
But let us withhold our assent when there is claimed for it a despotic
power so absolute as it would be madness to resist. Education has
not only to improve the race, but also to give men a desire for im-
provement, by showing them that it is possible. In alliance with a
judicious cultivation of desirable hereditary tendencies, education
overmasters noxious proclivities and regenerates the race.

We must not, however, attribute to education an exaggerated im-
portance, nor imagine that by itself alone it can call forth preeminent
ability. Its influence, like that of heredity, is limited. Genius, which
is the most perfect expression of mind, considered as a free creative
force, is controlled by neither. It is a mighty tree whose fruits give
sustenance to generations, and the conditions of whose growth are
such that we can no more foresee or determine its appearing than we
can prescribe rules for its behavior afterward, or estimate its fruitful-
ness. Fortunately, geniuses are not indispensable, and, in proportion
as the national average rises, the less need is there for them. But the
general average rises of necessity when all the citizens are animated
with the one desire of improvement. Hereditary cultivation, pro-
ceeding by means of a rigid selection of the influences which tend to
improve the race, may be confidently commended to those nations
who are ambitious of holding the first rank in the world. — Revue des
Deux Mbndes.

+•»

HACKEL'S MONEES.

By AIME SCHNEIDEE.

THE moners are the simplest organisms we know of — we might
even say, the simplest that can exist. In them, life is exhibited
under the form that is best fitted to give us an idea of its essential
characters, stripped of all secondary attributes. The first moner was
discovered by the celebrated Prof. Hackel, of Jena, in 1864, and the
number has gone on steadily increasing ever since. These discoveries
have made a great stir in the scientific world, owing to their bearing
on our theories of organization.

The moner which best typifies the entire class is the Protomyxa
aurantiaca. This little creature, hardly visible to the naked eye, and,
at most, as big as a small pin-head, is of a fine orange-red color, con-

182

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

sists of a perfectly homogeneous and transparent mass of jelly, and
offers the paradox of an organism without organs. Nor is this absence
of organs merely apparent, or owing to the imperfection of our mag-
nifying-glasses ; it is real, and every thing about these little creatures
goes to prove their perfect simplicity of structure. This gelatinous,
homogeneous, contractile substance has been called sarcode, and also,
but improperly, animal protoplasm.

History of the Protomyxa Aurantiaca, according to Hackel.

1. The moner in a state of repose.

2. The same sending forth its pseudopodes and embedding a foreign body in itself.

3. The same in process of reproduction, after having exuded its envelope, and split up into a
number of spherical masses.

4. A young moner set free after the bursting of the envelope.

5. The same in a more advanced stage, with its pseudopodes.

In repose, the moner is nearly spherical, and gives no sign of
life. But soon this little ball flattens itself out, its mass expands in
various directions, and these expansions, which have received the name
of false feet, or pseudopodes, keep up a continual movement of protru-
sion and retraction. Sometimes the moner flows all in one direc-
tion, and this is its way of moving from place to place. When, in the
course of this slow progress over the calcareous slime of the sea-bottom,
the moner falls in with one of those microscopic organisms called
diatoms, it embeds it in its own body ; the alimentary substances con-
tained in the diatom are dissolved and assimilated, and the indiges-
tible portions are left behind as the creature moves along. Thus, we
have the curious phenomenon of a creature which feeds without mouth,
without stomach, without apparatus of any kind, simply by incor-
porating into itself, as it moves, prey of every kind. In taking food,
the animal appears to be passive, its seizing on its prey being a mere
incident of its moving about.

A NEW METHOD WITH THE BRAIN. 183

In this way, the moner attains by degrees a certain size, and
then stops growing and moving. It then becomes a little ball, exudes
from its surface a colorless, homogeneous matter which hardens, form-
ing a protecting envelope for the inclosed mass. Then, a very singular
phenomenon occurs : by an act entirely spontaneous, the inclosed mass
breaks up into a certain number of parts, which soon become inde-
pendent, constituting so many little spherical masses lying side by
side within the common envelope. The original moner then exists
no more ; it has reproduced itself by dividing itself up, without any
intermediary, into these new individuals, its progeny. Each young
moner is a determinate part of the mother-animal, and, leaving out
of consideration what she exuded to form the envelope, all the rest of
her substance is exempted from death, and is now to begin a new life,
which in turn will pass through the series of transformations already
described. The envelope will soon break up and set at liberty the
young moners, which, from the first, resemble the mother-animal.

At the grade of extreme simplification of life presented to us in the
moner, we have organization reduced to pure sarcode, and life mani-
festing itself by nutrition, reproduction, and contractility, each reduced
to its barely essential function — nutrition reduced to mere assimilation,
reproduction to a spontaneous fission into a group of young (fissiparity),
and contractility to the slow, diffusive movements of the pseudopodes.

Moners are mostly inhabitants of the sea. Some of them live at
inconsiderable depths ; but there is one, the Baihybius Hdckelii, which
lives at the enormous depth of 12,000 feet, and sometimes even of more
than 24,000 feet. There is only one fresh-water moner.

Many naturalists rank moners among animals, classing them as
rhizopods. Hackel, who discovered them, regards them as the rep-
resentatives of an entire category of beings intermediate between
animals and plants, the protista, so called from protos (first), because,
according to this author, they are the first representative of terrestrial
life, from which all other forms of life are developed, on the modern
theories of Darwinism. — La Nature.

•♦»♦•

A NEW METHOD WITH THE BRAIN". 1

By Professor FEERIER.

ALL are agreed that it is with the brain that we feel, and think,
and will ; but whether there are certain parts of the brain de-
voted to particular manifestations, is a subject on which we have only
imperfect speculations or data too insufficient for the formation of a
scientific opinion. The general view is that the brain as a whole sub-

1 A paper read before the Biological Section of the British Association.

184 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

serves mental operations, and that there are no parts specially devoted
to any particular functions. This has been recently expressed by so
high an authority as Prof. Sequard. The idea rests chiefly on the
numerous facts of disease with which we are acquainted. There are
cases where extensive tracts of brain are destroyed by disease, or re-
moved after a fracture, apparently with no result as regards the mind
of the individual. Along with these facts we have others which are
very curious, and which hardly seem to agree with this doctrine. One
of these is, that when a certain part of the brain is diseased, in apha-
sia, the individual is unable to express himself in words. Other curi-
ous phenomena have been well described by Dr. Hughlings Jackson,
viz., that certain tumors or pathological lesions in particular parts of
the brain give rise, by the irritation which they keep up, to epilepti-
form convulsions of the whole of one side, or of the arm, or leg, or the
muscles of the face ; and, from studying the way in which these con-
vulsions show themselves, he was able to localize very accurately the
seat of the lesion.

The great difficulty in the study of the function of the brain has
been, in the want of a proper method. When we study the function
of a nerve, we make our experiments in two ways : In the first place,
we irritate the nerve by scratching or by electricity, or by chemical
action, and observe the effect; and, in the second place, we cut the
nerve, and observe what is lost. In regard to the brain and nervous
system, the method has been almost entirely, until recently, the method
of section. It has been stated by physiologists that it is impossible to
excite the brain into action by any stimulus that may be applied to it,
even that of an electric current ; they have, therefore, adopted the
method of destroying parts of the brain. This method is liable to
many fallacies. The brain is such a complex organ, that to destroy
one part is necessarily to destroy many other parts, and the phenom-
ena are so complex, that one cannot attribute their loss to the failure
only of the parts which the physiologists have attempted to destroy.

About three years ago, two German physiologists, Fritsch and
Hitzig, by passing galvanic currents through parts of the brains of
dogs, obtained various movements of the limbs, such as adduction,
flexion, and extension. They thus discovered an important method
of research, but they did not pursue their experiments to the extent
that they might have done, and perhaps did not exactly appreciate the
significance of the facts at which they had arrived.

I was led to the experiments which I shall have to explain, by the
effects of epilepsy and of chorea, which have been explained to depend
upon irritation of parts of the brain. I endeavored to imitate the
effects of disease on the lower animals, and determined to adopt the
plan of stimulating the parts of the brain by electricity, after the man-
ner described by Fritsch and Hitzig.

I operated on nearly a hundred animals of all classes — fish, frogs,

A NEW METHOD WITH THE BRAIN 185

fowls, pigeons, rats, Guinea-pigs, rabbits, cats, dogs, jackals, and mon-
keys. The plan was to remove the skull, and keep the animal in a
state of comparative insensibility by chloroform. So little was the
operation felt, that I have known a monkey, with one side of the skull
removed, awake out of the state induced by the chloroform, and proceed
to catch fleas, or eat bread-and-b utter. When the animal was ex-
hausted, I sometimes gave it a little refreshment, which it took in the
midst of the experiments.

First, as to the experiments on cats, I found that, on applying the
electrode to a portion of the superior external convolution, the animal
lifted its shoulder and paw (on the opposite side to that stimulated)
as if about to walk forward ; stimulating other parts of the same con-
volution, it brought the paw suddenly back, or put out its foot as if to
grasp something, or brought forward its hind-leg as if about to walk,
or held back its head as if astonished, or turned it on one side as if
looking at something, according to the particular part stimulated.
The actions produced by stimulating the various parts of the middle
external convolution were, a drawing up of the side of the face, a back-
ward movement of the whiskers, a turning of the head, and a contrac-
tion of the pupil, respectively. A similar treatment of the lower ex-
ternal convolution produced certain movements of the angles of the
mouth ; the animal opened the mouth widely, moved its tongue, and
uttered loud cries, or mewed in a lively way, sometimes starting up
and lashing its tail as if in a furious rage. The stimulation of one part
of this convolution caused the animal to screw up its nostrils on the
same side ; and, curiously enough, it is that part which gives off a
nerve to the nostril of the same side.

Results much of the same character were produced by the stimula-
tion of the corresponding or homologous parts of the rat, the rabbit,
and the monkey. Acting upon the anterior part of the ascending
frontal convolution, the monkey was made to put forward its hand as
if about to grasp. Stimulation of other portions acted upon the biceps,
and produced a flexing of the forearm, or upon the zygomatic muscles.
The part that appeared to be connected with the opening of the mouth
and the movement of the tongue was homologous with the part af-
fected in man in cases of aphasia. Stimulation of the middle temporo-
sphenoidal convolution produced no results ; but the lower temporo-
sphenoidal, when acted upon, caused the monkey to shut its nostrils.
No result was obtained in connection with the occipital lobes.

These experiments have an important bearing upon the diagnosis
in certain kinds of cerebral disease, and the exact localization of the
parts affected. I was able to produce epileptic convulsions of all kinds
in the animals experimented upon, as well as phenomena resembling
those of chorea or St. Vitus's dance. The experiments are also impor-
tant anatomically, as indicating points of great significance in reference
to the homology of the brain in lower animals and in man, and like-

186 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

wise served to explain some curious forms of expression common to
man and the lower animals. The common tendency, when any strong
exertion is made with the right hand, to retract the angle of the mouth
and open the mouth on the same side, had been stated by Oken, in his
"Natur-geschichte" to be due to the homology between the upper limbs
and the upper jaw ; the true explanation being that the movements of
the fist and of the mouth are in such close relation to each other that,
when one is made to act powerfully, the impression diffuses itself to
the neighboring part of the brain, and the two act together.

The experiments have likewise a physiological significance. There
is reason to believe that, when the different parts of the brain are stimu-
lated, ideas are excited in the animals experimented upon, but it is
difficult to say what the ideas are. There is, no doubt, a close relation
between certain muscular movements and certain ideas, which may
prove capable of explanation. This is supported by the phenomena
of epileptic insanity. The most important guide on the psychological
aspect of the question is the disease known as aphasia. The part of
the brain which is the seat of the memory of words is that which gov-
erns the movements of the mouth and the tongue. In aphasia, the
disease is generally on the left side of the brain, in the posterior part
of the inferior frontal convolution, and it is generally associated with
paralysis of the right hand,. and the reason might be supposed to be
that the part of the brain affected is nearly related to the part govern-
ing the movements of the right hand.

It is essential to remember that the movements of the mouth are
governed bi-laterally from each hemisphere. The brain is symmetrical,
and I hold it to be a mistake to suppose that the faculty of speech is
localized on the left side of the brain. The reason why an individual
loses his speech when the left side of the brain is diseased is simply
this : Most persons are right-handed, and therefore left-brained, the
left side of the brain governing the right side of the body. Men
naturally seize a thing with the right hand, they naturally therefore
use rather the left side of the brain than the right, and when there is
disease, there the individual feels like one who has suddenly lost the
use of his right arm.

I may, finally, briefly allude to the results of stimulating the dif-
ferent ganglia. Stimulation of the corpora striata causes the limbs to
be flexed ; the optic thalami produces no result : the corpora quadri-
gemina produce, when the anterior tubercles are acted upon, an intense
dilatation of the pupil, and a tendency to draw back the head and ex-
tend the limbs as in opisthotonos ; while the stimulation of the pos-
terior tubercles leads to the production of all kinds of noises. By
stimulating the cerebellum, various movements of the eyeballs are
produced. — Nature.

MAES, BY THE LATEST OBSERVATIONS, 187
MAES, BY THE LATEST OBSERVATIONS.

FBOM THE FEENOH OF OAMILLE FLAMMAEION.

IN" order successfully to observe Mars, two conditions are requisite :
First, the earth's atmosphere must be clear at the point of obser-
vation ; and, second, the atmosphere of Mars must be also free from
clouds — for that planet, like the earth itself, is surrounded by an
aerial atmosphere which from time to time is obscured by clouds just
like our own. These clouds, as they spread themselves out over the
continents and seas, form a white veil which either entirely or par-
tially conceals from us the face of the planet. Hence the observation
of Mars is not so easy a matter as it might at first appear. Then,
too, the purest and most transparent terrestrial atmosphere is com-
monly traversed by rivers of air, some warm, some cold, which flow
in different directions above our heads, so that it is almost impossible
to sketch a planet like Mars, the image seen in the telescope being
ever undulating, tremulous, and indistinct. I believe that, if we were
to reckon up all the hours during which a perfect observation could be
had of Mars, albeit his period of opposition occurs every two years,
and although telescopes were invented more than two and a half cen-
turies ago, the sum would not amount to more than one week of con-
stant observation.

And yet, in spite of these unfavorable conditions, the Planet of
War is the best known of them all. The moon alone, owing to its
nearness to us, and the absence of atmosphere and clouds, has at-
tracted more particular and assiduous study; and the geography
(selenography 1 rather) of that satellite is now satisfactorily deter-
mined. That hemisphere of the moon which faces us is better known
than the earth itself; its vast desert plains have been surveyed to
within a few acres ; its mountains and craters have been measured to
within a few yards ; while on the earth's surface there are 30,000,000
square kilometres (sixty times the extent of France), upon which the
foot of man has never trod, which the eye of man has never seen.
But, after the moon, Mars is the best known to us of all the heavenly
bodies. No other planet can compare with him. Jupiter, which is the
largest, and Saturn the fullest of curious interest, are both far more im-
portant than Mars, and more easily observed in their ensemble, owing
to their size ; but they are enveloped with an atmosphere which is al-
ways laden with clouds, and hence we never see their face. Uranus and
Neptune are only bright points. Mercury is almost always eclipsed,
like a courtier, by the rays of the sun. Venus alone may compare
with Mars ; she is as large as the earth, and consequently has twice the

1 Selene, the moon.

i88

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

diameter of Mars ; besides, she is nearer to us, her least distance being
about 30,000,000 miles. But, one objection is, that Venus revolves be-
tween the sun and us, so that, when she is nearest, her illuminated
hemisphere is toward the sun, and we see only her dark hemisphere
ecVed by a slight luminous crescent, or, rather, we do not see it at all.
Hence it is that the surface of Venus is harder to observe than that
of Mars, and hence, too, it is that Mars has the preeminence, and that
in the sun's whole family he is the one with which we shall first gain
acquaintance.

Aspect of Mars, with its Cap op Polab Snow.

The geography of Mars has been studied and mapped out. What
principally strikes one on studying this planet is that its poles, like
those of the earth, are marked by two white zones, two caps of snow,
one of which is shown in the cut. Sometimes both of these poles
are so bright that they seem to extend beyond the true bounds of
the planet. This is owing to that effect of irradiation which makes
a white circle appear to us larger than a black circle of the same di-
mensions. These regions of ice vary in extent, according to the sea-
son of the year ; they grow in thickness and superficial extent around
both poles in the winter, melting again and retreating in the summer.
They have a larger extension than our glacial regions, for sometimes
they descend as far as Martial latitude 45°, which corresponds with
the terrestrial latitude of France.

This first view of Mars shows an analogy with our own planet, in
the distribution of climates into frigid, temperate, and torrid zones.
The study of its topography will, on the other hand, show a very char-
acteristic dissimilarity between the configuration of Mars and that of
the earth. On our planet the seas have greater extent than the con-

MARS, BY THE LATEST OBSERVATIONS. 189

tinents. Three-fourths of the surface of our globe is covered with
water. The terra firma is divided chiefly into three great islands or
continents, one extending from east to west, and constituting Europe
and Asia ; the second, situated to the south of Europe, in shape like a
V with rounded angles, is Africa ; the third is on the opposite side of
the earth, and lies north and south, forming two V's, one above the
other. If to these we add the minor continent of Australia, lying to
the south of Asia, we have a general idea of the configuration of our
globe.

It is different with the surface of Mars, where there is more land
than sea, and where the continents, instead of being islands emerg-
ing from the liquid element, seem rather to make the oceans mere
inland seas — genuine mediterraneans. In Mars there is neither an
Atlantic nor a Pacific, and the journey round it might be made dry-
shod. Its seas are mediterraneans, with gulfs of various shapes, ex-
tending hither and thither in great numbers into the terra firma,
after the manner of our Red Sea.

Fig. 2.

limflimmumMJ

Chart of the Surface of Maes, showing the Distribution of Land and Water.

The second character, which also would make Mars recognizable at
a distance, is that the seas lie in the southern hemisphere mostly, oc-
cupying but little space in the northern, and that these northern and
southern seas are joined together by a thread of water. On the entire
surface of Mars there are three such threads of water extending from
the south to the north, but, as they are so wide apart, it is but rarely

190 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

that more than one of them can be seen at a time. The seas and the
straits which connect them constitute a very distinctive character of
Mars, and they are generally perceived whenever the telescope is di-
rected upon that planet.

The continents of Mars are tinged of an ochre-red color, and its
seas have for us the appearance of blotches of grayish green intensi-
fied by the contrast with the color of the continents. The color of
the water on Mars is therefore that of terrestrial water. But why is
the land there red ? It was at one time supposed that this tinge must
be owing to the Martial atmosphere. It does not follow that, because
our atmosphere is blue, the atmosphere of the other planets must have
the same color. Hence it was permissible to suppose that the atmos-
phere of Mars was red. In that case the poets of that world would
sing the praises of that ardent hue, instead of the tender blue of our
skies. In place of diamonds blazing in an azure vault, the stars would
be for them golden fires flaming in a field of scarlet ; the white clouds
suspended in this red sky, and the splendors of sunset, would produce
effects not less admirable than those which we behold from our own
globe.

But the case is otherwise. The coloration of Mars is not owing to
its atmosphere ; for, although the latter is spread out over the entire
planet, neither its seas nor its polar snows assume the red tinge ; and
Arago, by showing that the rim of the planet's disk is of a less deep
tinge than the centre, proved that the color is not due to the atmos-
phere. If it were, then the rays reflected from the margin to us
would be of a deeper red than those reflected from the centre, as
having to pass through a greater height of atmosphere. May we at-
tribute to the color of the herbage and plants, which no doubt clothe
the plains of Mars, the characteristic hue of that planet, which is
noticeable by the naked eye, and which led the ancients to personify
it as a warrior ? Are the meadows, the forests, and the fields, on
Mars, all red ? An observer, looking out from the moon, or from
Yenus, upon our own planet, would see our continents deeply tinged
with green. But, in the fall, he would find this tint disappearing at
the latitudes where the trees lose their leaves. He would see the
fields varying in their hues, and then would come winter, when they
would be covered with snow for months. On Mars the red coloration
is constant ; it is observed at all latitudes, and in winter no less than
in summer. It varies only in proportion to the clearness of the atmos-
pheres of Mars and the earth. Still this does not preclude the suppo-
sition that the Martial vegetation has its share in producing the red
hue of the planet, though it be principally due to the color of the soil.
The land cannot be all over bare of vegetation, like the sands of Sa-
hara. It is very probably covered with a vegetation of some kind,
and, as the only color we perceive on Mars's terra firma is red, we con-
clude that Martial vegetation is of that color.

MARS, BY THE LATEST OBSERVATIONS. 191

We speak of plants on Mars, of the snows at its poles, of its seas,
atmosphere, and clouds, as though we had seen them. Are we justi-
fied in tracing all these analogies ? In fact, we see only blotches of red,
green, and white, upon the little disk of the planet ; but, is the red
terra firma ; the green, water ; or the white, snow ? Yes, we are now
justified in saying that they are. For two centuries astronomers were
in error with regard to spots on the moon, which were taken for seas,
whereas they are motionless deserts, desolate regions where no breeze
ever stirs. But it is otherwise as regards the spots on Mars.

The unvarying aspect of the moon never exhibits the slightest
cloud upon its surface, nor do the occultations of stars by its disk re-
veal even the slightest traces of an atmosphere. Contrariwise, the
aspect of Mars is ever varying. White spots move about over its disk,
very often modifying its apparent configuration. These spots can be
nothing else but clouds. The white spots at its poles increase or di-
minish with the seasons, exactly like the circumpolar ice of earth,
which, for an observer on Yenus, would have the same aspect and the
same variations as the polar spots of Mars have for us. Hence we
conclude that these Martial white polar spots are masses of frozen
water. Each hemisphere of Mars is harder to observe during its win-
ter than during its summer, being often covered with clouds over its
greater part. This would be precisely the aspect of the earth if ob-
served from "Venus. But what causes these clouds over Mars ? Plainly
nothing else but the evaporation of water. As for the ice, that is the
same water frozen. But is the water there the same as here ? Down
to a few years ago, this question remained unanswered, but now it ad-
mits of a reply, thanks to the spectroscope, and the observations espe-
cially of Mr. Huggins.

The planets reflect the light they receive from the sun ; on examin-
ing their spectra, we find the solar spectrum as though it had been re-
flected from a mirror. If we direct the spectroscope on Mars, we get,
first of all, an image perfectly identical with that produced by the
central star of our system. But, by the employment of more exact
methods, Mr. Huggins found, during the last opposition of the planet,
that the spectrum of Mars is crossed, in its orange portion, by a group
of black lines coincident with the lines which appear in the solar spec-
trum at sunset when the sun's light passes through the denser strata
of our atmosphere. Now, are these tell-tale rays produced by our at-
mosphere ? To decide this question, the spectroscope was turned on
the moon, which was at the time nearer the horizon than Mars. If the
lines in question were produced by our atmosphere, they must have
appeared in the lunar as well as in the Martial spectrum, and with
greater intensity in the former. Yet they were not to be seen at all
in the lunar spectrum ; and hence it is plain that they are owing to the
atmosphere of Mars.

The atmosphere of that planet, therefore, adds these special char-

192 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

acters to those of the solar spectrum, and this proves that the atmos-
phere of Mars is analogous to that of earth. But what is that atmos-
pheric matter which produces these significant lines ? From an exami-
nation of their positions, we find that they are not owing to the presence
of oxygen, nitrogen, or carbonic acid, but to watery vapor. There-
fore, there is water-vapor in the atmosphere of 3£ars, as in that of the
earth. The green spots on its globe are seas — expanses of water re-
sembling our seas. The clouds are made up of minute vesicles of
water, like our own mists ; and the snows consist of water solidified
by cold. Furthermore, this water, as revealed by the spectroscope,
being of the same chemical composition as terrestrial waters, we know
that Mars possesses oxygen and hydrogen.

These important data enable us to form an idea of Martial me-
teorology, and to recognize therein a reproduction of the meteorologi-
cal phenomena of our own planet. On Mars, as on earth, the sun is
the supreme agent of motion and of life. Heat vaporizes the water
of the seas, causing it to ascend into the atmosphere. This vapor as-
sumes visible shape by the same processes which produce clouds here,
i. e., by differences of temperature and of saturation. Winds arise in
virtue of these same differences of temperature. We can observe the
clouds on Mars as they are swept along by air-currents over the seas
and continents, and several observers have, so to speak, photographed
these meteoric variations.

If we are as yet unable precisely to see the rain falling on the
plains of Mars, we can at least tell when it is falling, for we can see
the clouds dispersing and gathering again. Thus there is on Mars,
just as on earth, an atmospheric circulation, and the drop of water
which the sun takes from the sea returns thither after it has fallen
from the cloud which concealed it. And, although we must sternly
resist any tendency to fashion imaginary worlds after the pattern of
our own, still Mars presents to us, as in a mirror, such an organic like-
ness to earth, that it is hard for us not to carry our description a little
further.

Thus, then, we behold, in space, millions of miles away, a planet
very much like our own, and where all the elements of life exist, as
they do here — water, air, heat, light, winds, clouds, rain, streams, val-
leys, mountains. To complete the resemblance, the seasons there are
very much the same as here, the axis of rotation of Mars having an
inclination of 27°, while that of the earth is 23°. The Martial day is
forty minutes longer than the terrestrial.

In the face of all these facts, can we be content with the conclu-
sions we have so far reached without going further, and considering
ulterior consequences ? If the same physico-chemical conditions are
present on Mars as on earth, why should they not produce the same
effects there as here ? On earth the smallest drop of water is peopled
with myriads of animalcules, and earth and sea are filled with count-

TENNYSON AND BOTANY. 193

less species of animals and plants ; and it is not easy to conceive how,
under similar conditions, another planet should be simply a vast and
useless desert. — La Nature.

-+•+-

TENNYSON AND BOTANY.

By J. HUTCHISON.

WORDSWORTH, in the supplementary preface contained in the
second volume of his works, asserts in the most emphatic way
the deplorable ignorance of "the most obvious and important phe-
nomena " of Nature which characterizes the poetical literature of the
period intervening between the publication of the " Paradise Lost "
and the M Seasons." It is to be feared that his opinion is, to a large
extent, justified by the facts of the case. A very cursory examination
of the productions of the poets who flourished during the seventy years
referred to will suffice to show how little they were affected by the mani-
fold beauty and grandeur of the visible universe everywhere around
them. In this respect they contrast unfavorably, not only with their suc-
cessors of the present century, which might have been expected, but
with those of the two preceding centuries as well. The latter, whose
works embrace a period dating back a hundred years from Milton,
display, generally, a much more accurate acquaintance with the ap-
pearances and phenomena of the natural world, and spontaneousness
in the expression of it, than the school of Dryden and Pope, who may
be regarded as the most conspicuous examples of Wordsworth's strict-
ures. Of Pope, particularly, it might almost be said that, from his
writings, it could scarcely be inferred that there was much else in ex-
istence than courts, and fashion, and scandal — not much, at all events,
that was worth caring for. He excelled in the representation of the
modish life of the day — its fine ladies with their patches, its fine gen-
tlemen with their periwigs, and its general artificiality. Of Nature in
its endless continuity, and variety, and mysteriousness, which has
stirred the hearts of men in every age, and kindled many smaller poets
into enthusiasm, he knew and cared little, and the trim alleys and
botanical distortions of Versailles, which he has characteristically de-
scribed, may be taken as typical of his own inspiration on the matter.
It may be worth while mentioning, as a pertinent illustration of these
comments, that in his poem of " Windsor Forest," with the exception
of a semi-patriotic allusion to the oak, in connection with ship-building,
there is not a reference to a single forest-tree, not even to any of those
famous historical oaks which abound in the locality. Nature and
simplicity, in truth, had gone out of fashion, and were not much in
vogue again till far on in the century.

Darwin, a mere poetaster compared with the genius of Twicken-
ham, is a well-known instance of the opposite defect — of the absence

VOL. IV. — 13

i 9 4 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

of poetic fire rather than of a taste for the delights of the country.
His " Botanic Garden " is a dreary, mechanical affair, several degrees
worse and more unreadable than Cowley's " Plants," a century earlier.
Both are constructed on an altogether erroneous principle. Science is
science, and poetry is poetry; and while, as is well illustrated in " The
Princess " and " In Memoriam," the scientific spirit may be distinctly
present, yet any thing like a formal, didactic attempt at amalgamation
is certain to prove a failure.

Although belonging to an earlier date than the sterile period re-
ferred to, George Herbert might also be quoted here as a case of
poetic talent of a very genuine kind, yet unaccompanied by much
perception of natural beauty or picturesqueness. He has sometimes
been likened to Keble, a brother churchman and clergyman, but be-
tween the two, in their feeling and apprehension of the wonders of
creation, the difference is singular and complete. Herbert's strong
point was spiritual anatomy. His probing and exposure of the deceits
and vanities of the human heart, and his setting forth of the dangers
of the world to spirituality of mind, are at once quaint and incisive.
But of any love or special knowledge of the physical world there is
scarcely a trace. 1 Keble's poetry, on the other hand, quite as un-
worldly as that of the author of " The Temple," is redolent every-
where of the sights and sounds of Nature. The seasons with their
endless changes, the motions of the heavenly bodies, the fragrance of
the field, trees, rivers, mountains, and all material things, are assimi-
lated, so to speak, into the very essence of his verse. That very world
which to Herbert was only base and utterly indifferent, seemed to
Keble, to use his own words, " ennobled and glorified," and awakened
in his soul poetical emotions of the highest and purest kind.

It is unnecessary to enter into much detail in order to show how,
much more truly than himself, Pope's predecessors, and especially
those of the Elizabethan era, were entitled to the designation of poets
of Nature. Shakespeare, Spenser, the two Fletchers, Milton, and
many others, might be adduced in confirmation. With reference to
botany, it is evident that the greatest of the tribe, in his universality
of knowledge, flowing over into every region of human research, was
well acquainted with the subject in its twofold aspect — trees and
flowers. Many beautiful floral descriptions occur in the plays, and
although the arboricultural allusions are less frequent, they are suffi-
ciently numerous to justify the belief that his knowledge was both
extensive and accurate. Perhaps the most important passage of the
kind is where Cranmer, " dilating on a wind of prophecy," portrays,
under the figure of a " mountain-cedar," the future glories of the reigns
of Elizabeth and her successor. a Milton has many striking and appro-

1 One of his biographers has discovered a solitary verse, on the faith of which he com-
placently assumes that Herbert " was thoroughly alive to the sweet influences of Nature."
3 Commentators affirm Ben Jonson to be the author of the lines referred to.

TENNYSON AND BOTANY. 195

priate images borrowed from trees. His artistic use of the pine as a
simile for Satan's spear —

" to equal which the tallest pine,
Hewn on Norwegian hills to be the mast
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand " —

and the comparison of the rebel host to blasted pines, are fine exam-
ples of the poetical transmutation of botanical knowledge. Still finer
is the exquisite description in " Lycidas " of the vernal flowers strewed
on the hearse of his lamented friend. And, not to multiply quotations
further, the vale of Yallombrosa has been immortalized forever by
three lines in " Paradise Lost." l

In later poetry, not of the present century, Shenstone and Cowper
were both genuine lovers of Nature, and their works abound with pas-
sages relating to rural pleasures and scenery. Cowper, indeed, might
be styled par excellence the poet of the country. No one ever believed
more thoroughly than himself in his own epigrammatic line —

" God made the country, and man made the town."

The revolution in the poetical taste of the time, afterward consum-
mated by "Wordsworth, was mainly initiated by the recluse of Olney.
In Shenstone's poems, now, it is to be feared, little read, there are
some verses bearing on the subject of this essay which have a curious
resemblance to Mr. Tennyson's famous song, " Come into the garden,
Maud." We quote eight lines to be found in the piece designated a
"Pastoral Ballad, in Four Parts : "

" From the plains, from the woodlands and groves,
"What strains of wild melody flow !
How the nightingales warble their loves
From thickets of roses that blow !

" Then the lily no longer is white ;

Then the rose is deprived of its bloom ;
Then the violets die with despite,
And the woodbines give up their perfume."

The ring and manner of this are very similar to Mr. Tennyson's com-
position, and, although the measure is a little different, these verses
might be interpolated in the modern song without in the least impair-
ing its harmony, or affecting its verisimilitude.

The most distinguished names in the list of the natural poets of
the present century are undoubtedly Sir Walter Scott, Wordsworth,
and Mr. Tennyson. Of the two former it may be said, in passing,

1 " Till on the beach
Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called
His legions, angel forms, who lay intranced,
Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallombrosa."

i 9 6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY

that they have probably done more than anybody else to foster the
modern idea of Nature, and the love of wild and picturesque scenery.
Our business, however, is more particularly with Mr. Tennyson, and
with the evidences of botanical knowledge to be found in his works,
that part of botany, at least, relating to trees. These allusions, we ap-
prehend, are more numerous, and show more insight, and acquaintance
with the forms, and processes, and changes characteristic of the inhab-
itants of the forest, than those of any other modern author. His verse
in this respect differs from other descriptive poetry chiefly in this, that
his notices are not general appellations or similitudes applicable
equally to any or all trees, but are specific, exact, and true only in the
particular case. Thomson, for example, in the " Seasons," is, in gen-
eral, curiously vague in his descriptions. He generalizes constantly,
and presents his readers with broad effects sketched en masse, instead
of individual details. Such phrases as " sylvan glades," " vocal
groves," " umbrageous shades," and the like, frequently occur, doing
duty in place of more minute representations. Mr. Tennyson, on the
other hand (and Sir Walter and Wordsworth may also be included),
pursues exactly the contrary method. His descriptions are, nearly
always, pictures of particular places instead of fancy sketches, and the
distinguishing features are given incidentally in the course of the nar-
rative. Where, again, particular trees are referred to, it is almost
invariably with a phrase or an epithet clinching the description as
precisely as a paragraph from Evelyn or Loudon. And, as poetry,
these casual, accidental bits of descriptive writing are infinitely more
effective than any amount of versified disquisition, of the Darwin sort,
on the processes of vegetation. Slight, too, though in many cases
they are, they indicate a deep appreciation of the results and tenden-
cies of modern science. In what remains of this paper it is proposed,
a little in detail, to adduce evidence from Mr. Tennyson's poems in
support of the views we have expressed. It will not be necessary to
go over the whole field, and we shall therefore select a few of the more
important trees, and see to what extent his notices of them are cor-
roborative of these preliminary remarks.

The ash will be the first example, and the reference in the lines
quoted bejow is to the proverbial lateness of this tree in developing
its foliage. It forms part of the Prince's song in " The Princess : "

" Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,
Delaying as the tender ash delays
To clothe herself, when all the woods are green? "

This is a very striking comparison, happily expressed, and, besides
serving its immediate purpose, corrects an erroneous notion, somewhat
popular, that sometimes the ash and sometimes the oak is in leaf first.
Then, again, in " The Gardener's Daughter," Juliet's eyes and hair are
thus described:

TENNYSON AND BOTANY. 197

" Love, unperceived,
Came, drew your pencil from you, made those eyes
Darker than darkest pansies, and that hair
More black than ash-buds in the front of March ; "

a fact which all observers of the phenomena of the spring months will
recognize as accurate.

The lime seems a special favorite of Mr. Tennyson, so lovingly and
frequently does he use it for illustration. There is much imitative
beauty in the well-known lines (also from "The Gardener's Daughter")
which form the conclusion of the description of a cathedral city — pos-
sibly Peterborough :

"And all about the large lime-feathers low,
The lime a summer home of murmurous wings.''

The giving out of branches close to the ground is a noticeable habit
of the lime, as it is also, to some extent, of the elm, particularly in
Devonshire. The mode of growth and the development of the
branches are still further illustrated :

"Not thrice your branching limes have blown
Since I beheld young Laurence dead."

The epithet " branching " refers to another peculiarity — the number
and intricacy of the branches in the centre of the tree. On this point
Mr. Leo Grindon, a good authority, says : " So dense is the mass, that
to climb a full-grown tree is nearly impossible." The frequent use of
the lime for avenues and walks, a practice still more prevalent on the
Continent, is very pictorially stated :

"and overhead,
The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime
Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end."

Its spring-time is photographed in " Maud " in a single sentence,

thus:

" A million emeralds break from the ruby-budded lime."

Every student of botany will be able to verify the correctness of
this line. The buds are peculiarly red, and the appearance of thou-
sands of them bursting at once is precisely as the poet describes it.
Elsewhere, the period immediately preceding the foliation of the tree
is sketched with remarkable truthfulness :

" On such a time as goes before the leaf,
When all the wood stands in a mist of green,
And nothing perfect."

The Spanish chestnut, Castanea, is not one of Mr. Tennyson's
trees ; but there are frequent references to the horse-chestnut, JEsculus.
The three chestnuts in "The Miller's Daughter" will be in the recol-
lection of most readers of his poetry. The appearance of the buds

198 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

just before emerging from their green covering, and the time of their
development, are registered with minute accuracy :

" But, Alice, what an hour was that,

When, after roving in the woods
('Twas April then), I came and sat

Below the chestnuts, when their buds
Were glistening in the breezy blue! "

" Glistening " is the exact epithet here. The early foliation of the
chestnut and elm we find in the exquisite fragment " Sir Launcelot
and Queen Guinevere." The lines on the chestnut are very charac-
teristic :

" In curves the yellowing river ran,
And drooping chestnut-buds began
To spread into the perfect fan,

Above the teeming ground."

This, with the similar remark on the elm, corresponds to the order of
Nature, and is nowhere better or more beautifully exemplified than in
Kensington Gardens every April.

So far as we have been able to discover, there is only a single line
devoted to the birch. It is to be found in " Amphion," that singular
reproduction, in sylvan form, of the mythological legend. It is inter-
esting to notice, by-the-way, that, in the later editions, the verse in
which the birch is mentioned is omitted, and another substituted. As
a whole, the latter is doubtless the more musical of the two, but we
are sorry to lose the apt and charming characterization of " the lady
of the woods." For the curious in Tennysoniana we print both :

"The birch-tree swang her fragrant hair,
The bramble cast her berry,
The gin within the jumper
Began to make him merry."

• •••••

" The linden broke her ranks and rent
The woodbine-wreaths that bind her,
And down the middle, buzz! she went
With all her bees behind her."

Of all the poets who have sung the praises of the birch, Coleridge,
Keats, and, preeminently Sir Walter Scott, none of them has surpassed
the initial line of the first stanza in condensed and subtile expressive-
ness. Scott's is somewhat similar, although not quite so good :

" Where weeps the birch with silver bark,
And long dishevelled hair."

" Dishevelled," implying disorders and entanglement, does not convey
a correct idea of the foliage of the birch. " Swang her fragrant hair "
is decidedly better.

The fullness and ripeness of the poet's knowledge of trees are amply

TENNYSON AND BOTANY. 199

illustrated in those passages of his poems relating to the poplar.
This is a tree with which he has "been familiar from early childhood,
as we gather from the " Ode to Memory," where he fondly recalls —

" The seven elms, the poplars four,
That stand beside my father's door."

The famous poplar in "Mariana," which Mr. Read has reproduced in
his fine picture of the " Moated Grange," now at South Kensington, is
a prominent object in a very striking poem. The locality, it is
scarcely necessary to say, is the fen country :

"About a stone-cast from the wall

A sluice with blackened waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,

The clustered marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,

All silver-green with gnarled bark ;

For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray."

As an example of landscape-painting in words, there is nothing more
perfect than this in modern literature. We are not aware if the doubt
was ever suggested before, but we think it is at least questionable if
Mr. Read is right in assuming the particular tree in his poem to be a
Lombardy poplar. "Silver-green," a remarkable epithet, is more
applicable to the abele, or white poplar, than to the fastigiate Lom-
bardy species, and the sound of the trembling of the leaves is less
noticeable in the latter than in most of the other poplars. In other
poems this rustling noise is described as " lisping," " hissing," and like
the sound of " falling showers," phrases all tolerably approximating
to exactness. In " In Memoriam " there is a special reference to this
white poplar whose silver-green foliage shows much more white than
green in a gale of wind :

"With blasts that blow the poplar white,
And lash with storm the streaming pane."

The " quivering," " tremulous " aspen is also mentioned, but Mr.
Tennyson is too good a botanist to fall into the popular error of sup-
posing that it is the only tree which has fluttering leaves. Except
the Ontario species and one or two others, nearly all the poplars have
the same peculiarity, caused, it may not be superfluous to say, by
the compression of the leaf-stalk. Yery curious it is to notice in the
upper branches, while a light wind is overhead, each particular leaf
shaking on its own account, while the branch of which it is a part,
and the tree itself, are perfectly motionless.

Of the beech the notices are scantier and less specific. Its pecul-
iarly twisted roots, rich autumn tints, smooth bark, and unusual leafi-
ness, are all described, however, more or less poetically. The following
verse from " In Memoriam" has a certain pensive sweetness of its own :

2 oo THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

" Unwatched, the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away."

The rich autumn tints of the foliage of the maple are here alluded to.
Cedars, cypresses, and yews, all members of the great coniferous
family, are prominent objects in Mr. Tennyson's landscapes. In the
eighteenth section of " Maud " — beginning,

" I have led her home, my love, my only friend " —

and which contains some passages full of solemn tenderness and beauty,
and a splendor of language worthy of Shakespeare himself, occurs the
oft-quoted apostrophe addressed to the cedar of Lebanon by Maud's
somewhat distempered, though now happy lover :

" Oh, art thou sighing for Lebanon
In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious East,
Sighing for Lebanon,
Dark cedar. ....

• •••••

" And over whom thy darkness must have spread
With such delight as theirs of old, thy great
Forefathers of the thornless garden, there
Shadowing the snow-limbed Eve from whom she came.
Here will I lie, while these loug branches sway."

The yew, though usually regarded as the emblem of death —

" Cheerless, unsocial plant, that loves to dwell
Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and tombs " —

might, in its extreme tenacity and length of days, be a fitter repre-
sentative of life and endurance. In the second chapter of " In Me-
moriam " the yew is described in the most masterly manner. These
are two of the verses :

" Old Yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the underlying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapped about the bones."

" Oh, not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale,
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom."

The locality, the hue, the prolonged life, and the general unchange-
ableness of appearance, are all here summarily noticed. The laureate
seems, however, to share the popular dislike to this tree, a feeling
which Gilpin, in his " Forest Scenery," ridicules as weakness. In
" Amphion," yews are called " a dismal coterie ; " in " Maud " a
" black yew gloomed the stagnant air ; " and, in "Love and Death,"

TENNYSON AND BOTANY. 201

we have the portentous image of the angel of death walking all alone
" beneath a yew."

Our limits forbid more than a mere enumerative mention of other
well-known trees, whose memory Mr. Tennyson has rendered sweeter
to all future generations of tree-lovers. " Immemorial elms," " perky
larches and pines," " laburnums, dropping-wells of fire," elders, hol-
lies, " the pillared dusk of sounding sycamores," " dry-tongued lau-
rels," " slender acacias " — all these and many others are to be found
within the four corners of his poems. One only remains, the oak —
" sole king of forests all ; " and, as Mr. Tennyson has celebrated the
praises of the monarch of the woods at great length in the " Talking
Oak," we shall add a few words on that charming composition by way
of conclusion.

As is well known, the poem takes the form of a colloquy between
an ancient oak, which formed a meeting-place for two lovers, and the
young gentleman in the case. He comes to question the tree about
his lady-love, who had visited the hallowed spot in his absence. And
Landor himself, in his happiest vein, never conceived a more exquisite
imaginary conversation. Here, in sportive phrase and bantering talk,
is the whole philosophy of forest-life set forth with a poetic felicity,
saucy humor, and scientific precision of language, each admirable of
its kind. The poem is literally a love-idyl and botanic treatise com-
bined, and never, surely, were lovers and science — January and May,
might one say — so delightfully harmonized, conveying, too, to those
who have eyes to see and hearts to understand, glimpses of a spiritual
interpretation of Nature, undreamt of by Pope and his school. Thus
pleasantly does the old oak of " Sumner Chace " discourse to Walter
of Olivia's charms ; and the reader will not fail to notice the skillful
way in which the poet's practical acquaintance with trees is turned to

account :

" I swear (and else may insects prick
Each leaf into a gall)
This girl, for whom your heart is sick,
Is three times worth them all ; "

and then, with a warmth of praise unusual and almost improper in
such a venerable inhabitant of the forest, he continues :

" Her kisses were so close and kind,
That, trust me on my word,
Hard wood I am, and wrinkled rind,
But yet my sap was stirred :

" And even into my inmost ring
A pleasure I discerned,
Like those blind motions of the spring,
That show the year is turned."

Farther on, the not ungrateful lover invokes all atmospheric and

202 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

other good influences on his partner in the dialogue, who has proved
so communicative a companion :

" rock upon thy tower y top
All throats that gurgle sweet !
All starry culmination drop
Balm-dews to bathe thy feet 1

" Nor ever lightning char thy grain,
But, rolling as in sleep,
Low thunders bring the mellow rain,
That makes thee broad and deep ! "

These, it will be admitted, are very melodious strains. Seldom has
the imagery of the woods been used with more appropriateness and
effect than in this poem, and its poetic excellence is rivaled by its
accuracy. No one but an accomplished practical botanist could have
written it. And throughout the poem, light and airy in tone as it is,
there is distinctly perceptible the scientific element — the sense of the
forces of Nature acting according to law, which, as we have already
said, pervades like a subtile essence much of Mr. Tennyson's poetry.
But enough has probably been said to justify the title of this article. —
St. PauVs Magazine.

-+*+*•

"WATER TURNED TO BLOOD."

FROM THE FBENOH OF DE. N. JOLY.

FROM the remotest antiquity the red color sometimes observed
in water appears to have attracted attention. In all ages there
have been stories of rains of blood, and of rivers changed to blood, and
these phenomena have given rise to the most ludicrous explanations,
and to the most ridiculous apprehensions. In Exodus (vii., 20, 21),
we read : " All the waters that were in the river were turned to blood.
And there was blood throughout all the land of Egypt." Homer
speaks of the dews of blood which preceded the Trojan War, and
those which foreboded the death of Sarpedon, king of the Lycians.
Pliny in his " Natural History " (book ii., c. xxxvi.) tells of a rain of
milk and blood which fell at Rome in the consulship of M. Acilius
and C. Portius. Finally, the historian Livy mentions a rain of blood
which fell in the Forum Boarium. In times much nearer to our own,
phenomena of this kind have been observed at various points in
Europe, producing ridiculous alarms, and even leading to actual
seditions.

The cause, or causes rather, of these so-called rains of blood are
now well understood. Every one knows that they are to be attributed

« WATER TURNED TO BLOOD."

203

either to mineral particles diffused through the air strata which are
traversed by the rain, or to the dejections of certain moths in their
last metamorphosis, or to the remains of infusoria carried up by the

Fig. 1.

Fig. 2.

Red Water of the Salt-Marshes,
taken from the surface.

The same after it has been allowed to
rest. (The infusoria have risen
to the surface.)

winds. But the ignorant multitude continue still to believe in rains
of blood, and bow down blindly before so-called miracles which have
no existence save in the wild fancies of those who regard them as
articles of faith.

We are not concerned now with these errors and superstitions, on
which modern science has pronounced its verdict ; we propose rather
to consider some well-attested facts, the causes of which leave no
room for doubt or ambiguity. It is now ascertained beyond question
that, where fresh water wears a peculiar tinge, this coloring is due to *
the presence of infusoria (Eiiglena viridis, E. sanguinea, Astasia h<&-
matodes) f or to microscopic vegetation ( Oscillatoria rubesce?is, Sphw-
roplea annulina), or to minute entomostraca (Daphnia pulex, Cyclops
quadricornis).

The waters of the sea may also be tinged in a similar way. Thus,
in 1820, Scoresby found that the blue or green tinge of the Greenland
Sea was caused by an animalcule allied to the medusae. Of these he
counted 64 in a cubic inch ; this would be in a cubic foot 110,392, and
23,888,000,000,000 rn a cubic mile. According to Arago, the long and '
sharply-defined streaks of green in the polar seas include myriads of
medusae, whose yellow color, added to the blue of the water, produces
green. Off Cape Palmas, on the Guinea coast, Captain Tuckey's ship
appeared to be sailing through a milky sea. The cause of the phenom-
enon was the multitude of animals floating at the surface, and masking
the natural tint of the water. The carmine-red streaks which various
navigators have sailed through on the high-seas are produced in the

same way. In 1844 Messrs. Turrel and Freycinet saw the Atlantic
Ocean, off the coast of Portugal, of a deep-red color, owing to the
presence of a microscopic plant of the genus JProtococcus (P. Atlanti-
cus). This color was diffused over an area of no less than five square
miles. M. Montagne, who has described the alga which produced this

Fig. 3. Fio. 4.

c

f^$- a

a % ^ ra^

Monas Dunalii magnified.— a. Very young Monas Dunalii, dead, and

individuals, colorless, b. Individuals not of globular shape,

yet full grown, colored green, c. Adults
very deep red. d. Adults of lighter red.

phenomenon, closes his memoir in these words: "When we reflect
that, in order to cover one square millimetre (0.03937 inch), we must
have 40,000 individuals of this microscopic alga, we are filled with
amazement on comparing the immensity of such a j)henomenon with
the minuteness of the cause which produces it."

As for the waters of the Red Sea, the periodic reddening which
distinguishes them is caused by the presence of a confervoid alga
which naturalists have called Trichodesmium erythrceum. Finally,
Pallas tells of a lake in Russia, called Malinovoe-Ozero, or Raspberry
Lake, because its briny water and the salt made from it are red, and
have the odor of violets.

The coloration of the Mediterranean salt-marshes, a phenomenon
long known to the salt-makers of Languedoc, but first studied by
savants in 1836, and by me in 1839, has also been explained in various
ways more or less near the truth. Messrs. Audouin, Dumas, and
Pay en, of the Institute, have attributed it to the Artemia saUna, a
minute branchiopod crustacean, which in fact swarms in the partenne-
ments* where the saltness of the water is far below the degree of
saturation requisite for the precipitation of salt crystals, but is of much
rarer occurrence where the water, being very highly concentrated,
assumes at times a blood-red color. Messrs. A. de Saint-Hilaire and
Turpin have supposed the real cause of this strange coloration to be
certain microscopic plants, of very simple organization, which they
call Protococcus sanguineus and IZcematococcus kermesinus. This, too,
was the opinion of M. F. Dunal, who had studied the rubefaction of

1 The sauniers (salt-makers) of Languedoc give the names of tables, pariennemenis,
and pieces mattresses to the various compartments into which the sea-water is passed as
it arrives at different degrees of salinity.

M WATJUK TUMIVAJJ TU JLSJjUUJJ."

205

the water of our salt-marshes before St.-Hilaire and Turpin. As I was
at that time employed in teaching Natural History in the Royal Col-
lege of Montpellier, where I had among my pupils several youths who
have since become distinguished masters themselves (Louis Figuier,
Amedee Courty, and Henri Mares, for instance), I too had a desire to
study the curious phenomenon of the reddening of water, and to this
end I visited the salt-works of Villeneuve, two or three miles distant
from Montpellier. The water there was then of a very decided red
color. I collected on the spot some samples of the water which
looked most like blood, and also of water which, being less briny
than this, was also of a fainter red color. Under the microscope the
water collected in the various compartments exhibited myriads of
minute creatures, with oval or oblong bodies, often compressed in the
middle, but sometimes cylindrical. Very young individuals were
colorless, those a little older were greenish, and the adult were of a
deep red. The mouth had the form of a conical prolongation, and was
retractile; they were eyeless, and the stomach and anus could not
be clearly made out.

Fig. 6.

Fig. 5.

0,

Dead Monads, colorless.

Part of the Digestive Tube of Artemia Salina,
in which are seen (a, a) dead but not digested
monads, and (&, b) cubical salt-crystals.

With a high-power microscope I was able to see in the anterior
part of these supposed protococci two long, flagelliform, and perfectly
transparent processes which they kept in rapid motion, and by means
of which they swam about in the drop of liquid spread out on the slide
of my instrument. There was no longer room for doubt. The proto-
cocci and hcematococci of Messrs. Dunal, St.-Hilaire, and Turpin, were
animals — true monads, and I gave them the name of Monas Dunalii,
in honor of my preceptor, Prof. Dunal. He was the first to suspect
the true cause of the red color of the Mediterranean salt-marshes ; but
he had only an indistinct insight into the matter. He examined the

206

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

animalcules only after they were dead, that is, at the moment when
they had become globular and motionless, like protococci ; and his
specimens were dead, because he had filled his vials up to the brim
with the water, and then sealed them hermetically. But these little
animals must, above all things, have free respiration. Accumulated
in immense numbers in a very small quantity of water, with the outer
air entirely excluded, they all died while being carried from Villeneuve
to Montpellier. They were then taken for protococci, being motionless
and globular. I took precautions against committing this mistake, by
only half filling my specimen-tubes, and, better still, by examining the
water of the salines on the spot.

Fig. 7.

Aetemia Salina (adult) natural size, and highly magnified, o. Median eye. y, y. Pedunculate
eyes, a, e. Antennae, p. Incubatory pouch with eggs. ab. Abdomen, ap. Tail-shaped ap-
pendages, c. Digestive tube.

It is a remarkable fact in the history of the Monas Dunalii that,
like the Protococcus nivalis, which gives to the snow of the polar re-
gions now a green tinge, anon a red, this animalcule presents, when
young, a green tinge, which changes later to brick-red, and then to
blood-red.

" WATER TURNED TO BLOOD. 207

The degree of concentration of the water has a marked influence
on them. On the 1st October, 1839, after the driest summer on record,
the liquid in the tables indicated 25° salinity in Baume's areometer,
and it was of so deep a color as to stain a corner of my pocket-hand-
kerchief a blood-red. On October 28th, after twenty-eight days of
steady rain, the water in the pieces mattresses, instead of presenting a
purple color, as on the first day of the month, resembled blood with a
very large amount of serum, and the monads in it were less numerous,
and of a lighter red, although the water was still of 20° salinity.

Finally, we must not omit to state that the monads are very sen-
sitive to light, which they seek with a certain degree of avidity. This
may be easily seen by putting a number of these infusoria into a flask
two-thirds filled with sea-water. Soon they will be seen to rise to the
surface of the liquid, and to crowd together on the side where the
light is strongest. If the flask be turned about so as to bring them
on the darker side, they soon take their former position again. We
must also observe that these animalcules sometimes go down to the
bottom of the tables, and then the coloration of the surface grows
fainter, or entirely disappears.

From all this it follows that the red color of the Mediterranean
salt-marshes is caused by the Monas Dunalii ; but is that animalcule
the only cause of the phenomenon ? Has not the Artemia salina of
Audouin, Dumas, and Payen, also something to do with it ? This
problem was soon solved. We have first to bear in mind that these
little crustaceans are found in far greater numbers in brackish water
than in water at its maximum point of concentration, and that in the
latter case, indeed, they occur so rarely that their presence may be
regarded as in some sort merely accidental. In water of this kind, the
artemia appears to be sickly ; it evidently languishes in the over-dense
medium ; it swims about with difficulty, always keeping at the surface.
It is more or less of a red color along the line of its digestive canal ;
but this coloration is a secondary thing, and is owing to the monads
it has swallowed in water. The latter deposits in their intestine salt-
crystals, which may be seen through their transparent envelope, min-
gled with monads in a state of partial or total digestion.

Far, then, from being the cause of the purple tint of salt-water in
its last stage of concentration, the artemia is indebted for its accidental
coloring to the Monades Dunalii it takes into its digestive canal, or
which settle among the filaments of its branchial feet. This I have
demonstrated by keeping colorless artemiae for a while in water tinged
by red monads, or simply by carmine, and so giving them a red color.

But, though the artemia has nothing to do with the coloration of
water, it is, nevertheless, a subject of wonder and study for the physi-
ologist. Like several other animals belonging to the great sub-king-
dom Articulata (psyche, bee, silk-worm moth), our crustaceans possess
the singular privilege of reproducing themselves without being sub.

208 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

*

jected to the general law of sexual union. Among several thousand
artemiaa studied by me, I have not found a single well-defined male
individual. The distinguished Genevan naturalist, Carl Yogt, said, the
other day, that he had had the like experience. Hence we may con-
clude that the artemia of our salt-marshes perpetuates its kind by
means of virgin females, whose eggs, although deprived of seminal
impregnation, are developed in an incubatory sac situated at the base
of the maternal abdomen. These produce young artemise, which have
to undergo amazing metamorphoses before they arrive at a complete
resemblance to their parent. The name of parthenogenesis has been
bestowed on this singular mode of reproduction by virgin females,
independently of commerce with males ; oftentimes, the latter do not
exist at all, or at least are as yet unknown. In conclusion, we would
remark that the eggs of our virgin artemia produce only females, while
the unfecundated eggs of the queen-bee produce males, and males
only. — La Nature.

■♦•»■

THE REQUIREMENTS OF SCIENTIFIC EDUCATION. 1

By Pbof. R. W. RAYMOND.

THERE is danger that, in our new-born zeal for scientific educa-
tion, we may sacrifice the interests of a truly liberal culture,
producing, as I have said, a generation of specialists, incapable of
appreciating the departments of human thought which lie outside their
own, or even of rising within their own departments to broad and
comprehensive views. We must not use the microscope till we spoil
the eyes. We must not overtrain the investigator until he becomes
less than a full man. The chemists, geologists, and engineers, must
not cease to be intelligent and active citizens. It may be demonstrated
that such a mistaken neglect of studies outside the range of a chosen
profession cripples activity and impairs success even in that profession.
It is one result of the brotherhood of knowledge that no man, whether
employed in the original investigation of Nature, or in the application
of natural laws to practical ends, can advance successfully without
perpetual communication of his thoughts to others, and the reception
of their suggestions and experiences in return. Hence the mastery of
language, which was the first condition of civilization, remains the
essential condition of progress. The power to comprehend statements,
logical arguments, and demonstrations, and to make such statements
as may be comprehended by others, and will carry weight and influ-
ence in the very perfection of their form, is a vitally important part

1 Extract from the Inaugural Address at the dedication of Pardee Hall, of Lafayette
College, Easton, Pa., by Kossiter W. Raymond, President of the American Institute of
Mining Engineers.

REQUIREMENTS OF SCIENTIFIC EDUCATION. 209

of the preparation of every young man for his life's career. His suc-
cess, aside from his moral qualities, will be in direct proportion to his
influence over other men ; and this influence, again, will be in part
proportional to his command of the means by which the minds of men
are moved, mainly, language. Under this term we may include a
knowledge of the methods of practical reasoning, and if this knowledge
is best obtained by scholastic study of logic, then logic must be studied.
If Latin and Greek are necessary, then they must be studied. For
us, one thing is necessary — a thorough mastery of the English tongue —
and this alone has been made to yield, in Lafayette College, a mental
discipline not inferior to that of the classics.

But influence is not due to language alone. Behind this vehicle
of thought there must be fullness and variety of thought itself. Those
fruitful analogies, felicitous illustrations, graceful associations, which
come, and come alone, through wide acquaintance with human life and
literature, are so many elements of power, and, without this broad
basis of a common ground from which to move the minds of others,
the student of a special science, though possessed of the lever of Ar-
chimedes that would move the world, has no place whereon to stand.

In accordance with these principles, the object of the system of
college education in America has always been development and disci-
pline of character, and the broad preparation of the student for his
subsequent special or professional pursuits. Our colleges may not
have succeeded in realizing this ideal, nevertheless this has been their
ideal ; and it is the right one, as much to-day as ever. Whatever
changes are required in our institutions of learning, to adapt them to
the necessities of the modern era, must be changes in accordance with
this principle — changes of means, not of ends, so far as colleges are
concerned.

That changes are required is admitted on all hands. It is admitted
that the physical sciences should be introduced to primary and pre-
paratory schools ; that they should be taught for the double purpose
of mental discipline and of mental acquirement in the class-rooms of
our colleges ; that in teaching them the scientific, inductive, experi-
mental, instead of the dogmatic, method should be pursued; and,
finally, that either connected with our colleges, or standing outside of
them, schools of thorough scientific and technical special training are
imperatively required. It is to inaugurate the wider activity of such
a school that we are met hereto-day, and I shall say a few words con-
cerning the relation of this school to Lafayette College, on the one
hand, and to technical education and the needs of the present time in
technical departments on the other hand.

While we trust that in time to come scientific investigation will be
promoted in no mean degree by this school and its graduates, it must
be confessed that at the present time its object is chiefly the prepara-
tion of young men for practical pursuits involving the applications of
TOL. it. — 14

210 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

science. Nor can it be fairly said that this department is inferior in
dignity to the pursuit of abstract science, so called. It is out of the
ranks of the practical workers that those peculiarly gifted in scientific
investigation are likely to arise ; and it is in the ranks of practical
workers that they must look, chiefly, for appreciation and support. It
is no derogation from the value of a discovery of truth, to say that it
can be made useful to man ; and, hence, there is no inferiority in the
position of those who make it useful to man.

Indeed, that which the whole world chiefly needs to-day, and our
country not less than any other, is the application of scientific truths
and principles already known to the affairs, and labors, and problems,
of daily life. We might even afford to pause in our career of fresh
discoveries, to consolidate the progress and utilize the results already
obtained. But the alternative is not presented ; it is not necessary or
best that any part of the intellectual activity of the age should pause ;
the advance of science itself assists, and is assisted by, the applications
of science.

We need a scientific in the place of a barbarous or scholastic archi-
tecture ; a scientific in the place of a traditional agriculture ; a scientific
in the place of an empirical engineering ; we need more machinery,
more economical applicatians of power, more effective processes of
metallurgy and manufacture, more exact knowledge, in all these par-
ticulars, of our own condition and necessities, and of the degree in
which these can be supplied by experience already attained abroad.
Lesoinne, a distinguished French writer, defines metallurgy as " the
art of making money in the treatment of metals." This definition may
be applied to almost all occupations of life. The practical art of each
is not only to achieve certain results, but to do so profitably, to make
money in doing so ; that is to say, to increase the value of the raw
materials, whether wood, or cotton, or Ores, or time, or ideas, by the
use we make of them, and the transformation to which we submit
them, so as thereby to really elevate the condition of humanity : to
leave the world better than we found it. This is, in its last analysis,
the meaning of honestly making money. Men are put into this world
with limited powers and with limited time to provide for their own
sustenance and comfort, and to improve their condition. A certain
portion of these powers and this time is required for the support of
life in a greater or less degree of comfort, and with more or less mul-
tiplied means and avenues of enjoyment, activity, and influence.
Whatever their labor produces more than this, is represented by
wealth, and for purposes of exchange by money. To make money
honestly, is to do something for other men better or cheaper than they
can do it for themselves ; to save time and labor for them ; in a word,
to elevate their condition. It is in this sense, greatly as we Americans
are supposed to be devoted to making money, that we need to learn
how to make more money ; how to make our labor more fruitful ; how

REQUIREMENTS OF SCIENTIFIC EDUCATION. 211

to assail more successfully with our few hands the natural obstacles
and the natural resources of a mighty continent ; how to build up on
the area of that continent a prosperous nation, united in varied, fruit-
ful, and harmonious industries, glowing with patriotism and inspired
by religion.

In this work we need specially the basis of a more thorough tech-
nical institution, applying principles of science to the material and
economical problems involved. This education is necessary to supply
the directing forces for the great agricultural, manufacturing, and en-
gineering improvements of the country. It is also needed as a solvent
and remedy for the antagonism between labor and capital. The true
protection of labor will be found in its higher education, and in open-
ing to the individual laborer for himself and for his children, by means
of that education, a prospect of indefinite improvement and advance-
ment.

In the realm of metallurgical and engineering operations the differ-
ence between theoretical and practical training is, perhaps, still more
striking. The student of chemistry in the laboratory cannot be made
acquainted with many of the conditions which obtain in chemical and
metallurgical operations upon a larger scale. All the chemists of the
world failed to comprehend or to describe correctly the apparently
simple reactions involved in the manufacture of pig-iron, until, by the
genius and enterprise of such men as Bell, Tanner, and Akerman, the
blast-furnace itself, in the conditions of actual practice, was penetrated
and minutely studied. Moreover, in all the experimental inquiries of
the laboratory the question of economy plays no part. It is the art
of separating and combining substances which the student follows
there, not the art of making money. That education of judgment and
decision, of choice of means for ends which the exigencies of daily
practice give, cannot be imparted in the school.

In mechanical engineering the same principle is illustrated. The
highest department in this art is that of construction, and in this de-
partment the highest function is the designing of machinery. Now,
the most perfect knowledge of the theory of a machine and its mathe-
matical relations, of the strength of materials, or the economical use
of power, will not suffice to qualify a man to design a machine or a
system of machines, for the reason that in this work an element must
be considered not at all included in theoretical knowledge, namely,
the element of economy in the manufacture, as well as in the operation
of the machine. A machine, any part of which requires for its manu-
facture a tool (such, for instance, as a peculiar lathe) which is not
already possessed by the manufacturer, and which, after the construc-
tion of this one part, would not be necessary or useful for other work
— such a machine could not be profitably built. In other words, ma-
chines must be so designed, in a large majority of cases, as not to
necessitate the construction of other machines to make them ; and the

212 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

planning of machinery, so that it shall be at once economical and du-
rable in operation, and simple and cheap in construction, is not merely
an important incidental duty, it is absolutely the chief and most diffi-
cult duty of the mechanical engineer.

■+•+-

PREPARATIONS FOR THE COMING TRANSIT OF

VENUS.

THE nature of a transit of one of the inferior planets (Mercury or
Venus) is well understood, and the phenomena attending such
a transit have been thoroughly discussed, and fully described in many
places. The importance of the observation of these transits, and the
general character of the results expected from the expeditions sent
out to observe them, are probably understood by all, but it is thought
that a brief account of the means that are to be employed to accom-
plish the desired end will be of interest.

The records of the plans which have been formed, and of the prep-
arations which have been made by the different governments of the
world and by private individuals, are, unfortunately for the general
public, published only in proceedings of scientific societies, or in many
cases they exist only in manuscript. When the expeditions return
home after the observations are made, in astronomical Europe and
America will resound the busy hum of preparation, and from the
beginning of 1875 the reader of astronomical items will be sated.

At first will come a series of preliminary reports as the parties
come in ; then we shall have the final reports, giving numbers, data,
descriptions of instruments, and the observations made at the transit,
the longitudes and latitudes of the various stations, and, in short, every
result which the practical astronomer will have derived.

These final reports will be eagerly looked forward to, for upon
them depends the constant of solar parallax, and from them will be
deduced the definitive result of all the astronomical work done on the
globe on that day.

We know already that the final outcome of all these vast prepara-
tions which we are going to describe will be a number very near to
8".848.

The whole world is united in an effort to know exactly how to
change this ; whether to write it greater or less. But the results of
these expeditions, if they are successful (and we can hardly fail of suc-
cess), will be, not simply the establishing of the earth's distance from
the sun on a certain basis, but much more.

So many expeditions of trained scientific observers will bring back
with them data only second in importance to the main object of their

THE COMING TRANSIT OF VENUS. 213

journeys. The latitude and longitude of many of the almost unknown
islands of both oceans will be established with a certainty as great as
the corresponding coordinates of most seaports on our own Atlantic
coast. Observations for magnetic constants will be made at places
widely separated, and much will be learned in this way. The line of
Russian stations, and the American station in Siberia, will be connected
by telegraphic wires to St. Petersburg, and possibly the stations in
the Indian Ocean may likewise be joined with New York or Wash-
ington, so that independent longitude determinations by telegraph
may be extended over seven-eighths of the globe.

Americans should not forget that our own Coast Survey has made
three independent determinations of transatlantic longitude in the
years 1867, 1870, and 1873, nor should they forget the wonderful agree-
ment of the results obtained over three different cables, by different
observers at different times. This agreement is so marvelous (con-
sidering the independence of the determinations), that the results are
here quoted :

Longitude of Harvard College Observatory, west of Greenwich Observatory.

Campaign of 1867 4 h 44 m 31 8 00

Campaign of 1870 4 44 31.05

Campaign of 1873 4 44 30.99

Mean 4 44 31.01

It must be remembered also that, incidentally as it were, the rela-
tive longitude of Paris and Greenwich Observatories was found : so
that it is to American astronomers, working by a method of American
invention, that the exact value of so important a coordinate is due.

Americans will have reason to be proud if equally exact determi-
nations can be extended by them from the Indian Ocean to "New York,
and from Siberia to Greenwich.

These are only some of the incidental advantages which it may be
hoped will be gained by the various expeditions for which the different
governments have provided.

There are various ways in which the observation of the transit of
Venus may be made, and, in order to describe the instruments, and
the preparations which are making, it will be necessary to refer to
these briefly :

1. There is the method of contacts, which consists in determining
the time at which the limb or edge of Yenus's disk is tangent to the
limb of the sun. To make this observation, a small equatorial tele-
scope is needed, provided with suitable colored glasses to protect the
observer's eye, and with the usual appurtenances.

2. The micrometric method, which consists in measuring the dis-
tance apart of the bright horns of that part of the edge of the sun
which Venus partly obscures as she is moving on or off. As Venus
has a sensible diameter (about one minute of arc), it will take a sen-

214

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

sible time for her disk to move from first contact (when her disk just
touches the disk of the sun exteriorly) to second contact (when her
disk is tangent interiorly to the sun's), and during this time the ap-
pearance of the two disks will be as in the figure :

This figure shows Venus coming on to the sun's disk, and it shows
the two cusps at a and b. It will be easily seen that, if we know the
length of the line a 5, and the time at which it has this length, we
can calculate the time of contact from these data. So that a number
of measures of the cusps is the same as a number of first contacts. The
reverse phenomenon occurs when Venus passes off the sun's disk.

To measure these distances, the equatorials must be provided with
filar micrometers, i. e., with a contrivance by means of which two
spider-lines in the focus of the telescope may be moved toward or
away from each other. One of these lines is to be placed at a, and
the other at b / the time is to be noted, and the number of turns and
parts of a turn of the screw which moves the lines is to be noted from
the head of the screw, which is finely divided.

3. The photographic method. This consists in photographing the
planet Venus on the disk of the sun, and noting the time of each pho-
tograph. The negatives are carefully preserved, and are measured
subsequently by a fine measuring engine. It will be seen that this
method is like the preceding, except that the measuring may be done

THE COMING TRANSIT OF VENUS. 215

at leisure, and without the hurry and anxiety which attach to any
observation of this nature.

This method requires apparatus of a special kind. The American
plan is to throw the image of the sun, with the planet on its disk, into
a stationary photographic telescope where the negative is taken. This
is taken out, and at once developed by the photographers, into whose
dark room the telescope penetrates. This method is due to Prof. Win-
lock, of Harvard College Observatory. The other method consists in
making the photographic telescope follow the sun in its motion by means
of clock-work, and in taking the negatives in the same way. The dark
room, however, is some distance off, and it appears that too much de-
pendence must be placed on the steadiness of the clock-work motion.

4. The heliometric method. This consists in measuring the cusps
with a heliometer, which is merely a large telescope which has two
object-glasses (or one object-glass cut into halves by a diametral cut)
which slide past each other. Each half produces a complete image,
and, by means of an observation of a tangency of images, the distance
of the cusps may be had.

5. The spectroscopic method. In brief, we may explain this as fol-
lows : It is known that there is a thin layer of atmosphere near the
sun's limb where bright lines may be seen with a powerful spectro-
scope, while on either side of this layer dark lines only are seen. As
Venus advances, the interposition of her dark body will cut off this
layer, and the instant of disappearance of the last vestige of any one
of these bright lines will be truly the instant of first contact.

The ordinary method of observing first contact is open to grave
uncertainties (on account of the different sensitiveness of the eyes of
various observers, and for other reasons), and it is hoped that this
method, as beautiful in theory as it will be difficult and delicate in
practice, will obviate all these objections.

It is to be expected that the astronomers of the different nations
will adopt different plans of observations, in accordance with the
peculiar traditions of each school.

The Germans and Russians, among whom the use of heliometers
has been hitherto confined, will (with a single exception) alone use
them on the approaching transit.

The German Government will send one of these instruments to
the Kerguelen Islands, or to Macdonald Island, one to the Auckland
Islands, one to the Mauritius, and one to China (Chefoo). Lord Lindsay,
of England (the one exception spoken of), also takes a heliometer with
his very completely-equipped private expedition to the Mauritius.

Three of the twenty-seven Russian stations in Russia, Siberia,
China, and Japan, will be provided with heliometers ; at three, like-
wise, will the photo-heliograph be used, while the remainder of the
stations will be devoted to the ordinary contact observations and to
measures of cusps.

216 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

At all the American stations the photo-heliograph, the contact
method, and the method of cusps, will be used. The American stations
will be eight in number. These will be principally in the southern
latitudes, in the Indian and Pacific Oceans, except one in Siberia, and,
perhaps, a photographic station in the Sandwich Islands.

Stations in Japan and China will be established also by the
Americans.

Most of the English parties are to be in northern stations, though
the Challenger exploring expedition is instructed to examine eligible
stations in the South Pacific. Of the stations of French observers
little is definitely known, although they will occupy a few posts.

Each party must be provided with instruments to observe the
actual transit, and it must further have the means of determining
accurately time, longitude, and latitude.

Of these qucesitce, the latitude and the local time are most easily
determined. Portable transit-instruments will suffice for the first de-
termination, and for the second there are various adequate means.

The American parties are each to be provided with a small port-
able transit-instrument and zenith-telescope combined, which instru-
ments are now making by Stackpole, of New York.

These are intended to be of the simplest possible construction and
of the greatest attainable stability, and they combine several ad-
vantages. In accordance with a suggestion first proposed by Stein-
heil, of Munich, the tube proper of the telescope will be reduced to
one-half of the usual length. A prism will be placed at the end of
the tube opposite the object-glass, by which the rays which enter the
telescope will be turned at right angles through the perforated axis
of the pivots of the instrument, thus utilizing the necessary length of
this axis by making it an integral part of the telescope.

The observer will thus occupy one position, no matter to what part
of the meridian his telescope is pointed, which is, in itself, a great
advantage, on the score of convenience. This also will doubtless con-
duce to a constant personal equation, as it has been shown by the
director of the Albany Observatory, and others, that personal equa-
tions vary with the altitude of the observed star.

These instruments are provided with fine spirit-levels and with
micrometers, which fit them -to be used as zenith-telescopes, and thus
to determine two of the three important qucesitce.

The parties of other nations will use similar methods for this pur-
pose. The coordinate which is most difficult of exact determination is
the longitude, and the problem of its determination will be attacked
in various ways.

The English parties, true to the traditions of Greenwich, are to be
provided with portable altitude and azimuth instruments with which
to observe moon transits, both in the meridian and out of it. A long
series of such moon-culminations was observed between Harvard Col-

THE COMING TRANSIT OF VENUS. 217

lege Observatory and Greenwich some years ago, and it is now known
that the result obtained was greatly in error. Indeed, Prof. Peirce,
in his discussion of the series of observations, came to the conclusion
that it was impossible to derive the longitude of a place by this means,
certainly, within one second of time.

The Americans and Russians intend to depend on the occultations
of small stars by the moon.

Occultations are much more likely to be free from systematic
errors than the moon-culminations, and, if they can be observed
throughout a lunation, a compensation of errors will obtain.

The Russians intend to mask their stations of observation, and
subsequently to connect by telegraph St. Petersburg with the most
important of them. The transportation of chronometers to and fro
between the stations whose longitude is thus determined and the
minor ones will assure the longitude of the latter.

The American parties in the southern seas will be transported to
their various stations in a ship-of-war which will touch at the different
islands and leave the parties, and which will make chronometric
expeditions between the various stations. Besides this, all existing
telegraph-lines will be utilized. As each of the parties of each nation
is to be led by some astronomer of eminence, it is certain that no
means will be neglected to make the preliminary results of the greatest
attainable accuracy.

The various assistants are now in training at Greenwich, Poltava,
and Washington, with the very instruments which they will use on
the expeditions.

At Washington and Poltava an apparatus for the representation
of the transit is in use. A disk representing Venus is caused to travel
over an illuminated space which is representative of the sun, and the
circumstances of the transit are then observed.

In this way it is hoped to obtain an idea of the personal error of
each observer in watching contacts, so that, in reducing the observa-
tions of the transit, all personality may be eliminated.

Most of the American parties will start in the spring of 1874, and
proceed in the most expeditious way to their stations. They must
take with them every thing which they can need during their stay,
for in most of the stations there is no supply of any kind to draw
upon.

We can hardly realize the absolute necessity of being provided
with every thing that may be needed on such an expedition : but let
us conceive the feelings of an astronomer on a desert island with no
screw-driver, or with no ink, or matches, or soap !

There is no repairing a blunder of outfitting in these cases, and the
greatest care has to be exercised in providing for all contingencies.

Arrived at its station the party will put up its observatory, a little
wooden or canvas hut which has been brought from America, for no

21 8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

wood grows on this island. The instruments must next be mounted
and all gotten in readiness for work.

The astronomer and his assistant set up the transit, the small equa-
torial (five inches' aperture, and about seven feet long), and the clock,
and provide safe places for their chronograph and chronometers. Sup-
pose a chronometer-spring breaks now : there is no help nearer than
New York. The two photographers put up their hut and prepare for
work. From this time until the time of the transit, all is work.

Every day the methods which will be adopted on the important
day are rehearsed. Each one does the very thing which he will do,
takes the very steps which he must then take, and turns the very same
micrometer-screws just as he will turn them in December. This is
repeated until every one is sick of it, and, from a man, each becomes a
machine.

During the nights the chief astronomer is looking for occultations,
or taking differential measures between the moon's limb and a star,
while the assistant is determining time and latitude. Sometimes their
work is interchanged, to eliminate any personal peculiarities of ob-
serving. When the final day comes, they should have their latitude
and longitude thoroughly well known, and their clocks and chronom-
eters rated perfectly. The photographers, too, should know the exact
strength of both, the precise time of exposure, and the right developer
to make the best possible negative of the sun.

When the time of transit actually comes, the chief will be at the
equatorial, and will observe the first contact, and record the time on
his chronograph, and at once commence measures of the distance of
cusps. The assistant astronomer will see that the heliostat which is
to throw the image of the sun into the stationary photographic tele-
scope does this properly ; and within the dark room the two photog-
raphers must be taking negatives as rapidly as possible.

This continues during the transit from first to second contacts ;
afterward the photographs succeed each other, but not so rapidly, and
finally, the last contact is marked. It is all over now, and there is
nothing to do but to write down at once all notes which are to be
used in the report, and to prepare for a journey home.

Six or eight months on a rocky island, vast expense, and much
trouble and discomfort : but lejeu vaut la chandelle. The moral of it
is, that Science expects every man to do his duty. Let us hope that
Science will not be disappointed.

I

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 219

THE PPwIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN PHYSICAL

SCIENCE.

By J. B. STALL 0.
III. — The Assumption of the Essential Solidity of Matter.
T cannot have escaped the notice of the attentive reader of the

passage quoted irf my last paper from Prof. Tyndall's lecture on
" The Use of the Scientific Imagination " that Tyndall urges the
theory of the atomic constitution of matter as the only theory con-
sistent with its objective reality. He takes it for granted that the
alternative lies between the definite, tangible, solid atom on the one
hand, and a shadowy abstraction — a " vibrating, multiple proportion,
or a numerical ratio in a state of oscillation " — on the other. There
is no doubt that the opinion thus expressed is shared by the great ma-
jority of physicists, as well as of ordinary untrained men. To the
minds of most persons, as to the mind of Tyndall, the conception of
matter involves the notion of definite, tangible, and indestructible
solidity. It is the general tacit assumption that, of the three molecu-
lar states, or states of aggregation, in which matter presents itself to
the senses — the solid, the liquid, and the gaseous — the last two are
simply disguises of the first ; that a gas, for instance, is in fact a
group or cluster of solids, like a cloud of dust, differing from such a
cloud only by the greater regularity in the forms and distances of the
particles whereof it is composed, and by the fact that these particles
are controlled in the case of a gas by their mutual attractions and re-
pulsions, while in the case of the cloud of dust they are under the
sway of extrinsic forces. And, while the transition of the three
molecular states into each other in regular and invariable order is too
obvious to be ignored, it is supposed that the solid is the primary,
normal, and typical state of which the liquid and gaseous, or aeri-
form, states are simply derivatives, and that, if these states are con-
sidered as evolved the one from the other, the order of evolution is
from the solid to the vapor or gas. In this view the solid form of
matter is not only the basis and origin of all its further determinations
— of all its evolutions and changes — but it is also the primary and
typical element of its mental representation and conception.

While this view of the relation between the molecular states of
matter is all but universally prevalent, it is not difficult to show that
it is in irreconcilable conflict with the facts of scientific experience.
All evolution proceeds from the relatively Indeterminate to the rela-
tively Determinate, and from the comparatively Simple to the compara-
tively Complex. And (confining our attention, for the moment, to the
two extreme terms of the evolution, the solid and the gas, and ig-

220 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

noring the intermediate liquid) a comparison of the gaseous with the
solid state of matter at once shows that the former is, not the end, but
the beginning of the evolution. The gas is not only comparatively
indeterminate — without fixity of volume, without crystalline or other
structure, etc. — but it also exhibits, in its functional manifestations,
that simplicity and regularity which is characteristic of all types or
primary forms. Looking, first, to the purely physical aspect of a gas
— I speak, of course, only of gases which are approximately perfect,
to the exclusion of vapors at low temperatures and of gases which are
readily coercible : its volume expands and contracts inversely as the
pressure to which it is subjected ; its velocity of diffusion is inversely
proportional to the square root of its density ; its rate of expansion
is uniform for equal increments of temperature ; its specific heat is the
same at all temperatures, and, in a given weight, for all densities and
under all pressures ; the specific heats of equal volumes of simple and
incondensible gases, as well as of compound gases formed without
condensation, are the same for all gases of whatever nature, and so on.
In all these respects the contrast with both the liquid and solid forms,
the relations of whose volumes, or structures, or both, to temperature
and to mechanical pressure or other force are complicated in the ex-
treme, is great and striking. But this contrast becomes still more
signal, secondly, under the chemical aspect. We cannot, in any proper
sense, assign the proportions of volume in which the combination of
solids and liquids takes place — indeed, the combination of solids as
such is impossible — and the numbers expressive of the proportions of
the combining weights upon their face exhibit an appearance of irre-
lation and irregularity which the most sustained endeavors of scien-
tific men (such as Dumas, Strecker, Cooke, L. Meyer, Mendelejeff, and
Baumhauer) have been unable to obliterate. In the combination of gases,
on the contrary, all is simplicity and order. " The ratio of volumes, in
which gases combine, is always simple, and the volume of the resulting
gaseous product bears a simple ratio to the volumes of its constituents "
- — such is the law of the combination of gaseous volumes known as the
law of Gay-Lussac. By weight, the ratio of combination between
hydrogen and chlorine is 1 to 35.5 ; by volumes, one volume of hy-
drogen combines with one volume of chlorine (the volumes being
taken, of course, at the same pressures and temperatures) so as to
form two volumes of hydrochloric acid. Oxygen and hydrogen com-
bine in the proportion of 16 to 2 by weight ; but one volume of oxy-
gen combines with two volumes of hydrogen, forming two volumes
of watery vapor. Nitrogen and hydrogen, whose atomic weights, so
called, are 14 and 1 respectively, combine in the simple ratio of one
volume of nitrogen to three volumes of hydrogen, the combination re-
sulting in two volumes of gaseous ammonia. And carbon, whose
'atomic weight' is 12, though it cannot be actually obtained in gas-
eous form, is assumed by all chemists (for reasons not necessary to

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 221

state here) to combine with hydrogen in the ratio of one volume to
four, so as to yield two volumes of marsh-gas.

It seems to be evident, then, that the typical and primary state of
matter is, not the solid, but the gas. And, this being so, it follows
that the molecular evolution of matter conforms to the law of all evo-
lution in proceeding from the indeterminate to the determinate, from
the simple to the complex, from the gaseous to the solid form. This
is no longer a mere presumption ; if the nebular hypothesis, so called,
after being stripped of its non-essential features, is recognized as a
true theory — as it is by all the prominent physicists of the day since
the recent revelations of the spectroscope — the gaseous form of matter,
in fact, precedes the liquid and solid forms in the order of Nature,
and the solid is not the initial, but the concluding term of material
evolution. Inasmuch, therefore, as the explanation of any phenomenon
consists in the exhibition of its genesis from its simplest beginnings,
or from its earliest forms, the gaseous form of matter is the true basis
for the explanation of the solid form, and not conversely the solid for
the explanation of the gas.

From the foregoing considerations I take it to be evident that the
true relation between the molecular states of matter is the exact re-
verse of that universally assumed. The universality of this assump-
tion, however, indicates that it is not due to a mere chance error of
speculation, but to some natural bias of the mind. The question
arises, therefore : "What is the origin of this prevalent delusion re-
specting the constitution of matter? I believe the answer to this
question to be exceedingly simple, and important in proportion to its
simplicity. There are certain fallacies to which the human intellect
is liable by reason of the laws of its growth which I propose to call
structural fallacies, one of which is that the intellect tends to con-
found the order of the genesis of its ideas respecting material objects
with the order of the genesis of these objects themselves. It is well
known that the progress of our knowledge depends upon analogy —
upon a reduction of the Strange and Unknown to the terms of the Fa-
miliar and Known. In a certain sense it is true, what has been often
said, that all cognition is recognition. " Man constantly institutes
comparisons," says Pott (" Etymologische Forschungen," ii., 139),
" between the new which presents itself to him, and the old which he
already knows." That this is so is shown by the development of lan-
guage. The great agent in the evolution of language is metaphor —
the transference of a word from its ordinary and received meaning to
an analogous one. This transference of the name descriptive of a
known and familiar thing to the designation of an unknown and un-
familiar thing typifies the proceeding of the intellect in all cases where
it deals with new and strange phenomena. It assimilates these phe-
nomena to those which are known ; it identifies the Strange, as far as
possible, with the Familiar ; it apprehends that which is extraordinary

222 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

and uncommon in terms of that which is ordinary and common. But
that which is most obvious to the senses is both the earliest and most
persistent presence in consciousness, and thus receives the stamp of
the greatest familiarity. Now, the most obtrusive form of matter is
the solid, and for this reason it is that form which is first cognized
by the infant intellect of mankind, and thus serves as the basis for the
subsequent recognition of other forms. Accordingly we find that, on
the early stages of human history, the solid alone was apprehended as
material. It was long before even atmospheric air, obtrusive as it was
in wind and storm, came to be known as a form of matter. To this
day words signifying wind or breath — animus, spiritus, geist, ghost,
etc. — are the terms denoting that which is the fundamental correlate
of matter, even in the languages of civilized nations. And it is very
questionable whether either the ancient philosophers or the mediaeval
alchemists distinctly apprehended anj r aeriform substance, other than
atmospheric air, as material. It is certain that up to the time of Yan
Helmont, in the latter part of the sixteenth and the first decades of
the seventeenth century, agriform matter was not the subject of sus-
tained scientific investigation.

It is obvious, then, that, while the progress of evolution in Nature
is from the aeriform to the solid state of matter, the progress of the
evolution of knowledge in the minds of men was conversely from the
solid to the aeriform ; and, as a consequence, the aeriform or gaseous
state came to be apprehended as a mere modification of solidity. For
the same reason, the first form of material action which was appre-
hended by the dawning intellect of man was the interaction between
solids — mechanical interaction — and from this, again, it followed that
the difference between the solid and the gas was apprehended as a
mere difference of distance between the solid particles, as produced by
mechanical motion.

Again : familiarity, in the minds of ordinary men, is universally con-
founded with simplicity. And, the explanation of a phenomenon con-
sisting, as we have seen, in an exhibition of its genesis from its simplest
beginnings, the mind, in its attempts to explain the gaseous form, nat-
urally retraces the steps in the evolution of its ideas concerning matter
— of its concepts of matter — back to the earliest, most familiar, and
therefore apparently simplest form in which matter was and is appre-
hended, and assumes the solid particle, the atom, as the ultimate fact,
as the primary element for all representation and conception of ma-
terial existence.

This is not the place to develop the important consequences which
flow from the total subversion of the prevailing concepts respecting
the constitution of matter that, in my judgment, is inevitable. When
it comes to be fully realized that an aeriform body is not a group of
absolute solids, but is elastic to the core; that a gas is a gas through-
out, and in its very essence ; that in the simplest states of matter there

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 223

is no absolute residuum which is exempt from all change and remains
constant amid all variation — when the relation of primordial matter to
its structural, or rather formative, agencies is properly understood —
the whole science of molecular statics and dynamics will press at once
for thorough reorganization.

It may be proper, in this connection, before I proceed to the dis-
cussion of another topic, to say a few words about the ordinary me-
chanical explanation of the molecular states of matter, or states of
aggregation, on the basis of the atomic theory. This explanation pro-
ceeds on the assumption that the molecular states are produced by the
conflict of antagonistic central forces — molecular attraction and repul-
sion — the preponderance of the one or the other of which gives rise to
the solid and gaseous forms, while their balance or equilibrium results
in the liquid state. The utter futility of this explanation is apparent
at a glance. Even waiving the considerations presented by Herbert
Spencer (" First Principles," p. 60, et seq.) that, in view of the necessary
variation of the attractive and repulsive forces in the inverse ratio of
the squares of the distances, the constituent atoms of a body, if they
are in equilibrio at any particular distance, must be equally in equilibrio
at all other distances, and that their density or state, therefore, must
be invariable ; and, admitting that the increase or diminution of the
repulsive force, heat, may render the preponderance of either force,
and thus the change of density or state of aggregation, possible : what
becomes of the liquid state as corresponding to the exact balance of
these two forces in the absence of external coercion ? The exact bal-
ance of the two opposing forces is a mere mathematical limit which
must be passed with the slightest preponderance of either force over
the other. All bodies being subject to continual changes of tempera-
ture, the equilibrium can at best be but momentary ; it must of neces-
sity be of the most labile kind. If the mechanical explanation of the
molecular states were valid, all bodies would present the phenomena
exhibited by arsenic under the action of heat — they would at once pass
from the solid into the gaseous form, the intervening liquid state van-
ishing after the manner of all limits.

The notion of the essential solidity of matter of necessity leads to —
indeed, at bottom, is identical with — the assumption of its absolute
hardness or unchangeability of volume, and thus involves the theory
of the atomic constitution of matter in its ordinary form. This as-
sumption is connected with another fallacious bias of the mind, which
results from the inability of the mind to consider phenomena other-
wise than singly, and under some one definite aspect — the tendency to
assign absolute limits to every series of material phenomena. It has
been a favorite tenet, not only of metaphysicians but of physicists as
well, that reality is cognizable only as absolute, permanent, and inva-
riable, or, as the metaphysicians of the sixteenth and seventeenth cen-
turies expressed it, sub specie ceterni et absoluti. This proposition, like

224 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

so many others which have served as pillars of imposing metaphysical
structures, is the precise opposite of the truth. All material reality is,
in its nature, not absolute, but essentially relative. All material re-
ality depends upon determination ; and determination is essentially
limitation, as even Spinoza well knew. A " thing in and by itself " is
an impossibility. And I may add here (without dwelling upon it fur-
ther, a discussion of this subject being foreign to my theme), the
" thing per se " is not only impossible, according to the criteria of our
intellect, but it is not the object of knowledge, in any sense, and can-
not, therefore, be the legitimate subject of speculation. As Ferrier
would say, we can neither know it nor be ignorant of it. I do not
speak here merely of objects without relation to the intellect, in the
sense of Ferrier's " Theory of Ignorance," but of objects without rela-
tion to each other. "We only know anything," justly says John
Stuart Mill (" Examination of Sir W. Hamilton's Philosophy," i., 14),
" by knowing it as distinguished from something else ; all conscious-
ness is of difference ; two objects is the smallest number required to
constitute consciousness ; a thing is only seen to be what it is by con-
trast with what it is not." Here, again, the doctrines of psychology
are corroborated by the teachings of the science of language. " Words,"
says Rev. Richard Garnett ("Philological Essays," p. 282), "express
the relations of things ; and this, it is believed, is strictly applicable to
every word in every language, and under every possible modification."
Among those who have had occasion of late to insist upon the
relativity of all objective reality is Prof. Helmholtz. Speaking of the
inveterate prejudice according to which the qualities of things must
be analogous to, or identical with, our perceptions of them, he says
(" Die neueren Fortschritte in der Theorie des Sehens," Pop. wiss.
Yortraege II., 55, et seq.) : " Every property or quality of a thing is in
reality nothing else than its capability of producing certain effects on
other things. The effect occurs either between connatural parts of the
same body, so as to produce differences of aggregation, or it proceeds
from one body to another, as in the case of chemical reactions ; or the
effects are upon our organs of sense and manifest themselves as sensa-
tions such as those with which we are here concerned (the sensations
of sight). Such an effect we call a ' property,' its reagent being un-
derstood without being expressly mentioned. Thus we speak of the
'solubility' of a substance, meaning its behavior toward water; we
speak of its c weight,' meaning its attraction to the earth ; and we
may justly call a substance ' blue,' under the tacit assumption that we
are only speaking of its action upon a normal eye. But, if what we
call a property always implies a relation between two things, then a
property or quality can never depend upon the nature of one agent
alone, but exists only in relation to and dependence on the nature of
some second object acted upon. Hence, there is really no sense in
talking of properties of light which belong to it absolutely, indepen-

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 225

dently of all other objects, and which are supposed to be representable
in the sensations of the human eye. The notion of such properties is a
contradiction in itself. They cannot possibly exist, and therefore we
cannot expect to find any coincidence of our sensations of color with
qualities of light."

The fundamental truth which is implied in these sentences is of such
transcendent importance that it is hardly possible to be too emphatic
in its statement, or too profuse in its illustration. All quality is rela-
tion ; all action is reaction ; all force is antagonism ; all measure is a
ratio between terms neither of which is absolute ; every objectively
real thing is a term in numberless series of mutual implications, and
its reality outside of these series is utterly inconceivable. A material
entity, absolute in any of its aspects, would be nothing less than a
finite infinitude. There is no absolute material quality, no absolute
material substance, no absolute physical unit, no absolutely simple
physical entity, no absolute constant, no absolute standard either of
quantity or quality, no absolute motion, no absolute rest, no absolute
time, no absolute space. There is no physical thing, nor is there a
real or conceptual element of such a thing, which is either its own sup-
port or its own measure, and which abides either quantitatively, or
qualitatively, otherwise than in perpetual change, in an unceasing flow
of mutations. An object is large only as compared with another which,
as a term of this comparison, is small, but which, as a term in a com-
parison with a third object, may be indefinitely large ; and the com-
parison which determines the magnitude of objects is between its terms
alone, and not between any or all of these terms, and an absolute
standard. An object is hard as compared with another which is soft,
but which, in turn, may be contrasted with a third still softer; and,
again, there is no standard object which is either absolutely hard or
absolutely soft. A body is simple as compared with the compound
into which it enters as a constituent ; but there is, and can be no physi-
cally real thing which is absolutely simple. Similarly, all changes of
position or distance between two bodies are wholly relative, and it is
a matter of purely arbitrary determination, which of them is taken as
being at rest, and which as in motion. It is equally true to say that
the earth falls toward the apple, and that the apple falls toward the
earth.

I may observe, in this connection, that not only the law of causality,
the persistence of force, and the indestructibility of matter, have their
root in the relativity of all objective reality — being, indeed, simply
different aspects of this relativity — but that Newton's first and third
laws of motion, as well as all laws of least action, so called, in me-
chanics (including Gauss's law of movement under least coercion), are
but corollaries from the same principle. And the fact that every thing
is, in its manifest existence, but a group of relations and reactions, at
once accounts for Nature's inherent teleology.

VOL. IV. — ]5

226 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

The truth that all our knowledge of objective reality depends upon
the establishment or recognition of relations, has been proclaimed by
innumerable thinkers, but, nevertheless, is constantly lost sight of, or
ignored. There is nothing more interesting and instructive, than a
review of the errors and perplexities that have been entailed by the
rejection or disregard of this truth both upon metaphysical specula-
tion, and upon physical science. The ontological vagaries spun from
the proposition that all reality is in its last elements absolute, do not,
of course, concern us here ; there is, however, one form of this propo-
sition which is so intimately connected with the main subject under
discussion, that it is, perhaps, well to indulge in a passing allusion to it.

Leibnitz places at the head of his " Monadology " the principle that
there must be simple substances, because there are compound sub-
stances. " Necesse est" he says, " dari substantias simplices quia
dantur composite" This enthymeme, though it has been long since
exploded in metaphysics, is still regarded by many physicists as proof
of the real existence of absolutely simple constituents of matter. Nev-
ertheless, it is obvious that it is nothing but a vicious paralogism — a
fallacy of the class known in logic as fallacies of suppressed relative.
The existence of a compound substance certainly proves the existence
of component parts which, relatively to this substance, are simple. But
it proves nothing whatever as to the simplicity of these parts in them-
selves.

Among the most notable intellectual hobbles resulting from the
attempt to deal with quantity as an absolute, self-determining entity
are the various theories of infinitesimals in mathematics, and of the
real basis of the differential and integral calculus. The consideration
of these theories is beyond the limits of my task, which restricts me to
the discussion of questions relating to physical science. But within
these limits, it is by no means difficult to find conspicuous proof of the
fact that the supposed physical constant of weight and volume, the
" atom," is by no means the only absolute real term — the only finite
infinitude — which is postulated by physical science in its most recent
forms. How completely the minds of modern physicists are under the
control of the conceit that physical entities, for purposes of their real
apprehension, can be disentangled from the net-work of relations as a
part of which they present themselves both to thought and to sense, is
at once seen upon the most cursory examination of the remarkable
speculative writings which have been published of late by eminent
scientific men. I select from the many lectures and essays of this
class which have fallen under my notice, a lecture delivered November
3, 1869, in the Aula of the University of Liepsic, by Dr. C. Neumann
(Professor of Mathematics at the university, and well known as the
author of several important contributions to the theory of Abel's In-
tegrals), " On the Principles of the Galileo-Newtonian Theory." 1 The
1 "Ueber die Principien der Galilei-Newton'schen Theorie. Akademische An-

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 227

first part of this lecture is without special interest for us here ; but the
second part is of the greatest possible significance as an exhibition of
the tendency of physicists to postulate determinate last elements, ab-
solute spatial limits, and invariable physical standards in the construc-
tion of material phenomena. For this reason, I shall take the liberty
of reproducing, as literally as is possible in a translation, the most
important passages of this part of the lecture.

"The principles of the Galileo -Newtonian theories," says Prof.
Neumann (loc. cit., p. 11), " consist in two laws — the law of inertia pro-
claimed by Galileo, and the law of attraction added by Newton. . . .
A material point, when once set in motion, free from the action of
an extraneous force, and wholly left to itself, continues to move in a
straight line so as to describe equal spaces in equal times. Such is
Galileo's law of inertia. It is impossible that this proposition should
stand in its present form as the corner-stone of a scientific edifice, as
the starting-point of mathematical deductions. For it is perfectly
unintelligible, inasmuch as we do not know what is meant by " mo-
tion in a straight line," or, rather, inasmuch as we do not know that
the words " motion in a straight line " are susceptible of various in-
terpretations. A motion, for instance, which is rectilinear as seen from
the earth, would be curvilinear as seen from the sun, and would be
represented by a different curve as often as we change our point of
observation to Jupiter, to Saturn, or another celestial body. In
short, every motion which is rectilinear with reference to one celes-
tial body, will appear curvilinear with reference to another celestial
body

" The words of Galileo, according to which a material point left to
itself proceeds in a straight line, appear to us, therefore, as words
without meaning — as expressing a proposition which, to become in-
telligible, is in need of a definite background. There must be given in
the universe some special body as the basis of our comparison, as the
object in reference to which all motions are to be estimated / and only
when such a body is given, shall we be able to attach to those words
a definite meaning. Now, what body is it which is to occupy this
eminent position ? Or, are there several such bodies ? Are the motions
near the e*arth to be referred to the terrestrial globe, perhaps, and
those near the sun, to the solar sphere ? . . . .

"Unfortunately, neither Galileo nor Newton gives us a definite
answer to this question. But, if we carefully examine the theoretical
structure which they erected, and which has since been continually
enlarged, its foundations can no longer remain hidden. We readily
see that all actual or imaginable motions in the universe must be re-
ferred to one and the same body. Where this body is, and what are

trittsvorlesung gehalten in der Aula der Universitat, Leipzig, am 3. November, 1869.
Von Dr. C. Neumann, ord. Professor der Mathematik an der Universitat, Leipzig," etc.
Leipzig, B. G. Teubner, 18 70.

228 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

the reasons for assigning to it this eminent, and, as it were, sovereign
position, these are questions to which there is no answer.

" It will be necessary, therefore, to establish the proposition, as the
first principle of the Galileo-Newtonian theory, that in some unknown
place of the universe there is an unknown body — a body absolutely
rigid and unchangeable for all time in its figure and dimensions. I
may be permitted to call this body " The body Alpha." It would
then be necessary to add that the motion of a body would import, not
its change of place in reference to the earth or sun, but its change of
position in reference to the body Alpha.

" From this point of view the law of Galileo is seen to have a definite
meaning. This meaning presents itself as a second principle, which is,
that a material point left to itself progresses in a straight line — pro-
ceeds, therefore, in a course which is rectilinear in reference to the
body Alpha."

It will be observed that the assumption which underlies all this
reasoning of Prof. Neumann is that, to conceive motion as real, it is
necessary to conceive it as absolute — an assumption in every respect
analogous to that of Prof. Tyndall, according to which the reality of
matter implies its constitution from absolute, unvarying elements.
The logical parentage of the body Alpha is precisely the same as that
of the " atom." And I may add that the assumption of Prof. Neu-
mann is the tacit assumption of almost all the physicists and philoso-
phers of the day, although it is not usually developed to its last con-
sequences. It is one of the tasks of Herbert Spencer, for instance, to
exhibit the contradictions involved in the essential relativity of motion.
" A body impelled by the hand," says Spencer (" First Principles,"
chap, iii., § 17), "is clearly perceived to move, and to move in a def-
inite direction : there seems at first sight no possibility of, doubting
that its motion is real, or that it is toward a given point. Yet it is
easy to show that we not only may be, but usually are, quite wrong in
both these judgments. Here, for instance, is a ship which, for sim-
plicity's sake, we will suppose to be anchored at the equator, with her
head to the west. When the captain walks from stem to stern, in
what direction does he move ? East is the obvious answer — an an-
swer which for the moment may pass without criticism. But now the
anchor is heaved, and the vessel sails to the west with a velocity equal
to that at which the captain walks. In what direction does he now
move when he goes from stem to stern ? You cannot say east, for the
vessel is carrying him as fast toward the west as he walks to the east ;
and you cannot say west, for the converse reason. In respect to sur-
rounding space, he is stationary, though to all on board the ship he
seems moving. But now are we quite sure of this conclusion? Is he
really stationary ? When we take into account the earth's motion
round its axis, we find that, instead of being stationary, he is travel-
ing at the rate of 1,000 miles per hour to the east ; so that neither the

PRIMARY CONCEPTS OF MODERN SCIENCE. 229

perception of one who looks at him, nor the inference of one who
allows for the ship's motion, is any thing like the truth. Nor, indeed,
on further consideration, shall we find the revised conclusion much bet-
ter. For we have forgotten to allow for the earth's motion in its
orbit. This being some 68,000 miles per hour, it follows that, assuming
the time to be mid-day, he is moving, not at the rate of 1,000 miles
per hour to the east, but at the rate of 67,000 miles per hour to the
west. Nay, not even now have we discovered the true rate and the
true direction of his movement. With the earth's progress in its
orbit, we have to join that of the whole solar system toward the con-
stellation Hercules ; and, when we do this, we perceive that he is mov-
ing neither east nor west, but in a line inclined to the plane of the
ecliptic, and at a velocity greater or less (according to the time of the
year) than that above named. To which let us add that, were the
dynamic arrangements of our sidereal system fully known to us, we
should probably discover the direction and rate of his actual move-
ment to differ considerably even from these. How illusive are our
ideas of motion is thus made sufficiently manifest. That which seems
moving proves to be stationary ; that which seems stationary proves
to be moving ; while that which we conclude to be going rapidly in
one direction turns out to be going much more rapidly in the opposite
direction. And so we are taught that what we are conscious of is not
the real motion of any object, either in its rate or direction, but merely
its motion as measured from an assigned position — either the position
we ourselves occupy or some other. Yet in this very process of con-
cluding that the motions we perceive are not the real motions, we tacitly
assume that there are real motions. In revising our successive judg-
ments concerning a body's course or velocity, we take for granted that
there is an actual course or an actual velocity — we take for granted
that there are fixed points in space with respect to which all motions
are absolute / and we find it impossible to rid ourselves of this idea.
Nevertheless, absolute motion cannot even be imagined, much less
known. Motion, as taking place apart from those limitations of space
which we habitually associate with it, is totally unthinkable. For mo-
tion is change of place ; but, in unlimited space, change of place is
inconceivable, because place itself is inconceivable. Place can be con-
ceived only by reference to other places ; and, in the absence of objects
dispersed through space, a place could be conceived only in relation
to the limits of space ; whence it follows that in unlimited space place
cannot be conceived — all places must be equidistant from boundaries
that do not exist. Thus, while we are obliged to think that there is
an absolute motion, we find absolute motion incomprehensible."

I have quoted this elaborate exposition from the text of Mr. Spen-
cer, because it most clearly evinces the difficulty experienced even by
those who habitually insist upon the relativity, not only of all our
actual knowledge, but also of all our possible cognition, in freeing

230 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

themselves from the prejudice that nothing can be real which is not
absolute.

Prof. Neumann is not content with showing, or attempting to show,
that the reality of motion necessitates its reference to a rigid body
unchangeable in its position in space, but he seeks to verify this as-
sumption by asking himself the question what consequences would
ensue, on the hypothesis of the mere relativity of motion, if all bodies
in s£ace, except one, were annihilated. " Let us suppose," he says
(he. cit., p. 27), " that among the stars there is one which consists of
fluid matter, and which, like our earth, is in rotary motion around an
axis passing through its centre. In consequence of this motion, by
virtue of the centrifugal forces developed by it, this star will have
the form of an ellipsoid. What form, now, I ask, will this star assume
if suddenly all other celestial bodies are annihilated ?

" These centrifugal forces depend solely upon the state of the star
itself ; they are wholly independent of the other celestial bodies.
These forces, therefore, as well as the ellipsoidal form, will persist, ir-
respective of the continued existence or disappearance of the other
bodies. But, if motion is defined as something relative — as a relative
change of place of two points — the answer is very different. If, on
this assumption, we suppose all other celestial bodies to be annihilated,
nothing remains but the material points of which the star in question
itself consists. But, then, these points do not change their relative
positions, and are therefore at rest. It follows that the star must be
at rest at the moment when the annihilation of the other bodies takes
place, and therefore must assume the spherical form taken by all bodies
in a state of rest. A contradiction so intolerable can be avoided only
by abandoning the assumption of the relativity of motion, and con-
ceiving motion as absolute, so that thus we are again led to the prin-
ciple of the body Alpha."

This reasoning of Prof. Neumann is irrefutable, if we concede the
admissibility of his hypothesis of the destruction of all bodies in space
but one. But the very principle of relativity forbids such an hypoth-
esis. The annihilation of all bodies but one would not only destroy
the motion of this one remaining body and bring it to rest, as Prof.
Neumann sees, but it would also destroy its very existence and bring
it to naught, as he does not see. A body cannot survive the system
of relations in which alone it has its being ; its presence or position in
space is no more possible without reference to other bodies than its
change of position or presence is possible without such reference ; and,
as I have abundantly shown, all properties of a body are in their na-
ture relations, and imply terms beyond the body itself. The case
put by Prof. Neumann is thus an attestation of the truth that the es-
sential relativity of all physical reality implies the persistence both
of force and of matter, so that his argument is a demonstration, not
of the falsity, but of the truth of the principle of relativity.

A POWDER-MILL EXPLOSION. 231

As there is no Unconditional in subjective thought, so there is no
Absolute in objective reality. There is no absolute system of co-
ordinates in space to which the positions of bodies and their changes
can be referred ; and there is neither an absolute measure of quantity,
nor an absolute standard of quality. There is no physical constant.

-♦♦♦-

A POWDER-MILL EXPLOSION.

By "WILLIAM AIKMAN.

I PROPOSE to have a talk about an explosion of a powder-mill. It
has never been my hap to see one described, and it has seemed to
me that an account of an occurrence of this sort, which does not come
under common observation, might not be uninteresting.

While explosions are not the final cause of powder-works — that is,
while they are not built expressly for the purpose of exploding — yet
they are located with reference to it. It was the fortune of this writer
to reside for a number of years within a few miles of the powder-
manufactories of the Messrs. Dupont, of Delaware, and so had oppor-
tunities of observing the thing of which he speaks. These works
will probably be a fair example of others.

These powder-mills, perhaps the most extensive in the country, are
about three miles above the city of Wilmington, on the banks of the
Brandywine River. The position was selected, some fifty or more
years ago, by the father of the present proprietors. It is one of the
most beautiful in this whole land. The river flows through an ex-
quisite valley, where at every step some new beauty of wood and hill
enchants the eyes.

The powder-works are placed at wide intervals for perhaps a half
mile along the banks. They are so secluded and hidden that they are
never seen or known to be there by an ordinary or uninformed trav-
eler. Should you be riding along one of the hilly and beautiful roads
near the mills, you would not only find nothing to suggest their prox-
imity, but could only by inquiry discover the roads that lead to them.

The elder Dupont, father of the late illustrious Admiral Dupont,
was a man of remarkable energy and business ability. In nothing did
he show his character and foresight more than in the selection of the
location of these mills. During the administration, or after it, of
President Jefferson, Dupont came to this country from his native
France with the purpose of establishing a manufactory of gunpowder
in some favorable location. He found his way to Virginia, and made
the acquaintance of Jefferson, who cordially welcoVned him to the hos-
pitalities of Monticello.

23 2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

Anxious to promote the prosperity of that noble State, Jefferson
urged upon Dupont Virginia as the place where his contemplated
works should be established, and detained him with the courtesies of
his home until he could exhibit to him the capabilities and attractions
of the country.

Dupont accepted the invitation, and willingly and carefully exam-
ined the various places brought under his notice. After a few weeks
of inspection and exploration, he reluctantly informed Jefferson that
he could not see his way clear to settle in Virginia.

" Is it that the country is not favorable ? " asked his entertainer.

" No," was the reply ; " it is magnificent."

" Cannot favorable locations be procured ? Is not water-power
abundant ? Cannot materials be found ? "

" Yes, yes, but I do not like one thing that I find here."

" But what is that ? "

" It's your institution of slavery. I cannot settle where it will be
around me."

So Dupont came north, and the powder-manufactories were not
established in Virginia.

The city of Paterson, near New York, was then a small village,
with its glorious falls of the Passaic not utilized to death as they are
to-day, and without a manufactory of any importance within its pre-
cincts. Dupont was freely offered a location there, and was strongly
inclined to accept it. Every thing was favorable ; the position of the
land, the unbounded facilities of water-power, ease of transportation,
accessibility to a large city, all pointed out the desirableness of the
locality ; but the sagacious man declined all offers.

" I see," said he, " that this beautiful spot will not remain many
years as it is now. Before long, a city or town will grow up just
here ; extensive manufactories, attracted by this unlimited supply of
water, with so many feet of fall, will line the banks of this river.
When that time comes, the inhabitants will not brook the presence of
a powder-mill, and I, after years of labor, and when all my works are
established, will be compelled to move off and away. I must find
some place where I can reasonably hope to remain undisturbed."

The secluded banks of the Brandywine, in Delaware, invited him,
and the works were erected in its quiet valley.

The tract of land first purchased was large, occupying both banks
of the river. It has, in the lapse of years, been gradually increased
in size. The Duponts never sell, but are always ready to buy land
which lies in their vicinity. The same policy which shaped the action
of the father has been continued by the sons — to acquire a property
so extensive that no neighboring proprietor can be near enough to
desire the removal of their works or be injured by their proximity.
This they have accomplished. The country, for perhaps a mile on
either side of the Brandywine River, is in their possession, and no one

A POWDER-MILL EXPLOSION. 233

has a residence, except by their consent, within the possibility of harm
from an explosion in their works.

Thus, while such explosions are more or less frequent, the detona-
tion of one of them, if it be not of special violence, excites only the
passing remark of a dweller in the neighboring city of Wilmington,
and never injures any one outside the works.

Not only is the general location selected, but the various buildings
of these powder-manufactories are placed, in reference to the ever-
present danger of an explosion. The works are not connected with
one another in one great building, or in a connected series of build-
ings. They are built along the river-banks for over half a mile on
either side, and with so much of distance between them that an
explosion in one does not ordinarily communicate itself to another,
and its destructive effects do not extend beyond the immediate vicinity
of the building in which it occurred.

The buildings themselves are constructed carefully with reference
to these accidents. They — at least those where the process of manu-
facture reaches the stage of danger — are built of stone, with three
massive walls of solid masonry some ten or twelve feet thick. The
fourth side, that which looks toward the river, is made of light frame-
work. The roof is constructed as simply as possible, and is laid upon
the walls, and not built into them.

The design of this method of construction may be readily seen.
If an explosion occurs, the boarded roof and side of the building
readily yield, and are blown into the river, while the massive walls of
the other three sides withstand the shock. The building is like a
huge mortar. By this additional precaution, the lateral effects of
the explosion are prevented, and the buildings on either side are
measurably protected.

These precautionary measures, however, are not always effectual.
As a general thing — for explosions of greater or less violence are not
infrequent — a single dull, heavy detonation is heard, and it is almost
unnoticed by those residing in the neighborhood. If slight, it may
readily be taken for the noise of a blast in the quarries near by. As,
in certain stages of the manufacture, the machinery is set in motion,
and the workman leaves the room when the danger is most imminent,
life is not necessarily lost by the accident. The only harm that has
occurred is the loss of the simple machinery, the materials, and the
lighter portion of the building.

Sometimes the case is very different. I have a very vivid remem-
brance of one. It was the first and the most severe of which I had
any experience.

I was sitting with some friends in the parlor of my house, at about
eleven o'clock in the morning, when there came a sudden jar and a
fearful shock of some very heavy body falling, as I thought, upon the
piazza, which ran along the rear of the house. I started from my

234 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

seat and toward the door, to see what had happened there, but had
scarcely risen when another concussion and a mighty detonation
came. I supposed that a very heavy piece of artillery had been dis-
charged in the street, just in the rear of the house. Before I could
reach the door, but a few feet away, there came another detonation
and another terrific jar, which shook, as the others had done, the house
to its foundations. The three reports were in such rapid succession
as to be almost simultaneous, but thought was quicker than they, and
leaped from supposition to supposition in an instant. The last concus-
sion dissolved my doubts as to the origin of those that had preceded
it, and I at once looked in the direction in which I knew the powder-
mills to lie.

A spectacle of exquisite beauty and sublimity met my eyes, which
will abide in my memory forever. I can hardly expect to convey to
the reader the impression which it made upon me. Towering in
the heavens, sharply defined against the deep-blue sky, was a column
of dazzling white, perhaps a mile in height, and a thousand feet in
diameter. Its sides were evenly cut and in perfect symmetry through
the whole length of the marvelous column, till they spread out on
either side at the top in a broad, palm-like canopy. The mid-day sun
was shining upon it, and lighting it up with an unearthly splendor,
while it seemed to stand almost over us. We gazed awe-struck and
entranced upon it, and could easily think of that pillar of cloud that,
in the olden time, stood in its awful majesty in front of the camp of
Israel.

It was so vast that it seemed close at hand, although it was three
miles away. We watched it silently till it slowly changed its form,
and gradually drifted in great cumulous clouds away. It was a vision
of singular and glorious beauty, such as I never expect to see again.

In this instance three buildings had been destroyed. The shock
of the explosions was exceedingly marked and peculiar, different from
any thing that I had previously known. It had a sort of pervasive
character that suggested the cause as being immediately at hand.
My first impression was not of something at a distance, but rather of
the jar of a heavy body falling within four or five feet of where we
were sitting, and, when it was repeated, of a cannon discharged close
by the house. It seemed to be underneath and all around — to fill the
very earth and air.

This pervasive character of the shock is very remarkable. It is the
same in all that I have heard. It seems to be felt scarcely more vio-
lently in the immediate vicinity of the place where it occurred than
miles away. In this case we were between three and four miles off, and
yet the explosion could scarcely have been more startling and severely
felt, or have seemed nearer, to those who were within a few rods of the
place. Indeed, on certain occasions, the violence of the shock is felt
much more at a distance than close at hand. In one instance that I

A POWDER-MILL EXPLOSION. 235

remember, the detonation and concussion were felt and heard distinctly
and severely in Philadelphia and in Chester County, Pennsylvania,
some thirty miles away, while they were scarcely noticed in Wil-
mington.

The sound and shock of these explosions must be strikingly similar
to those of an earthquake. A few years since — it was on the very day
that Chicago was burning — a severe shock of an earthquake was felt
in Wilmington, Del., and its vicinity. It is described to me, by those
who experienced it, as peculiarly alarming. The concussion was ter-
rific, shaking the houses, opening doors, disturbing furniture, and the
boom of the report was exceedingly loud and startling. In an instant
all instinctively sprang to their western windows, and almost at once on
every accessible roof spectators were gazing toward the northwest, the
direction in which the Dupont powder-works are situated. The univer-
sal impression was, that there had been an explosion of unusual vio-
lence at those works. It was only when, after a time, no column of
smoke was seen to rise, that any other explanation was suggested.
The noise and the concussion were precisely like what had often been
heard before on such an occasion.

The pervasive character of the sound and the shock in both the
earthquake and the explosion of a powder-magazine are probably due
to the same cause. They are propagated along the line of rocky
strata. A continuous stratum of rock extends from the Brandy wine to
Philadelphia and its neighborhood, and this gives an obvious explana-
tion to the fact, to which allusion has already been made, that the de-
tonation and concussion are heard quite as distinctly as, and sometimes
more so, at a distance, than, at a point nearer at hand.

I was curious to witness the effects of an explosion at the place
where it occurred, so I set out at once for it. A great concourse was
thronging the avenue leading toward the powder-mills, and dotting the
fields which lay between them and the city. There was no time to be
lost in hiring a vehicle ; so, giving some specimens of tall pedestrianism,
learned of yore in the streets of New York, I was soon in advance of
the crowd, and, in company with a young and wiry Scotchman, whom
I could not outwalk, was over the beautiful hills and through the
woods which skirt the Brandywine, and at the place.

It was difficult, indeed, as I think of it now after some years, quite
impossible, to realize what had taken place not an hour before. The
day was at its noon, and the lovely valley was sleeping in quiet beauty.
All was perfectly still, with nothing to suggest the terrible occurrence,
except it might be those two or three rounded heaps yonder, over
which a white canvas sheet was thrown. Under them lay the poor
mutilated remains of what a little while ago were stalwart men. It
was not good for loved one or stranger to look upon them now !

What struck me more than any thing else was the peculiar air of
cleanliness and order that was over the place. Every thing, trees,

2 3 6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

stones, road-bed, were all blackened, but all were smoothly swept. It
seemed as if some time before there had been a fire which had black-
ened every thing, and that some one had gone round afterward, and,
carefully gathering up and conveying away all the d&bris, had scru-
pulously swept the whole with brooms, leaving only the soot-stains
behind.

Nothing of the sort had been done. Here was simply the result
of the storm that had a little while before swept the spot. "Usually,
the force of the explosion is so great that no d&bris can be left behind.
It is simply hurled out of existence. There are no broken boards or
pieces of shingle, or bits of wood, to be found. They vanish in an in-
stant. The ground itself has a singularly smoothed appearance, as if
beaten down and rounded off.

There were few questions to be asked. On these occasions the
proprietors and workmen are reticent, and information is not readily
accessible. Indeed, inquiries as to the cause of the explosion are gen-
erally useless. If it has been through the agency of a careless workman,
he is not there to tell the tale. The man nearest, and most acquainted
with the fact, is probably the one who in an instant passes out of life,
often totally vanishes from human sight, not even a fragment of his
body remaining behind.

That many of these accidents are caused by the carelessness of
workmen, there can be no doubt. It is needless to say that the utmost
precaution is taken to guard the safety of the men and the works, such
as floors flooded with water, shoes in which only copper nails are used,
etc. The reader will perhaps smile when we say that smoking is ab-
solutely prohibited. Yet, incredible as it may appear, the authority
of the proprietors is absolutely necessary to enforce this prohibition.
A proprietor of a powder-mill once said to me, that in the face of the
ever-present danger, and of the most positive orders, it was impossible
to prevent the men, at times, from taking their lighted pipes into the
works ; that he had detected the men thrusting their lighted pipes
into their jacket-pockets to escape observation, as he had unexpect-
edly come upon them ! A triumph of art — to smoke one's pipe in a
powder-mill, and " the boss not find it out ! "

Once in a while, on some special occasion, the pipe of some such
cunning fellow goes suddenly out, and he with it. He does not linger
to tell how it happened.

It might be supposed that it would be extremely difficult to find
men in sufficient numbers to carry on a business so hazardous, in whicli
the workman's life is in such constant danger. But no such difficulty
is experienced. There are always more applicants than places for
them to fill. As in every business, however unpleasant or unwhole-
some, there will always be found men who are more than ready for
the work.

SKETCH OF DOCTOR J. D. HOOKER. . 237

SKETCH OF J. D. HOOKEK, F.E.S., LL.D.

AMONG the scenes of interest near London which earliest attract
the foreign visitor, is the magnificent Botanical Garden at
Kew. It occupies 300 acres, which are crowded with the wealth of
the vegetable kingdom, and forms the most extensive and perfect hor-
ticultural establishment in the world. It has three museums, contain-
ing upward of 50,000 objects of rare scientific interest exquisitely ar-
ranged, the completest botanical library ever yet brought together, a
series of ample and admirably-constructed hot-houses, a pinetum, a
water-lily aquarium, an extensive and richly-stocked arboretum, fern-
houses, both tropical and temperate, an orchid-house, a house for be-
gonias and gesneracea, together with a variety of other greenhouses
and extensive plots of ground covered with herbaceous plants, and
beautified to perfection. Kew Garden is one of the most popular
places of resort in England. Some 700,000 people visit it annually, and
the least educated of all this multitude cannot pass through it without
learning something. The exotic plants nurtured in the hot-houses ;
the indigenous and naturalized plants blooming in the gardens ; the
dried specimens preserved in the herbarium ; the various objects of
curiosity treasured up in the three museums of economic botany — vie
with each other in claiming the attention of even the most indifferent
observer.

Learned philosophers and young children can equally find there
abundant objects replete with interest for each, and worthy of length-
ened contemplation : one loiters to examine curiosities of vegetation,
such as the inner bark of " traveler's joy " {Clematis vitalba), used by
the Swiss as a vegetable sieve for straining milk ; or the inside of the
towel-gourd, used in the West Indies as a sponge or a scrubbing-
brush. There is an orange-tree, such as in the island of St. Michael
produces 20,000 oranges in a year. Here is the caricature-plant, with
the whimsical variegation of its leaves ; the telegraph-plant, with the
jerking of its lateral leaflets like the signals of the old semaphore ;
the tuberose, exhaling the most delicious perfume, and the stinking
carrion-flower of South Africa ; the pitcher-plant, each blossom con-
taining half a pint of water and a swarm of drowned insects ; and
the Venus's flytrap, which springs its toothed leaves together for the
capture of gnats and flies. At every turn and nook there are curiosi-
ties to excite the observant, and gratify the seeker for systematic,
economic, or descriptive botanical knowledge.

Kew has been a place of plants, a nursery or seed-plot for the
study of floriculture and horticulture, for more than a hundred years.
It was a royal property, being purchased in 1730 by Frederick Prince
of Wales, the great-grandfather of the present queen. The original

238 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

director of Kew Gardens was William Aiton, who had charge of it
for thirty years, and died in 1793. He was succeeded by his son
Townsend Aiton, who held the position for forty-eight years, when he
resigned in 1841. Up to this time the establishment had been much
restricted, but it was now given up by the royal family to the charge
of the government, in the interests of science, and for the advantage
of the people.

Sir William Jackson Hooker, Professor of Botany in the University
of Glasgow, became director in 1841, and he then commenced that
wonderful series of transformations which in the course of his twenty-
four years' directory made Kew Gardens the first establishment of its
kind in the world ; while its character has not only been worthily sus-
tained, but very appreciably expanded, advanced, and elevated, by
his son and successor, the subject of the present sketch.

Dr. Joseph Dalton Hooker was born June 30, 181 7. He was an
only son, and his mother was a woman of ability, who shared in the
scientific and artistic reputation of her husband. Educated under the
scrutiny of his parents, the subject of this memoir was prepared from
the outset for his career as a botanist and a scientific observer. Des-
tined at first for the medical profession, young Hooker took his medical
degree at an early age, but, under the influence of his hereditary
preference for botany, the profession was given up, and he took to
science. His medical education was, however, of great value to him
in his subsequent experience both as botanist and traveler.

His first adventure in any public capacity as a botanical inquirer
was one that eminently befitted him in his then twofold character of a
practitioner of the healing art and as a purely scientific investigator.
This was in 1839, when, having but just entered upon his twenty-
second year, he took part as assistant-surgeon and naturalist on board
the Erebus in the expedition sent out, under the command of Sir
James Ross, to the Antarctic Ocean. Ostensibly Dr. Hooker's posi-
tion throughout that memorable voyage was that of a medical officer
on one of her majesty's ships-of-war : in reality his especial object
all the while was to study the botany of the various regions touched
at in those remote portions of the antipodes in the course of the expe-
dition.

It is well to remember that Hooker received, during this four years'
voyage, only the moderate pay accruing to him as a medical officer, his
outfit being provided by his father, as well as his books and his instru-
ments. Throughout the whole of that period, moreover, Sir William
defrayed the expenses constantly incurred by his son when on shore,
both in traveling and in collecting, notwithstanding the whole of the
fruits of his labor, thus accumulated at considerable cost, were sought
out for no private end, but for the advantage of a national establish-
ment. Even after his return homeward, Dr. Hooker magnanimously
determined to forego all claim to promotion in the royal navy, devot-

SKETCH OF DOCTOR J. D. HOOKER. 239

ing four years more to the classification of the treasures he had brought
back with him at the close of the expedition. The result of these
eight years of toil was visible, in the end, in his splendid publication
of the " Flora Antarctica." The comparisons therein drawn of the
new plants brought home by Dr. Hooker in great abundance, with the
species already familiar to botanists in other parts of the world, helped
apparently to realize to naturalists the laws, hitherto but dimly con-
jectured, regulating the distributing of plants over the surface of the
globe.

Prior to entering upon the second of his many memorable expedi-
tions of research as a botanical collector, Dr. Hooker held the position
of botanist to the geological survey of Great Britain. On his return
homeward, Dr. Hooker gave to the world, in 1851, as the literary
fruits of his long journeyinge, the two important volumes of his " Hima-
layan Journals." The three subsequent years were employed by
him in arranging his Indian collection. Immediately upon his coming
back, he had, moreover, resumed his labors as an assistant to his father
at Kew Gardens. Besides this, for nine years together, beginning
with 1851 and ending with 1860, Dr. Hooker was employed by the
Lords of the Admiralty in editing a series of publications in which
were recounted, in chronological sequence, the various botanical dis-
coveries of a number of notable voyagers, from Captain James Cook
down to Dr. Joseph Hooker himself. At intervals during the years
thus occupied, he entered upon several other important journeys to
different parts of the European Continent, visiting, besides these, at
other periods, the north of Africa and the far West of the great Con-
tinent of America.

Dr. Hooker, in 1855, received the appointment of assistant-di-
rector of the Botanical Gardens, with a salary of £400, without any
residence. Sir William Hooker was at that time seventy years of age,
and was, therefore, fully entitled to have the assistance of his son
thus secured to him by the government. Three years after, he had his
salary increased to £500 a year, with use of a residence. His father
died in 1865, aged eighty-one.

As an example of industry, during the directorship of the Hookers
more than 130 costly volumes, treating upon all branches of botany,
have been issued to the world from the Kew establishment. Living
plants to the number of between 8,000 and 9,000 annually have, within
the same period, from that grand central point of distribution, been
sent to various parts of the globe — new and often most precious addi-
tions to the treasures of Kew being constantly sought out and brought
homeward through the agencies employed by the ever-vigilant direct-
ors. The correspondence involved in this constant interchange of
communications between them and the botanists of both hemispheres
has been such that 40,000 letters, it has been calculated, have, in the
course of the comparatively brief interval we are referring to, been

240 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

received, and have been answered, nearly every one of them, by the
hands of the directors themselves.

The history of science furnishes few instances like this of prolonged
devotion to a public enterprise so splendidly carried out as to become
a national honor and a benefaction to the scientific world. The de-
velopment of Kew is a noble work of art requiring genius, taste,
enthusiasm and perseverance, as well as knowledge. The world had
to be ransacked to accumulate his treasures, and those treasures are for
the most part living things. The Hookers, father and son, have not
only given a generation of incessant work to the organization of the
Kew Gardens, but they have done it at a constant and large self-
sacrifice. They contributed effort and money to the perfection of a
work which is an honor to the government, and one would think
that the least the government could do would be fairly to admit the
obligation. But, under the Gladstone administration, the ofiice of
Commissioner of Public Works was conferred upon a narrow-minded
blockhead named Ayrton, who looked upon science and its interests
with the prejudice and contempt characteristic of politicians. His
office placed him in charge of the Botanical Gardens as the superior to
whom its director was responsible, and he began a course of meddle-
some interference with the affairs of the establishment which was so
insulting to Dr. Hooker, and would have been so injurious to the place,
that the leading scientific men of England united in a protest to the
government. The paper, signed by Lyell, Paget, Huxley, Darwin,
and Tyndall, was drawn up by the latter gentleman, and presented
the government in such a disgraceful attitude before the world, that
Parliament took up the subject and put a check to the offensive treat-
ment of Dr. Hooker by the arrogant and supercilious minister of pub-
lic works. A man's work must be his monument, and Dr. Hooker
may be well content with that ; but, after what has taken place, the
Government of England owes it to its own dignity to recognize in
some fitting way the eminent services of the director of the Botanical
Gardens.

Dr. Hooker stands high, not only as an indefatigable explorer, but
also as a philosophic botanist ; and he long since espoused the doc-
trine that the species of the world's present flora have been derived
by descent and divergent modifications from ancient vegetable forms.
He married a daughter of the Rev. J. S. Henslow, Professor of Botany
in the University of Cambridge ; and his wife is not only herself an
accomplished botanist, but she shares in her husband's labors, and has
recently translated a splendid work upon the subject from the French
language.

EDITOR'S TABLE.

241

EDITOR'S TABLE.

A NEW SCIENTIFIC SCHOOL.

ANEW institution, of great prom-
ise, has just been added to our
increasing list of scientific and tech-
nological schools. Pardee Hall, a spa-
cious and well-appointed edifice, cost-
ing $250,000, and the gift of Mr. Ario
Pardee, was added to Lafayette College,
at Easton, Pa., with imposing ceremo-
nies of dedication, on the 21st of Octo-
ber. The structure has a front of 256
feet in length, with lateral wings, the
centre building being five stories in
height. It is constructed of Trenton
brownstone, with trimmings of light
Ohio sandstone. The lecture-rooms,
cabinets, models, laboratories, appara-
tus, and the facilities for studying min-
ing operations, are on the amplest scale.
In chemistry, the establishment is espe-
cially strong. Many thousand dollars
have been expended for chemical appa-
ratus, much of it made to order in Ger-
many and France ; there is desk-room
for nearly 250 students, and, by the in-
troduction of the latest improvements,
the laboratories are claimed to be the
completest in America. It is stated
that Mr. Pardee, who is largely engaged
in mining operations, has contributed
not less than half a million dollars to
Lafayette College, which, under the
presidency of the Rev. Dr. Cattell, has
reached a very prosperous condition.

"We publish a portion of Prof. Ray-
mond's able dedicatory address, regret-
ting that we have not space for the
whole of it. It will be seen that he
takes broad ground, and insists upon a
liberal culture for the special students
of science. "We hope that what he
says upon this subject foreshadows the
policy of the new institution. The
narrowness of the curriculum of our
technological schools, which aim, like
our business colleges, and like medi-
vol. iv. — 16

cal and legal schools, to prepare im-
mediately for practical professional
life, is a very serious objection, as it
favors the false idea that scientific
education has no wider basis than
sheer pecuniary utility. That scientific
schools, as those of agriculture, mining,
and engineering, have hitherto been
liable to this reproach, is undeniable.
But that is certainly no reason why a
course of education that is marked out
with predominant reference to profes-
sional pursuits should not be at the
same time broad and liberal. Allow-
ances, of course, must be made for the
difficulties of initiating a new system,
which had to answer the question "Of
what use ? " at the outset. Healthful
beginnings are ever small, and it was
inevitable that the traditional system,
of culture, which ostentatiously repu-
diated every thing like practical uses,
should make the most of the poverty
and narrowness of the scientific cur-
riculum. But the first stage in the his-
tory of the scientific schools is now
past. They have ceased to be experi-
ments ; their need is acknowledged,
and they are being established on the
most munificent scale of endowment.
It is now demanded that the "new
education " shall be widened, harmo-
nized, and adjusted, so as to meet the
full requirements of a liberal mental
cultivation. Let the basis of training
be modern and scientific, instead of
ancient and classical, and, the new stand-
point being taken, let the courses of
study be widened, so as to include
moral, literary, and aesthetic agencies
of training. Of course, with the growth
of the new, there must be riddance of
the old, but the old educational tree
has plenty of decayed branches and
dead wood, the cutting away of which
will reinvigorate its whole life.

24-2

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

SCIENTIFIC LECTURES.

That lectures will always continue
to be, as they always have been, a valu-
able mode of public instruction, there can
be little doubt ; but, that what is called
the lecture system is going to prove an
agency of national regeneration, may
be seriously questioned. In so far as it
is in any sense a system, it has degen-
erated to a mere catering to public
amusements. The platform is crowded
with readers, singers, decl aimers, dram-
atists, and buffoons, and the " course of
lectures " is transformed into a " series
of entertainments." People cannot have
their intellects on the rack forever, you
know; they must have a little relaxa-
tion. This tendency to pander to a low
public taste, and, under the respectable
name of lectures, to degrade the plat-
form to purposes of mere speculation,
ought in every way to be withstood.
Let amusements stand upon their own
basis, and not appeal to the public under
false pretenses. Lectures upon science,
history, or philosophy, to be really valu-
able, should be given in courses with
sufficient fullness to produce some depth
of impression. It is in this way that
such men as Lardner, Mitchell, and
Tyndall, have helped on the work of
public education. "We spoke last month
in commendation of Mr. Proctor, as a
popular teacher of astronomy ; and, to
those who desire lectures of a similar
first-class character in another and
widely-different field, we now recom-
mend Prof. Edward S. Morse, of Salem,
Mass. Prof. Morse's department is
zoology, in which he is an original in-
vestigator, of excellent standing, and
therefore thoroughly acquainted with
the actual phenomena of his subject.
As a teacher of natural history, he has
rare merits, a lively and wide-awake
manner, by which he keeps the atten-
tion of his audience ; simple and un-
technical language, suited to make
everybody understand him; and re-
markable skill in the rapid and accu-

rate drawing of diagrams upon the
black-board. To most lecturers this is
an interruption and a bore. They have
to stop speaking while they are draw-
ing, to outline the object they are deal-
ing with. Prof. Morse makes his figures
rapidly and elegantly, using both hands
at once, and keeps up an unbroken flow
of talk. The advantage of being thus
able to hold his audience, by engaging
two senses at once, is very great ; for,
not only is he more secure of the listen-
ers' apprehension by creating his forms
before the eye at the same time they are
described to the ear, but the pleasure
of full mental occupation is also in a
high degree favorable to the retention
of what is learned. It may be added
that in this way the lecturer's work is
not only 6f superior quality, but there
is a great deal more of it in the same
time. Every town where there is a
college or high-school, and any serious
mental activity, should arrange for a
special course of lectures such as Prof.
Morse furnishes.

" THE STUDY OF SOCIOLOGY?

The first article this month closes
the series of papers upon " The Study
of Sociology " that have been run-
ning through our pages for a year and
a half. "We have previously stated the
relation of this discussion to Mr. Spen-
cer's other works, but there still re-
mains much misapprehension upon this
point, and the present is, therefore,
a suitable occasion for a brief restate-
ment of the case. That we are here
concerned with the advance of a new
division of scientific knowledge of great
importance to the public is a further
excuse for repetition.

In 1860, Mr. Spencer threw out the
prospectus of a system of philosophy
which he expected it would take him
twenty years to complete. The under-
taking was new, comprehensive, and
original, as it proposed to construct a
system of general philosophy on the

EDITOR'S TABLE.

243

basis of the widest and most recent
results of science. From this point of
view it was a higher unification of
knowledge than had been hitherto at-
tempted; but it was more than this.
As the truths and science of Nature
have proved in various ways helpful
to man in the practical concerns of life,
it was the higher object of their sys-
tematic statement to arrive at a clearer
and more assured guidance in the con-
duct of human affairs. As the older
philosophies disavowed the end of
utility, a philosophy which is the out-
come of science, and rests upon the es-
tablished truths of Nature, may claim
the service of humanity as its highest
end. The scheme was, therefore, so
bold an innovation that it found favor
with but few. By many it was re-
garded as an intrinsically impossible
undertaking, and by others as a futile
endeavor of any one intellect. But
Mr. Spencer had well surveyed his
ground ; and, as the work quietly pro-
ceeded, there was soon evidence that
the execution was equal to the promise,
and that the enterprise had fallen into
the hands of one who had a genius for
it. As an example, Mr. John Stuart
Mill gave his testimony to the ency-
clopaedic scientific preparation of Mr.
Spencer for such a work, and at a crisis
of the undertaking he came forward
and offered to assume the whole pecu-
niary responsibility of its continuance,
on the ground that its failure would be
a public calamity. At the same time,
the leading organs of British opinion
began to concede Mr. Spencer's emi-
nent position and power, as when the
Saturday Review declared him to be
" the greatest organizer of thought that
had appeared in England since New-
ton." It was noteworthy, also, that
men of the highest mark who had
studied him most thoroughly were the
readiest to concede his power, as when
Dr. McOosh years ago spoke of his
" giant mind," and in his late address
before the Evangelical Alliance re-

ferred to him as the Titanic thinker of
England.

But from various causes Mr. Spen-
cer's work did not take hold of the
general public. All the masterly pa-
pers' that are now collected in his sev-
eral volumes of essays had been pub-
lished anonymously in the reviews, and
he was comparatively but little known
in the literary world. His form of
publication of " The Philosophical Sys-
tem" by subscription was not calcu-
lated to attract general readers, while
its formidable character repelled many
at the outset. As it was supposed to
be a destructive system, and its author
a dangerous man, the misrepresenta-
tions of the press were so gross and
malignant that Mr. Spencer refused to
furnish his series to them, and was
thus cut off from that source of pub-
licity. Yet his subscribers embraced
the most thoughtful men of England,
and upon many of these he made a
strong impression. While the mass of
English readers knew nothing about
him, students were devouring his works
and accepting his views. Calling at
the London book-shops for the " works
of Spencer," you would be handed the
" Faerie Queene," and, when you said
" Herbert Spencer," the rejoinder would
be, " We never heard of him." Yet, at
the same time, the serious attention of
the House of Lords was called by one of
its members to the growing influence of
Spencer's ideas in the universities, and
even the Premier of England has re-
cently felt it incumbent on him to make
a speech to arrest the increasing influ-
ence of his opinions.

But this restriction of Mr. Spen-
cer's readers mainly to scholarly circles
has resulted in two evils : the first was
that other men appropriated his ideas,
and, by translating them into popular
forms, made reputations for themselves
at his expense ; and the second was,
that the most erroneous and distorted
conceptions were formed by the public
of the character of the system itself.

244

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

Mr. Spencer is perhaps too little con-
cerned for the passing influence of his
doctrines, and, except that the heavy
expenditure of publication requires to
be sustained as it proceeds, he would
be content to leave their character to
the verdict of the future. But many,
believing that his system of thought is
of great, immediate, and practical value,
were anxious that something should be
done to give it a stronger hold upon
public attention. Mr. Spencer was
therefore urged to suspend for a time
his methodical work, and to address a
wider circle of readers by the prepara-
tion of a small popular volume, and by
using the channels of periodical publi-
cation.

Moreover, he had reached a stage
in the unfolding of his system which
was not only favorable to such an
episode, but which urgently required
it. That which the world will prob-
ably regard as the great work of his
life, should he be able to complete
it, and which is also of the greatest
moment to society, is still before him ;
while all that he has hitherto done is
but a preparation for it. This is noth-
ing less than to organize and place
upon its proper foundations the science
of man's social relations. A dozen
years have been occupied in laying the
foundation upon which alone the social
science can be built. " The Principles
of Sociology " is to be his next and
great work, and it was felt to be on
every account desirable that Mr. Spen-
cer should say something at this time
to the reading public on the nature,
claims, scope, limits, and difficulties,
of this important subject. This he
consented to do, and, in the preface to
" The Study of Sociology," he admits
that he does not now regret it.

And the object proposed has been
already in a good degree attained ; the
articles have been widely reprinted
and extensively read. That they will
have a large and salutary influence
upon public sentiment admits of no i

question. The views have been repro-
duced and commented upon extensively
by the press, who have generally rec-
ognized their importance, and the need
that they should be well understood in
a country where all men are govern-
ment-makers. A marked illustration
of the effect of these papers and of
Mr. Spencer's tables of "Descriptive
Sociology," the first of which is now
published, is furnished by the recent
inaugural address of Lord Houghton
before the British Social Science Con-
gress. The Times of October 2d re-
ports him as saying : " Their considera-
tion has impressed me strongly with
the uncertain data on which all Social
Science is founded, and the importance
of the connection between Sociology
and Biology which Mr. Spencer, both
in his philosophical works and in the
elaborate tabular statement of social
facts which he has supervised, and
which I earnestly commend to your
notice, is now expounding and illus-
trating." It was to exert an influence
of just this kind that " The Study of
Sociology " was prepared. It is hence
not to be regarded as a treatise upon
sociological science, but rather an in-
troduction to it. It treats of questions
which bear upon it, but which Mr.
Spencer could not properly deal with
in his forthcoming " Principles of So-
ciology."

Men of science have their discour-
agements, general and special. The
English just now have a spasm of un-
happiness because the government will
not allow them to accept honors from
foreign sovereigns. It seems that the
Emperor of Brazil and the King of
Sweden are inclined to bestow their
marks of favor upon English savants,
who would be glad to accept them, but
a regulation of the Foreign Office,
dated 1855, forbids any subject of her
majesty to accept a foreign order, or to
wear its insignia, without the queen's
permission ; and it is declared that

LITERARY NOTICES.

HS

" such permission shall not be granted
unless the foreign order shall have
been conferred in consequence of
active and distinguished service before
the enemy, either at sea or in the
field, 1 ' or unless the party " shall have
been in the service of the foreign sov-
ereign by whom the foreign order is
conferred." It may be thought that
this is a very light cross to bear, but
we republicans cannot understand how
grave these considerations are in Eng-
land. Virtue may be its own reward,
and wealth, fame, and the honor of
making discoveries, may fill the meas-
ure of ambition nearly full, but noth-
ing fills out, and sweetens, and hap-
pifies the life of the typical Britisher,
like a decoration. When, therefore,
an appreciative foreign sovereign sends
over a bundle of ribbons for distribu-
tion among the distinguished F. R. S.'s,
it certainly appears hard that they can-
not be allowed to wear them. The
editor of Nature has all our sympathy
when he says : " It seems to us unjust
and cruel that men of science, to whose
labors it is mainly owing that our coun-
try and the world generally are mount-
ing rapidly higher and higher in the
scale of civilization, should be prac-
tically debarred from accepting the
few honors that come in their way."

LITERARY NOTICES.

The Atmosphere. Translated from the
French of Camille Flammarion. Edited
by James Glaisher, F. R. S. With 10
Chromo-Lithographs and 86 Woodcuts.
450 pages 8vo. Price, $6.00. Harper &
Brothers.

A volume like this, summing up our
knowledge of the atmosphere, has been
long wanted, and it is now well supplied.
The scientific investigation of the air may
be said to have commenced with the dis-
covery of its weight and the invention of
the barometer about 1643, and the eight
generations of investigation that have in-
tervened have developed a vast body of facts
and laws relating to atmospheric phenom-

ena, so that, considered alone as a measure
of what has been done in this period toward
clearing up the mysteries of Nature, M. Flam-
marion's book would be very interesting.
The French edition was twice the size of
the present translation, and was a regular
cyclopaedia of atmology, but, by cutting off
certain parts of it which dealt with the re-
moter relations of the air, as for example
its influence upon plants, and by retrench-
ing the exuberant imaginative style in which
it was written, and in which popular French
writers so delight, the translator has brought
the work within very reasonable limits, and
adapted it more perfectly to the taste of
English readers. The edition has, moreover,
gained greatly in accuracy and trustworthi-
ness by the rigorous censorship of its editor,
Mr. Glaisher, whose position as a scientific
meteorologist is no doubt superior to that
of the author of the work. The book is
very free from technicalities, and, in its sim-
plicity, accuracy, and attractiveness, it is an
excellent example of popular scientific liter-
ature. Its general object, as stated by the
editor, has been " to produce a work giving
a broad outline of the causes which give rise
to facts of every-day occurrence in the at-
mosphere, in such a form that any reader
who wished to obtain a general view of such
phenomena and their origin would be
readily enabled to do so. The great num-
ber of subjects treated of will thus, to the
majority of readers, who merely desire an
insight into the general principles that pro-
duce phenomena, which every one has seen
or heard of, be found to be rather an ad-
vantage, as the whole range of atmospheric
action is thus displayed in the same volume
in moderate compass, without so much de-
tail being anywhere given as to make the
book other than interesting to even the
most casual reader.

11 The work treats of the form, dimen-
sions, and movements of the earth, and of
the influence exerted on the meteorology by
the physical conformation of our globe ; of
the figure, height, color, weight, and chemi-
cal components of the atmosphere ; of the
meteorological phenomena induced by the
action of light, and the optical appearances
which objects present as seen through dif-
ferent atmospheric strata ; of the phenom-
ena connected with heat, wind, clouds, rain,

246

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

and electricity, including the subjects of the
laws of climate. The contents are, there-
fore, of deep importance to all classes of
persons, especially to the observer of Nature,
the agriculturist, and the navigator."

The volume is elegantly executed, and
in its whole style is a credit to the pub-
Ushers.

The Comparative Anatomy op the Do-
mesticated Animals. By A. Chauveau,
Professor at the Lyons Veterinary
School. Second edition, revised and
enlarged, with the Cooperation of S.
Arloing, Professor at the Toulouse
Veterinary School. Translated and ed-
ited by George Fleming, F. R. G. S.,
Veterinary Surgeon, Royal Engineers.
95*7 pages ; 450 Illustrations. Price,
$6.00. D. Appleton & Co.

The first edition of this comprehensive
work appeared in 1854, and it has held a
leading place as a text-book in the Conti-
nental colleges. It is an exhaustive and
exact description of the anatomical ma-
chinery of which the bodies of our domes-
tic animals are composed. As the first
trait required in such a work is accuracy,
Prof. Chauveau could not be satisfied with
a compilation, no matter how weighty the
authorities ; and, although the whole range
Of anatomical erudition was consulted, the
work took its character from the direct
study of Nature, the position of the author
as anatomical principal in the Imperial
Veterinary School affording him the most
extensive opportunities of observation and
dissection. Moreover, the author aimed at
something more than the mere accumula-
tion of an endless and arid mass of ana-
tomical details. He sought the bonds, and
relations, and meanings, by which they
could be connected and harmonized, in a
philosophic method. Inspired by the in-
fluence of the two illustrious anatomists,
George Cuvier and Geoffroy St.-Hilaire, he
thus speaks of their labors :

" The first, after immense researches,
ventured to compare the innumerable spe-
cies in the animal kingdom with each other ;
he seized their general characters — the
analogies which allied them to one another ;
he weighed these analogies, contrasted them
with the dissimilarities, and established
among them different kinds and different

degrees; and in this way was he able to
form natural groups, themselves subdivided
into several categories in which individuals
were gathered together according to their
analogies and affinities. Then the chaos
was swept away, light appeared, and the
field of science was no longer obscured ;
comparative anatomy was created in all its
branches, and the structure of the animal
kingdom was brought within those laws of
uniformity which shine throughout the other
parts of creation.

"Geoffroy St.-Hilaire followed Cuvier
over the same ground. More exclusive than
Cuvier, he entirely neglected the differential
characters, and allowed himself to be gov-
erned by the consideration of resemblances.
He especially pursued the discovery of a
fixed rule for guidance in the search after
these resemblances — a difficult task, and a
dangerous reef, upon which the sagacity of
his illustrious rival was stranded. To be
more certain than Cuvier, and the better to
grasp his subject, he restricted the scope of
his observations, confining himself more
particularly to the class of vertebrata, in
order to solve the enigma whose answer he
sought. At last he found it, and made it
known to us in those memorable though
abstruse pages, in which the meaning is
often obscure and hidden, but which con-
tain, nevertheless, magnificent hymns chant-
ed to the honor of the Creator. The shape
and functions of organs, he says, do not
offer any stability, only their relations are
invariable ; these alone cannot give decep-
tive indications in the comparison of the
vital instruments. He thus founded his
great principle of connections, firmly estab-
lished its value, and fortified it by acces-
sory principles. Then was the philosophi-
cal sentiment decidedly introduced into the
researches in organization, and anatomy
became a veritable science."

The new edition of the work has been
rewritten throughout, greatly extended, and
brought up to the present time; but its
method is the same. The two branches of
anatomy, human and comparative, are
brought into closer alliance, and the com-
parison of the organs of man with those of
animals is made a prominent feature. The
work is, therefore, not only a complete dis-
section-manual for the student of veterinary

LITERARY NOTICES.

247

science, and a book of reference for the
veterinary surgeon, but it is also available
for the zoologist, the comparative anatomist,
the ethnologist, and the medical practi-
tioner. Although we have had good books
on the structure of the horse, this is the
first complete treatise on the anatomy of
the domesticated animals in the English
language, and will contribute materially to
the progress of veterinary science, while
being useful also to the community at large.

Our Common Insects. A Popular Account
of the Insects of our Fields, Forests,
Gardens, and Houses. Illustrated with
4 Plates and 268 Woodcuts. By A. S.
Packard, M.D. 225 pages. Price, $2.50.
Salem : Naturalists' Agency. Boston :
Estes & Lauriat. New York : Dodd &
Mead.

Dr. Packard has done an excellent thing
in preparing this little hand-book. His
large " Guide to the Study of Insects," with
upward of *700 pages and 1,200 figures, al-
though reduced to five dollars in price, is
still too expensive for the great mass of
readers ; and it was therefore well to distill
it over, with the contents of the American
Naturalist, into a more portable and popu-
lar form. Good and cheap books on in-
sects require to be multiplied, for we are
all interested in them. They infest us in-
side and out, by day and by night, sleeping
and waking, at home and abroad; they
damage our food, poison our drink, spoil
our clothes, kill our domestic animals, rav-
age our gardens, blast our fruit, and de-
stroy our crops. The subject cannot be
ignored, but we naturally approach it with
prejudice. There are, however, compen-
sations in all things. Although insects
may be our enemies, they are yet sci-
entifically very interesting creatures. We
all have a high opinion of Nature, and are
never done praising her; but she runs to
insects incontinently — they could outvote
all the rest of the animal kingdom five to
one. As the higher tribes of life have been
perishing out in multitudes along the geo-
logical march, it cannot be doubted that
the same thing has happened in a much
greater degree to the insects, although their
vestiges were, of course, more difficult of
preservation. But Dr. Packard tells us
that there are upward of 200,000 living

species, and, as species are held by many to
be immutable, each one having been spe-
cially created, we have a clew to the exact
number of miracles that these pests have
cost : though why miraculous contrivance
took such an excessive turn in this direc-
tion will perhaps be found explained in
Dr. Bushnell's book of "Dark Things."
But, however they came, the insects are
here, a part of the world of life, growing,
multiplying, and dying, like ourselves ; un-
dergoing curious transformations, and ani-
mated by wonderful instincts — social, indus-
trious, and most instructive in all their ways
and history. Dr. Packard selects the most
common, those that are easily — often too
easily — observed, and gives us their various
stories with an interest that is quite ro-
mantic. His volume is compact with infor-
mation upon the subject, and is adapted to
all intelligent readers ; but, for sensible
boys and girls, it is worth a whole library
of the fictitious drivel that now forms so
large a part of the mental nourishment of
the young.

This volume consists mainly of reprinted
matter, but it contains a new and admirable
chapter entitled " Hints on the Ancestry of
Insects." The irrepressible question of
origins is not to be escaped, and, as it has
long haunted the souls of botanists, it now
begins to torment the entomological soul.
Insects cannot be studied without being
classed, and they cannot be classed without
knowing their resemblances and affinities,
and these cannot be made out except
through their embryological or development-
al history. The question how things are
runs into the question how they came to be,
and the first thesis of Scripture becomes
the last problem of science — that is, gene-
sis. Dr. Packard inclines to the view that
the primal ancestors of insects were worms,
and he assumes without hesitation the doc-
trine of evolution as best explaining the
facts of the science. We quote one or two
passages upon this point :

" Many short-sighted persons complain
that such a theory sets in the background
the idea of a personal Creator ; but minds
no less devout, and perhaps a trifle more
thoughtful, see the hand of a Creator not
less in the evolution of plants and animals
from preexistent forms, through natural

248

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

laws, than in the evolution of a summer's
shower, through the laws discovered by the
meteorologist, who looks back through
myriads of ages to the causes that led to
the distribution of mountain-chains, ocean-
currents, and trade-winds, which combine
to produce the necessary conditions result-
ing in that shower.

" Indeed, to the student of Nature, the
evolution theory in biology, with the nebu-
lar hypothesis, and the grand law in physics
of the correlation of forces, all indepen-
dent, and revealing to us the mode in which
the Creator of the universe works in the
world of matter, together form an im-
measurably grander conception of the order
of creation and its ordainer than was pos-
sible for us to form before these laws were
discovered and put to practical use."

Again he says :

" Thus the ovipositor of the bee has a
history, and is not apparently a special
creation t but a structure gradually devel-
oped to subserve the use of a defensive or-
gan. So the organs of special sense in in-
sects are, in most cases, simply altered
hairs. The hairs themselves are modified
epithelial cells. The eyes of insects, sim-
ple and compound, are at first simply epi-
thelial cells, modified for a special purpose ;
and even the egg is but a modified epithelial
cell attached to the walls of the ovary,
which in turn is morphologically but a
gland. Thus Nature deals in simples, and
with her units of structure elaborates as
her crowning work a temple in which the
mind of man, formed in the image of God,
may dwell. Her results are not the less
marvelous because we are beginning to
dimly trace the process by which they arise.
It should not lessen our awe and reverence
for Deity if, with minds made to adore, we
also essay to trace the movements of his
hand in the origin of the forms of life.

" Some writers of the evolution school
are strenuous in the belief that the evolu-
tion hypothesis overthrows the idea of ar-
chetypes and plans of structure. But a true
genealogy of animals and plants represents
a natural system, and the types of animals,
be they four, as Cuvier taught, or five, or
more, are recognized by naturalists through
the study of dry, hard, anatomical facts.
Accepting, then, the type of articulates as

founded in Nature from the similar modes
of development and points of structure per-
ceived between the worms and the Crusta-
cea on the one hand, and the worms and
insects on the other, have we not a strong
genetic bond uniting these three great
groups into one grand sub-kingdom, and
can we not in imagination perceive the suc-
cessive steps by which the Creator, acting
through the laws of evolution, has built up
the great articulate division of the animal
kingdom ? "

Proportions of Pins used in Bridges.
By Charles Bender, C. E. No. IV.,

Van Nostrand Science Series, 52 pages.
Price, 50 cents.

This is a very small book, but it would
certainly be wrong to measure its impor-
tance by its dimensions. In science, we are
often told that there is no great and no
small, by which it is meant that the interest
and value of things in Nature are not de-
pendent upon magnitude. It is desirable, as
we all feel at times, that bridges should be
well constructed, and, as their parts are held
together by pins, all who travel are inter-
ested that these pins should be in proper
proportions. Thanks to Bender for de-
termining what these proportions are, and
to Van Nostrand for diffusing a knowledge
of them. We bear our testimony to the
importance of the research, and the value
of the publication, but we regret to say
that we cannot recommend this monograph
for popular reading, as it is brimful of
mathematics.

A Treatise on Analytical Geometry.
By William G. Peck, LL. D., Professor
of Mathematics and Astronomy in Co-
lumbia College, and of Mechanics in the
School of Mines. 212 pages. A. S.
Barnes & Co.

Prof. Peck has prepared this treatise
for the use of his own classes in Columbia
College and 'the School of Mines. His ob-
ject has been to present the subject in a
narrower compass than is done in the usual
voluminous works that are employed as
text-books in the mathematical depart-
ments of the higher institutions. The
author puts forward no claims to origi-
nality of method, and states that the gen-

LITERARY NOTICES.

249

eral plan of the work does not differ essen-
tially from that adopted by the earlier
writers on the subject ; but he has revised
definitions, simplified explanations, abbre-
viated demonstrations, and conformed the
limits of the treatment to the growing
wants of scientific education.

Chronos: Mother Earth's Biography; a
Komance of the New School, by Wal-
lace Wood, M. D. London : Triibner
& Co., 1873, 334 pages.

If a peripatetic scientific lecturer may
seek to draw listeners by proclaiming to
make science " as fascinating as fairy tales,"
surely the author of this book is justified
in terming his work a "Romance of the
New School."

In eleven chapters he pictures with a
flowing pen the birth, growth, maturity,
and decay of Mother Earth ; and to those
who have puzzled their brains over the
severe, concise -formulas of Herbert Spencer,
who have passed working hours on the
nebular hypothesis, and striven with the
problem of the precession of the equinoxes,
or the data and inductions of Biology and
Psychology, it is like sailing with a " wet
sheet and a flowing sea " on the lighest
waves of the imagination over the formi-
dable obstacles which those philosophical
problems present.

The author professes to traverse the
field with seven-leagued boots, and surely
they are needed, for in this small volume is
crowded the result of prolonged and pro-
found speculations into the mystery of the
earth, its geology, its life, the periods of its
development, the evolution of its organ-
isms, its social history, and its final dissolu-
tion.

With liberal quotations from the writings
of modern scientists, with here and there an
enlivenment of humor, and — to deal with
him gently — some considerable irrelevant
frivolity, he puts forward in a fresh and
brisk, if not altogether attractive presenta-
tion of the subject, the most advanced ideas
of the evolutionists, and those who shudder
at the definition of evolution as " a change
from an indefinite incoherent homogeneity,
to a definite coherent heterogeneity," may,
not unprofitably, follow their chatty and
lively guide, who certainly is never dull
while acting as cicerone.

The first American contribution to the
International Scientific Series will be by
Josiah P. Cooke, Professor of Chemistry in
Harvard College, on the " New Chemistry."
It is well known that this science in recent
years has undergone a profound change in
its theory, with a corresponding change in
its nomenclature. The new view is firmly
established in the world of science, and
modern text-books are slowly adopting it,
while the mass of educated people still
think in the old chemical ways. A book
was needed to make this transition clear
and easy for the non-scientific, which should
explain the necessity and philosophy of the
change more fully than is possible in the reg-
ular manuals, and such a work Prof. Cooke
has now prepared. He has long taught
the modern views, and his College Text-
book of " Chemical Philosophy " embod-
ies them ; but, perceiving the public want,
he prepared a course of lectures familiarly
explaining the new doctrines, and delivered
them at the Lowell Institute in Boston (im-
mediately after the course of Prof. Tyndall),
with great satisfaction to those who heard
them. The volume containing these lectures,
carefully revised and illustrated, is now
going rapidly through the press, and will
be ready in a very short time. It will be
of interest to general readers who care to
note the progress of scientific thought ; but
will be invaluable at the present time to all
teachers of chemistry.

PUBLICATIONS EECEIVED.

Acrididae of North America, by Cyrus
Thomas, Ph. D. (Geological Survey of the
Territories.) Washington : Government
Printing-office, 1873.

Essay on the Glacial Epoch. By Dr.
Philip Harvey. Burlington, Iowa, 1873,
pp. 24.

New Vertebrata from Colorado Terri-
tory. By Prof. E. D. Cope. Government
Printing-Office.

Law and Intelligence in Nature. By
A. B. Palmer, A. M., M. D. Lansing, Mich.,
1873, pp. 31.

Thysanura of Essex County, Mass., by
A. S. Packard, Jr., with two other papers

2C0

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

by the same author, on the New American
Phalsenidae and the Cave Fauna of Indiana.

Seventh Annual Report of the Superin-
tendent of Missouri Public Schools.

Eleventh Annual Meeting of the Mis-
souri State Teachers' Association.

MISCELLANY.

The Coal-Fields of China.— The coal-
fields of the Chinese Empire cover an area
of 400,000 square miles, and yet China im-
ports large quantities of coal from Eng-
land. In the great province of Hunan,
says Iron, a coal-field extends over an area
of 21,700 square miles. Hunan boasts of
two distinct coal-beds, one bearing bitu-
minous coal, and the other anthracite — the
latter being favorably situated for water-
transit, covering an area equal to that of
the anthracite coal-fields of Pennsylvania,
and yielding anthracite of the best quality.
The coal-area of the province of Shansi is
30,000 square miles, enough to supply the
whole world for thousands of years, even
at the present rapid rate of consumption.
An immense supply of iron-ore adds to the
mineral wealth of this great province.

If it be asked, in view of these facts,
why it is that China imports foreign coal,
we have only to consider the methods of
mining followed by the Chinese, and the
want of good roads, in order to get a satis-
factory reply. The mode of working, says
the writer in Iron, is at once tremendously
severe and ludicrously ineffectual : the shafts
are not perpendicular, but are inclined
planes, 400 or 500 feet in length, running
down a slant of about 45°. Up this slant
the men carry the coal in baskets, one being
attached to each end of a short carrying pole,
which is borne upon the left shoulder. The
shafts are about seven feet high, and about
the same width, with a wooden roof, beams
on both sides for support, and wood along
the floor, so arranged as to form steps, up
which the miner pulls himself by catching
the projection of a step above him with a
small curved staff, which he carries in his
right hand. Even with cheap labor, this
barbarous method proves expensive.

But the great difficulty is conveyance.
The famous canals of the Chinese Empire are

confined to the lower basin of the Yangtsze.
The roads are simply in a state of nature.
Mere lines of deep ruts mark the track of
the primitive vehicles of the country. The
only repairs are effected by the rains, which
wash them level ; and then the sun hardens
the slushy mass. In some provinces two-
wheeled vehicles are employed, but in the
central provinces only the primeval wheel-
barrow, and in the hilly districts these rude
machines give way to beasts of burden.
The cost of transportation is, of course,
enormous. In the province of Shansi, coal
which costs about 25 cents per ton at the
mine rises to six dollars at the distance of
30 miles ; so that only those who live al-
most at the pit's mouth derive any benefit
from the coal-mines of the Celestial Empire.
This difficulty, amounting almost to impos-
sibility of transit, presses with equal weight
upon every department of Chinese industry.
The crops are splendid, but there are no
means of reaching the market, and the
apathy produced by the want of means of
transit amply explains why famine is a
chronic scourge in the land of plenty.

The introduction of a railway system
into China would not only enrich the pro-
prietors, but would confer immeasurable
benefit on the inhabitants of the country.
It has been proposed to tap the great
province of Hunan by extending a railway
from Upper Burmah to the confines of the
Celestial Empire, and there is little doubt
that within a few years the shriek of the
steam-whistle will be heard within the con-
fines of the "Empire of the Sun and Moon."

Sericulture in Brazil. — The Italian
newspapers, says La Nature, give some in-
teresting information with regard to the
measures now being taken in Brazil to for-
ward the production of a silk yielded by a
peculiar species of butterfly, which is as yet
but little known in that country, and quite
unknown in Europe. This butterfly {Bom-
byx saturnia), commonly called the porta-
espejos, has a spread of wings four times as
great as that of the common silk-worm
moth. The caterpillar feeds on the leaves
of the Ricinus communis and also of the
Anacardium Occidentale. The cocoon dif-
fers very widely in appearance from the
common cocoon. It is enveloped in a bag-

MISCELLANY.

251

like pellicle, resembling cobweb, which be-
ing removed, the cocoon is found to be oval.
In color it is grayish, and its tissue differs
from that of European cocoons in being
wove like a bird's-nest. The caterpillar
does not shut itself quite up in the cocoon,
but leaves an opening, through which it es-
capes in tbe imago-shape.

The Bombyz saturnia works rapidly,
completing the cocoon in three weeks ; in
three weeks more it quits it ; and thus the
silk-harvest takes up only six or seven
weeks. The process of filature, or of un-
winding the threads of the cocoon, is very
simple, the threads, owing to the peculiar
structure of the cocoon, being very readi-
ly separated from one another by the ac-
tion of warm water. The fibre possesses
considerable strength. One thread, twelve
inches long, will bear a weight of sixty-two
grains, and a cord of fifty-four threads a
weight of over two pounds. The thread,
however, is somewhat coarse, but efforts
are being made to get it of greater fine-
ness so as to fit it for weaving into fabrics
and spinning into sewing-thread. If this
Brazilian fibre passes successfully through
its period of trial and experiment, it will
give the world a very cheap silk, the cost
of production being much less than that
of European silk. The cocoon is found in
great quantities in the north of Brazil. The
caterpillar feeds on the tree, and withstands
the inclemency of the weather. The tree
is so abundant that whole ship-loads of
cocoons might be collected.

The Descent of Man.— M. Gabriel de
Mortillet, at the recent meeting of the
French Association, after showing that cer-
tain flints found in tertiary strata bear evi-
dences of human workmanship, goes on to
prove that this tertiary precursor of man was
not identical in species with the man of tbe
present period. " If there is one fact well
established," says he, " and admitted by all,
it is this: that there is a succession of
faunae from one geological period to an-
other. From stratum to stratum the fauna
is modified, the animals change, and these
modifications, these changes, are all the
more marked in proportion as the strata
are wider apart. Between two strata in
contact there may exist species in common,

but strata widely separated from one an-
other have different species, and even dif-
ferent genera, in case they lie very wide
apart. These changes occur all the more
rapidly in proportion as the animals pos-
sess a more complicated organization. Thus
the mollusca, having a less complicated or-
ganization than the mammals, have some-
times a far more protracted existence as
species. Certain shells are found identi-
cal in two strata, in which the mammalian
faunae are very widely different. These are
not mere hypotheses, but scientific data,
based on direct observation of facts.

"Now, since the formation of the cal-
careous strata of Beauce and of the loam-
deposit at Thenay, in which chipped flints
are found, the mammalian faunae was
completely renewed at least three times.
The differences between the mammals of
the Beauce limestone and the mammals of
the present period are not only sufficient
to characterize distinct species, but have
appeared sufficient in the eyes of zoologists
to warrant their classification into special
genera. The mammals of the level of the
Beauce limestone and of the Thenay loam
all belong, almost without exception, to
extinct genera — genera nearly allied to
those at present existing, but yet quite dis-
tinct from them. How, then, could man,
who has a most complicated organization,
alone escape the action of this law ? "We
must therefore conclude that, if, as every
thing leads us to presume, the Thenay flints
bear the evidences of intentional chipping,
they are the work, not of the present hu-
man species, but of another species of man,
possibly even of a genus the precursor of
man, which would serve to fill up one of the
gaps in the zoological series."

An Ancient Papyrus. — The King of Sax-
ony has purchased, and placed in the Leip-
sic Library, an Egyptian papyrus on the
preparation of medicines, which was found
at Thebes by Dr. Ebers. It is a beautiful
yellow papyrus, in a good state of preserva-
tion. It consists of 110 columns, and has
written on the back a double calendar in
eight columns. Each column is eight inches
wide, and contains twenty-two lines. The
writing is from right to left ; it »<* all in
black ink, except the beginnings ot chapters,

2^2

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

which are in red ink. The characters are
distinct, bold, and tasteful, and the priest
who traced them must have been an artist.
Their form, says La Nature, from which we
gather these particulars, would appear to
fix the seventeenth century b. c. as the
date of the manuscript ; and the fact that
in the calendar the name of King Ra-ser-ka
(Amenophis I.) is mentioned proves that
the papyrus is not posterior to the first half
of that century.

The work itself dates from a period more
remote than the transcription on papyrus.
It is known that the most ancient Egyptian
writings were works about medicine. Ma-
netho tells us that the Egyptians honored
one of their first kings as a physician. This
assertion is confirmed not only by the frag-
ment of papyrus of Brugsh and Chabas, pre-
served in the Berlin Museum, but also by
the present document.

The first chapter of the papyrus treats
of the original production of the book,
which came from the Temple of On (Heli-
opolis). Then follow the remedies employed
for the cure of various diseases, together
with extensive details as to diseases of the eye,
remedies against the falling off of the hair,
for sores, fevers, the itch, etc. The chap-
ter devoted to the mistress of the house is
succeeded by one about the house itself,
which insists on the importance of cleanli-
ness, and tells how to banish insects, to ex-
clude them from houses, to prevent serpents
from coming out of their holes, to avoid the
stings of gnats and the bites of fleas, and to
disinfect clothing and dwellings. Then
there is a treatise on the relations between
soul and body, with secret methods of study-
ing the heart and its movement.

After giving this general description of
the papyrus, which he ascribes to the time
of the early Pharaohs, very shortly after
Menes, Ebers apologizes for not having
studied it more profoundly, for the want of
literary resources during his travels. But
he promises that he will decipher it com-
pletely with the aid of his colleagues, though
the task is one that will require several
years of labor. He hopes that, with the aid
of the various translations of the Bible, he
will succeed in determining the meaning of
the names of certain diseases hitherto unas-
certained. He will furthermore get assist-

ance from ancient Egyptian writings, from
the dictionaries of the Semitic languages,
and from some Greek works which are es-
sentially of the same nature as this papy-
rus, especially from a work by Dioscorides.
There occur, according to Ebers, 100 words
in the papyrus which are altogether new.
Of course it is not expected that the work
will throw any light on physiology, pathol-
ogy, or therapeutics ; still, it will be inter-
esting for the information it will supply as
to the history of medicine in remote ages.

The Weeping - Willow. — The pleasant
tradition that made this the tree on which
the captives of Sion, at Babylon, hung their
harps, has been lately disproved by the in-
vestigations of Karl Kock. He shows that
the Hebrew word " Garab," used by the
poet David, refers to a poplar, and not a
willow. This willow, because of the current
belief, Linnaeus named Salix Babylonica.
That the tree was not a willow, Ranwolf
had concluded long ago. Among systema-
tists the Linnaean specific name will have to
give way to that of Salix pendula (Moench).
The hardiness of the drooping willow indi«
cates a climate colder than that of Mesopo-
tamia, and it is now regarded as of Chinese
or Japanese origin.

An Ancient Well in Illinois. — A corre-
spondent, writing from Fulton, Whitesides
County, Illinois, gives the following particu-
lars of the discovery of an ancient well in
that locality, which he thinks is deserv-
ing of further investigation. Some twenty
years since, a farmer, living on a high and
dry rolling prairie, about sixteen miles from
the Mississippi, in Whitesides County, dug
a well in his yard. The first five feet dug
through consisted of mould and clay, the
next twenty-two feet of sand and gravel,
and the succeeding five feet of black muck.
In the midst of this black earth the remains
of an old well were struck, the centre of the
new excavation falling within six inches of
the centre of the old one. This ancient
well was stoned up in a workmanlike man-
ner, the stones, in the opinion of the ma-
son employed, having been laid in a sand-
and-lime cement. It was filled with the
mucky material composing the stratum in
which it was found ; and, on clearing out a

MISCELLANY.

2 53

portion of this, water in the desired quan-
tity was obtained. The curb of the old
well, after the removal of a few of the top
stones, was made the foundation of the new
curbing, which was carried upward to the
surface. The thirty-two feet of earth over-
lying the old well had never before been
turned up.

Our informant, Mr. George M. Wood-
ward, adds that these statements were
originally taken down from the lips of the
farmer himself, who, though not now living
on this farm, is still accessible ; and that
they are received as facts by all the intelli-
gent old settlers of the vicinity.

Scientific Prediction verified.— A strik-
ing example of the great accuracy attain-
able in scientific prediction is found in the
history of the Mont Cenis Tunnel. Before
the work was commenced, two eminent
savants, M. Elie de Beaumont and Signor
Sismonda, had expressed the opinion that,
in proceeding from France to Italy, the fol-
lowing rocks would be met with : 1. A bed
of schist, with anthracite, having a thick-
ness of from 5,000 to 6,500 feet. 2. A bed
of very hard quartzite, with a thickness of
from 1,300 to 1,900 feet. 3. Compact lime-
stone, with gypsum, anhydrite, and dolo-
mite, having a thickness of from 6,000 to
9,000 feet. 4. A series of calcareous schists,
23,000 to 27,000 feet in thickness. Messrs.
Beaumont and Sismonda said that no igne-
ous rocks would be encountered, all the
formations in these parts of the Alps be-
longing to the stratified rock.

Actual experience corresponded very
closely with the predictions of science.
First, there occurred the schists, with car-
boniferous sandstones, containing veins of
anthracite : thickness, 6,453£ feet. Then
the quartzites : thickness, l,255f feet.
Next, beds of gypsum, anhydrite, and dolo-
mite, with a thickness of 7,726£ feet. Fi-
nally, calcareous schists for the remaining
28,323 feet of the tunnel

The Brain and the Mind.— Dr. Burt G.
Wilder's paper, before the American Scien-
tific Association, on " Variations in the Cere-
bral Forms and Fissures of Domestic Dogs,"
contains some very interesting criticisms of
the various methods followed in studying

the relations between brain and mind. There
is, first, the phrenological method, wherein
the skull is accepted as an index of the
brain. But the fallaciousness of this method
is shown: 1. By anatomy, in that no defin-
ite correspondence whatever exists between
folds and fissures of the brain and the outer
surface of the skull. 2. By the fact that no
phrenologist has ventured to draw the ac-
cepted map of the mental faculties on the
surface of the brain itself. 3. By the fail-
ure, in many cases, of the most expert
phrenologists to define character by an ex-
amination of the head. The pathological
method is equally unproductive of satisfac-
tory results. This method proceeds by com-
paring brain-lesions with mental phenom-
ena observed during the life of the individ-
ual. But the patrons of this method are not
yet agreed as to the special function of the
cerebellum, nor as to the localization of the
faculty of speech. Then, too, there is good
reason for supposing that peculiar mental
conditions may exist without recognizable
brain-lesion, and vice versa. Finally, Dr.
Wilder asserts, on the authority of Brown-
Sequard, that " all parts of the brain may,
under irritation, act on any of its other
parts, modifying their activity so as to de-
stroy or diminish, or to increase and to
morbidly alter it ! "

The experimental method proceeds by
irritating or destroying certain cerebral re-
gions in living animals. This method satis-
factorily demonstrates the existence in the
brain of centres of action for different sets
of muscles. But, then, it necessarily pro-
duces abnormal action, and fails to show
the relation between brain and mind. Dr.
Wilder then describes his own method,
which is, in theory, that of the phrenolo-
gists, but differing therefrom in two impor-
tant respects: 1. In employing the brain
itself for comparison, in using large num-
bers, and in comparing the two sides. 2.
In employing canine instead of human
brains, on the ground of their simple fis-
sural pattern, and the possibility of an ac-
curate knowledge of the mental character-
istics of the dogs. Of course, better re-
sults might be expected from the study of
the brains of persons with whom we were
acquainted in life, but that is impracticable.
From the study of a brain, if a criminal or

2 54

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

pauper whom the investigator has never
known, nothing can be learned. It is other-
wise with dogs, where the brain and the
mind of the same individual are at our dis-
posal. It is worthy of remark that Dr.
Wilder is no believer in the localization of
faculties in different portions of the brain,
and is inclined rather to think that a cere-
bral hemisphere acts as a unit either singly
or with its fellow.

Relics of Man in the Miocene. — In our

June number appeared a note by Sir John
Lubbock about the discovery, near the Dar-
danelles, of an engraved fossil bone, dating
from Miocene times, and supposed to fur-
nish evidence of man's existence at a very
early geological period. A paper was pre-
sented to the American Association, at its
late meeting, by Mr. George Washburn, of
Constantinople, wherein reasons were given
for questioning the value of these remains
as evidence of the high antiquity of man.
The fragment of mastodon-bone, so called,
is described by Mr. Washburn as having 50
marks, more than half of which are grouped
in the centre. Taken individually, they are
peculiar and puzzling ; but, taken together,
they can hardly represent the figure of an
animal, or show any evidence of design.
They may have been produced by worms
when the bone was soft. The smooth upper
surface of the stratum of limestone on
which the bone was found is covered with
exactly similar marks, many groups' of
which make more striking pictures than
those found on the bone. One specimen in
particular is so marked that a vivid imagina-
tion might distinguish the picture of a wild-
boar with a spear in his side, with the Greek
letter n most clearly cut by the side of it. As
for the split bones found in the same stra-
tum, and the flint fragments, the author sat-
isfactorily accounts for the shapes assumed
by these, without supposing the interven-
tion of man.

The Octopns and its Prey. — Mr. Henry
Lee, of the Brighton (England) Zoological
Gardens, wishing to view the seizure of a
crab by an octopus, recently fastened one
to a string and had it lowered into the
aquarium close to the glass, while he watched
the operation in front. The crab had hardly

descended to the depth of two feet when an
octopus shot out like a rocket from one side
of the tank, opened its membranous um-
brella, shut up the crab in it, and darted
back to its hiding-place. As the animal
could not be well observed in this situation,
the attempt was made to pull the bait away
from him, so as to draw him out of his re-
treat. But, as soon as the octopus felt the
pull, he took a firm grasp of the rock with
all the suckers of seven of his arms, and,
stretching the eighth aloft, coiled it round
the tautened line. Noticing several jerks
on the string, Mr. Lee told his assistant not
to use too much force. But the man assured
him that the jerking was done by the octo-
pus, and that the creature would soon break
the line if he did not let it go. " Hold on,
then, and let him break it," said Mr. Lee.
In three tugs more the line broke, though
it was pretty strong twine.

But Mr. Lee's object was to study par-
ticularly the animal's mode of seizing and
disposing of its prey. Accordingly, a second
crab was so fastened that the string could
be withdrawn if desired, and was lowered
near to the great male octopus. The crab
was seized precisely as the observer desired,
viz., caught between the octopus and the
glass plate. In an instant the prey was
completely pinioned. Not a movement, not
a struggle was visible or possible — each leg,
each claw, was grasped all over by suckers,
enfolded in them, stretched out to its full
extent by them. The back of the carapace
was covered all over with the tenacious
vacuum-disks, brought together by the adapt-
able contraction of the limb, and ranged in
close order, shoulder to shoulder, touching
each other ; while, between others which
dragged the abdominal plates toward the
mouth, the black tip of the hard, horny
beak was seen for a single instant protrud-
ing from the circular orifice of the radiation
of the arms, and the next had crunched
through the shell, and was buried deep in
the flesh of the victim. The action of an
octopus when seizing its prey for its neces-
sary food is very like that of a cat pouncing
on a mouse, and holding it down beneath its
paws. The movement is as sudden, the
scuffle as brief, and the escape of the vic-
tim even less probable. " The fate of the
crab," adds Mr. Lee, " is not really more

MISCELLANY.

2 SS

terrible than that of the mouse or of a min-
now swallowed by a perch, but there is a
repulsiveness about the form, color, and at-
titudes of the octopus which invests it with
a kind of tragic horror."

Cooling and Contraction of the Earth's

Crnst. — Prof. Dana concludes, in the Sep-
tember number of the American Journal
of Science, a series of able papers on Dy-
namical Geology. He states that about 8
per cent, is the average change of density
for the earth's crust between the stony
and liquid states, which is equivalent to
a change of volume from 100 to 92 per cent.
This, therefore, expresses the contraction
or shrinkage which the crust of the earth
undergoes in its transition from a liquid
condition to that of stone.

This contraction, as Prof. Dana long
since stated, is the source of those inequali-
ties of the surface which have resulted from
a bending of the earth's solid exterior.
From this cause have arisen the elevation
of continents and the basin-like depressions
now occupied by the waters of the oceans,
and from the same cause mountain-chains
have been uplifted.

The origin of the continental eleva-
tions and oceanic depressions was when
the earth's crust began to form on the fiery
liquid mass. Then, from change of den-
sity, already noticed, the cooled areas would
sink and be overflowed by liquid matter,
which, in its turn, would cool. Thus at
length a solid and comparatively stable
area would result — not elevated as yet, but
at the general level of the liquid areas.
These would, in their turn, undergo like
change of conditions, and a crust, more or
less stable, would envelop the globe. This
would thicken, by solidifying, underneath
the outer shell, as cooling proceeded.

But in thus solidifying it would undergo
a change, both of density and volume,
and this change would stand for a certain
amount of contraction and subsidence. This
amount, by the ratio given, would be in
depression to an extent of 5,000 feet, if
the crust or rocky layers be 12 miles thick.
But the ocean-beds will average in depth,
below the mean level of the continents,
16,000 feet. In order to effect so great a
subsidence, the stony layers must be 38£

miles in thickness. In the subsidence sev-
eral subordinate dynamical results must
occur. One of these is powerful lateral
pressure or thrust of the subsiding mass
against the more stable areas, and this
thrust might be horizontal, or obliquely
upward. A consequence of this pressure
would be an elevation or yielding, in some
form, of the areas against which the pressure
was directed. Possibly both have occurred ;
certainly the solid crust has bent, until
vast mountain uplifts have occurred, and it
became fractured to its profound depths.

From this and other considerations it
would appear that continental elevations
and oceanic depressions were outlined when
the crust began to form, and that they have
not since entirely changed places.

It further appears that the continents
are a growth, in which additions to their
margins have occurred. Such is evidently
the case with the continent of North Amer-
ica, as shown in its rocks, in its outlines,
and the character and results of its oscilla-
tions.

Improved Deep-Sea Sounding Appara-
tus. — In the July number of the Monthly
may be found a description of Brooke's
self-detaching shot-apparatus for bringing
up specimens of the sea-bottom. This in-
strument has been considerably improved
by Commander Belknap, of the U. S. steamer
Tuscarora, now engaged in exploring the
bed of the Pacific, with a view to find a
suitable berth for a submarine cable from
San Francisco to Japan, via the Aleutian
Island chain. Commander Belknap's im-
provement consists, according to the Engi-
neering and Mining Journal, of two cylin-
ders, fixed one above the other when the
instrument is set and descending through
the water, and closing telescopically when
the shot is detached on reaching the bot-
tom. The lower cylinder is fitted with a
conical cup at the lower extremity for the
reception of parts of the bottom through an
aperture, which, while descending, admits a
flow of water upward through the cylinders
by means of valves which close hermetically
by the pressure of the water when the ap-
paratus is being hauled up. The upper
cylinder covers the aperture in the lower
one on detaching the shot, so that the water

256

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

cannot wash out the bottom contained in
the conical cup. Thus Commander Belknap
has discovered a practical and unfailing
method of not only bringing up safely a
larger amount of bottom from the ocean-
bed than has hitherto been brought up, but
also as much water as is caught between
the two valves in the lower cylinder at the
moment of striking the bottom.

NOTES.

More than a thousand lives are lost each
year in England from accidents in coal-min-
ing.

According to a writer in Iron, peals
of bells were in use in England in the tenth
century.

An Aged Grape-vine. — At the Septem-
ber meeting of the Royal Horticultural Soci-
ety, a bunch of grapes was exhibited, taken
from the parent plant of the Hampton Court
vine. This vine dates from 1761.

F. V. Kallab states, as the result of nu-
merous experiments, that the dyes fixed on
animal textile fabrics are in general more
permanent than those on vegetable tissues.

A new currency is soon to be issued in
the German Empire. Twelve different kinds
of coins will represent all the variations of
value, and four metals, gold, silver, nickel,
and copper, will be used for the purpose.
The system will be decimal throughout, but
not uniform in values with any existing
system.

Nobbe maintains that potash-salts in
soils are necessary in order to enable the
chlorophyl-grains of the leaves to form
starch. Sodium and lithium are unable to
replace potassium in this function, and the
latter is even positively hurtful. The chlo-
ride of potassium is the most effective form
in which this element can be supplied to
the soil.

Dr. Adam Smith, in a paper read before
the London Society of Arts, recommends
the use of tea in the following cases : After
a full meal, when the system is oppressed ;
for the corpulent and the old ; for hot cli-
mates, and especially for those who, living
there, eat freely, or drink milk or alcohol ;
in cases of suspended animation ; for sol-
diers who, in time of peace, take too much
food in relation to the waste proceeding in
the body ; for soldiers and others marching
in hot climates, for then, by promoting
evaporation and cooling the body, it obvi-
ates, in a degree, the effects of too much
food, as of too great heat.

A general meeting of Italian savants
was to open at Rome on the 20th of Octo-
ber, to remain in session for two weeks.
An invitation was extended to scientific
men of foreign countries to attend the ses-
sion. The committee of arrangements say
that " this is the first time in many cen-
turies that reason and science could freely
and thoroughly make their voices heard in
the city of Rome."

Dr. C. Purdon, of Belfast, reports that
lung-diseases are far more fatal to the flax-
operatives of that town (in number 25,000)
than to the artisans and laboring-classes.
The most unwholesome branch of the flax
industry is the work of the "preparing-
room," which carries off annually 31 per
thousand of the workers. Dr. Purdon as-
serts that this great mortality is chiefly due
to these three causes : Putting children to
work at too early an age ; neglect of sani-
tary law ; and defective food and clothing.
He insists that the wearing of the Baker
respirator should be made compulsory on
the operatives.

In the printing-office of the Cleveland
Ledger a gas-pipe had been plugged with a
hard-wood stopper, at a point several feet
from any burner. About six inches below
it passed a belt, running from one pulley to
another, and in operation during the day.
About four days after the plug had been
driven into the pipe it was noticed to be on
fire, and a bright jet of light, as if from a
burner, burst forth from the side of the
plug, which was already charred, and being
rapidly burned up. The question now was,
how the flame had originated. It was
certain that no one had lighted it, nor
had any fire come near it. The only con-
clusion possible was, that it was caused
by electricity from the belt, and a full in-
vestigation confirmed this conclusion. Had
it happened in the night-time, it might
have enkindled an extensive conflagration,
and its origin would never have been known.

According to official reports, there were
consumed in Paris, during the first half of
1867, 893 horses, asses, and mules, which
supplied about 255,000 lbs. of meat. Dur-
ing the first half of 1870, 1,992 of these
animals were slaughtered, giving about
980,000 lbs. of meat. For the first half of
the present year the figures amounted re-
spectively to 5,186 animals, and 2,368,000
pounds ; and the same progress is shown
by the provinces. Horses slaughtered for
consumption fetch, on an average, from 125
to 150 francs per head — adding thus 100
francs per head to the value of worn-out
horses. According to the reports, the public
wealth of France is increased, by the eating
of horse-beef, to the extent of 480,000,000
francs.

DR. J. W. DRAPER.

THE

POPULAR SCIENCE
MONTHLY.

JANUARY, 1871

CONCERNING SERPENTS.

By ELIAS LEWIS, Jb.

FEW animals are more universally feared and detested than ser-
pents. Their presence startles us, however inoffensive they may
be. Nor can the gracefulness of their motion, or beauty of color, con-
quer the discontent we feel when we see them gliding in our path, or
coiled and glistening in the sunshine, in which they delight. The
enjoyment of many a summer's ramble has been impaired from this
cause, and we fear our article may be as distasteful to many persons
as are the objects of which it treats. But we may remember that ser-
pents, no less than more attractive creatures, are important in Na-
ture's economies. Their structure is a marvel of mechanical adapta-
tion, less complicated, perhaps, but as perfect in every detail as is
that of mammals and birds, and the mechanism which rolls the human
eye is not more complete, and scarcely more wonderful, than that
which moves the fangs of a viper. Perhaps, in the study of Nature,
we should estimate objects by their fitness, rather than by their at-
tractiveness or beauty.

" The serpent," observes Prof. Owen, " is too commonly looked
down upon as an animal degraded from a higher type. . . . But it
can outclimb the monkey, outswim the fish, outleap the jerboa ; it has
neither hands nor talons, yet it can outwrestle the athlete, and crush
the tiger in its embrace." Serpents, in their mode of locomotion, are
creeping animals, as their name implies, and constitute an order of the
great class Reptiles. This term also implies creeping, but includes
orders of animals which have limbs for locomotion, and do not creep.
Of these, turtles, lizards, and crocodiles, are familiar instances ; so that
animals of several species, which run, walk, or swim, are included in
the same class with those which creep. All of these, however, are
cold-blooded, the temperature of the body differing but few degrees
from that of the surrounding air or water. Their coldness is always
VOL. iv. — 17

258

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

obvious to the touch, and this is true with those found in hot as well
as in temperate climates, and adds greatly to their repulsiveness.

Fig. 1. Of serpents, their general form and

structure are the same. Their bodies are
rounded and elongated, and covered with
a scaly skin. The vertebral column is
continuous with the length of the body,
and is divided into joints from 200 to
400 in number, but in the large pythons
(Fig. 1), as stated by Dr. Carpenter,
422 vertebral joints have been counted.
To about 360, or \ of these, were at-
tached pairs of movable ribs. A rat-
tlesnake, with 194 vertebras, had 168
pairs of ribs. The vertebra? of the ser-
pent are united by a most perfect ball-
and-socket joint, and the ribs are joined
to the vertebras in a similar manner.
These, held and worked by complete
muscular adjustment, give to several
their wonderful flexibility, strength, and
crushing power.

The well-known boa -constrictor,
and the aboma, or ringed boa of South
America (Fig. 2), are illustrations of
this class of serpents, the term con-
strictor being given from their power
to close upon and compress whatever
is within their folds.

The structure of the backbone of a
serpent has direct relation to its loco-
motion, for it is without limbs, and rudi-
ments of pelvic bones are found only in
the boas, pythons, and a few other spe-
cies. But, where the type shades off
into allied reptilian forms, the rudi-
mental limbs are developed and promi-
nent.

We read that the curse pronounced
upon the serpent was, " upon thy belly
thou shalt go," and the inference seems
to be that, previous to that time, its
mode of progression was not upon its
belly. This would imply a great ana-
tomical change in the structure of the creature at the time in ques-
tion, a change which, so far as we are aware, is not proved by paleon-

Port Natal Eock-Snake, or Python.

CONCERNING SERPENTS.

259

tological research, and the expression is probably a figurative one, as
observed by Dr. Buckland. Serpents progress by the " foldings and
windings they make on the ground," and the stiff, movable scales
which cross the under portion of the body ; but the windings are side-

ways, not vertical.

Fig. 2.

Aboma, ob Ringed Boa.

The structure of the vertebrae is such, that upward and downward
undulations are greatly restricted, and many illustrations, showing
sharp vertical curves of the body, are exaggerations. Most persons
have seen snakes glide slowly and silently, without any contortion.
They seem to progress by some invisible power ; but, if permitted to
move over the bare hand, an experiment easily tried, a motion of the
scales will be perceived. These are elevated and depressed, and act
as levers, by which the animal is carried forward. Nor can a serpent
progress with facility on the ground, without the resistance afforded
by the scales. It is stated that it cannot pass over a plate of glass, or
other entirely smooth surface. We saw the experiment tried, by

2 6o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

placing a small pane of glass in a box, in which was a common black
snake. He was made to pass over it repeatedly, but evidently found
that he had no foothold on it ; and the third time, as he approached
it, elevated the fore-part of his body slightly, and brought his head
down beyond the glass, and, on passing, his body seemed scarcely to
touch it. This gave an opportunity to witness the wave-like move-
ment of the scales, that is, of their elevation, which runs from the head
to the tail, enabling the animal to move continuously, instead of by a
series of minute pushes, as would occur if all the scales be lifted and
depressed at once.

In the moulting of the snake, which occurs yearly, and sometimes
oftener, the outer covering of these creeping scales is shed ; this is
true also of the covering of the eyes, so that the cast epidermis
represents, with great distinctness, the external features of the animal.
In moulting, the outer skin is broken along the back, near the head,
and the animal emerges, frequently drawing with him the skin, turn-
ing it inside out. Prof. Owen states, however, that in one instance
exuviation commenced by the snake rubbing the skin loose around its
jaws, working it back against the sides of its cage, when, putting its
head through coils made by its own body, it pressed back the skin,
turning it outward. We have observed that the black snake, on
moulting, becomes more sensitive and irritable, but shy, and inclined,
for a day or so, to keep close in a corner of his cage. The scaly cov-
ering of serpents must diminish their acuteness of touch ; but we have
found them sensitive to exceedingly slight irritation. They are with-
out an external ear, and the phrase " deaf as an adder " is a familiar
one. Nevertheless, they have organs of audition beneath the skin or
protecting membrane, and we know by experiment that snakes hear
and distinguish sounds, and are said in some instances to recognize the
voice of their keeper. Some species, it has been observed, are influ-
enced by music, and we quote the statement by Chateaubriand of an
incident witnessed by himself. He says : " The Canadian began to
play upon his flute. The snake (a rattlesnake) drew its head back-
ward, its eyes lost their sharpness, the vibrations of its tail relaxed,
and, turning its head toward the musician, remained in an attitude of
pleased attention."

The snake-charmers (Fig. 3), familiar to travelers in Eastern coun-
tries, handle cobras with apparent impunity, cause them to advance
or retreat, to coil and uncoil, to bow their heads, or bring their deadly
mouths to their own by musical sounds, either vocal or instrumental.
A story is related of an English gentleman, residing in a mountainous
part of India, who was compelled to desist playing upon a flute be-
cause the music attracted serpents to his residence. The sense of taste
in serpents must be very feeble, as it is quite unserviceable. They
swallow their food whole, nor have they any teeth by which mastica-
tion can be accomplished. Their sense of smell is also obtuse. The

CONCERNING SERPENTS.

261

Fig. 3.

^-■7. scv.iiiwitil

Sn ake-Ch a rmers.

262

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

organs by which this is effected are near the muzzle, but, according to
Cuvier, they are without the sinuses which exist in the heads of mam-
mals. We have tested this sense in several species of snakes, but only
pungent odors seem to specially annoy them. The tongue of the ser-
pent is a harmless appendage, tough, horny, and double-pointed ; and,
like the same member in man, has a wonderful propensity to be in
motion. That snakes sting with their tongues is an old but erroneous
opinion. Perhaps our own species is not equally innocent in that re-
spect. All serpents are carnivorous, and nearly all seize and swallow
living food. Their teeth are bony, hard, conical in shape, and exceed-
ingly sharp-pointed. None of the class have grinding or cutting teeth.
They are formed for holding their food, not to grind, crush, or cut it.
Moreover, all their teeth are recurved in form and position ; that is,
they point in or backward, so that an object once seized can scarcely
escape, and, if the jaws be fully distended, could only with great diffi-
culty be ejected. Instances are given where serpents have died from
their inability to swallow what they could not eject from their throats,
and it is obvious that life could not continue a very long time under
such circumstances, for, as Prof. Owen observes, " while swallowing,
the tracheae may be so compressed that no air can pass, and their only
resource is what is contained in the lungs."

In the non-venomous species, which includes those that constrict
or crush their prey, are found four rows of teeth in the upper jaw and
arch of the mouth, and two rows in the under jaw. Venomous spe-
cies have usually no more than two rows above, which are on the
palatal arch, and two below; but they have on the upper jaw two or
more poison-fangs, as shown in Fig. 4, an account of which makes the
most fearful chapters in the history of this family of reptiles.

Fig. 4.

A. Diagrammatic Section or the Eye
of a Viper.
a. Eyeball ; &. Optic nerve ; c. Chamber into which tears
are poured ; d. Epidermic layer covering the eye.

B. Head op Viper, showing
Poison-Fangs.

We have observed that serpents swallow their food whole. They
make a meal from a mouthful, but the mouthful is sometimes a very
large one, for they will swallow animals twice or thrice their own

CONCERNING SERPENTS.

263

diameter. This is permitted by the extraordinary expansibility of
their body ; but the enlargement of their jaws is a complicated phe-
nomenon. In the act of swallowing, they yield at every point, side-
ways as well as vertically. The elastic integuments which hold the
parts of their jaws in place give way, and the apparently small mouth
becomes an enormous one.

Digestion proceeds slowly, and, if the meal be excessive, as it often
is, the serpent remains sluggish and comparatively helpless a long
time. " They have been kept four, six, and eight months, without
being fed, and with very little apparent waste of substance." Bruce
reports that he kept specimens of the cerastes, or horned-snake, two
years in a glass vessel without food, during which time they cast their
skins as usual.

Fig. 5.

ClKCTILATING SYSTEM OF REPTrXE.

a. Auricle receiving worn-out venous blood from the system; a'. Auricle receiving vitalized blood
from the lung; v. Ventricle in which the two bloods are mixed, and from which it is thrown
into the general circulation.

Vital activity in serpents is low. In mammals, the normal mean
temperature is from 95° to 105° Fahr., and this must be maintained, or
disease supervenes. With serpents, the temperature is a few degrees
only above that of the surrounding atmosphere, and varies with it.
Thus, it may range, in their healthy active state, from 60° to perhaps
more than 80° Fahr. The temperature of a serpent was found, by
Hunter and others, to be 88.46°, that of the air being 81.5°. The tem-
perature of a frog was 48° in water at 44.4°. If the atmosphere be

264

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

continuously at 60°, some of our common snakes become sluggish and
inactive. In both mammals and reptiles the source of internal heat
is the same, the difference being in degree only. The low tempera-
ture of serpents (as of other reptiles) arises from the structure of
their vital organs, by means of which their blood is imperfectly
oxygenized. As the " worn-out " or venous blood enters the heart,
it is mixed with the vitalized blood from the lung (there being,
in most species, only one lung and a rudiment of another), and it is
this mixed blood which is thrown into the general circulation, as shown
in Fig. 5. The blood of a serpent has been said for this reason to be

Fig. 6.

Anaconda.

only half alive, and their functions are accordingly sluggish and dull.
Their power of existence for long periods without food, and with little
waste of tissue, is chiefly incident to their low vitality.

Hibernation is with them a period of profound torpor. In our
temperate climates they gather in large numbers, in some hole, or bur-

CONCERNING SERPENTS.

265

row in the ground, or in clefts of rocks, for their winter sleep. We
once saw twenty-six black snakes taken from one burrow beneath the
roots of a partially-fallen tree, in February. Other observers have
found a much larger number. We are informed that more than 300
have been found in a single burro wing-place, and that many species,
venomous and non-venomous, sometimes resort to the same rendezvous
and hibernate together. In the tropics the anaconda (Fig. 6), and per-
haps other species of serpents, sometimes hibernate during the dry
season of summer in the hardened mud of dried-up pools. It is by
the power to hibernate that serpents survive during the winters of
temperate climates, but they seem unable to withstand the extreme
and long-continued cold of the arctic zone. There, serpents, and in-

Fio. 7.

Northern Rattlesnake.

deed reptiles of all kinds, are rare, and frequently are entirely wanting.
In the Falkland Islands, Terra delFuego, and the mountains of South-
ern Patagonia, no serpents have been found. The persistence of
vitality in serpents is extraordinary, and continues after great mutila-
tions. They are said to have lived several days after removal of the
head and viscera. One placed in a vacuum twenty-four hours still
showed signs of sensibility ; and, many hours after decapitation, a rat-
tlesnake would plunge its headless trunk as in the usual act of striking.

2 66

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

In temperate climates serpents as a rule are less fierce than in the
tropics. In North America the Crotalidoe comprise twelve species
with rattles, and three species in which rattles are absent. Of the last
named, the copperhead and moccasin snakes are well known. Of the
first, the northern rattlesnake (Fig. 7) is familiar, and unpleasantly
abundant in many parts of the country, but is nowhere fierce or in-
clined to attack. Fig. 8 is of the common viper, or adder of England
and the Continent.

All the gigantic crushing species are found in regions of torrid
temperature. Of these, the Guinea rock or fetich snake (Fig. 10) is
allied to the family of pythons already noticed.

There too are the most terribly fierce of the venomous species, as
the fer de lance (Fig. 11); the cobra (Fig. 12), sacred in India, the
killing of which with some tribes is considered sacrilege; the haje
or spitting-snake of Africa, a hooded species, and allied to the cobra,
and the horned puff-adder (Fig. 13), whose poison is used to tip ar-
rows by the South-African Bushmen.

Fig. 8.

Common Adder of England and the Continent.— (Venomous.)

The mere recital of their names excites in one unpleasant sensa-
tions. Deaths from the bite of serpents in temperate regions which
they infest are surprisingly rare. It is otherwise, however, in the
tropics, and perhaps no country has so fearful a mortality from the
bites of venomous snakes as India. In six provinces, which include
Assam and Orissa, with a population of about 121,000,000, 11,416
deaths were reported in a single year. This is about one in every
10,000 of population, and this is only an approximation to the actual
mortality, for many districts sent no returns. A majority of all the
deaths from this cause was from cobras ; yet this serpent, as ob-

CONCERNING SERPENTS.

267

served, is an object of veneration, and is regarded with peculiar
deference. If found in their houses, as it frequently is, it must be pet-
ted, cared for, tenderly fed, and propitiated, for it is an object of wor-
ship, and occupies a high place in the mythology of the Hindoos.
Indeed, the worship of serpents seems to have been widely adopted,
and figures more or less in a vast number of the religions of the world.
It is often referred to in the Scriptures, and is a subject of elaborate
discussion in the profoundly learned and interesting volume of Fer-
guson, on " Tree and Serpent Worship."

We mentioned the fact that in most species serpents have but one
fully-developed lung. Into the cavity of this the trachea or windpipe
terminates, and it has been stated that they " in a manner swallow
air." What takes place in the process of breathing appears to be
this. Unlike mammals, serpents have no diaphragm, but by a move-
ment of the ribs the cavity of the body is enlarged, and, a pressure
being thus removed, the lung inflates and expands by the air passing
into it. Another and opposite movement of the ribs expels the air,
whence it appears that their process of breathing is essentially the
same as in mammals. Nor are their lungs in structure essentially
different. The air sacs or cells communicate with the principal pul-
monary tube, but a vastly smaller surface is exposed to the inhaled
air, and aeration of the blood is consequently extremely imperfect and
incomplete.

Fig. 9.

Small Viperine Snake ( Tropidonotus Viperimts).

Serpents are without proper organs of voice, the vibrating mem-
branes being absent. The passage of air into and out of the lungs, if
hurried and rapid, produces a hissing noise, the only voice possible to
them, but which we fear makes less interesting their somewhat unpre-
possessing features.

2 68

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

A scale-like covering, which is fixed and immovable, covers the eye
of the serpent, as shown in Fig. 4, and gives to it, as Prof. Nicholson
vividly expresses it, the " peculiar, stony, unwinking stare " for which
they are remarkable, and which, when they are enraged, becomes
intensely fierce.

Fig. 10.

Guinea Rock-Snake.

This covering is evidently transparent, as the animal distinguishes
forms, but in the cast-off skin it is translucent only. Behind the eye-
ball is a lachrymal gland, with a duct which conveys tears to the
membranes of the eye. By this means they are kept moist. A con-
duit connects the eye-cavity with the olfactory opening, and, should
the creature shed tears, it would be through that opening, not directly
from its eyes.

In common with other animals, serpents have some habits and

CONCERNING SERPENTS.

269

instincts peculiar to themselves, which are directly related to the
necessities of their being ; but we are not aware that they display
great sagacity, cunning, or wisdom. They arc not fertile in devices,
not especially artful, and the extreme simplicity and smallness of
their brain indicate their low mejital powers.

The entire tribe of serpents for the purposes of this paper may be
divided into the venomous and non-venomous species. Of the non-
venomous, we will pass, with one or two remarks, the interesting
families of double walkers, and slow or blind worms (Fig. 14), types
which are structurally intermediate between true serpents and lizards.
The first of these derives its name from the fact that it can progress

Fig. 11.

Feb de Lance.

with facility forward or backward; the second from the erroneous
notion that it has no eyes. To this class belong the curious glass-
snakes, so named from their fragility. Other non-venomous serpents
comprise the inoffensive and harmless, and some of the most terrible
species. Of these we have noticed the gigantic rock-snake or python
of India, which attains a length of 30 feet. The Natal rock-snake is
found 25 feet long. Of equal size is the boa-constrictor of tropical
America, formerly an object of worship. The anaconda, or water-
serpent, which frequents the rivers of Brazil, and watches for its prey
along their banks, is sometimes more than 25 feet long. These are

270

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

among the most powerful of their kind, in whose folds man is helpless
and bones of goats and cattle are broken with a crash which, it is said,
may be heard many rods. We turn from these, whose fearful presence
we associate with the splendors of tropical forests, to species harmless
and often serviceable to man, yet everywhere persecuted by him.
Among these we find the beautiful ring and grass snakes of our
gardens; the milk and striped or garter snake; the common adder
(so called), but entirely harmless ; the active black snake or racer,
found nearly everywhere in the United States. More dreaded because
more dangerous than the gigantic species mentioned, are the venom-

FlG. 12.

Cobra -de -C apello.

ous serpents, not powerful in strength or immense in size, but fierce
in some cases, and in their attack deadly. The largest of these is said
to be the bush-master, found in British Guiana, which, on the authority
of Waterton, attains a length of fourteen feet. But the belted hama-
dryad of Burmah is often seen twelve to fourteen feet in length, and is
a foot in circumference ; and it is stated that specimens have been seen
three fathoms (eighteen feet) long. If so, it is probably the largest
known venomous serpent. This terrible creature feeds on other snakes,
hence its scientific name, Ophiophagus elaps. Others, as the cobra and
the rattlesnake, are relatively small, rarely attaining a length greater
than six feet, usually not more than four feet.

CONCERNING SERPENTS. 271

But the distinguishing feature of venomous serpents is their poison
fangs and glands, by which the fatal fluid is secreted. They kill by a
stroke, or blow, which drives the fang into the flesh, and there dis-
charges the venom. Some are intensely active and fierce, and will
spring upon the traveler, as the fer de lance and the haje. Others, as
the northern rattlesnake, seldom attack but rather retreat from man.

The fangs are in the upper jaw, as shown in Fig. 4. In a rattle-
snake, four feet in length, they are about half an inch long. Behind
them are the glands, which secrete the poisonous fluid, from five to ten
drops of which have, in some cases, been obtained from a single fang.
It is tasteless, and nearly colorless, and, on being dried up, leaves
minute crystalline spicules, or scales. The venom of all the poisonous
species of serpents appears to be essentially the same, but differs in
intensity or virulence. The fang is perforated by a small canal in

Fig. 13.

The Horned Ptjpf- Adder.

front of the usual pulp-cavity, through which the venom is discharged
by pressure brought to bear upon the glands from the act of striking.
A rattlesnake confined in a cage, when irritated, struck against the
wire bars with its fangs, throwing the venom a distance of three feet.
The fang usually lies flat, and partly hidden in the fleshy tissue, but
is erected when needed for use ; and it is only when erected that its
connection with the venom-gland is so adjusted that the fluid may be
thrown out.

The poison is always more or less dangerous to animal life. Cattle
have died from a bite of the fer de lance in a few hours. Smaller ani-
mals die directly. Horses have been killed by rattlesnakes, and
people bitten by them may die in a few minutes or in a few days, but

272 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

sometimes recover. If the poison is discharged into the arteries or
veins, the vital functions directly fail, " the victim staggers, and falls
from exhaustion — depressing gloom settles on the features — a cold
sweat comes upon the face — and death at once supervenes." In such
cases the blood is unchanged, and appears healthy ; but, where the
effect is not immediate, it undergoes change — " ceases to coagulate,
the fibrine disappears, and the patient dies with ordinary symptoms
of slow poisoning."

A multitude of remedies have been suggested for the bite of ser-
pents; of these, ammonia and alcohol are prominent. Prof. Halfourd,
of Australia, reported the recovery of seventeen out of twenty cases of
severe bites, from the injection of a solution of ammonia into the veins.
The free use of alcohol in some form has been stoutly advocated by
many physicians, while others assert that patients have died from the
poison even while intoxicated by the remedy. An exhaustive paper

Fig. 14.

Blind or Slow Worm.

on rattlesnake-bites, and their remedy, by Dr. Mitchell, was published
in "No. 12 of the " Smithsonian Contributions to Knowledge," to which
we are indebted for several interesting statements, and to which we
refer our readers.

The conclusions of Dr. Fayrer, from his exhaustive experiments
upon snake-poisoning in India, are, that most of the popular remedies
are of little value, and he seems to differ somewhat from Prof. Hal-
fourd. The celebrated snake-stones, which are said to " absorb and
suck out the poison," he " believes are perfectly powerless to produce
any such effect." He advises ligature to prevent, if possible, the pas-
sage of the poison into the circulation. Whiskey and ammonia are

CONCERNING SERPENTS.

273

useful as stimulants ; but he found, by experiment, that neither liquor
ammoniae nor liquor potassae destroys the poisonous properties of the
venom, although mixed directly with it. Suction of the wound is
good, but may be dangerous. Immediate cauterization of the wound,
or removal of it by the knife, is indispensable.

It was found, by Dr. Gilman, that healthy, vigorous vegetables
perish in a few hours on being inoculated with the venom of the rattle-
snake. Others have found the same results, although Dr. Mitchell did
not. Dr. Salisbury poisoned eight lilac and other bushes, the leaves
of which above — not below — the point of inoculation withered in a
few days. Terrible and virulent as this poison is, it undergoes de-
composition in a short time, and becomes filled with forms of animal
life and covered with fungi. It may, when fresh from the fang, be
swallowed by the animal itself, or by man, without injury. Prof.
Baird says: "I have myself (rather foolishly, I must confess) swal-
lowed nearly the entire contents of one gland of a large rattlesnake ;"
but, if the animal be inoculated by its own venom, it speedily dies.
Such, however, is not the case with the venom of the cobra, according
to experiments made by Dr. Fayrer, who says : " I believe that it is

Fig. 15.

Ring or Gbass Snake, common in England.

capable of absorption, through the mucous and serous membranes with
which it is brought into contact. Placed on the corjunctiva of dogs,
the symptoms of poisoning were rapidly developed." The same au-
thority states that the cobra does not die from its own bite, or that of
its kind, but that innocuous serpents are directly killed by it.

It is a singular fact that the flesh of animals killed by snake-poison

may be eaten with impunity. The fowls killed by Dr. Fayrer were

taken and eaten by the sweepers. But the blood of an animal killed

by snake-venom is itself poisonous, and poisons the animal into which

vol. iv. — 18

274 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

it is injected. The authority just quoted says: "I have transmitted
the poison through three animals, with fatal results."

The formation of rattles upon the tail of a rattlesnake is a curious
phenomenon. The notion that one is developed each year is incorrect.
Young ones have been known to have six or more ; sometimes two or
three appear in a single year. The number seldom exceeds fifteen.
The skin of one that was six feet long, now in the Museum of the Long
Island Historical Society of Brooklyn, has fourteen rattles. De Kay
cited, in 1842, the Clarion newspaper, published at Bolton, New York,
which stated that two men killed, in three days, in the town of Bol-
ton, at Lake George, 1,104 rattlesnakes, some of which carried fifteen to
twenty rattles. They were killed for their oil. The same author states,
on the authority of the Columbian Magazine for November, 1786, that
a rattlesnake was killed, having forty-four rattles, which seems an in-
credible number. The use of the rattles is a subject of discussion.
They are evidently well developed — not rudimental merely — and the
conclusion is irresistible that they are of service to the creature. We
cannot suppose that organs which are constant in a class of animals,
could have originated, if entirely useless and unserviceable to it.
Prof. Aughey suggests that the whirring rattle is a call-note by the
animal to its mate. That it was thus used on one occasion he was an
eye-witness. Again, it may be used to terrify its enemies ; or to par-
alyze its victims with fright, or to call assistance in danger. He
says : " I once witnessed an attack by seven hogs on a rattlesnake.
Immediately the snake rattled, and three others appeared ; but the
hoo-s were victorious."

The power of serpents to overcome birds by fascination is consid-
ered by most writers doubtful. But it cannot be questioned, we think,
that birds sometimes become powerless in the presence of snakes. We
once saw a cat-bird on a low branch with drooped wings, feathers
erect, and mouth open, apparently breathing heavily, looking directly
at the head of a black snake which was within fifteen inches of the
head of the bird, and very slowly moving forward. A sharp blow on
a board startled the snake, and seemed instantly to release the bird
from its dream, when it flew away. Perhaps the able paper on " Hyp-
notism in Animals," by Prof. Czermak, published in The Popular Sci-
ence Monthly for September, 1873, may suggest a possible solution
of this phenomenon.

All serpents are essentially oviparous ; that is, the young are pro-
duced from eggs. Nevertheless, many species, including all the ven-
omous ones, according to Cuvier, bring forth their young alive ; but this
is in consequence of the eggs being hatched before being laid. A boa-
constrictor produced both eggs and living young in the Zoological
Gardens at Amsterdam. The eggs of serpents are without a calcareous
shell, and those of our common species are often exposed in turning
the ground in fields and in gardens. The young are at once quite ac-

CONCERNING SERPENTS. 275

tive, and we have seen them when very young display the instinctive
habits of their species.

The python coils around her eggs, and faithfully remains there
during their two months of incubation ; the temperature of her body
rising, in one instance, to 96° Fahr. All this time she refuses food,
" but appears feverish, and drinks water freely."

The time when serpents first appeared upon the globe is compara-
tively recent. No fossil remains of them have yet been discovered,
until after the close of the Age of Reptiles. The oldest yet found
were in the Eocene of the south of England. Prof. E. D. Cope first
found them in the United States in the Eocene of New Jersey.
They have been found also by Prof. Marsh in the Eocene of Wyo-
ming. Prof. Cope discovered five new species during the past sum-
mer in the Miocene of Colorado, and has also obtained them from
Post-Pliocene formations. So it appears that, during the whole of the
Tertiary, serpents abounded, and the fact that in the Eocene they
were so widely distributed suggests a much earlier origin for this
order of reptiles. How numerous they may have been during periods
subsequent to their advent is not easily determined. But, notwith-
standing their abundance in the tropics, and in contiguous regions, it
is probable that their period of greatest abundance, if not of greatest
development, has passed. Civilization destroys them, or drives them
to the swamps, the mountains, and the wilderness.

The number of species of snakes found in the State of New York is
seventeen. Two of these are venomous, the rattlesnake and the viper.
Sixteen species are named in Prof. Cook's catalogue for New Jersey,
and that gentleman remarks : " All of them are of great value to the
agriculturist, and the popular prejudice against them should be done
away with." It should be more widely known and more often con-
sidered that snakes destroy immense numbers of animals which are
detrimental to the interests of man, as rats, mice, insects, larvae, and
worms of various kinds. The fer de lance infests the sugar-plantations
of some of the West India islands, not to destroy men, who fear it, but
to obtain rats for food, which swarm there in incredible numbers.
In the State of Maine are ten species of snakes, in Michigan fifteen
species, and from Baird and Girard's catalogue, published in 1853, we
learn that 119 species of North American serpents were at that time
known and described.

In the older settled portions of the United States their numbers
have diminished, and in the more thoroughly cultivated sections of
New England, New York, New Jersey, and perhaps other States,
their scarcity is a matter of common observation. Before persistent
warfare, and amid conditions which are becoming more unfavorable to
their habits of life, they will doubtless become fewer in number and
species, and, in such regions, the period of their extinction may not be
very remote.

276 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

THE THEORY OF MOLECULES. 1

By Professor CLERK MAXWELL, F. R. S.

AN atom is a body which cannot be cut in two. A molecule is
the smallest possible portion of a particular substance. No
one has ever seen or handled a single molecule. Molecular science,
therefore, is one of those branches of study which deal with things
invisible and imperceptible by our senses, and which cannot be sub-
jected to direct experiment.

The mind of man has perplexed itself with many hard questions.
Is space infinite, and if so in what sense ? Is the material world
infinite in extent, and are all places within that extent equally full of
matter ? Do atoms exist, or is matter infinitely divisible ?

The discussion of questions of this kind has been going on ever
since men began to reason, and to each of us, as soon as we obtain
the use of our faculties, the same old questions arise as fresh as ever.
They form as essential a part of the science of the nineteenth century
of our era, as of that of the fifth century before it.

We do not know much about the science organization of Thrace
twenty-two centuries ago, or of the machinery then employed for
diffusing an interest in physical research. There were men, however,
in those days, who devoted their lives to the pursuit of knowledge
with an ai'dor worthy of the most distinguished members of the
British Association ; and the lectures in which Democritus explained
the atomic theory to his fellow-citizens of Abdera realized, not in
golden opinions only, but in golden talents, a sum hardly equaled
even in America.

To another very eminent philosopher, Anaxagoras, best known to
the world as the teacher of Socrates, we are indebted for the most
important service to the atomic theory, which, after its statement by
Democritus, remained to be done. Anaxagoras, in fact, stated a theory
which so exactly contradicts the atomic theory of Democritus that
the truth or falsehood of the one theory implies the falsehood or truth
of the other. The question of the existence or non-existence of atoms
cannot be presented to us this evening with greater clearness than in
the alternative theories of these two philosophers.

Take any portion of matter, say a drop of water, and observe its
properties. Like every other portion of matter we have ever seen, it
is divisible. Divide it in two, each portion appears to retain all the
properties of the original drop, and among others that of being
divisible. The parts are similar to the whole in every respect except
in absolute size.

1 Lecture delivered before the British Association at Bradford.

THE THEORY OF MOLECULES. 277

Now go on repeating the process of division till the separate
portions of water are so small that we can no longer perceive or
handle them. Still we have no doubt that the subdivision might be
carried further, if our senses were more acute and our instruments
more delicate. Thus far all are agreed, but now the question arises,
Can this subdivision be repeated forever ?

According to Democritus and the atomic school, we must answer
in the negative. After a certain number of subdivisions, the drop
would be divided into a number of parts each of which is incapable
of further subdivision. We should thus, in imagination, arrive at
the atom, which, as its name literally signifies, cannot be cut in two.
This is the atomic doctrine of Democritus, Epicurus, and Lucretius,
and, I may add, of your lecturer.

According to Anaxagoras, on the other hand, the parts into which
the drop is divided are in all respects similar to the whole drop, the
mere size of a body counting for nothing as regards the nature of its
substance. Hence if the whole drop is divisible, so are its parts down
to the minutest subdivisions, and that without end.

The essence of the doctrine of Anaxagoras is, that the parts of a
body are in all respects similar to the whole. It was therefore called
the doctrine of Homoiomereia. Anaxagoras did not of course assert
this of the parts of organized bodies such as men and animals, but he
maintained that those inorganic substances which appear to us homo-
geneous are really so, and that the universal experience of mankind
testifies that every material body, without exception, is divisible.

The doctrine of atoms and that of homogeneity are thus in direct
contradiction.

But we must now go on to molecules. Molecule is a modern word.
It does not occur in Johnson's "Dictionary." The ideas it embodies
are those belonging to modern chemistry.

A -drop of water, to return to our former example, may be divided
into a certain number, and no more, of portions similar to each other.
Each of these the modern chemist calls a molecule of water. But it is
by no means an atom, for it contains two different substances, oxygen
and hydrogen, and by a certain process the molecule may be actually
divided into two parts, one consisting of oxygen and the other of hy-
drogen. According to the received doctrine, in each molecule of water
there are two molecules of hydrogen and one of oxygen. Whether
these are or are not ultimate atoms I shall not attempt to decide.

We now see what a molecule is, as distinguished from an atom.

A molecule of a substance is a small body such that if, on the one
hand, a number of similar molecules were assembled together they
would form a mass of that substance, while on the other hand, if any
portion of this molecule were removed, it would no longer be able,
along with an assemblage of other molecules similarly treated, to
make up a mass of the original substance.

278 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

Every substance, simple or compound, has its own molecule. It
this molecule be divided, its parts are molecules of a different sub-
stance or substances from that of which the whole is a molecule. An
atom, if there is such a thing, must be a molecule of an elementary
substance. Since, therefore, every molecule is not an atom, but every
atom is a molecule, I shall use the word molecule as the more general
term.

I have no intention of taking up your time by expounding the
doctrines of modern chemistry with resj>ect to the molecules of differ-
ent substances. It is not the special but the universal interest of
molecular science which encourages me to address you. It is not
because we happen to be chemists or physicists or specialists of any
kind that we are attracted toward this centre of all material exist-
ence, but because we all belong to a race endowed with faculties
which urge us on to search deep and ever deeper into the nature of
things.

We find that now, as in the days of the earliest physical specula-
tions, all physical researches appear to converge toward the same
point, and every inquirer, as he looks forward into the dim region
toward which the path of discovery is leading him, sees, each accord-
ing to his sight, the vision of the same quest.

One may see the atom as a material point, invested and surrounded
by potential forces. Another sees no garment of force, but only the
bare and utter hardness of mere impenetrability.

But though many a speculator, as he has seen the vision recede
before him into the innermost sanctuary of the inconceivably little,
has had to confess that the quest was not for him, and though phi-
losophers in every age have been exhorting each other to direct their
minds to some more useful and attainable aim, each generation, from
the earliest dawn of science to the present time, has contributed a due
proportion of its ablest intellects to the quest of the ultimate atom.

Our business this evening is to describe some researches in molecu-
lar science, and in particular to place before you any definite informa-
tion which has been obtained respecting the molecules themselves.
The old atomic theory, as described by Lucretius and revived in
modern times, asserts that the molecules of all bodies are in motion,
even when the body itself appears to be at rest. These motions of
molecules are, in the case of solid bodies, confined within so narrow a
range that even with our best microscopes we cannot detect that they
alter their places at all. In liquids and gases, however, the molecules
are not confined within any definite limits, but work their way
through the whole mass, even when that mass is not disturbed by any
visible motion.

This process of diffusion, as it is called, which goes on in gases and
liquids and even in some solids, can be subjected to experiment, and
forms one of the most convincing proofs of the motion of molecules.

THE THEORY OF MOLECULES. 279

Now, the recent progress of molecular science began with the
study of the mechanical effect of the impact of these moving mole-
cules when they strike against any solid body. Of course these flying
molecules must beat against whatever is placed among them, and the
constant succession of these strokes is, according to our theory, the
sole cause of what is called the pressure of air and other gases.

This appears to have been first suspected by Daniel Bernoulli, but
he had not the means which we now have of verifying the theory.
The same theory was afterward brought forward independently by
Lesage, of Geneva, who, however, devoted most of his labor to the
explanation of gravitation by the impact of atoms. Then Herapath,
in his " Mathematical Physics," published in 1847, made a much more
extensive application of the theory to gases ; and Dr. Joule, whose
absence from our meeting we must all regret, calculated the actual
velocity of the molecules of hydrogen.

The further development of the theory is generally supposed to
have been begun with a paper by Kronig, which does not, however,
so far as I can see, contain any improvement on what had gone before.
It seems, however, to have drawn the attention of Prof. Clausius to
the subject, and to him we owe a very large part of what has been
since accomplished.

We all know that air or any other gas placed in a vessel presses
against the sides of the vessel, and against the surface of any body
placed within it. On the kinetic theory this pressure is entirely due
to the molecules striking against these surfaces, and thereby commu-
nicating to them a series of impulses which follow each other in such
rapid succession that they produce an effect which cannot be distin-
guished from that of a continuous pressure.

If the velocity of the molecules is given, and the number varied,
thence since each molecule, on an average, strikes the side of the
vessel the same number of times, and with an impulse of the same
magnitude, each will contribute an equal share to the whole pressure.
The pressure in a vessel of given size is therefore proportional to
the number of molecules in it, that is, to the quantity of gas in it.

This is the complete dynamical explanation of the fact discovered
by Robert Boyle, that the pressure of air is proportional to its
density. It shows also that, of different portions of gas forced into a
vessel, each produces its own part of the pressure independently of
the rest, and this whether these portions be of the same gas or not.

Let us next suppose that the velocity of the molecules is increased.
Each molecule will now strike the sides of the vessel a greater num-
ber of times in a second, but besides this, the impulse of each blow
will be increased in the same proportion, so that the part of the press-
ure due to each molecule will vary as the square of the velocity.
Now, the increase of the square of velocity corresponds, in our theory,
to a rise of temperature, and in this way we can explain the effect of

2 8o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

warming the gas, and also the law discovered by Charles, that the
proportional expansion of all gases between given temperatures is the
same.

The dynamical theory also tells us what will happen if molecules of
different masses are allowed to knock about together. The greater
masses will go slower than the smaller ones, so that, on an average,
every molecule, great or small, will have the same energy of motion.

The proof of this dynamical theorem, in which I claim the
priority, has recently been greatly developed and improved by Dr.
Ludwig Boltzmann. The most important consequence which flows
from it is, that a cubic centimetre of every gas at standard tempera-
ture and pressure contains the same number of molecules. This is
the dynamical explanation of Gay-Lussac's law of the equivalent
volumes of gases. But we must now descend to particulars, and cal-
culate the actual velocity of a molecule of hydrogen.

A cubic centimetre of hydrogen, at the temperature of melting ice
and at a pressure of one atmosphere, weighs 0.00008954 gramme.
We have to find at what rate this small mass must move (whether
altogether or in separate molecules makes no difference) so as to pro-
duce the observed pressure on the sides of the cubic centimetre. This
is the calculation which was first made by Dr. Joule, and the result is
1,859 metres per second. This is what we are accustomed to call a
great velocity. It is greater than any velocity obtained in artillery
practice. The velocity of other gases is less, as you will see by the ta-
ble, but in all cases it is very great as compared with that of bullets.

We have now to conceive the molecules of the air in this hall
flying about in all directions, at a rate of about seventeen miles in a
minute.

If all these molecules were flying in the same direction, they would
constitute a wind blowing at the rate of seventeen miles a minute,
and the only wind which approaches this velocity is that which pro-
ceeds from the mouth of a cannon. How, then, are you and I able to
stand here ? Only because the molecules happen to be flying in dif-
ferent directions, so that those which strike against our backs enable
us to support the storm which is beating against our faces. Indeed,
if this molecular bombardment were to cease, even for an instant, our
veins would swell, our breath would leave us, and we should, literally,
expire. But it is not only against us or against the walls of the room
that the molecules are striking. Consider the immense number of
them, and the fact that they are flying in every possible direction, and
you will see that they cannot avoid striking each other. Every time
that two molecules come into collision, the paths of both are changed,
and they go off in new directions. Thus each molecule is continually
getting its course altered, so that in spite of its great velocity it may
be a long time before it reaches any great distance from the point at
which it set out.

THE THEORY OF MOLECULES. 281

I have here a bottle containing ammonia. Ammonia is a gas which
you can recognize by its smell. Its molecules have a velocity of six
hundred metres per second, so that, if their course had not been inter-
rupted by striking against the molecules of air in the hall, every one
in the most distant gallery would have smelt ammonia before I was
able to pronounce the name of the gas. But, instead of this, each
molecule of ammonia is so jostled about by the molecules of air, that
it is sometimes going one way and sometimes another. It is like a
hare which is always doubling, and, though it goes a great pace, it
makes very little progress. Nevertheless, the smell of ammonia is now
beginning to be perceptible at some distance from the bottle. The
gas does diffuse itself through the air, though the process is a slow
one, and, if we could close up every opening of this hall so as to make
it air-tight, and leave every thing to itself for some weeks, the am-
monia would become uniformly mixed through every part of the air
in the hall.

This property of gases, that they diffuse through each other, was
first remarked by Priestley. Dalton showed that it takes place quite
independently of any chemical action between the inter-diffusing gases.
Graham, whose researches were especially directed toward those phe-
nomena which seem to throw light on molecular motions, made a care-
ful study of diffusion, and obtained the first results from which the rate
of diffusion can be calculated.

Still more recently, the rates of diffusion of gases into each other
have been measured with great precision by Prof. Loschmidt, of
Vienna.

He placed the two gases in two similar vertical tubes, the lighter
gas being placed above the heavier, so as to avoid the formation of
currents. He then opened a sliding-valve, so as to make the two tubes
into one, and, after leaving the gases to themselves for an hour or so,
he shut the valve, and determined how much of each gas had diffused
into the other.

As most gases are invisible, I shall exhibit gaseous diffusion to you
by means of two gases, ammonia and hydrochloric acid, which, when
they meet, form a solid product. The ammonia, being the lighter gas,
is placed above the hydrochloric acid, with a stratum of air between,
but you will soon see that the gases can diffuse through this stratum
of air, and produce a cloud of white smoke when they meet. During
the whole of this process, no currents or any other visible motion can
be detected. Every part of the vessel appears as calm as a jar of un-
disturbed air.

But, according to our theory, the same kind of motion is going on
in calm air as in the inter-diffusing gases, the only difference being
that we can trace the molecules from one place to another more easily
when they are of a different nature from those through which they are
diffusing.

282 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

If we wish to form a mental representation of what is going on
among the molecules in calm air, we cannot do better than observe a
swarm of. bees, when every individual bee is flying furiously, first in
one direction, and then in another, while the swarm, as a whole, either
remains at rest, or sails slowly through the air.

In certain seasons, swarms of bees are apt to fly off to a great
distance, and the owners, in order to identify their property when they
find them on other people's ground, sometimes throw handfuls of flour
at the swarm. Now, let us suppose that the flour thrown at the flying
swarm has whitened those bees only which happened to be in the lower
half of the swarm, leaving those in the upper half free from flour.

If the bees still go on flying hither and thither in an irregular
manner, the floury bees will be found in continually increasing pro-
portions in the upper part of the swarm, till they have become equally
diffused through every part of it. But the reason of this diffusion is
not because the bees were marked with flour, but because they are
-flying about. The only effect of the marking is to enable us to identify
certain bees.

We have no means of marking a select number of molecules of air,
so as to trace them after they have become diffused among others, but
we may communicate to them some property by which we may obtain
evidence of their diffusion.

For instance, if an horizontal stratum of air is moving horizontally,
molecules diffusing out of this stratum, into those above and below,
will carry their horizontal motion with them, and so tend to commu-
nicate motion to the neighboring strata, while molecules diffusing out
of the neighboring strata into the moving one will tend to bring it to
rest. The action between the strata is somewhat like that of two
rough surfaces, one of which slides over the other, rubbing on it.
Friction is the name given to this action between solid bodies ; in
the case of fluids it is called internal friction or viscosity.

It is in fact only another kind of diffusion — a lateral diffusion of
momentum, and its .amount can be calculated from data derived from
observations of the first kind of diffusion, that of matter. The com-
parative values of the viscosity of different gases were determined by
Graham in his researches on the transpiration of gases through long,
narrow tubes, and their absolute values have been deduced from ex-
periments on the oscillation of disks by Oscar Meyer and myself.

Another way of tracing the diffusion of molecules through calm
air is to heat the upper stratum of the air in a vessel, and so observe
the rate at which this heat is communicated to the lower strata. This,
in fact, is a third kind of diffusion — that of energy, and the rate at
which it must take place was calculated from data derived from ex-
periments on viscosity before any direct experiments on the conduction
of heat had been made. Prof. Stefan, of Vienna, has recently, by a
very delicate method, succeeded in determining the conductivity of

THE THEORY OF MOLECULES. 283

air, and he finds it, as he tells us, in striking agreement with the value
predicted by the theory.

All these three kinds of diffusion — the diffusion of matter, of mo-
mentum, and of energy — are carried on by the motion of the molecules.
The greater the velocity of the molecules, and the farther they travel
before their paths are altered by collision with other molecules, the
more rapid will be the diffusion. Now, we know already the velocity
of the molecules, and therefore by experiments on diffusion we can
determine how far, on an average, a molecule travels without striking
another. Prof. Clausius, of Bonn, who first gave us precise ideas about
the motion of agitation of molecules, calls this distance the mean path
of a molecule. I have calculated, from Prof. Loschmidt's diffusion
experiments, the mean path of the molecules of four well-known gases.
The average distance traveled by a molecule between one collision
and another is given in the table. It is a very small distance, quite
imperceptible to us even with our best microscopes. Roughly speaking,
it is about the tenth part of the length of a wave of light, which you
know is a very small quantity. Of course the time spent on so short
a path by such swift molecules must be very small. I have calculated
the number of collisions which each must undergo in a second. They
are given in the table, and are reckoned by thousands of millions. ISTo
wonder that the traveling power of the swiftest molecule is but small,
when its course is completely changed thousands of millions of times
in a second.

The three kinds of diffusion also take place in liquids, but the re-
lation between the rates at which they take place is not so simple as
in the case of gases. The dynamical theory of liquids is not so well
understood as that of gases, but the principal difference between a gas
and a liquid seems to be that, in a gas each molecule spends the greater
part of its time in describing its free path, and is for a very small por-
tion of its time engaged in encounters with other molecules, whereas
in a liquid the molecule has hardly any free path, and is always in a
state of close encounter with other molecules.

Hence, in a liquid, the diffusion of motion from one molecule to
another takes place much more rapidly than the diffusion of the mole-
cules themselves, for the same reason that it is more expeditious in a
dense crowd to pass on a letter from hand to hand than to give it to a
special messenger to work his way through the crowd. I have here a
jar, the lower part of which contains a solution of copper sulphate,
while the upper part contains pure water. It has been standing here
since Friday, and you see how little progress the blue liquid has made
in diffusing itself through the water above. The rate of diffusion of a
solution of sugar has been carefully observed by Voit. Comparing his
results with those of Loschmidt on gases, we find that about as much
diffusion takes place in a second in gases as requires a day in liquids.

The rate of diffusion of momentum is also slower in liquids than

284 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

in gases, but by no means in the same proportion. The same amount
of motion takes about ten times as long to subside in water as in air,
as you will see by what takes place when I stir these two jars, one
containing water and the other air. There is still less difference be-
tween the rates at which a rise of temperature is propagated through
a liquid and through a gas.

In solids the molecules are still in motion, but their motions are
confined within very narrow limits. Hence, the diffusion of matter
does not take place in solid bodies, though that of motion and heat
takes place very freely. Nevertheless, certain liquids can diffuse
through colloid solids, such as jelly and gum, and hydrogen can make
its way through iron and palladium.

We have no time to do more than mention that most wonderful
molecular motion which is called electrolysis. Here is an electric
current passing through acidulated water, and causing oxygen to
appear at one electrode, and hydrogen at the other. In the space
between, the water is perfectly calm, and yet two opposite currents
of oxygen and of hydrogen must be passing through it. The physical
theory of this process has been studied by Clausius, who has given
reasons for asserting that in ordinary water the molecules are not only
moving, but every now and then striking each other with such violence
that the oxygen and hydrogen of the molecules part company, and
dance about through the crowd, seeking partners which have become
dissociated in the same way. In ordinary water these exchanges pro-
duce, on the whole, no observable effect, but no sooner does the elec-
tromotive force begin to act, than it exerts its guiding influence on
the unattached molecules, and bends the course of each toward its
proper electrode, till the moment when, meeting with an unappro-
priated molecule of the opposite kind, it enters again into a more or
less permanent union with it till it is again dissociated hy another
shock. Electrolysis, therefore, is a kind of diffusion assisted by elec-
tromotive force.

Another branch of molecular science is that which relates to the
exchange of molecules between a liquid and a gas. It includes the
theory of evaporation and condensation, in which the gas in ques-
tion is the vapor of the liquid, and also the theory of the absorption
of a gas by a liquid of a different substance. The researches of Dr.
Andrews on the relations between the liquid and the gaseous state
have shown us that, though the statements in our own elementary text-
books may be so neatly expressed that they appear almost self-evident,
their true interpretation may involve some principle so profound that,
till the right man has laid hold of it, no one ever suspects that any
thing is left to be discovered.

These, then, are, some of the fields from which the data of molec-
ular science are gathered. "We may divide the ultimate results into
three ranks, according to the completeness of our knowledge of them.

THE THEORY OF MOLECULES. 285

To the first rank belong the relative masses of the molecules of
different gases, and their velocities in metres per second. These data
are obtained from experiments on the pressure and density of gases,
and are known to a high degree of precision.

In the second rank we must place the relative size of the molecules
of different gases, the length of their mean paths, and the number of
collisions in a second. These quantities are deduced from experiments
on the three kinds of diffusion. Their received values must be regarded
as rough approximations till the methods of experimenting are greatly
improved.

There is another set of quantities which we must place in the third
rank, because our knowledge of them is neither precise, as in the first
rank, nor approximate, as in the second, but is only as yet of the na-
ture of a probable conjecture. These are the absolute mass of a mole-
cule,- its absolute diameter, and the number of molecules in a cubic
centimetre. We know the relative masses of different molecules with
great accuracy, and we know their relative diameters approximately.
From these we can deduce the relative densities of the molecules them-
selves. So far we are on firm ground.

The great resistance of liquids to compression makes it probable
that their molecules must be at about the same distance from each
other as that at which two molecules of the same substance in the
gaseous form act on each other during an encounter. This conjecture
has been put to the test by Lorenz Meyer, who has compared the den-
sities of different liquids with the calculated relative densities of the
molecules of their vapors, and has found a remarkable correspondence
between them.

Now, Loschmidt has deduced from the dynamical theory the fol-
lowing remarkable proportion : As the volume of a gas is to the com-
bined volume of all the molecules contained in it, so is the mean path
of a molecule to one-eighth of the diameter of a molecule.

Assuming that the volume of the substance, when reduced to the
liquid form, is not much greater than the combined volume of the
molecules, we obtain from this proportion the diameter of a molecule.
In this way Loschmidt, in 1865, made the first estimate of the diameter
of a molecule. Independently of him and of each other, Mr. Stoney in
1868, and Sir W. Thomson, in 1870, published results of a similar kind,
those of Thomson being deduced not only in this way, but from con-
siderations derived from the thickness of soap-bubbles, and from the
electric properties of metals.

According to the table, which I have calculated from Loschmidt's
data, the size of the molecules of hydrogen is such that about two
million of them in a row would occupy a millimetre, and a million
million million million of them would weigh between four and five
grammes !

In a cubic centimetre of any gas at standard pressure and tern-

286 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

perature, there are about nineteen million million million molecules.
All these numbers of the third rank are, I need not tell you, to be
regarded as at present conjectural. In order to warrant us in putting
any confidence in numbers obtained in this way, we should have to
compare together a greater number of independent data than we have
as yet obtained, and to show that they lead to consistent results.

Thus far, we have been considering molecular science as an inquiry
into natural phenomena. But, though the professed aim of all scien-
tific work is to unravel the secrets of Nature, it has another effect, not
less valuable, on the mind of the worker. It leaves him in possession
of methods which nothing but scientific work could have led him to
invent, and it places him in a position from which many regions of
Nature, besides that which he has been studying, appear under a new
aspect. The study of molecules has developed a method of its own,
and it has also opened up new views of Nature.

When Lucretius wishes us to form a mental representation of the
motion of atoms, he tells us to look at a sunbeam shining through a
darkened room (the same instrument of research by which Dr. Tyndall
makes visible to us the dust we breathe), and to observe the motes
which chase each other in all directions through it. This motion of
the visible motes, he tells us, is but a result of the far more compli-
cated motion of the invisible atoms which knock the motes about. In
his dream of Nature, as Tennyson tells us, he

" saw the flaring atom-streams
And torrents of her myriad universe,
Eunning along the illimitable inane,
Fly on to clash together again, and make
Another and another frame of things
Forever."

And it is no wonder that he should have attempted to burst the bonds
of Fate by making his atoms deviate from their courses at quite un-
certain times and places, thus attributing to them a kind of irrational
free-will, which on his materialistic theory is the only explanation of
that power of voluntary action of which we ourselves are conscious.

As long as we have to deal with only two molecules, and have all
the data given us, we can calculate the result of their encounter ; but
when we have to deal with millions of molecules, each of which has
millions of encounters in a second, the complexity of the problem
seems to shut out all hope of a legitimate solution.

The modern atomists have therefore adopted a method which is, I
believe, new in the department of mathematical physics, though it has
long been in use in the section of statistics. When the working mem-
bers of Section F get hold of a report of the census, or any other docu-
ment containing the numerical data of Economic and Social Science,
they begin by distributing the whole population into groups, according
to age, income-tax, education, religious belief, or criminal convictions.

THE THEORY OF MOLECULES. 287

The number of individuals is far too great to allow of their tracing the
history of each separately, so that, in order to reduce their labor within
human limits, they concentrate their attention on a small number of
artificial groups. The varying number of individuals in each group,
and not the varying state of each individual, is the primary datum
from which they work.

This, of course, is not the only method of studying human nature.
We may observe the conduct of individual men and compare it with
that conduct which their previous character, and their present circum-
stances, according to the best existing theory, would lead us to expect.
Those who practise this method endeavor to improve their knowledge
of the elements of human nature in much the same way as an astrono-
mer corrects the elements of a planet by comparing its actual position
with that deduced from the received, elements. The study of human
nature by parents and school-masters, by historians and statesmen, is
therefore to be distinguished from that carried on by registrars and
tabulators, and by those statesmen who put their faith in figures. The
one may be called the historical, and the other the statistical method.

The equations of dynamics completely express the laws of the his-
torical method as applied to matter, but the application of these equa-
tions implies a perfect knowledge of all the data. But the smallest
portion of matter which we can subject to experiment consists of mill-
ions of molecules, not one of which ever becomes individually sensible
to us. We cannot, therefore, ascertain the actual motion of any one
of these molecules, so that we are obliged to abandon the strict his-
torical method, and to adopt the statistical method of dealing with
large groups of molecules.

The data of the statistical method as applied to molecular science
are the sums of large numbers of molecular quantities. In studying
the relations between quantities of this kind, we meet with a new kind
of regularity, the regularity of averages, which we can depend upon
quite sufficiently for all practical purposes, but which can make no
claim to that character of absolute precision which belongs to the laws
of abstract dynamics.

Thus molecular science teaches us that our experiments can never
give us any thing more than statistical information, and that no law
deduced from them can pretend to absolute precision. But, when we
pass from the contemplation of our experiments to that of the mole-
cules themselves, we leave the world of chance and change, and enter
a region where every thing is certain and immutable.

The molecules are conformed to a constant type with a precision
which is not to be found in the sensible properties of the bodies which
they constitute. In the first place, the mass of each individual mole-
cule, and all its other properties, are absolutely unalterable. In the
second place, the properties of all molecules of the same kind are ab-
solutely identical.

288 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

Let us consider the properties of two kinds of molecules, thjse of
oxygen and those of hydrogen.

We can procure specimens of oxygen from very different sources —
from the air, from water, from rocks of every geological epoch. The
history of these specimens has been very different, and, if, during thou-
sands of years, difference of circumstances could produce difference of
properties, these specimens of oxygen would show it.

In like manner we may procure hydrogen from water, from coal,
or, as Graham did, from meteoric iron. Take two litres of any
specimen of hydrogen, it will combine with exactly one litre of any
specimen of oxygen, and will form exactly two litres of the vapor of
water.

Now, if, during the whole previous history of either specimen,
whether imprisoned in the rocks, flowing in the sea, or careering
through unknown regions with the meteorites, any modification of
the molecules had taken place, these relations would no longer be
preserved.

But we have another and an entirely different method of comparing
the properties of molecules. The molecule, though indestructible, is
not a hard, rigid body, but is capable of internal movements, and when
these are excited it emits rays, the wave-length of which is a measure
of the time of vibration of the molecule.

By means of the spectroscope the wave-lengths of different kinds
of light may be computed to within one ten-thousandth part. In this
way it has been ascertained, not only that molecules taken from every
specimen of hydrogen in our laboratories have the same set of periods
of vibration, but that light, having the same set of periods of vibra-
tion, is emitted from the sun and from the fixed stars.

We are thus assured that molecules of the same nature as those of
our hydrogen exist in those distant regions, or at least did exist when
the light by which we see them was emitted.

From a comparison of the dimensions of the buildings of the Egyp-
tians with those of the Greeks, it appears that they have a common
measure. Hence, even if no ancient author had recorded the fact that
the two nations employed the same cubit as a standard of length, we
might prove it from the buildings themselves. We should also be
justified in asserting that at some time or other a material standard
of length must have been carried from one country to the other, or
that both countries had obtained their standards from a common
source.

But in the heavens we discover by their light, and by their light
alone, stars so distant from each other, that no material thing can ever
have passed from one to another ; and yet this light, which is to us the
sole evidence of the existence of these distant worlds, tells us also that
each of them is built up of molecules of the same kinds as those which
we find on earth. A molecule of hydrogen, for example, whether

'HE THEORY OF MOLECULES. 289

in Sirius 01 turus, executes its vibrations in precisely the same

time.

Each mokclc, therefore, throughout the universe, bears impressed
on it the sta ) of a metric system as distinctly as does the metre
of the Archivi of Paris, or the double royal cubit of the Temple of
Karnac.

No theory t evolution can be formed to account for the similarity
of molecules, fi evolution necessarily implies continuous change, and
the molecule incapable of growth or decay, of generation or de-
struction.

None of t 1 rocesses of Nature, since the time when Nature be-
gan, have prouced the slightest difference in the properties of any
molecule. W s re therefore unable to ascribe either the existence of
the molecules, r the identity of their properties, to the operation of
any of the can--; which we call natural.

On the othr hand, the exact equality of each molecule to all others
of the same kin gives it, as Sir John Herschel has well said, the es-
sential charade of a manufactured article, and precludes the idea of
its being eterm and self-existent.

Thus we ha ■; been led, along a strictly scientific path, very near
to the point 1 hich Science must stop. Not that Science is de-
barred from stuying the internal mechanism of a molecule which she
cannot take to leces, any more than from investigating an organism
which she cannc put together. But, in tracing back the history of
matter, Science ; arrested when she assures herself, on the one hand,
that the molecvu has been made, and on the other that it has not been
made by any olhe processes we call natural.

Science is inompetent to reason upon the creation of matter itself
out of nothing. We have reached the utmost limit of our thinking
faculties when ■» have admitted that because matter cannot be eter-
nal and self-exbmt it must have been created.

It is only who we contemplate, not matter in itself, but the form
in which it actutiy exists, that our mind finds something on which it
can lay hold.

That mattei. s such, should have certain fundamental properties —
that it should ex;t in space and be capable of motion, that its motion
should be persismt, and so on, are truths which may, for any thing we
know, be of the ind which metaphysicians call necessary. We may
use our knowleoe of such truths for purposes of deduction, but we
have no data fou peculating as to their origin.

But that thei should be exactly so much matter and no more in
every molecule c hydrogen is a fact of a very different order. We
have here a pantoular distribution of matter — a collocation — to use
the expression c >r. Chalmers, of things which we have no difficulty
in imagining to hve been arranged otherwise.

The form an <. imensions of the orbits of the planets, for instance,

VOL. I- -19

290

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

are not determined by any law of Nature, but depend upon a particu-
lar collocation of matter. The same is the case with respect to the
size of the earth, from which the standard of what is called the metri-
cal system has been derived. But these astronomical and terrestrial
magnitudes are far inferior in scientific importance to that most funda-
mental of all standards which forms the base of the molecular system.
Natural causes, as we know, are at work, which tend to modify, if
they do not at length destroy, all the arrangements and dimensions
of the earth and the whole solar system. But though in the course
of ages catastrophes have occurred, and may yet occur, in the heavens,
though ancient s} 7 stems may be dissolved and new systems evolved
out of their ruins, the molecules out of which these systems are built —
the foundation-stones of the material universe — remain unbroken and
unworn.

They continue this day as they were created, perfect in number,
and measure, and weight, and, from the ineffaceable characters im-
pressed on them, we may learn that those aspirations after accuracy
in measurement, truth in statement, and justice in action, which we
reckon among our noblest attributes as men, are ours, because they
are essential constituents of the image of Him who in the beginning
created, not only the heaven and the earth, but the materials of which
heaven and earth consist.

Table of Molecular Data.

Rank

Rank

( Mass of molecule (hydrogen = 1)
I. — 4 Velocity (of mean square), me-

Rank III

-

tres per second at 0° C.
Mean path, tenth-metres.
Collisions in a second (millions).
Diameter, tenth-metre.
Mass, twenty-fifth grammes.

Hydrogen.

Oxygen.

Carbonic
Oxide.

1

16

14

1,859

465

497

965

17,750

5.8

46

560

7,646

7.6

736

482

9,489

8.3

644

Carbonic
Acid.

22
396

379
9,720

9.3
1,012

Table of Diffusion: (ceiltime f )2

second

-measure.

H&O

H&CO....

H&CO 2 ....

O & CO

& CO 2
CO & CO 2 . . . .

H

O

CO

CO 2

Air

Copper

Iron

Calculated.

0.7086
0.6519
0.5575
0.1807
0.1427
0.1386
1.2990
0.1884
0.1748
0.1087

Observed.

Cane-sugar in water
Diffusion in a day
Salt in water 0,

0.72141

0.6422

0.5558

0.1802

0.1409

0.1406

1.49

0.213

0.212

0.117

0.256

1.077

0.183

00000365

3114

00000116

Diffusion of matter observed by Loschmidt,

Diffusion of momentum.
Graham and Meyer.

Diffusion of temperature observed by Stefan.

Voit.
Pick.

PAST AND FUTURE OF A CONSTELLATION. 291
PAST AND FUTURE OF A CONSTELLATION.

By CAM1LLE FLAMMARION.

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, BY J. FITZGERALD, A. M.

THE notions hitherto entertained as to the stars and the heavens are
destined to undergo a complete revolution. There are no fixed
stars. Each one of those distant suns, naming in infinitude, is swept
along in a stupendous movement which the imagination can hardly
conceive. Notwithstanding the countless millions of miles of space be-
tween them and us, making them appear to us only as luminous points,
whereas they are as great as our own sun, and thousands and millions
of times greater than the earth, still, hy means of the telescope and
computation, astronomers have been able to come at them, and to de-
monstrate that they are all moving in every possible direction. The
heavens are no longer motionless, nor can the constellations any longer
be regarded as the symbol of the unchangeable. Take, for instance,
Ursa Major, or the Great Bear, the first of the constellations to be ob-
served and named. Who is there that has not taken that figure as the
enduring symbol of the preestablished harmony, the unalterable dura-
tion of the firmament ? Well, that ancient constellation will be de-
stroyed. Each one of the stars which constitute it is endowed with a
movement of its own. The result is that, in course of time, the form of
Ursa Major will be changed. It now somewhat resembles in outline a
wagon, and hence its popular title everywhere of car, or wain, while the
learned have given it the name of the Bear, that being the only animal
known to the ancients as living in polar regions. As every one knows,
the four stars arranged in the form of a quadrilateral are supposed to
represent the four wheels, and the three stars in the front of the figure
three horses. But the proper movement of the separate stars will
alter this arrangement : it will bring the foremost horse to a point
back of where he now is, while the other two will move onward. As
for the two hinder wheels, they will proceed in contrary directions.
When we know the annual value of the displacement of each of these
seven stars, we can calculate their future relative positions. This I
have done, and I here lay before the reader the curious results of my
calculations.

In order to get an exact account of the difference in the form of this
constellation, which will be observable at a given time, let us first por-
tray its present state.

The Arabs gave these seven famous stars names which are some-
times applied to them still. Beginning with the hind off-wheel, and
then taking in the order indicated by the Greek letters ((3, y, d, e, f, 77)
the other wheels and the horses, the Arab names are as follows : Dubhe,

2 9 z THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

Merak, Phegda, Megrez, Alioth, Mizar, and Acka'ir. The last is the
name given to the foremost horse. Persons possessed of good visual
powers can discern above the second horse, Mizar, a small star which
is called the Postilion. But these names are seldom employed in our
times, the usual custom being to designate the seven principal stars
of Ursa Major by the first seven letters of the Greek alphabet, as
shown in the diagram. All these stars are of the second magnitude,
except Delta (Fig. 1), which is of the third.

In the diagram, the arrows show the mean direction in which each
of the seven stars moves. It will be seen that, of the seven, the first

Fig. 1.

The Seven Stars of Ursa Major in their Present Positions.

and the last, Alpha and El a, are moving in a direction contrary to
that of the other five. It must be added that they have not all the
same velocity. Eta, for example, moves rapidly ; Epsilon slowly ;
and so on with the others.

The quantity of their annual proper movements in right ascension,
and in polar distance, is given for each of the seven stars in the fol-
lowing table :

e. a. p. D.

Alpha (a) — 0".013 + 0".09

Beta (/?) + 0".015 — 0".03

Gamma (y) + 0".016 + 0".02

Delta (J) + 0".019 + 0".06

Epsilon (e) + 0".017 + 0".06

Zeta (C) + 0".020 + 0".04*

Eta 0/) - 0".033 + 0".03

In consequence of these proper movements, the relative distances
between the stars of the constellation are ever changing. But, as this
change only amounts to a few seconds in a century, many centuries
must elapse before it is perceptible to the naked eye. Our human
generations, our dynasties, nay, even our nations, are not sufficiently
lonor-lived to measure this chancre.

We have here to deal with astronomical quantities, and, to appre-

PAST AND FUTURE OF A CONSTELLATION 293

ciate these, we must choose terms which correspond with them. The
earth has but one measure of time that can be employed here, viz., its
great year, the precession of its equinoxes — a slow revolution of the
globe, which is completed in more than 25,000 years. A period like
t hat might serve as a basis of measurement in geology and in sidereal
astronomy. Taking, then, four of these periods— in round numbers
100,000 years — we ought, after that length of time, to have a sensible
difference in the aspect of the heavens ; and, in fact, on computation,
I find that in this interval— which in the history of the stars is but a
brief span — all the present constellations will be broken up.

In Fig. 2 I give the geometrical results of my calculations as to the
proper movements of the stars in Ursa Major. Here is to be seen the
shape which that constellation will wear 100,000 years hence. There
is nothing like a wagon in this new figure. Alpha has moved down-
ward and ranged itself on the right of Beta, and both of these lie on
one line with Gamma, and even with Eta. Delta, Epsilon, and Zeta,

Fig. 2.

Uesa Majob 100,000 Years hence.

are seen ranged on another line. If, in that distant epoch, the lan-
guages of terrestrial man shall still give to this constellation the title
of the Wain, no one will be able to understand why. In considering
what a mighty change it is destined to undergo in the future, the
question arises, How long has it worn the shape in which it is familiar
to us, and how did it look ages ago ? One hundred thousand years ago
there were, as yet, in all probability, no human beings on the earth,
and the antediluvian monsters were the only creatures that could then
view the starry sky.

Still, some of the older planets — Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and
Neptune — were, no doubt, inhabited even then ; and, as the heavens
have the same appearance when viewed from them as from the earth,
the dwellers in those worlds saw Ursa Major as it appeared in those
days. All that we have to do, in order to find the position of each
of the seven stars 100,000 years ago, is to move them back from their

294 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

present positions as far as they were moved forward in our second
diagram. The result is a figure having no resemblance to either of
the others. It is a sort of cross, with Beta at the point of intersec-
tion, Alpha marking the extremity of the left arm, and Gamma that
of the right ; Beta the top, Epsilon, Zeta, and Eta, the stem. Eta
was, properly speaking, not yet in association with the other six.
For the rest, on analyzing the movement of these stars, we see that
five of them, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, and Zeta, are associated
together by a common tie. They are a group of friends : they move
on with one accord, and, as will be seen, maintain the same relative
position to one another. Alpha and Eta are only intruders, and,
though they happen just at present to be with the group, they really
have nothing to do with it. Look at Fig. 2 : Alpha, which is ever

Fig. 3.

Ursa Major 100,000 Years ago.

moving toward the right, will, in time, quit the group for good. On
the other hand, Fig. 3 shows Eta coming in on the left ; previously
that star had no relation at all to the five.

The remarks just made with regard to the secular transformation
of Ursa Major might be applied to all the other constellations. We
have selected that one, because it is the best known of all, and one of
the most characteristic. To sum up : we find that a knowledge of the
proper movements of the stars completely transforms our common
notions about the fixity of the heavens. The stars move in all direc-
tions through the endless realms of space, and as the aspect of the
heavens changes, so does the constitution of the universe also change
from age to age, undergoing innumerable metamorphoses. — Revue
Scientifique*

REPLIES TO CRITICISMS. 295

EEPLIES TO CRITICISMS.

By HERBERT SPENCER.

I.

WHEN made by a competent reader, an objection usually implies
one of two things. Either the statement to which he demurs
is wholly or partially untrue ; or, if true, it is presented in such a way
as to permit misapprehensions. A need for some change or addition
is in any case shown.

Not recognizing the errors alleged, but thinking rather that mis-
apprehensions cause the dissent of those who have attacked the meta-
physico-theo logical doctrines held by me, I propose here to meet, by
explanations and arguments, the chief objections they have urged :
partly with the view of justifying these doctrines, and partly with the
view of guarding against the incorrect interpretations which it appears
are apt to be made.

It may be thought that the pages of a periodical intended for gen-
eral reading are scarcely fit for the treatment of these highly-abstract
questions. There is now, however, so considerable a class interested
in them, and they are everywhere felt to be so deeply involved with
the great changes of opinion in progress, that I have ventured to hope
for readers outside the circle of those who occupy themselves with
philosophy.

Of course the criticisms to be noticed I have selected, either be-
cause of their intrinsic force, or because they come from men whose
positions or reputations give them weight. To meet more than a few
of my opponents is out of the question.

Let me begin with a criticism contained in the sermon preached
by the Rev. Principal Caird before the British Association on the
occasion of its meeting in Edinburgh, in August, 18 11. Expressed
with a courtesy which, happily, is now less rare than of yore in theo-
logical controversy, Dr. Caird's objection might, I think, be admitted
without involving essential change in the conclusion demurred to ;
while it might be shown to tell with greater force against the conclu-
sions of thinkers classed as orthodox, Sir W. Hamilton, and Dean
Mansel, than against my own. Describing this as set forth by me,
Dr. Caird says :

" His thesis is, that the provinces of science and religion are distinguished
from each other as the known from the unknown and unknowable. This thesis
is maintained mainly on a critical examination of the nature of human intelli-
gence, in which the writer adopts and carries to its extreme logical results the
doctrine of the relativity of human knowledge which, propounded by Kant, has
been reproduced with special application to theology by a famous school of

296 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

philosophers in this country. From the very nature of human intelligence, it is
attempted to be shown that it can only know what is finite and relative, and
that therefore the absolute and infinite the human mind is, by an inherent and
insuperable disability, debarred from knowing. . . . May it not be asked, for
one thing, whether, in the assertion, as the result of an examination of the hu-
man intellect, that it is incapable of knowing what lies beyond the finite, there
is not involved an obvious self-contradiction ? The examination of the mind
can be conducted only by the mind, and if the instrument be, as is alleged, lim-
ited and defective, the result of the inquiry must partake of that defectiveness.
Again, does not the knowledge of a limit imply already the power to transcend
it ? In affirming that human science is incapable of crossing the bounds of the
finite world, is it not a necessary presupposition that you who so affirm have
crossed these bounds? "

That this objection is one I am not disinclined to recognize, will be
inferred when I state that it is one I have myself raised. While pre-
paring the second edition of the " Principles of Psychology," I found,
among my memoranda, a note which still bore the wafers by which it
had been attached to the original manuscript (unless, indeed, it had
been transferred from the MS. of " First Principles," which its allu-
sions seems to imply). It was this:

" I may here remark, in passing, that the several reasonings, including the
one above quoted, by which Sir "William Hamilton would demonstrate the pure
relativity of our knowledge — reasonings which clearly establish many important
truths, and with which in the main I agree — are yet capable of being turned
against himself, when he definitively concludes that it is impossible for us to know
the absolute. For, to positively assert that the absolute cannot be known is, in
a certain sense, to assert a lenowledge of it — is to know it as unknowable. To
aflSrm that human intelligence is confined to the conditioned is to put an abso-
lute limit to human intelligence, and implies absolute lenowledge. Tt seems to
me that the 'learned ignorance ' with which philosophy ends must be carried
a step further; and, instead of positively saying that the absolute is unknow-
able, we must say that we cannot tell whether it is knowable or not."

Why I omitted this note I cannot now remember. Possibly it was
because reconsideration disclosed the reply that might be made to the
contained objection. For, while it is true that the intellect cannot
prove its own competence, since it must postulate its competence in
the course of the proof, and so beg the question, yet it does not
therefore follow that it cannot prove its own incompetence, in respect
of questions of certain kinds. Its inability in respect of such questions
has two conceivable causes. It may be that the deliverances of Reason
in general are invalid, in which case the incompetence of Reason to
solve questions of a certain class is implied by its general incompe-
tence ; or it may be that the deliverances of Reason, valid within a
certain range, themselves end in the conclusion that Reason is inca-
pable beyond that range. So that, while there can be no proof of
competence, because competence is postulated in each step of the
demonstration, there may be proof of incompetence either (1) if the

REPLIES TO CRITICISMS. 297

successive deliverances forming the steps of the demonstration, by
severally evolving contradictions, show their untrustworthiness, or,
(2) if, being trustworthy, they lead to the result that, on certain ques-
tions, Reason cannot give any deliverance.

Reason leads both inductively and deductively to the conclusion
that the sphere of Reason is limited. Inductively, this conclusion
expresses the result of countless futile attempts to transcend this
sphere — attempts to understand matter, motion, space, time, force, in
their ultimate natures — attempts which, bringing us always to alter-
native impossibilities of thought, warrant the inference that such
attempts will continue to fail, as they have hitherto failed. Deduc-
tively, this conclusion expresses the result of mental analysis, which
shows us that the product of thought is in all cases a relation, iden-
tified as such or such ; that the process of thought is the identifica-
tion and classing of relations ; that therefore Being in itself, out of
relation, is unthinkable by us, as not admitting of being brought within
the form of our thought. That is to say, deduction explains that fail-
ure of Reason established as an induction from many experiments.
And to call in question the ability of Reason to give this verdict
against itself, in respect of these transcendent problems, is to call in
question its ability to draw valid conclusions from premises ; which
is to assert a general incompetence necessarily inclusive of the special
incompetence.

Closely connected with the foregoing is a criticism from Dr. Man-
sel, on which I may here make some comments. In a note to his
"Philosophy of the Conditioned " (page 39), he says :

" Mr. Herbert Spencer, in his work on 'First Principles,' endeavors to
press Sir W. Hamilton into the service of Pantheism and Positivism together "
(a somewhat strange assertion, by-the-way, considering that I reject them
both), " by adopting the negative portion only of his philosophy — in which, in
common with many other writers, he declares the absolute to be inconceivable
by the mere intellect — and rejecting the positive portions, in which he most
emphatically maintains that the belief in a personal God is imperatively de-
manded by the facts of our moral and emotional consciousness. . . . Sir TV.
Hamilton's fundamental principle is, that consciousness must be accepted entire,
and that the moral and religious feelings, which are the primary source of our
belief in a personal God, are in no way invalidated by the merely negative
inferences which have deluded men into the assumption of an impersonal abso-
lute. . . . Mr. Spencer, on the other hand, takes these negative inferences as
the only basis of religion, and abandons Hamilton's great principle of the dis-
tinction between knowledge and belief."

Putting these statements in the order most convenient for discussion,
I will deal first with the last of them. Instead of saying what he
does, Dr. Mansel should have said that I decline to follow Sir W.
Hamilton in confounding two distinct, and indeed radically opposed,

298 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

meanings of the word belief. This word "is habitually applied to
dicta of consciousness for which no proof can be assigned : both those
which are unprovable because they underlie all proof, and those which
are unprovable because of the absence of evidence." ' In the pages
of this review for July, 1865, I exhibited this distinction as follows:

" We commonly say, ' we believe ' a thing for which we can assign some pre-
ponderating evidence, or concerning which we have received some indefinable
impression. "We believe that the next House of Commons will not abolish
Church-rates ; or we believe that a person on whose face we look is good-
natured. That is, when we can give confessedly-inadequate proofs or no proofs
at all for the things we think, we call them ' beliefs.' And it is the peculiarity
of these beliefs, as contrasted with cognitions, that their connections with ante-
cedent states of consciousness may be easily severed, instead of being difficult
to sever. But, unhappily, the word 'belief is also applied to each of those
temporarily or permanently indissoluble connections in consciousness, for the
acceptance of which the only warrant is that it cannot be got rid of. Saying
that I feel a pain, or hear a sound, or see one line to be longer than another, is
saying that t^ere has occurred in me a certain change of state ; and it is impos-
sible for me to give a stronger evidence of this fact than that it is present to my
mind. . . . 'Belief having, as above pointed out, become the name of an im-
pression for which we can give only a confessedly-inadequate reason, or no
reason at all, it happens that, when pushed hard respecting the warrant for
any ultimate dictum of consciousness, we say, in the absence of all assignable
reason, that we believe it. Thus*the two opposite poles of knowledge go under
the same name ; and by the reverse connotations of this name, as used for the
most coherent and least coherent relations of thought, profound misconceptions
have been generated."

Now, that the belief which the moral and religious feelings are
said to yield of a personal God is not one of the beliefs which are
unprovable because they underlie all proof, is obvious. It needs but
to remember that, in works on natural theology, the existence of a
personal God is inferred from these moral and religious feelings, to
show that it is not contained in these feelings themselves, or joined
with them as an inseparable intuition. It is not a belief like the be-
liefs which I now have that this is daylight, and that there is open space
before me — beliefs which cannot be proved because they are of equal
simplicity with, and of no less certainty than, each step in a demon-
stration. Were it a belief of this most certain kind, argument would
be superfluous : all races of men and every individual would have the
belief in an inexpugnable form. Hence it is manifest that, confusing
the two very different states of consciousness called belief, Sir W. Ham-
ilton ascribes to the second a certainty that belongs only to the first.

Again, neither Sir W. Hamilton nor Dr. Mansel has enabled us to
distinguish those " facts of our moral and emotional consciousness "
which imperatively demand the belief in a personal God, from those
facts of our (or of men's) " moral and emotional consciousness " which,

1 " Principles of Psychology " (second edition, § 425, note).

REPLIES TO CRITICISMS. 299

in those having them, imperatively demand beliefs that Sir W. Ham-
ilton would regard as untrue. A New-Zealand chief, discovering his
wife in an infidelity, killed the man ; the wife then killed herself that
she might join her lover in the other world; and the chief thereupon
killed himself that he might go after them to defeat this intention.
These two acts of suicide furnish tolerably strong evidence that these
New-Zealanders believed in another world to which they could go at
will, and fulfill their desires as they did here. If they were asked the
justification for this belief, and if the arguments by which they sought
to establish it were not admitted, they might still fall back on emo-
tional consciousness as yielding them an unshakable foundation for it.
I do not see why a Feejee-Islander, adopting the Hamiltonian argument,
should not justify by it his conviction that, after being buried alive,
his life in the other world, forthwith commencing at the age he has
reached in this, will similarly supply him with the joys of conquest
and the gratifications of cannibalism. That he has a conviction to
this effect stronger than the religious convictions current among civil-
ized people is proved by the fact that he goes to be buried alive quite
willingly ; and, as we may presume that his conviction is not the out-
come of a demonstration, it must be the outcome of some state of
feeling — some " emotional consciousness." Why, then, should he not
assign the " facts " of his " emotional consciousness " as " imperatively
demanding "this belief? Manifestly, this principle, that " conscious-
ness must be accepted entire," either obliges us to accept as true the
superstitions of all mankind, or else obliges us to say that the con-
sciousness of a certain limited class of cultivated people is alone meant.
If things are to be believed simply because the facts of emotional con-
sciousness imperatively demand them, I do not see why the actual
existence of a ghost in a house is not inevitably implied by the intense
fear of it that is aroused in the child or the servant.

Lastly, and chiefly, I have to deal with Dr. Mansel's statement
that " Mr. Spencer, on the other hand, takes these negative inferences
as the only basis of religion." This statement is exactly the reverse
of the truth, since I have contended, against Hamilton and against
him, that the consciousness of that which is manifested to us through
phenomena is positive, and not negative as they allege, and that this
positive consciousness supplies an indestructible basis for the religious
sentiment (" First Principles," § 26). Instead of giving here passages
to show this, I may fitly quote the statement and opinion of a foreign
theologian. M. le pasteur Grotz, of the Reformed Church at Nismes,
writes thus :

" Is Science, then, the natural enemy of Keligion ? To preserve our re-
ligion, must we cry Science down ? Why, Science, experimental Science, is now
beginning to speak in favor of Keligion ; and it is Science that is about to reply
at once to M. Vacherot and to M. Comte through the mouth of one of the think-
ers of our age, Mr. Herbert Spencer." ....

3 oo THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

" Here Mr. Spencer discusses the theory of the unconditioned, by which
word we are to understand God. The Scotch philosopher, Hamilton, and his
disciple, Mr. Mansel, say with our French positivists, ' We cannot affirm the
positive existence of any thing whatever, except phenomena.' Hamilton and
his disciple differ from our countrymen only in this, that tliey bring in a 'mi-
raculous intervention,' which enables us to believe in the existence of the un-
conditioned ; and in virtue of this truly miraculous intervention the* whole
system of orthodoxy is set up again. Is it true that we can affirm nothing be-
yond phenomena ? Mr. Spencer holds that in such an assertion there is grave
error. The logical side of a question, as he very justly observes, is not the only
one: there is also the psychological side; and, as we take it, he proves that the
positive existence of the Absolute is a necessary datum of consciousness. . . .

" This is the basis of agreement between Keligion and Science. In a chapter
entitled 'Reconciliation,' Mr. Spencer establishes and develops this agreement
on its true ground. . . . Mr. Spencer, by standing on the ground of logic
and psychology, without recurring to supernatural intervention, has established
the legitimacy, the necessity, and the everlasting permanency of religion itself."

I turn next to what has been said by Dr. Shadworth H. Hodgson,
in his essay on " The Future of Metaphysic," published in the Con-
temporary Review for November, 1872. Remarking only, with respect
to the agreements he expresses in certain doctrines of mine, that I
value them as coming from a thinker of subtlety and independence, I
will confine myself here to his disagreements. Dr. Hodgson, before
giving his own view, briefly describes and criticises the views of Hegel
and Comte, with both of whom he partly agrees and partly disagrees,
and then proceeds to criticise the view set forth by me. After a pre-
liminary brief statement of my position, to the wording of which I
demur, he goes on to say :

" In his ' First Principles,' (Part L, second edition), there is a chapter headed
' Ultimate Scientific Ideas,' in which he enumerates six such ideas or groups of
ideas, and attempts to show that they are entirely incomprehensible. The six
are: 1. Space and Time; 2. Matter; 3. Rest and Motion; 4. Force; 5. Con-
sciousness ; 6. The Soul, or the Ego. Now, to enter at length into all of these
would be an undertaking too large for the present occasion ; but I will take the
first of the six, and endeavor to show in its case the entire untenability of Mr.
Spencer's view ; and, siuce the same argument may be employed against the
rest, I shall be content that my case against them should be held to fail if my
case should fail in respect to Space and Time."

I am quite content to join issue with Dr. Hodgson on these terms ;
and will proceed to examine, one by one, the several arguments which
he uses to show the invalidity of my conclusions. Following hig
criticism in the order he has chosen, I begin with the sentence follow-
ing that which I have just quoted. The first part of it runs thus:
"The metaphysical view of Space and Time is, that they are elements
in all phenomena, whether the phenomena are presentations or repre-
sentations."

Whether, by " the metaphysical view," is here meant the view of

REPLIES TO CRITICISMS. 301

Kant, whether it means Dr. Hodgson's own view, or whether the ex-
pression has a more general meaning, I have simply to reply that the
metaphysical view is incorrect. Dealing with the Kantian version of
this doctrine, that Space is a form of intuition, I have pointed out
that only with certain classes of phenomena is Space invariably
united; that Kant habitually considers phenomena belonging to the
visual and tactual groups, with which the consciousness of Space is
inseparably joined, and overlooks groups with which it is not insep-
arably joined. Though, in the adult, perception of sound has certain
space-implications, mostly, if not wholly, acquired by individual ex-
perience ; and though it would seem, from the instructive experiments
of Mr. Spalding, that, in creatures born with nervous systems much
more organized than our own are at birth, there is some innate per-
ception of the side from which a sound comes; yet it is demonstrable
that the space-implications of sound are not originally given with the
sensation as its form of intuition. Bearing in mind the Kantian
doctrine, that Space is the form of sensuous intuitions not only as pre-
sented but also as represented, let us examine critically our musical
ideas. As I have elsewhere suggested to the reader —

" Let him observe what happens when some melody takes possession of his
imagination. Its tones and cadences go on repeating themselves apart from
any space-consciousness — they are not localized. He may or may not be
reminded of the place where he heard them ; this association is incidental only.
Having observed this, he will see that such space-implications as sounds have
are learned in the course of individual experience, and are not given with the
sounds themselves. Indeed, if we refer to the Kantian definition of form, we
get a simple and conclusive proof of this. Kant says form is ; that which effects
that the content of the phenomenon can be arranged under certain relations.'
How then can the content of the phenomenon we call sound be arranged? Its
parts can be arranged in order of sequence — that is, in Time. But there is no
possibility of arranging its parts in order of coexistence — that is, in Space.
And it is just the same with odor. Whoever thinks that sound and odor
have Space for their form of intuition may convince himself to the contrary by
trying to find the right and left sides of a sound, or to imagine an odor turned
the other way upward." — {Principles of Psychology, § 399.)

As I thus dissent, not I think without good reason, from " the
metaphysical view of Space and Time" as "elements in all phe-
nomena," it will naturally be expected that I dissent from the first
criticism which Dr. Hodgson proceeds to deduce from it. Dealing
first with the arguments I have used to show the incomprehensibility
of Space and Time, if we consider them as objective, and stating in
other words the conclusion I draw, that, " as Space and Time cannot
be either non-entities nor the attributes of entities, we have no choice
but to consider them as entities," Dr. Hodgson continues :

u So far good. Secondly, he argues that they cannot be represented in
thought as such real existences, because, ' to be conceived at all, a thing must

3 o2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

be conceived as having attributes.' Now, here the metaphysical doctrine en-
ables us to conceive them as real existences, and rebuts the argument for their
inconceivability; for the other element, the material element, the feeling or
quality occupying Space and Time, stands in the place and performs the func-
tion of the required attributes, composing, together with the space and time
which is occupied, the empirical phenomena of perception. So far as this argu-
ment of Mr. Spencer goes, then, we are entitled to say that his case for the
inconceivability of Space and Time as real existences is not made out."

Whether the fault is in me or not I cannot say, but I fail to see
that my argument is thus rebutted. On the contrary, it appears to
me substantially conceded. What kind of entity is that which can
exist only when occupied by something else? Dr. Hodgson's own
argument is a tacit assertion that Space by itself cannot be conceived
as an existence; and this is all that I have alleged.

Dr. Hodgson deals next with the further argument, familiar to all
readers, which I have added as showing the insurmountable difficulty
in the way of conceiving Space and Time as objective entities :
namely, that " all entities which we actually know as such are lim-
ited. . . . But of Space and Time we cannot assert either limitation
or the absence of limitation." Without quoting at length the rea-
sons Dr. Hodgson gives for distinguishing between Space as perceived
and Space as conceived, it will suffice if I quote his own statement
of the result to which they bring him : " So that Space and Time,
as perceived, are not finite but infinite ; as conceived, are not infinite
but finite."

Most readers will, I think, be startled by the assertion that con-
ception is less extensive in range than perception; but, without
dwelling on this, I will content myself by asking in what case Space
is perceived as infinite? Surely Dr. Hodgson does not mean to say
that he can perceive the whole surrounding Space at once — that the
Space behind is united in perception with the Space in front. Yet
this is the necessary implication of his words. Taking his statement
less literally, however, and not dwelling on the fact that in perception
Space is habitually bounded by objects more or less distant, let us
test his assertion under the most favorable conditions. Supposing
the eye directed upward toward a clear sky ; is not the Space then
perceived laterally limited ? The visual area, restricted by the visual
apertures, cannot include in perception even 180° from side to side,
and is still more confined in a direction at right angles to this. Even
in the third direction, to which alone Dr. Hodgson evidently refers,
it cannot properly be said that it is infinite in perception. Look at a
position in the sky a thousand miles off. Now look at a position a
million miles off. What is the difference in perception ? Nothing.
How, then, can an infinite distance be perceived, when these immensely
unlike finite distances cannot be perceived as differing from one
another, or from an infinite distance? Dr. Hodgson has used the

REPLIES TO CRITICISMS. 303

wrong word. Instead of saying that Space as perceived is infinite,
he should have said that, in perception, Space is finite in two dimen-
sions, and becomes indefinite in the third when this becomes great.

I come now to the paragraph beginning " Mr. Spencer then turns
to the second or subjective hypothesis, that of Kant." This para-
graph is somewhat difficult to deal with, for the reason that in it my
reasoning is criticised both from the Kantian point of view and from
Dr. Hodgson's own point of view. Dissenting from Kant's view, Dr.
Hodgson says, "I hold that both Space and Time, and Feeling, or the
material element, are equally and alike subjective, equally and alike
objective." As I cannot understand this, I am unable to deal with
those arguments against me which Dr. Hodgson bases upon it, and
must limit myself to that which he urges on behalf of Kant. He says :

"But I think that Mr. Spencer's representation of Kant's view is very
incorrect; he seems to be misled by the large term non-ego. Kant held that
Space and Time were in their origin subjective, but when applied to the non-
ego resulted in phenomena, and were the forma] element in those phenomena,
among which some were phenomena of the internal sense or ego, others of the
external sense or non-ego. The non-ego to which the forms of Space and
Time did not apply and did not belong was the Ding-an-sich, not the phenome-
nal non-ego. Hence the objective existence of Space and Time in phenomena,
but not in the Ding-an-sich, is a consistent and necessary consequence of Kant's
view of their subjective origin."

If I have misunderstood Kant, as thus alleged, then my comment
must be that I credited him with an hypothesis less objectionable
than that which he held. I supposed his view to be that Space, as a
form of intuition belonging to the ego, is imposed by it on the non-
ego (by which I understood the thing in itself) in the act of intuition.
But now the Kantian doctrine is said to be that Space, originating in
the subject, when applied to the non-ego results in phenomena (the
non-ego meant being, in that case, necessarily the Ding-an-sich, or
thing in itself) ; and that the phenomena so resulting, carrying with
them the Space they have been endowed with, become objective ex-
istences along with the Space given to them by the ego. The subject
having imposed Space as a form on the primordial non-ego, or thing
in itself, and so created phenomena, this Space thereupon becomes an
objective existence, independent of both the ego and the original
thing in itself. To Dr. Hodgson this may seem a more tenable posi-
tion than that which I ascribed to Kant ; but to me it seems only a
multiplication of inconceivabilities. I am content to leave it as it
stands : not feeling my reasons for rejecting the Kantian hypothesis
much weakened. 1

1 Instead of describing me as misunderstanding Kant on this point, Dr. Hodgson
should have described Kant as having, in successive sentences, so changed the meanings
of the words he uses, as to make either interpretation possible. At the outset of his
11 Critique of Pure Reason," he says : " The effect of an object upon the faculty of repre-

304 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

The remaining reply which Dr. Hodgson makes runs thus:

"But Mr. Spencer has a second argument to prove this inconceivability. It
is this : ' If Space and Time are forms of thought, they can never be thought
of; since it is impossible for any thing to be at once the form of thought and
the matter of thought.' . . . An instance will show the fallacy best. Syllo-
gism is usually held to be a form of thought. Would it be any argument
for the inconceivability of syllogisms to say, they cannot be at once the form
and the matter of thought? Can we not syllogize about syllogism? Or, more
plainly still — no dog can bite himself, for it is impossible to be at once the thing
that bites and the thing that is bitten."

Had Dr. Hodgson quoted the whole of the passage from which he
takes the above sentence; or had he considered it in conjunction with
the Kantian doctrine to which it refers (namely, that Space survives
in consciousness when all contents are expelled, which implies that
then Space is the thing with which consciousness is occupied, or the
object of consciousness), he would have seen that his reply has none
of the cogency he supposes. If, taking his first illustration, he will
ask himself whether it is possible to " syllogize about syllogism,"
when syllogism has no content whatever, symbolic or other — has
non-entity to serve for major, non-entity for minor, and non-entity for
conclusion — he will, I think, see that syllogism, considered as surviving
terms of every kind, cannot be syllogized about; the " pure form," of
reason (supposing it to be syllogism, which it is not), if absolutely
discharged of all it contains, cannot be represented in thought, and
therefore cannot be reasoned about. Following Dr. Hodgson to his
second illustration, I must express my surprise that a metaphysician
of his acuteness should have used it. For an illustration to have any
value, the relation between the terms of the analogous case must
have some parallelism to the relation between the terms of the case
with which it is compared. Does Dr. Hodgson really think that the
relation between a dog and the part of himself which he bites is like
the relation between matter and form? Suppose the dog bites his
tail. Now, the dog, as biting, stands, according to Dr. Hodgson, for
the form as the containing mental faculty; and the tail as bitten

sentation, so far as we are affected by the said object, is sensation. That sort of intui-
tion which relates to an object by means of sensation, is called an empirical intuition.
The undetermined object of an empirical intuition, is called phenomenon. That which
in the phenomenon corresponds to the sensation, I term its matter'' (here, remem-
bering the definition just given of phenomenon, objective existence is manifestly referred
to), ' but that which effects that the content of the phenomenon can be arranged under
certain relations, I call its form ' (so that form as here applied, refers to objective exist-
ence). • But that in which our sensations are merely arranged, and by which they are
susceptible of assuming a certain form, cannot be itself sensation.' (In which sentence
the word form obviously refers to subjective existence.) At the outset, the ' phenome-
non' and the ' sensation' are distinguished as objective and subjective respectively ; and
then, in the closing sentences, the form is spoken of in connection first with the one and
then with the other, as though they were the same."

REPLIES TO CRITICISMS. 305

stands for this mental faculty as contained. Now, suppose the dog
loses his tail. Can the faculty as containing and the faculty as con-
tained be separated in the same way ? Does the mental form when
deprived of all content, even itself (granting that it can be its own
content), continue to exist in the same way that a dog continues to
exist when he has lost his tail ? Even had this illustration been
applicable, I should have scarcely expected Dr. Hodgson to remain
satisfied with it. I should have thought he would prefer to meet my
argument directly, rather than indirectly. Why has he not shown
the invalidity of the reasoning used in the "Principles of Psychology "
(§ 399, second edition) ? Having there quoted the statement of Kant,
that " Space and Time are not merely forms of sensuous intuition, but
intuitions themselves," I have written :

"If we inquire more closely, this irreconcilability becomes still clearer."
Kant says : ' That which in the piienomenon corresponds to the sensation, I
term its matter ; but that which effects that the content of the phenomenon
can be arranged under certain relations, I call its form. 1 Carrying with us
this definition of form, as 'that which effects that the content .... can be
arranged under certain relations,' let us return to the case in which the intu-
ition of Space is the intuition which occupies consciousness. Can the content
of this intuition ' be arranged under certain relations ' or not ? It can be so
arranged, or rather, it is so arranged. Space cannot be thought of save as hav-
ing parts, near and remote, in this direction or the other. Hence, if that is the
form of a thing ' which effects that the content .... can be arranged under
certain relations,' it follows that when the content of consciousness is the
intuition of Space, which has parts ' that can be arranged uuder certain rela-
tions,' there must be a form of that intuition. What is it ? Kant does not tell
us — does not appear to perceive that there must be such a form ; and could not
have perceived this without abandoning his hypothesis that the space-intuition
is primordial."

Now, when Dr. Hodgson has shown me how that " which effects
that the content .... can be arranged under certain relations "
may also be that which effects its own arrangement under the same
relations, I shall be ready to surrender my position ; but, until then,
no analogy drawn from the ability of a dog to bite himself will weigh
much with me.

Having, as he considers, disposed of the reasons given by me for
concluding that, considered in themselves, " Space and Time are
wholly incomprehensible " (he continually uses on my behalf the word
"inconceivable," which, by its unfit connotations, gives a wrong aspect
to my position), Dr. Hodgson goes on to say :

" Yet Mr. Spencer proceeds to use these inconceivable ideas as the basis of
his philosophy. For mark, it is Space and Time as we know them, the actual
and phenomenal Space and Time, to which all these inconceivabilities attach.
Mr. Spencer's result ought, therefore, logically to be — Skepticism. What is his
actual result? Ontology. And how so? Why, instead of rejecting Space and
Time as tho inconceivable things he has tried to demonstrate them to be, be
vol. iv. — 20

3 o6 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

substitutes for them an Unknowable, a something which they really are, though
we cannot know it, and rejects that, instead of them, from knowledge."

This statement has caused me no little astonishment. That hav-
ing before him the volume from which he quotes, so competent a
reader should have so completely missed the meaning of the passages
(§ 26) already referred to, in which I have contended against Ham-
ilton and Mansel, makes me almost despair of being understood by
any ordinary reader. In that section, I have, in the first place, con-
tended that the consciousness of an Ultimate Reality, though not
capable of being made a thought, properly so called, because not
capable of being brought within limits, nevertheless remains as a
mode of consciousness that is positive: is not rendered negative by
the negation of limits. I have pointed out that —

" The error (very naturally fallen into by philosophers intent on demon-
strating the limits and conditions of consciousness) consists in assuming that
consciousness contains nothing but limits and conditions ; to the entire neglect
of that which is limited and conditioned. It is forgotten that there is some-
thing which alike forms the raw material of definite thought and remains after
the definiteness which thinking gave to it has been destroyed," something
which "ever persists in us as the body of a thought to which we can give no
shape."

This positive element of consciousness it is, which, "at once
necessarily indefinite and necessarily indestructible," I regard as the
consciousness of the Unknowable Reality. Yet Dr. Hodgson says
" Mr. Spencer proceeds to use these inconceivable ideas as the basis of
his philosophy:" implying that such basis consists of negations,
instead of consisting of that which persists notwithstanding the
negation of limits. And then, beyond this perversion, or almost
inversion, of meaning, he conveys the notion that I take, as the basis
of philosophy, the " inconceivable ideas " " or self-contradictory
notions " which result when we endeavor to comprehend Space and
Time. He speaks of me as proposing to evolve substance out of
form, or, rather, out of negations of forms — gives his readers no con-
ception that the Power manifested to us is that which I regard as the
Unknowable, while what we call Space and Time answer to the
unknowable nexus of its manifestations. And yet the chapter from
which I quote, and still more the chapter which follows it, makes
this clear — as clear, at least, as I can make it by carefully-worded
statements and restatements.

Philosophical systems, like theological ones, following the law of
evolution in general, severally become in course of time more rigid,
while becoming more complex and more definite ; and they similarly
become less alterable — resist all compromise, and have to be replaced
by the more plastic systems that descend from them.

REPLIES TO CRITICISMS. 307

It is thus with the pure Empiricists and the pure Transcendentalists.
Down to the present time disciples of Locke have continued to hold
that all mental phenomena are interpretable as results of accumulated
individual experiences ; and, by criticism, have been led simply to
elaborate their interpretations: ignoring the proofs of inadequacy.
On the other hand, disciples of Kant, asserting this inadequacy, and
led by perception of it to adopt an antagonist theory, have persisted
in defending that theory under a form presenting fatal inconsistencies.
And then, when there is offered a mode of reconciliation, the spirit of
no-compromise is displayed: each side continuing to claim the whole
truth. After it has been pointed out that all the obstacles in the way
of the experiential doctrine disappear if the effects of ancestral expe-
riences are joined with the effects of individual experiences, the old
form of the doctrine is still adhered to, while Kantists persist in as-
serting that the ego is born with intuitional forms which are wholly
independent of any thing in the non-ego, after it has been shown that
the innateness of these intuitional forms may be so understood as to
escape the insurmountable difficulties of the hypothesis as originally
expressed.

I am led to say this by reading the remarks concerning my own
views, made with an urbanity I hope to imitate, by Prof. Max Miiller,
in a lecture delivered at the Royal Institution last March. 1 Before
dealing with the criticisms contained in this lecture, I must enter a
demurrer against that interpretation of my views by which Prof. Max
Mtiller makes it appear that they are more allied to those of Kant than
to those of Locke. He says :

" Whether the prehistoric genesis of these congenital dispositions or inherited
necessities of thought, as suggested by Mr. Herbert Spencer, be right or wrong,
does not signify for the purpose which Kant had in view. In admitting that
there is something in our mind which is not the result of our own a posteriori
experience, Mr. Herbert Spencer is a thorough Kantian, and we shall see that
he is a Kantian in other respects too. If it could be proved that nervous modi-
fications, accumulated from generation to generation, could result in nervous
structures, that are fixed in proportion as the outer relations to which they an-
swer are fixed, we, as followers of Kant, should only have to put in the place
of Kant's intuitions of Space and Time 'the constant space-relations expressed
in definite nervous structures congenitally framed to act in definite ways, and
incapable of acting in any other way.' If Mr. Herbert Spencer had not misun-
derstood the exact meaning of what Kant calls the intuitions of Space and Time,
he would have perceived that, barring his theory of the prehistoric origin of
these intuitions, he was quite at one with Kant."

On this passage let me remark, first, that the word " prehistoric,"
ordinarily employed only in respect to human history, is misleading
when applied to the history of Life in general; and his use of it leaves
me in some doubt whether Prof. Max Miiller has rightly conceived the
hypothesis he refers to.

1 See Eraser's Magazine of May last.

3 o8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

My second comment is, that the description of me as " quite at one
with Kant," " barring " the " theory of the prehistoric origin of these
intuitions," curiously implies that it is a matter of comparative in-
difference whether the forms of thought are held to be naturally gen-
erated^ intercourse between the organism and its environing relations,
during the evolution of the lowest into the highest types, or whether
such forms are held to be supernaturally given to the human mind,
and are independent both of environing relations and of ancestral
minds. But now, addressing myself to the essential point, I must
meet the statement that I have "misunderstood the exact meaning of
what Kant calls the intuitions of Space and Time," by saying that I
think Prof. Max Miiller has overlooked certain passages which justify
my interpretation, and render his interpretation untenable. For Kant
says " Space is nothing else than the form of all phenomena of the
external sense ; " further, he says that "Time is nothing but the form
of our internal intuition ; " and, to repeat words I have used elsewhere,
" He distinctly shuts out the supposition that there are forms of the
non-ego to which these forms of the ego correspond," by saying that
" Space is not a conception which has been derived from outward ex-
periences." Now, so far from being in harmony with, these state-
ments are in direct contradiction to, the view which I hold, and seem
to me absolutely irreconcilable with it. How can it be said that,
" barring " a difference represented as trivial, I am " quite at one with
Kant," when I contend that these subjective forms of intuition are
moulded into correspondence with, and therefore derived from, some
objective form or nexus, and therefore dependent upon it ; while the
Kantian hypothesis is that these subjective forms are not derived from
the object, but exist independently in the ego, and are imposed by it
on the non-ego ? It seems to me that not only do Kant's words, as
above given, exclude the view which I hold, but also that Kant could
not consistently have held any such view. Rightly recognizing, as he
did, these forms of intuition as innate, he was, from his stand-point,
obliged to regard them as imposed on the matter of intuition in the
act of perception. In the absence of the hypothesis that intelligence
has been evolved, it was not possible for him to regard these subjective
forms as having been derived from objective forms.

A disciple of Locke might, I think, say that the Evolution-view of
our consciousness of Space and Time is essentially Lockian, with more
truth than Prof. Max Miiller can represent it as essentially Kantian.
The Evolution-view is completely experiential. It differs from the
original view of the experientialists by containing a great extension
of it. With the relatively-small effects of individual experiences, it
joins the relatively-vast effects of the experiences of antecedent indi-
viduals. But the view of Kant is avowedly and absolutely unexpe-
riential. Surely this makes the predominance of kinship manifest.

In Prof. Max Muller's replies to my criticisms on Kant I cannot

QUICKER THAN LIGHTNING. 309

see greater validity than in this affiliation to which I have demurred.
One of his arguments is that which Dr. Hodgson has used, and which
I have already answered; and I think that the others, when compared
with the passages of the " Principles of Psychology " which they con-
cern, will not be found adequate. I refer to them here chiefly for the
purpose of pointing out that, when he speaks of me as bringing " three
arguments against Kant's view," he understates the number. Let me
close what I have to say on this disputed question, by quoting the
summary of reasons I have given for rejecting the Kantian hypothesis :

u Kant tells us that Space is the form of all external intuition, which is not
true. He tells us that the consciousness of Space continues when the conscious-
ness of all things contained in it is suppressed ; which is also not true. From
these alleged facts he infers that Space is an a priori form of intuition. I say
infers, because this conclusion is not presented in necessary union with the
premises, in the same way that the consciousness of duality is necessarily pre-
sented along with the consciousness of inequality; but it is a conclusion volun-
tarily drawn for the purpose of explaining the alleged facts. And then, that we
may accept this conclusion, which is not necessarily presented along with these
alleged facts which are not true, we are obliged to affirm several propositions
which cannot be rendered into thought. When Space is itself contemplated,
we have to conceive it as at once the form of intuition and the matter of intu-
ition, which is impossible. We have to unite that which we are conscious of as
Space with that which we are conscious of as the ego, and contemplate the one
as a property of the other ; which is impossible. We have, at the same time,
to disunite that which we are conscious of as Space, from that which we are
conscious of as the non-ego, and contemplate th9one as separate from the other;
which is also impossible. Further, this hypothesis, that Space is k nothing else '
than a form of intuition belonging wholly to the ego, commits us to one of the
two alternatives, that the non-ego is formless, and that its form produces abso-
lutely no effect upon the ego — both of which alternatives involve us in impossi-
bilities of thought/' — Principles of Psychology, § 399. — Advance Sheets from
Fortnightly Review.

-♦*♦-

QUICKER THAN LIGHTNING.

THE Faithful have a tradition that Mohammed, on one occasion, in
starting for heaven, upset a pitcher with his foot : he had ninety
thousand interviews with the Most High, and, when he returned, the
water was not yet spilled from the pitcher. It may be admitted that
this was quick work, and that Mohammed was undoubtedly smart ; but,
when it comes to " interviewing," the Arabs must yield to the Yankees.
In the laboratory of Columbia College, Prof. Rood has had interviews
with one of the messengers of the Most High at a rate that leaves the
prophet nowhere. Besides, with all respect to the hundred million
believers, the Mussulman story is but a piece of Oriental fancy, while
the Christian reports not only what he has actually seen, but can also

3 io THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

make others see. Our optics are none of the best, but we have seen
the professor run down his ethereal game, and can attest that it was
more exciting than a horse-race. Let us consider this " descent of
man " into the regions of infinitesimal time.

Of all the curious things that science has revealed, none are so
confounding to the ordinary reason as what has been learned respect-
ing the order of Nature in its extremest aspect of minuteness. Ob-
jects fade away from the customary range of the senses, and we habit-
ually think, what was long believed to be the fact, that there remains
nothing more ; or, that we find the edge and final termination of things
but little beyond what is familiarly recognized. But we now under-
stand that Nature is fathomless below as' well as boundless above,
and that, beneath the grasp of unaided sense, there are an inexhaustible
wealth of wonders, a fixedness of relations, a definite play of interact-
ing forces, and a sharp exactness in the working of law, which we
could never infer from the coarser processes of the world of common
experience.

As we are to speak of the briefest known duration of luminous
effects, it will be proper first to recall how much is involved in the act
of sight. When the man of experiment talks to us about what occurs
in the thousandth of a second, he is, of course, dealing with something
recognized, or which has affected both his body and his mind in that
short space of time, and this is necessarily an illustration of how quick-
ly his composite machinery can work. Then the agency which acts
upon him must be taken into account, and also the cause of that
agency, for they both belong to the same order of activities. When
we look upon a source of illumination, as a candle or a star, we are
affected by something that is done at those points. The light origi-
nates in the vibration of the molecules of matter. These vibrations
are communicated to some medium which can convey the impulses
at a demonstrated velocity of nearly 200,000 miles per second. The
luminous waves strike the retina of the eye, and they are again trans-
lated into the molecular vibrations of nervous matter, and the physi-
cal influence is turned into a sensation by the organ of consciousness.
The act of seeing thus involves the constitution and action of the visi-
ble object, the mode of movement of the force, the operation of the
organ of vision, the changes of the nerve-line, and the cerebral act of
recognition. There is a dynamic chain connecting thought and the
object seen through a nether world of minuteness, but where all is
correlated in a common scale of relations ; and, whenever we see any
thing, this whole train of transformations is implicated in the effect.
The molecular tremors of Sirius, the ethereal thrills of space, and the
rhythmic swing of the nervous elements, are but parts of a unified sys-
tem of subsensible dynamics. Bearing in mind, then, what is in-
volved in a single act of vision, let us now trace the course of experi-
ment which has led to the latest results regarding its duration.

QUICKER THAN LIGHTNING.

311

Phosphorus, the light-bearer, as its name implies, has the property,
long supposed to be peculiar to it, of faintly shining in the dark. But,
if a diamond is exposed to sunshine, and then withdrawn into dark-
ness, it continues feebly luminous for a considerable time, and is, there-
fore, said to he phosphorescent. Other substances, as sulphuret of cal-
cium, and sulphuret of barium, have also been long noted for this prop-
erty, and recent researches have shown that, so far from being any
thing peculiar, the same property is manifested in a much lower de-
gree by a vast number of substances. The differences are in the
time the phosphorescence continued after withdrawal from the sun's
rays. It was found, in most instances, extremely short, only the small
fraction of a second, and it became necessary to devise some means
of measuring the time in different cases. A contrivance was necessary
which should expose an object to the sun, and then jerk it quickly into
total darkness, where it could be seen by the observer if it dragged
any light along with it, for even the thousandth of a second.

Fig 1.

Becquerel's Phosphoroscope.

A contrivance for this purpose was made by Edmund Becquerel,
and called the phosphoroscope. It consisted of a train of wheels and
pinions (Fig. 1 ) for producing rapid revolving motion. There was a

3 i2 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

hollow barrel or case at the top of the machine, pierced with an open-
ing, within which, as seen in the figure, the object to be experimented
with is attached to a fixed stand. On the opposite side of the case
there is another opening in a corresponding position, not shown in
the figure. The outer case does not revolve, but within it there is a
pair of disks (Fig. 2) rigidly connected upon a spindle which is turned
by the machinery. Each of these disks has four openings, those of
the one being not opposite, but midway between those of the other.
Of course, then, when these disks are inside the case, it is impossible
to see through. The arrangement is then set up in the window of a
darkened room, so that one side is turned toward the sun, and the

Fig. 2.

Disks op Phosphoroscofe.

other toward the observer; and, when the disks are turned, the object
is alternately exposed to the light from one side, and to the eye from
the other ; that is, it is seen in a moment after exposure to light, and
the duration of the moment can be determined by the rapidity of the
rotation. The object, therefore, if not phosphorescent, will never be
seen by the observer, as it is always in darkness, except when it is hid-
den by the intervening disk. But, if its phosphorescence lasts as long
as an eighth part of the time of one rotation, it will become visible in
the darkness. Suppose, now, that the disks are made to revolve a
hundred times in a second, and that the body observed is visible, it is
then proved that its phosphorescence lasts the one eight-hundredth
of a second, that being the time which elapses between its exposure
to the sun and its exposure to the eye. When examined in this way,
a very large number of bodies show traces of phosphorescence, al-
though in some cases it is found to last no longer than the ten-thou-
sandth part of a second.

The question was thus opened whether phosphorescence is not a
general property of matter, and, to determine this, with the conditions
of its manifestation, a more thorough investigation of the subject was
needed. Prof. Rood proposed to undertake it, using, if possible, an
instantaneous source of illumination — the electric spark. But, in en-

QUICKER THAN LIGHTNING. 313

tering upon the inquiry, he soon found himself involved in preliminary-
difficulties with the spark itself. His phosphorescent investigations
remain yet to be carried out, but the results obtained relative to the
electric flash are of extreme interest. The full account of the research
is given in a series of papers published in Sillimari's Journal, and, if
the reader finds the following statement insufficient in its details, he
will know where to go for further explanations.

Since the time of Franklin, the lightning-flash has been regarded as
a gigantic electric spark produced in the atmosphere ; the inquiry,
therefore, involved the nature of the meteorological discharge, as well
as of the spark artificially produced. Various attempts to determine
the duration of lightning have been made, with varying results. Fara-
day observed it, without any instruments for measuring the time, which
seemed to last for a second, but he was doubtful if part of the effect
was not due to the lingering phosphorescence of the cloud. Decharme
observed the lightning-flashes from a distant storm, which also ap-
peared to last for from a half to an entire second. Prof. Dove employed
a revolving disk with colored sectors, and satisfied himself that single
flashes of lightning often consisted of a number of instantaneous dis-
charges. It is well known that, when a rapidly-moving train of cars
is illuminated at night by lightning, it seems to stand still, that is, the
duration of the flash is so brief that no motion of the train is percep-
tible while it lasts. The wheels are sharply defined as if perfectly
motionless, but if they had a blurred aspect we should know that the
illumination lasted sufficiently long to render the motion perceptible.
Prof. Rood extemporized a simple contrivance for observing lightning,
which acted upon this principle. It consisted of a white card-board
disk, five inches in diameter, with a steel shawl-pin for an axis, on which
it was made to revolve by striking the edge. He traced black figures
near the circumference of the disk, and when it was in rapid motion
these figures were sometimes seen as sharply as though they had been
stationary, although they were often blurred as though the disk had
moved through a few degrees during the act of discharge. He then
cut narrow, radial apertures into the circumference of the disk, and
observed the lightning through these openings. Here, again, the
apertures were sometimes seen quite unchanged, but they were more
frequently elongated into well-defined streaks some degrees in length.
He afterward measured the average rate of rotation imparted to the
disk in this way, and arrived at the conclusion that the lightning-flashes
on the occasion referred to had a duration of about one five-hundredth
cf a second. Dissatisfied with the roughness of these observations,
Prof. Rood arranged a small train of toothed wheels driven by a spring,
which rotated a circular pasteboard disk with four open sectors. This
instrument gave more regular and precise results; and, while it was
shown that the flash sometimes lasts for a whole second, the suggestion
of Dove was clearly verified that each flash "consisted of a consider-

3 14 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

able number of isolated and apparently instantaneous electrical dis-
charges, the interval between the components being so small that, to
the naked eye, they constituted a continuous act."

Several curious effects were observed in these experiments. Work-
ing with a disk having a single narrow opening, the multiple elements
of the discharge were detected with great regularity, and Prof. Rood
several times, instead of seeing the opening single, noticed that it had
a form resembling the letter X or V, the lines in different positions
of the disk having, as it were, got crossed in his eyes by their quick
changes of position. On several occasions, when observing with the
naked eye, the normal zigzag flashes lasted not less than a second,
and the light seemed to pour steadily in a stream from the cloud to
the earth. Observations made in the area occupied by a storm, out
beyond its edge, and when it was quite distant, gave results that were
identical, which the professor thinks furnishes an " argument in sup-
port of the hypothesis that zigzag lightning, heat and sheet lightning,
etc., are really identical, being, in point of fact, due to the same cause
but viewed under different conditions." As the result of these experi-
ments, Pro£ Rood concludes : " It is evident, from the foregoing, that
the nature of the lightning-discharge is more complicated than has
been generally supposed ; it is usually, if not always, multiple in char-
acter, and the duration of the isolated constituents varies very much,
ranging from intervals of time shorter than one one-thousandth of a
second up to others at least as great as one-twentieth of a second ;
and, furthermore, what is singular, a variety of this kind may some-
times be found in the components of a single flash."

Such being the rough conclusions reached concerning the duration
of the spark upon a grand scale, let us now consider the results of
experiment upon it where all the conditions are in command. In 1835,
Mr. Wheatstone attempted to measure the spark of a Leyden jar
charged by a common frictional machine. The light from the spark
was received upon a mirror mounted upon an axle capable of a high
rate of revolution. The image of the spark, being thrown upon the
mirror, was reflected to a distant point, and the time of the spark was
inferred from the fixity or movement of the image. By using this
arrangement, Mr. Wheatstone concluded that the discharge may take
place within the millionth of a second ; a result which was accepted
by the scientific world for a quarter of a century. In 1858, a German
named Feddersen, an accomplished physicist, dissatisfied with Wheat-
stone's results, entered upon a careful reexamination of the subject.
He used the revolving-mirror arrangement with frictional electricity ;
but, as Wheatstone had driven his machinery by strings, Feddersen
adopted a train of toothed wheels, and with this form of mechanism he
found that the image of the spark was drawn out by the revolving
mirror into a whitish streak which indicated that the time of the dis-
charge was not less than the twenty-five-thousandth of a second, while

QUICKER THAN LIGHTNING,

315

it was inferred that the spark, instead of being a simple effect, is com-
posite like the lightning, and is made up of several elements.

Such were the incomplete and discordant results of the investiga-
tion when it was undertaken by Prof. Rood. The arrangement he de-
vised consisted of two parts, one for the production of the spark, and
the other for measuring it. Fig. 3 represents the first combination.
A galvanic battery was used to generate the electricity ; this was con-
nected with a large Ruhmkorff coil, which was again connected with a
Leyden jar, and this with the electrodes for producing the spark, S,

Fig. 3.

Galvanic Battery.

Ruhmkorff Induction-Coil.

Leyden Jar.

Electrodes and Spark.

which were adjustable for varying its " striking distance." Connected
with the wires between the battery and the coil was an automatic "in-
terruptor " for breaking the circuit from three to six times in a second,
by which the frequency of the discharges could be regulated. Leyden
jars of different sizes could be used so as to give sparks of all degrees
of strength and intensity.

In the second part of his arrangement, Prof. Rood, like his prede-
cessors, employed a revolving mirror, turned by the gearing of Bec-
querel's phosphoroscope (Fig. 1), with the addition of an extra wheel
and a weight to drive it. With this he could get 350 revolutions of
the mirror per second, with a smooth and uniform motion. In order
to measure exactly the rate of rotation, the cylinder on the lowest
wheel was made to wind up a fillet of paper, upon which dots were
made by an electro-magnetic apparatus, regulated by a seconds-pen-
dulum, when a simple calculation gave the rate of the wheel to which
the mirror was attached, and the regularity of the train was thus put
to a sharp test. The light of the spark S (Fig. 4), passing through an
achromatic lens, I, struck the mirror, m, and was reflected upward,
forming an image at i, on the plate of ground glass G. The image of
the spark on the ground glass was viewed from above, and its position
and form were carefully measured by several methods. Of course, if the

316

THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

spark was absolutely instantaneous, its image thrown upon the ground
glass would be exactly the same, whether the mirror was motionless or
was revolving at the highest speed. But, if the spark had an appre-
ciable duration, its image would be prolonged or drawn out into a
streak, the length of which must depend upon the time of discharge.
The rate of the mirror's rotation being known, also the distance, m i 9
and the length of the streak, it was easy to calculate the total duration
of the spark.

Fig. 4.

Revolving-Mirror Arrangement.

Prof. Rood now had the subtile agent he was pursuing pretty effect-
ually in his grasp, and the results that came out were very striking.
The ordinary spark was found to be a highly-complex effect ; to con-
sist of diverse and successive elements, and, in fact, to have its periods
and orderly history just like the geology of the globe. But, while the
'* vast durations " of Lyell and Dana are vague and inferential, these
infinitesimal periods could be demonstrated with the greatest exact-
ness. The previous discordant results were reconciled, Feddersen be-
ing justified in assigning a longer period for the total duration of
the spark, and Wheatstone's time holding true of its elements.

With a Ley den jar of about a quart capacity (114.4 square inches
of coating), and all the connections as short as possible, so as to offer
the least amount of resistance to the electric flow, with brass balls as
electrode?, with a striking distance of about the twenty-fifth of an inch,
and the velocity of the mirror up to 223 per second, the image of the
spark thrown upon the ground glass and viewed by the naked eye was
drawn out into a streak one and a half or two inches long, the length,
however, varying with the speed of the mirror. The aspects of the
image are represented in Fig. 5. The first part was pure white, which
shaded into a brownish-yellow tint, passing on into a pretty distinct
green. When a polished plate of glass was substituted for the ground
glass, and a small magnifier was used to observe the image, a series
of bright points, on each side of the streak, became visible, in the po-
sitions indicated by the dots in Fig. 5. With high velocities, this suc-
cession of points was beautifully developed, and it consists of a series
of separate discharges following the first. It was thus found that the

QUICKER THAN LIGHTNING. 317

Leyden jar furnished a number of single sparks, each time the coil was
excited, the number varying between one and thirty, according to cir-
cumstances. The whole proceeding consumed an interval of time often
as great as one-fiftieth of a second ; that is, the jar loaded up and dis-
charged itself twenty or thirty times in that period. Prof. Rood found
the number of elements of the spark to vary with its length, the nature
of the electrodes, and the size of the jar. Short sparks are more com-
plex than long ones, small jars give more than large ones, and metallic
points a greater number than balls. The point to be determined was,
the duration of the several elements of the spark, and especially of its
quickest element. In one case of a discharge lasting the fiftieth of a
second, it began with an ordinary spark, followed by a pale-violet
light, lasting about one-sixtieth of a second, and then came a compact

Fig. 5.

Images of Spark drawn out.

body of ten or twenty sparks, this last act continuing for about one
two-hundredth of a second. The results of the inquiry are thus stated
by Prof. Rood : " From the foregoing, then, it appears that, if a jar,
having a metallic coating of about one hundred square inches, be con-
nected, as above desci'ibed, with an induction-coil, its discharge will
be effected by a considerable number of acts, of which the first is by
far the most intense. Further, the metallic particles, heated up by
the first discharge to a white heat, almost instantly assume a lower
temperature, marked by a corresponding change from white to brown-
ish yellow ; and, as their temperature continues to fall, the tint changes,
in the case of brass electrodes, to green ; in that of platinum, to a gray
or violet-gray. These observations further demonstrated the fact that
four ten-millionths of a second is an interval of time quite sufficient
for the production of distinct vision."

It was also shown that the first act of the electric explosion, repre-
sented by the white band, lasted through an interval of time so short
as to be immeasurable. It was proved that it could not occupy more

3 i8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY,

than the millionth or the half a millionth of a second, but how much
less time it might occupy remained to be determined.

Prof. Rood now prepared for a more rigorous course of experi-
ments. He used a small Leyden jar, with a surface of eleven inches,
about equal to a moderate-sized wine-glass. To secure greater exact-
ness of observation, he devised a peculiar micrometer, consisting of
five lines ruled on a plate of glass smoked by lamp-black. This plate
was placed between I and S {see Fig. 4), but quite near to the latter,
and an image of the lines reflected from the mirror was formed on the
clear glass at i. The lines were observed by a microscope magnifying
ten diameters. In using this micrometer, the measurement was effected
by noticing at what rate of the revolving mirror the lines in the image
at i were obliterated, this obliteration being due to the circumstance
that by the motion of the mirror the dark lines were superposed on
the bright lines. The individual spark now produced was about a
millionth of a second in duration, but the faint train was still observ-
able. There was still the brilliant body of the spark appearing, first
followed by a faint streak of less than one-hundredth the illuminating
power of the first stage. The diagram, Fig. 6, represents the intensity

Fig. 6.

Duration.

and time of the spark. The elevation, or peak, a b, shows the intensity
of the first compact body of the spark, and the line a c the duration
of the whole effect. The point was to get the time of a b, which
Prof. Rood had proved must be regarded as a distinct act in the suc-
cession of effects. All precautions for observation being carefully
made, the driving- weight was gradually increased, and the speed of
the mirror carried up to 350 revolutions per second, when the lines of
the image, which at first remained visibly as distinct as with a sta-
tionary mirror, became regularly less distinct, and at length vanished
by the gradual superposition of the white and black lines. Prof. Rood
says: "It was proved successively that the duration was less than
eighty, sixty-eight, fifty-nine, fifty-five billionths of a second ; and,
finally, the lines, after growing fainter and fainter, entirely disap-
peared, giving as the result a duration of forty-eight billionths of a
second." By reducing the striking distance, a still lower figure was

THE EMOTIONAL LANGUAGE OF THE FUTURE. 319

reached, so that the professor states that " the duration of the first
act of the electrical discharge is in certain cases only forty billionths
of a second, an interval of time just sufficient to enable a ray of light
to travel over forty feet." The duration was twenty-five times
smaller than had ever before been measured. In this infinitesimal por-
tion of time a strong and distinct impression upon the retina is made,
so that " the letters on a printed page are plainly to be seen ; also, if a
polariscope be used, the cross and rings around the axis of crystals can
be observed with all their peculiarities." Nor is this all ; " as the ob-
literation of the micrometric lines could only take place from the cir-
cumstance that the retina retains and combines a whole series of impres-
sions whose joint duration is forty billionths of a second, it follows
that a much smaller interval of time will suffice for vision. If we
limit the number of views of the lines presented to the eye in a single
case to ten, it would result that four billionths of a second is sufficient
for human vision."

We saw at the outset how much an act of vision involves, and we
have now some idea of how long it takes. If the discharge of the
thunder-cloud occupies, as was stated, the one five-hundredth of a
second, the " interviews " of our philosopher with the " amber-spirit "
were at least fifty thousand times " quicker than lightning."

-»♦♦•

THE EMOTIONAL LANGUAGE OF THE FUTURE.

MR. SPENCER recently called the attention, in a very interesting
passage of his " Psychology," to those secondary signs of a feel-
ing which are to be found in abortive attempts to conceal it. " A
state of mauvaise honte" he well says, fi otherwise tolerably well con-
cealed, is indicated by an obvious difficulty in finding fit positions for
the hands." A great mental agitation, though prevented from break-
ing out into violent expression, is pretty certain to betray itself in the
awkward, shuffling movements which are made to curb and suppress
it. Such indirect signs of emotion Mr. Spencer calls its secondary
natural language.

The fact that many of our emotions now betray themselves only
through the incompleteness of the effort of will to disguise them is not
a little curious, and offers several lines of interesting inquiry. It at
once suggests how very little play for emotional expression the con-
ditions of modern society appear to allow. For it seems tolerably
certain that the voluntary hiding of feeling is a late attainment in
human development, and is forced on us simply by the needs of ad-
vancing civilization. Savages, for the most part, know little of con-
cealing their passions, and this makes them so good a psychological

3 2o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

study. Children, too, who may be supposed to represent the earlier
acquirements of the race, are proverbially unfettered in the expression
of their sentiments. In like manner, in the various ranks of our civ-
ilized society, we see that, while a cultivated lady appears to all dis-
tant onlookers to have a mind dispassionate and undisturbed by agi-
tating feelings, a west-country maid reveals her curiosity and wonder,
her alternations of joy and misery, with scarcely a trace of compunc-
tion. If we go low enough down the social scale we find the freest
utterance of feelings, and it is only when, in retracing our steps, we
arrive at a certain stage of culture that we discover signs of an active
emotional restraint. Where this self-control is defective we have Mr.
Spencer's secondary emotional signs. Higher up, among a few spe-
cially cultivated persons, the acquisition of this power of concealment
appears to be complete, and we have a type of mind capable of a pro-
longed external serenity unruffled by a gust of passionate impulse.
The survey of these facts at once prompts the question whether the
expression of our feelings by smile, vocal changes, and so on, is des-
tined to disappear with a further advance of social organization. To
attempt to answer such a question directly and briefly would perhaps
betray too much confidence. We may, however, seek to define the
various paths of inquiry to be pursued before a final answer can be
arrived at, and to hint at the probabilities of the problem under its
various aspects.

First of all, then, with respect to the distinctly unsocial feelings,
the answer seems to be tolerably clear. It being generally allowed
by biologists that the looks and gestures accompanying anger, jeal-
ousy, and pride, are simply survivals of hostile actions, the nascent
renewal of an attitude preliminary to attack, it is natural that they
should appear only in transitions of society from a barbaric to a civ-
ilized condition. When the age of destructive conflict, individual and
racial, shall have become the curious research of antiquaries, it may
be presumed that any bodily movements known to have grown out of
these struggles will cease from sheer desuetude. Indeed, one may
perhaps, without too optimist a bias, refer to the fact that all the
stronger manifestations of anger and malice have already become un-
familiar in real life, so that when we see their imitations on the stage
they are apt to appear ridiculously forced. The better part of modern
society has put such a ban on the ugly signs of rage that our only
means of discovering traces of this passion in a man is some incom-
pletely suppressed emotional movement, or some too violent effort to
command the muscles of expression. After many more generations
shall have practised the difficult art of noiselessly crushing out with
the foot an incipient wrath, it will be hard if such offenses to the eye
as frowning brow and scornful mouth do not entirely disappear.

But the progress of social refinement probably affects other ex-
pressions than those of the distinctly hostile sentiments. It tends to

THE EMOTIONAL LANGUAGE OF THE FUTURE. 321

confine within ever narrower limits all manifestations of unpleasant
feeling. Since it is a grateful thing to witness pleasurable feeling, and
painful to see the expression of suffering in another, a polite form of
society does all it can to encourage the one and to suppress the other.
A man is for the most part supposed to be able to obtain all needed
sympathy, in his troubles, from his family and his intimate friends.
Before the rest of the world he is expected to hide his grief and main-
tain a cheerful aspect. It is one of the delicate forms of sensibility,
produced by a high culture, to be fearful of obtruding one's feelings
on unconcerned onlookers. This growing perception of the vulgar
aspects of uncontrolled emotional display appears to have much to do
with the partial concealments of feeling of which Mr. Spencer speaks.
■ But comparatively few persons are completely able to hide a sharp
and sudden vexation, however public the occasion of experiencing it.
An annoying piece of intelligence, affecting, it may be, one's matrimo-
nial chances or equally dear ambitions, will very likely call up a mo-
mentary expression of dismay even in presence of a fashionable com-
pany. We wonder to how many persons it is still a necessity, under
the smart of a sudden disappointment, to flee as soon as possible from
all spectators, and relieve the pressure of emotion by a few energetic
expletives, if not a spare shower of tears ? We do not know how many
ages it may require to discipline our species in a perfect concealment
of painful feeling ; but, at present, it looks as though we were passing
through the hardest stages of this schooling.

One other influence which probably contributes to make emotion
more and more private and invisible is the partial revival of the Stoical
doctrine that all sentiment is a moral weakness. This idea appears to
hold most sway in our own country, and especially among those classes
who are most concerned to maintain a not too obvious gentility. A
common supposition among young aspirants to social rank seems to
be, that lofty breeding is best seen in a uniformly passionless and
vacuous arrangement of the facial muscles. To appear interested in
any object in his environment strikes the pseudo-aristocrat as a pitia-
ble infirmity of vulgar minds. The ways in which this curious self-
imposed check acts are at times very funny. We remember hearing
Macready give a series of readings to a fashionably-dressed assembly,
in a small provincial town, and we were much struck by the almost
heroic efforts which many of the company made to conceal the emo-
tion so powerfully aroused by the tragedian's art. Possibly English
people are less impressible by scenic display and music than Continen-
tal nations. Whether this be so or not, it is very curious to contrast
the perfectly apathetic aspect of an assembly at Covent Garden with
the lively demonstrations of an audience at a Paris opera, or the deep,
earnest absorption of the worshipers of Wagner at Berlin or Munich.
This notion that it is the final attainment of civilization to appear im-
partially indifferent to every thing about one, and constantly to pre-
vol. iv. — 21

322 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

serve the semblance of an equanimity which knows nothing of the agi-
tation of pleasure or pain, may be expected to give the last touch of
refinement to emotional expression.

If these were all the facts bearing on the future of our emotional
life, we might well inquire what effect the habitual suppression of
emotional expression is likely to have on the quality of the emotions
themselves. It is probably clear to everybody that our feelings are
very much affected by the range of free expression accorded them.
At least the violent intensity of a passion is destroyed by successful
control of all the muscles, and, even if a slow, smouldering fire of hate
or jealousy may coexist with a comparatively quiet exterior, the emo-
tional force is in this case robbed of its glory. It would thus appear
that, with social progress, as men are thrown more and more in each
other's society, their feelings will undergo a very considerable trans-
formation ; some types of emotion disappearing, it may be, altogether,
the rest being so mollified as to be scarcely recognizable as the ven-
erable forms of human love, terror, and joy. But, oddly enough, we
find another set of influences, due to the very same social conditions
as the first, which tends to counteract these, fostering and deepening
feeling, and encouraging its manifestations. Mr. Spencer thinks that
the habit of expressing pleasure and pain arose as animals became gre-
garious. This condition exposed the members of the same flock to
common experiences of danger, etc. ; and in this way, from uttering
the sounds of terror under like circumstances and at the same times,
they would come to interpret them when given forth by their com-
panions. At the same time the gregarious mode of life clearly made
animals able to assist one another in a large variety of ways. Now,
on this supposition, which seems extremely plausible, the habit of ex-
pressing feeling is an attainment of social life, and, so far from disap-
pearing with the advance of this life, it should, one would think, go
on developing. In point of fact, we see in a number of ways how so-
cial progress serves to enlarge the area of sympathetic feeling. As a
man becomes more of a citizen, he is probably more and more desirous
to be in unison of feeling and intention with his fellow-citizens, at least
with that section of them whom he most respects. The sympathy he
looks for presupposes, it is clear, some expression of his own feelings,
and a responsive expression on the part of his neighbors. In this way,
then, there are two tendencies of social culture curiously conflicting in
their results. By virtue of the one a man seeks to repress feeling and
not to obtrude it unnecessarily on his fellow-citizens. By force of the
other he is ever craving with more and more vigor for a lively inter-
change of sentiments with others. What resultant, it may be asked,
do these opposite forces produce ?

Without trying to determine the precise direction of this com-
pound effect, it may be just suggested that a kind of compromise
between the opposing forces is frequently effected by means of Ian-

THE EMOTIONAL LANGUAGE OF THE FUTURE. 323

guage. By this medium we may convey most minutely and accu-
rately the fact of a feeling and define its nature, without bringing it
forward as a vivid and naked reality. It is highly disagreeable to see
a look of disgust in another's face, but we do not quite so strongly
object to a man's telling us the cause of such a feeling and leaving us
to imagine by inference the nature of the emotion itself. Language,
while defining the precise variety of sentiment, contains also, in its
ever-varying modulation of voice, its changes of pitch, intensity, and
timbre, a large apparatus of proper emotional expression. Moreover,
it seems fully allowable to accompany speech with a variety of other
emotional signs which are looked on as silly and weak if presented
independently. We rather expect conversation to be brightened by
the many subtile changes of the facial muscles and the refined and
subdued gestures peculiar to our nation. If a person habitually wears
a half giggle, we are probably struck by the imbecility of this mean-
ingless display. So too when a man meets us in the street looking
evidently soured and retaliative, we rather wish he would reserve
these unamiable exhibitions for his sympathetic friends. We have, in
a word, grown intellectual much faster than we have become emo-
tional, and we cannot suffer feeling to exhibit itself without some
explanation of its nature and causes being offered at the same time.
If a man will unbosom to us his sorrow or his joy fully and intel-
ligibly, we profess ourselves willing, provided he is not too wearisome
and exacting, to lend him a patient ear and to endeavor to enter into
his peculiar experiences ; but, without this explanatory recital, the
evidences of feeling are apt to appear unmeaning, if not actually
offensive.

We may just point to another influence which still further com-
plicates this question of emotional expression — namely, the growing
demands made by social refinement on the expression of kindly inter-
est in other people's concerns. While a man is judged to be incon-
siderate if he is frequently intruding his personal feelings in social
intercourse, rigid politeness requires us for the most part to lend an
appreciative ear to the tale of woe, however dull it may happen to
prove. This law calls into existence a very curious group of half-
artificial expressions. The degree to which polite persons have now-
adays to assume feeling may well alarm any one who cares much for
the honesty of social intercourse. We all know probably the draw-
ing-room smile of some of our lady friends. It is something quite
unique, never appearing in other places and at other times, but pre-
senting itself at the right moment with all the certainty of an astro-
nomical phenomenon. So too we know persons whose voices undergo
a most curious change when called on to converse with a stranger,
especially one of the opposite sex. No doubt some slight part of the
display may be set down to an unavoidable excitement, but the main
features of it would seem to be deliberately assumed. In this way it

3 24 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

appears that, owing to the requirements of modern society, our
volitions are called upon now to check feeling, now to force it into
play. The studied graces of smile, dilating eye, and mellifluous voice,
make up a perfectly new order of quasi expressions, which might per-
haps in a highly-artificial state of society gradually supplant many of
the older and familiar forms of emotional utterance. Whether the
agencies which tend to sustain genuine emotional expression will
prove to have more vitality than those which go to suppress it, and
how far, supposing spontaneous utterances of emotion to grow out of
date, artificial imitations of them will continue in fashion, are points
which we do not attempt to determine. Enough has been said, per-
haps, to show how curiously complex are the conditions of the prob-
lem. — Saturday Review.

GENESIS, GEOLOGY, AND EVOLUTION. 1

By Eev. GEOKGE HENSLOW F. L. S., F. G. S.

THE theory, or rather doctrine, of the Evolution of Living Things
has not yet received that uniform acceptance to which it is un-
doubtedly entitled. That it will in time become generally received
may be reasonably presumed ; but at present, with many theologians
at least, the creative hypothesis obstinately holds its ground. Two
causes may be assigned to account for this fact. First, there is the
preconceived but erroneous idea of the method of creation derived
from a misconception of the first chapter of Genesis. Secondly, there
is the unfortunate but very general want of any scientific training,
not only among the clergy, but in the public generally ; and, as a re-
sult, there is that absence of a due power of appreciation of the argu-
ments of the scientific man, which is so conspicuous in their style of
reasoning

In order, therefore, that the proof of the wisdom and beneficence
of the Almighty, as shown in the processes of evolution, may not be
considered as based on unsound premises, it will be desirable to point
out the untenableness of the present theological position, as well as
the grounds upon which evolution is founded ; and which will, let us
hope, be soon recognized as incontrovertible by all who seek the truth
in earnest. Until comparatively recent times the book of Genesis
was supposed to reveal in its first chapter an explicit account of the
origin of living things, namely, by direct creative fiats of the Al-
mighty. All the known animals and plants being far fewer than at
the present day, their differences were more pronounced than their
resemblances. Each animal and plant was observed to bring forth

1 From his recently-published work, " Evolution and Keligion."

GENESIS, GEOLOGY, AND EVOLUTION 325

its offspring " after his kind," generation after generation, without any
noticeable change. Any other animals than those now living on the
globe were never conceived. Fossil shells were supposed to be either
deep-sea creatures thrown up upon the beach, or, if found on land and
upon hills, easily accounted for by the Deluge.

Every living thing was believed to have been created at once by
the word of the Lord : and all within the space of six literal days.

When geology came to be studied with some philosophic spirit, it
Was soon discovered that many fossils were not of living species ; that
six days was incontestably too short a period to account for geological
phenomena ; that a flood, even if conceded to have been universal,
was unable to solve many a problem of disturbance and stratification.
Moreover, it was perceived that the earth's structure was separable
into several strata ; and that each stratum contained a group of fossils
unknown either in the stratum above or below it ; and upon this dis-
covery was based the principle that disconnected strata might be rec-
ognized by the identity of their organic remains. In addition to these
facts, the phenomena now known as dislocation, contortion, upheaval,
unconformahility, and others, frequently occurred, and apparently often
during periods intervening between the deposition of strata.

These latter appearances, taken into consideration with the daily
phenomena of volcanic action, induced the geologist to conceive,
and the theologian to adopt, the theory of successive creations after
cataclysmic and predetermined destructions of all existing life by the
Almighty : while, to meet the now well-established truth of almost in-
finite ages having elapsed, the theologian adopted the interpretation
of ages for the Hebrew word yom or day. If, however, the first
chapter of Genesis be read without any reference to or thought of
geological discoveries, and the first three verses of the second chapter
be carefully compared with the fourth commandment, it will not ap-
pear how any notion of an indefinite time can be given to the word
" day " at all. The writer of Genesis seems to signify a day in the
ordinary sense, and apparently without any conception of indefinite
periods at all

Geology ceased not to pursue her avocations steadily and uncom-
promisingly.

The study of the rocks soon brought to light a large increase of
the number of strata : so that at the present day there are thirteen
"formations," embracing thirty-nine principal "strata," the strata
themselves being often subdivided into minor ones. If, therefore, the
miraculous recreations be true, they must have been very numerous.
But with the discovery of additional strata a larger insight was ob-
tained into the distribution in time of animal and vegetal life. It
was then discovered that these " created groups " were not so rigidly
defined as at first supposed, and consequently the rule established by
geologists themselves can only be applied cautiously in attempting to

326 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

parallel distant strata — though some species appear to characterize
strata respectively, yet many range up and down through other than
those in which they attain their maximum development, or of which
they may be especially characteristic.

Two difficulties thus arose : the increase of miraculous interfer-
ences seemed to increase proportionately their improbability • espe-
cially as there was no corroboration this time from the Word of God ;
while the fact of species ranging through several strata threw another
stumbling-block in the way of the cataclysmic theory ; for either they
must have been recreated two or three times, or else lived through
the supposed cataclysms considered as designed methods of destruc-
tion.

Another class of phenomena now appeared, to show a still greater
difficulty in the way of belief in the creative hypothesis. Zoology,
botany, as well as paleontology, gradually increased the number of
living and extinct forms almost indefinitely; and in proportion as
fresh discoveries were made, so it was found that numbers of forms
took up positions, when classified, intermediate to other forms hitherto
well distinct — " osculant " or intercalary forms as they are called.
These often increased so much, that even genera well marked at first
became blended together by transitional or intermediate forms.

Hence it has come to pass, from the result of this discovery, that
so far from forms or types of organisms being easy and of a precise
character, in accordance with the idea of each being well defined after
his kind, systematic zoology and botany are the most difficult tasks a
naturalist can undertake. Here, then, an overwhelming difficulty,
only to be fully appreciated by a really scientific person, rises against
the conception of each kind having been specially created as we see
them now. Indeed, it maybe added that the very idea of kind or spe-
cies has been resolved into an abstract conception, finding in Nature
generally no more than a relative existence.

Fresh difficulties were still in store, which must be overcome if the
former theory of creation is to obtain any longer — horticulture, flori-
culture, agriculture, and the breeding of animals, have rapidly risen to
become important and flourishing occupations. From their pursuit it
was soon discovered that kinds reproducing their like never did so ab-
solutely ,but that offspring appeared always to differ from their parents
in some trifling if not considerable degree. This property of Nature,
to which also the human race is invariably subject, man has seized
upon, and by judicious treatment can almost mould his cattle to what-
ever form he pleases, or stock his fields and gardens with roots of any
form or with flowers of any shade of color required. After many
years of successful propagation, generation after generation, we have
now arrived at the result that animals and plants can be produced by
careful breeding and selection, which, had they been wild, our earlier
naturalists would have undoubtedly regarded as having been respec-

GENESIS, GEOLOGY, AND EVOLUTION. 327

tively created at the beginning of the world ! Here, then, we have
a practical basis of argument to account for the many transitional
forms which geology reveals in the past history of the world, as well
as among the plants and animals living at the present day.

Yet another fact may be mentioned. Geographical botany and
zoology began to be studied as travellers stocked our museums and
herbaria with an ever-increasing number of beings brought from
all parts of the world ; and the (so to say) capricious distribution of
identical forms in far-distant places — now explicable on the theory of
migration and subsequent isolation — as well as the appearance of rep-
resentative forms of allied though different kinds in certain districts,
explicable only on the theory of descent with modification, has a
strong prima-facie appearance against the theory of individual crea-
tions, even if geology did not furnish undoubted evidence of very fre-
quent interchanges between land and sea having taken place. With-
out at present giving more reasons, the above will be sufficient to show
cause why Science has found herself compelled to secede from the
cramping toils of the creative hypothesis, and to take up that of the
evolution of living things as better explaining all the foregoing
phenomena. In proportion as the probability of the former was seen
to decrease, so in the same degree does that of evolution increase.
Hence, at the present day the argument in favor of develojDment of
species by natural laws may be stated in the following terms, viz. : " It
is infinitely more probable that all living and extinct beings have been
developed or evolved by natural laws of generation from preexisting
forms, than that they with all their innumerable races and varieties
should owe their existences severally to creative fiats."

But, even now, asks the theologian, Does not this theory contro-
vert the Bible, for we are distinctly told that God created every thing
after its kind ?

In reply, it may be confidently shown that the theologian cannot
be sure of the value of his interpretation of the first chapter of Gene-
sis, at least so far as he attempts to draw scientific deductions from it.
Thus it may be observed to him that the words " create " and " make "
are used indifferently ; that no definition is given to insure accuracy as
to their right interpretation. It is not stated whether God created
out of nothing or out of eternally or at least preexisting matter.
Moreover, in addition to the statement that God created or made all
things, there is the oft-repeated assertion embodied in the word fiat y
but apparently overlooked, that He enjoined the earth and the waters
to bring forth living forms. What does this expression imply ?

The use of the imperative mood can only signify an agent other
than the speaker. If, therefore, it be maintained that the sentence
(ver. 21) " God created every living thing that moveth" signifies He
made them by his direct Almighty fiat, it may be equally maintained
that the sentence " Let the waters bring forth abundantly every mov-

328 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

ing creature " implies secondary agents to carry out the will of the
Lord. Such might be said to witness to natural law, which, after all,
is but a synonym for the will of God.

The real basis of the controversy between dogmatic theology and
this deduction of Science is simply this : The former has established a
creed based upon erroneous impressions derived from Scripture, and,
from having had power in former days to enforce its opinions, they
were credulously received without hesitation as long as no one dared
to or even could controvert them. It is the reluctance to surrender
this power to Science as much as the idea of her offering any opposi-
tion to theology that urges at least one body so obstinately to resist
her advances. Nearer home the opposition rests more on the latter
ground ; and it will not be until the representatives of our theology
can see and confess their false impressions of the meaning of the first
chapter of Genesis, that the doctrine of evolution can be hoped to
make any great progress among them.

Let us briefly review their false positions. They first clung to the
" six days of creation ; " they found they were compelled to surrender
the idea, and immediately adopted the interpretation of yom signify-
ing an indefinite period. Again, notice their readiness in adopting
the theory of cataclysms and recreations, a second time to the detri-
ment of Genesis, which furnishes no warrant for the idea ; for even
if six days be presumed to represent six cataclysms, geology furnishes
no corresponding evidence. It was a pure fiction altogether. And
even now they steadily oppose the doctrine of evolution. But surely
as each stronghold of theology has been quietly taken by Science —
not so much by offensive attack as by undermining and leaving the
edifice to crumble of itself — the tardy and ungracious capitulations
hitherto offered only insure the ultimate surrender a matter of pa-
tient expectation. A time will shortly come when the creative theory
must succumb altogeth at and the doctrine (not the theory) of evolu-
tion will be as much recognized as a fundamental truth of science
and theology as the evolution of the earth itself.

■»*»

GKOWTH AND DECAY OF MIND.

" And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale." — As You Like It.

FEW subjects of scientific investigation are more interesting than
the inquiry into the various circumstances on which mental
power depends. By mental power I do not mean simply mental
capacity, or the potential quality of the mind, but the actual power
which is the resultant, so to speak, of mental capacity and mental

GROWTH AND DECAY OF MIND. 329

training. The growth and development of mental power in the indi-
vidual, and the process by which, after attaining a maximum of power,
the mind gradually becomes less active, until in the course of time it
undergoes at least a partial decay, form the special subjects of which
I propose now to treat ; but, in order to form clear ideas on these sub-
jects, it will be necessary to consider several associated matters. In
particular, it will be desirable to trace the analogy which exists be-
tween bodily and mental power, not only as respects development
and decay, but with regard to the physical processes involved in their
exercise.

It is now a well-established physiological fact that mental action
is a distinctly physical process, depending primarily on a chemical re-
action between the blood and the brain, precisely as muscular action
depends primarily on a chemical reaction between the blood and the
muscular tissues. Without the free circulation of blood in the brain,
there can be neither thought nor sensation, neither emotions nor ideas.
It necessarily follows that thought, the only form of brain-action which
we have here to consider, is a process not merely depending upon, but
in its turn affecting, the physical condition of the brain, precisely as
muscular exertion of any given kind depends on the quality of the
muscles employed and affects the condition of those muscles, not at
the moment only, but thereafter, conducing to their growth and de-
velopment if wisely adjusted to their power, or causing waste and de-
cay if excessive and too long continued. It is important to notice
that this is not a mere analogy. The relation between thought and
the condition of the brain is a reality. So far as this statement affects
our ideas about actually existent mental power, it is of little impor-
tance ; for it is not more useful to announce that a man with a good
brain will possess good mental powers than to say that a muscular
man will be capable of considerable exertion. But as it is of extreme
importance to know of the relation which exists between muscular
exercise and the growth or development of bodily strength, so it is
highly important for us to remember that the development of mental
power depends largely on the exercise of the mind. There is a " train-
ing " for the brain as well as for the body — a real physical training —
depending, like bodily training, on rules as to nourishment, method
of action, quantity of exercise, etc.

When we thus view the matter, we at once recognize the signifi-
cance of relations formerly regarded as mere analogies between men-
tal and bodily power. Instead of saying that, as the body fails of its
fair growth and development if overtaxed in early youth, so the mind
suffers by the attempt to force it into precocious activity, we should
now say that the mind suffers in this case in the same actual manner —
that is, by the physical deterioration of the material in and through
which it acts. Again, the old adage, " mens sana in corpore sano,"
only needs to be changed into " cerebrum sanum in corpore sano," to

33 o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

express an actual physical reality. The processes by which the brain
and the body are nourished, as well as those which produce gradual
exhaustion when either is employed for a long time or on arduous
work, not only correspond with each other, but are in fact identical
in their nature ; so that Jeremy Taylor anticipated a comparatively
recent scientific discovery when he associated mental and bodily ac-
tion in the well-known apothegm, " Every meal is a rescue from one
death and lays up for another ; and while we think a thought we
die." This is true, as Wendell Holmes well remarks, " of the brain
as of other organs : the brain can only live by dying. We must all
be born again, atom by atom, from hour to hour, or perish all at once
beyond repair."

And here it is desirable to explain distinctly that the relations be-
tween mind and matter which we are considering are not necessarily
connected with any views respecting the questions which have been
at issue between materialism and its opponents. We are dealing here
with the instrument of thought, not with that, whatever it may be,
which sets the instrument in motion and regulates its operation. So
far, indeed, as there is any connection between physical researches into
the nature of the brain or its employment in thought, and our ideas
respecting the individuality of the thinker, the evidence seems not of
a nature to alarm even the most cautious. Thus, when Mr. Huxley
maintains that thought is " the expression of molecular changes in that
matter of life which is the source of our other vital phenomena," we
are still as far as ever from knowing where resides the moving cause
to which these changes are due. We have found that the instrument
of thought is moved by certain material connecting links before un-
recognized ; but to conclude that therefore thought is a purely mate-
rial process, is no more necessarily just than it would be to conclude
that the action of a steam-engine depends solely on the eccentric which
causes the alternation of the steam-supply. Again, we need find noth-
ing very venturesome in Prof. Haughton's idea, that " our successors
may even dare to speculate on the changes that converted a crust of
bread, or a bottle of wine, in the brain of Swift, Moliere, or Shake-
speare, into the conception of the gentle Glumdalclitch, the rascally
Sganarelle, or the immortal Falstaff," seeing that it would still remain
unexplained how such varying results may arise from the same ma-
terial processes, or how the selfsame fuel may produce no recognizable
mental results. The brain does not show in its constitution why such
differences should exist. " The lout who lies stretched on the tavern-
bench," says Wendell Holmes, " with just mental activity enough to
keep his pipe from going out, is the unconscious tenant of a labora-
tory where such combinations are being constantly made as never
Wohler or Berthelot could put together; where such fabrics are
woven, such colors dyed, such problems of mechanism solved, such a
commerce carried on with the elements and forces of the outer uni-

GROWTH AND DECAY OF MIND. 331

verse, that the industries of all the factories and trading establish-
ments in the world are mere indolence, and awkwardness, and un-
productiveness, compared to the miraculous activities of which his
lazy bulk is the unheeding centre." Yet the conscious thought of
the lout remains as unlike as possible to the conscious thought of the
philosopher ; nor will crusts of bread or bottles of wine educe aught
from the lout's brain that men will think worth remembering in future
ages.

Moreover, we must remember that we have to deal with facts, let
the interpretation of these facts be what it may. The relations be-
tween mental activity and material processes affecting the substance
of the brain are matters of observation and experiment. We may
estimate the importance of such research with direct reference to the
brain as the instrument of thought, without inquiring by what pro-
cesses that instrument is called into action. " The piano which the
master touches," to quote yet again from the philosophic pages of
Holmes's " Mechanism in Thought and Morals," " must be as thorough-
ly understood as the musical box or clock which goes of itself by a
spring or weight. A slight congestion or softening of the brain
shows the least materialistic of philosophers that he must recognize
the strict dependence of mind upon its organ in the only condition of
life with which we are experimentally acquainted ; and, what all
recognize as r soon • as disease forces it upon their attention, all think-
ers should recognize without waiting for such an irresistible demon-
stration. They should see that the study of the organ of thought,
microscopically, chemically, experimentally, in the lower animals, in
individuals and races, in health and in disease, in every aspect of
external observation, as well as by internal consciousness, is just
as necessary as if the mind were known to be nothing more than
a function of the brain, in the same way as digestion is of the
stomach."

In considering the growth of the mind, however, in these pages, it
appears to me sufficient to call attention to the physical aspect of the
subject, without entering into an account of what is known about the
physical structure of the brain and the manner in which that structure
is modified with advancing years. Moreover, I do not think it de-
sirable, in the limited space available for such an essay as the present,
to discuss the various forms of mental power ; indeed, this is by no
means essential where a general view of mental growth and decay
is alone in question. Precisely as we can consider the development
and decay of the bodily power without entering into a discussion of
the various forms in which that power may be manifested, so we can
discuss the growth of the mind without considering special forms of
mental action.

Nevertheless, we cannot altogether avoid such considerations, sim-
ply because we must adopt some rule for determining what constitutes

332 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

mental power. Here, indeed, at the outset, a serious difficulty is en-
countered. Certain signs of mental decay are sufficiently obvious, but
the signs which mark the progress of the mind to its maximum degree
of power, as well as the earlier signs of gradually diminishing mental
power, are far more difficult of recognition. This is manifest when we
consider that they should be more obvious, one would suppose, to the
person whose mind is in question, than to any other ; whereas it is a
known fact that men do not readily perceive (certainly are not ready
to admit) any falling off in mental power, even when it has become
very marked to others. " I, the Professor," says Wendell Holmes in
the " Professor at the Breakfast-table," " am very much like other men.
I shall not find out when I have used up my affinities. What a blessed
thing it is that Nature, when she invented, manufactured, and patented
her authors, contrived to make critics out of the chips that were left !
Painful as the task is, they never fail to warn the author, in the most
impressive manner, of the probabilities of failure in what he has under-
taken. Sad as the necessity is to their delicate sensibilities, they never
hesitate to advertise him of the decline of his powers, and to press
upon him the propriety of retiring before he sinks into imbecility."
Notwithstanding the irony, which is just enough so far as it relates to
ordinary criticism, there can be no question that, when an author's
powers are failing, his readers, and especially those who have been
his most faithful followers, so to speak, devouring each of his works as
it issues from his pen; begin to recognize the decrease of his powers
before he is himself conscious that he is losing strength. The case of
Scott maybe cited as a sufficient illustration, its importance in this
respect being derived from the fact that he had long been warmly
admired and enthusiastically appreciated by those who at once recog-
nized signs of deterioration in " Count Robert of Paris," and " Castle
Dangerous."

Yet judgment is most difficult in such matters. We can readily
see why no man should be skilled to detect the signs of change in his
own mind, since the self-watching of the growth and decay of mind is
an experiment which can be conducted but once, and which is com-
pleted only when the mind no longer has the power of grasping all the
observed facts and forming a sound opinion upon them. But it is
even more natural that those who follow the career of some great mind
should often be misled in their judgment as to its varying power. For,
it must be remembered that the conditions under which such minds
are exercised nearly always vary greatly as time proceeds. This cir-
cumstance affects chiefly the correctness of ideas formed as to the decay
of mental powers, but it has its bearing also on the supposed increase
of these powers. For instance, the earlier works of a young author,
diffident perhaps of his strength, or not quite conscious where his chief
strength resides, will often be characterized by a weakness which is in
no true sense indicative of want of mental power. A work by the

GROWTH AND DECAY OF MIND. 333

same author when he has made for himself a name, when he knows
something of the feeling of the public as to his powers, and when also
he has learned to distinguish the qualities he possesses — to see where
he is strong and where weak — will have an air of strength and firm-
ness not due, or only partially due, to any real growth of his mental
powers. But, as I have said, and as experience has repeatedly shown,
it is in opinions formed as to the diminution of mental power that the
world is most apt to be deceived. How commonly the remark is heard
that So-and-so has written himself out, or Such-a-one is not the man
he was, when in reality, as those know who are intimate with the author
so summarily dismissed, the deterioration, justly enough noted, is due
to circumstances in no way connected with mental capacity ! The
author who has succeeded in establishing a reputation may not have
(nay, very commonly has not) the same reason for exerting his powers
to the full, as he had when he was making his reputation. He may
have less leisure, more company, new sources of- distraction, and so on.
The earlier work, his chef-d'oeuvre, let us say, may have been produced
at one great effort, no other subject being allowed to occupy his at-
tention until the masterpiece had been completed — the later and in-
ferior work, hastily accepted as evidence that the author's mind no
longer preserves its wonted powers, may have been written hurriedly
and piecemeal, and subjected to no jealous revision before passing
through the press.

Here I have taken literary w r ork as affording typical instances. But
similar misapprehensions are common in other departments of mental
work. For example, it is related that ISTewton, long before he was an
old man, said of himself that he could no longer follow the reasoning
of his own " Principia," and this has commonly been accepted as evi-
dence that his mind had lost power. The conclusion is an altogether
unsafe one, as every mathematician knows. It w r ould have been a
truly wonderful circumstance if Newton had been able, even only ten
or twelve years after his magnum opus was completed, to follow its
reasoning with satisfaction to his own mind — that is, with the feeling
that he still had that grasp of the subject which he had possessed
when, after long concentration of his thoughts upon it, he was engaged
in the task of exhibiting a summary of his reasoning (for the " Prin-
cipia " is scarcely more).

I can give more than one instance, in my own experience, of this
seeming loss of mastery over a mathematical subject, while in reality
the mind has certainly not deteriorated in its power of dealing with
subjects of that particular kind. I will content myself with one. It
happened that in 1869 I had occasion to examine a mathematical sub-
ject of no very great difficulty, but involving many associated rela-
tions, and requiring therefore a considerable amount of close attention.
At that time I had made myself master, I think I may say without
conceit, of that particular subject in all its details. Recently, I had

334 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

occasion to resume the study of a part of the subject, in order to reply
to some questions which had been asked me. Greatly to my annoy-
ance, I found that I had apparently lost my grasp of it. The relations
involved seemed more complex than they had before appeared to me ;
and I should there and then have dismissed the subject (not having
leisure for mere mental experiments) with the feeling that my strength
for mathematical inquiries had diminished. But the subject chanced
to be one that I could not dismiss, for, though the questions directed
to me might have been left unanswered, the time had come which I
had assigned to myself (under certain eventualities then realized) for a
complete restatement of my views, enforced and reiterated in every
possible way, until a certain course depending upon them should have
been adopted, or else the discussion of the matter rendered useless by
lapse of time. I soon found, after resuming my study of the subject,
that it was far more completely within my grasp than before — in fact,
on reacquiring my knowledge of its details, the problems involved
appeared to me as mere mathematical child's-play.

The great difficulty in judging of the growth and development of
the mind consists in the want of any reliable measure of mental
strength — any mental dynamometer, so to speak. Our competitive
examinations are attempts in this direction, but very imperfect ones,
as experience has long since shown. Neither acquired knowledge, nor
the power of acquiring knowledge, is any true measure of mental
strength. The power of solving mathematical problems is not neces-
sarily indicative even of mathematical power, far less of general mental
power. The ordinary tests of classical knowledge, again, have little
real relation to mental strength. It may be urged that our most emi-
nent men have, for the most part, been distinguished, at school or uni-
versity, by either mathematical or classical knowledge, or both. This
is doubtless true; but so it would be the case that they would have
distinguished themselves above their fellows at public school or uni-
versity if the heads of these establishments had in their wisdom set
Chinese puzzling as the primary test of merit. The powerful mind
will show its superiority (in general) in any task that may be assigned
it ; and, if the test of distinction is to be the skillful construction of
Greek and Latin verse, or readiness in treating mathematical problems,
a youth of good powers, unless he be wanting in ambition, will acquire
the necessary qualifications even though he has no special taste for
classical or mathematical learning, and is even perfectly assured that
in after-life he will never pen a sapphic or set down an equation of
motion.

In passing, I may note that nearly all our attempted measurements
of mind depend too much on tests of memory. It is not recognized
sufficiently that the part which memory plays in the workings of a
powerful mind is subordinate. A good memory is a very useful ser-
vant ; nothing more. In the really difficult mental processes, memory —

GROWTH AND DECAY OF MIND. 335

at least what is commonly understood by the term — plays a very un-
important part. Of course a weak memory is an almost fatal obstacle
to effective thought ; but I am not comparing the worth of a good
memory and a bad one, but of an average memory and one excep-
tionally powerful. I conceive that quite a large proportion of the
most profound thinkers are satisfied to exert their memory very mod-
erately. It is, in fact, a distraction from close thought to exert the
memory overmuch ; and a man engaged in the study of an abstruse
subject will commonly rather turn to his book-shelves for the in-
formation he requires than tax his memory to supply it. The case
resembles somewhat that of the mathematician who from time to time,
as his work proceeds, requires this or that calculation to be effected.
He will not leave the more engrossing questions that he has in his
thoughts, to go through processes of arithmetic, but will adopt any
ready resource which leaves him free to follow without check the
train of his reasoning.

It would be perhaps difficult to devise any means of readily meas-
uring mental power in examination or otherwise. The memory test
is assuredly unsafe ; but it would not be easy to suggest a really reli-
able one. I may remark that only those experienced in the matter
understand how much depends on memory in our competitive exam-
inations. Many questions in the examination-papers apparently re-
quire the exercise of judgment rather than memory ; but those who
know the text-books on which the questions are based are aware that
the judgment to be written down in answer is not to be formed but
to be quoted. So with mathematical problems which appear to
require original conceptions for their solution : in nine cases out of
ten such problems are either to be found fully solved in mathematical
works, or others so nearly resembling them are dealt with that no skill
is required for their solution.

I must confess that I am somewhat surprised to find Wendell
Holmes, whose opinions on such matters are usually altogether reli-
able, recommending a test of mental power depending on a quality of
memory even inferior to that usually in question in competitive exam-
inations. " The duration of associated impressions on the memory
differs vastly," he says, " as we all know, in different individuals. But
in uttering distinctly a series of unconnected numbers or letters
before a succession of careful listeners, I have been surprised to find
how generally they break down, in trying to repeat them, between
seven and ten figures or letters ; though here and there an individual
may be depended on for a larger number. Pepys mentions a person
who could repeat sixty unconnected words, forward or backward, and
perform other wonderful feats of memory ; but this was a prodigy. 1

1 " This is nothing to the story told by Seneca of himself, and still more of a friend
of his, one Portius Latro (Mendax it might be suggested), or to that other relation of
Muretus, about a certain young Corsican." The note is Holmes's ; but there are authen-

336 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

I suspect we have in this and similar trials a very simple mental dy-
namometer which may find its place in education." It appears to me,
on the contrary, that tests of the kind should be as little used as may
be. Memory will always have an unfair predominance in competitive
examinations ; but tests which are purely mnemonic, the judgment
being in no way whatever called upon, ought not to be introduced,
and should be discarded as soon as possible where already in use. 1

It is worthy of notice that the growth of the mind is often accom-
panied by an apparent loss of power in particular respects ; and this
fact is exceedingly important, especially to all who desire to estimate
the condition of their own mind. The mental phenomenon called
(not very correctly) absence of mind is often regarded by the person
experiencing it, and still more by those who observe it in him, as a
proof of failing powers. But it often, if not generally, accompanies
the increase of mental power. Newton displayed absence of mind
much more frequently and to a much more marked degree when his
powers were at their highest than in his youth, and not only did in-
stances become much less frequent when he was at an advanced age,
but the opposite quality, sensitiveness to small annoyances, began
then to be displayed. Even an apparent impairment of the memory
is not necessarily indicative of failing mental powers, since it is often
the result of an increased concentration of the attention on subjects
specially calling for the exercise of the highest forms of mental power
— as analysis, comparison, generalization, and judgment. I have
already noted that profound thinkers often refrain from exercising the
memory, simply to avoid the distraction of their thoughts from the
main subject of their study. But this statement may be extended
into the general remark that the most profound students, whether of
physical science, mathematics, history, politics, or, in fine, of any diffi-
cult subject of research, are apt to give the memory less exercise than
shallower thinkers. Of course, the memory is exerted to a consider-
ble degree, even in the mere marshaling of thoughts before theories
can be formed or weighed. But the greater part of the mental action

ticated instances fully as remarkable as those here referred to. For instance, there is a
case of an American Indian who could repeat twenty or thirty lines of Homer which
had been read once to him, though he knew nothing of the Greek language. The
power of repeating backward a long passage after it has been but once read is somewhat
similar to that of repeating unconnected numbers, letters, or words This power has
been possessed to a remarkable degree by persons in no way distinguished by general
ability

1 It may perhaps occur to the reader that I who write may object to mnemonic tests,
because they would act unfavorably if they were applied to my own mental qualities.
The reverse is, however, the case. I can recall competitive examinations in which I had
an undue advantage over others because my memory chances to be very retentive in one
particular respect : In its general nature my memory is about equal, I imagine, to the
average, perhaps it is better than the average for facts, and rather below the average for
what is commonly called learning " by heart : " but it is singularly retentive for the sub-
ject-matter of passages read overnight.

GROWTH AND DECAY OF MIND. 337

devoted to the formation or discussion of theories is only indirectly
dependent upon the exercise of memory.

Subject to the considerations suggested above, we may fairly form
our opinion as to the general laws of the development of mind, by
examining the lives of distinguished men and taking the achievement
of their best work, that by which they have made their mark in the
world's history, as indicative of the epoch when the mind had attained
its greatest development. Dr. Beard, of New York, has recently col-
lected some statistical results, which throw light on the subject of
mental growth, though we must note that a variety of collateral cir-
cumstances have to be taken into account before any sound opinion
can be formed as to the justice of Dr. Beard's conclusions. He states
that " from an analysis of the lives of a thousand representative men
in all the great branches of human effort, he had made the discovery
that the golden decade was between thirty and forty, the silver be-
tween forty and fifty, the brazen between twenty and thirty, the iron
between fifty and sixty. The superiority of youth and middle life
over old age in original work appears all the greater, when we con-
sider the fact that nearly all the positions of honor and profit and
prestige — professorships and public stations — are in the hands of the
old. Reputation, like money and position, is mainly confined to the
old. Men are not widely known until long after they have done the
work that gives them their fame. Portraits of great men are a delu-
sion ; statues are lies. They are taken when men have become famous,
which, on the average, is at least twenty-five years after they did the
work which gave them their fame. Original work requires enthusiasm.
If all the original work done by men under forty-five were annihilated,
the world would be reduced to barbarism. Men are at their best at
that time when enthusiasm and experience are most evenly balanced ;
this period on the average is from thirty-eight to forty. After this
period the law is that experience increases but enthusiasm declines. In
the life of almost every old man there comes a point, sooner or later,
when experience ceases to have any educating power."

There is much that is true, but not a little that is, to say the least,
doubtful, in the above remarks. The children of a man's mind, like
those of his body, are commonly born while he is in the prime of life.
But it must not be overlooked that it is precisely because of the origi-
nal work done in earlier life that a man as he grows older is com-
monly prevented from accomplishing any great amount of original
work. Nearly the whole of his time is necessarily occupied in matur-
ing the work originated earlier. And again, the circumstance that
(usually) a man finds that the work of his earlier years remains incom-
plete and unsatisfactory, unless the labors of many sequent years are
devoted to it, acts as a check upon original investigation. This re-
mark has no bearing, or but slight bearing, on certain forms of literary
work; but in nearly every other department of human effort men

TOL. IV —22

33 8 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

advanced in years find themselves indisposed to undertake original
research, not from any want of power, but because they recognize the
fact that sufficient time does not remain for them to bring such work
to a satisfactory issue. They feel that they would have to leave to
others the rearing of their mental offspring.

It cannot be questioned, however, that with old age there comes a
real physical incapacity for original work, while the power of matur-
ing past work remains comparatively but little impaired. Dr. Car-
penter has shown how this may partly be explained by the physical
changes which lead in old age to the weakening of the memory ; or
perhaps we should rather say that in the following passage his re-
marks respecting loss of memory serve to illustrate the loss of brain-
power generally, and especially of the power of forming new ideas, in
old age. "The impairment of the memory in old age," he says,
" commonly shows itself in regard to new impressions ; those of the
earlier period of life not only remaining in full distinctness, but even
it would seem increasing in vividness, from the fact that the eye is not
distracted from attending to them by the continued influx of impres-
sions produced by passing events. The extraordinary persistence of
early impressions, when the mind seems almost to have ceased to
register new ones, is in remarkable accordance with a law of nutrition
I have formerly referred to. It is when the brain is growing that the
direction of its structure can be most strongly and persistently"
(query, lastingly) " given to it. Thus the habits of thought come to
be formed, and those nerve-tracks laid down which (as the physiolo-
gist believes) constitute the mechanism of association, by the time
that the brain has reached its maturity; and the nutrition of the
organ continues to keep up the same mechanism in accordance with
the demands upon its activity, so long as it is being called into use.
Further, during the entire period of vigorous manhood, the brain, like
the muscles, may be taking on some additional growth, either as a
whole or in special parts ; new tissue being developed and kept up by
the nutritive process, in accordance with the modes of action to which
the organ is trained. And in this manner a store of ' impressions ' or
* traces ' is accumulated, which may be brought within the l sphere of
consciousness ' whenever the right suggesting strings are touched.
But, as the nutritive activity diminishes, the ' waste ' becomes more
rapid than the renovation ; and it would seem that, while (to use a
commercial analogy) the 'old-established houses' keep their ground,
those later firms, whose basis is less secure, are the first to crumble
away — the nutritive activity which yet suffices to maintain the origi-
nal structure not being capable of keeping the subsequent additions
to it in working order. This earlier degeneration of later-formed
structures is a general fact perfectly familiar to the physiologist."

One of the most remarkable features of mental development, char-
acteristic, according to circumstances, of mental growth and of mental

GROWTH AND DECAY OF MIND. 339

decay, is the change of taste for mental food of various kinds. Every
one must be conscious of the fact that books, and the subjects of
thought, lose the interest they once had, making way for others of a
different nature. The favorite author, whose words we read and re-
read with continually fresh enjoyment in youth, appears dull and un-
interesting as the mind grows, and becomes unendurable in advanced
years. And this is not merely the effect of familiarity. I knew one
who was never tired of reading the works of a famous modern novel-
ist until the age of twenty-five or thereabouts, when it chanced that
he was placed in circumstances which caused novel-reading to be an
unfrequent occupation, and in point of fact certain works of this
author were not opened by him for ten or twelve years. He sup-
posed, when at the end of that time he took up one of these works,
that he should find even more than the pleasure he formerly had in
reading it, since the story would now have something of novelty for
him, and he had once thoroughly enjoyed reading it even when he
almost knew the work by heart. But he no longer found the work in
the least interesting ; the humor seemed forced, the pathos affected,
the eloquence false; in short, he had lost his taste for it. In the
mean time the works of another equally famous humorist had acquired
a new value in his estimation. 1 They had formerly seemed rather
heavy reading ; now, every sentence gave enjoyment. They appeared
now as books not to be merely tasted or swallowed, as Bacon hath it,
but " to be chewed and digested." The change here described indi-
cated (in accordance at least with the accepted estimates of the nov-
elist and humorist in question) an increase of mental power. But a
distaste for particular writings may imply the decay of mental power.
And also, more generally, a tendency to disparagement is a very com-
mon indication of advancing mental age. " The old brain," says
Wendell Holmes, " thinks the world grows worse, as the old retina
thinks the eyes of needles and the fractions in the printed sales of
stocks grow smaller."

Another singular effect of advancing years is shown by the ten-
dency to repetition. It is worthy of nctice that this peculiar mental
phenomenon has been clearly associated with physical deterioration
of the substance of the brain, because it may be brought about by a
blow or by disease. Wendell Holmes, speaking of this peculiarity,
remarks, " I have known an aged person repeat the same question five,

1 Probably the best means of testing the development of one's own mind consists in
comparing the estimate formed, at different times, of the value of some standard work.
Of course different classes of writing should be employed to test different faculties of
the mind. A good general test may be found in Shakespeare's plays, and perhaps still
better in some of Shakespeare's sonnets. As the mind grows, its power of appreciating
Shakespeare increases ; and the great advantage of this particular test is, that the mind
cannot overgrow it. It is like the standard by which the sergeant measures recruits,
which will measure men of all heights, not failing even when giants are brought to be
measured by it.

34 o THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

six, or seven times, during the same brief visit. Everybody knows
the archbishop's flavor of apoplexy in the memory as in the other men-
tal powers. I was once asked to see a woman who had just been in-
jured in the street. On coming to herself, ' Where am I ? What has
happened ? ' she asked. * Knocked down by a horse, ma'am ; stunned
a little ; that is all.' A pause, ' while one, with moderate haste, might
count a hundred ; ' and then again, ' Where am I ? What has hap-
pened?' 'Knocked down by a horse, ma'am; stunned a little ; that
is all.' " (Mr. Holmes appears to have sympathized with the patient's
mental condition.) " Another pause, and the same question again ;
and so on during the whole time I was by her. The same tendency
to repeat a question indefinitely has been observed in returning mem-
bers of those worshiping assemblies whose favorite hymn is l We
won't go home till morning.' Is memory then," he proceeds, " a ma-
terial record ? Is the brain, like the rock of the Sinaitic Valley, writ-
ten all over with inscriptions left by the long caravans of thought, as
they have passed year after year through its mysterious recesses ?
When we see a distant railway-train sliding by us in the same line,
day after day, we infer the existence of a track which guides it. So,
when some dear old friend begins that story we remember so well —
switching off" at the accustomed point of digression ; coming to a
dead stop at the puzzling question of chronology; off the track on
the matter of its being first or second cousin of somebody's aunt ; set
on it again by the patient, listening wife, who knows it all as she
knows her well-worn wedding-ring — how can we doubt that there is a
track laid down for the story in some permanent disposition of the
thinking-marrow ? "

We seem to recognize here a process of change in the brain corre-
sponding to that which takes place in the body with advancing years
— the induration of its substance, so that it loses flexibility, and thus,
while readily accomplishing accustomed work, is not readily adapted
for new work. Our old proverb, " You can't teach an old dog new
tricks," indicates, coarsely enough, but justly, the peculiarity, as well
mental as bodily, to which I refer. There is not a loss of power, but a
loss of elasticity. We see aged men working well in the routine work
to which they have been accustomed, but failing where there is occasion
for change either of method or of opinion. Again, one recognizes this
peculiarity in the scientific worker, whence perhaps we may regard it
as a fortunate circumstance that the tendency of the aged mind ac-
cords with its faculties, so that old men do not readily undertake new
work. Perhaps no more remarkable instance could be cited of the
combination I refer to — the possession of power on the one hand, and
the want of elasticity on the other — than the remarkable papers on the
universe, written by Sir W. Herschel, in the years 1817 and 1818, that
is, in his seventy-ninth and eightieth years. We find the veteran
astronomer proceeding in the path which, more than forty years before,

GROWTH AND DECAY OF MIND. 341

he had marked out for himself; but the very steadiness and strength
of purpose with which he pursues it indicate the degree to which his
mind had lost its wonted elasticity. In 1784 and 1785 he was trav-
ersing a portion of the same road. But then he was in the prime of
his powers, and accordingly we recognize a versatility which enabled
him to test and reject the methods of research which presented them-
selves to his mind. It was in those years that he invented his famous
method of star-gauging, which our text-books of astronomy prepos-
terously adopt as if it were an established and recognized method of
scientific research. But Herschel himself, after trying it, and satisfy-
ing himself that it was unsound in principle, abandoned it altogether.
In 1817 he adopted a method of research equally requiring to be tested,
and, in my conviction, equally incapable of standing the test ; but he
now worked upon the plan he had devised, without subjecting it to
any test. Nay, results which only a few years before he would cer-
tainly have rejected — for he did then actually reject results which
were open to the same objection — passed muster in 1817 and 1818, and
are recorded in his papers of those dates without comment. We may
recognize another illustration of the loss of elasticity with advancing
years, in the obstinacy, one may even say the perversity, with which
Sir Isaac Newton, in the latter years of his life, adhered to opinions
on certain points where, as has since been shown, he was unquestion-
ably wrong, and where, had he possessed his former mental versatility,
he must have perceived as much. Compare this with his conduct in
earlier years, when for nineteen years he freely abandoned his theory
of gravitation — though he had fully recognized its surpassing impor-
tance — simply because certain minute details were not satisfactorily
accounted for. Many other instances might be cited, were it worth
while, to show how the mind commonly changes when approaching an
advanced age, in a manner corresponding to that bodily change — that
stiffness and want of elasticity, without any marked loss of power —
which comes on with advancing years. That old age does not neces-
sarily involve any loss of power for routine work, has been clearly
shown in the lives of many eminent men of our own era. The present
Astronomer Royal for England affords a remarkable illustration of
the fact, as also of the associated fact that new work is not easily
achieved, nor an old mistake readily admitted or corrected at an ad-
vanced age.

It is well pointed out by Dr. Beard, in the lecture to which I have
already referred, that " we must not expect to find at one age the men-
tal qualifications due to another age — we must not look for experience
and caution in youth, or for suppleness and versatility in age. We
ought also to apportion to the various ages of a man the kind of work
most suitable to them. Positions which require mainly enthusiasm
and original work should be filled by the young and middle-aged ; po-
sitions that require mainly experience and routine work, should be

342 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

filled by those in mature and advanced life, or (as in clerkships) by
the young who have not yet reached the golden decade. The enor-
mous stupidity, and backwardness, and red-tapeism, of all departments
of governments everywhere, are partly due to the fact that they are
too much controlled by age. The conservatism and inferiority of col-
leges are similarly explained. Some of those who control the policy
of colleges — presidents and trustees — should be young and middle-
aged. Journalism, on the other hand, has suffered from relative excess
of youth and enthusiasm."

Before passing from the lecture of Dr. Beard, I shall venture to
quote the remarks which he makes on the evidence sometimes afforded
of approaching mental decay by a decline in moral sensitiveness.
" Moral decline in old age," he says, " means — ' Take care ; for the
brain is giving way.' It is very frequently accompanied or preceded
by sleeplessness. Decline of the moral faculties, like the decline of
other functions, may be relieved, retarded, and sometimes cured by
proper medical treatment, and especially by hygiene. In youth, mid-
dle age, and even in advanced age, one may suffer for years from dis-
orders of the nervous system that cause derangement of some one or
many of the moral faculties, and perfectly recover. The symptoms
should be taken early, and treated like any other physical disease.
Our best asylums are now acting upon this principle, and with good
success. Medical treatment is almost powerless without hygiene.
Study the divine art of taking it easy. Men often die as trees die,
slowly, and at the top first. As the moral and reasoning faculties are
the highest, most complex, and most delicate development of human
nature, they are the first to show signs of cerebral disease. When they
begin to decay in advanced life, w T e are generally safe in predicting
that, if these signs are neglected, other functions will sooner or later
be impaired. When conscience is gone, the constitution is threatened.
Everybody has observed that greediness, ill-temper, despondency, are
often the first and only symptoms that disease is coming upon us.
The moral nature is a delicate barometer, that foretells long before-
hand the coming storm in the system. Moral decline, as a symptom
of cerebral disease, is, to say the least, as reliable as are many of the
symptoms by which physicians are accustomed to make a diagnosis
of various diseases of the bodily organs. When moral is associated
with mental decline in advanced life, it is almost safe to make a diag-
nosis of cerebral disease. . . . Let nothing deprive us of our sleep.
Early to bed and late to rise make the modern toiler healthy and
wise. The problem for the future is to work hard, and at the same
time to take it easy. The more we have to do, the more we should
sleep. Let it never be forgotten that death in the aged is more fre-
quently a slow process than an event ; a man may begin to die ten or
fifteen years before he is buried."

When mental decay is nearing the final stage, there is a tendency

GROWTH AND DECAY OF MIND. 343

to revert to the thoughts and impressions of former years, which is
probably dependent on the processes by which the substance of the
brain is undergoing decay. The more recent formations are the first,
as we have seen, to crumble away, and the process not only brings to
the surface, if we may so speak, the earlier formations — that is, the
material records of earlier mental processes — but would appear to
bring those parts of the cerebrum into renewed activity. Thus, as
death draws near, men " babble of green fields," as has been beautifully
said, though not by Shakespeare, of old Jack Falstaff. Or less pleasant
associations may be aroused, as we see in Mrs. Grandmother Small-
weed, when " with such infantine graces as a total want of observation,
memory, understanding, and intellect, and an eternal disposition to
fall asleep over the fire and into it," she " whiled away the rosy hours "
with continual allusions to money.

The recollections aroused at the moment of death are sometimes
singularly affecting. None can read without emotion the last scenes
of the life of Colonel Newcome. I say the last scenes, not the last
scene only, though that is the most beautiful of all. Every one
knows those last pages by heart, yet I cannot forbear quoting a few
sentences from them. '" Father!' cries Clive, 'do you remember
Orme's " History of India ? " ' ' Orme's History, of course I do ; I could
repeat whole pages of it when I was a boy,' says the old man, and be-
gan forthwith: " ' The two battalions advanced against each other
cannonading, until the French, coming to a hollow way, imagined the
English would not venture to pass it. But Major Lawrence ordered
the sepoys and artillery — the sepoys and artillery to halt, and defend
the convoy against the Morattoes.' Morattoes, Orme calls them.
Ho ! ho ! I could repeat whole pages, sir.' " Later, " Thomas New-
come began to wander more and more. He talked louder ; he gave
the word of command, and spoke Hindoostanee, as if to his men. Then
he spoke words in French rapidly, seizing a hand which was near him,
and crying, ' Toujours, toujours.' But it was Ethel's hand which he
took. . . . Some time afterward, Ethel came in with a scared face to
our pale group. ' He is calling for you again, dear lady,' she said,
going up to Madame de Florae, who was still kneeling. 'And just
now he said he wanted Pendennis to take care of his boy. He will not
know you.' She hid her tears as she spoke. She went into the room,
where Clive was at the bed's foot ; the old man within it talked on rap-
idly for awhile ; then again he would sigh and be still : once more I
heard him say hurriedly, ' Take care of him when I'm in India,' and
then with a heart-rending voice he called out, ' Leonore, Lconore ! ' She
was kneeling at his side now. The patient's voice sank into faint mur-
murs ; only a moan now and then announced that he was not asleep.
At the usual evening hour the chapel-bell began to toll, and Thomas
Newcome's hands outside the bed feebly beat time. And, just as the
last bell struck, a peculiar, sweet smile shone over his face, and he

344 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

lifted up his head a little, and quickly said, ' Adsum ! ' and fell back.
It was the word we used at school when names were called, and lo, he,
whose heart was as that of a little child, had answered to his name,
and stood in the presence of The Master."

Sadder than death is it, however, when the brain perishes before
the body. " How often, alas, we see," says Wendell Holmes, " the
mighty satirist tamed into oblivious imbecility ; the great scholar
wandering without sense of time or place, among his alcoves, taking
his books one by one from the shelves and fondly patting them :
a child once more among his toys, but a child whose to-morrows come
hungry, and not full-handed — come as birds of prey in the place of the
sweet singers of morning. We must all become as little children if
we live long enough ; but how blank an existence the wrinkled infant
must carry into the kingdom of heaven, if the Power that gave him
memory does not repeat the miracle by restoring it ! " — Cornhill
Magazine.

-♦«♦-

AN EPISODE ON EATS.

npHE Norway rat, of which we wish to say a few words, is the Zem-
-L ming, a species of the mouse-tribe, somewhat smaller than the
Guinea-pig, to which in form it bears a considerable resemblance, only
the head and body are flatter. Its length is about six inches, of which
the short stump of a tail forms half an inch. It is black in color, mot-
tled with tawny spots, which vary in their disposition in different in-
dividuals, and the belly is white, with a slight tinge of yellow. The
fore-legs are short and strong, and the hind-legs are nearly one-half
longer than the former, enabling it to run with considerable speed.
The feet are armed with strong hooked claws, five in number, enabling
it to burrow in the earth, and among the frozen snows of its native
region. Its cheeks are blanched, and it sports a pair of long light
whiskers, and its eyes, though small, are beautifully black and pier-
cing. The lip is divided, and the ears are small and sharply pointed.
As its home borders on the region of eternal snow, in the valleys of
the Kolen Mountains, which separate Sweden from Nordland, its hair
is both thick and soft, and becomes almost white during the long and
cheerless winter of these inhospitable regions. The skin is much thin-
ner than in any of its congeners. When enraged it gives utterance to
a sharp yelp, similar to that of a month-old terrier- whelp.

It is a lively little fellow, when met with in its native haunts, dur-
ing the short summer — now sitting on its haunches nibbling at a piece
of lichen, or the catkins of the birch, which it conveys to its mouth
with its fore-paws, after the manner of the squirrel, or engaging in a
romp with its fellows, popping in and out of its burrow in the earth

AN EPISODE ON RATS.

345

where it sleeps and rears its young, of which the female has two or
three litters annually, numbering from five to seven in each. It is a
most audacious little fellow, and fears neither man nor beast, refusing
to give way save on the compulsion of superior force. Travelers speak
of having seen them frisking about in hundreds in their native forests,
when they dispute the path even with man. From the vantage-ground
of the mounds of earth at the entrance to their burrows, they sit on
their beam-ends and scan the intruders with comical gravity. If the
traveler has a dog with him, unhappily ignorant of the ways of this
cool and impudent varmint, he will likely advance with the easy non-
chalance of his tribe to smell the odd little animal — which betrays no
fear at his approach — to be rewarded by a sharp and trenchant bite on
the nose ; a reception so sudden and unexpected that it is ten chances
to one against his prosecuting his investigations further, for a dog is
too well bred to attack any strange living object which awaits his
approach.

Lemming, or Norway Eat.

Unlike many of its congeners, the lemming does not provide a
sufficient store of food to last it through the long winter, when the
earth is covered with snow, and, as it does not hibernate, it is driven
to many a hard shift in its struggle for a subsistence. It devours the
bark of trees and small twigs, and drives tunnels through the snow,
along the surface of the ground, eating every shred of vegetation it
meets with. These food-burrows are all connected with a main bur-
row, leading to its home in the earth, which is ventilated by a hole
driven obliquely through the snow to the surface. These air-shafts
guide the arctic fox and the ermine to their whereabouts, and they
devour many of them, while kites and other predaceous birds are ever
on the watch to pick them up when they emerge upon the surface.
The natives of these regions kill and eat them during summer, when
they are in good condition ; and a traveled friend of ours, who has

346 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY.

partaken of its flesh, speaks of it as a most valuable addition to their
scanty cuisine. When captured young, it is easily tamed and becomes
an interesting pet. We saw one once in the po